37words

I really want to work on some conceptual skate videos again. I was going to write about making money and how I want to quit my job and how I can’t caus’ I need the money and about sentimental love and living in the past and future only, and not the present. Which is alot of people’s problem. But I figured just a mention is better, and to stay optimistic; I was negative enough during the day.

suggestive writing, remember that time I rode your back all night, as you sucked on my thumb, you sucked hard; dreaming about that lifeforce. We’d exchange spit, stare into each others eyes, push the spit back and forth, like cum in our mouths. Lifeforce. I’d like to just eat your pussy all night, under the sheets, sweat beading down my face. Suffocating. I’d die for you, die with my tongue in between your labia. But I’d be dead, and you’d have to move on. The sick stench in my nose, makes it hard to remember. What are we without our minds. So often of the time I don’t even feel as though I’m here, and that is often the most pleasant.

Wine and dine. How can these two things define class so greatly? Some of the most natural foods are only made available to the worlds wealthiest inhabitants. Grapes. Olives. Fennel. Truffles. Bonito. Saffron. Matsuke. Not for us. We get Idaho potatoes and cloned meat. Cheez doodles. money money money money money money money. I can’t afford a culinary interest, there’s so much I wouldn’t be able to experience. Motherfuckin’ class barrier. Otherwise, I’m interested in plants. Lately it’s been primitive plants. Plants that use beetles to pollinate because bees weren’t around yet. Jesus Christ! The sexual reproduction of plants is so fascinating.

push out babies

stuck in traffic

again

make that left turn

cop directing traffic

throw your money straight into the trash

restrained pedophilia haunts the suburbs

trying to make the hours pass

my favorite pastime

what do you think her pussy smells like?

I can’t even tell age anymore

paying notice to insignificance

distraction

at least the sky is beautiful.

I throw money in the garbage sometimes. Pennies, mostly pennies. Pennies add up though. Today I stared into the eyes of a spiritual man. He reminded me of many things I have discovered but temporarily forgot. I thank him. I wonder if he throws pennies in the garbage. You know? Just sweeps them up and tosses them into the can. 

throw money into the garbage.

go take photos, go jot down ideas, make drawings. I suffer from having like 1000 notebooks/sketchbooks around me all the time, each one categorized slightly differently. I don’t know how many people pay attention, this one girl I was with once made special attention to it; it was an aspect she loved. It really hit my heart hard that she cared about this aspect, and I hurt her. For what? lust? Lust doesn’t last, although it is so good at the time, after the climax you feel estranged, and separate. Unless you actually love the person, then its different. I imagine its a bit different for a woman too, who can climax multiple times. A man gets one good orgasm, or a few close calls, that can feel pretty good too; but not like the volcano eruption. I’ve taken some erotic photos, I’ve erased some and saved some; my excuse is that I’m going to use them for drawings. I certainly don’t feel wanted, not here in NJ that’s for sure; the city girls seem to be a bit more willing. Once you start taking things for granted it will always fuck you, I’m just happy I can breathe right now and remember things and make music and stretch and deliver pizzas. Oneday I won’t be able to, and that might not be so bad either.

I want to feel sexy. I hardly ever do lately. Whatever happened to that feeling? It seems to have faded. I want to play dress up and take photographs. I want to take more photographs. I want to document. I think that’s important yet I always seem to forget my camera, never jot down thoughts or feelings in my sketchbook. I used to. Whatever happened to that? I miss hanging out with females and I hate to admit it, but I’m sick of hearing about cars. I’m not overly feminine but I’m sure as hell not very masculine. I’ve just got questions and ideas that aren’t well received around here. At least they don’t seem to be. No response. You know what makes me feel sexy? Feeling wanted. Desired. Everything is okay. I guess I’m just neurotic. I am neurotic. What artist isn’t? What human being isn’t slightly neurotic? I keep wanting to call up my friends from up north more and more often “just because”. I kind of see it as hanging out, but it’s not the same and I don’t quite see the point because the phone can be pretty awkward sometimes. Especially in this position where our lives day in and day out are not connected unless we write a short email or send a text message. It’s hard. Everything seems hard lately. Oh, shit! Hit with reality. Sometimes I feel like I want people to guide me. I have made some big momentous decisions in my life, but in the end I really don’t know what I want or where to go next. I just have to pretend. Most of us do, but I don’t really want to. That’s the thing. I DON’T WANT TO PRETEND. Is there a way to convince myself of all these things? Is that what I really need to work on? Lying? 

I don’t quite understand the competition between girls. females. women. ovaries and uterui.

out at a party, i see people carousing, as I am too. I imagine conversations, not to say my conversations are great, every so often it will be a good one though, sure. Anyways, it makes me jealous imagining the girl I want being with someone else, but what am I to do. Its not up to me, if anything it makes me feel incapable. Incapable of impressing, or even connecting, but I’m jsut more modest and slow with my approaches and certain types appreciate that, but maybe the one I want doesn’t recognize with it. Damn its rough being single, but I gave a CD out… but what, are you supposed to be impressed with that? its been done!

I can count twelve of them for you right now. Of course not all are of significant sizes. There are tiny bruises, slightly purple, easy to misinterpret as a shadow, and usually go unnoticed. On the other hand there are the multi-prismacolored bruised spots. Unsure of how they were caused. I try to eat a lot of bananas. Damn - it’s hard to hit a bowl with only matches.

it can slip, I’ve slipped; slipped and dislocated my shoulder. I had to goto the ER, in the dead of winter, then a year and half later I had to do the same thing in the dead of summer. Both times have left my brain bruised.

My gum has aspartame in it. Years of aspartame abuse. How could I have let this slip?

Momentarily, I think about a moment, a specific piece of the time space continuum. A past event, an awful event none the less, a traumatic event in the eyes of anyone with a sense of sensitivity.