Playlist: the dead december

I haven't had much to say recently. Lost. Turned off. Gone. It would be a fine thing indeed to have a bustle and buzz to speak of, to type up some newfound wow and remark in sweet glee, "Yeah, I thought this."

But no.

One romp that keeps my mind up is I enjoy making playlists. With a set of songs is a reflection of a mood or a time that occupied me so much so that my brain whispered in clicks, "Rink 'em together yeah!" So in place of the silence that has haunted this blog, I offer you the latest set knitted together during this Winter Down. Seeing as how it's Santa Claus season, the track listing shall remain hush-hush. Oooh what can it be?

Download the playlist here: the dead december
*

Click. Play. Merry Christmas.

* !UPDATE! 1/30/2012: This playlist has been reposted for better ease of play by numbering the file names in intended order instead of the inclusion of a separate playlist file. Also, now included is a cover:

Yup, still a mystery song list. Santa is vacationing now, but this present remains wrapped.

Download the playlist here: the dead december

Click. Play. Enjoy.

Expanse Behind the Still House, Collapse

The dumb peace
of naught
took
return step on dusty welcome carpet;
branding the hush on me,
hush.
Let go what has gone.
And with that that has left,
am kept to lowly ick with burying dread,
lifting shit from some falling garden
in the cold caress of a newbornbroken spent.
Ruin tumbles without a shout,
without a cry,
without a whimper,
but the birds gossip how gone is gone
and how it left like hurried jet,
in silence, thousands far away,
screaming through the sky, across.
A smile deceit to room away from foolish me
what went on
- chirp chirp -
went on and on
- chirp chirp -
and on and on and on.
Damn you and yours,
whose soaring slapped
the crash of my quiet's return
and burned in me the hurt
to hush,
to no, no longer be heard.

The World Because

I hate the world because

                       because you're in it

The Big Bad Booty Mixtape

Nahh, just kidding. =P

It's The Motley Fool in, uh . . . full. "B3M" just sounded funny to me.

As of this posting the songs up are the following:

Modern Lovely

Because of Chatting with You

Plush Toy Song

Two Stars

Monolith Speaks

Girl Perfect and the Elusive Slumber

Pulelehua Moke

Kumamaru (a.k.a. Pretty Mindball Breaker)

Stunning Brain Tumor

FMFY

The Fleeting Ship

Parachute Girl

Tulog Na Tayo

The SoundCloud player is located to the right of the page.

Mongols. Track 9

On SoundCloud

There I am. Put up the account to claim the name mostly. I'm rather fond of Leonard Lacking. If it isn't me, it's an imposter. He'll play guitar and sing songs better than me so . . . of course he's an imposter! Crassssssh. With SoundCloud I'll be able to kill your ears good and proper now, aye?

First up is Because of Chatting with You.

The Motley Fool by Leonard Lacking

A permanent music player will be kept to the right of the page.

Go on.

Press play and earache.

So Sings the Morningbird

At the instant I saw it

Stood a bird on a branch

White breast, black coat, orange vested

Aristocratic its stance

Priggish beak up, looking onward

A weighty sigh it breathed out

I looked toward the morningbird

With swift unease and lofty doubt

Doubt step I took to it

And another with unease,

"What is it morningbird? What song shall you sing for me?"

A regal breath it took in

With pompous twitch, it did

With a flutter in its chest it said,

"What you once had with her is now and from here, ever dead."

"Oh what has become of my Love?" I asked with worry. "Has she fled like you have flown? To the night has my darling gone, from where your song was born?"

Flutter, "Yes, gone is your lover."

Ache, "So true, my Love, she sleeps?"

"No not the buried rest," bird sighed, "'tis only her heart, for you, that no longer beats."

I grieved upon this knowing

My own beat, a stutter in its tune

What I once contentedly knew

Fell over the hill with the moon

And from the night the morningbird came

And knew how she once cared

The bird it sang with violent grace,

"She has forgotten what you two once shared."

The bird flew at the instant I saw it

It was quiet and sang no song

But upon the sight of morningbird, I knew

My Love, she was long gone

Do Not Endear Yourself to Me

Dear oh dear, do not endear yourself to me

And tease me with a care only for me to see

With the single color that dives into my eye

And speaking in sweet of things that I like

Do not smile at what nothing I have to say

Or get close, one touch before the end of day

Dear oh dear, do not endear yourself to me

For I will welcome the care you care to give

With a color given, my favorite to receive

And kindest words I'll accept as what makes me

I'll see your smile and smile, finally a smile

And your close touch, I by soul will embrace

Dear oh dear, do not endear yourself to me

Your chosen last day, you'll take your care from me

And garbage into lifeless gray, a color dead

Your words made of candy, no not a lasting taste

Apathy underlying all along, your smile will fade

A touch to you, I leper, a sickening disgrace

Dear oh dear, do not endear yourself to me

For I will be endeared, you as my only One

The One who kept this meager life up

A girl I thought who loved that I lived

And that I bothered to live at all

Only to be gravely bothered

By what once was your care

Dear

Oh dear

FACT #566 ABOUT ME

FACT #566 ABOUT ME: I am you and your boyfriend's relationship strengthener.

To King & Queen, I am but a pawn.

To my horror, my outward appearance lends itself to a female's eyes some matter of appreciation. Get an eye check-up, ladies. There's something wrong with your peepers. It is because of whatever they sight of my exterior that they come to with a step aside from who matters most to her: a relationship grounded heavy into care with a boy who can give her the world. The girl, in but few moments spent with me, finds out for herself I am no suave beast, no king confident, and no future to make her time worthwhile. This is known to her but to her boyfriend, having no knowledge of who I am aside from what his girlfriend sees, spotlights me as a threat. A jealousy. Another One.

But I am NO ONE. I am a LOSER. I am a BUM. I am a MISTAKE.

She might tease her boyfriend with the vision of me. Put on some minor hurt to give a pulse check to her boy to see if he really cares. He does, naturally. And there will be tension. And in that tension they'll know they do mean everything to each other. Aware of the nonsense inside now fully revealed, no longer veiled by my fedora and tie, the girl soon goes back to the boyfriend. She skips back to him merrily, thankfully with a joking tune of the wreck left far behind her. And I'll stand alone as I always have and I'll see the laughs of both boy and girl sharing the storied massacre of the fuck-up she once stepped aside to in a moment of blindness.

But she can see now. And so can you.

And you two in your kingdom will be the better for it.

Yeah, you're welcome.

