Monthly Archives: April 2010

Faith in False Justice

I can NOT believe you had the nerve and impulse to tell me, “a relationship is built on trust.” From any credible person, that would have been an invaluable thing to say, but you’ve no clout, and you’ve no sense of justice. Your ideas are foolish, and your worldly logic is secondary. If you wanted me to start trusting you again, there’s only one thing you have to do. STOP letting other guys in your pants. Yes maybe they can charm their way into your cervix and tickle your brain with philosophy, but will they take care of you when you faint from malnutrition or have an anxiety episode where you start kicking and screaming at anyone within your immediate vicinity? You think they’ll forgive you when you seek shelter in another man’s arms as much as I have? I have been called lots of things, but unfair was never one of them.

I’m sure that if I did the same things you did, you’d be heavily hurt, but I just couldn’t do that to you. Do you know why? because if I stepped in your shoes, I’d immediately see an imbalance and stop myself before I do anything that would chip away at my soul. I did it once, when I was young, and I’m sorry. I truly am, but unlike you, I learned from my mistake. You continued to get revenge on me 5 or 6 times, and I still forgave you because of a false sense of justice I had. It seems sometimes I’m the only one with the sense of justice and I’m dishing out extra, just to cover your half of the bill. Don’t you dare ask me to trust you when the entire world and I know you don’t deserve it. Go play your Connect 4 in Hermosa Beach, and read your Carl Jung, whom opposes people like you. I kept a tab on you not to protect myself, but to protect you from yourself. But you’re psychologically blind as a bat and only focus on self preservation and vanity. What you make yourself see in the mirror is what the world see’s you as right? Wrong. In life, you make connections with people and through those connections, tiny surges of soul fluctuations fill them with a sense of your being. Your existence from what you portray and what you are, are contradictory, and everything you touch, you think turns to gold, Midas, but in the real world, withers.

I digress, you were trying to have a civilized conversation with me, yet your words were savage. I did nothing except ask and question whether or not you can finally stop sitting with your legs open. But I had no right to. Somehow I had no right to. Spirituality versus Logic. It’s a tough fight, but I’m fairly sure that even your own spirit wouldn’t fight for you. Now I question why I did in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong folks, I’m not a martyr of love. In fact, I might be one of the worst candidates. I get bored easily and I don’t give a hoot about how awesome all the other guys think you are. In fact I won’t spit a compliment at you if I’d never thought you deserved it. I’m not supportive if you have a fallout with someone close, and in most cases, I will agree with the other team, just because I don’t believe you’re right, Initially. I won’t wait up and waste sleepless nights on you wondering if you’ll call or text me back, I’ll assume you’re renting out your body to some guy with smoother words and higher cheekbones.

I’ve never been an interesting person, but I do get lucky quite often, and that means I’ve got stories to tell, but fuck you if you want me to tell you something about myself. Basically, I’m a fucking prick, but at least I understand equilibrium and would never do a thing simply to psychologically maim another person. The inhabitants of this planet have lost all clout with humanity, and I simply ask you to let your actions speak for your soul. Remember to fucking enunciate.

Portrait of a fucking dick.

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Picadilly Love Affair

Looks like you didn’t make the cut. Probably out getting revenge for something that your frail tiny mind fabricated. I suppose I needed a queen to run my castle alongside with me. I needed you to be the woman to do that, but you can’t turn a little girl into a woman overnight. Yet still, John Henry’s hammer couldn’t strike my heart down as hard as you did. You can’t be in a relationship if you only take care of yourself. I took care of you for a little over a year, and I did it with omnipresence, from two thousand miles away. You would’ve been a selfish queen and beheaded, but let’s save you the trouble shall we? Was my control bad? You know that deep down, you needed that control, but couldn’t risk your reputation to admit it. “You may be right, I may be crazy, But I’m just the kind of lunatic you’re looking for.” Billy Joel was a genius and an alcoholic. But he saw the world and laid it down the way it was, and he didn’t give two shits about being cool. I read somewhere that love is, giving someone the power to break your heart, but trusting them not to. Don’t settle for the one you can live with, settle for the one you can’t live without.

I don’t tease that you’ve got the mind of a child. Artistically, that’s a great trait to have because there is no mind more pure than a child’s. But in a relationship, a child’s mind is probably the worst thing you can do to it. I couldn’t stand the fibbings and all the playmates you wanted to have. And I couldn’t stand that you couldn’t sit with your legs closed, young lady. Most of all, I hated whenever you were wrong, but were unable to apologize like an adult and take responsibility for your actions. You always tried to blame someone else for your own world of Lego’s falling apart when it was you who built them poorly. When you make a public apology and take responsibility for murdering an innocent cat, then I’ll start to see you in a different light. Don’t be mistaken though, I’m not the cat you murdered, you were the cat you murdered.

