Don't Make People Angry

I found that I don't need to make people angry at all. For people are angry about the same things. It's a blanket statement that I wish I could disallow, but I came to the conclusion none the wiser. You see there once was a time in witch I thought that I could only truly know some one if, I got them raging mad. This led to much folly in my early adolescent years. But I learned from them and was completely and utterly embarrassed at the sight of my self. I now can put my mind to other things like human behavior. Such things stir a grate need inside of my soul like a monark passing wind on a dimly lit television show, with faces and posters plastered on every nook and cranny of meaningless existence. And so thus far I have been able to decipher the human code in entirety, in all its entirety. For I know now that what never knew should not bother me, because the unknown can be molded and formed before the present engulfs it in all its glory, and makes the thought concrete, like a stone statue in a park with shit placed on its slick pantaloon. But never shaking never wavering sits atop a sleet stone throne forever. Now of cores you have to know you and you alone when performing such an act against man and god. The trick is in making you forget that you ever had such action. Like an old obese glutton, not as sharp in the mind, not knowing tea time for cocktail hour, that says with out thought, "When is the next feast I am starving." Or the again old woman who cry's for the fifth time of an equally old mans telling of a story, never remembering the first time from the last. With all seen and unseen circumstances clouding your view you might wish to go back. But I would like to leave you with this blunt and unfiltered sight. There is no going back. Thank you…

I don't know how to finish storeys. I don't think I have ever been able to fully finish my storeys. Maybe when I was young I was able to finnish storeys. But not now. I can't finish storeys. I can't finish storeys because the story never stops. It keeps going in that world and in that paradime. I can only finish thoughts. I don't think that any one really ever finishers a story. I think they just finish thoughts. I've found the story goes one weather you like it or not. So how long will you let your story go on before your thought is finished?

Breathe

Blue faced and ready to go.
I can not stop the inevitable embrace.
Closer we come, until we hug.
Closed eyes and holding breath.
A pat on the back says its time to leave, “Please Breathe.”
She said, “Before I let you go.”

I said, “No.”
She said, “Yes.”
Standing toe to toe.

Holding tighter the fog comes on fast.
Still holding, I don’t know how long I can last.
“Please forgive me,” I pray to my god, and breathe in the devil.
“Now was that so darn bad?”

“No it wasn’t,” I said with her eyes on mine.
Then she walked off with a stumble, and a, “I’m ok.” So divine.

So if you find yourself in this situation, and asked for exhalation, have no hesitation.

A Middy Brain Drain

I was told today how I need to stop using the word I. The editor and chef said, "Its not an ok term to be used in journalism." That and we, you, and us are bad terms as well. Like the F word, is a bad word. You just don't say these things. I can see where they are coming form. But it is going to be hard for.......The Writer of This Article....to not use those god for sicken words.

October Strings

Wonderful October day today. I miss you, you all, I look all around me and I realize how I wasn't alone all along. I saw all of the people and wondered why I didn't know them and why they don't know me.

I met a con girl today, she had conned her whole life away. I told her my phone number was a cup of coffee.

I met a man on the bus breathing hallelujah. I told him he wasn't alone but didn't listen to me.

I felt an old girl with a feather in her hair. I told her I was here and I'd talk to her for a little wile.

I miss my friends I've never had, I miss my father and I miss my dad, I miss my mother and joy we had. I finely see the October strings. Black cats and hags never had it in for me. I never had it in for them. I find my self where I need to be and a place I want to be. I think its beautiful, when all around me is falling into deficit.

The world could end and any moment. An asteroid could hit us at any time, things happen. We have no insurance of survival. No one to save us but us.

For Every Job Application That is Filled Out in Vain 3000 Innocent Kittens Die!

People who know me will tell you that I’m not a violent person. But filling out job applications turns me into a different person. When I’m sitting at a table or desk filling out job applications. Filling out the same dam information over and over again and knowing that it really doesn’t matter if these employers know this stuff or not. Knowing full and well that I might as well fill out this application and throw it in the nearest waist resepticle. But when I get to a part that I just don’t understand, like on a dollar store application that asks me, what experience I desire to gain. I just sit there looking at the question for 30mins. First I think about the real answer, I want to gain the experience of making money. Then I think about how that’s not even and answer. Then I think about the answer they want me to put. Like, broadening my horizons in the work place. Then I think about how I just spent 30mins on one question, thinking deeply and philosophically, on a job application for the dollar store. I look at the clock and I see that I just spent an hour and 11 minuets on an application I’m not even half done with yet. It makes me a little angry. No it makes me border line psychotic. I want to find these people that crated this work of satin called a job application. Death would be too good for them, they need to suffer in the catacombs of hell! I really don’t know what happens its like something just comes over me that I can’t control. It’s a thrust for violence that I only get when I fill out job applications. It makes me wonder if the world would be a better place without job applications. Would there be less violence if there was no job applications? Would we all be happier? And more importantly if you don’t agree with filling out job applications why do you support a system that you don’t agree with?

