Paradoxy.

The biggest dilemma surrounding me,
is that which defines my own failed dealings,
throughout my life, it’s become a disease,
to be broken, in comparison to everybody;
and in turn, this difference that stands between,
always burns to ashes, any chances I might see,
wholesome and unbroken folks want no part of me,
rendering it impossible to know such human beings;
many times I’ve tried to put myself into a “normal” scene,
only to effectively emphasize such vast contrast in between,
I’m tired of sharing “friendships” with liars, cheats and feigns,
but I don’t want to mix my bullshit with the next guy’s purity;
it’s a problem I’ve lived with throughout my entire memory,
to hate to love the people who fear abandonment, same as me,
but, to also despise the feeling of trying to fit into “normalcy”,
it’s the paradox of searching for a place to simply “be”.

Paradoxy.

The biggest dilemma surrounding me
is that which defines my own failed dealings
throughout my life, it’s become a disease
to be broken, in comparison to anybody
and in turn, this difference that stands between
always burns to ashes, any chances I might see
wholesome and unbroken folks want no part of me
rendering it impossible to know such human beings
many times I’ve tried to put myself into a “normal” scene
only to effectively emphasize such vast contrast in between
I’m tired of sharing “friendships” with liars, cheats and feigns
but I don’t want to mix my bullshit with the next guy’s purity
it’s a problem I’ve lived with throughout my entire memory
to hate to love the people who fear abandonment, same as me
but, to also despise the feeling of trying to fit into “normalcy”
it’s the paradox of searching for a place to simply “be”.

Death Song.

How will the final tune play itself through –
as it haunts the halls with melodious cacophony;
as it swirls like smoke from a smoldering flame;
as it tells the truths you’ve hidden from yourself;
it’s no wonder: when I look at the whole of it –
nothing profound or groundbreaking or bold;
nothing novel in the face of my weary stride;
nothing that offers any true shock or surprise
just more of the same of a really long line –
those two steps ahead of your own falter;
those who singed my flesh prior to your stab at it;
those who have been dismissed from view;
erased away from concern and thought of mine –
life is too short and there is no time;
shuffled card-decks and matching footsteps;
another falls neatly and indiscreetly into line;
What does your Death Song sound like –
full of many meaningless fabrications and layers;
reverberations, skipped beats and scratched vinyl;
all the dramatics without the shine of the stage lights.

Promises, Shmomises.

I have little doubt that the “anonymous email TApeworm” is reading this, or eventually will read this – may, in fact, be looking out for this specific post – as an affected result of the pitiful emphasis placed onto his/her own life (or total lack, thereof) through posting immature and pathetic trash-talk onto the blog of a friend who recently visited me in real-time;
I wasted even less of any time in narrowing down such a total online-junkie endeavor and its source – trust me – it’s far from difficult to trace a server log when you know the gateways that you are looking to cross reference…duh. In short: the time, personal interest and emotional investment that the Tapeworm put forth for such a grade-school attempt at smearing me, very personally and hate(r)fully – was NOT anonymous as the author had expected it would remain upon posting it publicly; and to be honest, the culprit’s identity does not surprise me one bit, given recent happenings and what not.
What was surprising to me was the absolute lack of any respectability or heart attached to such unnecessary dramatics, and the cowardly way in which such drama was presented for anyone to read – CLASSIC. Fucking classic like it’s all day long…anyway, this is a post to invite the Tapeworm to speak up as much to my face as possible, as opposed to slithering around behind my back and trying to be venomous towards me because I’m smiling and you aren’t. Making up lies and telling them because you are miserable and unhappy and you get the inkling that I might not be, also. HATER.
Please do feel free to say the same lies and gibberish that you vomited on the “sucker” whose relationship with me you look to sabotage – where did you even pull such lunch-line garbage from, anyway…? Let’s try it again only with some respectability and sound information this time, and from YOU to ME, since you seem to have so much info on my life and personal activities, stand up then. The projection involved is SO apparent with all that noise that I wonder if you were somehow going for the Obvious and Desperate look. Either way, nothing else to see here dude…move it along.
Fortunately for everyone involved or included in such Romper Room bullshit – I have zero tolerance or interest in HATERS and the associated behaviors and/or actions put forth on a hater’s behalf – so this saga will be short-lived no matter what.
Let me be clear and concise once again, as a reminder:
I do not blog to make friends…
I do not blog to gain approval…
I do not need nor desire fake friends online…
I will not be bullied or badgered by some unstable hater…
we all make our choices in life…
we all have to live with them, afterward…
grow up and get a new hobby.

Hard Timing It.

Somebody, somewhere down my block –
must’ve disagreed with the job I got
made a poor-sport’s jealous decision
to go ahead and drop the dimes in,
tried and convicted – let the drama begin…
about a quarter after two, I make my way through
the mainline, like old times – of the CHU;
Somewhere down the shackle line,
a mouth talked shit that wasn’t mine –
so now I have to back a play,
that I am oblivious to, anyway;
not my problem, not my game,
but I’ll take a rubber bullet –
either way, all the same;
never a dull moment
when you reside on Cell Block A,
never any time
for your peace of mind
to reflect on the wars you’ve waged;
because bitches equals drama
no matter the hour or the place,
especially without the makeup
that used to mask her ugly face.
Last weekend, Chow Hall got locked down
yes, once again
the inmates found a new way in;
and when Cook tried to cook,
the good shit had been stolen,
she refused to work until
the fucks in charge
secured the food in the kitchen –
and we all starved meanwhile,
though they called it a “hunger strike”
chalked me another six months on my time,
simply because my skin happens to be “white”.
And, reading in the nighttime, no sir;
my Bunkie has rank and she is a lifer,
and since she says the light bothers her –
it’s light out at sundown,
or it’s curtains for sure.
Too cold or too hot
not a lone, happy thought –
cup o noodles for
a potent coffee shot,
prison is Hell for a half-breed
no motto to recite out loud,
no glorious songs to sing,
no gang to bang
from the safety of a crowd –
no belonging
with anyone or to anything.
Read read read
and then read some more,
read til your brain can’t
comprehend anymore,
one day the sun will be on your face
as you leave this place
out those elusive front doors;
Goodbye young chain gang,
rotten apples of my teary eye,
I will not be back to see you
but maybe
I’ll catch you on the outside.