Completely improper,

The suspect in such a 

Crime as this. Tell me,

Is it fair to point a finger

At the guilty? Were I to

Lose my mind tomorrow

Would you weep or seethe?

Would I find myself staring

Down the tunnel of your

Direction hungry appendage?

One can hope. My guilt is no

Longer an acidic stain.

Consider it a badge, profound
And founded by the few of us

Who don't mind to take a beating.

I'm not sure if you're co

---------------------------

What simple hair, brushed

Aside in flattened waves,

Like the shimmering sheet

Of some uninterupted confectionary

Treat. How many hours could you
Cook that swamp before it boils

Away? How many days does it take

To settle that kind of score, and how

Many more hours could you spend

Staring at the incorrect angle of mirror?

Your boredom splinters inside of me,

And I suppose I shouldn't over correct

But what's to one expect when so much

Is expected of him? Me? Oh, no, never.

I couldn't believe the things I see and

Begin to wonder along. Tell me, your

Secrets; are they difficult to guess or

Do I need to employ a few of you?

Straighten me out.

A pack a day, but money for none.

I can smoke more than spend,

But for pleasure it's no sacrifice.

My home is falling down,

And I can only hold it for

So long. So instead I'll sit

Beneath and wait for it's

Time to come. I don't mind.

I can't afford it, but I'll pay

Anyway. I have food to last

Three days and three weeks

Until I can scrounge some more.

Oh Heaven, what's my action?

Eat now, starve later.

Regret neither. 

I'm running on twenty one
Hours of reality. It drags me

Down like the burnt tip of a

Cigarette. I don't mind, I've

Got no food. I'm digging trenches

For a four sided battle and eating

The things I dig up. It's all coming

Together, these days. What an

Effort I give to the people who don't

Know I mind their watching. Alone

For the thousandth time this week

I could find no time in these clearly

Define battle lines to complain.

In fact, what a sweet degree.

What a sweet life.

The acrid smell of burnt bones
Floats around my living room.
This is how I know I am no longer

Known. I am not myself or another,
Just disintigrated into small stars
That sit above the roof tops of smaller

Men. They pet their dogs and watch me

Sizzle up, supsended in a state of something

Sub-nothing. What a way to go, now

I'll never know if I'll be known again. I

May just hang around, float, above the

Rooftops of much smaller men.

Fuck. I'm disappointed in the human race. I'm tired of contact with them altogether. They only bring disappointment or anger. I'm thoroughly confused. I don't know what I want. I keep wondering why I'm alive. I can't find an answer. It may seem caustic, but I wonder what the point of living is at all. Everything is stale. It just seems like a pointless struggle. I don't know what it's getting at and I don't know if I even care to. I go through all these motions to prepare for the future when the truth is I don't have one. I write stories about other people who lead the same pointless lives as me. We're all going nowhere. For years I've put so much effort into figuring myself out and I'm still no closer than when I began. I don't think there is a solution to this puzzle. All the pieces are circles. I feel like I'm just standing still while things happen around and to me and this is how it will be until I die. I don't like getting my emotions involved in things because they're all so petty. The world is small and so are the people on it. So are its problems and so are the people. What do they really matter?
We solve problems so that we can continue living, and for what? More problems and boredom. I don't really enjoy any part of this. Anything mildly entertaining is only entertaining because I think it should be. If the point of life is to enjoy it, then I want no part. Enjoyment is dull. I just don't care about anything anymore. I'll just do what I'm told, because I have no idea how to properly live. I would just do what feels good, but nothing really does. It can keep me occupied, or amuse me, but nothing really satisfies me. Nothing besides music, reading and writing. I'm not even sure about writing. It feels good to do something well, but it's for the others, not for me. I'm tired.

It's been awhile. I moved out of my parent for awhile and I didn't have a computer. I'm back, for a limited time. To make a long story short, I threw my heart at a women and she drop kicked it straight to hell. No regrets. I lived in an apartment for awhile with two friends, but things got a little crazy, then we got evicted. So, I'm back at my parents and hating every second of it. I guess old people don't change, which is a little sad.

I move to Queensbury the fifteenth of next month. I drove up there in June. I drove up about a week ago. I'm driving up again tomorrow. It's killer; five hours each way. I can not manage to find a decent apartment for a reasonable price. What I hear is there's some plant hiring thousands of workers in Albany, which is about fourty five minutes away. They've rented all the places in Albany so they're going to surrounding towns, which means Queensbury.

Places are getting eaten up like crazy and I'm at a disadvantage because I can't just pick up a paper and look through the classifieds. The local paper is online but you need a subscription to view it. Apartments.com can only give me so much, so I keep having to go up there. It sucks because like I said it's a ten hour drive which takes an entire day and that's a day I can't work. God knows the only thing that I can't live without right now is money. I've emptied my entire bank account and I still have a million things to pay. My parents are helping me out as much as they can but they're no Rockafellers. Oh well, things will work out.

Well, I need to wake up in two hours, so I should probably get some sleep.