Insanity Ensues In the Jungle

Everybody is looking for niche to belong to. The hierarchic tendencies of man can never be passed without notice in any given situation. The way to succeed is to show up for one, if you aren't there to make presence physically in the first place, what good are you? Never telling anybody to do anything is another key factor in all of this. To avoid hierarchic positions entirely, never let anybody on to the fact that they indeed can or could be top dog, allow people to assume the position they want to hold with the company they keep.

February 2008

 FUCK OFF NOSEY! this isn't your shit, so get out of it. February 2008 February 6, 2008 My G-Dec Fender Amplifier and Telecaster Fender Deluxe Series Mexican Guitar were stolen and the guitar was sold to the pawn shop for $175, the amp was pawned for $50. To Eds Pawn on Main Street. We just found them today at the Pawn shop. The perpetrator was just who I thought it would be. Logan Rowe. He has been staying at our house helping with the yard and house work we have been doing. I have never liked him. He is a scandalous and unscrupulous wretch of a man. He stole and pawned my equipment for drug money, I am sure of it. He has tracks and a long history of narcotics abuse and addiction. He is currently on the second step at AA. I have witnessed him lying to his own sponsor over the phone about where he is and what he is doing. The mans life is based entirely on lies and theft, he is not a productive member in our society and I feel he should be locked up and not allowed to be a member of society on any level. He should not be allowed to do the things that he does. I am incredibly hurt by the notion that somebody could have the guts enough to go and steal some of my only valuable possessions in this world. I worked hard for that guitar. That is the only reason I exposed myself to the mass media. The only reason I was willing to whore myself out to MTV. It is a trophy of what I did, and what I can do. Whenever I found my guitar and amp missing on the 3rd of this month, I cried. I felt outraged and raped. My memories are stored in that instrument. My future and my past. My 15minuetes of fame. My childhood, and the road that leads from adolescence to the trials of adulthood. All this is what that one simple instrument represents to me. I put a lot of store into it, but merely because it is worth that to me. Possessions don't really gain power until somebody puts sweat and effort into either acquiring or creating said object. I have put plenty of energy into that instrument, and the Amp as well. We went to file the police report. Still no sign of Logan. What a relief...hopefully I won't have to see him until the court date. Oh if the world were so kind. -Mercy February 7, 2008 So we learned last night that Logan also took the Sunn Amp of Atlas's. Great huh? I would say not. Last night yet another police report was filed and yet another 5 years are going to be added to Logan Rowe's imprisonment. Funny how that works, and if Logan leaves the state with a warrant, or now 3 or so, on his head he will be facing larger charges because of it. They, lhe courts and law enforcement, will have to extradite him and, yes the process will take longer, but Logan will face heavier charges. That dumbass. Muddy and Atlas are playing Interstellar Overdrive or Astronomy Dominae, poorly at the moment, they have a lot of practice ahead of them. I mean, a lot. If they want to be able to play at Wakarusa they will have to practice more often then they do. And pay attention to what they are doing, maybe count, you know, musical things. They need more criticism. Not to be a rag, but man, their heads are too big, and their actual sound is too small and out of time. If Muddy would start counting it would be different. And well, for that matter if Atlas would to, and maybe add some boost to the way he plays the guitar, it's too itsy bitsy sounding. Like a crying mouse. He makes a better second guitarist. To be brutally honest. If I told these kids this myself they would give me shit for not being a musician myself, but they may not realize, but I have been playing, and playing professionally for years more than they. -Mercy February 9, 2008 Well, life goes on....sadly, gladly, relentlessly. Oh how it tares me apart. I suppose that is what it does to everybody else as well. I try not to pay too much attention to the finer atrocities in my stay here on earth....but sometimes...it is hard to turn away. I stare into the lights of existence like moth to the porch lamp. I get too close and I scorch my wings. The room is filled with the sounds of bootleg recordings and late night talk shows. Stale tobacco and heroine. Laying on my bed next to a man that says he loves me and the few things I possess in my name. Earned with my labour and am always on the verge of loosing. For instance, the other day Atlas tried to convince me that he helped me pay for my phone, when I recall quite vividly that I wrote a $160.00 check out for the phone and the plan. It's both in memory and paper. He took me there (to the phone place) but he did not actually go in with me and help me pay. I don't know where he comes up with these lies. I just don't understand it. Why does he think he can suddenly lay claim to my possessions? Like my computer, phone, guitar, and amp? He has no right, I don't lay claim to his possessions. Why does he mine? I have paid rent for 2 years now, and he still tells me that I don't. I haven't been for the past three