Not here fool

/
You're not us
You're not in it man
Get off the bus
You think you're better than?
No more nice
No more of my little act
I like your dice
And your blindness to fact
Live on nothing freak
Just don't come back here
You're not what we seek
We're partying with beer
You're not we
We don't want you
Blind can't see
We choose a few
It's your face
Your desperate eye
Your hearts disgrace
And that ugly tie

Die

I care what they think

/
I'm anxious. What's up with me? It's this feeling that I'm in some type of a race, a race that I'm doing very poorly in. It's not just that I'm in a race, I have this feeling that I'm in a race with a big crowd of spectators. It's a very judgemental race and the spectators seem to be not only judging me but they're booing me. Calling me names. Laughing at me. This race has me very anxious.

It's the other parents, it's the people from the neigborhood, the church people, it's my frenemies, it's my mom! All judging me, very harshly. I hear their voices. In fact they live in my head. They talk to me all day long. They comment on everything I do.

I care. I care what other people think.

I just envisioned a life without caring about what all these people thought and a deep feeling of relaxation hit me. Maybe one of these days I'll try it.

My head!

/
There's something about the prospect of throwing up that changes your perspective. After last nights blog my headache grew extremely worse. I couldn't lay down, I couldn't stand up, I didn't know what do do. I finally sat on the toilet and started puking my brains out. The body turned white and cold like death was at the door. I started to get more thoughts of dying. "Please don't let me puke" was my mantra until I passed the point of no return. I'm fucking sober. I don't know what the problem is. Was it sun poisoning? Have I been eating poorly? Am I stressed? Do I have the flu? I don't know what the fuck is happening.

I'm at some strange turning point. Am I going to be healthy or not? Am I a writer or not? Am I a comic or not? Am I a film maker or not? Am I even me? Who is me?

Puke!

My heads killing me.

Holograms

/
It's late and I've got a big headache. Maybe I haven't been eating well. Maybe I spent too much time in the sun.Maybe I have a tumor and I'm about to die and these are my last words. Maybe I'm already dead and none of this is real. Maybe there is no internet. Maybe there are no people. No one. Maybe it's just me on this dust ball. Maybe all the people are just holograms sent from the mother ship trying to trick me. What do they want with me? Why can't the holograms leave me alone? I just want the holograms to leave.

Hells waiting room

/
Is there a waiting room in hell? I think I've spent time there. A lot of time. When you're in this room you're always really tired but you can never sleep. Kind of like thy movie Barton Fink when they're all thirsty but can never quench that thirst or cool down. Maybe in the waiting room you're always about to do something cool but you never really do. You just spend your time waiting. Waiting in hells waiting room.

Strike when you hit

/
I'm touching something
I'm starting to get somewhere
Where I don't know
But it's somewhere over there
I've been digging
Mostly digging myself holes
But somethings sticking
And I'm tapping into souls
Getting focus
From something down below
The ground is dug
And the hum from the bass is low
Now's the moment
To increase the efforts hard
Strike while the iron
is hot but not charred

Just for the sake of writing

/
Two hundred and twenty three days of writing and doing yoga on a daily basis. Yesterday I feel like I had a breakthrough. Besides this blog I also keep a diary, do stream of conscious stuff, write jokes and come up with other funny ideas. For so long I've been doing this and not liking the results. The reason I started to get in the habit of writing everyday is because I want material for my stand up. My goal is to be able to do 45 minutes. 45 minutes is what you need to be the headliner. I want my 45. Where's my 45?

I've been writing on a daily basis and it just hasn't been funny. In fact, if someone asked me to write the most unfunny, un-entertaining, and boring material possible then I would say that I've been hitting it out of the park. My stand up act has been the same for over a year. I've felt trapped. I've felt like Forest Gump with his leg braces on. Sure the leg braces have helped me to walk but they have gotten to the point that I feel awkward. The leg braces being my stand up material.

Finally out of the blue I wrote down a funny story from when I was a kid and it killed last night. I was afraid to loose the braces but now I feel like I can just start running. The cool thing is, this little piece I wrote was only written because I'm in the habit of writing everyday.

I'm working the muscle. It might not be strong or coordinated but it's getting worked and 222 days into this thing I feel like I finally saw a result, however small. And it was fun. Having fun is a key ingredient to being funny, at least for me. So that's that, I just wanted to give a shout out to writing just for the sake of writing.

Fuck that guitar!

/
Your breath was flammable
Your slur was pronounced
I gave you my guitar
to light on fire

Your distorted fingers screamed
And my heart became warm
We connected beyond friendship
We were both off the reservation

I slept in the park by your home
My red eyes greeted by your mom
And your little brother played video games
It was time to enter our world

We laughed at the same things
our egos pierced opposite ends
both equally out of control
I don't blame you anymore for being you

We both could say "fuck it" like the best
Fuck that guitar I gave you
My first guitar and I wanted to see it burn
I wanted you to fuck that thing up

I wish it set on fire.

I wish the whole building burned down.

