I miss being able to pretend that she was mine.
Lonely road
By Bryan Baca
Our love was the kind of love that happens when a man meets his match in soul, in mind, and in sanity. Our relationship had died long before you left me. The hapless necromancer that I am couldn’t help trying to whip a heartbeat back into that festered equine.
It didn’t start out that way, but nothing ever does. No rose blooms smelling of ruin and the flowers that do are deathtraps. You passed me a note, one day, in class that asked what my journal was. That was the start of it. The start of a journey that, three years down the road, would fall by the wayside.
It suffered along the way. It bled along the way. It died some three miles back.
We’ve come so far, lost so many bits of ourselves, are worse for the wear, and better for it. The obstacles that rose against us only served to strengthen our bond. The bandits tried their hands, they fell and armed us. The beasts tried their jaws, they fell and fed us. The tempests came and tried to drown us; in the end, they filled our canteens.
Little did we know that the one assault that would break us, the teeth that would finally sink in, the squall that would knock us over would come from within.
I was so busy trying to keep us alive that I failed to notice that you had stopped smiling. We shivered so much that I never felt your kiss grow cold. I told you, in the dark of our starless nights together, that everything would be ok. You smiled one last time and said, “I know.”
Then you left.
Lonely road
By Bryan Baca
Our love was the kind of love that happens when a man meets his match in soul, in mind, and in sanity. Our relationship had died long before you left me. The hapless necromancer that I am couldn’t help trying to whip a heartbeat back into that festered equine.
It didn’t start out that way, but nothing ever does. No rose blooms smelling of ruin and the flowers that do are deathtraps. You passed me a note, one day, in class that asked what my journal was. That was the start of it. The start of a journey that, three years down the road, would fall by the wayside.
It suffered along the way. It bled along the way. It died some three miles back.
We’ve come so far, lost so many bits of ourselves, are worse for the wear, and better for it. The obstacles that rose against us only served to strengthen our bond. The bandits tried their hands, they fell and armed us. The beasts tried their jaws, they fell and fed us. The tempests came and tried to drown us; in the end, they filled our canteens.
Little did we know that the one assault that would break us, the teeth that would finally sink in, the squall that would knock us over would come from within.
I was so busy trying to keep us alive that I failed to notice that you had stopped smiling. We shivered so much that I never felt your kiss grow cold. I told you, in the dark of our starless nights together, that everything would be ok. You smiled one last time and said, “I know.”
Then you left.
considering it's been two years since my last update i'm guessing that apologizing and saying i was busy isn't going to cut it..
i know i've always had it. i know i've noticed it before. and i know i mightve known before this instant.
but (and yes i know that i've started to consecutive sentences with interjection but i dont care (really, i dont)(i swear)(plus that's one mircale that stream of consciousness allows)) before this second it has never been so blaringly apparent that i have one inverted nipple...
it's nothing that a good flick can't fix, but still...
but (and yes i know that i've started to consecutive sentences with interjection but i dont care (really, i dont)(i swear)(plus that's one mircale that stream of consciousness allows)) before this second it has never been so blaringly apparent that i have one inverted nipple...
it's nothing that a good flick can't fix, but still...
fuckifino.
Life holds your phone calls for naptime, and emotional baggage for finals week. Confusion is not something i want to be feeling while trying to memorize the characteristics of the major terrestrial biomes.
and here's the obligatory lovelife rant that brought me the energy to actually fucking Blog. The girl I'm talking to, my official unofficial, asked if i would marry her eventually (say in the next year or two). I'm still a good four or five years away from my doctorate, and she wants me to think about marriage? I give her my answer, which upsets her, then she comes up with a "compromise." She could just have my kid and we wouldn't have to get married. Doesn't fuck up my plans at all, but is incredibly funny. Great Compromise. At least i found out about this before i slept with her. Gotta keep in mind to keep my needles and condoms as far away from each other as possible.
The Other, who isn't actually an other. she's the one who wouldn't take me, but was sure to grasp my heart securely before walking away as she forgot to relinquish her grip. She's back with her ex. I find it fucking odd that every time she pops into mind I can't help smiling, and think "fucking bitch" at the exact same fucking time.
All this holds such an important sway over my mood, but i know that it also means absolutely nothing. These "trials" are entirely trivial, and within 3 years time will be nothing but a bitter memory. Despite knowing this, i can't help being dragged into it. It seems that we thrive off of conflict. I understand that as well, There's nothing like the adrenaline rush that comes from a purely emotional stimulus.
