well,here we are again.

Short and sweet, everything a distraction from finals week...

Mon, 20 May 2013 22:50:12 -0400

Short and sweet, everything a distraction from finals week should be.

well,here we are again.: Party scene.

Mon, 20 May 2013 01:23:34 -0400

johnnynemo:

We walk in to what seems like the calls of the wild, I grit my teeth and do whatever I can to muster up a smile

And recant a story of the days when we were waiting for school to end, the awkward conversations of secondhand friends

I look back to notice just who’se passed out on the floor,…

this is my friend Johnny, and he’s brilliant and kind and hilarious and everyone should love him and he’s mine forever ok thanks

There’s a softness in your voice like the winter snow in footsteps At once so different and...

Sat, 18 May 2013 22:12:06 -0400

There’s a softness in your voice like the winter snow in footsteps

At once so different and instantly noticeable, seconds later gone away

A sign for those still searching, fleeting but recognizable

This is where you can go to find me, if you follow I won’t be far away.

This can be your home in december, when the bitter cold stabs at your skin

In my ribcage your name will reside, until the coming sun blots out your face

Come springtime you’ll just be a memory, the chill that shakes me from within

But I’ll just be a memory too, lost somewhere between time and place.

Come summer our ghosts will come join us, and we’ll have new memories to make.

I’m writing memoirs in the form of blank pages To show you how your silence speaks volumes In a...

Thu, 16 May 2013 01:07:11 -0400

I’m writing memoirs in the form of blank pages

To show you how your silence speaks volumes

In a language more foreign then your star crossed ideas

A tongue I’ve encountered but never understood.

It’s like this. When you break your leg, you can’t move. It’s debilitating and blatant, for good...

Thu, 16 May 2013 00:28:38 -0400

It’s like this.

When you break your leg, you can’t move. It’s debilitating and blatant, for good reason. You stop and ignore everything else going on and just deal with that until it get’s better or you can deal with it, because you have to. It forces you to re-evaluate things and forces everyone around you to notice it. That way it can heal and improve. When you get a tiny little mark or scar, you don’t expect it to really bother you so you don’t pay attention to it. You leave it alone in the hopes that it’s going to heal on it’s own, and focus on the broken leg. What you don’t know is instead of healing it just seeps into your bloodstream and you get infected. Sure it doesn’t bother you at first, but eventually you get more scars little by little and the infection grows. Soon enough you’ll be covered with little tiny scars that you never even cares about, bruises the size of nickels and dimes. You won’t be able to move because the bruises will cover your arms and legs, and the broken leg won’t seem to matter anymore. This is what depression feels like, what life is like. That emotionally traumatizing ordeal you’ve fought so hard to get over will mean nothing if you can’t get over the stress of your day to day. You’re fighting a war by killing the soldiers and constantly running, unaware that your own fatigue is going to do you in. Pay attention to those little things, because no one else will. Hell no one else can probably see them. It’s up to you to be your own hero.

It’s not the bullet that kills you, it’s the thousand things that led up to it.

Dead eyes and a smile worn and faded like a sweater Fit so the corners reach horizons I can’t...

Tue, 14 May 2013 22:17:42 -0400

Dead eyes and a smile worn and faded like a sweater

Fit so the corners reach horizons I can’t see

A happiness that’s there but somehow no one can bring it out

So you just lie and feign reception, and sing like a symphony.

Hellbent on rendezvous with shadows and lifeless phantoms

For you find comfort in the hands they held, the life they used to lead

Now you’re anchored to the shoreline with a question at the bottom

And all you ever think about is drowning in those seas.

We’re just a brand of nomads who got caught somewhere in passing

Intertwined by where we couldn’t stay, and how we couldn’t leave

Skinning sonnets out of tragedies and our communication

And using them as ropes, to build the tangled webs we weave.

You can say you’re just a loner, on your way to better places

But your eyes are rather dim, and your options rather stark

Through constant changing names, and an endless changing of faces

If you give me your hand, I’ll follow you through the dark.

