I Need To Piss

Right. When the rapists of the rivers bathed in clear water, we should have paid attention. When the sons of the privileged were coveted by perceived salvation, we should have paid attention. When freedom was defined instead of theorized, we should have paid attention. When knowledge was quantified – we stopped paying attention.
I fail to see how silencing anything is freedom.
I loathe the homogenization of people.
I am constantly amazed at how I cannot understand concepts you have such a firm grasp on.
How are you? Is everything okay? I hope so. Some people get married. Some people get divorced. Some people destroy boundaries. Some people build walls. Strikes and gutters. Don’t sweat it.
What is your greatest fear? Mine is how few “decent is the highest form of patriotism” bumper stickers I have seen lately.
What is your greatest weakness? Mine is math.
What is your greatest strength? Mine is the ability to wade.
What was the last book you read? I just read a Daredevil comic that I enjoyed.
Where do you see yourself in five years? I see myself dead.
What separates you from everyone else? My ability to leave.
Some of us met in 2004. I was leaving or maybe I had left graduate school. Some of us met before, and I told you about my blog. Some of us have met in the consequent years following the inception of my blog and you have maybe left, or disregarded or grown sick or not understood.
Some of you like certain things. Some of you like everything. Some of you worry. Some of you spit praise like my ears grow wax. Some of you say nothing.
Some of me writes. Some of me wrongs. Some of me is a product of my environment. Some of me is all DNA. Some of me lusts. Some of me is satisfied.
Some of you support the old boss. Some see something different in the new boss. Some of us care. Some of us don’t. Some of us believe. Some of us have faith.
None of us know. None of us have been there. None of us are what we ought.
You will never get it.
I will never understand.

Lights Will Be Shining

Right. I forgot how much I miss being heartbroken. It is nice. It is quiet. It is how I imagine it is to live in a house after your parents died in it. Things still get done. You still do things. You function and clean and you aren’t sure how. The Gods must not realize this is starting to feel like home. It is no longer punishment, it is simply life. I will never make my way to that island. I don’t speak the language. I am not wanted there it seems.
I like ribs. I could eat ribs like 48 times a day forever.
I know this kid, he will always be okay. If I were to guess, he just may live forever.
There is this other kid. I don’t know him. But I hope he is square - as in the good way not the lame way.
There is yet another kid whom I will likely never meet, and I am fairly certain he will be dead soon.
I wish my keyboard had a .com button. That would make shit easier.
I assume someone read it and I think it is fair to assume it isn’t very good. It is God’s will.
I fell once about six years ago. Maybe longer. Maybe shorter. I couldn’t tell you. I fell and when I fell, I hit my head. So timelines are fuzzy. But the point is, is that I haven’t fallen since because I learned to walk drunk. That is a skill they should teach in school.
Space aliens freak me out.
One day I might tell someone the truth. But by then it will be a lie.

Borinquen

Right. Some things have worth. Some things are worth more than other things. Some things have no worth. Some things are free.
This isn’t new shit I am learning.
Some things are free. So you don’t really want them. Or you are stoked to find that you now have more junk. Some folks like junk. Some people collect it. Some people spend every waking second scheming new inventive ways to collect more free shit. I never figured that game out.
Take it and discard it. Bums need shit too.
Some things have no worth. Zero. Some things are just worthless. Most things have no worth. But in a bind, when anything is needed, something worthless is at least a thing. Again, these are at least something and needed, like cough drops, when needed. In fact, something worthless can be very useful and have a semi-permanent station in life. Sometimes it can even be permanent.
Get all you can out of it, because it’s free.
Some things are worth more than other things. Who knows why? I sure don’t. Gold isn’t rare, I mean we still dig that shit up, but it seems to be worth more than topaz and I think I remember someone telling me we have about found all the topaz in the world. So someone puts a nice arbitrary value on things and now everyone must live with those costs. Some people believe in this shit and work hard or lie and cheat and steal their way to attaining the higher valued shit.
Get yours. No one is stopping you.
Some things have worth. Some things are just worth more. Some things fit in a hole in your soul. Some things understand the amebic boundaries that we are and change with us. Some things are eternal in, the very least, our own eyes.
I meant every word I said to her. I meant every word I wrote about her. I meant the promise I gave only to myself about her.