I have a resume and it pains me to think that I need to write the same information that is on my resume into and application for no reason other then because. It also pains me to think that in some places I’m not aloud to go outside the application, not even with an attached resume. I am really good with people, but it never asked me that on the application. I can set short and long-term goals and get things done but it never asked me that on the application. I think I’m almost at the point of going around town asking for an application and writing on it, “Give me a fucking job!” With a phone number. I need a job so bad but I can not stress how much its killing my soul.

If I was in charge I would propose that businesses make there application process more user friendly. I think the business should make applications more standard and not expect them to be filled out completely. If applications are not filled out completely they missing content should be able to be found in the attached resume. Also the resume format needs to be standardized as well. I think if these where implemented we would have a happier community and less people out of work. All and all I think we all can agree that the whole system needs to be made more user friendly somehow. For the employer and the employee.

2am

Why do I always wait until 2am to start writing? It might have something to do with the fact that it’s just me in my underwear and the screen here, no one other person. I guess I could go on youtube and dink around but that always leads to more boredom then what I had to began with. Or I could google odd things, like ‘Vintage Underwear…lets see what we have.

http://shop.ebay.com/items/vintage%20underwear?_dmd=1&_cpr=249

I like the yellow and black ones. $15 yikes; that’s to much for a peace of cloth that no one ever sees. Google take me away to a better place! Um, ‘Shmuttyma’…not even google and find that word. Maybe it is time for bed. No one last time before bed. ‘Sunshine Jelly’…well what do you know. Strait from the sun. http://www.flickr.com/photos/serenejournal/2752198682/

Sunshine jelly does exist. Well its time for bed for me but I could be lying. Lying get it? Ha, ha, whatev’good night.

Prodigal Children

Sometimes when I’m feeling unmotivated I look up prodigal children on youtube. You know the kids at the age of 9 that can paint a landscape that looks like it was taken out of a national geographic. It gives me the motivation I need to write that extra little bit play the piano a little longer.

Little pricks, it makes me wonder what I’m doing with my life. These kids have there lives all planed out already.

I’m still back at home living with my parents. Trying to brake into this ‘wild world’.  

Of cores do you know how much that would such, to be better then every one all the time? It really would with friends and even family. It would be hard being smarter then your parents. But you know these kids just can’t help it and they shouldn’t be penalized for being brilliant.

I just want to go up to them and shake prepubescent hand and say thank you for helping the rest of us. Thank you for making us all look bad and there for motivating us to out do you and therefore somehow making the world a better place.

 

Thoughts and Food

Eggs, Steak, Hamburger, Liver, Spinage, Carrots, Olives, Black Beans, Oranges, Blue Barrys, I really don’t know why I have food on the brain. What I’m really thinking about right now is how I never read.
I never reed other writers work. I always tell people to reed my work, but I never reed other artists. I need to get on that. If I ever want to grow. That and get a job. I really need to get a job. Maybe all become the Anti Christ. I’ve always wondered what happened next in the story. You know the bible story, what happened next? Maybe all write it and bring it to an end. Its stuff like that; that sells books you know. Some might say I’m setting my goals a little high but I don’t think so.

Unfinished

One person sits in a table and chair in the mall. So many thoughts so many faces and none his own, all for the taking. This odd aligning of events made something curious happen. Much to his amazement someone sat and perched themselves on the chair across from him. "Is this a good time?"

Without looking up he said, "What do you mean by time?"

"I can't be sure, all I know is it's been a long time sense I've talked to you." said the person across from him. The young man looks and sees a girl but nothing more then lets out a yawn.

"How rude." Said the up right female in front of him.

"I don't have time for little girls and silly games so if you want to say something then say it." Said the man, and sat back as nothing had happened. They just sat and looked at each other for the longest time.

