Ascending the Position

Fuck.

2008-04-03T09:23:15Z

I'm sitting in my girlfriend's room on her laptop, and I have no idea why I'm on this fucking website. I haven't put anything on it in well over a year; all I ever do is record, play shows, work, and hang out with the lady and the MCA kids. But it occured to me upon browsing that an old friend of mine still uses this thing, and I figured it would be a good way to leave one last message to him. I know you're going to read this, so please listen.

I'm sorry.

This isn't saying I want to be friends with you. You did some fucking shitty things to me, and for that, I do not want to be your friend. Absolutely no desire. But I do know that what happened is killing you, and the fact that you are being lied to makes me sick. No one deserves what's happening to you right now, and you don't even know that it's happening. When I found out that the two of you were still dating, I got physically ill. You may think I'm a horrible person, and you may be right about that, but one thing you should know is that I would never have done that if I had known that you were still together. She told me time and time again that the two of you had broken up long ago. I found out a week ago that the two of you were actually together when her and I had sex. I may know that I got lied to, and I got played like an absolute fool, but you can be damn sure that I am genuinely sorry for that.

I don't know at all if you knew that. I'm assuming she's been telling you that I knew you two were still together. And that's fucked up. She had me believing that she wanted to be with me. I fell for that shit, and I'm an idiot for believing a word that came out of her mouth. One minute I think I'm falling for a girl, the next she's diving into a car and I'm getting shit thrown at me while I'm on stage. Trust me, the whole situation didn't help things in my life either, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm at fault, but you need to know that this thing was carefully planned by her. And I have no idea why.

I'm not going to post anything on here again, I really don't want to. Don't try to call me. You come to my home again looking for a fight and I'll kill you this time. Just know what I'm leaving years of friendship with. An apology. There's nothing else I can offer.

And a word of advice: just because it has a smile that makes your heart ache, doesn't mean it's not lying to you.

mechanicalpulse @ 2007-01-22T18:41:00

2007-01-22T22:42:04Z

We spoke of the new day.

The sky was red with flame, and the air smelled of smoke. Our children were dead, and our money was useless. We can't leave, there's no gas in the car, and the speedometer's busted. The radio's on emergency broadcast and the television hasn't worked for days. The beer's warm and the night's cold. Prayer, prayer, prayer, doesn't seem to work.

My mother spent 24 hours praying for a child with cancer.

They're both aflame.

Survive, survive, we'll do it, and we damn sure won't enjoy it.

But that's all we've got

Deficit

2006-12-11T04:31:51Z

At one point or another in the evening, David realized he had lost his mind.

This feeling was observed as fleeting, without merit, and outright ridiculous, but the very thought of it brought him chills of excitement.

"They say the insane man never realizes he's insane," he thought to himself as he sat at his kitchen table. It was around 11:30, and he was knee-deep in an intoxicated mental frenzy, completely devoid of physical symptoms, but none the less all consuming. An entire bottle of gin had proven itself a helpful aid in the mental vacation he had immersed himself into.

Despite the attempt, David just couldn't shake the notion. Insanity? How exciting. This had been bounced around his head earlier on in his life. The romanticization of mental instability had proven itself insatiable, and had almost become a desire of his. "From mental disorder comes art, beauty, and inevitably fame and glory." The ashtray, suddenly coming to the conclusion that it had had enough, was overflowing with butts, ash, and a tiny trace of hash he had purchased the previous day from a Mexican tenant in the apartment below him. "Surely this could be my big break."

His thoughts raced, filled with praise, attention and spite from those who didn't "understand." It would start out with a poem, a novel, something that could show just how crazy he actually was. He'd have it published by a sympathetic local company, and rumors of this man would spread like wildfire. Slowly he would crank out work after work, and the masses would eat it up, reveling in this new trend, something unique, something unrequitedly hip, that just couldn't be ignored. Teenagers, beatnicks, coffee shop fuckers that compare knowledge of pop culture like cock size, they would all want a piece of him.

"It wouldn't be hard. Just shack up in this little apartment, lose a lot of wait, maybe take up a drug habit. Blow is played out, heroin's in these days." His heart raced, blood flowing from adrenaline and drink.

Then there would be the eventual public appearance. He'd dress wildly, like a sort of homeless Howard Hughes, and make a scene in a proper New York Barns and Noble. Sign a few autographs, hit on loose women that just beg to stand near him, and then start the tyrade. Throw chairs, rip up books, scream about aliens, or Satan, or something that would really rile everyone up. He'd finish by jumping head first through the glass door, stealing a car, and driving into the sunset.

