troubletext

February 6, 2012 – 1:03 am
How does it feel to always be the most beautiful thing in the room? How does it feel to be the girl who can take the breath of ordinary men? How does it feel to be the special something that forces mundane in to submission? Poetry is an insult. You make talented men loose words. Your power is unlimited. Your smile will kill me. Your friendly touch kills me. I'm unable to believe in the existence of a happiness mapped by the impossible possibilities. Believing in God was a laughable until I met you. Nothing so amazing can be created by earth alone. You are one of the angels that makes me question everything. I can't begin to understand until I understand you.

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Downfall

January 27, 2012 – 12:23 am
Am I in my downfall? Can a downfall be masked by something that seems positive. Can you allow your life to slip away while in the midst of quantifying your success? I forgot how to be better. I've lost motivation in the only thing that keeps my head above water and if I let that go, I will truly be fucked. I used to say, "as long as I keep this job thing going, I'll be fine..." well I'm 35, I have a negative bank balance, I'm fat and unattractive to everyone, I live in a tiny apartment and I have nothing to show for all this "experience". I allow one thing to take over my life. I can't do anything in moderation. I'm a fool who never learned from my own history. This isn't poetry. This isn't a story. This is just vomit coming from the mirror ...

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Angsterdam

November 26, 2011 – 4:31 pm
It's 1:05am in Amsterdam. Cindy is here and we are fighting. It seems Europe releases a special kind of rage in her. She keeps accusing me that I'm gay, which enrages me. I guess my co-workers pointed out a gay bar today while we were in Haarlem and asked me if it was my kind of place. Without knowing it was a gay bar, I peeked inside the window and thought, sure, looks like a good bar. This triggered Cindy's homo probe and she was immediately shifted to the gay accusation brain, which surfaces only when she's looking to propel her anger in to the stratosphere. She says I fucked my once friend, Terry Miller, in the ass in San Francisco. Or is it the other way around? I think I have it backwards. Terry fucked me. She's positive of this, ...

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She doesn’t care.

November 13, 2011 – 1:18 am
"You don't care about me at all." "No I fucking don't. I'm going back to sleep." and I know she means it. She's given me nothing to believe otherwise. But I lie to myself, to the point that words hold no weight. If the words have lost their meaning, then the pain becomes dull. Nothing can be said to wake me from this denial. I feel old and I'm disinterested in most things where people find satisfaction. I can't remember the last time I've had a genuine laugh. My only amusements stems from the lightning flash of disbelief at the absurdity of our world. Those are moments of relief, but they are too few and far between. The remaining seconds are spent believing and knowing that we are all doomed and that the light at the other end, has long since suffocated in the ...

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These are the days…

July 3, 2011 – 2:51 pm
These are the days when you can't laugh These are the days when you want to cry, but nothing comes out She left all of my clothes at the Washington Blvd Metro Station I was late picking her up from the laundry mat and she had enough She was always willing to do the things I hated, laundry, clean up around the house and you'd think that would be good enough, but it never was and I tried to be that guy, but I was never really that guy I know what she wanted and I never gave it to her My selfish heart, never believing in us, never believing in myself, never believing in anything I know what she wanted and I wouldn't give it to her I just sit on my ass, complaining, pointing, pushing, ignoring... I don't know why I didn't give her what she wanted Maybe because she deserved to ...

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From a place…

December 23, 2010 – 4:24 pm
I'm from a place where dreams becomes blades where you can see the end of your life in the people you know I'm from a place where change is discouraged and fantasies are dangerous "You're no better then anyone else." I'm from a place where dead trees is the only beauty you will find and the close minded fools can't carry a tune There are no whores There are no bums There is nothing There is only the end of your life and it's a vicious beast that hunts you down until you just let it take a bite from your soul "There ain't nothin' out there anyway." but there is, and I found it and I got the fuck out of there as soon as I could make sure I was able to stay away for a very long time. I will die a poor man, I know this but I will be poor from spending my last cent on making sure I never live in a place like that ever again My ...

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Two Kinds of Whores

June 13, 2010 – 7:18 pm
There's two kinds of whores. There's the type that fuck you, steel your wallet, kick you in the nuts, take your drugs, spit in your face and laugh the whole time they're doing it. Then there's the kind, that tell you they love you, look you deeply in the eyes, kiss you softly on the lips, and tell you they'll be with you forever. The first kind want you for your money. The second kind want you for your soul. I prefer the first kind.

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Air in Los Angeles

March 7, 2010 – 6:37 pm
You can see the futility in the constant motion of everything that surrounds us. We live with this agitation, trusting its wisdom to get us through it all. The perpetual drift of monotonous action leaves us burned and bitter. Stoned, with that perfect California air, driving down S Main toward Jefferson, the world unfolds before me. That human persistence pushing toward an unattainable dream.

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sleep

March 7, 2010 – 6:36 pm
I woke up in the middle of the night.  I feel a slight pinch as my penis frees itself from the sticky web of cum from an earlier masturbation session.  I notice if I position myself, head tilted toward the ceiling at a 45 degree, I get very dizzy and the room starts spinning.  I think of the many possibilities that could be contributing.  High blood pressure, being overweight, lack of sleep, various drugs, alcoholism, the medication I'm on, the ambien I use almost daily. I try to find the bottle I've been sucking on, but there's only momentary flashes of outside light. It's some kind of twisted new boozer sport. Each flash, I look around for the split second ray of light. "Ahh...there she is, right where I left her." While laughing, I tilt the bottle toward oblivion, "Night Train, I'd love to meet the sick fuck who ...

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Poor conditions in Downtown Los Angeles

March 7, 2010 – 6:31 pm
Downtown Los Angeles is the victim of spasmodic interest.  Complete with "potential markets" and exclusive allure.  The place where no one goes is suddenly the place where everyone wants to be. You can't take the art of unfettered evolution and preserve the subconscious beauty that lies in its subtle imperfection. Life has no meaning when bowing to the alter of chastising superiority. Fashion takes precedence over substance. Blood drips from the brutalized tit of expansion and profit. Downtown is being "cleansed" and not even the most depraved crack infested murderous junky can drive a stake through the heart of this relentless beast. The neo hipster movement has clearly flagged the downtown area as its home base. In the name of so called art, synthetic passion and unjustified self importance, the hipster culture has produced a tidal wave of self bloated mediocrity. A careless surge toward soul selling pseudo ...

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