months, which is wrong I know, but I have been giving either him, or his mother money every month before. I have been their best tenant ever. Why do I have to take all of the heavy blows? Okay, I can't drive, I don't own a car, I am only 17, but still...I do more for these people than anybody else they have let to live in this house, since I met him. To put it simply, I feel that I am being abused here. I feel that I am not receiving the gratitude I deserve. Atlas is constantly informing me that I am a succubus, then if I leave, he freaks out and is telling me about how much he needs me and wants me. Oh dear, life is stupid. I don't mean to be so bitchy, but my life has been stressful as of late. You could only guess as to why. I have been lying about Atlas' habit, saying he is better and all, just so I may relieve the stress on the entire situation. Things are getting better, in a slow monotonous way. Everything is improved from the state of decay this little world I live in was a month ago. I have been practicing more, even when I cook, I try to put a little good energy into everything that enters, or is around Atlas. He is currently impervious to everything right now though. Nodding out.... listening to white man blues....so passe. How could he be so cliché? Is that actually possible? My life reminds me of a bad indie film. Like I actually might see myself on IFC one of these days. Fuckin A! Maybe I should do what everybody is always telling me to do, that is the ones that actually read, is go out and write a few books. I am a decent writer, no worse than I could become, you can only get better as life goes on. A very glass half full way to look at it. Still better than any alternative. -Mercy February 12, 2008 Well, I am coughing up purple. Is that bad? I hope not, because I don't intend on going to the hospital any time soon. I don't like being sick. It feels bad. Today I saw Logan, he came by the house while I was taking a nap...that bastard woke me up. I called the cops to tell them that I saw him, then Logan came back by. That time I made him stay at my house and I talked to the 911 lady while he was on my front porch. The cops came, hoping to arrest him, but he doesn't have any warrants...they are all still pending. That pissed me off, and apparently the cops were angry about it too. One of them stayed while they waited for Logan to come back with somebody with a license to drive his friends car, because he didn't have his license on him. The cop said that they will get a kick start on the warrant though....they want him to go down too apparently. It would be awesome to get my money back. Otherwise, I am sick, coughing, sneezing, fevering, etc. The usual for sickness. My abdomen feels like I have been both punching it and I have been doing nothing but crunches for the past two days. It sucks. Who knew coughing could get you such a workout? All I have to do is cough and I have a fucking 6-pack. As I write I am breaking away to sneeze, blow my nose, and of course, cough. I have Sonic Youth to keep me company. That's good. I like them. I have TV, Loki, Isis, and Sonic Youth, I am one fucking cool ass cat. Acheww! You want some too? -Mercy February 15, 2008 Ate dinner with my dad and some chick he picked up on one of thoughs online dating services. She was nice, from Canada and healthy. Still sick, and now Atlas is getting the bug too. Apparently this cough is just the beginning of it. Soon to follow is more fever and nausea as well. Super! We have been trying to take it easy this past week, with my being sick and all. I need to paint a room though, I need to do something. I feel so useless no doing anything. I have $50 now, that helps a little. I can turn my phone on and then give the rest of the money to Atlas for my “get-my-amp-out-of-pawn” fund. AKA: the g.m.a.o.o.p.f. Try to pronounce it, I dare you. Just drank some Robitussin, I hate the stuff, ever since I drank a whole two bottles of it and tripped my balls off, then I discovered that I didn't have to drink it, I could've just gotten powdered dextromethoraphan HBr, and not had to deal with the taste of cough syrup. It seems since then I have been off of cough syrups. In fact it seems that since the dawn of pharmaceutical medication that cough syrups always have narcotic side affects. It's pretty damn cool if you ask me. I will always be able to get high so long as people continue to get sick. Fuckin a. Watching Atlas play video games, he is currently playing a game made after the movie, and named as such, “King Arthur”. It looks pretty cool, the graphics aren't terrible and you get to switch between all of the knights at every turn. I guess that is all I have been doing lately. My life is fairly dull at the moment. -Mercyg February 17, 2008 Watching cheap kung fu movies, lazy sundays are great. I just don't want to do anything. I should clean house and do laundry and well, get my ass up. I took a bath, that's good. Right? -Mercy February 21, 2008 I have been working. Linoleum, office work, house cleaning, cooking, and doing the daily things that make me happy. I am hungry all of the time. I can't stop my need to feed. I am poor. We all need more money right now. But alas, such things come with time and patience. Neither of which do I have much of. At least if I choose. Choice, the best thing to have ever plagued mankind. I love being able to choose freely. Although most of my choices are poor and probably not the best, I still love making my choices. For I am free and able to do so. -Mercy

