Log in

No account? Create an account















my aches and pains grow by the day, and with the warmth that settles around me.

summer is here.

but there is work here, so the winter i crave (and the numbness it brings) remains far away, i will deal with this.

what is life without pain? it is a lie. all this weakness will pass, or i will perish. i offer myself no other choices, i will accept no other outcome.

the job goes well, i appear to be liked (gasp!?!). i will continue to disclose as little as possible about myself while remaining polite. the lessons from my last job stick in my mind, and my craw.

be silent, and do your damn job. these people around you, they have more money than you, so they are your betters. you do not speak unless you are spoken to. when you are given a command you will obey, and you will show no emotion. you will respect the order of rank.

these beautiful women you see around you, they are richer than you, in funds, in other resources, so you will keep your eyes forward. you are worth as little to them as a lowly dishwasher, as they are worth to you, remote as the fucking clouds... and you will respect the order of rank.

this is life. i will live it one day at a time. and i will have my cheap fucking whores. someday...


and when that itch is scratched... perhaps i can find an end. but i will die like a man, i swear it... somehow. someday...


a disease.

my eidetic memory captures pornographic images stealthily acquired from the public library, with these in my mind's eye i spill my seed into the toilet onto my shit and piss, and this has occurred every morning now, so that i no longer feel anything at all for this process, someone shits in the stall next to me while i get my release, and there is no disgust with anything save for myself, on a level far removed from this act, that which is closest to a soul.

every morning now. what the hell am i? i could drink, but i don't want to. i could smoke weed, but i don't want to. hell, i could shoot heroin, but i don't want to. there is no end to this.

mexican whores seem so far away, and i sure as hell can't afford it here. i see women grimace when i look at them, they find me disgusting, but that is acceptable, i feel their contempt for me, and share it equally. homeless piece of shit, who would want such an ugly thing close to them, feel anything for such a wretched creature, who can't see the sickness i try too feebly to hide? the spiritual and material poverty? what the hell am i? where am i going?

sick creature, why won't you die? but someday i WILL. this is the only comforting thing i have to say to myself. my god feels contempt for me no matter what i say, nothing is ever good enough for him.

will a job change anything? will i be worth any more than i am now? worthless fuck, i want you dead, you will not breathe any more words. ACCIPITEGEHENNA-PATIMINI-DISCIS, walk away.

clouds cover my sun. overwhelming dread and hopelessness. what weakness is it to give in to these things... release. i need release.


happy birthday to hitler in hell. and happy 420. i have no weed, but i have a 4oz left. i guess i will down it. i wasn't spending today sober. there was no way in hell.

what will the world be to me today? just like any other day. i will try for that job tommorrow. that is all i can do. money to fix this damned i-pod, money to get some weed, better late than never. what a waste. smoking weed for fun is for goddamned hippies. i smoke to control my temper, and to control my pain.

the world unfolds before me. i will find solace today. numbness, followed by immediate self-loathing. sweet oblivion followed by acceptance of weakness. this is life.

may it burn.


my wrist STILL hurts.

i found a nice stick.

life continues. i hope to be a dishwasher soon. isn't that fucking pathetic?

beats having no money.

i decided to fuck off that chuggin monkey thing. i hate alcohol. i hate the bar scene. i hate 6th street. why even bother? walk a lil bit further, and be a dishwasher, where hopefully as long as all that shit gets knocked out clean, i get left the fuck alone. just pretend i don't speak any goddamn english, ya know? work work work, don't ask me how i'm doing today, i know you don't care, and i don't care to lie to you just to be polite.

whatever happened to respect for the strong silent types? now people just think they are unsocial creeps. no i'm not a creep, i don't want to hurt you for no reason, i just want to be left the fuck alone, and i wish you wouldn't fucking look at me like that. no i'm not a master bullshit artist, able to come up with meaningless pleasantries just to scratch your ego's itch to validate itself... that doesn't mean i am a bad person. (!!!!)

why don't people understand this?

and why the fuck are they so insipidly happy? what am i missing?

my peace is DOA. the realization twists like an imbedded blade in the hands of a skilled user.

i wonder where all the hate comes from, i wonder if someone would try to stab me with a knife and i just kicked the shit out of said someone with no legal repercussions, would i really feel better? i wonder. something tells me no, there is alot more missing than that. i remember: "who the fuck is going to help you?", infinite hate, infinite cold, his voice. i don't believe in a devil, so that voice must be me. another facet of the same flawed and opaque gem. i want it to crumble to dust before my eyes.

