In this thread: drunken/stoned/tripping/noddin' ass antics. So at least this danse macabre can be done in one place for people to gawk at on their way to their own personal hells.
I had a girl worth about probably five million dollars eat my ass out. Just saying.
You've gotta dirty mouth.
Drunk again on pop wine. Sirens blaring in the background, Joyce on TV. And I'm not cold. But it's a cold world, and though most would hide, here I am rattling in the gale waiting to see some one, any one, that I loved and gave my life for to come around and help me.
Mostly it's "get a job, you fuckin' loser," but to deal with what I deal with day to day, you'd be there shivering too. I hear and see things that wouldn't draw your bow of sympathy, I guess, and the dollar store ain't hiring unless you're black or gender queer, and I don't have much a chance anyway.
Man becomes barnacle becomes fish.
And I've made some friends, and no, nobody knows me. The taste of heaven is on my lips, sure, but there's more to getting old than wasting away.
But I won't suck nobody's titty but yours. Fags galore are apparently sad about this. Another car peels out.
And, honestly, I'm an unwanted pregnancy all grown up. I'm at a loss about that, but say I find my boot straps somewhere out here in the left field of darkness, I sure don't have a heart for the common man anymore, having tasted the salt of his lash so good.
I won't let the world make me mean, and that's a beautiful statement of spite if I've heard one.
Doubt I'll die an honest man, but I may die trying.
As I've said before, if I knew how much these actors could have helped me, but didn't, I'd probably be a pretty dark character. There's nothing like the taste of the purge of your own heart and soul to make you feel like the living dead.
Gg Allin- makes sense
You know honestly, I'll never grow out of the punk rock ethos. But really, I get the feeling that I'm not the only deeply miserable sack of frothing liquid shit that needs to reexamine their motivations.
Silly.
And you know what it was? I was a dj for a while and collected records, and part of that was picking over the dime store bins where I could. Between obliterati and technical itch were Donovan's greatest hits from the bargain bin, and goodbye yellow brick road. When the dawn was coming, please don't cry in the morning light, and I couldn't take no more, but everyone was asleep, there they were for me in the hollow moments of the heart. These days it's better, a lot really, but it's the music of the hard times that contorts and bruises the skeleton of your soul. I would never raise a hand in anger, and there are certainly certain places you wouldn't spit in the floor without asking first.
Containment thread in e-f-f-e-c-t
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Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead.
And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole
No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried
Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied
That leaves only me to blame 'cause Mama tried
The first thing I remember knowing
Was a lonesome whistle blowing
I regret that I have but only one life to give. If I ain't set right at this point, doubt much of nothing ever will.
Somebody owes me.