As for me, I’m filled with even more hurt and deprecation now because I’ll always blame myself when I clearly know it was you who caused it all. Your hands are red, but I’ll always feel as though I could’ve done something, now my hands are charred black because I tried to control the fire.  After all the biting, shin kicking, spitting, and mud throwing, I had to stop trying to get you to wear your bib. Clearly I’m not as strong as I thought, and for that, I apologize. I’ll let you continue to play outside until you get cold and hungry. When you come back inside, I won’t be there. Not in the kitchen cooking, not on the couch watching television, not in the bathroom shaving, and not in the bedroom sleeping. You need to learn empathy for what you did to me, and I figure you’ll eventually be old enough to know what that means. Stay as long as you like, But there’s no home for you girl, now go away.

I’m just saying that if your infidelity is due to you committing actions based on the theory of how much love you think you deserve, then you never really deserved love in the first place. Unless you firmly believe love is purely physical, then that would mean there’d be no point in closing the distance gap between us. I’d never have to see you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but in our case, absence makes the world go round.

I adore your new pictures, and I can see that everyone does as well. I suppose you don’t have to be half naked and covered in mud to get attention. I’d like to insert an, “I told you so,” here, but I’m sure you knew I was right as usual. I’m giving you back your IP address. I’m afraid I don’t care to watch your pretentiousness flourish any longer. I’m logging out, and wish you well. Don’t forget your berries and your ‘ades.

I've never had a real smile until you came along. Then you took it back, laughing.

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You’ll be Electric, and I’ll Be Electric Too

When I smoke a cigarette, I can’t stand to have the smoke from the tip get into my eyes. It’s uncomfortable and I usually try to stay in motion when it’s lit. Whether it’s shifting the cigarette away from my face or even walking. The same rule applies when other things in life are on fire. If I stay to watch the flames, the smoke makes me teary-eyed. Stay moving so your eyes don’t water.

I can’t understand why it is I have to pay for the mistakes of other people. But I tend to worry about theirs more than my own. It’s borderline selfless or stupid. I stand here in the cold awaiting your response, but regardless, I’m moving with or without you, just hurry it up, because I will go. The question is whether or not you choose to follow. But if you’re confused, my suggestion is don’t follow. You’ll only hold me back because you have one leg outside the car, ready to jump, and I will have to politely slow down so you don’t break your bones when you jump.

The world is coming at me like a train, but I’ve been tied to the tracks, are you going to help untie me? Let me know now so I don’t waste my time putting faith in you. I can save myself, because I happen to be a resilient son of a bitch. Cunning as a fox and will chew off my own arms in order to wriggle free from the binds.

I would like for you to follow me due to the fact that no one winds the turbines like you and I. We’re doomed together, but we’re still quite sparky while we’re at it. I’ll stand here waiting for your answer a little while longer. And if you’ll be electric, then I’ll be electric too. There’s a fine line between idiocy and genius, are you going to make the cut this time?

All Photos by Sierra Kendra Photo

Believe you me, I’ll be alright.

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Step Outside, Summertime’s in Bloom

And after all, you’re my wonderwall. Today was gonna be the day, but they’ll never throw it back to you. I’ve strained myself, maimed myself, and completely lost myself for your sake. For the sake of love even, whatever the hell that even means. We really do have a lot in common. Came from different worlds but ended up with the same cantankerous zest for life. The same distance we thrived on with our loved ones, the same hatred we had towards mundane human beings. Though you’d never admit it, you hated yourself even more, just as I did. We’re not made for this world and the simplicities of life are what we crave, yet if we obtained what we had desired, we’d hate that too. The only thing in this blank and meaningless world that meant something, that we didn’t hate, was each other.

Are your friends really your friends? Or did they just become engulfed by your charm. Would you have that charm if you weren’t as easy on the eyes, candypants? No you wouldn’t. Let’s both be frank here, people accept you being around because you’re good looking, and people are vain. even subconsciously. You can kid yourself all you want into believing otherwise, but when it comes down to it, you’ve really got nothing. Science versus romance. Your I.Q. isn’t impressive, streetsmarts or otherwise, Your looks are enticing now, until you reach your mid-twenties, in which you will start to see the way I see now, and if you see otherwise, you’re only lying to yourself, which is the only efficient thing you can do. The negative comments you recieve on your blog, come from the people being most honest with you, without glitter splashing in their eyes, yet those hurt you most, not because of the content, but because you know they’re true. But lo’ and behold, I’m just the same as you are.

They say you can ever be with someone who isn’t your equal. For me, I will never find someone who hates and is disgusted by life as much as I am, so i’m doomed to be lonely. My contentment in that isn’t a secret. But for you, Everyone loves themselves more than anything else in the world, so it shouldn’t be hard to find someone who shares your interests, at least for a moment. Maybe you were right when you said you can’t love anyone, and that should have been a clear cut sign to me that it would never work between us. Yet, I was determined to prove you wrong and did what I could. The result was that I’m probably having a baby, and your cunt is as easily accessible as the Mexican-American border.

