On Expo and Parry.

On expo and parry, I watched the world end.
An everyday apocalypse, it painted the world bright and surreal, giving the air a taste of intimacy, bathing us in the angry rays of a nuclear sunset.
Bright eyed hipsters and moody vagrants lounge about, unsure of their own beauty that blinds the passing crowds who come here to stare at these alien gods.
We take sacrament of alchemical concoctions and blessed herb and offer our prayers to our many temples of ultimate beauty and worship each other in beautiful blasphemy, happy in our sacrilege
Seeking even greater highs, I prick my skin with the same oils I paint with and reimagine myself as an ancient warrior priest and dance wildly to the throbbing music that constantly plays so as to drown out the cries of distant wars.
In an oasis of peace, miny wars are fought with passive aggressive taunts and childish proclamations, always striving to hurt, but fearful of actual violence.
In the shadow of Hiroshima, left without a world, we created our own, armed with paint, brushes, LSD and MDMA.
In our little corner of the plastic city, memories are like currency, to be hoarded, while men in suits try to rebuild and forget.
We found the singularity in a cast iron pation chair, redemption in a Pabst and a reason to live to in one shiny moment when everything feels like its gonna be OK.

random shit

so this is what we're here for . you're sitting at your computer reading some asshole opinion and this makes you informed. every asshole has opinion. Fuck. are you that much a useless tool you have to agure with me.Go outside. Read a book. Live your fucking life. Ask some fucking questions retard. When it's time to vote, take the day off and tail gate your local poling station. STOP BEING A FUCKING TOOL. IF you hate the way we've become, create your own government. Use your friends and family. All society is is a word. I please allegiance to the nation of ______. I pledge to fight ________ in any and all chooses ___ makes and constantly contradict ______. I pledge to be selfish when I have to be and not when I can. In t e name of the_____, my own personal goddy thing, different from all other goddy thing in that he has an amazing goatee, to do whatever it is people who are angry do. You know what fuck you I'm gonna masturebate.

The nature of disappointment

When my Swiss miss girlfriend broke up with me a couple of weeks ago, I only felt the sarcastic pangs of indifference, that ever-so-facetious twinge of, "Oh, whatever shall I do?? Now I'll have to grovel at the ugly feet of all those who I've rejected if I want some play!" It's ludicrous to imagine that I'd be hurt by such an event. It's no use being disappointed by inevitabilities. Because nothing lasts forever. ¡Qué cliché! Women will come and go, and you too, as a man, will come and go, and there will be another in your stead. That's the way it is.

But something has been bugging me these last couple of days. I have one of those digital cable boxes, and for me, it's almost as good as the basic cable Tio Carlos used to get us for free when we lived in Oak Cliff. I mean, a lot of times the reception is terrible, and sometimes channels will disappear or malfunction terribly, but it really beats the hell out of the constant static and three channel selection of the old analog. Before exposition turns to full-on digression, I will go ahead and say that I am heartbroken to report that my favorite channel on the box, 33-2, or LATV, is no longer available.

Yes! Tengo un corazón roto. I really don't understand this. I mean, I don't think ANYONE would miss 33-1, or The CW, what with its re-runs of Family Guy, The Simpsons, and Two and a Half Men, its crappy news (although, Amanda Salinas es la REINA), or ANY of its original programming, but here we are, nevertheless, seeing the cliché "the good die young" exerting its presence, its reality, all in our fucking faces.

LATV could've done some beautiful things had it been given the opportunity. It could've made being bilingual cool and not just a way for dealing with drug cartels or buying Tijuana prostitutes. It could've introduced a whole new audience to Spanish music with brains y alma como: Julieta Venegas, Calle 13, Belanova, etc. Okay, maybe I'm being steretypical and grandiose all at once, but seriously, Me voy a extrañar esa canal más que cualquier mujer que tal vez déjame en ruinas.

Pounding Nails in the Floor with My Forehead

June 24, 25, 26 @ 7 P.M.

El Centro College, Arena Theater

I am performing nine monologues from "Pounding Nails in the Floor with My Forehead" by Eric Bogosian. It's dirty, it's offensive, it's alienating! Come see it and GO FUCK YOURSELF!