A Fool in the Hurricane

Walking through a hurricane wind

The hurricane rain

The hurricane spin

The heavy, thrashing spit of gray

Roars the gloom of the fool

Who walks through the ache

Ache he does

And the world cries

Ache he does

And the world screams

Ache he does

And the people of the world

Live through what it is

To be a fool in the hurricane

Shout for a Knock

September, Monday-Tuesday 19/20, 2011

From one side of the world to the other

Into the tunnel. WOOOSHH!!! The change swooped instant-in, kicking out the cool and ease of the remnant Stateside air that was kept in the plane, uppercutting it aside, replacing it with closer-to-the-equator heat. It's a sudden dump into steaming soup.The warmth sticks itself onto every surface with a scratch, scratching out an aroma that lets you know -- uh-huh yeah -- that plastic, glass and metal airport is getting cooked. Bags in hand and stepping through that tunnel I say with familiarity, "Ahhhhhh the Philippines."

Flight time: 13 hours. It's pretty nifty, you know? You'd think a baker's dozen of hours on your ass would be a chore -- admittedly, 275 powerfat pounds on mine was . . . a sore -- but the modern in-flight entertainment system is good carnival fun. No longer are the movies restricted to specific times and on the big screen up front. There were a vast array of films in multiple genres that you could watch at a whim on the screen in front of you. Touchscreen controls. Pause, play. Rewind. I want to see that funny line again. Month-old Hollywood blockbusters were available along with a few Filipino flicks. I watched Fast and Furious and the new Pirates movie. Saw bit parts of The Dark Knight. For dinner? Beef Stroganoff. No adobo tonight. For breakfast was a dish the flight attendant simply referred to as "American": a plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns and a giant chunk of ham. Had they served that ham at the beginning of the flight instead of the end I would have used it to cushion my butt.

On the afternoon of the day my flight she dropped by with a smile, her dog, and a knock on the door. It was a treat to see her, oh yes! Throughout the flight my mind was occupied by the thought of her. My seat was just ahead of the wing. Look out, boy! Framed by the window was a view of the engines pointing out towards NAIA Airport, shooting through the night above plentiful clouds that scattered the below looking like icebergs floating on a vast unknown. If I shouted her name toward the engine it would rush into the jet along with a piece of the sky and shoot out the back in a glorious high altitude roar over the ocean all the way back to East Side. She hasn't heard me before. I wonder if she would hear that.

From a Tree Hangs Misery

I know what it is to be alone. Sometimes it's sanctuary. But to be lonely is a feeling that calls for shoveled dirt. Last night was the loneliest night of my life. I sat out on the porch taking what little cool the Philippine night air would give me, thinking-thinking of a painful truth that crashed my mind, a hurting real that threw daggers at my chest. If to sit here is to be miserable I could have just be in East Side. Give no ticket for an International Flight to Agony. Sitting slumped in a chair I looked out across where the streetlights (yes yellow) glowed arrogantly, humming, "Yoooou fuckiiiing loooooser zer zer-zer-zer." Looking past the mess of wires pumping the insults, looking out and beyond the rooftops I thought I could find peace in the eternity of the sky but it was veiled by clouds crayoned by the city electricity, cruelly reflecting the torment in panorama.

And to my left was a tree.

"That's the tree where he hung himself," I whisper.

That's the tree where he hung himself. What did he see in the night, before he put the rope around his neck, alone? What is it to be lonely? Is it to go where only few go and to go there by your own hands? The sky, the world is massive and sneakered insects live life only to die. Know me one less. Know me a lonely man. Know me a dead man.

On Marta

Yourself Null

"Just be yourself," they say. I tried that, to just be me, but you know what?

Me is a wreck.

Me is a mess.

I am everything you don't want.

I am your dread.

I am the end.

I am death.

"Just be yourself," they say. "Just be yourself."

Fortune on the Floor

And oh what a thought she was!

Over the bedroom door sat flies like gargoyles guarding, warning of the fragmented goblin inside. Monday/Tuesday's Bourbon Midnight threw itself onto my bed during sleep, unremembered but left with a wet sickening sweet that only teased the hungover Tuesday to throw-throw some more. Wednesday saw the bottleless fight to keep the burn away; it was a burn with drink I thought would keep the rue at bay. Thursday night I lurched picking up a scrap piece of paper in front of my bedroom door. It said: Simplicity of character is the natural result of profound thought. It was an uncookied fortune scattered random on the floor. To these words was the reaction, "I must not think profoundly because I am no simple man." There are many thoughts, yes. But they are not a meditation, a sanctuary with altars of promised peace, no, they are the arena masses of thoughts that cheer, jeer and chant raging to be heard by one.

But I can't hear anyone. It's just noise - one overwhelming RAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

I must be a broken man.

I've lost the profound thought that which kept me simple, functioning, joyous.

And to My Left Stands No One

And to my left stands no one

No one to call my own

As others stand embracing one another

Am left standing all alone

And with no embrace, I am left empty

No heart to give to who

To whom who never stood by me

This heart I hold with doom

And to my left stands no one

No heart she'll ever care to own

She stands embracing another

My heart left all alone

And with this heart I tremble

I stand in dread of who

I, fool who stands with heart in hand

Alone, never a groom

The Figment Sun

I sleep thinking of the sun

Only to wake

still thinking of the sun

And no hour ticks

without a thought of the sun

The sun who kept me whole

Curtain drawn and this door closed

I thought the sun

I'd see no more

But such a gem, a charm is the sun

She shines through curtain,

knocks through door closed

Such is my curse to have seen the sun

This sun who kept me whole

Who by smile, by shine

by being just her, oh sweet delight!

Took time to share

her shine with me

Took time to give me

a smile

Where is this sun

who brought the fine day to me?

She shines still (I think)

Though no longer here

Beachside for Bed

I hope this doesn't turn out like the end of La Strada. Replace that beachside for a bed. Zampanò was a fool; the real clown.

Regarding the Quiet

Despite all the things unsaid, despite all my actions wayward and unkempt, of this and only this be certain: It is a fortune to see you happy.

Them Under Yellow Streetlight

Look here, a beauty in the streetlight

Charm on lips pointing north, so slight

On this dying, splash yellow'd gravel

It is her again

With a look and a shine that'll never be mine

Sitting passenger side

in the car of another

Closer they stand

Ever closer they stand

With her charm

she stands

in the arms

of another

And I'll walk away from

what I can not stand:

It is her again

now

happily embraced

in the heart of her lover

Excuse me as I

Take the walk around the block alone

Unable to view

Hands tenderly held, hey lady

Dogs playing fuck

Premonition of the intention, hey baby

of the hugging couples present

on this dying street outside my room

drowning in the streetlight

Away from a beauty lit yellow

A gang of fedora'd shadows seen

huddled fiercely in the yellow

taunting through gait to the step,

"Hey it could never be."