Sometimes you have to burn the old down to the ground and start over.

I love you.

I'm gonna burn that guitar. I'm gonna do it for you. I'm gonna smash the shit out of it.

Fuck that guitar!

Crazy watching

/
I can sit and watch all day
Brain turned off
I'm not even getting good ideas
I don't even scoff
From morning till the darkest night
I'm glues to one position
I'm broken from the stream of thought
That makes the one decision
Just one that's independent
Although they seem to be now
Off the reservation
Still sleeping like a cow
The cow is sacred to some
But most think that is a low point
They want to buy things that turn on
And do away with the old joint
Give me radiation
Give me cancer in the ear
Give me my thoughts
My thinking is unclear
Just think for me
It's too much on my own
There's too many rides
I watch within my clone

Keep the vibe

/
Just a little something
Take off the edge
Decorating worlds
Using a sledge
Hammer on my hand
not a bullet through the heart
Feels less pain
At least the feel is a start
Trash is just a thought
Beauties more than look
Touch is more than lost
And lost is my old book
Writing something new
Harder than you hate
Talking is always easy
Hard is life in state
Following the dirt
Closing up the out
Vibing all the cells
Who silently do shout

Keep the vibe

Beautifully fucked up change

/
I'll tell you what's fucked up. The fucked up thing is also the most beautiful thing and that's why it's so fucked up. Do something, don't do something, it doesn't matter to change. Things are going to eventually change, always. This is the rule. This is the only rule.

I hate it. I love it. I dread it. I look forward to it. I want it. I need it. I am it.

I had a wonderful looking house. People loved it. The problem was, I built the house on a faulty foundation. I could have lived with it and carved myself out a pretty good looking life. The problem is, I would just be living a lie. No one would know the lie. But I would, and it would slowly eatr me alive. Did did slowly eat me alive.

I wanted change but the change I wanted came with a wrecking ball. I said, "Fuck it" and slammed that ball right through the house. I knocked the whole thing down! Right when it was finally paid off.

If you're going to tear down a house it's probably a good idea to have some sort of plan. Maybe a plan of where to sleep when the house is torn down. On the other hand, if you plan too much you might do nothing at all. That was my worry. So I didn't plan, I didn't think, and didn't ask for help because the only people I knew were living in houses with faulty foundations themselves and they thought I was crazy. Doesn't matter what they think now, that house is gone.

When you build a new house from scratch, one thing you can expect is a trip through hell. Thsi is where I am now. If my home ever gets built I'll let you know if it was worth it.

Don't spin your wheels

/
The wheels going fast
And the foot is on the gas
But the car isn't moving at all
The energy is strong
But it's burning way too long
And your movement is more like a fall
explosion in the center
your wishin it's a renter
But the vehicle is one that you own
Blowin up the heat
getting thrown from the seat
and in the end you're all alone

Don't spin your wheels
I don't like the way it feels
and I'm talking from the one point of view
I know that there's a chance
And I'm steady in my stance
But the one I'm looking after is you

Read through. That's right bitch!

/
Tonight I just had the second read through of my screenplay. After the first read through I felt a little uneasy and depressed, I worked for a couple months doing a rewrite and then we did another read through tonight. I don't feel depressed about it. I think I can do it.

If you talk to anyone who knows what they're talking about, and you tell them you're going to make a feature length film on a budget of $0 they will say,"Impossible." And then in my head I say, "Fuck you." And continue on my path.

It's this type of attitude that has pretty much got me to where I am in life right now, which is broke and constantly on the edge of a nervous breakdown, but what the hell, right?

Read through tonight, awesome!

Now I just have to convince the lead actor, who is my best friend, to play the part I wrote for him. He says, "no." But I say,"yes."

Now I'm rambling so goodnight.

Do your laundry

/
Sometimes you just have to do your laundry. I feel better once everything is clean and folded and put back in it's drawer or hung in the closet. Sometimes you just have to bring some order to your home. Once you have some order things aren't quite as bad.

The mission for me is how to keep that order? Every job I get I hate after 6 months. Every time I decide to keep order in my life I let things slip at around 6 months if not earlier. The exceptions to this rule: I haven't drank for 16 years, I've stayed married for 14 years, I've written every day and done yoga every day for 214 days in a row. Everything else seems to come and go. How do you keep it?

I don't have the answer. Maybe you just have to get beaten down by life to the point that the life beatings are more painful than consistent daily sacrifices.

I don't know. All I know is today I did laundry and I feel a little better.

The absence

/
Back from my three month vacation of stress into the terror.

She's back in town
I've seen her face
Her shiny frown
her thoughts disgrace
My life is long
It just won't stop
same is the song
I run from the cop
Hell is the space
That leaves me alone
Earth is the race
pull water from stone
late is the time
no matter the clock
bitter like lime
is straight from my stock
Keep to the eye
but it's not even there
it's pointless to try
it's gone when you stare
freedom is far
and speed makes it more
driving my car
is not what it's for
look to the sky
get silence above
try to ask why
to the absence of love