His fortunate friend slowly dying of cancer His friend’s but a ghost, but the ghost is his...

Sun, 12 May 2013 22:47:09 -0400

His fortunate friend slowly dying of cancer

His friend’s but a ghost, but the ghost is his master

He prays to him in silence, while the light draws him near

He doesn’t want him around, but losing him is his fear.

So in hospital beds and in dimly lit taverns

He ventures into his soul like his chest was a cavern

His mind doesn’t know this is all a disease

Brought on by the dead man that no one can see.

All I have are tangled webs and lines that lead me far away I follow them, somehow get caught,...

Sun, 12 May 2013 21:53:58 -0400

All I have are tangled webs and lines that lead me far away

I follow them, somehow get caught, inside your echoes and the fray

Of sentiments and dissonance, but to my luck and your dismay

I always have another line to lead me home so far away.

Withdrawal.

Tue, 07 May 2013 23:30:42 -0400

Jack Flanerty is obsessed with the concept of white noise. He has been since the age of seven, and has devoted most of his adult life to understanding it. He believes it holds a message, a greater power which if cultivated can lead to understanding most if not all of life’s great mysteries. After exhausting all logical methods of encrypting white noise, as if there were any, he turns to more abstract methods, such as the use of mind altering narcotics. The proceeding events turn him from a rambling lunatic obsessed with emptiness, to a heroine addict who now believes he can speak to god. Those close to him notice this, and immediately get him the help he desperately needs. This does not come without a price, as withdrawal makes him sicker and sicker to the point where he is completely emaciated. The white noise he once loved is now against him, he can feel it surrounding him, as if billions of tiny rodents filtered into his blood stream. As he goes deeper and deeper into withdrawal this only get’s worse causing him to desperately harm himself in the attempt to get the rodent’s out of his system and prove to his friends he’s not crazy. His friends unsure of whether or not withdrawal was the right thing for him take turns watching over him and enduring what they believe they have essentially caused. One of his friends exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally from this ordeal buys into the idea that he can’t handle the withdrawal and it is actually killing him and thus procures heroine for his ailing friend. This causes a rift in the group between those who believe they were saving him and those who believe they were killing him. Jack’s friends shockingly wake the next day to find dead roaches lining his house, which after an examination of Jack’s body by M.D’s are shown to have been killed as a result of the heroine and flushed out of his system. At their wits end they keep giving him heroine to keep the rodents from coming back and to keep their friend alive, understanding that they are killing him in the process.

If he’s gonna die, it might as well be painless.

The redbulls won, knicks won, and islanders somehow managed not to fuck it up. This has the makings...

Sat, 04 May 2013 20:03:00 -0400

The redbulls won, knicks won, and islanders somehow managed not to fuck it up. This has the makings of a fantastic weekend.

Game on fuckers.

He always chased lightning, searching for a spark But no one was prepared for the day he finally...

Sat, 04 May 2013 18:33:44 -0400

He always chased lightning, searching for a spark

But no one was prepared for the day he finally found one.

Live for where you’re going, not for where you are.

Sat, 04 May 2013 18:31:00 -0400

Live for where you’re going, not for where you are.

Video

Fri, 03 May 2013 17:07:19 -0400

If I’m taking a class on what drugs do to your brain would seeing the local medicine man be...

Fri, 03 May 2013 16:58:12 -0400

If I’m taking a class on what drugs do to your brain would seeing the local medicine man be extra credit?

If so, can we go on a feild trip?

Perfection’s overrated, fucking up builds character.

Fri, 03 May 2013 02:12:29 -0400

Perfection’s overrated, fucking up builds character.

No rest for the wicked.

Fri, 03 May 2013 01:50:00 -0400

The girls call her loose and the boy’s call her lightning

She sends a shock through your system but never strikes twice

On the corner of first and where you left all your morals

She waits, for you to discard the pieces of a shattered life.

Beside her’s a shadow, we call him recorder

A lanky young fuck with a camera lens eye

He watches in silence and judges you after

You’ll never really notice, but damn will you try.