Surrounded, outnumbered

by the lack of light in me

to the left and to the right

upways and downways

'tis a slaughter of a fight

they whisper viciously

"Yeaaaaaaaaaaah . . . creep!"

Excuse me as I

Take the blockwalking beating alone

Still unable to view

what can now no longer be deemed "She"

but instead "Them"

Them who by

streetlight, starlight, moonlight

and certainly daylight!

Take upon themselves

a look

and a shine

wholly

Them

On sidewalk block found no escape

So to the sky is sought relief

So it is sighted

To

Connect-the-dots on that Dipper

Grasp it from the midnight

and tank 'im over the head with it

Go hold 'er if you can

with the bruises of 7 stars

But I walk away

Lit by streetlight, starlight, moonlight

And I realize by that point north, though slight

I ought to

Poke the moon

and let its glow pour into the stellar empty

Gone &

Crash the lights by which I

Was thrashed by a gang of my shadow

By which I

Saw your charm in the arms of another

By which I

Thought the things I thought tonight

On that yellow-splashed street, dying

Dhism

The first photoshopped monkey since the computer downtime. Creation is a good ol' time, aye?

Compliment Not This Nothing

The compliments

I

Kept to myself

So as not

to upset

Her herself

And ahead to distant kings she looked

she looked NOT to the nearby I

who shook

shook yes from keeping achingly so

the compliments I crush kept to myself

But hush, sick fool

Less I distress This Nothing

That I have with her now

And lose This Nothing

by saying out to yes neat she,

"You look nice tonight."

Computer ON

Facebook Status Update:

She lives! Computer on. Online communication back to normal. Where the wahines at?

[Bought another netbook charger to power up my tattered Eee PC. Hopefully it'll hold me over 'til I get to where I need to go somewhere on the other side of the Pacific.]

Hush What Isn't Wanted

To hush the mouth is easy

But to hush the mind is torture

And I've been told to keep hush

To hush what isn't wanted

When there's a grimace on my face

Know

It's from lifting tons upon tons

of the adoring thoughts unwanted to

Throw

Faraway from

Wherever you aren't

I can keep hush from uttering

the found happiness in your name

But to cuff my mind from smiling

Takes more effort than loosening sullen's choke

I'll war bliss from my mind

I'll wrestle joy from my heart

to forget the happiness in your name

Yes

You're welcome

Yeah I'll try, try

With a grimace on my face

Excuse me (sitting passenger side)

while I commit struggling

to the happy throwaway

Far

Faraway

From wherever you aren't

As I've been told

To keep hush

To hush what isn't wanted

One Smile from the Vast

Out of the vast, vast, vast, super-duper vast vast, vast, vast, vast, uGHvast, vast, vast, vast amount of girls that absolutely do not, have not, no never shall like me there exists just one - Yeah Just One! - girl who'll respond with a smile.

To that one girl I say . . .

"Out of the vast, vast, vast, vast, damn frickin' vast, vast, vast, vast, Holy Vastness Batman, vast, vast, vastitty vast-vast-vast amount of girls that rather not have anything to do with me, 'twas you who brought back a smile."

Then I too shall smile.

But that smile will divebomb into tepid consideration.

I worry shaking about the "it can't be" impossibility.

"This just can't be," I'll mutter terribly bothered. "Were you dropped on your head as a baby or something? What's wrong with you?!"

I Am the Monster with a Frown

If you're not the smile on my face then who are you? I can't possibly be thinking of anyone else.

I apologize for the fact that the simple thought of you makes me happy. They shouldn't have prescribed me Prozac back then. They could have just said, "Go talk to a girl, Blue Brain" and it would've have been fine, just fine and NOT this relationship catch-up I find myself violently tumbling in. My social retardation bears its heavy mark on me with a girl who absolutely refuses to let me recognize her incredible worth.

And as quiet as the days were before she

Rightfully so be it that my heart is hushed from

Beating the happy beat

I am the monster with a frown

Maybe the target is wrong? Or my bow skills are sorely, sorely lacking. Or maybe it's as simple as this? A monster should just find another monster to go Grrrr!! the town together with. As for now I'm on the outskirts sharpening tooth & claw, patting down my rags for the town raid that'll never be. I'm a real terrible bastard, ain't I?

So You Drank in Los Banos?

Whereabouts? Spent the past Saturday night, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday in Los Banos. The following was a message sent to J Buddha:

Got home 10:20 am this morning.

Yayo Buddha. Tried to, anyways. Unfortunately there wasn't even a buzz to be found; the liquor was just leftover raspberry vodka from Monday night - not nearly enough to get me "comfortable." Everybody had a bash drinking Monday but I sat out and slept because I was feeling blue. Come Tuesday night and I wanna slam the vodka down but everybody was so lax with taking their shots.

At least Sunday saw a drunk me. Ended up talking about a *girl as per usual, blehhh

It's nice to know you've been taking your meals. Woohoo! As for the boredom? I've been wondering . . . would you rather be bored OR have that guy who keeps trying to holler at you bother you? Oooh what be the lesser of two evils? Dun dun dunnnn! Heh.

AJ looks to be doing quite well. I picked him up, gave a quick check to see that he hasn't been running in the mud (he's clean ~thumbs up!~) and brought him inside and onto his bed. Just like last time though, he bounced right out and went stepping towards the backyard. Yep, he's out there with his bros again, playing.

How's your day so far, Buddha? Did boredom say hello? Give it "the bird" next time. Maybe it'll go away.

~Justin

[*note to self: sino pa? auuuuum . . . ]

This Isn't Your Song

You told me not to do
Dedicate words to you
And let the whole world know
How wonderful you are
Not something you would like
For that you'd leave my side
But we both know we were never together

Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
And how you make me smile when you're around
Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
But now the world knows this isn't your song woh oh oh

Won't even share your food
Because you know my mood
About tasting the
Foul touch of others
You know it's you I like
I'd share with you, that's right!
But you play keep away, no we'll never be together

Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
And how you make me smile when you're around
Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
But now the world knows this isn't your song woh oh oh

You said "No don't do this"
Woh oh oh
You said that I shouldn't praise your name
Woh oh oh
But hear, hear do know this
Woh oh oh
Now hear, hear it's a sweet cheer to know your name

But don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
And how you make me smile when you're around
Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
But now the world knows this isn't your song woh oh oh

To Share the World and Its Feasts

I don't share food.

