March 12, 2011


I took my usual bath today, I detest showers, and I saw my future while I waded in the hot water waiting for it to reach my up belly button.  I'm not letting anyone in on my fate.  It might even be as beautiful as a destiny.  The flowing water, my thoughts flowing forward, without haste and without intepretation, truly inspired my future to flow through me, in front of me, like a silent film.  For now, my brain thuds inside my head, but I still watched the Southland finale. Man, I want more! I think school is on spring break, and I'm pretty sure I had a stroke two nights ago.  My medication for hypersomnia the insurance company declared not approved, so now I'm forced to try a new drug, a more dangerous drug, at one time I might have said "Bring it on," but now I'm accustomed to a calm peaceful sort of fabrication of life,  and I don't want to fuck it up.  Do I have a choice?  Have I been fucked by the fickle finger of fate? Or does God have a seriously hip and jive plan over all. Stay tuned. My migraine is like a tide that has come in, but won't go out. I'm sinking, in the sand, losing feeling in my feet.  I'm waving like a queen does to the masses, good bye, my rain has been pulled by my psychiatrust and I'm tired. Tell my brother I'll listen to U2 if he'll listen to the new Eminem.  Chow,

March 8, 2011

After a shot of something or other

Sheen's Korner comes to mind.  Carnes' Corner looks and sounds much better.  Torpedoes of truth.  How about the one headed for Sheen's house.  Charles's only you will survive.  You're goddesses will die and so will all of your other fucking dogs. The dealer sneaking in the back, yep he'll go to.  In traction, the assholes at the hospital will release you to rehab. Talk about a craving, I crave that day.  You said you are not two people, the nice guy, and the crazy idiot.  You claimed to be just the crazy idiot, in the limelight, for all of the world to see.  You've morphed into Hyde, and anything that crosses your path you annihilate.  I bet you would like that idea.  It would serve your narcissism.  I hate that I think about you.  I hate that I worry about you.  My brother said your dead.  I say you're still above ground.  You are not smart, creative, a genius, or funny.  Your manic, coming off alcohol and cocaine, and I've seen more interesting shit inside a coffee shop I go to daily.  You bore me, I want to drown you in a toilet, I want to duct tape your mouth shut since the drowning option would send me to prison.  Please, stop polluting the airways, if your going to use, use, if not, do something useful.  Are you afraid of fucking a woman your age who might really know what she's doing?  You're a coward Charles.  Fuck Betty.

March 2, 2011

A Rant After 2 Episodes of Southland

Hey you, did you just look behind you? or suck your chin inwards, as if you is not a universal word for honey or douchebag? Listen, I freakin love this cop show. The antics of a drug addicted cop are all over the place.  I can't decide if he is worse then the grief ridden impulsive detective going off the books to avenge his partner's murder. In a way, they blend together to make sense of this absurd world.  Life only makes sense in books or on TV. When I try to understand why I'm crashin from a pill that "mocks" a stimulant that I take at 11:00am  for a condition that causes me to sleep all day for real, I'm crashin at 6:00pm, what are you serious?  Can the doctors raise or triple the dosage of this mockery?  If I mock you, I make fun of you by acting like you in one of your not so proud moments.  So WTF is this taking a mockery of a pill that legitimately amps up me like kids on koolaide?  So  I need a cushion for each brain cell, unfortunately it's Lifetime, and some food for my belly. Oh I'm so embarassed, Lifetime, an all time low.  Barbituates are lovely, just not so kind to me.  I eat them like candy, and they beat me like a husband on crack who finds me in bed with his dealer.  Actually, that might work out.  I'm losin it.  My head huurrts.  Enough.  Watch Suckerpunch when it comes to theaters. Send a dollar to a Bury Charlie Sheen's Body Fund, but distill the drugs and alcohol out of his veins to resell first. See yah=