7 Rules Revisited

Right. I have never trusted a cop in a raincoat. That said, I am not so sure raincoats are even fashionable to people in my generation.
I have never trusted enthusiasm or love, because each is temporary and quick to sway. That said, it seems my generation cannot discern between the two.
I was once asked if I cared about the world’s problems, I looked deeply into the questioner’s eyes – he never asked me again. That said, my generation cares more about identifying problems to make a joke of them rather than a solution.
I never give my real name, and when told to look at myself – I refuse. That said, my generation only asks for numbers and email addresses, and if I did look at myself, I wouldn’t be seeing the same man.
I have never done or said anything the person standing in front of me could not understand. That said, my generation hasn’t the attention span to watch or listen to me long enough to get it.
I have never created anything, for it will be misinterpreted. It will chain me and follow me for the rest of my life. And it will never change. That said, my generation hasn’t created anything. We remake things. And I am just as big a phony as the rest.
I am sorry Bob Dylan, Joe Strummer, Bob Marley, J.D. Salinger and Nikola Tesla. We have failed you all. We have listed without hearing. We have preached evolution and invented the copy machine. We have made you rich and bankrupted your ideas. Please, allow me to issue a formal apology on behalf of everyone born after 1975, we were simply trying to have something new.
This person, who is a fixture in my life through no desire on my part, believes me to be a murderer. She has said it. She believes it. And when I see her, it is as clear in her eyes as her cocaine pupils. Because of this, I sleep in the street a lot. I find it amusing people think the war fucked me up. I am just trying to be Barry White.
I hope I am close to finding a job. Life is better when there is something to do.
I really like whiskey.
I don’t believe in second hand smoke, gravity or evolution. I don’t have to. I don’t tell you what to believe. Leave me alone.
I have a dream of the future. It is a humble dream. It is mine, and it is safeguarded behind muscle, rib and blood. I don’t need much for this dream to come true. Some dreams come true. Maybe this one will. Maybe it won’t. I could really care less to be truthful.

I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles

Right. If I have a problem, it is just that, my fucking problem. Not yours.
The away colors appeal to me.
I smile a lot. I am learning to make the same jokes. I get the same laughs. I was telling new jokes to crickets. I guess when a farmer cleaned the crickets out of his window sill every spring; he looked forward to growing the same crops.
I am bored. Discontent. There are zero opportunities. Zero help - none taken, none given. The same as empathy.
I have strange thoughts, almost hallucinations of odd topics. Nothing violent.
I am pretty unwelcome in most places, houses, homes, bars and groups. I am the youngest looking 30 year-old I know. I am unafraid, to the point of recklessness. I am amazed.
No, I am not amazed. I am astounded. Maybe. I’m not really sure. There is a camera on ever corner. I had a 70 year-old woman tell me I was killing myself as I paid absurd money for a pack of cigarettes. There is a gate around my old high school keeping me out.
I have to laugh at it all. It is amazing. This is what we want.
I must have everything, because I get nothing.
I had a conversation with this girl once. She might have been on to something. She said something to the effect that I don’t really feel anything, I just recognize which feeling ought to be felt and fake it. She said that. I disagreed.
I had another conversation with this girl once. Well, it was more me listening to a diatribe of unimportance. She said something about how one day, I’d be sad she was leaving. She said that. I still disagree.
My mother once told me a myth that one day I’d be sorted out properly because I was decent. I only half agreed.

You Will Never Bring Me In

Right. Once, I was a boy. There was a time. I was young. I felt good. More importantly, I felt. I don’t really feel anything anymore. I don’t like things I ought to love. I can’t stand the thought of having sex. I loathe not being drunk. I wasn’t always like this.
I used to think great things were possible. I now only wish that complete ruin of every system is possible. Destruction. Ground zero. Reset.
Every government abandoned.
Every economic system and transaction obliterated.
Every God worshipped and burned.
Wreck it.
Make it bleed.
Watch it gasp.
Send it on its way.
This is my fucked up dream - to live in a world where everyone fends, wildly and primitively, for themselves.
I want it to die.
I like soccer.
I like sports.
I need a job.
I don’t even desire things. I simply recognize things must happen.

No Muse

Right. Right now things aren’t as you’re thinking. Things are different. Nothing is the same with me, with you or with them. Nothing is as it was, ought or seems. Everything is a joke or a lie.
My eyes are real because I am flesh.
I can’t say things anymore because people know of me. But what they know of me, be it from here or in the world or both - everything they know of me is a lie. Maybe they realize that, and it is because they realize it that I am a joke to them. Maybe they don’t realize it is a lie, but that then makes them the joke.
My hearing is sound because I listen.
I should have things. Certain things should be afforded to me. I earned a couple things. None of those things manifest themselves. None of those things are tangible. And none of those things exist. I have to laugh, because it is a joke. The whole thing was a joke. Jokes are best when the butt of it has no idea and I am not a very smart man.
My touch is electric because I want it.
I live so much inside my head; I have no idea if what happens is reality or my imagination. I don’t remember things. I cannot discern between what is real and what I pretended, wished, thought or dreamt. I can’t remember any faces anymore. Five seconds after I see a face, it is gone. I am always in constant surprise. I don’t even try to remember anymore. I just consider everyone a needle on a record as it plays and I don’t know the tune. I see the joke. I laugh.
My taste is delicate because I savor.
There are things I need to say. But I cannot. Because then people will know them.
I am cold.
There are places I need to go. But I cannot. These places are closed now.
I am sick.
There are people I need to meet. But I cannot. I forgot how to speak.
I am lonely.
There are ideas I need to have. But I cannot. Because my brain doesn’t work like that anymore.
I am scarred.
I keep telling jokes though. I’d rather laugh or be laughed at than the alternative.
My smell is clean because I shower.
Some people think some things about me that I will never understand. Other people say things about me I do not deserve. A few people sit with me and laugh as jokes are told and women pass. No one is willing to go emotionally and psychologically snow-blind with me.
My future isn’t what it used to be because I laugh without understanding how it’s funny.