But how should it end? The answer was simple: Hunter S. Thompson, Ernest Hemingway, Kurt Cobain, what did they all have in common? Suicide. He'd scrawl a nearly illegible suicide note on the back of a chinese take-out bag, stick it to the refrigerator, and blow his brains out. No, too cliche. He'd have to go out with a bang. Can't stab yourself, Elliot Smith already coined that maneuvere. Sleeping pills? He laughed. "What, are you thirteen?" And then it hit him. He could shoot up, steal a car, and crash it, 90 miles per hour, into a day care center. "That would show them."

In the corner of his mind, he could hear the phone ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey David, it's mom, I was just calling to see how you were doing."

"Oh, I'm fine, just getting ready for bed, I guess."

"Oh, well that's all right. I'll call you tomorrow. I love you sweetie."

"...I love you too mom."

Click.

He poured himself another glass and chuckled. "Maybe I'm not that crazy."

A shitty third person narrative.

2006-09-11T05:05:55Z

THERE WAS THIS BOY.

He didn't know whether he was a boy or a man. He had been told too many times that he was each that it didn't even matter anymore. He had dropped out of one of the most prestigious high schools in America to spend his days bagging coffee and playing the piano. He was married to a beautiful girl with a knack for understanding his shortcomings and patience like an angel. He pushed away most of his friends because he couldn't handle the fact that he had so many. He pushed them away until they hated him, and many of them wrote him the occasional nasty letter. He listened to a lot of records by a guy who he could relate to, and somebody that inspired him to keep going every day. He stayed up late at night smoking cigarettes and thinking about how well things were going. No matter what happened, he just kept thinking, "Everything is going so well." But on this night, he had to realise what needed to be done.

And it's kind of funny, because in retrospect, he really had NO FUCKING CLUE.

Because yes, things had been going very well indeed, the best he had ever experienced, but the thought that he was hurting people just couldn't escape his mind.

So off he went.

Beware the...

2006-08-22T05:05:22Z

I will soon begin work on a sort of children's book detailing the life and times of the dark lord Raptor Jesus. The artwork is going to be different sorts of collages I make, and the story is going to be light hearted and entertaining. My plan is to create it, then hand out copies to homeless people and the like. Hopefully people will enjoy it. If you want to find anything out about it, give me a shout at my myspace. Love.

mechanicalpulse @ 2006-08-18T13:06:00

2006-08-18T18:12:23Z

Love pours from my veins
A spicket of ecstasy and madness
You drive me into a state of mind that couldn't be moral
And yet we dwell
In this mechanical bath we've filled for ourselves
The water sweet and warm
What is there to do
but lie together
And it's true, our love is a sin
Taking our minds off of all else
So selfless and yet so self-fulfilling
But fuck those who deny us our right to dwell as one
We call the shots.
We make the rules.

Remember the Death Star

2006-08-15T00:33:18Z

Star Wars and Global Politics? Found this on 4chan tonight, thought it was the greatest metaphor for America's stance in the world I've ever read. I share it with you, dear friends.

The Rebel alliance is made up of self-loathing Jedi who blame the Empire for every ill in the galaxy, and politicians suffering from power-envy, bitter that the galaxy's only power can do what it likes without having to ask permission. The truth is that the Empire has behaved with enormous restraint since the Battle of Yavin. Remember, remember.
Remember the gut-wrenching holos of weeping stormtroopers phoning their partners to say, "I love you," before the station was destroyed. Remember those people leaping to their deaths from safety-pod hatches with no safety pods installed.
Remember the hundreds of droids buried alive.
Remember the smiling face of that beautiful girl who was in one of the detention cells. Remember, remember - and realise that the Empire has never retaliated for the destruction of the Death Star in anything like the way it could have.
So a few Rebels got locked without a trial in cellblock 1138? Pass the Kleenex.
So some Gungan wedding receptions were shot up after they merrily fired their blasters in a sky full of Empire shuttles? A shame, but maybe next time they should stick to confetti.
I love the Empire, yet the Empire is hated. The Empire is hated because it is what every galactic empire wants to be - rich, free, strong, open, optimistic.
Remember, remember, the Death Star. One of the greatest atrocities in human history was committed against the Empire. No, do more than remember. Never forget.

What a Dick.

2006-08-08T00:36:37Z

It's been said to me
Many times over
By people I love
By people I hate
That I'm doing something wrong
And that there must be motives behind these actions
Egotism? Discomfort? Boredom? Doesn't matter
You're still an asshole.
So now I need to find
Why it is that I can't bring myself
To go out anymore.
Fuck it.
I'll get my coat
I'll go out
I'll party
And all will be right with the world.
And I will be happy doing all of this
Because I'll know
That for once
I'm setting things right with the people I love.

Sometimes...

