Bothered By a Fake Audience's Lack of Interest

Gathered together in an imaginary room of the dry mouthed imbeciles he stands up straight and walks confidently to the podium. He speaks. With each vital point of argument he pounds his fists onto the podium with such deft and decisive blows they almost shake the room. Complete command, the fools are hanging on every word the thickest of threads that weave tighter and stronger with each syllable. Lording over the world soon he will take it to the street, a vainglorious day dream of total revolution in the utmost favor of some unworthy narcissist. He day dreams of being a victor and a fucking sexual stallion, he presses out his chest and tries his best to shout with authority. Years later dying and shitting his pants remembering the day dreams passing on into the next world he allows just one tear of deep sorrow that is saltier than the goddamn ocean... you are a fucking fool world.

This Place Looks Like a Goddamn Murder Scene

He cried "murder" as he ran down the streets
Yet I didn't turn, no I just ignored that shit
She cried "rape" as she ran down the streets
Again I walk slowly not turning to look
Not saying anything
The soft belly of the 21st century
The fabric of such questionable quality we sow upon
It's like watching a cock fight
Two birds pecking their eyes out
Two people throwing that dirt
Talking that shit
Tell them how fucking wrong they are
Oh my God what a bunch of pigs
Tell me how fucking dumb I am
Born to bear your abuse
We were all born to be shamed by your intellect
Construe and construct
A towering edifice of insults
Staggering and swaying in the whirlwind
Like watching a drunk trying to get on a tight rope
Three inches off the goddamn ground
Rattle off your abuse to strangers
Write them off, fuck you all everyone is wrong
Everyone is wrong
So hopelessly wrong
Everyone everyone
The good in such short supply
The wise so quiet these days
Everyone is hopelessly wrong
So shamefully goddamn wrong

Nobody Dies with Dignity

Amazed by the lack of
Lack of feelings
Feelings of accomplishment
Winning a war while bleeding out fast
Losing the war really
Boy was it lost
Lost in loathing
Lost in despair
Forced apathy oh i dont care
I thought about calling you
What the fuck is wrong with me?

Busted Magazine Photoshoot

I will admit I miss holding you in my arms as you cry, as you weep for a future that isn't going your way. Little hallow body pressed against mine, face pressed into my shoulder as the salty tears dampen the fabric of my sweater. I try to imitate drag out tears from my eyes... but instead I just whimper, whine and whine. I will admit I miss driving in your, well my, car listening to you talk about things I didn't much care about and of course I did listen but acted mostly like I didn't, just to show I that I didn't care because I did but I didn't want to you to think I did. Its silly, how I make it impossible and I feel like a bitch about it. Its silly, how I default to rejection, deflection, adding to a digression with my awful suggestions that repulse, that annoy, that push me the fuck away. I dedicate this to the junkie bible, spraying my blood out of a needle all over the carpet cause I'm just a fucking jerk and I don't care... but I do. Who the fuck am I kidding? I ran away and I'll keep running away to find some fake something to keep me busy but I'm dying like my brothers and sisters born with a target on their backs, without a shred of dignity and with adolescent minds in decaying bodies.

Oh why do I think these things? Oh why do I say those things? Its like my busted filter only filters out the meaning and the bullshit drips through the tiny holes in my brain (oh why do I think those things oh why do i say those words?) and I drunkenly preach such beautiful sermons and I pontificate off of the junkie pulpit in a slanted pose holding up my body as my eyes struggle to stay open oh why do I do these things oh why do i lose control? Cause when I'm sober I feel older feel like a solider in a war that we are all losing the pointing fingers can;t stop accusing and its just the ones that are pointing back when I said I was raised to be a failure oh why did I say those words oh why did I do those things?