If somebody took a bite out of something or smacked lips with a beverage cup, I'm out. Do not ask if I'd like some. I don't know where your mouth has been, aye? Ask me to partake of your sandwich after you already made a loving chomp out of it after you spent happy time last night with your significant other making your loving chomps in bed then . . .

NO.

Nuh uh uh uh NOOO!!

What's the point, germaphobe?

It's an intimate act to be sharing food. Slopping over the King Eggroll take-out combo meal as a duet? During all the picking and chopsticking there's mouth-to-food-to-mouth contact there some-frickin'-where so NO I do not want to taste whoever it is you've been kissing, Baroness Shares-a-Lot.

No.

However . . .

when within sight is a girl I fancy in a brighter light above all the others, yayo I'll share food with her. Ooh yes please. Oh why thank you, dear. Wow this food really is good, aye? Since I've decided to share the world I see with you then yes let's tackle that value meal together, darling. I hope you like Dr. Pepper.

It's not a new idea. It's been with me for a long time. People are icky. As am I. I don't think you'd want my MoGo's half-eaten burrito if you knew where I've been. I've decided to pen this down now because of the events of yesterday morning with J Buddha on 4th day. On the way back to the house we did a drive-thru of Jack-in-the-Box where she ordered a Really Big Chicken Sandwich Combo and a funnel cake for dessert. At the kitchen table this whole personal issue of sharing food was brought up as she ate breakfast heartily. I've mentioned it to her before and she knows full well of my unpleasant regard for biting where someone has already bit or touched. Now modify that with Buddha's acknowledgement that I adore her and what do we get?

"If I was starving to death and I reeaaaaally needed food to eat to survive would ya-"

"Nope, well you're just going to starve then" says Girl Aum with a smirk.

Darn.

Buddha does share her food with others. She herself encourages it. "Can I have a curly fry?" I ask. "No" she replies with a gleeful head shake. Buddha does share her food with others - but not with me. Not even a crumb, oof. I joke with her I probably shouldn't have told her and could've been all sneaky ninja-like with a pretend casual bite out of a Really Big Chicken Sandwich but considering we've had in-depth conversations since before the admiration it was info previously confessed to her in trust and good faith.

Despite my yearning eagerness to share the world and its feasts with the fairy tale One Girl, to not be able to share food & drink with Girl Aum is something I find tremendously gratifying. Bollocks to the groceries - as long as I'm around her I don't think I'll ever starve. Physically. Spiritually. Yes Happily, Ever . . . O=P

No Jams with Girl Aum

"We're on our waaaay" flashes up on the Facebook chatbox. "We" being J Buddha and and her pup AJ. Vroom goes the BMW 9-something in the morning, on to intercept Girl Aum who carries all of AJ's accoutrements wrap-clasped in a big fluffy brown/tan dog bed. The thought of her walking alone down White with a Canine Supply Taco to the 613 flips me with an "Oh darn." So Vroom yes Vroom.

It's the 3rd consecutive day.

A week ago I was in the shits, trashbinned in blue by the vow of silence taken by Buddha for a perceived wrong I committed. I sent messages down her way, I did, playing face, being kind but she went heel and gave me quiet heat. Yup. Quiet heat. The worse "Oh what did I do?" kind. =( Ugh. No bueno. For a week of my life she was practically non-existent. A ghost whose cheer haunted my bedroom door. J Buddha's bright presence in my gloomy life flared away the shadows of being down. Yeep, she's that awesome. On a scale from 1-10, a profound 20. Now imagine that light gone. It's back in the dark, Señor Lacking. Except tragically worse because I knew how great she be.

Sometimes I think it would better if I didn't know Buddha. That way, she wouldn't be someone I care for a great deal . Someone I could lose. I could miss. I could be sad about.

Her jubilant face

When

She's tickled by delight

Stamped, after due-date

Delivered, only to fuzzy memory

No longer sent sweet fresh, yeah?

When

She looked to me - in the moment -

With a

Sparkle eye & smile+ bona fide

When J Buddha and I finally cleared things up it required the reveal of my feelings for her. I couldn't say it. I was frightened. I directed her towards my blog and she sat at the computer clicking, scrolling. Syllables paraded my affection in a procession whose pace was determined by her sight reading. I was nervous as I stood by. But it had to be done. Earlier in our reunion I moonsaulted into the deep end and shut myself off from communicating with her in the light manner that once was. I thought we could get by it. She said I changed. If I was to see her again it was either back to sleeping in my yellow room whenever she came around or say upfront that she's pretty darn cool, hah.

I told J Buddha her silence was the "longest week I've had this year."

"Really?"she said, bemused.

By then she dropped the dinner burn, her ire having faded away somewhere during her 7-day quiet and with my admiration freed I climbed out of the trashbin and went back dancing in the light of Girl Aum.

Drive.

I spot her on the sidewalk to my left. U-turn. "Good morning, Buddha."

AJ sleeps all lax on his bed un-taco'd, tucked cozily in beside a football pillow, blue ball, and a squeaky duck head. Buddha is at the kitchen table breakfasting on the barbecue chicken she eyed last night when she was here souping up her Pho take-out dinner. I sit at the table facing her more than the TV across from from us. I look at her inquisitively, my scrunched face unapparent to her as she eats with eyes set straight on the television. "Don't do it" she says without a skip. "Don't do what?" I ask, amused. She must have notice the unspoken change in

my demeanor. It's a certain aura of giddiness that overwhelms me when in the presence of a Whoa. "I'm not gonna compliment you, I'm just sitting here" says I with a follow-up defense. Somehow she stop-checked me before I even had the thought of the thought of saying she looks nice today. Dude, she's good.

Breakfast done, it's on to the car and on to work. It's an older model with a cassette tape player (Do you know what that is, kiddies?) In goes the wired cassette tape adapter connected to my mp3 player. It's only barely a touch through the music folders before Buddha chimes up again, "Don't do it." It must be my last night talk of asking permission to play suave with her if I were to drive her home. She said no with a sparkle and a bona fide and was instead brought home by Birthday Girl and her boyfriend. "Dohh" I get stop-checked again, now trance-like passing over the mp3 player to her. She probably thought I was going to play some Slow Jams. Suave mood music, aye? Hah.

"Did you write a song?" she asks, fiddling with the mp3 player looking for anything that isn't what I'm thinking of.

I reply, "For you? Well I've got a strummy bit I still need to put lyrics to I found it while you were still angry at me so the lyrics were going to be about that but then we're all cool now so it could be about that. Or I could combine the two and make a song of that?"

