i am my most bitter resolve, i am my own hardened defeat,

it's quiet now communications have been severed i'm tired and i may sleep through all of this i don't mind i'll scoop my hoodie behind my ears when i want to hear you. i belong so far above you that i can't breath, icarus obviously suffocated in his own collapsed lungs your myths have never been debunked before it is going to hurt re extending rusted joints and every single nerve will be shocked into immortal pain frozen in a kaleidoscope spiraling in towards the only horizon in space. curved space. back on itself, gravity. beer is warming in my mouth it makes a belly dance down my thoat like confetti made out of paper mache done by children(,) oozing with paste, i am alone, i am not afraid, i am lonely, i'm trying not to cry because you aren't her, and the only one i want to see won't see me, i want one to be here we'd smoke cigarettes and march furiously through the city riding shotgun in pairs across the continent. the soldiers we'd bear. you will not hear them coming, you will not know our names. gratify me forget your fantasies for a moment, satisfaction gauranteed or double down on a security deposit you'll never see again. you don't have a choice.



since i've been about 6 or seven i've had etremely violent fantasies about killing myself in a variety of ways, they never developped into true suicidal thoughts until i was a teenager.

often i'd see a student outside that i hated and i wanted to crash through the double window headfirst and land as close to that fucker as possible to shower him with whatever came out. my only thought during those times was a manical fit of paradoxical laughter and the intense urge to scream "how funny is it now? is it funny now?" of course my head split open on the pavement i wouldn't be able to speak, that might be what's kept me from doing it, knowing i wouldn't get the last word.

i feel to starp plastic explosives to my head and run into a food court. ruining a thousand meals all at once.

theres nothing to live for but we're going to die fo show.

i'm tired with a weekend ahead of me with nothing to do, cables out, i get news oncce in a while mostly faint ringing echoes like a cackle off a dolphins back slick with spit and sweat. fuck off. brain cells like hair follicles some of us go bald others tweak it out.what the point is in speaking to myself i don't know bitter flowers on a brittle bloom too early in a cold frozen spring to survive. pry it from my sold deadly hands i am yours but i command a price. mosty what it's like is not burning yourself in the eye becauseyou know there are no nerve endings in there and you want to SEE what it feels like.



get talky to writey program on computer, intresting results may ensue.

BUT MOSTLY WANTING TO SCREAM AND STAB PEOPLE WITH A BROKEN BEER BOTTLE ,
BUT I KNOW THIS IS WRONG AND SO I FIND

MYSELF ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR DROOLING FROM THE LACK OF OXYGEN.


THAT BIG ICELANDIC SPACEHIP FILLED ENTIRELY WITH GOLD. FUCKING IDIOTS

- Mark McEvoy

a new document,
a new image,
a new vision,
a new
new
new life
start over hold
down the reboot
see where it gets you,

sometimes living is dying

sometimes it's all it is

sometimes you're lying
sometimes it gives.

either way you cut it(`s)


just A NEW BOX

my internet has been cut, so has the drivel, i`ll get back to you.

this blog is a blog because it is

the inernet is retarded.

so am i

pungent and sweet
nauseatingly clear,
life is a crate of broken glass
shaken

and a small child holding your hand while you watch the bastard bleed to death.

i'm tired and this is boring
the tv makes sign stop
there is nothing to do stop
this i know
stop what you're doing stop
stop it stop it stop.
stop for a second stop it stop it
drift through this through me
complete and utter lack of conviction.

i'm having a hard time not boring myself to death.

my guts burnt out, blown with the fuse.

tired jobless ambitions spent on bobbles and battery powered gogo robots. this blog isn't here for me. this is the last bastion of my love and it ferments here sailboats ina big brown bottle of booze.

moldy generals in an overgrown peach set on devoring itself.

quiet seperation from the dust it all blows by the windowssill littered with their corpses.

i spent all weekend babysitting a five year old. it was pretty funny, cept they also have two dogs, a cat and four kittens (which is where mine is coming from). i'm tired.