minutes like light years

A few things have happened in the past week or less-

Dancing
drinking
swerving
not sleeping
working
a drunk freedom fest douche kicked in my apartment's front door
drunk guy was arrested
drunk guy at guy's place lost a filling
kanpai party
i found out i rule at scrabble
cigars
rubbing for beer
guitar hero is lame
more dancing
black eyes
fridge climbing
roof climbing
roof falling
her space holiday
trying to quit smoking
bff thumb sucking park
hanging stuff on my walls
desecrating war monuments
police
typewriter
and my mom's taken up saying "sugar" in place of "shit"

CBebopEp26:"Bang"

Right after I got to work, my chest started feeling tight. There wasn't anything wrong with me. I've been exercising every morning, eating well, only drinking every once in a while. So, in my mind, I'm a picture of health, which is why I was bothered by the punching sensation. I grabbed some Advil from the liquor cabinet, but they had a gelatin coating, so no avail. By that point I was feeling worse off, so I skipped out to the bathroom. I was training that night anyway. Once I got in the bathroom, I stood to catch my composure and it hit.

Money; future; school; family friends whatwouldievenmajorintheapartmenthowlongwillibeat thisjobidon'twanttobeoneofthose50somethingsstillworkingateenagejobwhydoesn'tshelove
mewillanyonewilliletanyonewhyamIaveganifit'snotgoingtomakeadamndifferenceamithetypeof
personwhocanmakeadifferenceilovedhersomuchwhydidthishappenallthosethingssaidseemlike
stupidliesbutibelievedsohardthattheyweretruefuckthistown'sgottogobutmovement'srelativeican't
keepdeliveringthisbutifistopthenican'tpaymybillshowdidigrowupalittleboyfromkansasandnowi'm
speedingoffshittorandomstrangerswhendidthishappenitdoesn'tseemrightitdoesn'tseemrightbut
that'showitisfuckhowcanigetoutofthisthisfeelingthisplaceineedanescapeplanfuckthere'snotan
immediatefixtoanyofthisrubbishi'mstuckfornowi'mstucki'mstuck

boom

vision loss

Here's to health care and the box of chalk that I've been waking up next to night after night in a parking space on the top floor of the garage I practice on. Rolling over our naked bodies on a rooftop with out walls, so caught up in the moment that we both couldn't catch ourselves before the fall. Off the side, five stories. There was blood in both our eyes, and the smell of ground pepper in the air. Fireworks stuck in the sky and a hundred million plastic skeletons hanging in the trees across the street from the house I grew up in.

white noise

When I woke up, I was on the floor and my eyes were blinking 12:00. I had hit my head on the handy-cap rails on the wall by the toilet. Someone was knocking on the door. I got up and felt okay again, wiped the blood off my nose, and I went back on.

no more LSD tonight

I'm not sure if I've said anything about my new neighbors downstairs, but they're a big ball of fun, I'll tell you what.
Last night was pretty awesome. I came back to the apartment after sketching for a bit and decided to go hang out at Gary's. I walk in and Brandon's all excited about finishing his tattoo gun. I leave and come back about an hour later, and he's still working on it.
The concept is pretty easy. Get a RC car motor, part of a tooth-brush, a tube, tape, foil, and a guitar string and there you are. But putting it all together, I guess, really sucks and takes hours.
It looks like this. You can pretty much use ink from anything.
So after working on this for a bit, Brandon finally got it to work. He just needed someone to test it on at that point.

Step one: Shave the leg
Step two: Show Deon how it works
Step three: Draw a line on Deon's leg (we are just testing it after all)
Step four: Tatto the line with acrylic paint
Step five: Watch Deon bleed

I left about 10 minutes after that. I was really tired. Brandon was really into getting his tatto gun to work right. He was still working on it when I left. Gary was pretty excited about it too, I guess.

It was a good night.

hypocrite

Why does my left eye hurt?

Let's go over how we got to were I am.

