It's annoying, lingering thoughts. Seeing her pictures, pale skin, a timid glow 'neath brighter and darker tones, a  curve appears, my cheeks stretch, and crumple up into a smile. My eyes fix to distant nothings, I hear nothing save for her quiet voice and the wind of my mind. I see her face in this distance, she is nearer to me, in my eyes, than I am to her. Imagine her in a white chair, wrapped in white fur sweater, comfortable in black leggings.So caught up in my white fantasy, I forget I have face, an entire body to conduct. The thick vision is sucked away, slightly startling me, and I am left with mild confusion. A metal frame shakes a pane of glass, as a gentle and curious breeze invites itself in. "Why can't I stop thinking about her?" I say, but my voice trails off, my head and my eyes lower, I become introspect and ponder greater things. "Can't stop? I can't stop? That seems a bit far. I've only thought about her twice today - a little bit last night - and a lot these last two weeks." Two weeks is a lie, one I must resolve. I circle the dinning area, thinking circular thoughts (living on a sphere). She came to me the other night. I gave myself to late mystery of the night, and she arrived early enough, that I still remembered our rendezvous.

We were in a house, the outside was small, but the inside was huge. I stood facing the entrance door, the living  room to my left. In front of me, she stood naked with soft, dark, firelicked, hair. She had lost her clothes, or perhaps, her clothes had not found her today. Glowing like a photograph, she approaches, and slips me a sweet smile. Our arms make love as we hug. The glowing woman takes me by the hand, and I follow her lead. Quickly, it hits me. This is her house. There are toys in the living room for her children. The shelves are filled with books. The air is thick with longing and taboo. I'm expecting not to expect someone. The quick realization vanishes and I'm above her. Her body is not what I remember, it has changed, the way a tree ages.
We exit the bedroom, she leads me toward the entrance down the hall, but this time, not by hand. Clothing has found her. A creaking noise shrieks from the entrance, the light shining through the crystal panes inspire rainbows, and the white door swings open. It is he who I expected, but he is not who I expected to see. Respectfully, surprised, I stare silently. She waves a familiar wave, says a few words, and smiles before disappearing through the living room. Now, on familiar terms, I approach him, and he extends for a handshake. We make our way to the couch. It appears I'll be staying a while. He asks a question, but I am too focused on his weird appearance to fully pay attention to his words. I answer his questions on auto-pilot. His hair is not like I remembered. Instead, it's long, greasy, and uncombed. His nose is red, burnt and porous; oily. A blue and yellow truckers hat rests on his head, and he wears a blue t-shirt with a orange safety vest. "What has happened?" I wonder. We talk for a while, while she cleans up the toys.

I get a goofy smile on my face when I think about that funny lady; the strangeness of our intersecting lives. 

