Sick, bro.

What happened to anger?
What happened to rebellion?
What happened to fighting against disillusion?
Against apathy?
Against conformity?
Against boredom, exhaustion, complacency and subjection?
Why is everyone I know willing to submit to this fucking American excuse for living?
Have we all gotten so lost in our drugged-up rhythms and ruts that we can't move our feet?
Everyone is drowning in bong water and losing sight of reasons to give two shits about anything,
More content with screens, stores and dollar bills than making strides in positive directions,
Willing to boycott everything except the major corporations producing your mind-alterations.
I've always been pegged as the 'least-anti,'
But at least I keep to what I say.
Fuck, my body is sore,
But you kids,
Your contact-high is melting my mind.

Weight

I've never felt heavier than I did today.
Something about everything just made me feel violent in a friendly sort of way,
Aggressive in a passive sense of the word.
I guess I'm realizing that the only home I have is in the endlessly shifting blend of faces and places I come across,
The times that come and go,
And all I seem to do is shift my weight from right to left.
I feel like I just want to be the gutter today,
To fuck the filth with furious tediousness.
I don't even know.
I sorta just wanna puke.
Maybe it's the fact that another year has passed and I'm still passing my time on a dead-end street.
Well, as a more malicious voice than I once put it:
I wanna rip through all the faces of the fools I see,
Leave an epitaph that no one will read.
Seriously, I can count on one hand the number of people who can deal with me for long enough to even give two fucks about anything I have to say,
And that's my fault and I accept it.
I don't even know where I'm going with this anymore.
Twenty-fuckin'-one.
That's where I'm going.
Maybe I'm going to a far and distant land of coolness,
Or maybe you're right and we're all just going to hell.
I guess that's ok with me.
I'd rather be snuffed from existence eventually that piss away the thoughts that creep through my skull on a regular basis.
My favorite part of these posts are getting to see the days I feel good and the days I feel like shit.
File this under shit.
Valley, you got me at a low.
You're weighing me down with gas prices,
Tumbleweeds,
Joshua trees and cul-de-sacs.
It's a gridlocked desert nightmare,
So Jesus Christ, dudes,
Let's wake the fuck up sweating and shaking,
But let's do it somewhere the fuck else.

No Seatbelt

I've noticed that I enjoy the weather in a weird way.
In the morning, I like it when I wake up to it being grey.
A few clouds, a slight chill, cause for a sweater.
But by midday, I much more prefer blue skies.
Fluffy clouds, warm sun, light ocean breezes.
Then, at night, I thoroughly enjoy light drizzles.
No torrential downpours, but sprinkling is nice.
I love the way a slick street reflects headlights and taillights,
How the misting rain shimmers underneath streetlights and catches my eye.
Taking a walk on that sort of night feels good.
Sweater zipped halfway,
Fists buried in pockets.
What I'm basically getting at is:
Today was an absolutely perfect day,
At least as far as weather is concerned.
And, for now, I'll take what I can get,
At least as far as perfection is concerned.

It's where I belong.

So I've been ramblin' around for a bit now.
I've been wearing holes in my socks
(When I choose to wear them),
I've been putting miles on my odometer,
I've been there,
And then come right back,
Only to go somewhere else,
And then back around to when I was there.
Or something like that.
I've rekindled some friendships,
I've made some new plans,
Met some new faces,
Tried a few new things.
It's always smooth sailing, it seems.
I can't wait to conclude this current chapter of my life,
And I hold the next one in even higher anticipation.
My feet are going to meet some endless expanses of open road,
And I'll shake some new hands in hundreds of new towns.
I'm far from ready to settle into anything,
And as far as I see it, my life is still just barely getting underway.

One Month Later

I've come upon a realization lately that I'm managing to kick myself for not picking up on a year and a half ago:
No matter where you go, people are people.
No one place is better than somewhere else based on the people who live there.
There's bound to be someone anywhere that you can groove with,
Become friends with,
Relax and have a good time with,
Or fall in love with.
Conversely,
There are shitty people everywhere.
And you'll have to deal with those motherfuckers from time to time.
Everyone hates where they grew up,
And everyone wants change,
But eventually that change is going to become routine,
And you'll make friends and enemies,
And somewhere else will be home.
Someday I'll find home as well,
But more and more,
I'm beginning to realize that it's not where I wanted it to be.
It is, however, where everyone I love is,
And where I'll be soon.
So, to all of you,
Please be ready to welcome me home.

Drizzle

I have no pity for people who don't value their lives.
I could never cry for a man who dies while behind the wheel intoxicated.
I could never mourn a suicide.
I don't feel sorry for you when you complain,
Because life is the best thing that will ever happen to you.
It was by the most unlikely odds that you were conceived,
Which makes you more lucky than the thousands of others who will never even have the luck of being born.
In a way, I find my life more affirming and powerful than someone who believes in an afterlife, too.
If you're just living to get somewhere when you die,
Then you're hardly living.
By acknowledging that we only get this one life,
70 or so years on a planet that has been around for billions,
Well, it becomes clear that we are so very finite.
We are a candle that is lit and then instantaneously blown back out,
And the world just keeps turning.
So make the most of every second you have here.
Don't waste your life in dogmatic superstitions,
Hoping to become eternal.
I quit that;
Let go of any imaginary ideas about forever.
I want to live for every second I have here,
Because when I die,
It's done.
Life is temporary,
Which is why I see it as so precious.
Make the most of every breath,
And for the world's sake,
Don't waste your life.

Fake yourself into a new life.

I can't stand coming to a realization that someone I care about is a human facade.
It's a bad moment when you see it in them.
You meet them, they're one way.
You bring them into your life,
They change to fit your puzzle pieces.
Cut parts off their life that don't quite match up until they can squeeze in.
Then they meet someone cooler,
Someone who has more interesting prospects,
And they change again.
Well, fuck you.
So yeah, I'm not as cool, left wing or whatever as the new people who've stepped in,
But at least I know what the fuck I'm talking about when I open my mouth,
I don't preach shit I've never learned,
And at least the words I spit in people's faces don't change with the wind and the seasons like yours do.
As soon as you're done with them you'll be on to something new,
And you'll change again.
I know who I am.
I don't need other motherfuckers to tell me.
I don't need to be like you,
Or anyone you introduce me to.
So again, fuck you,
Hypocrite.
Be on the lookout for that wind,
It's bringing changes for you again.
Let's write songs about it.
Joker.