I've taken a break from writing. I guess this is technically coming back from that but to me, its still in hiatus. I've come to the point in my life where I'm not too sure what role any of this plays. Its just words. Sometimes its therapeutic and cathartic. But right now, I feel like I've ran out of things to say. Things to be prolific about or insightful and its completely drained my passion for this.

Looking back over the past year, I've wrote a lot of rants about bull shit. Stuff that really has no purpose and sometimes even less meaning and thats not what I'm used to. I come from a very heavy spoken word background of writing things that matter. That have direction and a message and now a days, I'm just writing to write. Some might argue that in itself is enough but I'm not sure if I agree. I might preach that. I might walk into a random class room and spew those exact words from my mouth. But I'm tired of not feeling passionate about what I put onto page. I feel like I've made some tremendous progress in my growth this year except in my writing and that feels horrible. It feels like watching a family member deteriorate from dementia or a flower wither. I kind of feel helpless. I'm just standing here idol waiting for some random spurt of inspiration to grace my fingers to produce something good enough to put me back on stage, but its not happening. It hasn't been happening. All thats happening is this... these little tangents of nothing.

Another reason I haven't been writing is because I've been focusing more on doing instead of being. Its hard to make that transition sometimes. Some might fall extremely comfortable with just being and thats okay, just not for me. I have to get out of my comfort zone if I want to continue to grow. Being social is important. And I dont mean through Facebook or text, I mean really being social. Using your mouth and a laugh. Making new friends and having new types of conversations. We all can walk through life being the leader of our own world but the truth of the matter is were not. We really aren't. The ones who think that way, with the eg and arrogance of 'knowing who they are', are the ones who unfortunately live out the rest of their life in a corner and thats not for me. Yeah, I might still have a lot of glitches. I'm not going to refute that, I do. I get told that I look bored when I'm at the bar or that I come off really unapproachable. Thats all a work in progress. But I'm trying at least. Falling complacent is the first step to being an ass hole and unpleasant so I'd rather try now rather than when I'm more stubborn and hardened years down the road. I look at people set in their ways and I feel sorry for them. There is so much more to life and even though I haven't seen it all, I know theres more than this. There has to be. I can't always be the unapproachable one. I can't always be the TV watching, vulgar, drug using little guy. Sometimes you have to switch it up. Turn the damn TV off and go be young. Do something. Buy some skinny jeans and put on a new look. Just try. Its better for you.

A year ago from today, I was struggling really hard to convince myself to keep waking up. Everyday, I would question if I had the strength to keep going, only to find out that I had just enough strength to get high and waste the day. Some times, I miss that. Honestly, I miss being addict. It was easy. It was thoughtless. I didn't have to think about my problems. I didn't have to be responsible or respectful. I just had to breathe. And sleep. And occasionally shower, but all in all, I didn't have to do anything. Now I have my life wrapped up in my job and networking and self awareness and getting ready to graduate and all these other fucking things that completely wear me out. It feels good to grow up a little but at the same time, it doesn't. I see a lot of my friends dealing with addiction still and I talk to them and make sure they're doing okay. Even though I can tell theres an extreme amount of denial and immaturity ingrained into their psyche at this point in their addiction, I ironically get jealous of the oblivion. I miss being naive.

Anyway, I gotta go to work. Tonight is gonna suck with graduation and all. Its going to be a long fucking night.

Chiseled

By the time I arrived in middle school, I had already decided to hate the world. Young, I know, but something hit me around the age of 12 that made my eye brows shroud and my eyes glow with some sort of anger only war vets come home with. Maybe it was watching my mother pass in front of me. Maybe it was the awkward height I had achieved at such a young age. I'm not sure. But I do know that look I inherited, that dark, dont fuck with me or I'll attack you look, stayed around until this very day and I'm beginning to wonder if there's anyway to reverse it.

I'm proud of myself though. Sincerely, I am. I have made an enormous shift in my life these past few months and its been nothing but difficult. I've wanted to give up. I've wanted to curl up inside of my own desperate depression and disintegrate into what it was I thought I was meant to be: nothing. Just nothing. I wanted to be nothing as much as I thought I already was and that mind space was hardly living in slow motion. Time stood still. And not in that 'god, I hope this moment lasts forever', Hollywood-esque, dancing in the rain type way. It was that ' fuck, its still 3:30. I'm just going to go back to bed' type way and that was no way to live. So I got on my feet. Got off the god damn couch and slowly baby stepped the fuck outta life. Inching my way back to where I should be at 24. I shaved my stupid beard, got back to the gym, got my last semester of school lined up so I can graduate and then got a job. All in all, I feel good right now. I can't really articulate the change I did in here, but I can tell you that it was long over due. It's been beautifully painful. This year, I've conquered my universe and built a new one but after all of it, I am still constantly haunted by the exterior I've hardened over the years.

My job is bullshit, I'm not going to lie. I work at this new fine dining place in the entertainment district washing dishes for 9 dollars an hour. Its really hard on my back and its really disgusting but its a job. Also, it makes my hands extremely smooth. And I get to wear a fancy chef coat. Those are positives. Anyway, while I was closing down the kitchen tonight, the head chef came in with the other cooks and said,

'The faster you close this down, the faster drinks are on me.'

I thought this was a nice gesture. It wasn't going to make me go any faster than I already was, but I was kind of looking forward to grabbing a drink with my new co workers. After maybe 10 minutes, my work was done and so I went out to the bar to clock out and catch up with them. They weren't around. I went up to his office and he wasn't there either. Even though I was the only one in the kitchen when he said that, I guess he wasn't talking to me. I grabbed my hat and my coat and made my way to my car.

On my way to the parking lot, I saw 3 old friends from high school. Not close friends, but we were cool. They didn't really recognize me until they got closer and then we shook hands and said whats up. But that was it, they just said it was good seeing me and that was it. I got in my car and drove home.

While I was driving, I began to wonder what it is about me that makes me so unapproachable and seem so unfriendly. I'm truly a nice guy. I dont mean any harm and I like to have meaningful conversations and if your not in the mood for that, I like to go out and have a good time too. But new people rarely see that. All they see is the mean mug I've chiseled into my bone structure over the years and I guess its not one you'd go outta your way to be nice to. It sucks to say this, but people just dont like me. And if they do, they have to warm up to me. I hate that... Sometimes, I just wish I didn't look this way. Even though I know this is who I am and I should embrace it and smile anyway, its extremely tough.


Most days, I wish that people could just see my heart. Not my height or my clothes or the scowl that happens to be my relaxed facial expression. None of that. If they could, I'm sure they'd like me. But until that magically unlikely day happens, I'm going to keep trying to be likable. To others, and to myself.

Theres only a few things in life that I would argue to death about. Things that I believe so strongly in that for you or anyone to say anything to me about would be damn near equal to lighting a match around gun powder. I get serious. Real quick. So thats why I feel safe saying that

I've witnessed some events in my life. Some great, and some not so great. But by far,

the hardest, most heart wrenching, knee weakening thing to try to deal with in life is
losing someone.

I dont care who you are or what your past is or how tough and rugged you can be, you can be Waka Flocka and the loss of a close friend or a daughter would still shatter you into pieces. It doesn't matter. Nothing can accurately describe that feeling when you hear it. Its completely foreign and uncomfortable every time. You dont believe it. You question when the last time you saw them was and what you said to them and what you could have maybe, possibly done to stop them or be there for them. Its horrible. Its helpless.

Today has happened far too many times this year. 2011 has been full of extremely scary realities and its been quite deterring. I'm sick of bad drugs and losing people on behalf of them or their conclusions. Its extremely difficult to try to be okay with the that lesson. Its simple and its harsh. But all it ultimately teaches you is that:

its going to keep happening so brace yourself.

I'm sure it gets easier with time and as I age but right now, in my early twenties, that shit is tough. We shouldn't be passing away from this shit. We're still young and supposed to rage and do stupid crazy shit until were 30 and then settle down and grow up. That's how I see it. That shit just doesn't happen to us.

I have a lot of friends in scary situations right now. Whether its in the war or with their vices or what we did to our insides back in high school, theres a bunch of us. And I keep wondering who's going to be the next story.

I just saw you down the street man. I swear. I totally meant to stop over last week but I didn't and that sucks. You were one crazy unique guy. Give Jesus a high five or something cool.

Harsh Realities

Most days its hard for me to look back on my child hood and see all the enjoyment I know I had. Those moments, as vast and abundant as they are, are lost somewhere among losing parents and never growing past 5'6 so sometimes, I forget that I was raised very privileged. I had the all American home for a good chunk of my younger life; the dad with a 401k, the mom that cooks every meal and takes us to the store with her, the riding in shopping carts and climbing trees and coming home with mud stains and bruises knowing I'd be sleeping in my own bed that night. Comfortable middle class living. But as much as I can state those things, drool them off my fingers like any other image I summon up, I dont necessarily remember them. I know they're there. Tucked somewhere in my subconscious and so its difficult to even look back that far and see any form of good that happened. I mean, I used to be crazy. Not that I'm not now, but I mean swallowing pennies and getting them stuck in my throat so I dont have to go to school, crazy. I used to sing regularly. Which, if you were to sneak up on me while I'm doing the dishes today or any other remedial task that I do privately, you might catch an awkward note or two. (But you wont because I will surely play it off like I was clearing my throat or talking to myself. Just saying.) However, one thing that I wish I could have carried over into my adult life, even on this every 'once in a blue moon' type basis, is dreaming on the never ending scale of possibilities we used to have. I miss that. Its ridiculous to me to think that we used to walk around believing we would conquer the world. That we would become president or walk on the moon or take over lead vocalist in AC/DC or transform into a unicorn. But now a days, we'll settle for flipping burgers and going to a community college. I can't help but wonder when it was that we all started giving up on those dreams. When we decided to put them away in shoe boxes filled with pictures and memories so that one day we could look back at them, laugh and say "god I was silly".


