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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in george's LiveJournal:

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Tuesday, October 9th, 2007
2:38 am
Tuesday, January 30th, 2007
1:47 am
another angry regressive star of high school fist fighting special sunday overly gratifying lie carrying bad hair having people. i'd go outtamy way to write down the hyperbole mass grave in the evening boring, yes.
1:29 am
liquid baby blue, i find a half hour empty slot sunday morn ready to bury and collect your brain fluids in a jar i found cheap at an antique store on a rainy morning after not sleeping the night before, stars black and pulsing and twitching in his eyes, my eyes i mean, i found a jar in an antique store on that 11am early am morning before i can wake up, i don't sleep its okay, battery park on the blvd. whore munching ice cream slapper dope fiend advice giver, a mispronounced piece of bad news. i kept the juice in the jar only to post a picture of it somewhere online where i knew you'd see it because, after all a teenager is a teenager is a teenager is an enabler is a parent at 17 all over the notebook, wheel flat tyres, shooting at your toes you dance better today than ever, i don't know why. i don't care i don't care. if yer a blossom black bruised blooming or reticent or hopped up on juice in a jar. right?

Current Mood: **
Wednesday, January 3rd, 2007
3:05 am
notes on a dxm trip
loving the blood clots on your neck girl kiss the better bed i had the bigger bet how many more times in the better house all the time longing back in the yard for your junkeyed blood shot smile coming through glass panes at my face, brushing the dungeon dust off you precious girl the shine on the glow on the label the new shins album is way mediocre shame on you shins you were good live though kinda coulda been better though in my opinion a better opinion to stick into your spleens, you can keep your opinions tucked and your gut sucked and your brain fucked and its just to make a buck that the ham slams shut on the rut your are stuck in.. the genie grew out of the carpet a smudge 'if you only knew who i wanted' the lemon juice squeezes itself into his eyes, i saw (insert reference you assume is about you when why the fuck would it be i never write anything about you and if i did you wouldn't know because we both know you're a fucking idiot) living happily in the trailer park trailer 48 loving bones on brown chins pointing at the sun in defiance. i defy you to be mad 24 hours a day in the jungle of your backyard. stand back stunned and be afraid. she was crosseyed from eight years of betraying every individual virtue in her body after a decade of misuse we loved each other but sober is never sober enough attention deprived hyperactive and waking up with a sweating palm two to match, bottles of robitussin red wine dinners your dad decides to die in his table spoon. he's an electric eel on a mountain snow top hoping you are okay in the new year. happy new year's everyone
Wednesday, December 27th, 2006
4:56 am
Pitchfork: I know you're interested in visions and dreams, and that you sometimes record other people's visions and dreams for your montage pieces. Do you remember many of your own?

Jeff Mangum: I did have a vision about a year ago that had an impact on me.

Pitchfork: What was it?

Jeff: Well, I was lying in bed slowly coming out of sleeping, and this voice in my head told me to go back in; to not quite wake up yet, but just to stay in that in-between place. So I did. I slipped back down and stayed in the halfway point. Then I was standing on the ocean. I saw a blur come around, from my right side to my left. It was a hand putting something next to me. When I looked closer I saw that what the hand had put there was a little sea turtle. I looked up to see who had put it there, and there was this mulatto boy looking at me, smiling. I picked up the sea turtle and put in my hand and it turned into a butterfly. And then it turned into a black spider. It kept turning into a butterfly, a spider, a butterfly, a spider. It would pulsate between the two. I put my hands around it to grasp it and blood ran out of my hands and fell into the sand. Then as I let go of it, the blood rose up from the sand and turned again into the butterfly/spider. It hovered about a foot above my hand, and turned into a little ball of light. So that whole sequence repeated two or three times: it would land back in my hand, turn into a creature, and when I tried to hold it, it would crush again into blood, and when I would let go the blood would rise back up and turn into a ball of light.

Pitchfork: Do you know what it means?

