smoke like hickory

fools did you really think viktor vaughn could be captured so easily?

don't think you'd hear an apology out of me any time soon. this is no place for me to act like a fucking pussy. especially if i jump head first into the honesty pool. the same place everyone wishes they could swim but most just drown when they get close. you know. can't take the fucking pressure. i can let anybody make me feel sorry for what i think. i can't let anybody take a part of me, especially the part i so willingly lay down to be stepped and trampled. never. back to the hyrdro where there little kids get smoked. i'm havingi a great day and i'm taking advantage of it. good sleep. good morning. goood lunch. good afternoon. you'll never stop me.

makeshift malarkey

excuse me use me and abuse me you see
whatever takes to get personal and closely
and yes please thank you for all your pretty slaughter
don't go fuck yourself because i'm busy with my bong water
and again must i remind you i'm only in your mind you
will never truly know what goes on in here behind
this magic curtain closes dying roses and a handful of standard poses
enough to get me through another day inside the lions den
the same place where it all began, its not your fault, you're just pretend.


you can't hurt me. you never have. you never will. i am bulletproof. with only a few bad days here and there. watch me catch on fire.

bollocks to you and your sod faced valentine

some people just have the face that says punch me. and if that weren't enough the person's body language reads like an insolent commercial advertisement for the kind of product you get mad just thinking about. what the fuck is this world really coming to when we have to set aside a fantastic 24 hours as a reminder for people to do something nice to someone else. its just about as if the other 364 days are spent so completely preoccupied with ourselves and what we need and want that it comes down to this contrived excuse for a sincere affection.

some days i feel like saving the whole wide world. fixing everything. making life good... other days i feel like designing some type of suit that will withstand some type of bomb that, when i emerge from the suit, in a post-nuclear fashion, i will no longer be surrounded by complete fucking sludge heads that live for almost no other reason than to drive me absolutely mad. and when that idea feels creepishly close to becoming a reality, i just pour myself some more tea and do nothing at all.

i don't think i'd ever be happy waking up and doing the same thing over and over. i don't think i'm happy writing that sentence. how can anyone be comfortable slating absolutes over themselves like they're the sheriff of they're own pathetic cardboard town of a life. i guess i just feel that way because i am so completely without the propensity to stick by anything i decide that out of sheer and complete jealousy for anyone capable of such a feat i can only spew rhetorical hatred that carries about as much weight as the combined poundage of all my finger and toenail clippings.

i miss swimming, and biking, and yoga. i miss many things made accessible to me via a very neat and tidy monday to sunday schedule i could almost be so bold as to render the title "normality" if not, at least consistency. i'd give much of what i have away in exchange for consistency. as i am almost positive that its absence in my life just may very well be the root of most of what i consider to be the cross(es) that i bear. who ever said it first sure had it right. YOU DO IT TO YOURSELF. (i think it was thom yorke, circa: the bends)

i still kinda feel in a stupor of some sorts. i'm also completely confident in my desire to want to express just how tired i am of people admiring "how well i'm doing" right now. and fuck me for even thinking it i know. ungreatful whiney cunt. fuck you all for drowning me in an answerless roll of your favourite target practice moments recapped in this delightful 7 series vhs format. it has nothing to do with anybody's measure of gratitude or humility. it has more to do with the soulless fucks who shit out of their mouths and are the absolute farthest thing from genuine affection and human contact. i'm sure a lot of it (well, all of it actually) stems from my resentment that every person i come in contact with while i work is NOT one of my friends. (excluding present company). every person i meet and interact with on tour is not somebody i have a relationship with, and in fact, in turn, this person, having replaced someone of real significance in my life has now assumed the role of mortal enemy, also known as walking piece of shit, or anything else i come up with at the time. and all of that is a result of how much of a detatchment issue i have with home and my family and my friends. who mean, so much to me, so much so, that the very thought of not having them around, let alone, replacing them (temporarily of course) with shit eating smoke blowing faceless industry weaseling fucks that have nothing better to do than waste my time with their senseless observations as to "how great things are going" never once thinking that,"hey, i wonder when the last time somebody asked this guy 'how he's FEELING' as opposed to 'what he's been up to lately'"

i am an enemy of myself and constantly struggle with the fact that for as much as my surroundings are capable of change, i fear i may not entirely be equipped for the equal and often greater forces that surround the ever developing circumstances that keep me both on my knees and at the very same time, fantastically out of breath. i am a calamity. i am progress.