2006-07-25T18:25:17Z

We have a place
Where rocks are not thrown, but admired
Where a kiss is still a kiss
and love is tangible
Where appreciating each other is all that's needed,
And other affirmation is superfluous and nonsensical
Here grass is still green
And the dirt beneath it is just as important
as the flowers that grow from it.
Here the climate never changes,
But everyone is too preoccupied to notice
In this place
Where candles are always lit
And the sun always does its job
The stars know exactly when to appear.

Tundra/Desert

2006-07-22T04:45:32Z

It's day five. We've been driving for what seems like years, and I'm starting to question: how much more country can we see before we fall over the edge? We're somewhere in the desert, maybe Nevada, maybe Arizona, who knows, at this point we could be on another planet and I wouldn't know the wiser.

She flips on the stereo, a song playing by some alternative western band, a man with a monotonous voice sings, "Cool blue reason, I'm just rearranging Hell," and I laugh under my breath. I don't know what it was that she said to me to intrigue me into this entire venture, but damnit if it didn't work. I'm running out of cigarettes.

I search through my backpack, full of tshirts, novels, packs of instant decaffeinated coffee, and a piece of a blanket that I've had since I was born. There it is: my last pack. I take one of them out and light it, momentarily feeling as though I'm embodying Prometheus himself, controling flame. I spit a cloud of smoke out of the window and sigh.

She has this idea, my beautiful new wife. I suppose I could call her that. We met in a bar about a week ago, I took her home, and we've been together since. She wants to make a mark. She wants to see something new. We laid in bed the other night, and she kept talking about trying something she'd never done before, see God, drop acid, kill someone, something. We'll find it, she kept saying. I didn't have the heart to tell her I wasn't at all concerned with this "it."

So, a bottle of Taca vodka later, we've got the plan set. I've got all the grant money left that I should be using on the poetry I'm supposed to be writing, she's got a car. A 95' Toyota Corolla, really a piece of shit when you get down to brass tacks, but this isn't a concern of mine. We packed two bags full of shit we don't really need, hopped in the car at 6 a.m., and started off.

My cell phone rings. It's my editor. I wish I could answer it, let him know that inspiration is on its way, that the bullshit "literature" he's been pushing for might soon be here, but all I can do is press "ignore." He's none of my concern. I'm free, stuck, whatever adjective you want to throw at me, I'm it. It doesn't matter. I've got her, and I'll be dead in no time.

Furries.

2006-07-19T00:33:24Z

I hate fucking furries. They make me mad. They're all over the place, and I can't stand it anymore. If I ever meet someone who tells me he's a furry, I'm going to fuck him up good. And if you don't know what a furry is, look it up. If you're going to look up hentai, at least don't flood a forum with hentai involving animals. I hate you.

And by the way my wife is the greatest junebug to ever live.

Ill Will

2006-07-15T00:44:35Z

So god-damned tired of having things thrown in my lap. As if no one can understand that there are other reasons aside from my undying affection for her as to my neglegance of certain people and situations. Always blaming love for things they can't understand. The answer has to be the one that's closest to their faces. It bothers them, so it has to be the scapegoat. But be it because of their alcoholism or my necessity not to be made an ass of on stage in front of a large crowd, I have reasons for not succumbing to the whole lot of your shit. So leave me be.

The Sporting Life

2006-07-07T11:05:51Z

Loneliness.
Sleep Deprivation.
Caffeine
Celexa
Camel Lights
Skoal
Lexapro
Three Dollars and Ten Cents
But nowhere to get a fucking pack of cigarettes at this hour.
Story of my life.

mechanicalpulse @ 2006-07-04T01:03:00

2006-07-04T06:10:58Z

To all of you people that hate me at the moment because I haven't been hanging out that often lately:

Get over it.

If you were really that upset about it, you'd fucking call me. And if you call me during the daytime and I don't answer, call me at night. I don't have fucking free cell phone minutes. I'm sick of hearing this bullshit about me being a bad friend because I don't want to hang out with people that go on fucking 8 hour drug searches every other day. And don't jump the gun when you read this. Some people I absolutely love, and I wish to God there were more hours in the day and I didn't have to deal with my parents and didn't have shit to do, and then I could hang out all the fucking time. But as far as others go, no, I don't want to be around your drunk, pot smoking, mushroom eating asses. Simple as that. If there's a party, and it involves a lot of drugs and/or alcohol, don't expect me to attend, because I just don't like being around that shit. No offense to anyone, it just makes me nervous.

