Ok for real. I just wanted to thank everyone who has urged me on to this point. Yeah I have been holed up in the apartment for the better part of a week now. Also have gotten to another level with drawing skill, and done a painting that seems pretty awesome to me.

Yeah been pissed of some of the time which is kind of normal, and that fuels the creative process along like a weird choochoo. I’ve gotten some people bent at me for being to strange, violent, and sexual. Yeah… Better that it comes out like this than harming someone in real life, or harming myself. Not sure that people get that, or that I really truly honestly hate lies. They make me crazy, well more crazy that I am already. It’s kind of a pain in the ass to be honest, loyal, and try to be good. Seems like it is worth it in the end though.

I have been afraid while drawing, most of all recently. Sometimes finding myself having a mouse of fear deep in the pit of my stomach because of the ideas that are being passed from mind to hand. It’s not the concentration of drawing that makes me scared, it is the disturbances of old and new hurts that are being pushed to the surface.

Things don’t always turn out the way I want them to. Sometimes things will take a huge swerve, and that isn’t always such a bad thing. I was sitting alone like almost always this morning having a cup of coffee and thinking how many other people out there are drawing, singing, painting, sculpting, just making art, or crafting. It’s fucking amazing and wonderful. Humbling, and crazy thrilling to think of. It’s the same kind of rush as the feeling of first love, or being totally free, as being scared and still swimming alone for the first time.

I’m still alone, still a rejected freak, but damn well throwing my banner up as a freak who might be thought of as violent, strange, morbid, angry, lazy, or just full of bullshit. I still want a woman to love, to share it all with, to feel that warm crazy glow with. Maybe she feels the same way. I really damn well hope that there is still alot of good out there. That i’m part of the good.

This has turned into a tv miniseries right here instead of thank you note to everyone who has been sending likes, making comments, giving suggestions, and sometimes not saying a damn thing. This power of creation is part of the real magic of life, even the disturbing twisted stuff. Fuck me sounding like I know a thing or two huh?

Have a good one you all.


Hell will pay

The star blazes against my skin burning me from the inside
Just like the want to be close to you
You hold the cross up high before you
And it does not move my soul
The angels have folded up their wings and hung them up to dry
And Satan holds me close to his breasts
To heal the wounds that the world has wrought
With sticks, stones, and the hate aimed with the greatest of care
He whispers to me to sleep and rest child
For tomorrow is another day
Another battle for us

Christ bows his head and gives himself over to die
And hangs in there on the cross
Asking himself for he is his own Father
Why he has been left here to die for a original sin
The blood of sacrifice and death
For to sin is pay the toll
And the wags of sin are death

I’d die though for you
Just to taste your kisses
And drown in the flesh with you
To fly away together on the wings of devils
With your legs pushed up over your shoulders
Opened wide for my tongue to taste
Giving you a heavenly torment

Hell will pay
The whore tells the Devil
And I hang the cross upside down
His lonely quiet shy child


It’s not your god that has done for me. it has been people, real humans. Not a invisible spirit in the sky. I dwell alone looking at the fractals in the trees, the shapes in the clouds, the halos of light around the moon and street lamps. To me god is love, and there is little enough of that in this world. I give a fuck, when I do not that is when bad things can happen. I want your lies to destroy you, to have them turn on you and leave you in ruins, naked, stripped of even dignity. Mercy is not for you.

That ain’t how it works though is it. The liars profit, the players win, the cheaters gain, greed goes on unabated, and those who have nothing struggle. It’s not fucking fair, it never was supposed to be.

I sit and think about the words of people. How they say that they would miss me if I killed myself. What am I supposed to do huh if you try that, or if you hurt yourself? My father beat the hell out of me with his walker while I was trying to remove my own heart. There was no god there, there was a man wanting to stop his only son from dying by his own hand. A man, not a god.

They told me to grow up, and I did. Grew up to see the illness of the world and my own. How that i’d be different, poor, often times alone by choice, and when not by choice then because the world has no time for freaks. The days and nights are spent reading, drawing, painting, making, cooking, walking alone. How much more easy it would be to give up. Hanging in there isn’t enough. Have to do something well, make the load easier for someone, feed someone, give to someone who doesn’t know that there is someone else out there alone.

I spit on your idea of god, the concepts of sin that you have, and that you leave me abandoned to twist in the wind, while lying to yourself to make it easier for you to explain it away. You talk about love and grace, where is it for those who take another path or do not accept the concepts that you preach as right.

“You will live a long and lonely life.”, I hear a man dressed as Santa Claus say on the television as if he is speaking directly to me. I am wondering if he is not right.


It is below the line again and with the winds it is very cold. Went outside and slipped on the ice. Took salt from the basket in front of the office and started to salt the walks where there is a large build up of ice. Don’t have a snow shovel to scrape it up with. Could only think of how it hurt when I fell, and that could hurt someone else even more. Don’t know if I did right. Just doing what my heart tells me to do. I remember salting the walks in Tacoma so that Deborah would not slip and fall when it snowed and the ice covered the walks there. No fancy ideas just being good.

I live with my mom and i’m pretty damn sure that everyone who lives here except for me is over 55 years old. It’s been pretty lonely here with no one to really talk to. Even my sister stopped visiting very much, and that was before we had the big dust up between the two of us last week. Everyone tells me what I am doing is both good and honorable. That this is not wrong. I spend alot of time at the computer, reading, and have been very sick for the better part of the last month. I went to the ER and they blew off what I was telling them saying that it was the flu. That everyone in Norman, Oklahoma had the same thing and there was nothing that they could do about it. It isn’t the cold or flu though.

I’ve taken to using the discarded insulin pens that my mom has used up the tips for. It seems to work well and I dose myself once a day like she does. There is a different short acting insulin in the fridge, but that is for her and i’m not going to take it. The pens i’ve only taken one of even though she had four of them. Been happy and sad at turns like normal. Have lost weight, put on some muscle, and try to not be such a frownard about things. I miss Sophia and Runty alot. Not much else to say really right now. Just a personal entry.


Gone are the castles of old
Covered by dunes of red blowing dust
As the world has moved on
Still they guard the havens
In blind faithful hopes that the champions of old will return

Days of grace
Gone never to return
Of courtly manners, the flower of honor never to bloom again
The great wooden ships used as fodder for the flames
That the last peoples use to warm themselves
Against the creeping chill of the deserts

Once here were the fields of flowers
Verdant green meadows
Golden fields of wheat, their heavy heads blowing in the breezes
Made moist by the grand slow rolling might of the sea
Kingdoms fair, ruled with steady and kind hands
Now crushed and burned away
Like paper flowers in the flames of a world wide holocaust

No more the horse and rider gallop
Or the hunting dogs run beside the rangers
To bring back the fine buck to roast upon the camp fires
The learned scholar does not sit at her table
Her intelligent and beautiful features lit by the golden light of electric lamps
Lost in the glories of ages gone, wisdom and fact not forgotten

Where are the spires, byways and cobblestone streets?
Drowned in red dust, bone dust, killed by man’s greed and lust
A golden people, a glowing age, a world beyond compare
Crushed like a glass globe, shattered for none to be able to repair
Under the heel of all consuming rapacious hate

Still the priests and nuns keep the old ways
From those years
When the world was not a desert
And mercy was not a fools word
To be shat upon
After the mob rule

Eater of Worlds

8 ball nation

8 ball nation