My buddy came back from Las Vegas today. I didn't know why, I just saw it in my news feed and told him to get at me. Earlier this week, I had noticed he changed his status back to 'married' on the good ole book. I figured he had rekindled shit with his ex or something and decided to come back to the mitten. I dont know, I didn't think about it too much. I just knew that they split up. He had gotten back from the war and she had changed too much or did too much behind his back and he just didn't want to be a part of it anymore. Kind of a long story. But I remember spending hours on the phone talking with him about what he should do and shouldn't do with this relationship. It definitely took a tole on him and it was the last thing he needed after Afghanistan. So they split and as you can guess, I was a little thrown off by the fact that they were back together. Not that its my business or that I would scold him or anything bitchy, but I was pretty curious. I mean, she was a piece of shit in my book and the simple thought of him getting back with her made me a little worried for him. I got over to my brothers earlier tonight and asked him if he knew what was going on.

"You talked to T?"

"Yeah, that was just him on the phone."

"He coming over here?"

"He said he was going to in a little bit."

"Right on, what the fuck is he thinking?"

"What you mean?"

"With that girl, I thought they split up a while ago for obvious reasons. What the fuck is he doing?"

He looked over at me and said simply,

"Dude, she died"

I didn't really have anything to say. I just sat there silent feeling pretty bad about harking on her and calling her a piece of shit. Thats rough stuff. Death is never a good thing. Even if I only knew her a little and hung out with her a few times, thats never good news or what you want to hear. Then the puzzle got put together: this is the reason my boy was coming home. It wasn't because they found love or were trying to get back together. Its because shes gone.

His wife passed away from a heart attack. She was 21. Obviously, it was not because of natural causes. It was because, like many others in my community, she ruined her liver and her kidneys with heroin. Its sad to say that I used to be a member of this epidemic, but I was. I know the allure to the drug. I know the hand cuffs it puts on you. I know the revolting feeling you get in the morning and how you want to punch everyone who talks to you. Its no fun, honestly. And I'm sure anyone who has ever been on it doesn't go a day without hoping tomorrow they will stop. Unfortunately, it usually doesn't happen like that. Usually it happens similar to this. With pain and trauma and death.

At one point in her life, this girl wanted to conquer the world. She wanted to be something and do something. I may not have known her well, but I know this. Its universal. Somewhere along the line though, somewhere between Polly Pocket and now, she gave up on that excursion for an easier, more dangerous one. I dont know why that happens. Why is it that we aim for the stars but tend to only get as far as the stop sign down the street? Why is it that were okay with that? Are we scared? Or is it because life slaps real into us really fast and real doesn't equal unicorns or the NBA. Somewhere along the way, we lose hope. We slide into patterns and bad habits that make failure less devastating. I can vouch for this. I've been there. And because I have the disease that I do, I will continue to go back to those paradoxical survival tactics when times get rough enough. I dread that day.

But until then, I'm going to focus on living. I'm going to think about what the 6 year old me would say to the 24 year old me about what I'm doing with my life. I'm sure he'd be a little disappointed. I didn't end up as confident as he is. I didn't end up playing basketball or pulling a lot of women. Sorry, 6 year old me, I might have dropped the ball on your dreams. I'm truly sorry I let you down. But I haven't given up. I haven't pulled the trigger and I haven't over dosed and I'm still here through it all. My dream now might not be yours but try to meet me half way. If you understand that I'm not going to be president, and that I'm not going to be tackling the next first round draft pick from Alabama next year, and that I'm really not going to do anything you once thought was cool...

I'll promise you that you will become one strong little guy... One with some great stories, an even greater heart and an undying search for happiness. I'll promise that you'll still watch cartoons and giggle at weird shit and sing like your infront of a crowd of thousands, taking over lead vocals for AC/DC. But most importantly, I promise that you'll smile. I hope thats a dream you and I both can share.

Recent revelations

I stumble across learning experiences daily. Everyone does, but a lot of people are too afraid or too stupid to understand they are happening. Open your fucking eyes, the date is changing. The world is turning. So here are some more tidbits of insights I've picked up in the past few weeks.


1. If a stripper asks you what your deal is, just smile at them. Sometimes you'll make the mistake of sitting up at the stage because your drunk and enjoy the current stripper. Just realize after that stripper, theres probably one that you will not like. She might be all bones. Or a man. However, its fucking rude to walk away. Fight the urge to tell them they just scared your penis. Simply smile and throw a dollar at them.

2. If there is anything your dreading to do, just do it already. The weight of anxiety and over thinking is far worse than actually doing it.

3. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Just because one person fucked your heart up or your trust up or crashed your car does not mean the next person will. Walking around with automatic walls is worse for you then it is for them.

4. You aren't entitled to shit. Remember, we came into this world with nothing but a family. And the lucky ones of us will leave the same way. Everything else is small matters. Including your god damn ipad.

5. Sometimes you end up hanging out with people you swore you'd slit your wrists before you see them again. It happens. The mark of maturity is what you do in that situation. Confront whatever past issue you had, either internally or with them, and move the fuck on. Dont be a bitch about it and leave and go cry in your car for the next 15 minutes because this dude slept with your girlfriend back in 10th grade. He probably saved you from more pain than you know. Thank him.

6. If you fall into my life somehow, understand that my heart has and will have a no vacancy sign above it indefinitely. If I catch any more creepy ass holes trespassing on or near it, I will have you shot.

7. If you ever wonder what life was like during prohibition, look around. If you ever wonder how eras transition out of prohibition, look around. We are witnessing a monumental movement in tolerance and acceptance right now and it is only going to broaden. Brace yourselves.

8. People dont change, they learn. If they dont learn, they're just pieces of shit. Slap them.

9. The best form of communication is with your mouth. If you ever catch yourself tweeting or texting or emailing more than you talk, you will realize how unfulfilled you truly feel with your social life. Just because facebook turned many of us from haters into likers does not mean this evolved bullshit is entirely positive.

10. Be thankful. I have recently developed a huge fear of losing one of my senses, mainly eye sight, and its made me understand how truly blessed I am. I have a great body that works how it was meant to. Most days, thats enough of a reason to smile.

11. If you label yourself open minded, stop having such a closed fucking mind. Seriously. I can't tell you how many people I've known who claim to be a free spirit or understanding or 'I love new things' and the next second, are shooting down any bit of relevant or new or different that comes their way. Have some self awareness. If you dont like it, you dont like it. But if you dont give it a chance because 'you know what you like' or whatever the automated response is, dont try to lie to yourself or me. I get it. I mean, me, myself- I've never really tried being open minded until about the middle of last year. But every time someone would ask what I was about, I would always say ' I'm really open minded'. Shit, I was not. Far from. I fuckin hated on everything that wasn't cool to me and that tended to be everything I didn't simply give a chance. But in the past year or so, I have gained not only a respect, but an admiration for almost all forms of dance, for every form alternative genre of music you could mention... except country, I hate that shit... but style and philosophies and mantras and actions and lifestyles and what I read and what I enjoy doing even, all shifted. And I'm not going to sit here and say I'm exponentially happier now or I'm an awesome person now or more wise or nothing. I will say that I've tried to be open minded and I can rightfully state that. Thats all.

Lastly,

12. Love your dog WAY TOO MUCH. For real. They're only here for a decade or so and we still end up loving them like children. So spoil the fuck out of them. Right? Let them take your spot in bed. Let them jump on you and squeeze themselves between the couch and your shoulder. Let them lick your fucking face! THEY ARE DOGS, thats how they love. Give them horrible delicious food every once and a while because honestly, food is 83% of their enjoyment. Right next to sleep and licking their genitals. I'd want to eat this pop tart too if thats the options I had.... Use tones and words that they love regularly, even if this means talking in a baby voice and saying 'Do you wanna chip???' or speaking complete jibberish. Fuck it. Also, dont discipline them for being silly. Its like giving a kid some adderal for being normal. They're doing dog stuff, let them do dog stuff. If they press your hand REPEATEDLY while its on the mouse and make you highlight everything you just wrote and replace it with ===-----====-=-=-==-=--==-===========-==-===-========-=-==

so what? they're just trying to tell you to stop being so serious. Laugh a little.

My days are starting to get brighter. Its a relief. This is the first time in months I've felt comfortable in my own skin. This past year has been a big reminder of all the things I take for granted: conversations, company, being active and doing healthy shit. I was getting really deep into depression there. I'll be bold face honest and say it was beginning to scare me. I was writing letters to people and filling them with horrifying details about how I wanted to off myself. How I had to do it right this time and stop being a pussy about it. And I would just save them and never send them to the people I was writing to. I stumbled across them last night and almost broke down. I felt bad for that person. I wanted to reach through those letters and give him a hug. I'm not sure if I'll ever send those to the people I wrote them to, mainly because those were extremely painful glimpses in my life but also because I dont think the people I wrote those to would want to read that shit. I even had to stop myself after a while.