New Pony Tail Parade

Oh Ish or whatever they call you please know I didn't really know what to say to you or how to keep my friends from judging you by how you seemingly reflected my infantilism though we bear the same age and perhaps the same scars I, the fake sitting in the back seat almost felt something real for a moment... days spent pretending I got tired so I spent the next two years alone to figure out who I am but shit who really has? Just a dead letter sent back to my sender oh I guess to myself I figured it out but you pull up the old versions the defects stand out but true to the form I'm always me no matter when it was or when it shall be... crippled by flaws shared by millions but dying to prove I'm somehow more tragic, such wasted potential. Shall we ever see? I let opportunities wave on by I'm tired of standing still but when I get up to move my fucking stomach churns and aches sent to the ground with the heartburn and nervousness... Christ I'm a wreck. Sitting in silence I'm not taking you home but the broken glass and dirty needles maybe I was fine staying in and thinking about dying alone instead of wasting blood with you... wasting blood with anyone really... I was born with the hesitation of a man who knows he is facing a most certain doom, should have barricaded the womb should have boarded up and fixed the leaks should have lived inside forever never to be disturbed I was still born but would have been a finer stillborn (whew, the fucking word play!), if only, ah too soon! Shot down! Send the remains around the town, like, guts on display, a grotesque and disgusting parade of my insides, my blood, my shit... On a platter why don't you all just feast on it, consume consume I have no bitterness I just want to give and be put to good use, used like I was when I was drawing breath so apropos that I'm used while I'm better off in the ground.

Who Digs Such Shitty Graves?

Wait as the material procession flashes false idols
With blond hair and fake tits they lead you to the slaughter house
With big asses and long eye lashes
They lead you into a maze of desire
Of chasing shit, chasing (your) tail,
oh big boy go head tell that tale
Tell us all how you laid that bitch down
Oh we are on the edge of our seats, bitter boys

Even more bitter than the girls but then again who knows
The public rancor-- discourse, of the day
The hateful words bounce back and fourth
Passing around epitaphs like a lit bomb
Ready to explode
See now, we all bleed red!
As evident by the entrails and guts strewn across the room

Confessionals turn to convictions it seems
And you've been convincing me to turn in
Throw in the towel
Not dying but living to die all the same
And capitalism fucked my girlfriend
The procession of dollar signs and happy customers
The burnt out losers buying smokes with spare change
Just barely made it almost a nickel short
Coast on by now with the kindness of strangers on your back
Waiting to die, international chainsmokers watching the sky

What Everybody Plays

What the fuck is her name?
Tugged upon and broken like a string of plastic pearls
Fell off the wagon and that's okay
She's just so cute as a lush
But I just can't remember your face
Your name
Your words
But it means something to me
If it weren't for my remembering
What should have been forgotten
I'd walk with head tossed back laughing without coughing

Two Heads Sown into One Heart with Teeth in the Seams

The ring on the finger is weighed down cracking from the pressure of the heavy jewels upon which it had been encased the king sits upon a throne upon a throat that is being constricted tightly and ever so tightly it closes... wish the room was like a lung that breathed in heat I wish it could grow warmer and more assuring more comforting and the sirens scream down and up and down through my shit town and my opinions mean nothing just a bunch of hollow words which so hollowly ring and echo into an empty hall where friends used to walk down but now not even a phantom is kicking up the dust or throwing bricks so terrified and alone the king on his throne held aloft with the aid of his inflated sense of self worth he conjures up everything awful and everything we are forced to simply swallow and I will not be left alone much longer I will join you soon and I will not be lifted up any longer and I will join you soon and I will not be writing my bullshit much longer praise the lord I'll be joining you soon and I will not be clocking in tomorrow thank god I'll be joining you soon

Can't Stand this Motherfucker

Modern man shit talker what the fuck do you do? The constant critic saying nothing but gobs of drivel what kind of hate do you hide behind? 

Shell of yourself cast a pall over the enchanted evening drunk again oh so drunk again make young lovers gag at the filth and disgusting displays placed upon the party. I sat there over dramatic pissed off playing king's cup while you sat in the cock suckers lap oh why do I care? When your name is at the tip of my tongue can't even recall it

and you are free well we are free at least we like to pretend to be but as for we well fuck it is just me I don't know you don't know if i still  want (doubt it) to but for one night I was so jealous I took my bottle and went home

 pissed off and sullen you asked me later where I was going I should have said a million things but it's just spiders and dust inside...  I made my drug issue sound like a tragedy so you'd feel sorry for me perhaps feel the rush of empathy that lifts asses from seats but behold I drown in my fucking drivel

Modern man what the hell do you do?

Constant critic shit talker girl stalker

Who are you to sing the blues?

My cat.

My crew.

Fuck you.