rythm and repetition

In an interstellar burst
I am back to save the universe


it feels like the secrets i keep the most are the ones i'd rather not let the world in on for sake of peace where there is no notoriety.

as if letting things be weren't enough it takes so much more time and energy to let things become

i've noticed a pattern with my blog. it seems, as always right around early december until somewhere around now i completely dissapear from here and it always feels good but at the same time i miss it terribly. its good to be back.

sweatpants are the new jeans. ketchup sweats seem the hardest to deal with on a day to day basis but i let it slide out of sheer apathy.

speaking of which i'd like a show of hands as to how many would rather just stay in bed all the time.

i'm going to start handing out straight shot's to the mouth anytime someone misconstrews something i say. who the fuck do they think they are misunderstanding me.

i had an incredibly expensive throat doctor shove a 2 foot hose up my nose and down my throat and give me insight as to why i'm such an abusive bastard on myself

its us and them baby

sing us a song. a song to keep us warm.

don't plug the basin. we'll overflow in no time. it's go time.

Bread and Circuses

In exchange for $3.19 in daily wages, FirestoneNatural Rubber Company, a Bridgestone subsidiary, expects a typical Liberian worker to tap 650 trees a day, carrying seventy-pound buckets of latex for miles. A single laborer would have to work twenty-one hours per day to meet this quota, a near-impossible task. Which is why Firestone gives workers an extra incentive: tap 650 trees per day or see their daily wages slashed in half.

In a country whose economy has been ravaged by 14 years of civil war, Firestone's employees don't have a choice but to comply. With Liberia's 85 percent unemployment rate, there will always be someone desperate enough to take their place.

The 650-tree daily quota policy has led many of Firestone's more than 4,000 employees to enlist their children and wives as workers to ensure that they meet their target. But these extra workers aren't paid any extra. And the children whose families depend on their labor for survival never have the opportunity to go to school.

Of what importance could this really be to me you ask? Probably not a lot. I can't even really tell you why I personally think its worth writing about, but I'm really just growing weary of all the complete and utter bull-shit that bounces off my retinas. But as I was saying,

Bridgestone Firestone North American Tire, the world's largest seller of tires, is spending more than $10 million as "official tire sponsor" of the Super Bowl halftime show in Phoenix, to be broadcast on Fox this evening -- and will likely spend that much and more to sponsor the event in 2009. But the entertainment and advertising images beamed into American (and that nobody up top - Candada)'s living rooms during the most-watched sporting event of the year stand in sharp contrast to the harsh working conditions, child labor and exposure to toxic chemicals at the company's rubber plantations in Liberia.

While Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers perform at halftime and fitness enthusiast Richard Simmons cavorts in the company's commercials aired during the game, Americans should be aware that there's more going on here than just selling tires. The company is using the Super Bowl as a public relations platform to cleanse its image as it faces a class-action lawsuit in U.S. District Court in Indiana, filed by the International Labor Rights Forum, a Washington-based advocacy organization. The ILRF and several plaintiffs accuse the company of committing human rights abuses for its use of child labor in Liberia.

I'm not one of those free-trade coffee whacks that can't find something better to live for but I like I said I guess I'm just getting tired of being completely out of touch with what really happens behind the magic curtain. The guys went to Hard Rock Cafe to purchase appy's and exchange the usual half-hearted rhetoric of whatever the hell is captivating the moment. I'm too comfy in my ketchup stained sweat pants to divulge in sitting up straight in a crammed booth drinking a gross beer. I'm comfy. I'm gonna go read some more. I miss my friends. These canceled shows couldn't have come at a better time. I feel so rested and rejuvenated. Glad we're still doing these shows in Feb. They're gonna kill.

Drink lots of water and read.