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.