Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Screaming Jets, The Doors, Weezer, Cypress Hill, Shpongle, Insane Clown Posse, Astrix, Kottonmouth Kings, Sugar Ray, Mr. Bungle, Dog Fashion Disco, Sabrepulse, Polkadot Cadaver, Tool, Mindless Self Indulgence, Emilie Autumn, Mew, Meshuggah, Blondie, Rancid, Dead Kennedy's, Billy Joel, MGMT, Hallucinogen, Skinny Puppy, Angelspit, Josh Pyke, Collin Hay, Amy Winehouse, Diablo, From Autumn To Ashes, Otep, System Of a Down, Orgy..... My music taste is way cooler than yours. ^.^

Anyways, about 'Same voices'. All characters are based on people I know irl, I just changed the sames slightly, and all situations, conversations, locations are real events, just exaggerated a bit. ;D

Sweet. So, I'm going to write some more later, just got distracted by wicked tunes and weedz. >.>

I'm really happy.

Gone git hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigggggh.

Part 1... 'Same voices'. Going to do shit, so post more later. ;D

This is a shed, painted with my ideas. Thick haze, where's the ganja at? Some lovemaking couple in the corner, piles of material, clothes, sheets, blankets. The words leap from the walls and that makes sense, pictures of fractal patterns making your eyes swim. How fine, that we can just lay here for days and days, smokin' of the earth and fucking eachother furiously.
It gets a little dramatic sometimes, but a little excitment can be just what the place needs, even when we don't like the current fucktonne of shit.
I've got her close against me, pretty hips, pretty skin, pretty breasts, pretty face. I've got her just where I want her, using her to my advantage, manipulating her delicate form to grind just as I like it. My little doll, with the dark hair and drawn-on eyebrows, skin so soft, so white, ivory. I'm watching her body move, touching and kissing in all the right places, break her legs. He's coming 'round from the other side, she's slamming her back in to him as we make her moan...
Her name is Kirsty. Kirsty is my bitch. She's so pretty, little dark haired elf with the petite structure, you know, the ones that look hot in ripped jeans. She's pierced in places... And all she wants is to be pressed up against my body.
The guy's name is Lee. His face is painted red and black today, perfectly matching to the fierce expression he weilds. His face is like a painting, such character... You can see all the techniques and textures used to mold him. He's an artist, and all his memories are on film. His smooth, warm hands run over my skin, I squeeze his hand tight and scream.
Rick hands the bong to me. I pull myself away from the mangled lust-pit for a moment to enjoy my cone. I pass the bong and turn to see our moment has ended, and I begin searching for my clothing because I want to make tea and it's cold outside.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Wonderful fear.

After roaming the streets by streetlight with two other young trippers, it was time to retire to the place where fun times and awesome company await. Collecting a delicious crew, we boarded the bus to the wonderful house... I'd just been you know, considering there were some wonderful things in life, like the drug I was currently under the influence of, ... I had to witness something I did not want to see. The ugly side of the drug.
Someone I love terribly and hate passionatly stuck in some fucked up loop four days after the drug had expired... I started crying, I don't really know why, but man, that felt realzzz good. Shedding some tears, yessir. Was in need of that. And so, you know, there's a crying female, so this attracts attention and all these beautiful people are trying to comfort me and I'm trying to explain why I'm crying, and every time I started to calm the fuck down HE would come out again rambling about triangles and binary and mirrors and all this shit... And I'd break down again.
This continued until this one guy, some guy who's company I take for granted... But this WONDERFUL guy and me made and effort to understand what HE was talking about and so finally I was calm and could go inside, acid headache and fucked up nausea alongside.
The headache increased when I found that the shit HE was talking about was no longer upsetting but fucking annoying. At one point, he even attempted to start a fight with that wonderful guy and olawd, I shat brix.

But, anyways, epic tiemz. It was just so scarey seeing that shit while I was tripping away, and having a beautiful BEING trip beforehand... Goddamn kids and their damn drugs. >.>

Owell, I found some truley beautiful people and I wonder why I've been wasting my time with fuckheads for the past half year when I could've been getting to know these guys better. They prove there really IS some beauty in this world. :D

I'm going to stay sober for a while. Alcohol is dirty, I think, so I'll stop drinking easily. And other than that, there's only acid in the way, which, I'll admit.... scared me. Also, everytime I take it I just go straight back to that lovely BEING contentness... I've already found that. I'm good. Now, let me improve my sober state of mind. :D

Going to become such a lovely person, just wait and see.

Appreciate the people in your lives more, they're really something. They're really such a special bunch of people that are so wonderful... I couldn't hope for better company on this journey.

When I say 'I love you', I mean it.

Friday, August 7, 2009


Bobbie is a douchebag.
Bobbie is made of fail and AIDS.
Bobbie is hell shit.
Bobbie is a jesusfuck niggerjew.
Bobbie has a lolface.
Bobbie is hated for life.
Bobbie lost the game.


Bobbie is loved by me bulk.