"No, Justin. No."

"How about a poem? Can I write poems about-"

"Noo." A snicker. A smirk. "Don't. You can't."

I says to her it's not like she reads the blog anyways so she wouldn't know of all the pretty little things I write about her. If I were to write about J Buddha. If I were to sing about Girl Aum. It's easy, girl. If you don't want the world to know how awesome you are just take your light away, yeah 20? Leave me back in the dark. I'll be okay. I think I might miss her though. Do know that she's guaranteed to be making somebody else happy. I just won't be beside her delight to write about it. For now, I'm blessed to be in her presence and I'll continue to pen the good word.

Just don't tell her it's about her.

About how great things are.

How great she be.

And how it's nice to know her, aye?

That Darn Bed

Given the act that was committed on that bed, I really shouldn't be sitting on it anymore. Curse curses to my visual way of thinking, yechhh. >=P

Ahhhhh crap.

heh.

Anicca She

I did

but no longer

For her whom, sought after

The next pretty one down the line

Though charming she may be

And delicious she may seem

I saw fury in her stance (that night)

Her tone, her turn, her walk away

Neglected me, such bitter aftertaste

For this

I did

but no longer

On weighted mood I carried her sting

The sting of the night she turned away

For a week (to this day) I ached

On sidewalk, through sun and streetlight lit

Heavy were the steps

Steps stung by her furious whip

A fixing call to her I try

Silence

Oh pulverizing Silence

Be her reply

A Silence that teased my grave nearby

Better is the sight from bed of dirt 6 feet

Than to be trampled upon

For my suffering solo cry

It's because of this

I did

but no longer

For her whom

I liked

Another pretty one down the line

Now no longer sought after

Knocks & Sleeping

I'm bothered by the likes of you. You who I've come to know as someone of incredible worth. Someone who knocked on my door with a knock knock proposal - armed with your syrupy hurrah - to fight fierce the frown delirium and bring me out of the yellow dread of the doldrums sanctum that sits at the top of the stairs. "I'm only sleeping" I'd say but it's to you only and only you I admit I'm not sleeping at all. Knock Knock.

I'm bothered by the likes of you. For that one night I chose not to Yummy Buffet beside you. You spoke of an ill I committed - "But it's not even like that . . ." I try to sayve trailing - you puffed, then huffed and turned away from me, back to your table, to your food. From out of "sleeping", out of yellow, past that door, down those steps - I'm left alone standing. The girl with the syrupy hurrah gone with only her back to me seen. Another bright yes beyond my door wala na. So it's a return to yellow I step up with the claim "I'm only sleeping."

But even sleep in these past few days is hard to come by.

Because so bothered am I by the likes of you I struggle massive to hide, closed eyes, mind silent, inside slumber and away from hearing your haunting knocks on my door. The past joy of seeing your incredible worth lingers steady. It's a constant that jabs my head mocking, "She's still there." But you're not there. You sit away from me, so far away from me with a back turned, your cheer shown anywhere but here. What's left is the ghost of your incredible worth knocking on my door. Knock Knock. Knock Knock Knock.

Why am I so god damn bothered by the likes of you?

It's because I . . .

The Strokes - Trying Your Luck

"And storefronts rarely change

At least I'm on my own again
Instead of anywhere with you

But to me it's all the same

And I lost my page again
I know this is so rare
But I'll try my luck with you"

Bitter Rhythm Garbage

Dispose of me, the mess I knew myself to be

Since stepped out then to stairs down

I've seen the mess of being drowned

In the scary sea where bitter fish swim accordingly

They fire and they turn

I crush and I burn

Not able to keep steady

With

The splintered rhythm they swim so well

Obviously garbage, unwanted, don't keep me in recycling

In this torrential sea, perpetually drowning

As you all fin bitter but happy

Able to swim with unkempt elegance so delighted

They fire and they spurn

I cry and I hurt

Not able to keep steady

With

The crack cheer they've found for themselves

Allow my return to the waste from whence I came

And crush

And burn

And cry

And hurt

To my own accord

Not

To the drowning throws of these bitter fish

Who swim bitter, feasting on the disposable mess

Pass Me The Calm™

Calm is nice. I could use some Calm™. Put it on like a lotion to the dry worry on my skin. But my skin is flaking. The worry aching. There's a cry beneath there somewhere under the beaten desert landscape, a cry buried by trespassers who unknowingly sow into my already shattered ground bombs that boom hurt BOOM hurt!

It's a casual time for them. The routine of littering behind them waste which becomes my drying dread.

"It's life" one says.

And I've got to settle with it.

Pass me the Calm™.

Go Pho Down

I'm sitting at the table and I can't figure out what I'm trying to figure out. Am I thinking of one thing? If so, where is it? Maybe it's many things I try to tackle and they've decided to mess with me this evening by causing a ruckus in the kids' plastic ball pit where they're loud, annoying, pissing and trying to take each others' eyes out with a high speed red ball pitch to the face. So I'm sitting there staring out into nothing trying to find something. And the tidbits are there. The girl I like. Or don't like? I can't talk what I want to talk. What happened earlier this day. Good man?! My bum status. How I suck.

J Buddha, March and the rest of the group at the table are all cheers while I sometimes look off into the distance thinking abouGUUUUUUUUHHHH!!!!!!

THEY'RE STILL FU-FUH-FUCKIN' AROUND IN THE BALL PIIIITTTTTT!

While the thoughts get swallowed and spat out cycling in the room of that multi-colored netted room of play the look on my face is blank with a touch of woe. I think. I don't know what it looks like. I'm just trying not to bring the others down. I smirk and commit the occasional giggle to humor spoken over bowls of white noodle soup. Yum. For this pho I'm glad. I slop up the pho trying to find peace in the broth with a yearn to drown in it. It's better to be beside beef flank and beef this and beef that - there are 18 beef-based bowls - than to get my head kicked in by a rioting mind.

Yes waitress I'd like bowl #17 to die in.

And a glass of ice water, thank you.

They've decided to roam this sunless time with a trip to the hills. Perhaps the local haunt over at Marsh Road? Whatever the destination I opt to bounce out and not let my gloomy filth wash out onto the others. Byes are exchanged. Handshakes to the dudes. Big ol' hugs to the girls. J Buddha says I'm bringing their time down. It's why I'm leaving, chica. I've got stuff to think about. Or try to find exactly what it is I'm thinking about. I don't know. I go. I hit the gas with Deftones' Knife Party on repeat. Windows open. The driving breeze spills wildly into the car, pushing out shredded near-ideas and stale air. But that blank stare still sits, now savagely pushed on modified with a brutal furrow in the brow. I scream into the road wind. Fuck the night.