Anyway, today was a huge dose of needed inspiration. I helped teach this workshop at the juvenile home and even though I really didn't do much, it was extremely fulfilling. We were working on judgment and first impressions and my brother asked each of the 5 classes to bluntly and honestly judge me. I didn't have a problem with it because its natural to judge folks. But being gifted with the opportunity to hear how people judge you is almost an advantage. You get to hear how people perceive you, with out hearing you speak or engaging in a conversation with you or anything. It was interesting. 5 out of the 5 classes thought I was a skateboarder. The majority of the classes thought I party hard and that I smoke. Other kids said I look mean, that I look 'young for my age' (still not sure what that means), and that I do cocaine. But the thing that shocked me most was when someone would look at me and tell me something extremely accurate. One kid raised his hand and said,

"He looks like he's trying to go somewhere but hasn't gotten there yet."

Several other kids looked at me and said,

"You can tell he's been through some stuff."

It amazed me how people can look at you and automatically know what your about. Of course, judging someone without knowing them is usually full of wrong observations and projected ideas, but those little bits of truth are so personal yet so obvious and we still walk through life thinking our masks aren't see through. I guess I wasn't aware of that. Definitely food for thought.

I also had to perform a piece today for each of the classes. I was surprised at how connected I still become to poems when I orate them. I embody them. I inhale them. I'm not saying that my performance was flawless or even close to decent, but without fail, each time, I nearly cried. This is a piece I've memorized, meaning I have ran the shit out of it in my head, pacing in my house or in the garage while I smoke. It might not take me long to memorize but usually, I disconnect myself emotionally and make peace with all the gut wrenching parts and just go. But this poem would get me teary EVERY single time. Theres not really a moral to that, its just crazy for me to think about the fact that I can do a poem back to back to back to back and still have enough emotion to make my eyes water. There has to be something to that. Maybe I'm just emotional today. Or maybe its cause I'm tired. I'm not sure.

Confessions

Its hard not to desire perfection. I'll admit that. Its difficult to turn on the tv or go to a store or think about your ideal mate without having a plastic, nice ass, perfect smile expectation level. Ads shove it through your eyes. Stores surround you in it. People emulate it. Its all just one big circle of feeling unsatisfied with what you have or what is realistically available.

They say that whenever we catch ourselves disappointed or bothered by something someone else does, typically its a reflection of what bothers us about ourselves or our actions. I think thats one of the hardest proverbs I've attempted to digest. I still fumble it on days. With the way I act sometimes, you might think that entire concept is foreign to me. I'll damn people for acting 'stupid' or doing something 'stupid' in a relationship or saying something 'stupid', without acknowledging that I am by far one of the dumbest people on this planet. Hands down. I will not argue that. But its this disappointment that I experience every time I do a self assessment that provokes me to be a bitch towards certain people or certain events or certain actions and this

is something I am desperately working on.

With this awareness, I've been transitioning my focus when it comes to change. I used to love to change people. Help them, if you will. Sweep up the broken glass and glue it back together. I was a rescuer. I still have those tendencies. However, I never once reflected in. I never once took a step back and thought about how I need help and how I need to change and thats brought me into a very arrested developed state in my life. I am basically the same person I was when I was 9 and thats not right. Yeah, I got some fancy words and some fancy jargon to talk about. I can tell you some cool scholarly things and I can possibly wow you with what I've overcome and been through but at the end of the day, I have neglected the shit out of myself. Not physically, but emotionally. Other people can take care of themselves and seek help if they need it but I, well, only I can make sure I am okay. Only I can make sure that I dont wake up tomorrow in tears. This is lifes basic, never changing mission: live life for yourself.


I love to help people though. Thats just how I'm programed. I dont feel like I was put on this planet to be pious or authoritative. I dont feel like I was put here to just run my course and leave without a print. I know I am meant to do stuff for people, what ever it might be. However, this is where I am stuck in my lesson. This is my crossroads. Help others at the cost of not helping myself, or help myself at the cost of not feeling fulfilled?

See, theres been some tough realities I've had to face in the past few years of my life. I've had to face my own mortality. Addiction. Pain, both physical and emotional. Depths of depression. Health issues. Deception. Betrayal. I have a litany of bullshit. But so far,


the hardest lesson of my adult life is accepting that I gave up.
I didn't give up on you because I lost interest.
I didn't give up on you because I forgot who I was or lost your number or because I dont like you. The truth of the matter is that you're
a shitty person. And sometimes,
shitty people
are just
shitty people.

Good Ol High School'isms pt. 2... or something

*Disclaimer* I dont disclaim the majority of what I write because I'm free to write whatever the fuck I want and I dont intend on caring about what people might think. HOWEVER, I am an adult now with adult-like responsibilities and connections and networks so I will preface this story like this: "I dont do this shit anymore. Period. This is simply a depiction of one of my crazy excursions through my high school career and in no way, shape, or form is this current. It is a story. Don't be so god damn serious". That is all.

There's moments in our lives where we have to choose between a good choice and a bad one. The line is vague and definitely subjective but ultimately, you have to decide one way or another. It's these times that tend to define us as people and our memories as memorable. Are you going to be the person who said they were there and saw what happened? Or are you going to be the person who said they fuckin did that shit and it was amazing? We have these flickers of opportunity arise invariably and its those who step up, take a deep breath and jump in head first that deserve the memory of taking a chance once. It doesn't matter if it pays off or if it was right. What matters is you nutted up and did it. Your memory is your reward.


Graduating always seemed like such a finale. Like everything was building up to that last moment, to that hand shake and recieving of your diploma with spot lights and symphony music and a slow motion scene where everyone who you went to school with gives you and only you a standing ovation for being so fucking awesome. It doesn't go quite like that though. Its more of a cattle call, where you line up behind some 50 year old molding curtains waiting to walk past some clearly under budget stage flowers and some metal shit and then hope you dont trip going down the stairs in that fucking awkward dress you have to wear. Thats graduating. It is not 'your moment'. It is not a runway for you to strutt down. It is grimy and boring and simply a cluster fuck of mispronounced names and girls worrying about their make up.

The end of high school just felt right though. It felt like I had won finally. Like I had been battling this monster of expulsion and lost credits and assinine homework and I had finally slayed him. Finally. And I needed a party. We needed a party. And fortunate enough for us, we had this ridiculous nonsense after graduation called 'Grad Bash'. Now, I'm sure everyone had some form of 'Grad Bash'. Maybe it wasn't called that. Maybe it was lame. But the just of the situation went like this: graduate, run home and grab what you need, then run back to the school so you can catch the busses to go to your 'Grad Bash'. Our year, and I'm pretty sure the years following us, got to go to this place called Craigs Cruisers. Its like Dave and Busters or any other cool fucking place that has go-carts and video games and fun writen everywhere.

We gathered ourselves out front before we left the graduation to situate what everyone was doing. The plan was to go home, take as many psychedelic drugs as possible and then pile onto the busses. So thats what we did. All my friends were taking Moly but I, well I had some snazy shit. Some shit you'll never find. It was a fossil drug. Rare, intense and long lasting. Some shit you've heard about in folklore or seen in movies or something someone once told you that someone they knew, somewhere knew someone.... it was one of those. I got home, took off my dress and persisted to dabble in some powdery fun. I only had a half hour to do everything I needed to so I hurried as much as I could. The thing with this drug is that no one knew how to dose it. No one. It was so potent that something the size of needle prick could put you over the edge. But I said fuck it, put my pinky in the bag and just stuck it in my mouth. I wasn't worried. This was going to be an experience worth writing about.

I made it back to my school and met up with everyone. It was an odd event. Civilian cops were standing around, scoping out who they should search and picking their noses. But we didn't have anything on us. We were the smart ones who ingested their illegals before we got there. Take that law. All of us got together and pow wowed about what this night was going to be like.

"You take yours?"

"Yeah, we both did. I want to bring my cigarettes but they said we can't bring anything."

"Thats some bullshit. Someone will though and we'll just have them give us some."

"Right, what bus are you on?"

Apparently, we all weren't on the same bus. Actually, none of us were. I didn't think about this much prior to but when it went down, I was totally unprepared for it. I was already feeling myself sinking through my shoes and this bus ride was going to be awkward. Everyone on my bus was pretty much old friends, who of course wanted to reminisce about 7th grade and pool parties and our parents giving us rides to the movies but I was not having that. I walked slowly onto the bus, soaking in all the faces that I was going to have to put up with for the next 30 minutes and decided to sit as far away from everyone as possible. This could, after all, potentially be a really bad move. I could flip out on someone for yelling too close to me or I could say some weird shit to a supervisor or I could vomit on someone. That was one thing with this drug: you just puked. Whenever. You could be laughing and walking around and just BAM... you're puking. It was never painful or intolerable, actually the puking usually felt good. Like you were getting the unneccesary out. But these were all the factors I had to keep in mind as I came up on an experimental drug on a fucking yellow school bus next to 40 of my peers.

We got off the busses and everything became a riot. Somehow, everyone had shifted from graduated 18 year olds into gossipy little annoying pigs and to be honest, I didn't give a fuck. I had lost my mind miles ago, somewhere between Paw Paw and Grand Rapids and the walls were already breathing in sync with me. It was a done deal. From that moment on, I was in this for the long run. The next 16 hours were devoted to debauchery.

For some reason, the staff had bought gallons upon gallons of Monster Energy Drinks. This was horrible. I understood that everyone else who wasn't tripping would probably need this to stay awake all night. However, my friends also thought it would help out their roll. Their energy levels were radiant, I'm telling you. When I met up with them, they were frothing at the mouth and chewing gum till it turned to foam and I could tell they were going to crash hard.

