You Know...I feel sorry for you

Terrorists kill hippies.



Sometimes, I feel really sorry for you.

Coming Clean

Well, I've made up my mind.

Not a good day. I don't really know what's wrong, but I just want to chill out by myself and do nothing.

Very short story:

I wanted in. I wanted to belong. I wanted to not be everything and nothing at once.

No one could figure me out and that's the way I liked it. And now, everyone thinks they've got me figured out. I'll show them.

One day, I was sitting around in my apartment building. When a man cam up to me and said, "I beg your pardon, sir, but why are you crying?" I averted my eyes and continued to sob.

I cracked a slight smile and lit a cigarette. It's always cigarettes. Cigarettes and alcohol. That is what I've built my life on. That is what I will continue to build my life on.

Now and Forever.

Forever Red and Forever Dead

I honestly don't know what's been going on in my life recently. I want to make friends; I want to be accepted; I want everyone to be happy; I want my old friends and my new friends to get along; I want to bring everyone together.

I have a new story. I don't know if it will convey my emotions properly, but I'll try.


So, I got into my car and I drove. I just drove until I couldn't drive anymore. And then I stopped. I got out of my car and I stared up at the sky. They say I'm a Cancer, unpredictable. A fire symbol, emotional.

The weird thing about astrology is that it's very accurate a lot of the times. Granted, the stars can't tell you everything. But what can? I certainly can't.

I walked off the road and into the woods. There was a potent smell in the air. You know, that woodsy smell you smell when you're out camping with your dad and your uncles the weekend before school starts again. I didn't really know what to think of my situation. Weighing out options for situations is always difficult. Even for Lady Justice.

Lady Justice is supposedly blind. She carries the sword of the law in one hand and the scales of unbiasedness in the other. I'm not sure how fair she actually is these days. Life deals you seven cards, you play your best five. But happens to those other two cards. Lost opportunity. Granted, you play your BEST five. Sometimes the cards you think are the best aren't always the ones you should play.

In the seven cards I was dealt, I had four Queens, a King, a Jack, and a Joker. Each card meant something.

Queen of Hearts. The women in my life that romantically interest me. As a fairly emotionally unstable Cancer, I always let ladies get the best of me. I often fall in love and rarely fall out very quickly.
Queen of Clubs. The women in my life that are my plutonic friends. They always offer me comfort when I am weak and when I cannot carry on.

I lit a cigarette and let the smoke run over my face as I exhaled. Next cards.

Queen of Diamonds. This would represent my mother. The woman in my life that has done everything for me but is never appreciated enough. I wish I could give her something better than diamonds because she is better than that.
Queen of Spades. These are my random girls that kill me in every aspect of my life. The meaningless ones that make me hate myself and make my feel inadequate.
Jack of Hearts. The boys in my life that help me pull through. Without them, I would have no outlet for manliness. The pain they feel extends to me. The pain I feel extends to them.
King of Diamonds. This represents my father. The man in my life that made me who I am today. My model for how I want to be when I am a father.

I start to think of my best five when I flip the seventh and final card.

The Joker. This card represents all the expectations I have for myself and all the expections everyone else has for me. I try to be a wild card. I want to appeal to everyone. I don't want to be disliked by anyone, but for some reason I never seem to accomplish my goal. No matter what, no matter who, no matter what I do; somebody hates me.

I lay the seven cards out and I finish up my cigarette. I can only choose five, the rest have to be trashed.

Which five should I choose?

Its my trademark move

This story is dedicated to Michael Thornton. He is leaving us very soon. I also dedicate this story to Shaun Tyson who will become the newest member of the Gang of Debauchery and Sex in due time.



It was warm outside. We met near the pool. He was drunk, the other one was high. I was sober. I wanted to be drunk.

He was leaving. One of my best friends. The boy that I had watched grow into an incredible man. I loved him. We were beyond friendship. I couldn't explain it.

Everyone has that one person that they want to influence. Everyone has that one person they turn into their "project." He was mine. When I met him, he was introverted, shy, and insecure. When I was done with him, he was loud, likeable, and quite the lady's man.

We took the cooler out of the trunk and looked for cars. A car rocketed passes. Our hearts skipped a beat. The last thing we wanted was a minor in possession before we departed for school.

The gang was a familiar one. The leaver, the musician, the stoner, the communist, and myself. We all understood the world. We all understood each other. We all loved each other.