Jeff: Yes, I pretty much understood it right away.
4:34 am
demonweeddemonweeddemonweeddemonweeeeeeeed. toozeday snoozeday master of fluffers the porn king duffel bag filled with spray paint cans, pink, blue, a whole forest fire of dedication, the chrome sticks for face crushing nastiness, old almighty god god god, demonweed breaking up the bits for the bowl breaking up the hits between a bunch of fungal queens all going "didja didja didjagripthatweed?" life of whatever it is, thing is, it had to be said. I'm getting marquee, save a number off the list calling a bunch of memories to the middle of the surfaces. now i'm watching the spiders taking turns weathering their storms, she's no animal, i know her bones are safe. the dog collar's never the same, the dogs who bite soft push the horror out of my eyes.

vagrant shields and dirty bombs
in the blue steel caravan ducts
old priests like the widows
making eyes at what we lose

the jewish glasses fog the names
of the stoney gift shop boys
and take the facts as trivia baths
to take me out of here to the fountains underground

the calender in the classrom with primary colours in bubbles
rusted metals, cold times tables
dates in chalk and oil

Bukowski in the windows of hollywood Islip roads
dust on heels, kneels to kneel
under halos of rain and coals

his eyes melt through the sewers where rats have thirty tails and trip on cough pills floating casual up red hills.

and the murder that shoots down in streams of purple, gold, and dust
will float back up when the day is won
turning hope back into lust

Current Mood: groogy, hyper
Monday, December 4th, 2006
3:46 am
almost two weeks of brutal scheduling and back breaking intense ass labor. i'm fuck tired right now and i've lost my recorder and i have a thousand dollars saved up for nothing in particular and i keep writing about the same thing its like a compulsion for god's sake i have like 5 notebooks filled now. it would be cool to publish something one day, good thing i don't have anything to say. that's a nice little couplet. i was thinking this morning about the norwich library. it has a gift shop and a small fast food pizza place. inside the library. england's a really eccentric place. i can't believe how scatter brained i am. i can't believe how much pot takes your memory i can't believe how many times i ask the same question over and over and over until even i'm bored asking it so i change the wording of it. moving words around is always fun. i am: no closer to going to college, no closer to driving or affording a car, no closer to moving out of the house, no closer to anything except sunrise. and for some odd dumb reason i don't feel bad or sad or depressed or even really that worried about my life and my current situation and my future. i'm in suspended animation and eventually the bubble will burst or something and i'll be in college or in a band or in nothing. which is worse? my band needs a drummer. i need a new guitar. i need a new subject to write about or care about or be passionate about because i've felt pretty stagnant these last 5 or 6 years. lord give me something.

Current Mood: spaced, transient, tired
Thursday, November 16th, 2006
3:52 pm
a.s.s., fuckin dreams, the diamond necklace played the pawn ;)
ha, a misleading title, huh? well ass is the asylum street spankers, god's and my favorite band. they were all they should be and just a little more and very slightly less. but fucking good in all. we could see pretty well until someone stood in front of fran and i think she barked at her or something because the bitch moved mighty quick. i think she ran to the other side of the club. so that was nice. the spankers lineup is swiftly diminishing so we all hope they'll be around at least long enough for us to see them again. a couple key players were absent so that kinda sucked although i kept half expecting some of them to just pop out from behind the black curtain and surprise us all. bleh. fuck touring texas. fuck touring ONLY texas. really. but anyway, they did play well even though we heard the term "my solo album" maybe a few more times than i was comfortable with. as i said, you don't bring whatever you do outside of the spankers into the spankers. its just a big fat ugly satanic no no. but they pulled that off as well (i think?)umm what else? hmmm. last night was the only time i've ever wanted to be OLDER than i am because i wanted to sit at a table and order a beer if only because it would've been fun to raise at all the appropriate moments. never mind that beer tastes like pee. ha. uhhhh anything else of note? seeing frances is always really nice. i hate sounding all scumbaggy elitist (though when do i not?) but its really pleasant to talk to someone who has a brain and isn't borderline retarded and can hold a conversation and can use big words properly and isn't daunted when i do the same. its a relief to be honest. wow that's the scumbaggiest most elitist thing i've said in awhile. but its true so too bad idiots of the world (islip) but anyway, so after the fantabulous show we walked around for like 16 hours trying to find a starbucks open later than 11 and by god we did and that was okay until the drink made me nauseous (like most things) and then we said goodbye and jesse and i barely made the train, then barely made another train, then barely made another train and then missed the last train but his mom was nice enough to take us the fuck outta babylon and back home. so all was(is) well. oh and then fran got home okay as well so that was nice. best night in awhile i'd say. well at least until the spankers come back around in january! anyway. right now i'm just waking up at 2pm and for some reason i feel shitty about that. plus i had a kinda bad kinda good dream and i haven't eaten since last night so i feel a bit sick as well.

