Bhilial

I just went to my friend’s wake
I miss you bro.
Damn I miss you.
Whoever killed you is a coward.
Rest in peace my friend

Cigs

My fingertips smell like tobacco
My eyes feel like they’re marbles
My neck feels malformed
The more hurdles I’m faced with
The more irrational I become
My spine smells like it’s got matches lit inside it
My toes feel disconnected
And the marbles are looking in every direction
The nicotine will allow
And compulsive lust is a coping mechanism?
This is news to me?
Nicotine, caffeine, and a failing self-cannibalistic scream
Of creativity
Say you’re me
But I now it’s vice versa
And I’m kind but I’ll curse the
conclusion
In the wink of an eye
The singer flips onto a pile of teetering shells but the stack holds
And I’m just a little louse lost in life’s rotund back folds

Concert

tip tip tap tap
cymbals,
racing bass-and a cave of hand-claps

Inspired by Interpol Again

Pepper in your eyes
Salt in your wound
I shouldn’t have brought it up-
It was all to soon
At least I can learn from what I now discern
Or is that not a consolation
Purify the flies
That balk at the flume of
Forgetfulness
I’m bettin this
will continue to croon
You’re a menu in bloom
If you pardon the comment
the comparison
The brashness
the glass drifts
Through your piece of mind
Quiescent
Dormant
Affable adjectives
Which I would love to apply to this intense delirium
My minds a ship
an automobile
An airplane
With no idea where they are, or who is steering them
And I alternate between maturity
and ought to hate that I keep blurring the
indistinct line between
right and wrong
but I unlearned ethics
I burned
the ideaology but I originally fed it
and it's insatiable gluttony
and it's paralyzing recommendations
So I'll use my body like a visor
Insecurity's a whore
she love's every bit of me
But I truly despise her
And the more attention I give her
The more she seems to think
That I am a test case quite voluntarily
The more she seems to press the ideal that she bury me

In Retrospect

And I walked through the graveyard
And I felt a bruise of belonging developing in my brain
My restlessness calmed by the one I feared
I felt at home
I felt comforted by this chart of corpses embellished with flowers and stones
And I wandered with no goal
I felt so finite yet so uplifted-

Angry, cruel poem inspired by the new Interpol album

Recipes on the mind
Ravaging combinations
Speeding with unique qualities
Which appeal to the celerity?
Of my nature
Recently more restless
Than I’ve ever been before
Reentry find some composure from the closure
The crumbling carousel
The avalanche of avarice
Is there something I missed
You trifle, you dumb thing, you thoughtless tryst
Incessantly

virescent

Bathing in overabundant envy
Laying in such redundant thoughts
so pungent
why don’t you end me
Is there something I missed
You trifle, you dumb thing, you thoughtless tryst
With thoughts of
how thoughtless
the concepts
were to begin
The vague regressing ambition
The lake of a depressing lack of conviction
And I block your explanations
Before you even give them the luxury of defenses
You’ll become more a trifle with the rifle pressed against your collar bone
You’ll become more of a dumb thing when I un-sing everything I ever decided to holler and groan
you’ll become more of a tryst when I realize you’ll were never really missed
I don’t need your comfort
Spare me the statement of how much you care

Nausea

Dripping limbs
in a vat of grins
an irrational spin
a dispassionate binge
The world’s a machine
With grass on a hinge
Let’s reactivate the din
Those made us believe that sin
Could really be true
And for that matter let the word ‘true’
Dictate what you do
Rip fate of what it’s due
Trip the fake over knives let their guts spill
Sip tea with rakes scratch out your lives

Thoughts

Why do we complain? Does it feel good to focus on the negative experiences?

Why do we demand? Does it feel good to be condescending?

Why do we question if we know we can’t possibly know it all?

Ambition is a mixture of a blind dream and an incredible, undeniable passion.

Oil Change

I'm currently blogging from the AAA car servicing center off of Pisgah Church Road. On the way back from Jessie's house last night(I love her) my oil light began blinking repeatedly which alarmed me(I've never had that light come on, thought it seems strange that this would bother me more than the omnipresent dull light beneath my spedometer screaming 'MAINTENINCE REQUIRED', but my dad said it was nothing I needed to worry about, though considering his abilities to prioritize wrongly I wouldn't be surprised if the Honda burst into flames next time I turn the ignition.....Anyway time to end this run on sentence----Or is it? I tried to call Graphica to let them know I'm going to be late but I'm assuming no one is there yet....I mean you can't really expect people to be at work more than a half hour before their set to. Unless you're one of those frighteningly overbearing employees who smiles at everything from getting a raise to finding out you unintentionally ran over your own mother while intoxicated. I think too much-well let me qualify that. I don't think too much. My OCD thinks too much. The whole 'You are not your illness concept comes to mind' I'm so fatigued. I need to sleep well tonight to make up for the advancing problem of my sleep debt. I feel like an army of invisible trolls are moonwalking on my forehead with giant boots. Not the most serious of comparisons but it will do for now. The interesting thing is that based on my behavior around the Perkins they would likely deduce that I always act that sporadically. I'm not even slightly as spastic when it's just Jessie and I-I only act like I don't have any common sense(for the most part) When there are other people around the two of us-or if I'm with others on my own. Hanging out with Jess is always such a festive, joyous ocassion-And spending time with others is uninvolved, bland experience. We're both aware of this- I just felt the need to articulate it in writing. Also, I'm still wondering why I begin to feel such pain when