Don't Get Me Wrong, But I'm Feeling Right

Just a guy kickin' it through what he knows best, his pen and pad.
fresh ink last night 
The things i Desire Will Kill Me

fresh ink last night
The things i Desire Will Kill Me

It’s Us

It’s us
Really I swear
My voice told me so
No, it’s just one

I swear
I’m not crazy
Really I know now
After really listening

That it is us
I, really I swear.
Swear like
Fuck.

Or Shit or cunt.
Yeah you
Please
Listen up

Not everything is so easily read
But it was us
That created this monster
Or accepted his being

And opened the closet door
Before we knew
To read
Pandora’s.

When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading.

—Harry Youngman

Graceful

I don’t fall from grace
I plunge
So hard
So, so, so, fast

It’s a bitch
Hittin’ the ground
Waken up
Still alive

Like fuck it man,
Hey God
What the fuck?
Why haven’t I died?

Cause this is at least
However many times
I’ve hit
Harder than the next guy

And still that first breathe
Of life is scary
And you dust off
Is this all there is?

So maybe I should just hang it up
Call it quits, I’ve tried hard enough
At failing
Without success

But it’s just success
That was never in question
Just how I’d achieve it
So I’m left with me

A mess,
Not even sure how to get dressed
In that morning
That’s inevitably coming

Writing a novel is a terrible experience, during which the hair often falls out and the teeth decay. I’m always irritated by people who imply that writing fiction is an escape from reality. It is a plunge into reality and it’s very shocking to the system.

—Flannery O’Connor (via thelifeguardlibrarian)

If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn’t rub out even half the “Fuck you” signs in the world. It’s impossible.

The Catcher in the Rye

J.D. Salinger

(via wmeccentric)

(Source: sf-eccentric)

Muses

Don’t wait for me
Please
Not for me
I’m not all that

I’ve given you what I have
I stood on the edge
Told you I don’t have a care
So, please, dare me

You want me too
But the jokes on you
You may want me to
But I like this dystopia here

Maybe it’s just me
Or us
Or a couple more
Who cares

Apparently we do
That’s why we’re here
Having a talk
About everything

But mostly nothing
Leaving it as
Just you
And me

And our freedom
To use and abuse
Feeling the freedom
To muse away.