We darted into the woods and found a secure location. And so it began.

Beer after beer after shot after shot. We grew closer. Our hearts were poured out.

"I'm so apprehensive about school," the leaver said.
Why? I replied.
"because he wont have anyone to smoke weed with," the stoner retorted. His grammar was always horrible, but I didn't bother me for some reason.
"I just don't know how I'm going to get by without you guys." Tears began to rise in his eyes.

They always say that the only way to understand a place is to leave it. I agree. Perspective can't be obtained while you're absorbed in a situation.

He began to cry. We comforted him.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to find someone that helped me as much as you guys have," the leaver spouted.

The musician, the communist, the stoner, and I all sat in silence. We held our glass high and loudly proclaimed, "Here's to the friends we've made, here's to the hearts we've broken, here's to the shit we've pulled, here's to the beers we've consumed, here's to the things we've fucked up, and here's to the end of an era."

We were all crying by then. We all knew what had happened. We knew our lives would never be the same.

The Dirt of the Vineyard

Existentialism-noun-A philosophy that emphasizes the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience in a hostile or indifferent universe, regards human existence as unexplainable, and stresses freedom of choice and responsibility for the consequences of one's acts.

New story...I hope you like it. You know who you are...


My foot pressed on the gas pedal as I choked back tears. I knew this would be the last time I would see her in a very, very long time. I knew the choice I made was a rash one. I knew the choice I made would be a difficult one. I knew this decision would be worth every second.

I loved her.

Flash.
Give me hope.
Flash.
Give me strength.
Flash.
Give me emotion.

Jump forward to our last moments.
I held her in my arms for three minutes. The only muscle in my body that moved was my heart. I kept fighting back tears.
"I'll miss you," she whispered in my ear.
I'll miss you too. I responded with a faltering voice.

The little photographer in my held was burning through flash bulbs like a bullet through the chest.

Flash.
Give me fairness.
Flash.
Give me justice.
Flash.
Give me terror.

I held her tighter and shed a tear.

Flash.
Give me strength.
Flash.
Give me courage.
Flash.
Give me prowess.

She pursed her lips in the pouty way that always drew a smile. A smile crept over my face as the tear reached my lips.

I made a decision that day. A decision that would change my life forever. This decision kept her in my life.

Flash.
Give me her.

If only I had written it

Not my words, but a great expression of how I feel sometimes.


I am the stone that the builder refused
I am the visual, the inspiration
That made Lady Sing the Blues...

I'm the spark that makes your idea bright
The same spark that lights the dark
So that you can know your left from your right...

I am the ballot in the box, the bullet in the gun
The innerglow that lets you know
To call your brother son...

The story that just begun
The promise of what's to come
And I'm a remain a soldier 'til the war is won

Driftwood: A Fairy Tale

And he would sulk and drink and mop and cross his arms and hope to die.


This story actually isn't a fairy tale at all.


"We all need something to fight for." she said quietly. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she poured her soul out to me. Everything from her boyfriend to her best friend to be the politics of war came out in that long car ride. I had everything to say to her. We agreed. Our friends were immature. They didn't understand the real concepts of life. They didn't think.

Thinking is very important. We all know that. We just don't want to accept it.

Flash.
Give me strength.
Flash.
Give me knowledge.
Flash.
Give me courage.

We DO need something to fight for. We needed a war to keep our world together. If it isn't us vs them. It's us vs us.

The generations before us had wars. World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam, The Cold War. We have nothing. The war on terrorism is a lame excuse to villianize some unknown entity that we can't grasp. We have no great war, no great depression. The war we fight is a spiritual war; our great depression is our lives.

She nodded and grabbed the wheel to give me free hands so I can light my cigarette. I smoked it down to the filter and felt the nictone flow into my body. It gave me a calming feeling only acheived from fulfilling my addictions.

We all need to be addicted to something. It keeps up going. My friend is addicted to love and the idea of love. I'm also addicted to love. The pressure of finding the right girl is enought to drive a man insane.

She loved me. I loved her. We should have been brother and sister. We could talk about the world for hours. We could talk about each other for hours. We could talk about absolutely nothing for hours.

We poured our hearts out that night. We became closer than ever that night. Our lives touched that night and became one. I want her to be happy


She will be happy one day.