the cold seemed to pour out of my heart and into the world this morning, i felt good. even colder. i want it even colder. but here i am in fuckin texas. go figure.

i'll tolerate it for money, because i'm a whore like that. like calls to like. my desires remain inexorable.

for the money, 価格の適正さ, por el dinero, за деньги, am yr arian, für das Geld, للحصول على المال, pour l'argent, cho tiền, για τα χρήματα, kwa ajili ya fedha, پیسے کے لیے, dla pieniędzy, 为了钱, DEPECVNIIS, สำหรับเงิน, para için, برای پول, för pengarna, पैसे के लिए, בשביל הכסף.

the universal motivator.

someday i will come home.

(ADDENDVM: i guess i will open up to some people in retrospect. but that involves people to whom i do NOT feel inferior to, AND share common interests with. that is a very limited demographic. END)

te quiero puta

my wrist hurts. i got new glasses with clip on shades, so i can look older? the headphone jack on my ipod is fucked up so i have no music. life proceeds apace. i am going to go after this chuggin monkey job, but i have no TABC, so go figure my chances, eh? the old song and dance plays in my head... oh i wish i wish, money makes it true.


Ay que rico un dos tres
Sí te deseo otra vez

Vamos vamos mi amor
Me gusta mucho tu sabor

Pero no no no tu corazón
Más más más de tu limón


Dame de tu fruta
Dame de tu fruta

Vamos mi amor

Entre tus piernas voy a llorar
Feliz y triste voy a estar

Te quiero puta!
Te quiero puta!


Ay que rico


i love you, whore.

glücklich werd ich nirgendwo

this cast must come off. if i risk permanent injury so be it. but i must start making money. i can't fucking stand this anymore. there is no light at the end of this tunnel, only the derelict that surround me, shells, ruined husks... i hate so much. i wish i could have silence.

i haven't even shaved in a few weeks now. i cannot stand to look in the mirror. disgust wells up, turns to nausea, that fucking face makes me so sick, i want to vomit and laugh and cry. i want to wipe that expression off my face and replace it with rotten flesh, so the outside mirrors the inside... i hate so much. i wish i could have silence.

hope is my disease, it keeps me around, tells me that when my wrist heals i'll find work, that having money will make me happy, that i can escape this lifeforsaken place and find something better, as if this wasn't where i ended up every fucking time back in the dirt, spit, and filth of the world... i hate so much. i wish i could have silence.

longing is so cruel.


i like this cooler weather this morning, the sun hides behind the overcast grey.

i miss colder places, i miss snow beneath my feet, the sight of my breath escaping into the frigid air...

today i am sleepy, i ate like a pig, like i was fattening myself for the slaughter, but no changes come, i still live and breathe.

this damned cast will come off, and soon. i will not be an invalid, i will not beg.

sever it from the whole, and bring it forth. the world follows my eyes.

i live.


comfort. the notion of oblivion. the coppery taste, and the voice. i remember.

the beginnings of a prayer, to no one in particular,
a distorted ceiling that seems 10 yards away. exhaustion... decay.

wet thuds, splintered bone. disjointed memories of pain. no mercy.


worn calloused hands, hot metal, dirt in my mouth. who wants eternity? the very texture of the soil rises up to meet my gaze, waits for shovel blades to dig my grave.


its mouth is sewn shut, it is silent forever, in its hand a nameless weapon.

without fear, without judgment, without remorse... it takes flight.


the cord of life unwinding from a center spool,
no soul to be found amongst the tattered flesh.
the points of a thousand spears, unblemished, clean of blood,
point at its black heart. you will kill me yet, and i will show gratitude.




my angel, this is for you, and when everything is ashes, and i am alone, then i am at peace.




22125575 4475221338794 01527742 886457962212 019921746644


got laughed at this morning. suppose it happens. i can't wait for this shit to heal. i must work. if only to i cal tell those yuppies to fuck off, i must work.

at 25 hours a week, how long will it take to get out of here? so filled with hatred and bitterness. i want to be away from everyone, but my stomach calls me to the drug infested, religious guilt infested hellhole.

i will not be an invalid. i must work. work makes you free.


Zikk Maabus Invictus
Koos Koos

Latest Month

May 2012


RSS Atom
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow