I've always admitted to myself I'm a coward.
I get nervous and anxiety easier than it is to buy a whore with a buck. i cant throw a punch. and spiders still make me wanna piss myself.
i can take a hit but id rather not get hit and for some reason still flinch.
and i always laugh at the fact that i've had men 3 times my size stare me down ready to fight. i've had lanky shits with bony fists ready to fight. i've had white trash 6th year seniors, muscular shits, who probably bro grope their hockey buds, get right up into my face with their stinky ass shit breath and threaten to beat me so hard to some sort of analogy of near death or unrecognizable condition.
and every time this happens. i puff my chest and stare them down back.
i dont get why i actually do it. i know most of the shit i say is all bull. i'm sure they could call my bluff. and minus one punch from a kid who later in life got raped in juvie ive never been caught up in a fight. for some odd reason they all ended the same way.
they walk away orsome girl stops them or someone with the idea of authority steps in.
but i've always acted tough back. tell them to bring it. i call them pussies, white trash, fat shits, stupid fuckheads and try to puff out my skinny non buff chest.
and when it's done and nothing happened. sometimes people come up to me and tell me how shocked they were at how i acted. how they knew i was going to lose.
ive never been in a real fight. i've always dodged them. i'm a fucking coward. i dont care that im a coward. these kids kept telling me they thought i was stupid but brave. and i always laughed at that cause these assholes never saw how bad my knees shook.

self obsveration

my brain is snapping away like a bottle rocket.
speewwwwwin sparks about in flowery like shapes too.
air around paying attention less.
these things never mattered. i'm burning the grass as i hit bottom.
the heat rose me up. warmth in my chest.
it may sound crazy but i think i actually got somewhere.
metaphorically i mean.

at this point...
lines etched and scratched thru were all apart of the same flat appearance that i witnessed.
nothing felt disconnected or separated. all just a slap of different shades. i didn't feel like i reached the rise in this scenery. just avoided the lumps of people in the way.
but it's funny how different people see themselves to me. it really is.

ruff draff

i've never had the usual sort of problems people deal with. correction. i dont have what people think are problems to bitch about.
-i sat here. alone. looking out a window where a breeze took control of the clouds directions. i didn't feel right.-
my issues were spiritual conflicts. inner self. connections with the world. myself. how i saw things. what i felt were right.
-i heard birds chirping. i blared my music up higher and read a book. the words felt more powerful when the outside world had no effect on me.-
everything in my brain was cluttered. in my opinion felt more cluttered than the rest of the worlds clutter. simple things were strenuous mentally for me.
-pages werent blank. but they ended up so anyways. i toss aside the book. i step outside and let the breeze take me away with the clouds.-
i felt like i needed answers. i didnt want desires for answers. i killed my desire for structored beleifs. heading that way in life too.
-my music still blared. the street felt non existant thru my shoes. i could feel the heat tho. and the humidity in the wind. i felt like i was dying.-
everything else in life was starting to become unimportant. anything i didnt feel connected too felt like an illusion. my connections were running thin.
-i saw cars burst by. saw people walking the road. strangers in a single shell roaming to me what felt aimlessly. i wondered who they were. their stories they could tell.-
i felt more apathetic. my road felt paved but now was turning to gravel and dirt. i shifted in my thoughts more than what i think people normally did. i would never really know.
-minus the heat and wet air i think today is beautiful. it felt that way in the way a subtle breeze does. it wasnt like hitting a wall. life was just swirling around me and i loved it more for being unkown to me.-
i was more alone than i ever was. like sitting on a bus full of close friends slowly getting off their stops going their way. i felt like i existed alone. riding out this line.
-the wind carried me as far as it would. i stepped down and carried myself back to my house. my eyes adjusted to this shell of a home. it never felt sweet. just relaxing.-
i didn't care. my joys were coming in new colors i think. i am a child. young in thought. always will be. ill learn and destroy knowledge. i didn't have problems. i was lost.
being lost is fine. frustrating. but fine. im evolving. im a child. just searching for a smile.

