Sunday, August 02, 2009

"jesus is the sound of house!" ... no, i don't think that's what the sample is. but yu mmmmmmmm mmmmmm mmmmmmmmm. i fucking love house music. bump bump bump bump thump thump. it's like, i don't give a fuck, imma do this, bump bump bump bump bump fuck YOU!! ohhh smooth. yeahhhhhhhh. ooooooooooooooo . dj sprinkles is real good, and so is this guy!!!!!!!!!! oooooooo ooooooooooooooo ooooooooooo ooooooofuckyou!

"You played great tonight, I don't know why you are so depressed," Eric said, as we through our tennis rackets in the car. "Oh here's the other ball," he said as he tossed it in the back seat, in which it bounced off the rackets and rolled under my seat into my feet. I laughed and threw it in the back.

"Everyone has to have a turning point in their live, I just never thought mine would be so painful," I muttered out the poem under my breath as I grabbed some smokes out of my car. Then BANG! The biggest white brightest shooting star flew across the sky. "OH FUCK," I whispered. As I stood under the moonlight of the mid-to-late cool summer sky.

Haha, it's as if I'm writing the novel of bullshit, to be turned into the newest indie hipster flick with the illest soundtrack of late 90's indie rock and post rock... but this book or movie won't go into press or production.

I channel the past like dead souls at sea, blowing the salty silent breeze past my ears, for no-one to hear. There's nobody there. There's nobody here!

A real list of shit to do tomarrow. Just another manic Monday;
1. Oh fuck it, I just deleted the list. It's no fun to read, i know the deal!

i guess i'll just kill it when I'm 30, 29 even. can i start killing it in 2 years? Sure why not. shitty CD-R's til then. no more look at me's, look at me's. no more mr. bigmouth strikes again. no more concussions. unless it's like a real fun sober self inflicted one. get some real fucking ginger ale in my system. i should tune that guitar and write a song like heaven. and learn some real skills on drums. back up eric. on his ill new guitar.
magic violence records.
here we come.
here we go.
same place same time.
it's real nice
to finally make
up ur mind.
here we go
one bank account
shit paid off
anger soft
here we go
strong body strong mind
time to put
this shit behind.

((((1 sentence, 1 poem)))

Noise box fun box //////
too much fucking cayenne
lips buzz vernors //////
lost my chapstick again
bedtime no fun /////////
fuck your fucking shit
track shorts oh yeah
jerk that shit 2 bits.



All American, all the time.
All of yours, and all of mine.
Put the apple in the hole.
And blow your brains out in the bowl.
mix from ross, to listen to later.