Tuesday, October 27, 2009

bleary oils and swollen boils

suddenly trapped in a fragrant cannabinoid delerium

a pleasant fog; euphoric and relaxing

but befuddling all at once - every now and then a flash of flavour as the tongue finds a prior-unabsorbed pocket of the oil, dribbled sublingually an hour hence

it's like trying to cross the street, at night, on an empty country road, with your eyes closed

you know you're in no possible danger

but you can't help that finger of fear in the back of your head that says

"maybe you won't make it back this time..."


lifeache, heartwarm
nightloud and bedscold
simplicity is divine, but complexity irresistible

we love the chase
and sleep in graves
we dug with tooth and nail

hardwired to the brain, an IV drip of vitriol and dragonfly wings

i want a drug to give me the vision of a shaman

the touch of a god

and all the compassion of a syphilis-maddened komodo dragon

Monday, October 26, 2009

i had a dream i was a werewolf

begging for change, but I have plenty of shrapnel

plenty of money, plenty of sunny friends with open arms, open hands and closed ears

does she even really care about me? it's hard to tell. i think so. i hope so.

mainly because i don't allow any of my real feelings to show on the surface - happy mask, smiles for the camera - and all the teeth and matches in the keyboard

but, every now and then, around her - the mask slips and I feel a cold fingernail push into my heart

freezing the breath in my chest

and brittle bones creak under the pressure as I struggle, vainly, to draw air into these tired lungs

and even then i get nothing other then a mouthful of ash

it's so quiet I can hear my cigarette burning as I bring it to my mouth

crisp, still heat that sears my lips as i drag away to the butt

eager for that finality, that satisfying stab as i crush it to a hard coal in the ashtray

if only everything else was so easy

Saturday, October 24, 2009

sarah, settle down
put your helmet on
walk these streets of gold
with cigarettes you hand rolled
i don't know you
and i don't owe you a thing
you smile so hard it hurts
just when things get worse
you said you've woken from a dream
abandoned by your mother

... could this be?

i don't know you
and i don't owe you a thing
but the children lose their minds
in such uncertain times
and i'm woken from a dream
surrounded by my lovers
oh, woe is me!

between my last entry and now? 48 or so hours of near-constant running around, late piperazine nights and too-hot days

but, now, I lay here - listening to Margot, reading Transmetropolitan and carefully masturbating over six thousand dollars in cold cash.

Time to relax. Things are finally coming up roses...

Thursday, October 22, 2009

We will have peace, or we will have a motherfucking problem.

Railroad bones and desert roads
Boiling silicone on the stove
Glasswhite ice and severed toes
Upon our grave, a wilted rose

The time has come, the walrus said, to get your fucking act together. The amount of money that flows through your hands is like jew's ash under the nails of a thousand jackbooted policemen - You need to stop pouring this bittersharp pain-sweetened chemical haze into your synapses.

Drowning out the signal of the real world with the noise of drugs doesn't make the real world go away. It just pushes you further into this moebical stupor-cycle, trapped loops and halftwists of fate that endlessly roll under the waves of novelty and beauty that you are awash in - But you're in far, far over your head. You don't take the time to reflect on what we create, what we live in - Who we live with, and why.

No more drugs. not until you have something to show for all your hard work. If by my nineteenth birthday I have in excess of fifteen hundred dollars that is MY profit and not owed, then I shall consume ONE tab.

For every cigarette I smoke on any given day, I will make up for it by performing either a) ten push-ups, b) A 500m run or c) fifteen reps on the benchpress. Given that I usually smoke in excess of fifteen to twenty cigarettes a day, this will both cut down my carcinogen intake and also help me regain some semblance of a semi-attractive body.

[ Doctor 2.0 ]
rev a

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

i can't even lie to myself anymore.

scotch o'clock.

numb lungs and dead drugs

solvent emotion, ash in the aorta

and the ends of nerves, dipped in hot solder

to better conduct

the noise

my corporal used to call me 'sparky'

because he enjoyed lighting matches off my neck during the long patrols.

it's gotten to the point where I drink about a bottle of wine a night now, and I'm okay with that. one day, though, I want to be able to shut my eyes without having to pretend i'm going to be someone else when I wake up.

confusion and black sand

oh children, broadripple is burning
and the girls are gettin sick
off huffing glue up in the bathroom
while their boyfriends pick up chicks
and darling i'm lost

i heard you whispering
that night in fountain square
trashed the streets
made you wish that i'd go home
there was love?
inside the basement
way back home we used to lie
in a sleeping bag we shared upon
the floor for almost every night

oh darling i'm drunk
everything that i had loved has turned to stone
so pack your bags and come back home

yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way
cause i'll be hanging from a rope
i'll be hangin from a rope

if my woman was a fire
she'd burn out before i wake
and be replaced by pints of whiskey
cigarettes and outer space
then somebody moves

and everything you thought you had has gone to shit

we've got a lot
don't ever forget that
and i wrote this on airplane where the people look like ants

and when a woman that you love is gone
she was bombing east japan

don't fucking move

cause everything you think you have will go to shit

we've got a lot
don't ever forget that
yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way

cause i'll be hanging from a rope
i'll be hangin from a rope
yeah i'm wasted
you can taste it
don't look at me that way
cause i'll be hanging from a rope

i'll be hangin from a rope

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Phoenix Song

Hotel rooms and lazy summer days in the pool. New faces, fresh voices and lsd on the side. Hot drugs, hot nights, hot girls. Motherfucking good therapy.

it's like that first cup of tea in the morning as day breaks, after the long night awake chain smoking and masturbating. Crisp, astringent and dark, the taste melts away the dust and cuts through the scabs in your throat and rinses the flesh clean.

and that's exactly what I feel right now. Rinsed clean.

