When I see you I think of songs I wish I'd written
I wanna be your everything and more and maybe every night we'd
breathe fog on the looking glass
I wanna breathe fog on the looking glass
And write out on our breath
How you do to me what you do to me
When the light grows dull and sunset frees
The time we have for us
You're an inch away and mostly less
but to my palms I must confess
I need you closer than beside me

Maybe we’ll exist in secret
Never surface for a breath
And you can tie me down and try
To tell me it’s better than death
I wanna be something tangible
Something worthy of my eyes
I know you know you’re not dead
But do you know that you’re alive
I can’t think when you’re pounding the door
All this white noise screams the score to me
I can’t be me when I’m with you
I can’t breathe when you’re biting the skin
Cold within, like a silence so thin it could snap
I can’t be me when I’m with you
This ball and chain romance hurts my head
When it sinks into the depths
I know you don’t listen but
Just watch and read what must be said

Thaw me in your moonlight
You're not who I need but you're what I want
Drop me like a burned up flight
in an atmosphere you keep inside
Let's catch the wind
And sail the sun
Forget our lives
with everyone
I'll grab your hand
And pull you in
in fear for letting go
I don't wanna know-
Everything they're thinking
'Cause I don't need to hear harsh words
I can feel that in-
side you feel you're sinking
By the way your face tells me that last kiss hurt

So you wanna be famous and sane
Well the game that you play
isn't likely to keep us
Paparazzi is pulling me down
Past the ground and I drown
In the news you're making
It's like you paid for a piece
Played with plans of defeat
Found a crowd in a street
and opened fire
But loving the loss
is a cost that you love
Losing count as you hit the dirt
in the skirt you wore to church

Ricky sailed through the air, hitting halfway up the fence with all the momentum his lanky frame could build. He quickly clawed his way up and over to the jangling of chain-link. He hit the concrete on the other side, his heavy, jet-black boots producing a deep thud as he landed. He recovered from the drop in a split second, taking off again as fast as his long, stick-like legs could carry him. The spitting rain felt cold on his bare body, the only piece of clothing he was wearing [save his boots, of course] being a pair of plaid boxers. Behind him he heard the shimmer of the fence as his pursuers began the climb. He flicked a turn left at a cross-section of the dark alley, plodding down the lane for a few seconds before realizing a second fence, this one with razorwire mocking him atop it's frame, looming ahead of him. He hit the brakes, slipping on the slick asphalt and skinning his leg from kneecap to boot. He didn't notice the blood starting to mistily trickle down his soaked skin, being more concerned with losing ground. He dragged his skeletal body back to it's feet, and took off once more. He saw the cross-section ahead - freedom was in front of him. No fences, no peelers, just alley, street, and then more alley. Two lefts after that, and it'd be straight to Picadilly Circus, safety, and initiation to the Blade Bridgade. This was a feeling of pure exhilaration. Just as Ricky hit the cross-section for the second time, he was barrelled into by one of his burly assailants. The wind was crushed out of his lungs as his protruding ribs compressed in the impact. The policeman landed on top of him, delivering a stiff fist to Ricky's jaw. Disoriented by the brain-jarring collision, he was a water-logged lamb to the slaughter. The other dark figures reached the two of them as the man on top of him wound up for second go. Another knuckle-brimmed bombshell landed straight on his nose with a crunch, closely followed by a torrent of blood. Tears clouded his vision as his eyes began to water. The policeman pulled himself off his prey, which was now gargling and choking on his own blood.. Then leathery, jet-black justice shone true as the figures looming above Ricky began kicking the life out of him. Four sharp-pointed shoes repeatedly drove into his face and ribs, every connection being greeted with a tortured, guttural grunt from a mouth now filling with blood and vomit. The slurry of bodily fluids flowed from between his lips, and down his quivering, drool-drenched chin. Just then, the kicking stopped. Ricky rolled to his back in a puddle of bile and rainwater, gazing up out of swollen slits in time to see a bright flash of light illuminate a twisted smile. A crack of electricity sounded, and Ricky found every muscle of his body whip-cracked tight as steel as it coursed through him. He screamed through clenched teeth, a sound best described as a pig squealing through a mouth sewn shut. His eyes bulged, his body convulsed, and foam sprayed from his mouth as he shrieked involuntarily. The man wouldn't let the trigger ease. He was going to die.

Just as Ricky felt his surroundings darken, the electric grip the taser had on his body relinquished. Something wet and warm spattered across his bare chest, and one of the men hit the ground. Shadows from every side engulfed the policemen, all four ending up on the ground around Ricky with blood boiling in their slit throats. The only sounds were the chains on the uniforms of the newcomers, and the now-helpless officers guzzle-guzzling on the flooding of their esophagus with every heartbeat. A heavy leather boot planted beside Ricky's ear.

"Fuck. And he was so close."

Ricky blacked out.





