tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65246672330560303512024-09-01T07:15:48.655-07:00Misery loves company.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-15889113342263913262013-04-25T00:04:00.001-07:002013-04-25T00:14:11.878-07:00

It was ever-present even among all of the separate hells constantly holding court in his soul it was one that reared-up more often that the fear of violence, or pain, or unrelenting guilt. All of those he dealt with and dealt with and dealt with and still managed to sleep. Not well sometimes and not sober sometimes, but he still managed to sleep. This was, in it's own foul, insidious way, worse

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-56939649969863166952012-03-27T01:34:00.000-07:002012-03-27T01:42:28.591-07:00

In his dream.... he could feel it, just hanging out there in the Cosmos like a cloud of acrid gas waiting to burn him through closed eyelids. Again. It was happenning again. This time not because he he didn't act...or couldn't...just that it would have been worse than losing everything again. He knew she was with someone else. He knew. He felt it as he was dozing and losing alertness, the

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-45743939291708972462011-10-22T01:05:00.000-07:002011-10-22T01:34:10.261-07:00

He could feel it, just hanging out there in the Cosmos like a cloud of acrid gas waiting to burn him through closed eyelids. Again. It was happenneing again. This time not because he he didn't act...or couldn't...just that it would have been worse than losing everything again. He knew she was with someone else. He knew. He could also tell that it was going to do no good to sit and think

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-87164584014424977392011-06-13T20:53:00.000-07:002011-06-13T20:53:50.997-07:00

....the yellow mini-bic clicked against the table top as he set it down and pulled the first drag off his cigarette. He looked down at it and smirked a little remembering he intentionally picked the color because it was cheery. He thought maybe he could force a little of that upon himself.    There was enough light coming into the room that he could see to mix himself a drink, walk

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-68300509010873239632011-05-29T13:58:00.001-07:002011-05-29T13:58:33.236-07:00

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-14065330718825404872011-04-17T09:36:00.000-07:002011-04-17T09:36:01.729-07:00

....cause this? Maybe...if you are inclined to feel that way. The silky-smooth sound ringing in your ears of DJs and fame are just bullshit. It is waht you think  you remember don't you BITCH?! ...... .... He sat on the edge of his bed trying to unspin his head to something. This was no 'fight', it was something else. The vomit....mostly bile was coagulating around his toes and on his '

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-35788737451383138792011-04-03T06:03:00.000-07:002011-04-03T06:03:41.855-07:00

   ...it had been all laid out for him. Simple. A perfect, easy, simple life. A life full of reward and virtue and giving back. A life of seeing and hearing everything. Work hard, play hard, save, invest, enjoy life-use your head, retire stupid-young and never rest on your laurels.    The thing was, it was that simple. The times were ripe for the picking. He had seen it coming

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-71063705300573100442011-03-27T06:02:00.000-07:002011-03-27T06:02:42.341-07:00

She was definitely a hooker. They all are. Not all women, just all of the ones you see on that particular stretch of shitbrick paved street. She said she was going to have a t-shirt made that said: "my tits may be fake, but my cock is real". She wasn't done with the transition apparently and that was good for business. A lot of 'straight' guys like to fool themselves by picking up girls who

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-1144224722177040762010-11-17T06:06:00.000-08:002010-11-17T18:18:58.644-08:00

The path. The shuffling, sleepless, midnight waltz of wondering and second-guessing. Memories left behind that return from the din and shadow to take you down from behind when you aren’t looking. The shadow from behind, knife wielding, wild like a claw. A blade in your back back as you sleepwalk through your day. Memorizing the car and plate number because you didn’t like the look in his eye or

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-40031060296584570812010-11-14T03:55:00.000-08:002010-11-14T03:56:43.620-08:00

Read this story to understand this post.....  Legally you can't go around beating people-even if they deserve it, but this is why his abuse should be a mitigating factor, and why more people need to think about these sorts of things and look at them in a more in depth manner:The worst component of abuse-at least the most lasting component of it is the psychological aspect. Not just the

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-27063706651924217232010-04-09T04:53:00.000-07:002010-04-09T05:40:53.911-07:00

A single mental image from the past. A sad reminder of a life utterly unrequited. Of dreams, goals and aspirations left to die in apathy and confusion at an apathy that should not be there.Wanton forgetting. Cruelty and hidden mindful evil thrust out on point duty to mask unadmittable misery and self hatred. Never admitting anything to anyone for any reason and allowing a world full of love and

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-30581939937067788492009-08-29T06:31:00.000-07:002010-10-23T02:00:52.948-07:00

/nwar/ French-adj. [ Short for film noir + Sense 2, short for French Roman noir, black novel.] 1. Of or relating to a genre of crime literature with with cynical characters and bleak settings. 2. Suggestive of danger or violence. 3. Black What is it? What do we think we are doing? We know. Don't we? Really, truly, deep down in the deepest, darkest, most private part of our twisted, black

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-19147535738369931532009-08-29T06:25:00.000-07:002009-08-29T06:38:37.444-07:00

He squinted and spat out the car window, catching a glimpse of the crows feet around his left eye as he shifted through the gaze of the rearview."Fuck," he thought to himself, "how do I look this old?" knowing full well the answer lay in the purpose for this meeting.Why was he so calm? It made no sense.Neither did the meeting place.If Rader had just wanted to catch up, it would've been burgers

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-67076216145107964792007-08-25T04:06:00.000-07:002007-08-25T04:57:44.849-07:00

I don't know if it dawned on me until just now. I know the fear is there,has been there, and will remain until I die-it might even continue on with my soul into the unknown reaches of infinity when I blessedly am derailed from this mortal coil after I have heard and seen everything. Floating out in the ether somewhere passing a bottle around with Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison one of them might

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-40292134356306782682007-08-18T04:26:00.000-07:002007-08-18T04:52:04.399-07:00

What would you do?What is it worth?To know what it is like,to not question love,for it to be there,for it to not go away,for it to be there beside you when youwake up in the morningevery dayuntil you don't know your own name anymore,until you can't feed yourself anymore,until someone has to wash your own shit from your body,until you are beyond caring, and yetsomeone else still does.Move

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-11863252069854679602007-08-15T04:31:00.000-07:002007-08-15T04:50:52.476-07:00

There is one born every minute.Never give a sucker an even break.What the fuck is the purpose of human civilization? Community? "Strength in numbers"?All of those things require committments, things which everybody makes and seemingly no one honors. People seem to honor "obligations" the duty-bound committments of feeding their kids, going to work-but how much of that is fear of reprisal, divine

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6524667233056030351.post-23925227999924136072007-08-15T04:20:00.000-07:002007-08-15T04:21:31.865-07:00

There is a reason Film Noir, and other Noir fiction have maintained a certainlevelof popularity over the years. A reason why Bukowski is still a heroand a twisted sort of self-help guru. Noir is French for black. That shouldbe enough right there to explainit.Black.Night.Lonliness-the blackest of wounds to the human heart. What are we willing to risk to avoid it.We all die, but we die quicker

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0