Fun With Ad Slogans

“Red Bull. It Gives you the Shits.”


Finals week

Pulling “all-nighters”

Popping Adderall

Blah blah blah

You slam down energy drinks

“Nerve”

“Brain”

“Cuckoo”

“Slam”

And so on

Different flavors

But then there’s “Red Bull”

You had a case of it

Now there’s two left

It’s 6 A.M and you’ve been up

All night

Your paper’s due at 8 A.M

You have two pages done

You need six

All you want to do is sleep

Because you’re crashing hard and fast

But first you have to shit

You’re sitting on the can

Pushing out soft, somewhat watery shits

And you can’t stop

When you do, there’s a calm

And in the calm your asshole burns

And you fall asleep on the toilet

With your head in your hands.

I want to be a cult phenomenon.

Hi.

So, I have a story up here (thanks to the ladies at Sleep Snort Fuck):

http://sleepsnortfuck.blogspot.com/2010/05/old-enough-my-wants-wont-kill-me.html

Read it, comment, follow the blog, submit yourself.

death. Or something like it.

So we die.

Not meaning to sound fatalistic but let's face it, it's true. When I died it wasn't at all like I expected. I've had what you may call a bad life. Beaten and abused. Wishing for death. But just not quite hitting the mark. I guess I just wasn't serious enough for it.
I honestly don't remember dying. Of course I know that I died, or else this would just be bullshit. But, I seriously can't remember my actual death.

I just died one day.

I woke up and I was dead.

A coronary or something. Apparently doing a shit load of drugs will actually come back and get you several years later.

I just woke up one morning and I was dead.

Or didn't wake up.

Whatever.

All I know is that I woke beside myself.

I was pretty sure this was just a dream, but it still freaked me out.

My body just lying there.

All pale.

Not white guy pale. Just not right.

Then some asshole puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "It's time to go."

I turn around and some Robert Smith looking asshole is giving me these sad eyes, just staring at me.

Just staring, like I'm supposed to just go along with it.

"Listen you emo fuck, I don't know how new you are to this gig, but you fucked up."

Those sad, sad eyes.

"Listen, I'm know you're just doing your job, and normally I would just accept that, but this seems like a fuck up on your part, man."

Those sad, sad eyes.

"Look. I try to kill myself on an almost daily basis. We've never met, but trust I've gone through this plenty of times before. Normally I'd just go with you, but I didn't do anything tonight. Honest. You've got the wrong guy. I'm Adam Strange; born Joe Adam Hernandez. I drink and smoke pot. But last I checked you can't OD off that."

It is your time.

"But this is ridiculous. I know I didn't try to kill myself tonight and I didn't even do anything close to it. At least tell me how I died."

It is your time."Ya, and I'll accept that and go with you quietly if you just tell me how I fucking died, okay."Around this time a bunch of other unnatural motherfuckers started showing up, looking all angelic and shit.
"Look I know you're just trying to do your job, but this seems kind of crazy. If I died, just tell me what I died of. Come on don't I have a right to know?"
The other grim assholes started off with the whole, "It's your time," line.

"Cool! Cool! Just, can't one of you tell me what the fuck killed me?"

I noticed some worry in their faces, so I pressed the issue.

"Come on. If I died just take me. No problem. I want to die, but this just doesn't make since. If I'm dead why can't any of you tell me exactly what killed me."

Next thing you know I was in my, already cold body, watching these assholes argue, except I couldn't hear a word.

Many of the the other spirits turned away and disappeared. The main spirit and one other stayed.

I was back out off my body.

You may live.

"What?"

It is not your time."But what about what that asshole said?"

Hey buddy, you do drugs and drink like a fish. You're a fucking alcoholic and could die any day. You're just lucky I don't bring you in today. I'll get you, dirtbag."

Next thing you know, I woke up in a hospital. The doctors said I was lucky to be alive and I had a coronary. No one believes my story, but I know that self righteous asshole is still out there. And you know what. This shot is for him.

Dickweed.