The inside of this place was a drug enthuisists jungle gym. There was so much shit going on, I just had to look around for a good 20 minutes. There was putt putt golf, decorated in fancy pirate ships and miniature houses and water falls. There was 3 different go-cart tracks. An airal obstical course. Laser tag. Bumper cars. Video games and to top everything off, there was a group of creepy college students giving free 5 minute massages. I will admit that I hestantly let a very obese man rub me and it was probably the best thing thats ever happened to me. No questions asked.

The hole experience was hilarious to me. Theres no other way to describe it. I was walking around in my graduation dress, wide eyed with a smile from ear to ear like I was untouchable. Undoubtly, I probably looked like a fucking retard but I was okay with that. I blended in with the other lunatics. At one point, we all gathered into this little black light lit closet which apparently was the briefing room for laser tag. People always take that game so damn seriously. The other team was all lined up like marines waiting for the gate to open and find the smartest cover possible while we were just trying to figure out how not to put our vests on backwards. The other team got pissed because in all honesty, not one of us had a clue what was going on. Organized shooting with lasers? Psh, thats for the birds. There was way too much stuff to look at and WE HAD FUCKING LASERS! I got into it for a second but ultimately, my team just sat in the back of the arena doing light shows and dancing with our guns.

Driving go carts was by far the most unsafe thing I did. At the same time, very very fulfilling. I teamed up with my bestest girl/friend ever, who I've always had feelings for but never capatilized on them because I am a huge vagina. Anyway, her boyfriend at the time was in our group of rough riding go carting folks and so I made the decision to make the entire race Mario Cart. So I just hit people. Hard. Especially her boyfriend. I did not like him.

After flailing around on the harness from the airal obstical course, we were told to get down so we went to the golf course. I'm pretty sure at the moment, I grew 40 feet. There was a house below me that was no taller than my chest and I thought it was the cutest thing ever made. So my boy and I sat on the porch, struggling to keep our giant bodies from pissing off the occupants and smoked a cigarette.

"Well, this was definitely a good choice," I said, watching the smoke trail off my lips.

"Yeah, I'd say so. Shits crazy man."

"I know right? We're done with high school. Thats so nuts to me. Fuck, was it just me or was Mr. Oprea standing by the video games earlier?"

"Oh no, that was him. Yup."

I began to laugh.

"Wow. That was scary to me for some reason."

By 5 am, everyone was zombies. Everyone. Including the majority of my group. I was sitting in the concession area listening to a raffle of some sort while everyone who I was with just had their heads on the table. It wasn't looking good. But I was still going strong. I'm pretty sure my face was twisting inside out by then and I had given up on all forms of sensical conversation. I was in the belly and I was loving it. McDonalds.

We got back on the buses and proceeded home. I was a cat going in a bath tub; I just did not want to get back on that fucking thing. But I had to, so I did. I just wanted to get home, wash my face and smoke trees till I finally fell like one. The only problem was that it was 5 am... on a Saturday... and no ones going to try to sell us a bag at that ridiculous hour. I got off the bus meloncholy and asked one of my friends what we should do.

"Oh its straight man, Tyler was sitting in front of me on the bus and he said he has a quarter in his truck I can have."

That was a god send. Fucking miracle. I knew I had to be to class in a few hours but I also knew I could not show up in this condition. So we decided to roll up a few blunts and hang out in my drive way. For the next few hours, with morning joggers and little children playing in their yards, I sat at the edge of the street performing sloppy, stuttering poetry with a blunt in my hand. No better way to end a crazy night. A crazy four years. And then, sleep for two days.

I can say I did this. I did the shit out of this. And it was careless and stupid and basically one of my top 5 most valuable experiences in my entire life. Sometimes, the dumbest path is the boring path. I'd rather take the one thats risky. With lasers and miniature houses and boyfriends that I just do not like. I earned that memory. I lived that moment. I did. And it

was

beautiful.

Good Ol High School'isms

Sophomore year was intense. And by intense, I mean incredibly stupid. I fought more people and did more damage to my body than most people would do in a mosh pit. That was simply how I lived: one less care at a time. This didn't only effect my lifestyle though. It completely effected every aspect of my life, including school. I dont know what it was but for some reason, I never made it to my first hour on time. Actually, it wasn't just some reason, it was because I just didn't give a shit. First hour was always a seminar for me anyway and usually that was totally on purpose. I knew my tendencies. I knew my drive. And both of those added together meant that this guy was not going to be to school at 8 am. Oh no no no, this guy, this guy was coming in at 9 at the very earliest.

I walked into the computer lab typically late. Michigan had mustered up the awesomeness to produce another shitty day and I wasn't even trying to be at school. I was trying to be in my bed. Or shit, just at home would have beaten getting up to go play on computers. But that was my semester and even though I didn't want admit it, this credit mattered and I had to be there. My teacher hadn't gotten used to this though. My total disinterest in punctuality hadn't taught him that he should let me do what ever the fuck I want to but instead, made him into a little bitch.

"You're late... again".

"Yeah, I know."

"What'd I tell you last week?"

"Um, I dont know. I dont really give a shit."

"Fine, well your more than 30 minutes late so go down to the office."

"Fuck that."

"Excuse me? Oprea will definitely like to hear you say that."

"Well fuck you and fuck Mr. Oprea. He's a faggot."

I sat down in the back row and logged onto the computer. I didn't see anything wrong with what I just said. This class was bullshit and I wasn't getting graded and there was no necessity for me to be there ON TIME for a class that I'm just going to sit in until the bell rang. I guess this wasn't the situation though. Behind me, I noticed my teacher on the phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying but he was starring at me so I had a hunch. 5 minutes later, a note came up from the office. Notes from office generally were not good news. You could always tell by the office ladies handwriting if it was pissy or urgently pissy. This note had an A.S.A.P on it so I knew what was happening. I glared at my teacher as I walked passed him like it was his fault. At the time, I thought it was.

I got down to the office and Oprea was sitting at his desk eating his breakfast. He was a goofy looking man. Big bulbous eyes hiding behind wire thin glasses and hair that would make snow jealous. He tended to be a jolly fucker though. At least with me. I never understood it but he really liked me. I think it had to do with the first time he had to deal with me. Freshman year, my good friend wore a trench coat to school that he found in my closet. Just a trench coat and shorts to make it look like he was naked. It was funny as hell. But without my knowledge, he had also brought a dog toy with him that looked extremely similar to a dildo and apparently, he was poking people with it. Because he was living with me, I got called down to the office to explain the dildo and put it away until the end of school. I, of course, did not do that and gave the toy back to my friend. And then, of course, he got caught again with it... Yeah, Mr. Oprea didn't like that much. He threatened me with expulsion and some other crazy shit and I just had to let him know that he was being way to serious with me. From that day on, he liked me. Dont ask me why...

"Sit down"

"Alright, uh whats going on?"

" Well, Swinehart just called me and told me that you had something you wanted to say to me?"

" Hm... no. No, I dont know what he's talking about."

He looked down at his messy school lunch tray and took another bite.

" He said you showed up late for the 14th time today and instead of apologizing or anything, you cursed at him and then called me faggot."

We then had a long discussion about my actions. It lasted long enough for him to talk through his salad at me about my choices and my bad habits and what he might be forced to do and his grand kids and his yard work and bla. But he was a good man and I knew that. So after a few lecturing minutes, I gave in and apologized for what I said.

"I'm sorry okay. I didn't mean to say that about you but its early and I get cranky and I haven't eaten and just, yeah. I'm sorry."

He took his last bite and began laughing uncontrollably. For a second I thought he was either going to choke or spit his food out onto his plate, but he grabbed a napkin and held it to his lips.

" You know, I've been called alot of things in my life, Tim. But never... "

He began laughing again.

"...Never, have I been called a faggot."

I'm glad he got a kick out of it. Definitely helped when I went back up to my classroom and told my teacher to go fuck himself.

On the edge

I didn't know why I was still in the holding cell, but I was and I had to get the fuck out. I had just refined my definition of bullshit. Not exactly how I had hoped my weekend would turn out but there I was, lying foot to head with 5 other men, some with stories about Pablo Escobar marrying their cousins in Peru, about getting pulled over with an ounce of pot and questioning if they might spend the rest of their life in prison, and others with stories they only let their eyes explain. Jail always feels like a the back page of the Sunday newspaper. Chaotic cartoons and I easily drew myself in. Kaki shorts falling off me, no shirt and a bloody lip. Model citizen.

I flagged down an officer after I realized no one was getting released. I was not going to spend another night in there and everyone who was getting arraigned had already seen the judge. But I hadn't. Shit, I hadn't even been told my charges. For all I knew, I was lost in a system of bars, sticky benches and cartoons. The officer came across the cat walk to see what I wanted.

"Yeah?"

" 'Scuse me ma'am, I dont know why I'm still in here. I was told I was just being held over night to let things calm down and I'm still here. Can you find out if I'm getting released or whats going on?"

"... Yeah I guess I can do that."

" Thank you ma'am"

" I'm a sir."

For some reason, I kept calling the him ma'am. I still dont know why, but it happened at least 4 times. Not the best move when you really need the guy to come back with some good news. Let alone, just come back at all. An hour passed and then I heard someone call my name.

"Minor?"

"Over here."