None of this matters. I don't matter. It is only what I do that matters. I am insignificant in the face of the fucked-up half-assed, entirely self-righteous, uncertain legacy that i might be trying to leave behind. Fuck.
Life holds your phone calls for naptime, and emotional baggage for finals week. Confusion is not something i want to be feeling while trying to memorize the characteristics of the major terrestrial biomes.
and here's the obligatory lovelife rant that brought me the energy to actually fucking Blog. The girl I'm talking to, my official unofficial, asked if i would marry her eventually (say in the next year or two). I'm still a good four or five years away from my doctorate, and she wants me to think about marriage? I give her my answer, which upsets her, then she comes up with a "compromise." She could just have my kid and we wouldn't have to get married. Doesn't fuck up my plans at all, but is incredibly funny. Great Compromise. At least i found out about this before i slept with her. Gotta keep in mind to keep my needles and condoms as far away from each other as possible.
The Other, who isn't actually an other. she's the one who wouldn't take me, but was sure to grasp my heart securely before walking away as she forgot to relinquish her grip. She's back with her ex. I find it fucking odd that every time she pops into mind I can't help smiling, and think "fucking bitch" at the exact same fucking time.
All this holds such an important sway over my mood, but i know that it also means absolutely nothing. These "trials" are entirely trivial, and within 3 years time will be nothing but a bitter memory. Despite knowing this, i can't help being dragged into it. It seems that we thrive off of conflict. I understand that as well, There's nothing like the adrenaline rush that comes from a purely emotional stimulus.
None of this matters. I don't matter. It is only what I do that matters. I am insignificant in the face of the fucked-up half-assed, entirely self-righteous, uncertain legacy that i might be trying to leave behind. Fuck.
fuckifino.
Life holds your phone calls for naptime, and emotional baggage for finals week. Confusion is not something i want to be feeling while trying to memorize the characteristics of the major terrestrial biomes.
and here's the obligatory lovelife rant that brought me the energy to actually fucking Blog. The girl I'm talking to, my official unofficial, asked if i would marry her eventually (say in the next year or two). I'm still a good four or five years away from my doctorate, and she wants me to think about marriage? I give her my answer, which upsets her, then she comes up with a "compromise." She could just have my kid and we wouldn't have to get married. Doesn't fuck up my plans at all, but is incredibly funny. Great Compromise. At least i found out about this before i slept with her. Gotta keep in mind to keep my needles and condoms as far away from each other as possible.
The Other, who isn't actually an other. she's the one who wouldn't take me, but was sure to grasp my heart securely before walking away as she forgot to relinquish her grip. She's back with her ex. I find it fucking odd that every time she pops into mind I can't help smiling, and think "fucking bitch" at the exact same fucking time.
All this holds such an important sway over my mood, but i know that it also means absolutely nothing. These "trials" are entirely trivial, and within 3 years time will be nothing but a bitter memory. Despite knowing this, i can't help being dragged into it. It seems that we thrive off of conflict. I understand that as well, There's nothing like the adrenaline rush that comes from a purely emotional stimulus.
None of this matters. I don't matter. It is only what I do that matters. I am insignificant in the face of the fucked-up half-assed, entirely self-righteous, uncertain legacy that i might be trying to leave behind. Fuck. <img src="http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y193/blackchariot/fc4.gif" border="0" alt="Photobucket">
Life holds your phone calls for naptime, and emotional baggage for finals week. Confusion is not something i want to be feeling while trying to memorize the characteristics of the major terrestrial biomes.
and here's the obligatory lovelife rant that brought me the energy to actually fucking Blog. The girl I'm talking to, my official unofficial, asked if i would marry her eventually (say in the next year or two). I'm still a good four or five years away from my doctorate, and she wants me to think about marriage? I give her my answer, which upsets her, then she comes up with a "compromise." She could just have my kid and we wouldn't have to get married. Doesn't fuck up my plans at all, but is incredibly funny. Great Compromise. At least i found out about this before i slept with her. Gotta keep in mind to keep my needles and condoms as far away from each other as possible.
The Other, who isn't actually an other. she's the one who wouldn't take me, but was sure to grasp my heart securely before walking away as she forgot to relinquish her grip. She's back with her ex. I find it fucking odd that every time she pops into mind I can't help smiling, and think "fucking bitch" at the exact same fucking time.
All this holds such an important sway over my mood, but i know that it also means absolutely nothing. These "trials" are entirely trivial, and within 3 years time will be nothing but a bitter memory. Despite knowing this, i can't help being dragged into it. It seems that we thrive off of conflict. I understand that as well, There's nothing like the adrenaline rush that comes from a purely emotional stimulus.