Current Mood: hungry, tired, aroused huh? no
Monday, November 13th, 2006
4:40 am
sheeeeeeeeee eyes me like a pisces, for the first time in eleven years i am strong in love like a fountain drunk on vodka cheap god good goddamn. in 2 days, er 3 days? maybe 2 days. okay yeah but anyway, we will see the asylum street spankers, arguably the fundamentally coolest band since nirvana. band is getting better, we wrote a few new songs that are like seriously i'm not even kidding a new kind of art we both hate art so yeah this is new art like art students have never even dreamed of seeing before. meat eating and salutations. i have to get up in a few hours but i can't go to bed. i can't go to bed because i can't go to bed. ughhhhhhhh lesbian chic outside the library, right? throw down your rules to me, i'm so used to following rules, what does she think of her now? what does she do with her time in the garbage william s. fuckin burroughs on vodka now. i have the hugest fucking crush in regina spektor, i've never fallen so heavily in love with anyone via record but there you go. she is the most adorably talented girl i've ever met. wait no no i haven't met her but fucking goddamn gun toting american i will! she said yes! she said yes! i'm weak i'm weak. i'm a gun barrel, a holy soviet, a gun shot, an explosion of air, a slab of tar, an overweight underweight dyed hair extravagance, a dumpeeeeee, a dumper, a lesbianic retard, a waif in stranded musicality, a complaint after not sleeping, a piece of sane judgement for ONCE a piece of excess, rock starrrrrrrrrrs, rock starrrrrrs, same kids taking poetry to the massed maxed out crowd, oh god lover take me to your pit of garbage. i'll eat from your hands, your scraps, anything you have, your traps, your madnessessssss, your poetics, your awful fucking poetry, your compliments and cancer and aids and cereal tapes, oh god you fucking owe me! owe me owe me owe me... brian wilson. take me through britain take me through waiting for a girl, truth is? truth is i don't know truth is i don't know why i want one thing and then i don't want another, i don't know why i get over you and then over there i don't get over you because you were more special you were better looking god i knew you longer. i never prayer i prayed for you i never prayed but jesus i prayed for you i donno what i prayed for but i prayed for you. i hate your happiness i pray for your happiness i hate your drug intake i pray you get get more happiness than me i have none but a lot. i cry i laugh i take my laughs in years i take my tears and turn them into hysterically insane laughter stick THAT up your ass this is honesty filtered through blood filtered through a hundred loving hotel rooms where we cuddled like the refrains in your bleeding brain, um so yeah take me through your misleading judgements, keep me up all night, love me like the lie she bluffed through life. backwards. upwards. no more alcohol. looking at rules like where are you now? upwards. she's like "um you know that part where you totally just shit down my throat and call my shit like the bluff it is? how about you just uh um..don't? like a robin in bloom oh man let me be me you are so totally fucking controlling just let looooose soldier please george oh god i love you"
but i don't believe i don't believe i don't believe i'm drunk i don't believe i can love again. you see uh the problem was, after two years it just didn't belong to me. it didn't FUCKING belong to me. after we were alone in the hotel room and the um lights went out and bob dylan shut off and the bell boy went back to his beds, we just had to have sex and that, frankly, i'm sorry george to say, was fucking boring becAUSE i was thinking about the worst all along. i wasted your time i wasted sun's time i didn't even fall asleep hey guess what i did i wasted your time because i hated you for years and so i planned to end you like a waste bin that's british for garbage can. i sent you off i sent you off like a trash can an albino looked up at me with pink eye in his right eye and screamed at me and took a guitar solo too early oh yeah i guess its okay. its not enough no its never enough we'll be okay soon enough we'll live up to our potential we'll drive and go to college and marry and be rock stars and be precious we'll die soon then we'll wake up mid death and no its NOT though you betrayed, you left your scent to her in your will well fuck i didn't know you HAD a will for fuck's sake you should've fucking told me. i would've like filled out paper work and shit like that. i would've dropped diamond sparks all over your face you'll never write like me poseur son in the moon shaped halo look at how i twist your language you don't even begin to shatter you don't know glass from gas i don't know who you are you don't either i'm running circles round your frames of asterisksssssss so many in the halo of the morning mourning for your lossess of the lost excesses drunk and lonely holy moley sun. this is the morning of the age of the junky. you've lost me too this is poetry. right? hahah
Sunday, October 22nd, 2006
12:43 pm
i'm so glad now but aaahhhh haha fuck. i didn't go to sleep until around 7:30 in the morning, woke up at 10, i feel delerious. vioooooooolent eyes, i wrote a lot of lines last night. i'm glad my relationship ended because i appreciate the asylum street spankers more than i ever appreciated love. can't stand me now, last post on the bugle, the holy soviets in flames. i don't miss anything except music music music which is better than any single person.
Friday, October 20th, 2006
6:41 pm
"I am a male age 23 and I'm lactating. My breasts have never been so sore, not even after receiving titty twisters from bully schoolmates. I haven't masturbated in months because I've lost my imagination. I close my eyes and I see my father, little girls, German Shepherds, TV news commentators, but no voluptuous pouty-lipped naked female sex kittens wincing in ecstasy. I see lizards and flipper babies"