"Your leaving"

Watching the bars open felt like Jesus. Not that I've felt Jesus, but I have heard that he touches you and that seems special to me. I assume thats what it feels like. I was given my belongings and after giving a few guards a hard time for having to stare at ball sacks, I promptly got the fuck out of there. I didn't know where I was going or what I was doing, but I knew I was going to smoke a cigarette and start walking. Purple prison flip flps and all.


The next few days, I spent the majority of my time overwhelmed with everything being on the edge of change. Everything. I knew the only thing that was going to stay consistent was my dog and myself. That was it. I had a car. I had my bags and some money and a drive to leave everything and go anywhere so thats exactly what I did. I packed everything into my car and without hesitation, jumped on the highway heading north. I figured the best place to collect my thoughts and my life was some place secluded. Some place I can escape into and no one can find me. Also, some place with a view wouldn't hurt. Fortunately, my family has owned a condo in the pinky of Michigan for decades so thats where I pointed and thats where I was going.


About 20 minutes into my excursion, everything started closing in on me. It felt like I hadn't left that cell. Like I was stuck and every fiber in my being was telling me to turn around. All the strength I thought I had disappeared. All the positivity and hope for the future, all of that came victim to my never ending trail of despair and inevitable loneliness I was going to be thrown into. What happens if something goes wrong? What if I get really sick or Mercedes gets really sick or what if I can't stay up there?

What happens if I can't do this?

I called a friend of mine freaking out and told her about what I was drowning in. She listened and calmed me and said,

" Listen, I know this has to be scary. I understand that. Change very rarely comes easy and smooth. Its usually pretty bumpy. But the thing about change is that if it isn't scary, it probably isn't right. That feeling you have means your making a decision outside of your comfort zone and thats a good sign that your heading the right way."

She was right. I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes and kept driving, knowing that where ever I ended up... was where I was meant to be.

On to the next

When I was younger, I remember strategically writing up birthday lists for family members like it was the lotto. I would ask for clothes from my grandma, video games from my grandpa and on the morning of, I would run downstairs to see what awesome presents I inherited. Without fail, every year I felt special. Like that one day out of the year was mine and only mine and if I could have had it that way, trust me, I would have made September 16th a national holiday, dedicated to yours truly. Over the years, everything flips upside down. Fun shit morphs into eye rolls, arguments actually begin to make sense and presents dont really exist inside a world of bills and caring about how to eat the next meal.

I spent the majority of my day last week trying to remember what the fuck I did last year for my birthday and I remembered that I didn't do shit. After all, last year I was in the process of tying weights to my feet to reach rock bottom as fast and sloppy as possible so if I remember right, I sat in an office on the couch doing heroin all day. I could be wrong though. Who knows. All I know is that birthdays lost their allure. When birthday cakes turn into lines of narcotics, thats a big sign that change is in the making. Even though this year I didn't spend my day slumped over and pale, I didn't really do anything celebratory. Once again, I didn't do shit and to be frank, I dont fucking care.

Everyone toots their horn about being young and in their 20's and 'oh, that was my prime' and blah blah blah. Whatever. I dont think I'll ever understand that. To me, my early 20's have been the most confusing, ground shattering, perspective shifting, lost times I've endured so far. I've never been this close to throwing in the towel. Its been defeating. Mundane. And fuck, the responsibility. Ah, responsibility. I miss being able to blame everyone else for everything else I dont want to take the blame for. I miss birthday cakes. I miss smiling. I'd like to believe that someday those memories will rewrite themselves but as of right now, in my 24 years of life, everything has gone downhill since high school and thats not really anything to celebrate.

Every year I find myself saying 'yup, that year sucked. onto the next.' and thats pretty much how I feel this year. 2010 was shit. 2011 has been shit. I'm ready for new. So life, I'd like to make a deal with you if your okay with that. You haven't been the nicest to me so far and I forgive you for that. But how about you help me out with these next 365 days a little bit. Can you let somethings go my way? Or at least one thing? Thats all I;m asking for this year for my birthday. Just for something positive follow through for me. I dont need clothes or donky kong or anything else but a little bit of security in the fact that things do get better...

I guess I'll wait for your response.

Was I not who you were reaching for?

I'm gonna say some shit. It may be misguided and biased. Actually, I know it is. But none the less, its valid because I'm fucking fed up with some of the shit I've seen lately.

We all have some sort of message to get across. Usually, at least. If not, and we're still making art in some form, the interpretation is up for grabs. I like it better that way sometimes. However, the thing about messages is that they tend to have a direction or a target demographic. I understand that. Its hard to walk through life as a quadriplegic (no pun intended) and not try to reach out to people in wheelchairs. You know that walk of life (no pun intended). You know the ups and downs of being paralyzed. Therefore, you aim your words/ your ideas/ your passions towards that area and hope it helps those who are looking for it.

But heres the thing: dont diminish or narrow your impact by aiming so small. Just dont. There's tons of people out there who might not be a girl or poverty stricken or paralyzed or diseased who can and will connect to what your talking about. Your message is universal, and you should embrace that. Embrace that maybe, possibly whatever it is your throwing out into the world will maybe, possibly be interpreted differently than how you intended. Actually, hope it does. Thats the mark of an artist. If you wrote a song about break ups and some lonely dude out there can relate to it, dont fuck up his connection to YOUR art by saying 'well this was for all the little girls out there who dont know someone else has been there'. What's he supposed to feel then? Was your purpose to leave him out? Or was it to make him feel like a little girl?

I'm not innocent when it comes to this. I'll admit that. The majority of my passion goes into troubled youth and helping them connect to writing because yes, that troubled teen is who I was. But I would never write something or teach something in such a specific manner. I would never say 'well, I wrote this piece for all the lost 15 year old dudes out there who use ecstasy every weekend'. Why wouldn't I say that? Because that target is so narrow that I will most definitely be leaving out a good number of people who caught on to my work for a completely different reason. Maybe some one related to a part where I said something about god. Or maybe some one related to a part where I mentioned being cheated on. Or maybe, someone liked one little line. It doesn't matter the reason as to why they caught on it only matters that they did. Explaining your work is one thing, but aiming small when you know damn well your impact is big is just naive.

Most, not all, but most of this was brought up by the VMAs. That god damn waste of time. I found it interesting to hear peoples responses to it though. A lot of people had buckets of shit to say about Lady Gaga and Tyler the Creator. I understand this but I dont understand people being so damn stupid. First off, the life of an artist is crazy and scrutinized. Everything they do is A.) Public and B.) Critiqued. So lets get somethings straight: Lady Gaga is fucking brilliantly retarded. I say this because, going along with everything I just wrote, she has one purpose and one purpose only and thats to target an alternative life style. All to her. She empowers people who might not find it else where. Awesome. But to be honest, I've connected with some of her work and I am not a transgender. I am not a lesbian. I am not gay. So every time she throws her stereotypical banter about that shit I just tune the fuck out because thats not why I connected to it. I connected to it because its positive. Because its hopeful. Not because I'm sexually different from everyone else. So shut the fuck up with that shit. Explain yourself, fine okay- but dont marginalize your audience.


As for Tyler, people are questioning his art. More specifically, MTV for giving him the award for Best New Artist. Apparently, the problem is that he said the word 'faggot' 200 sum times in his album. I understand the sensitivity to that word. Honestly, I do and thats why you wont catch me saying that shit. But- I used to use it as much as I use the word 'the' and sometimes, I miss it. Not because I miss offending gays, but because it rolls of the tongue powerfully. Its a fun word. It hits right. Its satisfying. However, now I've grown up a little and don't keep such offensive words in my vocab but at the end of the day, I know my generation. My generation does not associate the word 'fag' with its definition. We dont call gays 'fags', we call our friends who are acting like fags 'fag'. If a gay dude was acting like a 'fag', we would call him a gay 'fag'. My generation has taken a word, much like the word 'like' or 'dog' and turned it into a completely different word with a different meaning. However, on the latter side of things, I get the offensive nature of what I just said. I understand that the word 'faggot' originates back to the Salem Witch Trials. In that time, they would burn the witches with bundles of sticks called 'faggots' and with them, they would throw in the gays. Hence, this is why you get the term 'flaming faggot'. So every time you say this, it resonates a little deeper than just a 'fun, satisfying' word. My point, though, is that none of this fucking matters at all. For anyone who grew up in the 90's, this is identically the same reason that made Eminem hated and loved. He was offensively genius. He was putting people on the edges of their seats with his humor, and thats the fucking point: its just a god damn joke. For the people who take shit so seriously, they're just adding fuel to these fires and it has nothing to do with faggots or making fun of celebs, it has to do with our fundamental rights to say what ever the fuck we want. Life is too serious. These artists understand that. Eminem is now considered one of the greatest hip hop artists of all times, yet he started out with the same attention getters that Tyler is. Em killed Dr. Dre in his songs. He went after the Spice Girls and Britney Spears and Pamela Anderson. He was making music mocking the current 'idols' of the time and did it in an artistic 'dont give a fuck what you think' type way. I appreciate that.

Tyler ate cockroaches and stabbed Bruno Mars in his throat in his song. Did you notice both Bruno and Tyler were at the VMAs and it didn't fucking matter what he said in his song? B.O.B gave more of a fuck about what Tyler said than anyone else and you know what, that just gave Tyler that much more acknowledgment. The same way Eminems shit did to him in the late 90's. This is nothing different people. This is just brilliant marketing and pristine awareness of what works and what doesn't. Did I like Tyler the Creators 'Goblin'? Nope, but I appreciated his art. It got a lot of people to react. Thats art. Whether you like to admit it, thats fucking art.