So whatever. Not that anyone who this pertains to is going to read it, but you know. Wanted to rant for a sec.

mechanicalpulse @ 2006-07-04T01:02:00

2006-07-04T06:02:59Z

Jesus

2006-06-30T04:17:53Z

You cant stop
Yourself
From fucking things up
And try as you might
Nothing will work
When you go it alone
And fuck poetic prose
Some things were meant to be said plain and simple
That no matter how shitty things get
No matter how embarassed you are at every action
You have made in your short lifetime
Having someone next to you who loves you
Will get you through it
Like the slice of an exacto knife
Your anxieties can be whittled away
Nothing can be done for you by other people
But the help you receive
Can get you through the fucking day.

I couldn't kill myself if I fucking wanted to.
This is too fucking real.
Life is wonderful
And it's its fucked up moments
That make the wonderful ones really mean something.

God Only Knows What I'd Be Without You

Mind fuck

2006-06-24T05:42:59Z

Your Life is Like

Serendipity

What John Cusack Movie Are You?

Staring at the Sun

2006-06-24T04:41:38Z

A day could not go any grander
Omelettes that weren't really omelettes,
Scrabble, and the fights that occur during,
Cigarettes smoked in massively sequential order,
Sleeping side by side,
Finding love deepening even more, and learning how to make it,
You held me as I fell to the monster,
And sang to me as I came out of it,
Watching a horror movie with a pregnant woman,
Playing instruments like there was no tomorrow,
And making fun of everyone that we think aren't cool enough to be us.

Today shall be held in my memory for the rest of my life.

Because Coheed is good, yeah...

But Thrice is better.

mechanicalpulse @ 2006-06-22T03:12:00

2006-06-22T08:16:51Z

The American Psychiatric Association has defined a panic attack as:

A discrete period of intense fear or discomfort, in which four (or more) of the following symptoms develop abruptly and reached a peak within 10 minutes:

(1) palpitations, pounding heart, or accelerated heart rate
(2) sweating
(3) trembling or shaking
(4) sensations of shortness of breath or smothering
(5) feeling of choking
(6) chest pain or discomfort
(7) nausea or abdominal distress
(8) feeling dizzy, unsteady, lightheaded, or faint
(9) derealization (feeling of unreality) or depersonalization (being detached from oneself)
(10) fear of losing control or going crazy
(11) fear of dying
(12) paresthesias (numbness or tingling sensations)
(13) chills or hot flushes

The Well.

2006-06-20T03:20:46Z

I come home and am immediately confronted with frustration, my inability to do anything right, my lack of initiative, my sheer laziness. I am made a scapegoat, but in all actuality the position is rightfully held, because I am the main burden on everyone I know. And yet despite all of this, just remembering that I spent the day with you makes my anxiety ease. What would have been a crippling panic attack is now a feeling of calm I've never been able to grasp. I love you.

Youth

2006-06-16T08:06:40Z

Dancing around midtown
In the middle of the night.
Singing "Mr. Grieves" at the top of our lungs
Throwing empty beer bottles at anything that moves
Cigarette after cigarette,
Joke after joke,
Start after start,
We come back to this same spot in time.
We are waist deep in our own youth
And it's hard to remember sometimes
That life is beautiful
Withdrawals occur,
Friendships are lost,
Deaths ruin outlooks,
But at the heart of it all,
Rests that one night.
At the church
Trenchcoats soaked with rain
Sitting underneath the awning
Laughing our asses off at the obsurdity of the whole situation
Those were the days of drugs and strong drink,
Of Hunter S. Thompson and Pixies albums.
These are the days that give us something to live up to.

Life is beautiful.

Water

2006-06-16T06:24:03Z

"Negative, bossy meat creature, I am now fully aware of what my primary function is."

Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Games

2006-06-14T21:17:34Z

And when my mind draws a blank
And when the bulbs burn out
And when the sky turns black
And we don't know what we're about
We kiss and dance
Like children at night
And forget the horrors
That plague or lives

Nicotine Stains

2006-06-11T16:29:14Z

Our lips entwined
We dance with our eyes
Pulsating like a drum circle
With every breath we take in between connection
We are brought closer together
In that brief moment
Our minds are blank
Overwhelmed with the most sincere love
A nicotine stained love song
We shake uncontrollably
We dream of the day we might truly become one
And when the sky goes black
Our voices will be heard.

Cigarette Burns

2006-06-11T05:55:15Z

Demi-God
Save my soul
Smoke my mind like I always dremt
Kill the ones
That desperately await
A grand redemption and rapture
My mind becomes a God in itself
I marry her through will alone
Sketches, carvings
Into the exoskeletons of the ones
Who want to save me
I cut out my own eyes
To see what it's like to be blind
Follow me, follow me!
I know how it works
Grandiose discoveries
Delusionally converting mechanisms into lucid images
Calligraphy, the ones who write for me
Spitting hallucinogenic chemicals into my orifices
My mind draws a blank
And the volume drops.