Current Mood: peoplewalkaboutwyourpersonahah
Monday, October 2nd, 2006
5:03 pm
"I think you deserve some love," she said. "I had a dream about you. I opened your chest like a cabinet, it had doors, and when I opened the doors I saw all kinds of soft things inside you - teddy bears, tiny fuzzy animals, all these soft, cuddly things. Then I had a dream about this other man. He walked up to me and handed me some pieces of paper. He was a writer. I took the pieces of paper and looked at them. And the pieces of paper had cancer. His writing had cancer. I go by my dreams. You deserve some love"
Monday, August 14th, 2006
11:15 pm
A young woman with two bones through her thoughts stayed with me in the red blood of the morning screaming about how her tooth sings like your truth stings, its lonely in your only home, Swim up your streams of leather so you’re sucking up stains in the valley coming up with whatever you can to try the believer is redfaced the letter is changing the believer says ‘no way, I’ll go back on my own’, I could smell the parade in the haystack wings, the withered old woman with the vintage sting. Nobody took the time or stole the ring to mind the gap and change the thing back to what it used to be. Never was is the same as might not be. For a minute or two what was true turned true blue true as true can be.
Sunday, July 23rd, 2006
4:10 am
I can't believe that live journal still even exists what with Rupert Murdoch's myspace powerhouse. Hey looky livejournal saves things as you write. I have no real reason for updating. I have nothing to say, no new insights, no new topics to discuss and no delusions about people reading anything I write. I do realize a lot of things though, a few more clear than some others. For starters, I don't think I've ever written a really honest word in any journal online. I've tried too hard, written to impress, lied in poetry and plagiarized myself. I've copied the styles of writers and artists and been bored to tears by my own knack for repitition. Getting away from the computer helps break that cycle. Leaving your writings in unread yellow notebooks helps too. Nobody will ever hear from you. That's a good thing. But uh yeah anyway what is new? Syd Barrett died last week and it still bothers me and I'm not sure why. I mean on the one hand there's the way the death of a monumental figure (at least to me and John Frusciante) can go relatively unnoticed. On the other hand there's um well I'm not sure what's on the other hand. It just depressed me though like a lot of things. I've been reading the bible a lot lately and I'm midway through the new testament. I think anyone interested in understanding history/the world/america/human beings/poetry/literature or pretty much anything else could benefit a lot from reading the bible. And not in a 'know thy enemy' way. That's silly. That's like punk rock irony which let's face it is just fucking useless to everyone except Ashton Kutcher. "And your gravity fails and negativity don't pull you through". I've always appreciated how Christians can be so unflinching and certain. When I see crazy people on a Jesus thing I always ask them questions. I remember this man in England with a sign telling about the coming of the End. He appreciated my manners. The Bible is loaded with history and it doesn't matter that almost nothing in the book probably ever actually happened. History is not a record of what happened but of what might've happened. I think. maybe not. Anyway, the lesson is: read the bible. Trust me. The more I read the bible, the less I believe in God. I believe God is hiding inside a Bob Dylan song, I just can't figure out which one. Hmm. If you read this, leave a comment about God or something. I need something to read!!