old writing ruff draff

the ways of my past came up to me pretending to be perfected angels. i was sick of it. i spent my time ignoring it. but they crept in closer and closer touching the very energy of being inside me. i couldnt contain it some days. they were trying to convince me it was the way, the path to salvation.
"fuck that! ive burnt away the way, ive stampeded over it. ive destroyed salvation and found my own way. there is no way but where i step and create it with my own blistering feet!"
but ghost never go away. i could tell they wouldnt any time soon. so i searched for my demons so i could live like a free man. i searched for sages to feel the true balance. i searched for buddhas to find my own enlightment. i searched for mother earth to feel one with my roots. i talked to philosiphers, teachers, mentors, burnt their flame on a candle then licked it out.
"im escaping" i keep whispering to myself. im getting closer. but ghosts never go away. and i can still feel them gripping at my heart. so i keep on walking and walking. blazing trails as i go along. trying to step a little further ahead.
"am i getting there?" i keep asking myself "am i really getting there?"
in closey behind my ear i hear a faint whipser "no..."...and then there was silence.

why i enjoy being drunk so much...

if my thoughts were many different colors of paint.
take the paint and dab many dots all around a blank surface that would be my brain.
cover it in a chaotic mess overlapping and cluttering everything.
then take a brush which would be the alcohol and swirl and swish all the paint.
into one blurry slick mess.
thats why.

Espy was sitting in a cold but fancy, hotel room in san antonio. he felt like shit and wanted to have a glass of wine or some sort of liquor in his drink. he was watching his co workers, who were sitting not even 10 feet from him, giggling and laughing at gay porn on the internet. they whispered about it secretly while glancing at him to make sure he dint know what was going on.
Espy was feeling very annoyed by this. he knew they were doing it cause of his age. he was 20. the youngest of the bunch. this whole day with them has been nothing but stale sex jokes. he also found this annoying. he felt the best way to respond to this was to be silent and keep his eyes on other things. he was sure because of this his co workers disliked his company and were wondering why the hell he was there with them at all in the first place. espy was never this silent, they didn't know why other than he just was.
"i didnt come here to make friends with them," he thought to himself, "just another stab at another new city."
espy wanted a smoke. he was about to go outside to bum one. his co workers found him disgusting for wanting to smoke. but he didnt care. he just wanted to drink, smoke, and wander this city. he wasn't there to make friends. not when a city was to be watched.

[attempted poetry]

i traced my hand on a sheet of paper. in return i was given a thinly, lined bird.
it's flaps sounded like paper cuts. it flew around like a paper plane with a more planed direction.
soon it left. to see the world. but burned under harsh beams of the sun.
i walked outside and could feel it's weight. like standing under a crashing building.
i took a sip of tea. stared off in the bare distance and could see rain clouds screaming.
even the couds collapsed here. steady we go.

conversational realizations

RachelHarx (2:16:41 PM): Have you ever had a day where you sat down and really thought about your friendships and whether they were really worth it or not?

dieforpeace (2:18:42 PM): all the time

RachelHarx (2:19:20 PM): Whats your general conclusion?

dieforpeace (2:19:25 PM): a shrug

RachelHarx (2:19:50 PM): That doesn't seem very conclusive at all.

dieforpeace (2:20:08 PM): nope

dieforpeace (2:20:12 PM): im not a conclusive person

dieforpeace (2:20:15 PM): i never get clarity i want

dieforpeace (2:20:18 PM): im always confused

dieforpeace (2:20:23 PM): and always thinking on a subject

dieforpeace (2:20:28 PM): i usually wait it out and see what happens

RachelHarx (2:20:46 PM): Doesn't that just make you the slightest bit miserable?