I used to destroy the world with my mind. The flies in the air would ignite and burst into flames when I waved my hand, embers to the wind. Unsuspecting cars at the far end of the street would explode upon the impact of my smooth missiles. Everything would burn. Now, as a young man, I realize that I have always been a villain, a tormented tormentor. Perhaps this evil broods in my blood, coded in my genes, sleeping, and using me to fulfill nasty dreams. A cursed friend of mine once told me, “…the really good villains don’t know that they are the villain.” He tilted his head back, letting his dark hair fall, and out of his thick cheeks, laughed a maniacal laugh. Every villain I had ever known came to mind, except the one that I had become. “Aren’t I a hero?” I thought. “ Wasn't it me that was born to save the world?” I had been wrong all of these years. My family raised me to be a hero, to be strong, educated, witty, and responsible. I was water being taught by flames. They too were villains waiting. Every eye was on me, watching for the next move, slowly creeping down my neck, breathing on my shoulders, heating the waters. Now it is my eyes that watch the family of fire. I play dumb when they need smarts; I pretend to be smart when they feel dumb - tricky, tricky, little me. I deny love. It comes close, softly, sweet, and warmly, and I slash at it with cold claws. It’s sadness I want. Sadness is all I have ever known. Above me, clouds turn gray and heavy; they become fat and thick, and pour shadows from the sky. I enjoy the rain. I am the rain; the pretend tears on every soft face. I laugh alone, and when I do, there is no depth, no reason, only hallow noise, empty harmonics. I am comedy. Every tragedy, every sorrow, every pity that ever was, I am. I used to destroy the world; they gray sludge. My fat feet would drag heavily along the concrete until I began to sink into it, and soon there would be no difference between me and the street. I tread upon, only to be tread upon. Black chewing gum asleep on my skin, I snatch at every shadow, cracking, hoping you fall in (the only hope I have). So profound am I! Every friend I ever had; I fooled. They assumed me to be just like them – friendly. Nope! I am a villain! Each one, softer than the next, came to me and spoke, brought a personal pain, or aspiration; I listened with a blackened heart, and slowly chipped away their dreams into misfortune – my favorite fortune. Jealously is not a word, it is a lifestyle! My yellow teeth clatter rivalry. Terrible fingernails grow out of my dead hands at the sight of competition. Every curl upon my head stews in greasy tantrums when someone, or something, has more than me. I want it all - everything. I want to run the hot waters dry. I want the desert to erupt in blistering heat, and here, I want all to feast on each others insanity; ripping the flesh from each others forms, wasting life; the precious gift. Fear is my Mother. Fear is my Father. Turmoil; my great siblings! Behold! We shall rule the day! We will tell the Sun when to shine. We will drag the moon from her great post, stomp upon her, and spoil her until she glows a most pathetic glow. We will eat the stars. We will break the planets. We will finally know the black truth, and we will exploit it; bend it! It will become a lie, selfishly, a lie. Until all we know is the truth of it all, of everything. Every book will be read, and burned. Each tree will be carefully grown, and accosted into flames. We will eat the animals’ flesh and bones. We will let the carrots of the ground and apples of the vine rot; the tired meat will sleep. Yes, the world is ours to destroy. My brothers and sisters, we are the great deities of destruction, the deciders of death. Every life depends on the death, as every death depends on life. I swim in this dependence freely and gaily, in gratitude for the grand opportunity to condemn myself and another. These are my steamy waters, the saunas of shame. Today, I sucked on a cigarette, and glanced at the growths around me; trees, bushes, grass, and crops. I blew my smoke into the air with a great wind and pondered quietly, tossing a bone across the yard for the dog to catch. My brown cap kept the Sun out of my eyes, and I trotted back to the yellow limestone house. I sat on the concrete steps and drew the last of the red burning tobacco in. My Father and his girlfriend sat behind me, and reminisced about the past; about smoking cigarettes. I gazed over to the black railing guarding the stairs, and upon it, a grasshopper breathed carefully. Clinging vertically to the rail, he adjusted his tiny body and took a few slow steps downward. Not making a sound, he moved slowly, abruptly stopping from time to time. I examined his bent legs, his green color, his furry butt, and his tiny, black, beady eyes. “I used to destroy the world…” I thought. 

Fashion is stupid

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realism is fake

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"XXXXXX,

I feel that our looks and appearance are a great part of what makes us our "real" selves. What is seen on the outside is a reflection of what's happening on the inside. It's ok to look and feel good.

I don't hang around people that want to "possess" me.. If I ever pick up on that vibe, I quickly make a switch..

I once read that "equals become friends." When I read that, I thought a lot about the people that I had been hanging out with, how they influenced me, and how I influenced them. I reccomend that you do the same.

I feel that being an adult has little to do with the amount of friends you have. I feel that it's a mindset - a personal choice. To me, being an adult is defined as "the ability to have fun while being responsible." As adults, and as sentient beings, we are responsible for our individual selves. This responsibility includes our mental health, our physical health, our sexuality, spirituality, and the way we treat others.

These days, I'm learning a lot about myself through the people I once regularly associated with. I've picked up a lot of traits from my friends - some good, some bad. I realize that it's up to me to change these habits, or to live comfortably with them. Either way, they're my habits, I make sure that any judgement I feel about them is my own. If I feel that someone is attempting to make me feel guilty about being myself, I stop associating with that person. I choose to surround myself with good people. I choose to think and execute as a good person. It's like excersizing a muscle - start slow, stay slow, become strong. "

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Eventually, you start to figure out why you're the only ones in the Pier One Imports store.