FACT #318 ABOUT ME

FACT #318 ABOUT ME: I fantasize about having deep, fulfilling conversations with women.

Given my tender yellow isolation, the prospect of communicating with another is a magnificent horror. To speak with a girl is both treasured and feared for though I do adore the the time in talk I spit the syllables with trepidation, every utterance a calculated hop to not land on and fall through the tricky dummy tile into lava. When I speak to these phantom chicks (looking out into beautiful eyes of empty space) before me there is no lava to fear falling into, nope.

It's just me and the girl talking about how great things are

how great she be

and how it's nice to know her, aye?

Her Name No More?

Vexed am I to want to write the thought of her but promised have I to no longer commit to her another word. By writing these very words yes I see I have broken the vow to sing her name no more.

This burn is gargantuan.

Underlying This Life

People live their lives in ambition. To be known. To be great. To live the day-to-day in comfort. To pay the bill, the rent. To be with the girl sought after. Some ambitions are cruel. Blessed. Shallow. Or deep. They live their life in ambition knowing at ambition's inevitable end is death. It is hung over their head as a very much true, unavoidable ticking clock: the reminder to do what you can and do it now. So keep your arms outstretched. Live for the best that you can and make the most of this oh-so-glorious gift you've been given.

I

however

live this life with death at my feet.

It is my foundation and as such is my ultimate "ambition" - that return to the nothing from where I came. Where others live to see the next day, I break knowing I have awoken yet again. The futility of the day-to-day makes no man honorable - it sits him in the corner with a Dunce Cap. You can fuck all the greatest achievements medaled, remembered, worshipped, revered and blort it into the toilet as the never-child. Why? Because man's time is finite. At the end of the end of the end - nothing will be remembered. No one will be remembered for their fantastic ambitions.

No matter how far I reach

there is only death at my feet.

Of a Record Keeper

Since Sunday my computer has been sitting out. Faulty charger. That's twice. Though I burn creative it is kept achingly cool by the lack of a record keeper. I am sullen with the realization that I can't commit to concrete the thoughts that still run in my head. Computer down, know it. Computer down.

I Walk Around This Life Frightened

I walk around this life frightened

Absolutely frightened

Of the things I put forth and

don't receive in kind return

Of the sweet girl for whom I hurrah'd

But answered back with a nuh-uh!!

Of the eyes open when I wake

Seeing another god damn day

Of committing an act in innocence

But am seen as a complete terrorist

Of uncomfortably wearing a chipper mood

So as not to distress the party

Of looking in the mirror, horrified

by the broken, ugly mess before me

Of checking the wallet embarrassingly

For cash I do not have (but plenty of fucking coins)

Of wearing what I wear but knowing full well

You can't hide living 300 pound shit

Of being called out by someone

"Yes, you are a worthless bum"

Of not yet having shot myself

With the revolver in the closet

Of not being the success that my friends are

Yes, yes so successful they are

Of crying the apparent woe

When truth is I just suck

Of wasting time typing words

I foolishly think will live beyond me

I walk around this life frightened

Absolutely frightened

I am absolutely frightened

Flea Market Finds 071411

Capitol Drive-In Flea Market

[description from top to bottom]

1. The greatest plush toy to be found on those lots this day MUAHAHHAH! Believe it! Its The Muppets' one and only wildman drummer extroardinaire! It's Animal!!! "WO-MAN! WO-MAN! WO-MAN!! . . ." ;D =P

2. A sleek Race Car that looks to be the fastest thing on the planet!! Woohoo! It was found "3 for a dollar" with . . .

3. Two 50 cent Ties, yehey. =)

4. And a *Slim Zippo for those occasions when a pretty bird is feeling smokey. "Anybody got a lighter?" Yes. Yes I do, good-looking. =P Gee, heh heh.

[*note: If you're looking for a lighter at Capitol Flea, look for Luigi with the Zippo display cases. Cool cat with great enthusiasm for what he sells. Awesome.]

Parachute Girl [performance video]

Parachute Girl

There you go, there you go, there you go girl

Fall again

To the boy, to the boy, to the boy

You so wanted

So you jumped, yeah ya jumped, yeah ya jumped

Yeah from heaven

To a boy, to a boy, to a boy

Below wanted

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

There ya go, there ya go, there ya go girl

Fall prepared

Don't ya fall, don't ya fall, don't ya fall

Hard in despair

See ya float, see ya float, see ya float

Down yeah so fair

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute girl

Come with care

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

There's no need to

Fall hard for me

Come down girl, yeah it's safe see?

Land in my embrace

'Cause I'll be here, yes I'll be here

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute girl

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute girl

Stunning Brain Tumor [performance video]

Stunning Brain Tumor

Can't shake this darn thing off

Look

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here

To my detriment

How did I come across?

Now

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here

But you don't belong

To me (No)

Stuck in my mind

You won't leave my mind

I think that I might

Have a tumor

And I'll fuckin' die

Should you stay in mind

Why did you have to be

So stunning?

I'd rather have you not

But

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here

El Scorcho I hum

I'd rather you be gone

Ugh

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here

Fuckin' hell what's wrong

With me?

Stuck in my mind

You won't leave my mind

I think that I might

Have a tumor

And I'll fuckin' die

Should you stay in mind

Why did you have to be

So stunning?

Be so stunning?

Be so stunning?

Be so stunning?

You're so lovely

Oh Modern Lovely

Modern Lovely [performance video]

Modern Lovely

Still thinking of you

Kind all kind in all 5 feet of you

How can humble take so

Much space in my typically tumbling mind

And there you stand so steady

Calming my typically tumbling mind

Oh what a find!

Hey!

Oh what a find!

Hey!

You're a treasure of the age

A wondrous treasure of the age

The modern lovely of the day

You're such a marvel

Look up to the awe that is 10 feet of you

Monument spiff articulation

Oh so you CoD and be cappin' those fools?

But you don't do DiVinyls?

Yup that's mindfucking adorable

Oh what a find!

Hey!

Oh what a find!

Hey!

You're a treasure of the age

A wondrous treasure of the age

The modern lovely of the day

When I wander off you call my name

Yes it's joy to hear you call my name

You're a treasure of the age

A wondrous treasure of the age

The modern lovely of the day

The modern lovely of the day

The modern lovely of the day

The Retreat Addressed

The following is a reply to March regarding the status of a former admire:

I mentioned J Buddha because I thought your initial "Justin!!!!!!" holler was for a call about her.