dieforpeace (2:21:21 PM): very much so

dieforpeace (2:21:23 PM): and i deal with it

dieforpeace (2:21:24 PM): and wait it out

RachelHarx (2:22:14 PM): Does it ever make you feel any better in the long run?

dieforpeace (2:22:22 PM): nope

dieforpeace (2:22:28 PM): i try to not care about the long run

dieforpeace (2:22:35 PM): and just see what happens in the next few hours

RachelHarx (2:23:01 PM): Are you ever really happy?

dieforpeace (2:23:33 PM): sometimes i'm not miserable having fun and laughing and smiling

dieforpeace (2:23:39 PM): i dunno if ive ever been really happy

dieforpeace (2:23:47 PM): i just get my moments of zen and joy

RachelHarx (2:24:14 PM): Are they worth all the waiting?

dieforpeace (2:25:04 PM): a good time is always worth the wait

a book came up to me one evening and asked me what i thought poetry was.
"tis the jabbering of crazy bitter romantics i think. "
"oh" he sighed. "the crazy part must be true cause your talking to a book"
"that must be very true"
then a recruiter for a freak show walked by and saw the book grabbed it and made it become one of its many performers. next to scaled children and bearded ladies.
"hm...maybenot that crazy" i thought.

i was killing a bum jug of wine one night.
the bottle was slightly upset that i was sucking down it's insides.
to enact revenge he popped my head open and drank my contents.
it wasn't cool.
but i was drunk. so i took a nap and slept peacefully.

the brutal alley cat

an alley cat sat next to me
i knew this alley cat

"where have you been?"
i asked it

"around" he slyed out

in a quick meow it poofed away
and the walls i called my imangination tumbled.
i stood in a chaotic mess.
i knew what was wrong.
but couldnt really get around to fixing it
or putting it back into a sort of an order.

"damn"
i thought

"that was one brutal alley cat"

bitter lunch time scribbles

you tell yourself something you want to hear and it starts to feel like truth.
you talk about it a bit more than usual you start to doubt yourself.
then you never shut the fuck up about it. that's when you know you're full of shit.

i start to remember why i kept to myself so much. fake a smile to ride on out. new lessons every day right?

listening to people talk starts to feel like listening to a poorly scripted play. everything sounds dull and horribly acted. we all talk and act like we give a shit.
it's why i put headphones on any chance i get. fuck it. don't care about half the shit they say anyway. i'm probably an idiot to all of em but they're all boring idiots to me.

after realizing i'm not remembering half of my days and that the last 4 weeks felt like yesterday, i noticed that "my elders" were right in saying time fades quick.
the clock is already starting to feel like a ghost.
i'm not afraid.
just ignoring the inevitable.

my puppy woke me up. i feel groggy. i let her outside and sit with her. get dressed. go to work. start helping patients. i feel so groggy. i sit down. i close my eyes. someone is nudging me awake. i jolt up. i'm on the couch. my puppy is napping on my chest. i was dreaming. really confused. i'm seriously confused as fuck at this point.

certain aspects you've held dear for ages start to make things complicated when involving people you barely know. or it makes you think that way.
co workers feel more weird to me lately. my boss who i've known for ages is feeling weirder.
friends. family. certain people of certain interest.
it's something gnawing in my brain.
if i change shit to how i think it'd be too dramatic of a change for me in my head i think.
this is probably why i have a burning hole in my stomach.

whenever i do something that involves being in groups, teams, or anything of the sort.
never felt as if i should actually be there. and for being there i am wrong.
it's probably how i view the situation. but i feel different. or that i am different and i should be somewhere else. no crews, no families, less friends, no schools, no jobs, no licenses or clubs or cards, no teams no nothing.
just an island.


desires you cant hold or obtain become unhealthy. kill the feeling inside your chest. become a stone. quiet. still. forget faith. the world around you pretends to have their desires fulfilled.
you try to be honest with yourself. you just try to not care anymore. no point is being sad in not having the thing you want in your hands. but you see what you want. smell what you want. find yourself thinking about what you want. and you just feel alone. you want to kill your senses. breathe irregularly and just forget it. you tell yourself you know the lesson.
but to feel that is another story.

