archebiosis
Walk down the realm, hint to no one that this generic bond exists, evil shows another side. And like before, makes no sense, never coming, always leaving right before, hooked on substance, dig in deeper, can’t reveal. So fed up, what’s with the scenes? Observe and leave instead, this pity wagon, penetrates my skin, so sensitive, makes me sick. And like before, makes no sense, never coming, always leaving right before, hooked on substance, dig in deeper, can’t reveal. The old and the aged, pulled and never knew what hit, rolled the old and the aged, pulled and never knew what hit. And like before, makes no sense, never coming, always leaving right before, hooked on substance, dig in deeper, can’t reveal.
Why dont we leave well enough alone
never thought about the shame
leave well enough alone
never thought about the shame
herpes
Warm yourself by the fire, son,
And the morning will come soon.
I’ll tell you stories of a better time,
In a place that we once knew.
Before we packed our bags
And left all this behind us in the dust,
We had a place that we could call home,
And a life no one could touch.
Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You won’t let me down, down, down!
Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You won’t let me down, down, down!
I represent the angry and the desperate,
The hungry, and the cold,
We are the ones who kept quiet,
And always did what they were told.
But we’ve been sweating while you slept so calm,
In the safety of your home.
We’ve been pulling out the nails that hold up
Everything you’ve known.
Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You won’t let me down, down, down!
So open your eyes child,
Let’s be on our way.
Broken windows and ashes
Are guiding the way.
Keep quiet no longer,
We’ll sing through the day,
Of the lives that we’ve lost,
And the lives we’ve reclaimed.
Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You won’t let me down, down, down!
Don’t hold me up…
(I don’t need your help, I’ll stand my ground)
Don’t hold me up…
(I don’t need your help)
No! No! No!
Don’t hold me up!
(I don’t need your help, I’ll stand my ground)
Don’t hold me up!
(I don’t need your help, I’ll stand my ground)
Don’t hold me down, down, down, down, down!
tylenol
I may have multiiple personalities. Perhaps that is why I am so conflicted about therapy. Part of me wants it, another doesnt and another just wants to distribute parts of a police officer accros the county.
fop
I hate NYC right now. I had a pretty good evening last night, a decent day and a less than lustered evening.
Strike One) Tried to get drunk and could not. Just lost interest in losing cohesion which means I have to face myself until I fall alseep.
Strike Two) Am unable to become interested in doing anything. Tried hitting the different bars, walking around, eating, even went by a strip club. Could not muster the interest to get motivated in jack shit and that really sucks in a city that offers just about anything.
Strike Three) Simply cannot connect. Can’t talk to anyone or find anything interesting in anything that anyone says. Bored beyond belief.
Back in the hotel and considering my next move. My room overlooks broadway just north of Columbus circle. The window opens all the way up. Im staring at people who walk below and contemplate dropping cubes of ice on them. Ice, water, glass, bricks. Fuck I’m bored.
melancholy
Our cracking voices became part of the music.
The car pressed on faster through the night. As our voices lowered, the cadence again overtook the air.
Up ahead there was a curve approaching.
She made no indications of slowing….
spoony
Chairs thrown and tables toppled,
Hands armed with broken bottles,
Standing no chance to win but,
I’m not running, we’re not running.
There’s a point I think you’re missing,
It’s in the air we raise our fists in,
In the smiles we cast each other,
My sister, my brother.
About the time we gave up hoping,
We never find these locks still open,
Stumbling on stones unturned,
The hurt we feel, we all have earned.
The lines we’ve cross in search of change,
but all they see is treason
Although I have no obligation to stay alive…
My broken back won’t beg for mercy, I might survive
I won’t be left here behind a closed door.
Bonfires burn like beacons,
Guiding the lost and weakened.
Flames dance on crashing waves,
Guiding ships who’ve gone astray
Time out, I should stop and think this through,
You and I have all got better things to do…
Than talk in circles, run in place,
Answers inches from our face.
Black eyes, broken fingers,
Blood drips and I let it run,
down my lips into my swollen gums,
When hope is non-existent,
My instincts all scream “Run”,
I might never turn my back or even bite that traitorous tongue…………
peregrination
Hi from the East Coast… just outside of NYC
After a 5 hour flight from San Diego I have landed in Newark NJ.
I ate dinner here…………. and it was pretty nice even though Newark is a generally pretty shitty place to even exist. Jake and I sat through dinner with 2 other people you wouldnt know even if I mentioned their names but it wasnt all bad. Shared a garlic shrimp app and a seafood platter. Nothing but fish, calamari, shrimp, lobster, scallops, clams and mussels on a bed of rice. That and 3 vodka Ts made the night pretty bearable. Tired as shit, going to bed.
juju
Just for shits and giggles, let’s look at common denominators.
The variables involved are:
• The Columbine School Shooters, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold
• Seung-Hui Cho of the Virginia Tech University shooting
• Steve Kazmierczak, planner and executor of the Northern Illinois University shooting
(The list is kept short for purposes of time and space, I may add more as time goes on)
And me of course…..
All of the groups or individuals involved in the above described shootings felt alienated and/or under imminent/constant attack. They felt that either they did not fit into school or work or society at large. This feeling of alienation led to an unavoidable feeling of persecution by the groups or individuals. Eric and Dylan have a well documented record of complaints of alienation, persecution and follow-on bullying by class mates. I have expressed repeated feelings of persecution by the state and the corporate world. I don’t think I fit into this culture. I despise the idiocracy of the industry I entered. What does this mean for me? Who can tell? No one recipe can/will result in a homicidal rage. It is a complicated formula that is far from black and white. There are too many variables to account for in all cases but alienation combined with real or perceived persecution contributed to the end result….mass homicide followed by suicide.