2016

Too Self Aware to Really Say Much of Anything

Troubled skies are here to stay look upon the ashen grey eyes she looks like she is some devil's familiar heaping bodies upon the pyre with a pitchfork stoking the fire oh sadly she is nameless to my tongue bitter and angry I hope you feel it twice as bad for making me so sad but what's there to say not much of anything to say cause it all comes beaming right back toward me right in the center of my core hovering above the third eye...

Your Food Tastes Like Shit

Oh dust dust me off dust she said Dustin, I just want to pull your fucking cowboy hat down to your neck watch the head hit the wall and break open your pores you piece of shit the most violent girl I ever met swung a fist at me drunk as shit but then again it's cause I asked her to... hungry for brutality really numb to the television's flashy tragedies she said she said "Dustin won't you shut your hayseed mouth I'll never want you like you want me." Needles to say never want me like I wanted her as well oh fuck Maria I perhaps waited too long this is a tired tired way to forget and she read the trite poetry as we played cards between therapy in rehab and she said I really spoke to her even brought moisture close to her eyes... surprise, what did she know? Go to school little fool and soon you'll see just how much the fucking tool I am. What a tool I am...

Despondency

Just tell me they won't put Gordon on the line oh Christ so far from Mr. Clutch and these days it is just so hard to cheer for the underdogs #3 was on fire tonight but we still couldn't shoot for shit and sometimes I take it so personally even though I'm just an observer/commentator and sometimes I feel so small like I'm walking in her shadow just another day my thoughts lazily turn to someone else you told me you miss Stockton to Malone you told me you can't stand being alone and that's a problem it isn't right to watch my team lose every night raining in my soul over poor ball control took it as a metaphor when Exum got hurt took it as a metaphor cause I can't bandwagon Golden State...

Not Scared of Cancer

I'm not scared of cancer because I look at you carrying your bones, exhausted, nobody wants to truly live forever.When I feel sad it is okay cause sometimes I just love the feeling, a sweet sweep of melancholy that leavens the spirit in a way... I suppose with more introspection would suffice. Not always one to watch the cumulus puffs move lethargically across the hot Idaho sky just tell me how to correct decisions made and readdress all the missed opportunities. Living double lives in day dreams telling Candace I was careless and too nervous. That when I stopped being your co-worker darling I just laid in bed and played gameboy and listened to Rainer Maria over and over again... No no no I don't dwell on the past oh why would I? That's such sweet escape and at times such heartbreak when every thing had an answer and it was all so over dramatic only facing the barrel could make me feel desperate these days and I accept set backs and I get angry but I'm learning it doesn't amount to much. Not the cliche oh I look forward to getting older sometimes for reasons I couldn't really say but I really look forward to seeing you happy even if it is from a distance like pushing shopping carts selling your contract and moving out of town forever and I was so over dramatic but who isn't at 18? I've accepted being called a bitch we move beyond the binary and become circle eights circulating and articulating all the while speculating about a future that could actually be pretty cool or pretty awful.

Constance from Connecticut Pt. 2

Constance from Connecticut makes me wish I was a rich kid always ill at ease in nice houses she feels like a thief in the night when she drinks her seventh Coors the fucking swill all out of liquor liquor house rules playing beer pong without her top on its a shame cause we just gaze eyes glaze too drunk to go home too ill at ease to sleep under the all leering of the vultures at this rich kid's house a swarm of half erections swing swing whiskey dick Constance from Connecticut cocksucker took her keys left on the couch to rot or get raped there shouldn't be a grey area between consent and exploitation it isn't fair to keep up our constant vigilance between the pigs, bosses, and politicians and she feels out of place half a mind to walk the five miles home walk that long to feel tired enough for sleep missing the East Coast but I'm never missing the Midwest cause geography is just as transient as time it moves on when you're away and it only takes a plane ride to dispel the homesickness felt she hugs her nephews in Hartford and she sees me at house parties the next weekend you tell me "I wish I could be anything but bourgeois" and I say, "I wish you could take me home with you and call me your little working class boy." A lie I know but so what?

But is it Spooky?