but a trail of saliva wipes the words away and makes them verbal graffiti.
to some not art. to some something meaningful. to some nothing at all.

my main issues with people i've known has been trying to understand their intentions.
i wish i could read minds or read people to a high degree so i could understand better than what i do now.
i also sometimes imagine talking or asking a zen master/Taoist about things i ponder in life.
and i'm pretty positive if i asked about knowing and reading people's intentions they'd tell me its not something to waste time thinking about and just go with it.
and that i'd learn soon enough.
then i stop caring for a bit and live like that.

my thoughts feel pure till i spit em out.

on a sunny day a drunk espy loopa bumped into a group of counter culture travelers. he asked em why they did it. they answered and explained the best they could. this was his response:


"culture...counter culture,
still culture no?

in the end that never ends you swing full circle
its not what you own or where ya stand that makes the difference.

it's how you are as a person.

ya lot are the same fuckin lot as those people in the big poof chairs with gold watches and roll in those big fancy cars that never stop.
tho your gold watch is the sun and the only big cars you ride that never stop are the ones on the rails.

in the end it's who yah are that matters, that makes the fucking difference.
not where you stand or what you think you do that makes you so jolly wholesome.
no no my figure of speech friend. that's not what makes youre life so fucking great."


they ignored him. kept on traveling. and did what they thought was the right thing of course.
espy loopa continued to walk on. drinking. observing. and write what he saw.

the sky rained drops of music for hours. each sound took a perfect fit in each persons head.
the people were happy. they danced in thier dying city.
i sat and watched quietly. notes dripping into ripples from my clothes hair and tip of my nose.
there was nothing romantic about this. we all just soaked it in.
it starts to fade out. quiet sunshine breaks thru. everyone is tired.
we all start to sleep. then step out of our bodies again.
into the quiet.

"listen to yourself in vacuums"
a train vibrating car windows nearby.
"try to catch up to your dreams"
"a failed writer can love too" you told me.
and then you kissed my words.
dead trains seem to love this stuff.
i'll admit i did too.

i tend to write like i'm watching my dreams.

i tend to fail to write honestly myself.
which i don't like. but even when i write honestly,
my thoughts come out a bit overly dramatic.
or angry. or wrong.
i tend to crumple more pages then save.
and i tend to hit a delete button like my finger is making out with it.

nothing special.

i use to carry lil notebooks with me everywhere i went. usually filled them with random rubbish of things to remember but usually was used for address and contact info for strangers id never talk too again and friends id always promised id mail letters too then fail so instead mail them a book. they'd be filled with addressees of tons of people who most of which i don't even really know that well or talk to a lot. then there's the few highlighted names of people who i do talk too usually. the other people I'd never talk to tho I'd always debate on weather or not i should keep or toss out. i always kept em tho because of that "just in case" feeling. ya know? maybe I'd talk to them in several weeks or months and what not. keeping in touch with people use to be a major thing about me. maybe we'd be close friends in the future, or something neat would come from it. maybe maybe maybe maybe. "what if".
this morning. i threw em all out. i'm done with it. my desire for communication is basically dead.

my midnight dream became a fantasy of 12 stars swallowing crickets

two dream sequences...

in a dream: i am sitting on a big poofy chair by myself.
dividing lines of something powdery.
I'm surrounded by people watching. it's fairly loud.
i snort a line. a few people vanish.
poof. just outta thin air they're gone.
everyone else didn't seem to notice.
i snort another line. more gone.
at this point i wasn't thinking strait.
my brain felt like a carpet being dusted and flapped about.
i snort another line. the dust is kicking itself back in.
more people gone.
there's a few more lines left. a few more kids left.
at this point they're off standing by the corner talking about things.
i don't even know if they know I'm here at this point.
i don't even know if I'm really here at this point.
but i don't want to stop now.
i snort one more line. i can't even reason with myself.
more people gone. i think. it looks like there's a few left.
i could be seeing double and placing new faces on each one.
i can't think at this point. i feel too disoriented.
the others don't even notice me i think.
I'm tired. I'm crashing. this all lasted too quick.
shit.