Current Mood: also unwashed and dazed!
Tuesday, March 7th, 2006
3:09 pm
leaving soon...looking back over random saved shit. summing up a long spell. enjoy
kid in crowd: “could you give me your feelings about uh, disco?”
Hunter S. Thompson: ”boy you’re a smart son of a bitch. I feel the same way about disco as I do about herpes. What do you got next?”

Disco C123: yeah, you're out there like a drug lord sitting in a pile of cocaine and every now and then you get a letter from someone telling you how your "operatives" are doing
Disco C123: we're gonna be a huge band, world famous, household names and then you're gonna go off and 'mase' me and go be a preacher or something
GoregasmMcQuigly: well..i think i'll go for a walk. i feel suddenly very hot and i think all these memories washing in of hot islip summers is tricking me into questioning where i am. i'm not in islip. i'm far far away and its likely to be pretty cold and not too sunny outside
GoregasmMcQuigly: we'll see
GoregasmMcQuigly: that's the motto of the year. "we'll see"
Holy Soviet Credo

Metal is dead, as will be those who practice it
There is no ‘scene’ until the Holy Soviets say there is..after they’ve created it
The Holy Soviets Will Kill You All
karmapopo12: and the worst part is he's Philipino
GoregasmMcQuigly: LOL what??
karmapopo12: the one race i dont like
karmapopo12: seriously
karmapopo12: im not racist
karmapopo12: im not white or an angry black man
karmapopo12: but i dont like philipinos
karmapopo12: they are bad bad people
karmapopo12: i dont trust them
Marilyn Manson:
"I have a moustache in the movie. Moustaches promote more fertility and my moustache made me have a greater ejaculation. George Michael could probably say the same. Moustaches are a symbol of things to come: Freddie Mercury, Eddie Murphy, all these people have worn the moustache and gone on to have trouble. Freddie Mercury obviously went on to have some anal intercourse and Eddie Murphy went on to pick up transexuals on Santa Monica Boulevard. I think moustaches are the future. I think everyone should grow a moustache and have bizarre sexual experiences according to their moustaches. I’m kind of in my own world, so I really ignore the fact that I’m involved in a very public relationship, but I guess it keeps me better behaved. It also keeps me from letting Brian Molko give me blow-jobs because Rose would find out about it..."
To hear two American men congratulating each other on being heterosexual is one of the most chilling experiences - and unique to the United States. You don't hear two Italians sitting around complimenting each other because they actually like to go to bed with women. The American is hysterical about his manhood.
-Gore Vidal
We could never ever ever stand people who pretended to hate things. I fucking hated school more than you. I don't care who you are. Unless, you are Steve or George, shut the fuck up because I hated school more than you will ever know because we hated things you will never understand. There are still traces of the assholes who constantly mock you from behind that line that gives you the right to punch them in the face.
karmapopo12: i lost my appeal already
GoregasmMcQuigly: hm?
karmapopo12: lol jk
GoregasmMcQuigly: what does that mean?
karmapopo12: nothing
May your shit come to life and kiss you on the face.
-- Frank Zappa, to Mrs. Gore about parental advisory labels on album covers
Student Misconduct Slip
Violations: The continuous nibbling of school property, The political assasination of Justin Blank, The crucifixtion of staff members, misuse of school computers, the sexual abuse of more than ten lab worms, mispredicting the apocalypse, wore a Justin is homocide t-shirt
Eric: hi its me again...............WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK...oh yeah ummm the LIAR is the CANCER of the group......i will chemo her with a swift kick to the forehead then all will be well. i talk on the fone with my mouth and deliver justice with my asskicking.