None of this matters. I don't matter. It is only what I do that matters. I am insignificant in the face of the fucked-up half-assed, entirely self-righteous, uncertain legacy that i might be trying to leave behind. Fuck. <img src="http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y193/blackchariot/fc4.gif" border="0" alt="Photobucket">
go to school, get a degree, work a job, pop out a couple of kids, maybe have a few barbecues. that can't be IT, can it? it's supposed to add up to something more, i know it has to, i can feel it.
a society that becomes focused on the superficial is more or less on it's way out. we're already toast, and we don't even know it yet. 5 percent of US citizens believe the sun revolves around the earth, and the rest pick their government based on what celebrity endorses what candidate. this can be it, there's just no way.
the sun shines and the sky is blue, but out there, beyond the random collection of gas molecules that we are continually molesting, the stars still burn. we just can't see them. you drive, and bitch at the fucker in front of you for making a wrong turn, but is there any way for it to have been right? they had to slow down, and that pisses you off. all the while, while you bitch and text, nearly seven billion others are doing something else, and thinking that they are the most important of all. no one is doing nothing, except me. shit, i'm even typing this in a blog, how fucking hypocritical is that?
i could be writing this in my paper journal, the only one that really matters to me, but even that is only filled with shallow, meaningless, pedestrian thoughts. i want you to read this, i want you to pay attention to me. we're fucked. i'm fucked.
most days im stuck in a dim backroom folding or hanging clothes, i'm a cog in the driving force of capital commercialism. marketing work, and even the salespeople have bought into their own lies.
this will make you pretty, this will make you sexy, beach body in 90 days, bigger dick in a week. it's all in this little pill. the pharmaceutical companies will find the answer, then sell it to you, and make a profit so they can buy their own drugs.
this can't be it. this petty chasing down of the status quo, the cute litte house with a garden to tend in the front yard. the marriage. the planning. it never happens, eventually.
life is just around the corner, and i'm just another person bitching about it. i'm american, and a product of my society. we've been sedated in so many ways that we can't remember what drugged feels like anymore. born to die, stuck in a harvey pekar sort of tiny universe.
fitzgerald was wrong, kerouac settled down, dali lived the rest of his life seclusion, bobby fisher is dead, and somewhere salinger laughs.... hefner is god... fuckificare... the only trouble is, i do.
the real world is right there, even the characters in my head refuse to talk to me...
my skin itches.. plug in, log on, cop out.
a society that becomes focused on the superficial is more or less on it's way out. we're already toast, and we don't even know it yet. 5 percent of US citizens believe the sun revolves around the earth, and the rest pick their government based on what celebrity endorses what candidate. this can be it, there's just no way.
the sun shines and the sky is blue, but out there, beyond the random collection of gas molecules that we are continually molesting, the stars still burn. we just can't see them. you drive, and bitch at the fucker in front of you for making a wrong turn, but is there any way for it to have been right? they had to slow down, and that pisses you off. all the while, while you bitch and text, nearly seven billion others are doing something else, and thinking that they are the most important of all. no one is doing nothing, except me. shit, i'm even typing this in a blog, how fucking hypocritical is that?
i could be writing this in my paper journal, the only one that really matters to me, but even that is only filled with shallow, meaningless, pedestrian thoughts. i want you to read this, i want you to pay attention to me. we're fucked. i'm fucked.
most days im stuck in a dim backroom folding or hanging clothes, i'm a cog in the driving force of capital commercialism. marketing work, and even the salespeople have bought into their own lies.
this will make you pretty, this will make you sexy, beach body in 90 days, bigger dick in a week. it's all in this little pill. the pharmaceutical companies will find the answer, then sell it to you, and make a profit so they can buy their own drugs.
this can't be it. this petty chasing down of the status quo, the cute litte house with a garden to tend in the front yard. the marriage. the planning. it never happens, eventually.
life is just around the corner, and i'm just another person bitching about it. i'm american, and a product of my society. we've been sedated in so many ways that we can't remember what drugged feels like anymore. born to die, stuck in a harvey pekar sort of tiny universe.
fitzgerald was wrong, kerouac settled down, dali lived the rest of his life seclusion, bobby fisher is dead, and somewhere salinger laughs.... hefner is god... fuckificare... the only trouble is, i do.
the real world is right there, even the characters in my head refuse to talk to me...
my skin itches.. plug in, log on, cop out.
MAY 2011
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MARCH 2011
FEBRUARY 2011
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