in a dream: i was wandering around in a nuclear wasteland.
she was sitting on a hill where the grass glowed fluorescent green.
it all looked a bit crazy. on top of the hill she was staring out.
a puke green ocean of waste and rot drifted around like it was meant to be there.
she seemed nervous or scared of something. she started talking about things but the ocean muffled her out.
i think she was apologizing for how it all turned out. i didn't see why this mattered.
the world was just a waste pile anyways. things like this just didn't seem that important anymore.
she kept apologizing. it made me feel like shit. she didn't do anything wrong.
i told her i loved her and that i will be around if she needs me to be.
but other than that. i don't give a fuck at all. i give her a hug. she seems like shes in shock.
a world died so fast around us. we survived. and here she was apologizing for things that happened ages ago.
i sighed myself quiet. she gave me a faint smile. next panel please.

some broken mental notes come in at night like a flashing heatwave.
dropped bombs bursting overhead leaving imprints of myself where i stand.
burnt objects set in the ground. i spend hours piecing myself back together.
nothing missing just a jagged statue in lotus position waiting under a big tree.
im swallowing this hot air. destroying what i think is right in the proper parts.
in proper ways. a few memory downs a few left to go.

i do not live what i think would be a good life but i don't let myself get depressed about like i use too because i see no point in being sad about it anymore. life hasn't been great and anything of interest to me seems to not work out partially because of me, and with people usually, distance. all the bad things in life don't really spark much of a hit in me anymore.
i just don't really care. at all. i feel like I've mixed taoist philosophies with nihilism and other forms of ideas[some my own, others not] that i think most people wouldn't believe really mix together at all and roll with it. i feel like a sheet of paper where you write one thing and instead of continuing it you scribble some parts out, white out some others, try to write over it, continue and there you go and have yourself a over filled splotchy page of things that in the end didn't produce much. just a calmer me with no real idea of what i should think. keeps my mind on the move. everything is beginning to feel less and less real when i think about it. when i think about what everything is they feel more like apart of my imagination than something you'd understand. i don't know where I'm going with this anymore.
the other day when she called it was weird. i felt like something gripped my mind and dragged me back to a me i was a few years back. simple things and songs gave me that feeling summer would give you right before school got out. i felt, what i could say, would be raw emotion pumping thru every little portion of my veins. it wigged me out. when it got quiet again. it felt like what I'd imagine would be what sinking thru quicksand is like. slow to give you time to ponder yet soft and un harsh. till you hit the bottom and forget what it was like anymore. if i were to call this anything. I'd say it's an odd stance with peace. not enlightenment. things are inconsistent. I'm inconsistent. these things i write never flow well together. I'm bouncing back to what people would consider logical and smart and right to thinking every little crazy nook about life is my truth and every little crazy nook i dig in life is right. i dig my hands in both and wait it out to see if it'll get me somewhere else. like china or something.
it never does.

would you consider that sad?

i dont speak of whats mine because what actually might be mine might not actually be what's mine.
shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. half a lined and sketchy world is quiet.
when this is happens i fall apart like a stack of marbles that can't hold it's own liquor.
i'm rolling everywhere to everyplace to every city to every idea. no i wasn't really there.
but i was. i was. i was. i was. i see things ways you don't. i believe in things you damn well don't.
when everything becomes noisey again. i shoot back up to normal. solid. something seen. so you can see me.
just for a moment anyways. when you go quiet again. i go back to rolling.