Recorder’s got an in with the man in the mirror

The one that destroys you straight from the inside

You’ll take pills to run from the monster on your back

But the devil’s within you, there’s no place to hide

Find lightning in the spark in the bottom of a barrel

Kill yourself in the search for it’s blinding light

Understand you may live through a bloody tomorrow

But you sure as bloody hell won’t sleep tonight.

indeception: Mmmmm. WANT.

Thu, 02 May 2013 20:17:56 -0400

indeception:

Mmmmm.

WANT.

Childhood.

Wed, 01 May 2013 23:27:26 -0400

I seriously think we were more open minded as children then we ever will be as adults.

I mean, just look at the shit we accepted without questioning it.

Chemically altered turtles fighting crime with Judo techniques taught to them by a genetically altered rat-man.

Tiny creatures taken out of their natural habittats, imprisoned in balls 1/8th their size ( for the lucky ones) and forced to slaughter each other for sport.

A man high on mushrooms cavorting through the local sewage system murdering delusions of flying turtles, turtles with hammers, brown tiny gnome creatures and a giant spiked turtle that breeds fire to save a blonde woman presumably has the most dangerous victim complex in the history of humanity.

A hedgehog with a cocaine addiction destroying machines to save the animals inside of them and terrorizing the inventor of said machines destroying both big business and the entrepenurial spirit of one Dr. Robotnik. Cute terrorism at it’s finest.

An aging man mentally caught somewhere between ten and thirteen in a suit two sizes too small living with delusions of a talking house and talking animals brought on by his medication entertaining children and being left alone with them for long periods of time.

A cat and mouse aging married couple caught in an abusive relationship that is somehow symbiotic as a result of ones masochism and the other’s blatant sadism, a modern spin on the classic ” the honeymooners”

A talking cow and chicken, spawn of the worst parents in the world who’se antics go so far as to have them cavort with the devil on a regular basis.

We just accepted this all blindly without thought, ate every bit of it up. I know I did at least.

Maybe this was why I was so happy back then.

high school.

Wed, 01 May 2013 22:55:57 -0400

I’ve always found it funny that we try so hard to be like everyone else, when everyone else is trying even harder to be like us.

And the only ones that are ever happy, are the ones that aren’t trying to be like anyone.

The slut is a prude with a wardrobe malfunction, and the prude is a slut with social anxiety.

The fag is a jock with tweezed eyebrows, and the jock is a fag when his team loses.

I’ve always found it weird that their’s been such a stigma against homosexual athletes, when sports is just about the most homo-erotic thing a guy can do.

I mean really, when else has it ever been straight to latch onto another guy, slap him on the ass and shower with him?

When professors administer tests, do they really think they’re measuring intelligence or simply ones capacity to memorize random facts a half hour before hand?

Everything should be an essay, then we’d be forced to have an opinion and prove we’ve learned something.

Does anyone else find it odd that you can legally own a gun at 18 yet you can’t drink til 21?

You have the responsibility to not kill other people, but can’t be trusted with possibly killing yourself. Fantastic logic.

I’ve been waiting almost seven years now for my John Hughes moment, I’m convinced I’m due.

This is the land where friends become strangers and strangers become friends; embrace it, or fuck it.

Most of the people I know from high school are currently, or have been addicted to some form of drug in the past and somehow I’m still the stoner kid.

I didn’t even fucking smoke in high school.

Let’s have a celebration, adorn our skin with tribal decorations Be like our fore fathers,...

Wed, 01 May 2013 22:35:46 -0400

Let’s have a celebration, adorn our skin with tribal decorations

Be like our fore fathers, because they tried for so long to be like us

Without ever realizing that they already were.

Let’s hold our heads high towards a future as open as our understanding of it

A sky that goes further then the eye can see, without the eye ever actually seeing it.

Let’s open ourselves to what we’ve been closed off to, for our fears make us human and that makes us gods

Let’s abandon the ideal that we’ve strived to live up to, and live with ourselves flaws and all.

Turn scars into tribal tattoos sweetheart, for their’s so much beauty in your struggle.