Yeahp, I've stopped admiring Modern Lovely. It's emotionally better for me to keep my heart close than to leave it dangling out for someone to Knock-Out! brutally like a heavyweight boxer. I never did try to talk to her. Heh heh. Not properly - I don't know how to "talk to a girl." Hah. I'll continue to do what I've been doing now and roll on with the friendly kindness to Modern Lovely; it won't be any different. I just won't be thinking of her fondly as I once did.

No more poems.

No more songs.

No more "Modern Lovely" in the tender light where she was once seen.

The spot is empty now again.

Whoa, I haven't felt that affectionate about a girl within close proximity for years. (A partial reason to why she's been named the Modern Lovely.) Oh well. Hah.

Went to Eastridge, bought a book I've been meaning to get for a few weeks now at Barnes & Noble. Looked at a few chicks to help my mind get out of Modern Lovely mode. Seeing the pretty ones helped.

How have you been? And Buddha? When did you last chat with our sister?

~LL

FACT #856 ABOUT ME

FACT #856 ABOUT ME: I am attracted to women who want nothing to do with me

These past few years I have come to know something I did not know during the time of first crush. What is this realization? All I know is to be alone and to ache lonesome. When the remedy is searched for, what returns is my affections crumpled up like notebook paper and thrown back at me. The routine of my one-sided affairs is something I am all too familiar with. The ouch, guaranteed. With such a cycle on "Repeat" for the length of decade+ I've grown masochistically fond of that guarantee. Why? Because all I know is to be alone and to ache lonesome. Gimme some more! Gimme some more! That girl can cut, 'tis she I adore!!

For Naught I Have Adored

For naught I have adored

This girl, this girl who shook the world

And seeing that fascinating sight

I committed many a shapely word

For that, dear girl I apologize

Knowing now I know

It is something she wanted not

so for naught I have adored

aside from the shapely committed word

now etched in eternity

oh she

oh fascinating sight

from here written, to future years

kept certain, relevant

relevant as in these very days

she shook the world

and unknowingly shook me

grabbing a hold of my creative burn

eternalizing her worth

For that, dear girl I apologize

But for naught I have adored

yeah for naught I have adored

If You Don't Like Me Now Then You Never Will

If you don't like me now then you never will

For I cherished you day 1

Wrote your song day 2-3

Wrote verse and lyric for weeks, chorus yes hear it

And during all that, of you dearly am thinking

of the Whoa that is you Modern Lovely

If you don't like me now then you never will

Since cherish first seen in that photo booth

And spoke and heard of the beauty of you

How your lips uttered so fine

How your hips grooved humble

Should have noticed how your eyes never saw mine

If you don't like me now then you never will

Do we hook up? You sat replied to me standing

"No no, I'm not really looking"

But within the week you are gushing

in arms of Blanc you so wanted

58 miles, 1 hour 9 minutes away

If you don't like me now then you never will

What

am

I

doing?

Because you never will

No, you never ever will

Though Baudelaire's Motley Fool I am

This I know, I pray, oh Venus I chant . . .

If you don't like me now then you never will

Ahshit Adagio

Given the factors, I realize the ahshit possibility of something. Something that knocks a tower crooked. Only the coming months will tell if what I see might actually be born. I googled it and the factors are there apparent, true and phantom burning hammer-breaking an admire.

Yeah it's that real.

'Cause I hate kids.

So no.

But we'll see . . .

give it 9

ahshit.

FACT #331 ABOUT ME

FACT #331 ABOUT ME: I am not an "Alpha Male"

I am reminded of this every time I see some gruff dude with a chick in his arms, chest perpetually puffed out with a bastard smug smile on his face.

Xxplosive Possibility

"Hello lady. My name is Justin Fernandez. Oh you like what I'm wearing? You know I make it do what it do. Oh the pimp cane? That's for regulation purposes and hopefully I need not use it on you, darling. You are . . . a nice girl, right?"

[This is what I'd say if my public social confidence equaled the swagger I have typing away word after word after word after . . .]

Yowza. hah . . .

Woe of the Whoa

Close my eyes into the hush of mind's night

Close my mind away from the Whoa of day mind's time

For during mind's time stands towering

The Might

that is the Whoa of the wakeful mind

and crush I do

for the Whoa that isn't mine

So

Woe is the Whoa?

Yeah

But what a Woe this Whoa be!

So much so that she lingers

Yes, the paramount beauty

Look I do but look is all I do

With the open eyes of a thirsting mind

Though I know that Whoa will never be mine

So away from Woe

I

Close my eyes into the hush of mind's night

Close my mind away from the Woe of day mind's time

But when I wake

Darn

that crush still sits in towering shade of

The Might

That is the Woe of the Whoa of the awake mind

Parachute Girl

Parachute Girl

There you go, there you go, there you go girl

Fall again

To the boy, to the boy, to the boy

You so wanted

So you jumped, so ya jumped, so ya jumped

Yeah from heaven

To a boy, to a boy, to a boy

Below wanted

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

There ya go, there ya go, there ya go girl

Fall prepared

Don't ya fall, don't ya fall, don't ya fall

Hard in despair

See ya float, see ya float, see ya float

Down yeah so fair

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute Girl

Come with care

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

There's no need to

Fall hard for me

Come down girl, yes it's safe see?

Land in my embrace

'Cause I'll be here, yeah I'll be here

You fall with such grace

It's swell to see you

Fall towards my embrace

and I'll be here waiting

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute Girl

Parachute, Parachute, Parachute Girl

The Two That Breaks

And I've seen the maladjusted

end up with

the maladjusted

Rolling fruit high

in each other's

magnificent distress

Cripple Tango

The half-steps jolt

Juh-duh!

To the delighted dismay

of shattered hands shattering

The pair, they break on

happy

yeah

Phoenix - If I Ever Feel Better

If I ever feel better
Remind me to spend some good time with you
You can give me your number
When it's all over I'll let you know

Horror in the Morning Seen

Horror living, it looks back with dread

and I look at it not knowing what it is

Disgusted, I throw in instinct

and it throws back in same instance

the disgust thrown at it

It is a fear, it is a pain

It is a most offensive character

Vile in all its years breathing

This horror living looks back

Crowned Ignoble

through filth, spots of corrupted shine shine

pricking mine eyes with a

devious, delirious, pretentious prick

of a labyrinthine gold, jewel-encrusted smile

I cringe aching upon view of

the horror of this morning, this horror

looked upon with city block-wide unease

What is this terrifying, skyscraping monstrosity?