a hermit not by choice but by how things worked out.
not meant to be close to everyone. or anyone. just living out
life thinking of life.
thinking how it tends to revolve in circles like a confused snake who cant find its head on its tail.
it was solitude. lonely. blissful. sad. it became and grew into so many things.
didn't hate it. didn't want it at 1st. but came to accept it.
life was something of a mystery that didn't need solving.
even when screaming out begging for answers.
the only reponse would be a whistling wind.
nature didn't care. it had all it needed. the goal was to become like this.
faint smiles can taint the area surrounding my mouth to the people sitting fairly close smiling back.
an exchange of words. not enlightenment. they cant see the flashes
coming from thoughts. "it's all mine. they'd never understand."
not selfish. pure perception. something you find on your own.
a hermit in a city life. a hermit in a rural thought.
alone. sad. blissful. growing. a child circling in age
like a snake unable to find its head on its tale.
not life. just me

observing/listening responce rant pt1

i'm not the center of life...i'm the center of my existence.people were just those sounds in my head with a rough idea to go with it. i wasn't right. by standards of the majority of counter culture and mainstream culture i am wrong. completely off[was even called bonkers once]. that's how it goes though. there is always the right and the wrong to someone. what if we didn't have any examples to show for either tho? who would give a fuck at that point? apparently everyone. from christians, atheists, anarchists, corporate mongers, cyclists, do gooders, and assholes everywhere alike. they don't know shit. i don't know shit. A 20 minute ramble someone gives about the meaning of life is just a 20 minute ramble when you look at it. solid proof without that 'r' is just a poof of air and something your brain tells you is logic. or what people say is logic. i don't know what i'd call it but it wouldnt be logic. this makes me a nihilist to some. if so what's so wrong with that? the inconsistancies? what doesn't have that these days? your god/science/idealogies are choppier than chunks of carved wood. life is life. maybe not. i could be wrong. for i all i know you could be right...but i don't give a fuck.

CH.79 TAO TE CHING
Failure is an opportunity.
If you blame someone else,
there is no end to the blame.

Therefore the Master
fulfills her own obligations
and corrects her own mistakes.
She does what she needs to do
and demands nothing of others.


i agree 100%

you know. simple as it all sounds. when it comes to things in a negative light. the phrase, "will it matter in 10 years?" sits heavy with me in a good way.
if something trivial and dumb comes up and angers you but you wont care about it in a week or for that matter 10 years why give a flying fuck?
if it does...then i guess you should try solving that shit then.

a friend and i were talking about the dramatic changes that have happened in our friends lives.
he asked me what i thought about it and i asked him.
in terms of why i all i really said was "we can deny it all we want. we all just grew older".
life has been a fuckin hammer for me and my friends and a lot of people i know. everyone's been beaten down and now just bitter and angry/worn out and sad/apathetic and truly nihilistic. anyone I've known for the last two/plus years is not the same person i know now. sure we go thru similar moments that might make that whole "nothing ever changes" phrase true. but in my opinion that doesn't mean shit in terms of personality and who they were.
its sad. i remember times when people were happier. it just seems like now everyone is just some fuckin stranger getting by on booze and drugs and/or smiling however whenever they can with other strangers to get on bye.
i love my friends that i still got. i love you. and i want you all to be at peace, ya know?
once again. fuck you 2007-2008.


anyways. my brother loved that "grew older" quote. i don't know why. thought I'd share these thoughts tho. since i try to be all honest and shit.

another silly kid who thinks they know the world

i saw a girl who carved the face of Buddha into her throat. it only killed her words and left her to speak
like something she wasn't. her words were sharp. they held an image of enlightenment. but there was something missing.
she was afraid of death. she couldn't move on. she was a carved bleeding girl writing her own scripture with her blood soaked fingers.
maybe she was right. maybe. i sat and listen. or tried to anyways. if she was right i didn't care.
i had my own carvings on my skin to worry about. and everything she spoke smelled like rotten shit anyways.
i walked away. she turned to stone. the carving moved on. she never did.