i really dont give a damn. i find it impossibly hard to read other people's crap these days so please be kind and dont patronize. i dont even like what i write so if you dont then dont waste your fucking time. this is another post about my night, my disturbing thoughts, and shit... you may even learn something. boredom is a cause for writing. it seems i always want to play guitar when i dont have one or write when im not in a position to but when the moment presents itself, its never quite as exhilirating as id imagined it to be. so tonight i was bored, id played guitar for a while at the fire, read about joining a nudist colony, and tried to watch a rerun of snl. id talked to people i dont usually talk to, turned down referrals for further conversations and even done some random weight training. going to sleep isnt good enough for tonight. i thought i might waste time or trick myself into sleeping by listening to some music. the horrible part is that there was no good music to listen to. nothing was good at all. i wanted something pretty, you know, some instrumental stuff with layers to it that i could feel and go crazy about like i did a while ago but none of that was right. so i picked out one that was just wrong, just another foreign guy with a sweet name and a hard group to back him up... and it was perfect. turning it up loud sortof creates the band in your head, makes the sound reverb from your brain and an entirely cool effect. and the songs... the songs were what i needed. the slow stuff, the dramatic ones. half the fucking cd is stuff i didnt want to listen to but tonight i was blessed with a random that kept to what i needed. i thank god for that. it got me thinking though, which is what i wanted to do anyway. it started out nasty, all the stuff i didnt want to see. thoughts that you think and then try not to think but in the very act of denying yourself that particular thought you cant but think of it. its sick. but i got past that. so im thinking of how i cant hear anything at all except this music. im not even really hearing it, im feeling it. if a burglar walked in im pretty sure i would have known though. i can feel anything when im feeling the music. i can feel the couch breathing. that is scary. i get paranoid lying there. if he walked in, what could i do. id always like to have some sidearm with me. i think ill be a regular gun carrying adult when im able to purchase one. that way, i could whip it off my side and yell "freeze motherfucker." of course i would see him throw something at me and feel the knife thud into my chest and i would pop off a shot and he would convulse in midair and then hit the ground. my family upstairs would hear the report of the gun and come running down and amidst explaining how i prevented our assured destruction, explain to them why i was carrying a gun anyway. those thoughts soon turn sour.

i had been watching 'band of brothers' earlier tonight. a bit intense if i say so... good though. i think about hiroshima. i saw a video once of the city before the bomb. people walking around like normal. in the context of the film you expect to see it all go in a couple seconds but it never does. i can see a man limping down the street after the bomb. i would be on the ground leaning up against a building coughing and see him walking along. i would catch my breath because i dont want him to see me... dont want it to see me. it occurs to me that i dont know really what the japanese study as far as religion. i wonder if the guy is christian. maybe he believed in god a couple minutes ago. before all this happened. i wonder to myself if he believes in god now. limping around with a wild look in his eyes... no lower jaw, just his tongue hanging out his throat. hes trying to call for help but it is just a gurgle from his mangled vocal chords. this man is a monster, what would i do if he saw me? he would want help but what good am i? i imagine myself handing him my sidearm so he could put a bullet in his brain. i try to imagine myself with no face but i cant. im pretty sure i would want a gun too. does he believe in god now? does anyone? if he was a christian... if his soul... his soul left his body. like in a cartoon when the soul leaves the body, would it have a jaw? would it have a face? if i was in hiroshima i would want to be right there at ground zero. i want to watch the bomb fall and mark its descent. i want to stand with open arms accepting it and noting what it felt like to be because in an instant, in a magnificent flash of light, i would not be anymore. like a defective toy, discontinued on the spot. disentigrated in a millisecond. that is the way to die. theres your faith in god. theres going to heaven. they say the blast was so bright that the shadows of the people near it were burned into the ground. theres your grave. i remember going to the air and space museum just a week ago and seeing the enola gay. the bomber that dropped the bomb. it was incredible, right there in person. my favorite artifact, an amazing thing to witness. a spectacle. the plane that dropped the bomb. it seems now i couldnt hate it more. i wonder if that pilot died with a face. a girl's account said she tried to sheild herself when it went off and she felt her hand go through her face. i dont know how she lived to tell about it. maybe nobody around her had a gun. i will always carry a gun.

if you have looked at the archives or even read for a length of time you will see how things have gone downhill. i cant even bring myself to write happy poetry anymore. i dont think as much in the abstract. at least i dont write it down. im not so happy... not so happy anymore. maybe its just a trend, a phase, a cycle. its cruel. maybe i will stop hating what i do everyday. maybe i will think i look better than what i feel like i look now. maybe i will realize someday that without contact, purity shows and that i need to stop discounting people when there isnt anything to discount. i dont apologize for being the way i am. maybe if things were different i would be a bit more interesting, a bit happier, a bit less depressing but hell, things arent like that. i write less for you except to shock and more for therapy to myself. ive been writing for half an hour already. that is time i didnt have to spend being sad at least. its time im not lonely, where i can just sit here with my supposed allergies and shadow outlined to the right of the screen and sick light in the background with some bad shit on the television and just spout for a while. like that little tea pot... just spout. because if i werent here i would be thinking about being a monster with no face in hiroshima... about crying out for help and simply being handed a loaded weapon to heal my wounds. about being in bulgaria in january of 1944 and having my legs blown off by a mortar. of fucking jumping out the window and seeing if i really wouldnt get hurt at all. shit, i might actually be sleeping. who wants that for themselves though? id rather see hiroshima than sleep.