"You're the real deal aren't you?" said the girl with open eyes.

"If I was to tell you it would defeat the purpose of this conversation that we are having right now." Said the man without an expression.

"No you just don't want to answer my question, you just want to change the subject. Funny thing is I wanted to change it too." Said the girl sternly.

"You know it's a lot of work to create your own thoughts like you just did there." The man said.

"Right so I was going to ask you what we should do now, now that where here again together. I mean don't you want to go back?" said the young women longingly.

"Nothing more comforting then this place we have found ourselves in the eyes of the world. But the world doesn't see through our eyes. Didn't we have a deal you weren't going to talk to me ever again?" said the young man with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes that's why I wrote you this." The girl riffled through one of her pockets that seemed to be full of little notes and shoves a folded paper into his hand.

"How did you know we were going to meet?" He said.

"You didn't." She winked then handed him a letter.

 

The manuscript read:

Dear Recipient

            Ha! Your talking. There probably isn't any doubt in your mind as to my deeds. But you're talking to me and that must count for something.

            I have come to deny the existence of God because God acts similar to something that isn't there at all. The weird part being that I want to try this over again. Not for you but for myself as I have nothing left to do.

 

"So what is this suppose to do? Am I suppose to somehow be in awe of you somehow? Or is this just to spite me? Do you want to fight?" the man lays down the letter in front of him and folds his arms.

"I really don't like arguing.. I'd rather agree... so I like to discuss." Said the girl sincerely.

"Your not making any sense! I'll put aside that the lines between arguing and discussing are thin at best. But to say there is no God and then ask me to reunite with you is absurd just like this conversation. You and I know God is real and stuck behind that catalyst wall of his. Putting human sin aside I need to find a way to repent for my own and I can't do that without you. The fact is the only reason God is letting us speak right now is because in the end it will be just as if we never spoke at all and that is why we can't get back together ever." The man slowly lowered his painful cast from the girl to the ground.

The girl crossed her arms down word clasped her hands smiled and said,

"Unless we go into it knowing it will end."

"Are you really up for doing this over again?" said the boy.

"Yes." Said the women standing before him.

"Then lets go."

Unspoken Love

How do you tell some one you love them with out talking to them? Wait let me rephrase that. How do you tell some one you love them with all your heart but with out saying it because you never want to talk with them ever again?

 

Love it's a word that's spoken a lot. Its never unspoken, witch leaves me to wondering if spoken love as we know it is even love at all. What is love? I for one can not say what love is, as it is not my calling to love. It is however my calling to tell the truth as I see fit, and I see love as what it is. That's as far as I'm going to go but I do have a friend that says she knows what love is and it is her calling to tell this rude fact.

 

That fact is that she came to fined is love isn't a feeling at all, it's a relationship its something that was always there but the only thing that was shown to us. It was shown to us because sin was shown to us. She also wants to point out that love came before sin. It comes from a place we know nothing about we could call that place anything heaven. That might be why Love is so hard to explain. God loved first so we could love one another or God tout us how to love.

 

Now I know I'm using words like God and Heaven but take thows words out and put in your own and don't let the vocabulary throw you off into a tizzy as I go on. The reason this is so incredibly important is Love and Sin for that matter is the only evidence we have that shows there ever was a god. Love in particular is a wonderful gift and when you truly taste it you will know that it is from another place that you know nothing about. Maybe that's why its all so exighting. Now you might see that I might be hinting at the idea that sin and love are at odds, but that is not what I'm trying to get at, at all. So why don't you just relax and let me tell my story.

 

I saw her first which meant she didn't see me. I was tired of watching and in a acword scents walking on egg shells that I had put down for myself to walk on. This has to end, I told myself. It took awhile on the crowded bus but sure enuf I got up to her and sat down. She wouldn't look at me so I tapped her on the shoulder and she looked over. She looked at me with her big round white sunglasses and it was clear to me what I had to do. I just reached striate over and took thows suckers off. Then I just looked into her eyes for a short time. The sun was in my eyes so I couldn't see her fully all I can hope is she got what she needed. "How are you doing?" She said.

I still didn't want to talk to her so I just put my left pointer finger over her mouth still holding her sunglasses. We scarcely had time to talk any way as her stop was just another away. I took my finger back and threw back her spectacles as she hurriedly put them back on. At first I wasn't sure if she had gotten the message but as she was leaving she put a simple hand on my shoulder and left. The people around me must have thought I was an interesting fellow to say the least but I didn't care I was at peace and I hope she is too.