Mental “disorders” such as, but not limited to, depression or manic depression, bi-polarity, feelings of inadequacy, various sexual disorders and/or sexual identity crisis, loss of self worth and paranoia are all elements documented by mental health workers pre and post crisis. Steve Kazmierczak and Seung-Hui Cho had a long and well documented mental disorder history. Eric and Dylan have a well documented school history of complaints involving alienation, persecution and bullying by class mates. I myself have expressed repeated feelings of persecution by the state and the corporate world. I propose that the second denominator between myself and the killers I have described in the bullet points above is that we share feelings of alienation, persecution, paranoia and have also been medicated in order to “deal” with these disorders as they are called. Kazmierczak felt that the medications prescribed to him made him feel even less worthwhile as a human being because of the side effects (acne, weight loss, mental stupor). My imposed use of anti-depressants to control mood swings makes me feel inadequate and less of a man due to my dependence on them. This ties into the point above about feelings on alienation and persecution.
A predisposition towards violence and (or) weapons seems to be a common theme. Eric and Dylan developed and well thought out project plan whose end result was the acquisition of numerous firearms, ammunition, explosive making knowledge and explosive component materials. Much has been reported in the media about the availability of firearms to a state documented mental patient such as Seung-Hui Cho. Seung-Hui Cho, despite, or perhaps to the advantage of his condition, planned an elaborate and extremely well detailed plan of execution (pun intended) that allowed him to take the lives of 32 students at Virginia Tech University. He utilized highly tactical methods in order to confuse and trap the students in order to maximize his kill count. Eric and Dylan used propane “bombs” and semi-automatic weapons in a methodical manner. Steve locked possible points of exit and then utilized random shotgun blasts to create confusion and the “bunching up” of students in order to create a more target-rich environment. The point I am trying to create is that despite the alleged “mental disorders” of the killers, they were able to create complex and creative kill-plans and during plan execution are able to operate homemade bombs and complex weaponry during moments of extreme intensity. All of the killers were very comfortable with weaponry and violence as am I. I have guns in my house. I have used them in anger, in delusion, for my country, and in depression. I have stared at them in familiar and intimate confusion before. There are times I am so drunk that I cannot walk a straight line but I can put a bandanna over my eyes and take the Glock apart and back together again, load it and place a round into the chamber. This scares the shit out of friends of mine, Bob and Melissa foremost and, I have to admit, I take too much enjoyment out of that fear of me. In addition, I love a good fight. I’m combative and confrontational. A good reaction is a solid swing and sometimes conflict resolution boils down to who can get up off the ground and who cannot. I suppose that makes me a person comfortable with violence.
So, having drawn all of these comparisons, what does that mean for me? Am I destined for a meltdown? How close am I? Will there be warning signs? Will it come as a surprise to anyone? Will reporters speak to my neighbors and broadcast “He was such a quiet person, we just can’t believe it”. Will CNN, MSNBC and Fox talk about me for weeks on end? Will books be written about my psychosocial rage? If they aren’t….how else will I be remembered?
Will I turn the weapon on myself or just go out shooting?
Of the questions above, I only need the answer to one. How close am I?
castanza
It’s odd that you would think
What’s always been a game to me……….would suddenly change
I’m feeding off the empty
I’ll waste another day
To find a way through somehow……….somehow
You’ll find a way through me
There’s no more to say tonight
Think till your head turns hollow
And I fear the more that I try……….the further I get
No way to tell you why
It’s nothing new to me
The ground beneath me always seems……….to just give way
Bleeding right in front of me
What more could I say
It’s find a way through somehow……….somehow
You’ll find a way through me
Keep holding on or let it go
let it go, let it go
Your weakness hides but still it shows
Keep holding on or let it go
let it go, let it go
There’s no more to say tonight or even tomorrow
Think till your head turns hollow
And I fear the more that I try……….the further I get
No reason to tell you why
aestival
John McCain graduated 894th in a class of 899 at the Naval Academy at Annapolis. His father and grandfather were four star admirals in the Navy. Some have suggested that might have played a role in McCain being admitted. His academic record was awful. And it shows over and over again whenever McCain is called upon to think on his feet.
Where are John McCain’s writings exploring the vexing moral issues of our time? Where are his position papers setting forth his careful consideration of foreign policy, the welfare state, education, America’s moral responsibility in the world, etc., etc., etc.?
He no longer allows reporters unfettered access to him aboard the “Straight Talk Express” for a reason. He simply makes too many mistakes. Unless he’s reciting talking points or reading from notes or a TelePrompTer, John McCain is lost. He can drop bon mots at a bowling alley or diner — short glib responses that get a chuckle, but beyond that McCain gets in over his head very quickly.
I am sick and tired of the president of the United States embarrassing me. The world we live in is too complex to entrust it to someone else whose idea of intellectual curiosity and grasp of foreign policy issues is to tell us he can look into Vladimir Putin’s eyes and see into his soul.
George Bush’s record as a student, military man, businessman and leader of the free world is one of constant failure. And the part that troubles me most is he seems content with himself.
He will leave office with the country $10 trillion in debt, fighting two wars, our international reputation in shambles, our government cloaked in secrecy and suspicion that his entire presidency has been a litany of broken laws and promises, our citizens’ faith in our own country ripped to shreds. Yet Bush goes bumbling along, grinning and spewing moronic one-liners, as though nobody understands what a colossal failure he has been.
I fear to the depth of my being that John McCain is just like him. Obama is the Obi Wan Kenobi of my generation.