If people want to care about anything, why don't you care that Chris Brown is still on probation for beating a woman while he gets glorified dancing around in the air like he's the next MJ? Does that matter? Or does it matter that some kid from Cali with a different swag writes some brutal images into our minds? You tell me.

Ugh. Got that off my chest.

I haven't published much lately. Its on purpose. Its not that I haven't been writing, its that what I have been writing is complete horse shit. Not that most everything I write isn't, but the past 2 weeks of drafts are just toilet paper. Horrible, horrible stuff. Truly.

I skim through this journal every once and a while and see where I've been heading or what insights I've stayed true to or where I've come up short. To be honest, this hole blog is bullshit. At least 90 percent sheer bullshit. I'll be honest when I say that I haven't stuck to one god damn thing that I've wrote about. Positive at least. And that makes me feel shitty. It makes me feel fake. Like I just want to put on a front like I'm doing really amazing shit when really I'm sitting on the couch with my dick in my hand. Then I realized that the majority of what I put out on these pages is what I'm hoping to receive someday. I dont know if I've ever claimed to have embraced anything FULLY or began to transition into a different mindset FULLY but I have wrote some nice ideas I guess. Have I held onto them? Nope. Not one bit. I guess most of these posts have been personal pep talks for me to not give up yet.

I tend to write quite a bit about trying to like myself, trying to understand who I am. All that nonsense. The reason why I say that shit so much is because I fucking hate myself. 110 percent. Theres not one thing that I really 'like' about myself. Physically, emotionally, anything. And every time I try to rationalize some good or at least acceptable quality, I tend to tune myself out. I've heard it all before. " Love yourself because you're all you got". "You gotta love yourself before you can love anyone else". Blah blah blah... none of that makes any difference. I still dont like waking up. I still dont enjoy being this person. I've turned all the mirrors in my house around because I'm straight sick of looking at myself. I'm not who I thought I was. I'm not a good person. I'm a waste of skin and on most days, the only time that I actually feel alive is when I'm asleep. And thats fucked up. I've gotten to the point where I've just accepted all of this. I hate on myself so much that I believe thats all I really deserve. And if no one else has seen me as useful or worthwhile, why the fuck should I? I'm not going to waste my time with all that positive hoop blah any more. I am this way. It's not changing.

Anyway, I dont have anything prolific or uplifting to share. Shocker, I know. I'm really on my last foot right now. Every day when I wake up, I spend a good hour thinking if I'm okay with killing myself yet or if I should just check myself into a psyche ward or googling toxic home remedies. Fucking morbid. I broke down last week while I was doing the dishes and told my dad that I dont know what to do anymore. I kept saying 'I got nothing'. Every time he'd ask me what I'm gonna do, that's all I'd say. I told him I have no quality of life anymore. I dont even try to leave the house. I've given up all forms of communication. I gave up on my job. On school. On working out. I stopped eating for a few days. I'm confused and broken and slowly giving up and I dont know what theres left to do.

I'm done crying and being a bitch about everything though. I understand that my story isn't different or worse than probably anyone else so I can't sit around crying about shit. All I can do is try to not let my toxic behavior effect anyone else. This year has sucked. And I've said this every fucking year since 2008. Exponentially, every year since has been the pits. I've gone through every obstacle, falling at every given moment and doing it without any grace or tact. Just falling face first into drugs or relationships or low self esteem or lower self esteem or whatever. I just flop through life like a fish out of water and I dont see a pond in sight so I'm about to just kick it where I'm at.

shackles

theres been a few things in my life i've been a slave to. i've had chemical handcuffs. chained to bottles and hammy down phone numbers. i've worked for ass hats. tons. people who didn't see me as anything more than a tucked in shirt, a mop and another person to fire. i've stolen. alot. mostly from people who love me the most.

as far back into my past as these things are buried and will remain there, the one thing that still whips me when i turn my back and shackles me up at night is whatever is inside of me. that brooding ballsy bloodsucker that feeds on my foundation and my smiles.

i dont know what your purpose is. i dont know how to get rid of you. i have a hunch im not supposed to. you feel like you're attached to more than i know about. maybe your my heart. maybe your an infection.

whatever you are, i'd like my life back. thank you.

There is such a complex beauty to artists and their art. Truly is. Every one. At least thats how I see it. Some might call it other things like being fucking weird or off or " I just dont get him sometimes"; to each their own. I'm sure there's plenty of people who get hurt by artists ( cause we are crazy in doses) and then expect all of us to be demented drug addicts with long hair and small jeans, drinking coffee with a cigarette in one hand, art in the other who care about nothing but ourselves...

That actually doesn't sound too far off from me...

But seeing how I am myself though, I have to start to like that person some where along these lines. Eventually it'll happen. So on my way home I was thinking to myself how vague and unspoken creativity is to live in. Really. If you find an artist who's capable of doing their art in public, watch them. Not that its going to be a huge spectacle or anything, its just going to look normal. Its going to look like their doing what they're supposed to. Theres no conversations. Nothing gets between them and their focus. Their hand and the paper, eyes forward and straight putting the peddle down. Now, I'm sure theres artists on every extreme I left out; ones with complete distractions, with no drive and even less work ethic and others that just go fucking insane and mumble to themselves naked by an easle. Dont worry, I have not forgotten you.

All of this goes to my point which is: anyone who knows an artist, of any kind and any caliber of insanity, has to want to know whats going through their head. Maybe not on a day to day basis, but when they come up with shit, they do something brilliant or they do something completely bizarre that leaves you questioning if your even okay with that- thats when people start asking questions. They get curious. See, that right there is the artists card: NO ONE will ever see what goes on behind your eyes. THEY WONT KNOW! And confusing shit always makes people try to understand it. Thats why art always has some sort of interpretation to it. Its essential for art. Its a component to it. There has to be some way to look at what ever it is, whether it be a dance routine, a painting, a novel, in a way that isn't for plain face value. Because at face value, honestly, a lot of art is down right silly bullshit. And other times, its just intensely perplexing. Structure doesn't exist. Aesthetics, manners, barriers of any sort- no where. But because art is beautiful and its not something everyone can do, it is appreciated and analyzed and picked apart and put up on walls and tattooed on bodies. This almost gives the artist an inherited brilliance. A endowed meaning that, for all you know, might be completely undeserved. He might have just drawn a raven... because... he likes birds. YOU'LL NEVER KNOW!


Knowing would ruin shit though. Symbolism in itself would be completely wrecked. There would be signs and paintings and letters that would mean distinctly different things then they do to us now, and that would be lame. We've handed down hundreds of symbols from places that we aren't 100% positive of their true intended meaning. And thats half of the fun- getting to create our own meanings. Now, sometimes it might be fulfilling to know the story behind some work or hear how the gears move, but then again, we are the artist. We might not be able to fully articulate that process or what happens during it. Sometimes I black out. Then, I'll just go back and fill in the blank as creatively and meaningful as possible. THEY WILL NEVER KNOW! WE CAN ALL MAKE UP

CRAZY

SHIT!

For this reason, the vague is a powerful place to stay in. Especially if you aren't destructive. If you're destructive, you can't take on this responsibility correctly. You'll produce bad. Lots of bad. Not that I'm not destructive in ways, or that every artist for that matter is, but the ones who know how to hone it and create positively from that odd negative area are the ones who get noticed. They're also the ones who can extend this grey area into other dynamics of their life. Actions, phrases, character, the work place.

So today, I went into work. I sat down for the best salad in my life and started discussing the program I wrote up last week. I didn't hear back from my boss for almost 6 days and I was beginning to feel that he might have hated it, realized how incompetent I am and already contracted someone with a PH.D to write a program that didn't look like a fucking one legged monkey wrote it upside down and blind. But sure enough, he liked it. I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to note and he said

' Well, we'll have to work on the video selection that you decide to show and when. But other than that, I was asking myself for a second why you picked certain topics for certain days. Then I realized that each day was like a building block for the next. Certain topics can't be discussed with out the others already there and so on.'

I looked at him confidently and said

'Yup. Thats how I wanted to do it too. I couldn't just start off talking about the big stuff at the end because that wouldn't make a cohesive meaning. I'm not here to shove the kids.'

As I was driving home tonight, I tried to think about if I actually creatively thought that out. I will not share that with you.... But I will tell you... I fucking didn't. Straight up. I didn't sit there and say ' Oh, how can I make this look like I'm building up to something AMAZING? ' or ' This is going to fucking matter'. I just did it. I wrote down some ideas on a bunch of paper, watched some t.v and drank some water, looked down at the paper and said ... nothing. It just happened that way.

Maybe the vague isn't something we even know about. It can even be confusing to the artist. Its sorta violent that way. It just comes over us like an demon, gets left in areas we allow it and later, when the clouds pass, the wind stops and everything settles down, we look back and say

Yup. I wrecked that shit.

Thats art. Thats our exclusionary clause right there. We dont have to explain. Your minds will explain it perfectly for us. We depend on your judgment and your criticism. Your stares and confusion. Without them, we might not even understand that what were doing- matters at all. However, there is this one rad super power to being an artist and thats this:

We can just make shit up and take credit for being awesome.

Not much beats that.

head still ringing

What a hell of a weekend. Theres only a few experiences in life that help you understand you're apart of something much bigger than yourself. This was one of them. I feel blessed. And thats a total understatement.