Reading old blog posts that I forgot about from seven years ago is my special way of making myself cringe like a fist that took more than half a decade to hit my stomach oh the run-on sentences punctuation and bland attempts at humor oh they really really really really turn the stomach as if I'm supposed to gleam anything meaningful from such complete drivel nothing more than the emptied stomach should have been i misquoted never there are no words to make wrong or yank out of context nothing meaningful to annotate or record save for the meandering thoughts so ineptly shot out of the shit cannon that is my mouth so be grateful for anonymity bask in the glow of superficial lights that make the countenance on such an ugly face so pleasing to the eye in it's low lights every girl can look like a fucking model with the lights off lest we forget forget i'm just circling the drain a part of a dying breed the poor straight white boy blues how they inexplicably ring out the dawn as the victim parade marches on the predator and prey on display hand in hand praising the constant downpour i don't feel marginalized it was just a game i played and i shouldn't feel anything special i just want to praise the constant downpour as well it sucks i just hate getting wet

My cat.

My crew.

Fuck you.

2015

Constance From Connecticut

Constance from Connecticut showed me more than a few things, a Summer spent thinking it over and cursing your bad luck oh Constance why won't you just show me everything? Tempted and impatient with waiting. Waiting for fucking ever, waiting for a sign, waiting until the eager east coast daughter led me like a lamb to the slaughter. 

Constance constantly creating chaos.

 What is it about a dick that drives you so crazy? Why am I so scared to show you mine? Every time you throw your pale arms around me I feel a shift in my insides. Once I reach inside of you... back from the present to make the decisions right well...

My heart shifts two inches to the right... blood everywhere... what a fucking disaster, Constance. 

Four Years of Bullshit

I am keeping track of time.

Former Cheerleader (Loss)

We'll just be shuffled about according to the developers' will. Forever spent wanting and not having no matter how many times I have savored a final cigarette the black hole of desire still eating away at me. 30 years have passed and really it's just figure eights every eight to ten years, we look back with mooney eyed nostalgia and pay tribute to days past to decades we skipped past running mostly on our heels our soles concur. Would you have married me? Would it have been better if we were born earlier I wish we could have worshiped Snapcase and The Rentals instead of Best Coast and Ariel Pink... Collectively wasting days though I couldn't say so with much authority just indulging in fantasy lives leading me to the conclusion that the ideas are more worth it than the trouble of putting them to work. I guess I'll always fucking hate you for denying me closure and when I said you were a part of me I guess I meant like a cancer, a lazy fucking cancer that will forever eat at me...

...but really I never tried to find a cure anyway....

52 Day Tally

Poverty architects busily drawing up new blueprints. Support us with lies and reassurance as if the blind leading the blind is how we like being defined. I used to be so strong or so I thought, my head could stay high despite the unseen weight upon my shoulders. I thought I was so fucking cool a drink in my hand laughing oh laughing cause laughing at myself is the only way to soften the blow. Poverty architects placing winners and losers in diagrams drawing lines from point A to point B, you think you have control? Doesn't take a first step to realize that we aren't changing shit, doesn't take rehab to realize we can't control a fucking thing... cause that's what the poverty architects told us one by one sending the message down the pecking order. Take my power from me and place it into nothing but fluff and wishful thinking... makes it feel okay to die... makes it feel okay to be sad knowing nothing was really ever my fault just the bastard inside of me who couldn't possible control himself.

Poor Attempts At Remembering Our Dreams

Let's be honest nobody will appreciate this, ignored and rebuked oh lovely hands so faultless but cracking with arthritic pain it's the noon lite spirited refrain inside of our heads, like the time we just got drunk at your ex-girlfriend's house, not a sound was made as we slept on the floor thinking that maybe it could be this okay all the time without you dire dire people I miss drinking in the suburbs not worrying about having to share my smokes with anyone I don't know... I don't care... It's over give up we'll never even make 40 a year we might as well disappear and I don't give a fuck what they say we will only ever sleep in the houses we wish we owned... I know it's not for me to be pressed down to the grindstone then why the fuck am I still here? You spend Sundays driving through suburbs dreaming of a perfect family to fill it with, sleeping in your father's house what is truly yours is truly his and I can't help but scrape open my eyes after hours of uninspired sleep and feel a complete lack of enthusiasm as they pack our sore bodies into cities to get shuffled around as the developers see fit... I can't help but sorely think I never slept in your father's house... so am I really nothing without you? Oh when will it all end?