Like, nothing happened. i didn't fall in love, I didn't get laid, I didn't get in a fight - There were no life altering or reaffirming twists of fate.

But then again, I'm starting to feel like there never were. Like I've been making a big deal out of fuck-all actually happening in my life. Like I've been tearing myself up and tying myself up in knots because I'm 'alone' - But this weekend I was still just as 'alone', there wasn't anyone hanging off my dick, or my words - There were just good people and better times.

I'm so far past this whole 'tortured soul' bullshit it's not even funny. Open apology to everyone in my life or that reads my blog - I'm sorry I've been such an emo faggot, and I'm declaring right now that I no longer give a shit about who you're dating or fucking or whatever so long as you're still a part of my life and you're still a friend and we can just get messy and let our hair down every now and then. Love is a myth, cut away the bullshit. Set yourself free and just smile more.

After all, it's free.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Nothing is okay.

Where did the love go? From my business, from this scene, from my life? This... numb corruption threatens to overwhelm us all, a disheartening facade that smells like money and tastes like iodine. It's a bone sickness. A dry sickness. Our vibrations turned nasty some time ago, but now they take root, shaking us to the core of our very being.

I weep for tomorrow, because the new young want nothing more then INSTANT GRATIFICATION, and they don't care what's in the pill as long as it fucks them up, and they don't care who's selling it or how much they charge because if they can't afford it, they'll just steal to get the money, or rip someone off... I hate this fucking city. I want to take the maybe two dozen worthwhile people and take them with me to melbourne, or toronto...

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

stress less

with every gauge pushed deep into the red - overpressure, o-rings bursting and membranes rotting. insulation melting on the wires, threatening to catch as it smoulders and drips polyvinyl agony onto my joints, the ferroceramic grating with carbon buildup. the heat is too much to deal with, i can hear rivets popping out of their housing as they expand and split the seams, spreading swarf into the circuits that line my gut. That's where this feeling is coming from - This dull, dry loathing that is spreading like dust in my lungs. Played against the sharp electric desire sparkling in my heart, the short-circuit falsefeeling that i KNOW is useless to feel, but fuck that I'm going to feel it anyway.

I hate myself. It is the only logical explanation for why I would continue to put myself through this time and time again.

Elektra came back into my life suddenly, and just as suddenly, I pushed her away. Why? This girl, this beautiful, clever, unique girl who wants nothing more then to be there for me and have a good time with no strings attached. I pushed her away. Why?

Well, there's the answer again. In my head I tell myself a string of reasons, from that I don't have the headspace for a girlfriend with all this business shit going down, or that we just don't 'connect', but that isn't true. It's because of the princess, and because of my own self loathing. I found something Ic an't have, so naturally, I must destroy myself trying to get it. it is strange - To be able to clinically analyse this reasoning, understand it, and yet be completely unable to do anything about it. I need to get over her, because it's obviously not going to happen any time soon and my fucking emo bullshit isn't going to make this fun for anyone.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

mashed and scattered

clarified and etherised, i wanna take you to this party and breathe

life into your lungs


. . .

you can't stop the beat

lick a shot, teenybopper!

oh my god, what a ridiculously fucking hectic night. i don't think i've been that destroyed in a very long time.

it was like drowning in a sea of supre...

Friday, October 9, 2009

Welcome to the apocalypse.

Crashing realities from an unexpected source - You are being used, and you are loving it because you hate yourself.

The drugs are only half the problem. Instead of just stopping taking them, why not try and stop what makes you take them?

systems check;; on point at a hundred percent

atomic batteries to power. turbines full ahead; attack wombs ready.

headcleanse, w-w-w-w-ipeout!

moving out of home, finally. see how it goes. will probably be back in less then a month... who knows...

Sunday, October 4, 2009

rising son

I seen you go down to a cold mirror
It was never clearer in my error
So you lick a shine upon your forehead or
Check it by the signs in the corridor
You light my ways through the club maze
We would struggle through the dub daze

I sink myself in hair upon my lover
It's how you go down to the men's room sink
Sad we talk if how madmen think
I sink myself in hair upon my lover
I don't know her from another miss
I don't know you from another
See me run now you're gone...dream on

Why you want to take me to this party and breathe
I'm dying to leave
Every time we grind you know we sever lines
Where have all those flowers gone
Long time passing
Why you keep me testing, keep me tasking
You keep on asking

Toy-like people make me boy-like
Toy-like people make me boy-like
They're invisible, when the trip it flips
They get physical, way below my lips
And everything you got hoi-poloi like
Now you're lost and you're lethal
And now's about atomic you gotta leave all
These good people...dream on

Nicer than the bird up in the tree top
Cheaper than the chip inside my lap top
All the variations you could do with me
Nicer than the girl up in your mind you're free

Automatic crystal remote control,
We come to move your soul

You kinda fade into the background
Like a better smoke'll bring you back round
Like a man slide inside you my dear
Your cheap beer's filled with crocodile tears
See 'em run now you're gone...dream on

I found something to do...

Dream on

dopesick and gorefiending

five pills seventeen tabs and a half weight of meth later


Thursday, October 1, 2009


That was so much fucking fun. Scenies are awesome, and are fun toc orrupt.

I need to lay off the narcotics for a while, though... I think that brings me to a total of twenty plus pills and well in excess of thirty-five trips in one week. and a few handfuls of ritalin, five bottles of passion pop, a gram of k and about a hundred anf fifty grams of port royal preium rolling tobacco... arghhhhhhh

in other nwes, my hair looks fucking awesome when straightened