We'd been planning to go to Lollapalooza since April of this year. We just had to go. It was going to be on my brothers birthday, there was tons of amazing musicians we wanted to see and on top of that, we both were do for a much needed reward. Life hasn't been the kindest these past few years. I've struggled in almost every possible way; through addiction, heart ache, homelessness and fights. However, everything up until a few weeks ago was telling us it wasn't going to happen. I barely had enough money to feed myself, let alone throw down 200 some dollars for a concert. Then, the universe began to work with me. I found myself a source of funds that allowed us to just barely buy tickets before they got ridiculous. This helped me realize that sometimes, hoping is half the battle. I simply had faith it was going to work out. Everything. We WERE going to get our tickets. We WERE going to get down there. We WERE NOT going to be sleeping on the streets. And thankfully, it all paid off so awesomely.

Last week was hectic though. I had mad work on my plate to accomplish before setting sail. And after all that was done, we still had to find a place to stay once we got to Chicago. Tickets were one thing. We knew we would be seeing our shows. But up until last Wednesday, we didn't have a floor to crash on. Everything just fell into place for us though. Everything. One of my brothers friends moms was kind enough to take us in. And not only that, but she was kind enough to feed us delicious home cooked meals and stories that I'm not sure can ever be topped. I'm still weighing out which was better- seeing our favorite dubstep groups or meeting someone who played Risk in the nude with Alan Ginsberg. Tough one right there.

Saturday was nuts. For a lot of reasons. For one, having numerous people we were trying to meet up with every hour was so intense to keep up on. With 300,000 people packed within a couple miles of each other, phones just didn't work how they should. Texts wouldn't send, phone calls could be made in disappointing intervals. It was ridiculous. For two, I can say now, even though I realize how sad it is to say this at my age, I definitely should have stretched out before going to the park. Full fledged, every body part, neck, shoulders, back, everything. With trying to find all those people, and trying to get to shows on time, we were standing/ walking/ dancing for 8 hours. Apparently, that does more to a body than I anticipated. Even with the laziest dougie and head bob I threw down, I still ended up stiff as fuck by 9:30. I had to push through that shit though. There was too much to enjoy to worry about my back snapping in half. Beats Antique, Pretty Lights, Super Mash Bros ugh... too much deliciousness for my ears and mind to worry about stupid body parts. I do have to say that Cee Lo... was so... fucking... wack. I really want to know whats going on with him. He needs to go back to his Gnarls roots. Just stop dude. Seriously. Stop.

The train ride back that night felt like hell. Literally. The train was pack front to back and on top of that, it was a sauna. No joke. Just hundreds of sweating, drunk zombies sweltering in this hot box waiting for their stop. It was so rugged. So. Rugged. I think the shower that night was one of the highlights.

The next day, I could barely move. I had this beautiful migraine setting up shop EVERYWHERE in my head. Front, sides, back by my neck. It was great. The bass in Perrys tent was getting so loud that peoples noses were bleeding. Sound ordinances were getting broken. Sets were getting shut down. I think a couple of screws in my head were coming loose too. Anyway, I woke up and had a beautiful conversation with a fellow artist/ writer for about 2 hours. Talked about everything. It got real. I like that. Then, I walked into where my brother was sleeping and said " YO, so its getting late and we need to figure shit out. ONE MORE DAY, lets get it buddy." He looked like ass. We got moving though, and made it down to the park in time for me to catch the last half hour of The Cool Kids, who also got cut off right before Asher Roth came on stage for some shit. He came all the way there for just that little part... and he couldn't even do it. Whatever, I dont really like that guy anyway.

We spent about 45 minutes sitting down after that. We found a nice little spot where grass still existed and sat like pros. Another hot ass day. Everything was throbbing. In the back ground we could hear the constant rattling of 12th Planet and Chuckie, so we weren't missing out on much. I still heard what I needed to. Then, I looked at the sky line and noticed the clouds were coming in fast. And dark. I was happy. A little rain would be fucking great right about now. It was getting close to Jr. Gong and Nas' set, so we hiked our way over to that side of the park. By the time we got our spots, the rain came. And I dont just mean drizzling, little cooling type rain. This was a down pour. It looked like something straight out of the catacombs of Woodstock. The ground quickly turned to half inch mud. Peoples clothes came off. We got drenched from head to toe. Everything. Shorts, shoes, my wallet is still soaked. The crowd would cheer every time the rain came down harder and harder. It was hard not to appreciate the elements at that point. Then the sound of guitars and tambourines came on through the speakers and suddenly, the rain stopped. The clouds parted for Nas and Damian to come out and wreck shit. They came out so hard. That set was so hard. Period. Hands down, one of my favorite shows of the weekend. Ailments and all. Probably the only songs I actually sang along with. They didn't let me down at the Rock the Bells two years ago, and they definitely didn't let me down this year. Amazing.


Afterward, I had to fuckin sit down for a second. I had to. My back was done for. I was shivering. I had to take my shoes off and try to squeeze as much water out as I could. The streets were filled with muddy, ready to go folks. We sat by the fence eating some shit and people watching for a little bit. We had about an hour till Deadmau5 came on. My brother started trying to set up our ride back to the burbs when I looked up and noticed ANOTHER fucking storm was coming. Much more dark than the last one. And this one was coming in fast. We looked at each other and agreed that we couldn't make it through another downpour. We were still wet from the last one. So I had to make one of the hardest decisions in my hole life: stay for Deadmau5 or make it to safety.

We left. Reluctantly and pissed off at my wussy behavior, we decided to walk. As we left, we heard just as many people walking around us pissed off that they had to leave too. So at least we weren't alone in the decision.

All in all, this was a hell of a weekend. A music festival is something everyone should experience at least once in their life. It was a utopia. Tons of great people all gathering together to appreciate life and music and each other. A place where drugs are used like water out in the open, where people let go of who they were on the outside of those gates and a place where everything going on is something worth partaking in.


But god, these were some extremely fancy Pretty Lights huh?

I have to be honest. Its my imperative. I can't sit here and tell you that I dont still think about you. I do.

Sometimes, I write letters to you. I tell you things about my day and how I'm still struggling to like myself, ever so slightly. How I just want to hear how your doing, where ever you are, and how much I'm sorry

for being this way. In the end, I dont ever send them. I know I shouldn't. I know none of anything I have to say necessarily matters to you. Thats not your fault. I dont blame you for not caring. I wouldn't want to know me either.

Exlax for writers block.

If I could

I would take my words off the first crop from a peach tree
so I could make them taste sweeter than every other sentence you've heard.

See if I could,

I would make a language out of the leather that makes snares
so I could beat your ear drums
like Nick Cannon.

Yup, I said that.
That just happened.

If I could,

I would have a choreographer for my fingers
so my poetry could dance around your thoughts.
And do other cool shit I cant say.

If I could,

I would contract a German scientist
to turn my meanings into synthetic bubble gum.
So you could keep my words in your mouth longer.

If I could,

I would change all of Gucci Manes lyrics to
the sound of crack being made.

If I could,

I would wash my heart out with bleach to separate
your filthy memory from my definition of love.

If I could,

I would fast forward to a time when I know love personally.

If I could,

I would rewind back to when I didn't have to wonder if I love myself.

If I could,

I would pause












for a really long time just to fuck up my syntax.

If I could,

I would forgive Micheal Jordan for having so many mid life crisis's.
Its okay.
All the other numbers after 23 didn't matter.
Neither did the baseball bat.


If I could,

I would write poetry on the inside of every Chemistry textbook
so students dont need equations to know they matter.

If I could,

I would end this really creatively:


Two kids walk into a bar, the bar tender says

Can I really care?

I've come to the point in my life where I have very few cares. And its on purpose. I've spent most of my life worrying about everything from what people think of me, to what music I listen to, to when I would hit a growth spurt ( still waiting on that one). Its all a waste of fucking time. Worrying is just unneeded stress delivered in unnecessary daily doses. And it weighs down your insides and drags your chin to your chest and theres only so much of that you can do before you come to a split in the road that says

"keep going and you'll lose yourself, turn around and you might just remember who you were in the first place."

I'm getting better acquainted with who I was before all the chaos. It feels right. I can't help but think I'm still running from the harsh realities of what I've endured but at the same time, I feel like I'm just starting over. Like I've given myself a little bit of a blank slate. And its not one where I forget everything and change my style and my life completely, its one where I cut down all the distractions and exterior bullshit and just focus on the basics: myself . If I have to start at selfish, so be it. Its about time I start to figure out what I really like and what food I really want to eat when I go out and what I want to do instead of just doing everything anybody else wants to do or wants me to do. I'm done living for everyone else.

That being said, loneliness is still a son of bitch to try to cope with. I've gotten better though. Even though I miss having x, y, and z, I dont see females as a necessity or a status quo anymore, but more so just another worry to add to my list. To be bold face honest, girls fucking scare me. And not in that 'I dont want to approach a chick' reluctant type way, but more in that 'God damn you are way to intense and high maintenance ' type way. I mean, in all reality, relationships of any form take energy. And thought. And time. And now every time I see a girl I'm attracted to, I have this circus of thoughts shoot through my head-

- Can I really handle getting to know her?
- What if shes borderline retarded?
- What if shes more damaged than I am?
- Do I even want to know how damaged she is?
- Can I really care?

And the answer to most of those is fuck no.

Right now my life is in a very good space. I can't sit here and complain. I have a job. I've gained some pride and respect back for myself. For my purpose. I got my Lolla tickets (SWAAAAG!). I can't sit here and ask for anything more.

