nothing here breaks my heart. life is so fucking boring. the little hairs on my face dont care. the people in the commercials dont care. they move on and get a long and tersely get to the point in a way i have trouble with. they round up their baggage and pack their gremlins into tiny thirty-second parties and -pow- its over. someone else takes their place. the only difference between them is that the old one just bought a new car and the new one just bought a new penis. i dont know how i get by.

there are twenty-one lights in this room. one on each speaker, the monitor, the camera dock, six on the router, six on the back of the computer, one on the printer, two on the surge protector, and one on the keyboard... and one on the front of the computer. and one on the wall-plug. twenty-two. and one on the monitor power button. twenty-three. what a pretty number.

if i crane my neck much i can see myself type in the skylight but the me in the skylight is staring with his mouth open while his fingers move and the screen and him are floating a couple feet in the air above the skylight and there are no stars to make a pretty backdrop. just strange music, a play on words, and me. two speakers.

i dont really... have... anything to say. to you or anyone. in fact, whoever i really want to talk to i must refuse because i hold grudges for one night. hardly ever more than one night. sometimes less. if apologized to maybe less but hardly more. unless i break down and feel bad for being mean which is a possibility. but who that is isnt here in any sense of the phrase unless you count being alive as here. and im not even positive of that. fuckit.

music that doesnt match my mood at all starts out pretty then pummels you with a hard driven chord of some unknown nature and all is lost. i hope all is not lost. because when you go back to acoustic it isnt any better because i know you will just hit me again. it always ends like that, a cheap shot.

last night after falling asleep and without realizing i had fallen asleep i was in a motel room. this wasnt expressed, it was understood. and i was in a small main room on a bed with a big television on my right that was facing to the far left corner of the room. and to my left was a wall with windows and to my front was a wall with windows and it is just a small box of a seperate room adjoining the larger room with the bed along the little invisible line between them. as i look straight forward i look down the left wall of the larger room to the back wall which has a door which is my parents bedroom. the door is dark and the room is dark but the tv is on and is spreading color that flashes all over the walls and the doors and the bass from the speakers is low and you cant understand the words but you can feel it and it makes me nervous because my parents might wake up. that door is menacing... it might wake up. there is another door to its right. there isnt anything on the right wall but the exit door which is dark too and near my end of the room. the television is scaring me because there is a scary progam on dealing with surgeons and other things of that nature and the windows are dark and it frightens me to believe that someone might crawl in through one of them even though the blinds are closed and i can still see dark past the blinds flashing with the light of the tele beside my bed and i fidget with the sheets because i fidget all the time in dreams and real life. and the tv is hard to see but my eyes are glued to it and i hear things and the door is awake and my mother is walking in and i fish and fidget and try to change the channel but i am useless and hopeless and i wake up.

theres a kerryedwards sticker on my front right pants pocket from the fair that i never took off. its a circle. the material is such that it is not glassically reflective but only has the capacity to reflect little blobs of white or colored light at me. not matte but not special in any way. the white light it reflects just takes the place of the existing color. just takes its place. no questions asked. pretty standard sticker stuff.

tonight isnt about anything. its about the lack of things altogether. when i get in this type of mood, terrible, destructive, i write because i can. not particularly because i want to impress the masses although im betting that plays a part... but because it forces me to think which i hate. i dont know why stickers or dreams or shit is important but hell, it might mean something to you. new music is good and bad at the same time. i automatically correct spelling errors. maybe i shouldnt anymoe. see there i let one go but i dont like that much so i will stop. silly experiment. i need somebody new in my life. theres just no time. no time at all. oh what a lovely bunch of coco nuts. diddly dee dee. nothing breaks my heart here... anymore.

i hate the entire ten o clock hour. its nasty... the one and the zero are such an ugly combination. fattening. carby. nine is too naive. eleven is perfect. fuck ten fifty-nine.

winter. winter is a song and a season and something different. fall is frustrating because you never know what to - ah damn i wanted to write about how beautiful eleven oh one was but now its eleven oh two... dammit - wear because in the mornings its one thing and in the afternoons its always the other. my car doesnt need air conditioning in the winter. air conditioning sounds like a euphemism for something much worse. but its just cooling the air. winter is an excuse to wear big hoodies and baggy jeans and closed-toed shoes and toboggans and other warm skin covering stuff that you can hide in. i could hide all day in a repressed self-concerned deep dark fit of a mood inside a good black hoodie. thats just what i do. and driving on ice in a front wheel drive volvo with no good traction control can be fun except its your car and you wouldnt want to break it. not when asshole neighbors are bound to break theirs first. no ammunition. id rather take the jeep. at least it has four wheels to drive with. winter means i can sit in front of the fireplace and play guitar with the gas logs burning behind me making my back pink and rare and scarred with white lines through and through. i can plug in or plug out and skid ice across the pond because it is froze and wonder where the goose goes to sleep. winter is for overcast days and clear nights and frigid clean air that tries to creep in through every crack in your clothes and infect you with cancer or kill you piece by piece or take your fingers and toes and ears and nose. it will bite and scratch and tear out the inside of your throat for breathing it and cut like a knife skinning your face alive. ice is knife. cut you.

theres nothing here to break my heart.

goodbye