It all started about 2; right after I was out of work. Constant Panic Attacks. Andrew picked me up and we drove. This guy I know told me that Lambrusco was an okay wine, and we took his advice.
And so we sat in the hot, bright sun. Look left... Look left.
I'm afraid that's when I saw a good idea.
Ever drink a bottle of cheap wine and get excited about something dumb?
Unfortunately, the good idea didn't seem to follow through.
The higher I climbed, the more intoxicated I got,
which is when I got unexcited about climbing this really unstable ladder.
After I got down, we walked toward Andrew's car... where we deliberated.
It was a pretty good idea.
When we reached my apartment - a full block and a half away - we decided walking would be a better mode of transportation. So we walked downtown and came upon this. We felt amazing that we had set a trend.
But walking around downtown got old very fast.
So we got back in the car.
This is about the point I decided to get bad ideas again.
Then again.
And maybe one more time, but with a bad camera man.
So we went to Jeff's, which was way more boring.
Then bad ideas, this time with more people, entered my mind.
But what the hey.
It's all good.

i smiled deep and kept pedalling / it was the kind of smile / that makes a boy forget how crooked his teeth are for / a sec

The part that strikes me the most is that there is no recovery. It doesn't really matter what either of us want now, even if that does mean getting back together. Never letting her parents know. Never opening a bakery. Never making any of the plans, no matter how far-fetched, a reality. Don't get this wrong, I never saw any part of us as being perfect. Well, wait. That's a lie because no matter all of the arguments, the frustration, the vandalism I thought we were perfect. I'm not trying to write something good and throw pictures behind it. This is in memory because, unlike last time, there's no coming back to it. Here's to late night phone calls and parties. Give it up to not having a place you can go together; sleeping in the flood-damaged basement of your friend's new house, and to birthdays. Here's to buying an apartment that's out of your budget because it felt like home the moment you walked in alone. Here's to picnics, knowing that your teeth don't matter to her because she loves you, scrap-booking, not caring what happens to the stability of your current life because of the actions, going to prom on your birthday - not because you wanted to, but because you would have gone to McDonald's that day just to dance with her. Here's to staying up all night and taking a nap in a sleeping bag on a picnic table in Newburgh. Now it's time to move on, to not give up. It's not the end of life. I existed before this. It hurts. But what doesn't sometimes? It's a small world, and everyone knows everyone.

and so it goes

the past few days have been heavy
the weather, for one, was shit today

but i got an e-mail from this slam poet named Jared Paul.

it made my day feel better.
Here's a bit of it

"stay mad. not at them. but mad at the stupidness of it
all. they're gonna tell ya that it's bad to be angry,
but it's not."

it's been a hard month.
and it's just going to get harder.

Poor and Something

The other day i woke up to something small walking around inside my ceiling. The type of awakening that makes you feel like you've already been awake for an hour or so. I get out of bed and walk into the other room, where the scurrying around from the thing inside of my ceiling follows me. Then the scurrying stops. So I sit down on a folding chair in my living room. I am naked. The scurrying starts up again, so I empty out a small box and figure that I'm going to have to catch a rat. At this point I still have about an hour and a half until I have to be at work, so I'm psyched for the challenge. The scurrying goes on until the sound moves toward my climate unit room. It's a little closet that does not have the lowered ceiling in it, which meant that when the little animal that was running blindly about my ceiling ran over that room, it fell right the hell into my closet. We were now on the same playing field. So I open the closet and start moving misc. music junk out of it. Violins, guitars, music stands, ect. Then I see something scatter about behind the climate control unit, and then I see it fly the hell out of my closet. There was a bird in my apartment. At this point, without thinking, I start chasing the bird all around my kitchen, at first with a small box, then a giant 2 ft. tall champaign glass. I am still naked at this point. Finally, I grab a blanket from my living room right as it flies past me and down my entry hallway. I throw up the blanket and nail it, trapping it underneath the blanket. At this point I decide that it's a good time to take a breather and put some clothes on and some gloves. As I walked out of my apartment to release the bird, it strikes me that I should have taken pictures of this whole event. I even almost went back up to my apartment and let the bird go again, just to do so, but then I looked at the bird. It looked back at me. I let it go. Feeling good, I walk back into my apartment building, through the claustrophobic entry room, and figure out that when I put my clothes on, I didn't think about putting my apartment keys into my pocket as to not lock myself out. I locked myself out.