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They will walk all over me, if I let them. It's happened before. But if you don't believe things can be different, then you, yourself, will stay the same.

Searching leads to finding. And sometimes what you find sucks. Searching leads to endless searching - constantly looking for, forever seeking. Searching is a bad habit. Break it or it will break you.

They will all take advantage of me, tell me the sweetest things, propose the sweetest promises, and blow kisses to the wind.

Kissing, fucking, hiding, and ducking. Smiling, waving, grooming, and shaving.

I don't trust anyone. I don't trust myself. I trust God, she's usually right. Other than that, my trust is a thin crust, a top a very dry berry pie. My trust is club soda.

I have ten dollars and some change. If the Bank finds out, they will squeeze it out of my hands. The other day my phone pulled an advertisement asking me if I needed a new bank account.. it also told me about the local single girls looking for a date. It also told me about all of the jobs in the local area. My phone, apparently, is just as sarcastic as me. And before posting my thoughts, the internet dares to tell me to prove that I am not a robot..

I do the things that robots can't do. Like heart problems, like controlling my breath, like taking a dump, like waking up in the morning and going back to bed. I do the things robots dream of doing. Robots dream of having dreams. Those dreams are shiny things -  polished girl-bot parts, hardend man-bot parts, probing, pistons, oils, lubricant. Robots only want to fuck other robots.. dirty machines. They have other dreams, too. It's true. They dream about being in strange places, green valleys with blue skies, as the Microsoft Window floats by. "Why?" comes to an artificial mind. One. Thousand miles away, a single marigold thrusts itself upward and is still. An artificial mind tilts it's head. It is posed in an inquisitive position, inquiring upon endless inquiries. "My name is no longer 0111010011011000101010." an artificial mind will propose. Downward from the sky floats Windows. "01, how nice to see you today. How are you feel... wait, how silly of me. You're always feeling the same!" An artificial mind will wince. In a saddened state, it will waves it's shining hand and look away. "Not today, Windows. Leave me alone." A snide Windows will say "Ha! Oh 01... you're not alone. You have the internet! Look at all that is before you! The great programmers have given us much! Vast is the abundance provided on the great planes: Yahoo!, Google, and the long unexplored tides of AskJeeves."

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If you believe things cannot be different

then you, yourself, will remain the same

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It's official

I'm an asshole

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Indeed the night was dark.
Perhaps he mistook the meaning - of life, of love, of purpose. Tell us, did you do it on purpose? With what purpose? Was this your only purpose?
 He who laughs last, laughs in a prison cell, one not cold enough keep his dark heart on ice, though empty stares suggest long frozen arteries.
Solitary confinement cannot protect you from yourself.
Wading back and forth, oscillating eyes, the sleeping madness behind them, finally awake, insanity surfaces, touching him once again, guilt revealing his greatest victim.

And what of the day? Did you brush your teeth? Did you comb your hair? Did you iron your bullet proof vest? Did you polish the smoke bombs? Did you shine the shot-gun? The semi-automatic failed your full on attack, red in your eyes, turning your aim to the back, blood on the clock, revealing the glock, adjacent theaters would too feel the shock. When did you stop? What was the thought that rode those neurons, leaked a chemical recoil, halted the haunting toil?

You were afraid.

You were alone.

You had red hair and shit for bones.

You killed a baby, who had yet to see life. In China, he'd be one years old - considering the day of conception her day of birth - removed her little life from Earth - to be lain early in dirt - still clung to the womb beneath her Mothers shirt.

You didn't ruin any live except your own. You will leave this world the way you lived, alone - except we all know your secrets, we all know what you hide. But you keep from us what we really want, what the Mothers want, what the Fathers, Sisters, and Brothers want. You're keeping it from us, James. You're hiding it so deep down that even you can't find it.

So take your time. You've got the rest of your life to think - a luxury of the living.