(insert primal scream here)

So.... Walking around my room, talking to myself, playing out scenario's to the mirror (currently my most attentive audience), trying to avoid eye contact with myself, building up anger, resentment and general anxiety. Why do I do this to myself? Do other people? Fuck me. I can't even focus on this.

White Spray Paint

Painted the town white for the night. Not a bad choice I don't think, easily visible, but sure did it get EVERYWHERE, hand, jacket, bag..... I am not absolutely sure as to what I wrote on thoughs large stone canvas's, but I sure as hell hope they weren't entirely too ridiculous. The reason I set forth on this escapde last night was because of two antagonizers, 1) I am tired of looking at tags where it's somebody's fucking name, fuck. It is so fucking boring, and uninteresting, and doesn't mean shit. 2) I like asking questions. So to you, if you feel like painting my town your choice of color, well, please, say something when you defile public property (or otherwise), I want to think when I look at your artwork, (or in my case poetry).

Save My Soul, I Dare You.

Sitting down about to eat, looking at them bow their heads, "It's time to pray to god" they said, "In order to be heaven worthy." Stare around, and feel so odd, for not believing in their silly god. "Pray now and worship" No, fuck your bullshit. Next they want me to go to church, Then they want me to give 10%. They want to go the lurch They want me to give up my common sense. They want me to have no sex, They want me to have no opinion. They want me to walk "His" steps They want me to be no woman. Well..... I will dance, I will sing, I will romance, I will fling, My idealism's to the masses, I will burn down and crash their fascist asses. With words and action, I dislike their factions Of men against women, Of man against nature, Turning good intention into some dissension To their made up place. If your good you get to see it's face. Taking love twisting it, Taking life, fucking it. Save my soul, I dare you to, Next time I'll stake you to your own pew.

Notes on Public Loving

Look at it, a couple sitting in public, an inch from the others face, gazing intently and lovingly into the other's eyes. There is nothing wrong with it. Nothing at all. Isn't it GOOD to see people enjoying each other and life in general? Still, I find those who find such public displays of affection absolutely appalling, what is wrong with them? And furthermore, what is wrong with the lovers who are afraid to be loving in the company of others? What has caused humanity to shirk away from loving freely and considering emotion embarrassing? I mention this because I noticed it first in myself, and I now recognize the same behavior in my friends and strangers I come across on the street, parties, restaurants, where ever it may be, it seems that we are afraid to love each other. Would you rather hate your neighbor? Would that be more pleasurable? Why not hug, kiss, and relish the company of that person? (unless your neighbor is a complete mother fucker, Evangelical church going, bourgeoisie ass, then....fantasize about burning his house down and scheme up ways to do it without carrying any consequences....just a thought.) In myself it has always been this presupposed need to be "tough", and I combat it everyday. I just don't want to seem vulnerable to the world, but I am certainly not afraid to kiss somebody that I feel strong affection for, particularly if given the chance, in front of the nation and the gossips of the town. Sometimes we don't want to be touched, and I of all people understand this, but what about the times when you see somebody you don't know, who obviously could use a hug....do you just let them sit there wallowing in despair? (Most people I know do) Or do you go ahead and extend a hand, some humanitarianism, and offer them support? Perhaps if we look at this more often it will change. I don't know, I am just talking out of my ass. Forgive me and all my folly's.

The Beginning to a Long Ending

Trying to understand why I am here. Staring blankly at the wall before me. Listening to aged, jaded men talk about their love of Ford Trucks. People are so bland when they drink. Why they even bother in the first place to try to attempt some sort of intelligent thought is entirely beyond me. The girls are all spinning around hiding their imperfections behind masks of happiness and giving thanks to whoever invented the black light. Such sad girls, lost identities, aggression pent up due to the abuse they allow from the people in their lives. They strive for stressful environments, without them they are dead inside. All of the little boys trying so hard to get the attention they never received from their mothers. Trying to satisfy their Napoleon complexes with dollar bills and manipulative women. They never realize, that every time they go up to the stage to tip me, that they lose...I have their dollar and soon will have more, and they will leave empty in pocket and heart. Nearly as empty as the woman who has conned him out of his hard earned pay. It's a hollow occupation. It has no true definition. No actual purpose. Entirely fantastic, superficial, and plastic. We are the Plastic Fantastic Lovers. ----------------------------------------------------------- She walks out of the car, kissing me goodbye, telling me she'll be safe and she'll call me when she gets off of work. I look at her with fear in my eyes, thinking, “Have I just lost her to this monster?” And the monster winks it's neon lights “Yes.”, as I watch her trot to the door. I lay awake at home waiting anxiously for her to arrive. Hopefully she'll be happy and well-paid. Hell, maybe she'll bring cigarettes, but I know how it will be when she gets home. “Honey,” she will plead, “Can I have some smack? I don't feel too good. Work sucked....Please?” And due to my inability to say no to her pain, and her courage to do what she does, “Hold on, it's almost ready.” Only moments later, we are high, watching late night television. I go down to the kitchen to make some grub, whilst she hurls in the bathroom. I feel a surging agony every time I hear her drown in her own bile. I mask the sound with the running sink water. She has gotten so small.... I go back to the bedroom and around me I find the signs of self-deprecation in every crevice. Undone laundry from months ago, the sheets covered in unknown substances, mostly semen and food crumbs. Liter jugs filled to the brim with urine, left beneath the bed and strategically cornered away in less-than-noticeable places. We watch the television, not touching, not really speaking. Do more smack, and then we nod off until hell resumes again. ___________________________________________________ Where am I? Where did I come from? How did I get here? I WANT TO KILL MYSELF. The first thoughts that cross my mind now that I am figuring these things out.... “Alaric? Hey! You are Alaric Moore, can you hear me? Yes, you peed on me.” I still can't speak, so I ate...Acid. Okay. Bad trip? Yes. That was what it was. Psychotic break number six. I remember now. “What day is it?”, I ask. “It's July 5th, 2008...Man, you went crazy, you kept jumping up trying to run away, I had to hold you down.” Oh fuck. I missed a day. White, Black, Colored, You, Me, Together, Forever. Well, now I am alive again. My insides hurt a lot. More heroine....I feel better. Got to the bottom of that. Oh, I have to go back to work... fuck.