This morning

I look in the mirror

All I see

is me

Adore: A Detachable Commitment

The songs I sing. The words I write. I sing & write with the sweetest of intent. The creative gush goes out on dishes of glimmering silver as candied delights ready to be consumed by whom it may concern. The girl written doesn't know - naturally - but others do, yayo. They know her to be a most wonderful being.

Despite my haughty stance as stated in Depart from Admire, the seed has been buried and it checks me, kicks me, teases me to put forth more thoughts of cherish. Another lyric. Another verse. It has to go somewhere, aye? To lock a seed from growing is far more straining then to let it grow withered.

And I boom full what you see and hear for she truly is a person of spectacular worth, don't cha know?

However.

I plug into this admire, guarded. Through quadruple-shielded cable is sent that sweet, sweet intent. Out to that platinum-plated super transference 1/4" jack is a sound heard out Whoa. 'Cause she is the Whoa, aye? And if and when Modern Lovely discovers this output from seeing the sight that is tender she and she runs far, far away OR returns with apathy personified . . .

then I'll simply plug out.

I wrote what I wrote. I sang what I sang. It'll just be there. That sweet intent. Meant for someone Whoa.

But no. Heh. =P

It's garbage, aye?

It's a detachable commitment.

(I refuse to set up for heartbreak, dummy. Hah.)

Pas Blanc

Here, here these dirt strands

are just what is merely seen

Though not the blonde perfection

that you so dearly seek

They fall just the same, top my mind

See it wave hello

But noticed not, overtaken

by those deemed oh so fairer

I'm just me

I'm not my hair

Yeah

Here I stand, surface sun eaten

is just what is merely seen

Though not the paler purity

that you so dearly seek

It covers heart just the same

See it wave hello

But it is not noticed, looks go

to that deemed oh so fairer

I'm just me

I'm not my skin

Yeah

I know I'm not a fair boy

But with this black hair

and this brown skin

I

can

make you smile, just the same

Oh Jazelle

I'm just me

I'm not what you might see

Yeah

Sympathy for the Drunk?

Wednesday, July 29, 2011

Evening

"You're making me angry, Clown!"

Through the white wooden slab marking the closed doorknobbed entry to the yellow room, I sit hearing the verbal ruckus of The Brother Younger directed toward someone less-than-sober. Heavy steps match doors swung with just as much weight, the air pushed violently acting as palpable wind away from the emotional turbulence.

"I have a long drive, Clown! I don't need this right now!!"

Stomp, stomp, stomp. The door dunks shut with a gah-duh!!

I look out the window and visibly see the frustration on the TJ's shoulders. With a sweater half-put on I make my way down the stairs and out to the driveway. The summer evening is bright. The sun far from horizon east. Under world light TJ's jagged exit vrooms. "Dude?" I ask concerned. "He keeps repeating himself. I set it up already and he keeps asking. 'I set it up.' He asks again. 'I set it up.' He asks again! I'm tired of this, I gotta go!'" TJ makes the drive out, heading to SoCal to sell product at the ComicCon with his fellow drift buddy Bravo. "Be safe, have fun. Just pay no mind to the idiot" being my reply to his departure.

In the kitchen sits the Drunken Clown. He sits as king at court as the ruler of a kingdom of empty aluminum cans that scatter the house. The computer room. The backyard. The garage. The playroom. Empty cans take a residence in each. DC sees my entry, immediately getting into a tirade about how all he did in perfect form was ask to do a favor and how in return he got gruff from TJ.

I return "Yeah but 20 times. Multiple times?"

"Twenteee NoooWhat?!" rolls out in stupid-water tainted breath.

"You might as well have."

"Ehhh shiettt Ican do it mighhself if I wanted to learn to." With gusto these words are said. I've heard them before and question him there, "Why don't you just do it then?" "Ehhhh shiettt," he replies with a dismissive wave of the hand, "whydoessss hehaf to get maadd? O?"

"Because you told him multiple times. It probably makes him feel stupid."

"Whaaaatnoooo?? Thass boolshettt. Iaskheem to doIT and juss DOit!! Y-gettang gree?!? O?"

"Because you keep repeating yourself. Because you're drunk." Boom goes the truth.

"Ooahhheere we go again! It's alwaaysme!! I'mmtha prahblehm againn!"

"Look I don't want to hear your "I'm the bad guy" bullshit again. You've been saying that shit for years and you know why you're the bad guy? Because you drink you fucking idiot." Now choked with the same frustration that TJ drove off with I step up to the kitchen beside his royal drunkenness and say "'Cause it tastes good huh? You like that huh? That's your medicine?!" I grab the Keystone Light and force his gamot to his lips, his yellow eyes bulge, slithering red veins pop out ready to strike. He stumble stands up (somehow slyly setting his precious can on the table) as if ready for a fight. In defense I rage with a shout "WHAT?? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?!! WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?!!?" At this point I'm up ready to knock the fucker out, kick his half-cripple arthritic legs from under him and make a trampled mess on the kitchen tile in tints of a smashed alcoholic. Drunken Clown knows this. The threat is there. He backs off. "Ayewee don't haftoDo this, hah?" Again, I shout with continued rage "But that's what you like RIGHT?! It fucking tastes good right?!" I grab the beer can off the table. I drink the filth, looking at the Clown. With the the stupid water in mouth I mumble out the words "it tastes good" then . . .

spit his awful tasting beer right in his FACE.

"Sarap no? Sarap? It tastes good, huh? You like that?!" There was no way I was swallowing the bitter ick so out it went, right back to its devoted purchaser, follower, ever-faithful. "Sarap diba?" I ask again mockingly as he dejectedly walks away, drenched in what is so dear to such a Clown.

I go back to the yellow room.

Drunken Clown gets more beers from the garage refrigerator and drunk dials anybody who'll listen to him about being spat-on humiliated by someone sober. Relatives. Enablers. "Nahh, you're not an alcoholic" they pat his back through the Skype that TJ set up 20 times. I'm called down hours later that night and in an even more drunken state (level 12) he tries a stinger by saying "Heyyydothat toMee when I'mdeadhah?"

"I'm not even gonna be at your funeral" I reply in an instant, "I've got better things to do."

Fucker.

Sometime before midnight. A body crashes to the floor. Dahdoomp!! A 20-second groan. A little bit more.

Fucker.

Leave that Drunken Clown where he lies. Arthritis and an already (while sober) unstable walk isn't cured by your gamot, idiot. And when the fucker dies I'll be similarly apathetic. Go on and drink to that.