welcome to redbubble

I write. for me. for you? I wish. the reader. my mind thinks in spurts. spells and wishes. my mind is garbage. trash your mind. get rid of it. it will do no good here. drink a beer. go to hell.

I wish I could go to hell. it’s better than the other place, isn’t it? hell if I know.

redbubble. what is this all about? I know not. it killeth all it consumeth. meth.

I need a publicist. something like this. I know not. it killeth me. time and time again. am I my only friend? I know not. no one to pick on this fourth of july. no one to scavenge. to ravage. no one to bug or to play hookey with. I hated hookey. I hated all that was fun and gay and stuff. it killed me. time and time again. like a little hen. i’ll never know. it’ll quell. interest will be lost. i’m such a bum.

drinking a beer. feeling like a man. losing out on the daze of life. the days of life.

if you’re not having a good time, that’s your own fault. nothing quite like it. unbelievable. can’t write like this. it has my vision all crooked. I like it though. just press the zoom button and go at it. I guess. I don’t know. we’re too taken care of. the middle man gets lost. best to be on top or at bottom. hell if I know. I like the bottom better than the top. always have, always will. that’s the secret. the key. the top is really the bottom. always has been. always will be. kills me like a drill sergeant. I feel the need to say these things anymore. it killeth and consumeth. like a cherry picker in the night. the night sky. all that is rye. this guy is okay.

listening to some crazy tune in the middle of the night. like a spur in my foot. I hate the delinquencies of yesteryear. the degradations. the pains. the hills have eyes you know.

she said she’d eat me. I said damn bitch you stupid fly.

she said she’d beat me. I said damn girl. I like that about you. but what can I do for you? does it matter? does it even make sense? I know not. it maketh not any sense. not in the least bit. God is a criminal, too, don’t you know? perhaps I believe in the kingdom. I don’t know. it is an impossible kingdom. the rules? there are none. but it is based on love. and we have created such a mythology based on love.

how do we do away with Parsifal and the fisher king? and his wound? and the part about seduction? like I know for sure. it bothers me. it kills me outright. it makes me feel like pestilence. like someone that ought to go home in the middle of the fucking night. like a typewriter playing the piano. something like this. I feel like a spider. twiddling my thumbs on this keyboard. such nuisance I’ve become. such a pest. I knew not.

what did it matter? who was I to blame? where’s a scapegoat when you need one? I know not. it bothers me. time and time again. like a cocker fucking spaniel. you have to really pay attention to my words. the next one and the next one. the past will not serve you well here. you have to be future oriented. like…what’s he going to say next? and who knows? who cares?

i’m burnt out. but I must continue. I have the youth and vitality of a young soldier. I think. I don’t know. it kills me. almost all day and night. gives me a fucking fright. love that ish.

time and time again. like a goddamn genie. like a man without two plans.

you have to think these things through. you have to consider all available options. you have to go through the list. I understand this now. I need more chinaski. I need more fiction. I need more of this and I need more of that. rats and scourges. plagues and plumbing.

she said they’ll take the plumbing. I was all awonder.

you have to keep writing. you have to be brave enough to read your own shit. for it is shit. but hey…i’m not the editor. i’m the creator. no. i’m just a writer. don’t take my word for it. perhaps i’m stuck in levar burton’s world. I think I am. no. take my word for it. I guess. I don’t know. what’s the best way? like I know. like I care. take the time to clarify what you’re saying. get it all down on paper.

this is literally about how to write. I never knew i’d be this kind of writer. oh well. pisses me off though. chaps my ass.

the people don’t want me to write. the audience is a poor one. I see this. it makes sense. but there is nothing left for us Catholics. I only say that now because I see the beauty in it. but there is horror. I hate the horror.

there is more to it than meets the eye. you must see this with your own eyes.

i’ll never know the truth. it’s so buried. deep down inside. the truth. what is the truth? who seeks it? why is it important? what must I do to become the man that I wish to be? does it even matter anymore? I doubt it.

I need a fucking airplane. I need someone with a goddamn name. I need a good time. I need. I hate the needs I come up with. needy little poor person. a poet. a writer. a juvenile delinquent. a liar. a piece of garbage. of shit. it will kill you.

this is what i’m trained to do. no more parties. no more treaties. no more fights. just peace and serenity. i’ll never understand it. no, not in the least bit.

She said, he said, I said, they all said. nothing. that’s what they said.

that was a good first post. continue on.

welcome to redbubble

beenderew

Lebanon, United States

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