 

Now I know some of you elderly people might have a different take on things. But this moment was timeless played over again in lots of bars many wonderful places on a 2 bit television in some far off gally.

 

That my take on unspoken love and in that moment it was the best kind of love.

Short Autobiography

Education has always plagued me. I just don't know what do to for it; I know I need to get good grades but the grading system seems so random to me sometimes. If someone were to come up to me and ask me what education really meant to me, I suppose, I would say that it doesn't mean much to me for educations' sake. It doesn't mean much to me because I don't see a real difference between less school and more school. The idea that you can bank knowledge just by passing a class is silly. You end up forgetting half of what you knew and in the end the only things you remember are the things you use. Education is a good thing when it is self-motivated and therefore in a sense pure. That's just the tip of something that I never could do just in the short amount of time that I have.

            Now a little about myself, I don't know the importance of education, but education for me is something to allow others to take me seriously. Much more seriously then they would take someone without an education. This might be unjustly so, but it is the way of the world. I mainly want to be taken seriously as a writer. I don't know if you know this but I'm severely dyslexic and I have always feared the blank sheet of paper in front of me. One day I just got tired of it and did something about it. That something was forcing myself to write once every week. I soon learned to love it and started posting it online. Others started to read it and told me they had never read anything like it before. I suppose that's a good thing. I would like to make a career out of something I love some day and writing might just be it. A dyslexic writer who would have thunk it? I would like to be taken seriously as a writer and as a person. To do so, I think broadening my education can help me do that.

 

I write every week, so in my mind I write a lot. I wish I could write every day but some times I'm too busy. I hate to say it but I'm not well read. For obvious reasons, I have however, lately, not been able to keep my head out of Genesis. It's the first chapter in some old book I've found its pretty interesting.

 

I have answered most questions about life, you know, the usual. Q: What is the meaning to life? A: To finish what we started. Still don't know what we started but its getting there. Q: World peace? A: Kill Everything. Q: Is there a god? A: Yes but he acts like something that isn't there at all.

 

I'm an Atheist but I don't practice it much. So like I said I've answered most things. Right now, I am working on such things as 'Why did the chicken cross the road.' and 'How many licks does it take to get to the core of a tasty hard candy on a stick.'

 

One thing for sure is that nothing is for certain, I'm not even certain if I was the first to say something like that. But some people and I do mean people! Have gotten awfully close. That's all I'm saying, I certainly wouldn't know anything about everything or anything for that matter.

Mood Strikes

Every time the mood strikes me, I go for a late night stroll. Dream walks I call them, the time when the world is able to take in a deep breath. Its sters an invigorating feeling in my soul. One last walk before the crimson curse blankets the valley in red death. I'm never as brazen at I think I am, I never seem to go where I want to go. I'm always looking over my shoulder in fear of the night. To help the panic all often sing a well known toon. As I walk I look at the houses, and wonder who these people are and why I don't know them. I wonder what types of lives they live. I pass judgment on the houses and make up storys. When walking I often light a cigaret to help clear my mind. Take a shallow breath and coff, I've always been a horrible smoker, if there ever was such a thing. Half the time I just let them burn out, but theres something about having that fire in your hand and the way the smoke billows out into the cold night air. That stink on your flash and the filter in your mouth as you walk. I always find it interesting that in walking I've never had any problem with people, the truth is I never seen any one out at the time I take my walks. No, the problem is with stray dogs. Stray dogs will attack you if they see you at night or at least give you a scare. With no one around you feel helpless. But that doesn't happen vary often. In the back of my mind I'm always wishing to meet some one out on my late night venturers. I really don't know what I would to if I ever found any one out there. Probably talk to them. I've always wanted some one to walk with. It gets lonely, its always lonely. I would ask them what they where doing. If I could tell that they had no business being out at that late hour I would be intrigued. Vary intrigued and want to know more. Like I said I really don't know what I would do I just know I would talk to them. Maybe thats why I walk, maybe thats the only reason I walk, in hopes of meeting some one. No, thats not the only reason. I walk for the fear the cheep thrills of knowing that I'm the only one thats up and theres a higher chance that something might happen to me that out of the ordinary. I walk because I'm broken and I know that if I find some one walking when I am; they will be broken too. And I will have some one to talk too. And that is why I walk...