Steve: Eric, this is jesus possesing steve's body, I was not the son of god, actually, I was a gay muslim. As are you, don't lie anymore, come out of the closet, and let me shit in your mouth.
JIM: How would you describe Dave Grohl?
KURT COBAIN: Dave is in really good shape although he smokes two packs of cigarettes a day.
JIM: Chris Novoselic?
KURT: Chris is the horror of the stars. He has no shame whatsoever in carousing with the likes of Wynona Ryder and Johnny Depp.
JIM: And Kurt Cobain?
KURT: Fuck him, he complains too much.
karmapopo12: he also had a thing for midgets
GoregasmMcQuigly: um
GoregasmMcQuigly: what does that mean?
karmapopo12: who knows
karmapopo12: he's elvis for gods sake
karmapopo12: how cool is yvonne?
karmapopo12: she's heard about me but never talked about me
GoregasmMcQuigly: what could that possibly mean? lol
karmapopo12: i dunno
GoregasmMcQuigly: probably from steve i guess
karmapopo12: steve and jesse like talking about me
karmapopo12: what i've said and done in the past
karmapopo12: especially jesse
GoregasmMcQuigly: lol um
GoregasmMcQuigly: they find you entertaining
karmapopo12: yes i guess
karmapopo12: i cant blame them
karmapopo12: i'm a fucking riot
GoregasmMcQuigly: LOL
Disco C123: no one wants you dead you egotistical bastard... you’re not JFK
(Placebo interview)
If you were to be neutered tomorrow, which person would you sleep with tonight?

Steve: Tyra Banks.

Brian: A girl I met in Spain.

Stefan: A guy I met in Spain.

Brian: Spain, man. We just want to roll that country over and fuck it raw.

Stefan (quietly): With no lube.
Consider for a moment any beauty in the name Ralph.
-- Frank Zappa, on being asked by Joan Rivers why he gave his children such odd names
America is a mistake, a giant mistake.
[Asked what he thought of the book, Dracula]
Max Schreck : It made me sad.
Albin : Why sad?
Max Schreck : Because Dracula had no servants.
Albin : I think you missed the point of the book, Count Orlock.
Max Schreck : Dracula hasn't had servants in 400 years and then a man comes to his ancestral home, and he must convince him that he... that he is like the man. He has to feed him, when he himself hasn't eaten food in centuries. Can he even remember how to buy bread? How to select cheese and wine? And then he remembers the rest of it. How to prepare a meal, how to make a bed. He remembers his first glory, his armies, his retainers, and what he is reduced to. The loneliest part of the book comes... when the man accidentally sees Dracula setting his table.
"Be seriously involved with growing, with your own development, and never fear. Be the kind of person who is naturally powerful, positive, ingenious, open, to the highest degree, but with no interest in coercion or pressure or power over other people. That kind of power is hollow. It contains nothing and brings you nothing in the long run. Be The Best. No Negativity, No Weakness, No Acquiescence To Fear Or Disaster, No Errors Of Ignorance, No Evasion From Reality."
-Jeff Buckley
Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns all clean.
-Maya Angelou
Would you care to smoke these regurgitated rhymes
The care couldn’t care less for these open lines
-me, i think