However, I dont know if I'd consider this satisfaction. How does that term work necessarily? Are we ever really satisfied? Do we know when were satisfied?

Rebirth

This week has been fucking swag. I wish I had a more articulate way of saying that but I dont. This sums it up. Plain and simple.

I got my dream job on Thursday. And no, I'm not cooking on TV or rapping or playing basketball. I'm changing lives. I want to say I told you so, but thats not necessary. I had faith in it all along. Fuck you if you didnt.

Sometimes, I question my path. On what steps I'm taking or not taking and where its all going to lead me. So far this year, I've gone from cage fighting, to being two feet away from enlisting, to being bit in the face by a dog, to depression and now, I'm in a class room. Thats right. A fucking class room. And guess who's doing the god damn teaching? Me. Yup. Mr. Tim is molding little people now for a living and I dont think I could be any happier with where life is right now.

I came into class around 11 on Friday. All the kids were describing each other, in positive, non confrontational ways. Then they all raised their hands and asked if they could describe the supervisors and myself. I didn't really know what to expect after one day with these guys.

They went down the line. The other supervisors aren't really too in touch with these kids as far as teaching life goes, but they are still amazing people. The guy next to me got chosen and they started yelling out characteristics.

"He's shy. But he's really nice."

"He's cool but he doesn't talk much. I think he's probably crazy outside of class."

Then the teacher up front asked them to comment on 'the new gentleman' (myself.) I was bombarded by voices.

" Powerful!"

" Inspiring and fearless!"

Then the kid who I had broke down into tears the day before looked back at me, put his hands on his head and said

"He's... wow. I really dont know what else to say, just wow man!"

I smiled.

Kids are my life. They mean everything to me. For every time I felt like giving up, these kids have already shown me 50 reasons why its a good thing I kept going. I am thankful for breath. For waking up and seeing another day. And even though I've slipped up and fallen down more times than I can count,

its time for my rebirth. I'm taking over. One mind at a time.

Do


not

get

in

my

way.

Sideliner

I like when people tell me who I am. Its amusing. Its 2 dimensional and dry and shows me that they dont have a god damn clue what I'm really about. It makes me question what the phrase "know someone" really entails. Do we ever really know someone? Or do we just sum them up into a little sentence ?

Dont shove me into a shadow. Dont forget that once upon a time, you were standing in my shoes. 5, 10 years ago when you were trying to touch the moon and all anyone could look at was your flaws, you were right here. I'm no different. I am not a sentence.

Some days, it may be hard for me to see that I'm special. Or that tomorrows going to be any better than today or yesterday. But deep down inside, underneath all these fucked up issues and insecurities, there's a god damn storm. And I dont know where its going to take me and who's going to be around to witness it but its going to be epic. It wont show up on doplar. You wont be able to hide and seek shelter. But I am formally letting you know

right now

its coming.

fuckers.

No matter how many times you tell me who I am, I will continue to be me. And that is undefinable. Untouchable. Dont fuck with me.

Imagine for a second

Life seems really durable sometimes. Like we can place it in our pockets, drop it where ever, and some how- still end up being okay at that destination. We'll still have breath. Our feet. We'll still have enough energy to wake up and do it all over again. Even if on most days, it seems like things couldn't get any better or any worse or any more complicated or crazy or confusing, life always has a unique way of showing us that it'll keep going

as long as we do. Beat up, heartbroken, tossed around and forgotten, we will continue to wake up.

A close friend of mine came back from Afghanistan this week. Its been nice catching up where we left off, going out and getting stupid with everybody. Always a good time. But the other night, as all of us were sitting out back watching the sun rise with our drinks, one of my boys asked if we had heard about Justin.

"You guys heard what happened right?"

"No, what do you mean?"

"Yeah, last week he got hit by a drunk driver. He died man."

Even though I didn't know him too well, that didn't take away from the fact that someone who we graduated with and played basketball with and walked the halls with is gone. Knowing the person doesn't change that feeling. It feels like loosing a piece of home. Like not being in control.

Life isn't always insured by breath and feet. After all, most of the time we are just not in control of what happens today. And that can be scary, but more importantly

this should show us that we need to appreciate the moment we are in. Good or bad.

Hanging out with my old family from growing up is always good. Just to see them and talk about where we've been and what we've seen and everything thats happened between now and then. Some things change. Some people change. But I realized that our demeanor with each other hasn't shifted a bit.

We still talk shit. Make fun of each other. Throw each other around and call each other faggots. As much as I love these individuals, theres something about that that just doesn't make sense to me.

Imagine for a second that another conversation wont happen. Another drink or moment with someone isn't possible. Not because you wont call someone back or you dont feel like hanging out with them today, but because they're gone. Thats always a possibility right? Theres nothing that says any one of us is going to make it out of today or tomorrow or next week. Nothing. As durable as life can seem, theres always those external forces that come into play. Disease, age, simply driving home from work... nothing says the people who you're close with wont fall victim to some bad shit. Now imagine for a second that the last thing you said to someone, whether it was last night or two years ago,

was making fun of them. You would have some major regrets right? You'd try your hardest to think back on good times and I'm sure you'd have plenty of them to focus on, but that last conversation would be extremely haunting. You'd wish you said something else, done something else, called the person back or gave them a hug. Anything but hurt their feelings and make them feel like you dont care.

My point is this: friendship is valuable. In every way. Theres not many things on this planet that can amount to or make up for a friend. Friendship is kind. It's helpful. It's necessary. Its not something you should have regrets about. Its not something you should neglect or abuse or hurt.

So be nice to each other. For fucks sake, be nice to your damn friends. There is no written code that says your friends have to be your friends. And underneath all this macho, "I'm not as gay as you" bullshit... you love your friends. You'd be shattered to lose them. I know I would.

I'm trying to practice being nicer to myself, as well as to the people I know. Kindness is the one thing that should be cooler than skinny jeans and v necks. It should be protocol for life. And its something I need to get more familiar with. I've gone through most of my life being a piece of shit. An angry, unappreciative piece of shit and I'm sick of it. It's done nothing for me. Its made people not like me and judge me and I'd rather be remembered as the nice kid who you played sports with and kept you company than that one kid who you just talked shit to.

So take down those walls. Show the people you care about... that you fucking care. It doesn't matter what kind of homophobic fears you have against showing your true feelings. This has nothing to do with your sexuality. It has everything to do with happiness. With life. With friendship and with your friends remembering you as someone

who fucking mattered.

My mornings

You know what this means, right? This means I'm not better. Fuck. I thought I got passed this. I shouldn't be this way any more. I shouldn't be thinking about that.

I need to go for a walk. This house feels like jail sometimes. God knows thats a shitty place. I fuckin hate jail. You always leave there feeling like starch and bad conversations. At least I can open the door and run if I want to here. Its too damn hot though. And I'm burnt. I need sunscreen. I need some food. I need some god damn money. Fuck this shit.

I think my story is coming to an end soon. I shouldn't be thinking about that. But I am. Still... I should feel lucky and shit. I shouldn't be so damn angry at everything. Why can't I just fuckin smile? Why do I still sleep with razor blades? Why is that thought even there? Where did this all start?

Everyone talks about the little things. About time passing and things getting better and to just bask in whatever sunlight I can find. I'm fucking burnt. I dont wanna go outside.

I shouldn't be like this. I know people in their 50's who do more than this. People who have been through more and seen more and had to deal with more and somehow they seem stronger than they were at my age. Wheres my strength? And when did I give up on myself?

I feel defeated. But thats my fault. I think. I didn't fight back. And I'm a fighter. Even after all the years and battles, the biggest wounds I've inflicted are right here. I see them every morning. I feel them every where I go. The one person I thought I was protecting behind fists and words and allusive behavior... is the only one who I've really hurt. I should matter more to myself. I'm just not sure I like that person much. I try to convince myself to, I do all the positive mantras and attempt to look up every once and a while but I guess I'm not too believable. I wonder if this even matters at all. I dont know...

I wish I wasn't so afraid to let someone in right now. I could really use a girl in my life. Just for company. I miss those days. Even if she told me she couldn't love me anymore, I really miss having someone to laugh with. And be silly with. I miss being touched... Fuck. This sounds gay. I probably dont deserve that shit. I need to stop thinking about this.

I always wonder when the last chapter comes. I guess I'll never really know. I hope it ends a lot better than this. It should right? Fuck it.

I'm gonna get up I guess.

difficult closure= a long time coming

understandable.


coming from my experience with the psychiatric field, nothing really 'works'. you can talk until the cows come home, you can drown in chemicals and become another drone but at the end of the day, nothing is going to change you beside you. anything else is just going to mask it. that might sound cliche and obvious, but its real. what you surround yourself with, who you surround yourself with and what you partake in directly correlates with how you feel about yourself. some simple adjustments to your life style/personal life/ friends might be all that it really takes to get you smiling again.

id be lying if i said you didn't need anything. i think theres shit in your life you need to come to terms with and figure out. so consoling might be a good choice. i dont have the answers. but i do know that since i started being selfish, and taking care of me instead of everyone else, i've began to start doing things i need and i've cut out the shit that fogs up my life. its helped.

going in line with that, i've realized that your really bad for me. and this comes from love, for you and for myself when i say that lunch probably wont happen. i have nothing against you nor am i mad you, i've just finally understood the effect you have on me and its not something i need in my life.

i hope the best for you and i love you but this pattern of coming in and out of my life needs to stop.