You’ve been caught red-handed, but it’s not what I’ve noticed. It’s that there’s still some part inside you that wanted to be caught red-handed. You know you’re incapable of becoming content with one lover and content with forged simplicities. Tiny apartment, plants, shit jobs, but artistic freedom, what you want is the world, but the world won’t give it to you, and you know it. You don’t deserve it, but you’ll try anyway. Until every last bit of you starts wishing it was birthed onto another person, and it all starts failing you. You didn’t just dig your own grave, your silly tiny mind plotted the whole thing.

This might be a ramble but at least I’m clear on my attack this time around. I’m not done with it of course, I need a coffee break. I was on the public transit with Oasis’ “what’s the story, morning glory” album. I don’t know what their deal is, but they seem to make more sense to me than any advice would sell. My friends aren’t the best options for advice yet neither are yours, (whom apparently have no idea that you secretly hate them very much. I’ve discovered this through their brittle attempt to defend you.) The time on in transit with Oasis allowed me to think, and what that has produced is an eccentric revenge tactic that will conclude in your family disavowing you, and possibly drive you into madness. But I won’t do it. I know what it’s like to not have a family, and I would never wish or will it upon anyone else. But If you’re doing things that your own family whom you claim to love oh-so-very-much can’t know about it, what makes you think your highly tolerant ex-boyfriend (fiancee) would? Fuck you for being a retard, seriously. But I love you for being what you were to me. Now I’m going to step on your pretty little head to climb out of this volcano of indolent pretentiousness. Deflect all you want to now in your blog, but that 32 year old bloodsucker and those other ones captivated by your scandulous soft core porn will never hold you as tightly in their plastic hearts. They only want you to feel the touch of a man, and by that, I mean their penis’s in your vagina. But you don’t really object to that do you? Hmpf, well, godspeed, fucker.

thanks for reading my release.

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Return of The Mustard King

In the movie Blow starring Johnny Depp, there is a scene in the beginning where he talks about his parents. His father, played by Ray Liotta was a hard working upstanding citizen, who always put his son first. Depp’s mother played by Rachel Griffiths, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, she put herself first. This is where I’d like to focus my point. The mother always left, even months at a time, without saying a word to anybody. What she did when she left, your imagination can take over, BUT when she returned, Depp’s father always took her back in. Never questioning her about it, and even scolded Depp’s character is he didn’t at least fake some affection toward her. My point is that I’m Ray Liotta.

If you are among the two people who read my blog, you will have noticed I haven’t written a smidge or so much as a signature for the last week or so. I’ve always believed reading happy sunshine and daisies garbage would rot the brain as much as videogames or vulgar rap songs. That’s the thing though, I was happy. Smiling, even. Real ones. Everything in my life that was in disarray had cleverly fallen back into place. Well, it had fallen into more advantageous spaces that allowed sunlight to be reflected through the entire room, like an Egyptian (Rothamsted) light-trap. I saw everything, And was given a second chance to do things. I was more composed, I was calm, I was smooth, I was a 1945 Chateau Margaux.

I’ve purposely used past tense in the last paragraph because inevitably, that’s where it always goes. Everything in life becomes past tense, for better or for worse. I had no warning because my reassimilated girlfriend reassimilated herself into not being my girlfriend, again. Purpose of the blow story was for Rachel Griffiths role. She just up and left without a word, and so did mine. She always came back, and I always took her back. I don’t know who she thinks she is anymore, but I’m unable to defend her anymore. Everyone says this and that and I stick my neck out, risking to sound like an idiot, which I’m happy to do, yet only because I actually believed myself. Do it once, shame on you, do it twice, shame on me… Do it 5 more times after that, I’m clinically retarded. She still hasn’t explained anything even after I stayed with her as she cried about being lost in space for a whole night. Not because it was my duty as her boyfriend, but because I was the only person who knew her and her secrets. I’m sure she has more, but she also doesn’t know that those are going to swallow you whole.

It was another photographer that induced her leaving me. Not seduced, but gave her the push she needed. I’m okay with that. I’ve been working on a theory about the recent influx of photographers within our feeble generation. And here is my assessment report. A majority of photographers today, don’t wield the art of photography for art. They wield it because it feeds off the energy from the vain. Most photographers are men, and most things they photograph don’t have a penis. There is a great rapport of energy and interest in photographer and model, and both connect like puzzle pieces. One needs to feel good about themselves by having everyone’s eyes chemical react in the brain a signal which gives surging pleasure throughout the rest of the body. Where do you draw the line in fine art photography and softcore porn was my question for the longest time. and the answer is that there never was a line. Almost like how priests justify banging little boys. They intrinsically know it’s wrong, yet they’ve convinced themselves it’s okay.

Anyway, I know this is a rant and ramble blog but i’ve been a bit out of practice. Don’t worry, I’m making my way back in, with a vengeance and with all the new things I’ve learned and toys I’ve got. The world is coming at me like a train, and my hands are tied, the least you can do is give me a cigarette.

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