Thursday, August 6, 2009


I'm caught in the symmetry of your mind
But I'm not happier than you
Did I really see you or was it a dream?
Dreaming that it was seamless, not a trace of wrong
Wrong words that we have spoken
Little did we know.
No bigotry, No tears shed
Oh if only you'd try to be polite
thinking you were right
only to find that you're unkind
But ironically you will always be belle of the ball at least to me
I'm caught in the symmetry of your mind
But I'm not happier than you
But my words are frail not audible
They do not even convince me
Perhaps they are untrue
Truly with you the worst is always true
I gave you all the benefits of all the doubts
I had never hoped to be as benign as me
Funny how you always get through
But ironically you will always be belle of the ball at least to me

But I know.

I see Hell in your eyes.
How does it feel when your heart grows cold?
But I'm quite sure that you'll tell me, just how I should feel today.

Oh, but I know.
I am a fucking wizard and you are but a lamb.
You are not worthy of so much attention, even if the attention directed is only your own.

Just wanted to let you know, I know you plan to bring me down. Paranoid bitch is a fucking Wizard, and I do know! But fuck man, what drugs were you on when you thought of that plan? Nothing I'd take, it's pure suicide!
You're going down with me.
I see Hell in your eyes.
When this song is perfection... Dude, it's like, angry sex coming out of the speakers!
I... Hate... You.
If only it were that easy, it would be so much easier... Yeah, nonsensical statement. I don't know why I thouht that would make sense...

I've slept so long without you
It's tearing me apart too
How did it get so far?
Playing games with this old heart
I've killed a million petty souls
But I couldn't kill you
I've slept so long without you

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

For the doves.

I promised them I'd draw them, but really, I can't seem to draw anything that I don't ruin with swirls and mesh. Some would call that art, but I disagree. It is nothing but a few mangled patterns pretending to be art. They're cheating. I breed cheatart.
It can look pretty to you, inspire you and feed you emotions just by looking at it, but it is fooling you. I breed cheatart. It's not an image you should waste your time with, my talent does not lay on a canvas.

So, I considered writing of them, because I guess they deserved something, so I wouldn't have entirely broken a promise. I dislike doing that so. But then I realized, what can I say about a few pretty doves grazing in the sun beneath an enchanting tree? Not all too much, and why would I bother? It's hardly original and hardly important. I'm forgetting what is important everytime I stray from the path, i.e getting distracted by a few attractive birds.

I've come to the conclusion I look funny. People won't stop staring. It's as if I have done something wrong and they all know. Or like they're all getting ready to leap at me and tear out my throat. Like that movie, Dark Corners, where the character 'Karen' is on the bus, with the demon-people who won't stop staring. A world where you are entirely alone because you can not trust a single person and no one believes your tale. It's horrifying.

Even worse when you don't know your own tale. What happened before, and where do I go from here? It's so hard to get a message across when you completely forgot what the hell it is. But you are the messenger and your only purpose is to deliver that message, then get the hell out of there before you get shot. You're not doing your job, son.

It's okay though, because you should have enough time. I plan on leaving fairly soon, but I can't until this stupid tugging fucks off and finds someone else to disturb. Why me? I am incompetent for this job. I can't understand anything. Why are there people walking across the road? What kind of relationship do I have going on with these people? Do I have headache, or am I just making one up because I miss them? Why is that building that colour?

And I know it may seem absurd, but it all goes by and I take no action because I'm not really there. It's just some movie I'm watching. "What, are you speaking to me? How? You're in the screen! Wait, you're not? So I'm a part of this film? Did I just ruin it? Where's the guy calling 'cut'? Oh, wait, you're a part of real life! Right? Aren't you? Why are you looking at me like that? It's a simple question."

Constantly trying so hard to understand something, anything at all. Maybe that's why I like simple things. A ring, a glowstick, a handful of carkeys... Yes, I am naming a selection of my collection from my very first time on acid. Currently, I'm enjoying the company a little staff gives, twirling it and passing it from hand to hand. I'm no good at it, but damn, it is fascinating. I can focus my entire self upon it and block everything else out and I don't have to try and understand everyone and everything. I just have to block it all out.

I'm not too aware of what I am writing or for what purpose, I just had the urge, and I think it looks pretty, the way the paragraphs are split, all of a similar length, and words look so beautiful just leaking out of nowhere on to something. I could type for hours, about nothing, but I know it isn't important. I know it's nothing you can read and learn from, if I'm even capable of teaching anyone anything, and I know it's not much to correct and guide on. I know it is nothing, but damn has it felt sure like something.

I guess in times like these, when everything I ever imagined in my childhood is coming to life, when all the dreams of Time are emerging from the dark and entering the light... I need to find a way to express it. And I don't even remember anything I wrote above, but maybe I let something slip that will help you understand, help somebody get the fucking message I have been trying to send out. It is important, whether I am or not, and for fuck's sake, I need to remember what the hell it is I'm supposed to say!

But, I'm getting angry now and I've been trying to 'cut down' on angry rants. So I take that as a time to stop writing, though I really don't want to... It looks so fucking pretty. But I will, and I'll go smoke a delcious cigarette on a park bench and watch doves... And I'll think of what to do for them.