sorry to clutter up your friend's page :)
Friday, February 24th, 2006
2:39 am
Mr. Nothing before the stronghold. Knows about it. Kicks and strange tricks turned upside down and backwards. Philip Larkin's ugly face threw your window upwards. A mile a minute, broken feet stamp out your mouth, shut the candles up and shove them down your throat. the lone crow in stereo sound. motorized chromosomes seeing everything wrong with this situation.

At the tower of London, they have these ravens. They've been there for hundreds of years, generations of them...and its an old myth that if they ever fly off that England will fall. During World War II all but one left. Now there are quite a few but they take measures to keep them there which I think is sort of cheating. But who knows.

All the mechanical bad poets, I am one, a pitted crack addicted, nepotistic, cleary frustrated medicine orientated chugger of cough syrup. A head deeply carved out of pumpkins and rainbows. An idealistic idiot at best. Fooled through a long while, stuck a million miles from home. Vileness, drunken louts by the Avenue Pub, tracksuit wearin' chav boys and girls, big empty pregnant stomachs growing crystals of ice, a thing to be proud of. Rimbaud wets himself on the roof while Verlaine's infidelity spreads across town to a black haired girl in another tavern. She's kind of like a raven in a way but if she flies off no one will care and nothing will happen. They always have music there and I pass by a lot. The music is shit though. A cuter strangeness in bed a warning in a crowd, the ugly stranger says this out loud: "I'm taking your arms and waving them for you. You don't know to be social so I'll teach you how to". Looking bad and shaking down quarters lanes rain dripping mountains of supermarkets and old people walking real slow with sugar and fire eyes and a sandwich early late both up and down. the cupid junkie pavement's the only one who never lies.

Current Mood: so perturbed
Friday, February 3rd, 2006
5:37 pm
"How many guys did you do at once? Did you ever have an orgy? Guys lift up your toga and have you in the butt? That's crazy. How many guys were in your butt that night at the orgy? Honest to God. Because if anyone could accommodate that its you. You're an NFL star"

Howard Stern to Roy Simmons, former New York Giant and Washington Redskin player
Tuesday, January 31st, 2006
1:16 am
I was reading old updates. like the first two I ever posted. Kind of interesting. I can't believe how consistently incoherent and stoned I sounded.

"I've made a new best friend in Hunter S. Thompson. I don't often hurl my heart at writers, but I've really found a kindred spirit in the good doctor. I just love the guy, he's the most fierce and savage individualist I've ever come across, and a brilliant writer to boot. I've seriously considered writing him a letter, asking for some much needed advice on some of the more truly baffling aspects of my life, this is assuming that gonzo has the answers I'm looking for, and chances are he does. He's a cynical old bastard, but damn funny. Lovely man in all, love to meet him."

That made me kind of sad. I don't remember writing that.
Sunday, January 29th, 2006
11:35 pm
For their name live in the age you will be born into your own grave, I’m thinking on the magnets, cutting stones with my toes and dripping my poetry on the poison in the drain. My stomach growls in indignation and wants me to be away from this therapy of the mind and the single sell out soon to be the brand name home of the greatest piece of irony we invented. Dance on your self, you are the arresting agent hey mr. Apathy, with your wisdom and stones. my god, i want everyone tonight to know that the shapes you're dreaming about are as real as anything. the beach boys are loud and so good. there are a million reasons to love music, to keep your head above water, to let your razor's get rusty, to not feel depressed. there are reasons. there are so many reasons

Current Mood: floating somewhere
Saturday, January 28th, 2006
2:02 am
"but while millions of women wanted HIS sex, few knew the truth behind the beard..."

-introduction to George Michael, behind the music
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