[[This story is going to be about New London, a grungy-but-bustling metropolis founded post-nuclear war. A new superbug mutated by radiation has begun infecting humans, characterized by degredation of the brain, as well as increased aggression - effectively rendering all humans infected, eventually, as braindead-but-bloodthirsty animals. New London is one of only a handful of the last civilized cities on earth. It's a HUGE city, bigger than the biggest city on earth before the war. Outside the walls of these cities are clans of the infected, known as The Forgotten. The clans fight amongst themselves, mostly, but have been known to join in what are called 'Warbands' against the cities, leading to countless bloody battles. Usually, though, the walls surrounding each of the last cities on earth are enough to deter them. The setup is - The Outskirts of New London are surrounded by a poorly maintained fence, and are inhabited by the poor. The Middle Quarters are surrounded by a large brick wall with guard towers. There are high-powered electric fences surrounding the rich quarter of New London. I have a ton of ideas for this whole thing.

Ricky is trying to enter the underground anarchist gang, The Blade Brigade, and this excerpt is his initiation. Once the kid being tested reaches Picadilly Circus, they're instated as a member. It turns out, after he falls unconcious, the members that killed the cops search him to find his ID in his wallet proves him to be the Chief of Police's son. They find this advantageous, and let him in anyway. The other side of the story is the wonderful life of the Mayor's head advisor, a young, handsome man named Harry who has no idea what life outside of London's walls is like. He's rich, living in the wealthiest part of New London with his beautiful wife and daughter. He starts to become more and more aware of the plight of the poor. The poor people of New London live amongst gangs, poor living conditions, and little protection from The Forgotten besides the poorly maintained fencing, which even has holes in some parts of it. He starts to fight for the poor in the government, despite the distaste of the council in his doing so. Harry is cast out of his position in the government after questioning the Mayor's extortion of the poor. The secret service of the mayor bust into his house while he's out and take his wife and child away, telling them as you later find out that he had to 'go away on a diplomatic mission' to Capital City in the US. He's then exiled from the city, banned even from the Outskirts. He's given a revolver, a knife, and is branded on his neck with the mark of exile - a brand burnt into his skin to show he's been exiled for life. He is left in the dark. He sleeps in an abandoned truckbed only to be woken up by a passing tribe of The Forgotten. They hadn't noticed him, but do when he snaps awake. The Blade Brigade shows up just at that moment on trashy-looking dirtbikes, cutting down the Forgotten with chainsaws, swords, lead pipes, and a bunch of other assorted weapons. They take Harry in as an exile [they'd heard of his efforts for the people] and he becomes one of them. The story proceeds from there.




Opens with running scene. Ricky bumps into Ethan in an alley. Camera follows Ricky and begins above scene.

After Ricky blacks out, begin Ethan's morning scene. After scene, he goes to work. Council holds meeting. Council is talking about how to stop the mortis, and are thinking of an absolute extermination through biological weaponry sweeping of the land, thereby killing all life outside the city [including lower class]. Ethan tries to suggest alternatives to avoid the extreme, ie: A cure [They think it's foolhardy to search for a cure; no time, no point.]. sending out hunting parties [council doesn't want to risk the lives of the upper class], and in a final attempt, suggests the possibility of a 'hunter' [Ethan states that he has been studying them a long time with a research team inspecting live samples. This research team is ACTUALLY the Blade Brigade. Council questions his ability to do so, he convinces them he's hired a staff of local biologists. They highly ridicule his failure to inform them of this 'secret lab'. He takes to the offensive, saying that all that matters is that he's almost got it finished, and needs just a bit more time. They buy it, but question his desperation to help the lower class, call him a 'sympathizer'. He retorts that 'Lower-class citizens are human too', and that it's morally wrong to condemn them to a fate they cannot decide themselves. One member remarks that it's been so many times that he's stood up for the lower class, and they feel that his love for them clouds his judgement. In the end there is a vote, and his motion for a 'hunter' is passed.

After the meeting is adjourned, he goes to lunch with his friend Walter, and they discuss the meeting and the decision. They talk and it's made clear they've been good friends a long time.

They return to the office. A higher council member is waiting in the office building and tells him he needs to speak with him. He shows him to his office where the council member tells Ethan to supply all study information, tests and findings to the government's research facility. He protests, saying they just don't trust his motives. The member replies that Ethan will be re-assigned to the facility where he will have access to advanced tools and resources to speed up the process, and that it has nothing to do with his 'motives'. Ethan reluctantly agrees, but demands they allow his assistant head of research to continue work on the project with the team as well. They agree.

Scene changes to late at night. Ethan is working hard on paperwork for the transferal of the study material. He makes a call to his wife saying that he'll be late thanks to all the 'red tape at the office today', and he'd be taking the subway home as soon as possible. He finishes up and heads for the subway. When he gets there, his train's packed full of people with no room for him. He decided it will be faster to walk home than to wait for the next train. He starts to walk, and decides to take a shortcut through some alleys. It starts to rain, and he shows how annoyed he is by it. He then runs into Ricky. Ethan yells 'Watch where you're running, kid!' camera follows Ethan this time. Ethan walks through a few alleys, but when he sees the light of the street at the end of the alley, he sees several silhouettes approach from the street. he pulls out a small stilletto blade, releases the blade, and holds it in stride as he walks. He looks up to the rooftops momentarily, then continues on. The silhouettes stop in front of him, and he realizes Walter is amongst them. They're all wearing black suits. He pockets his knife discreetly.

Ethan: Walter... what're you doing here?
Walt: We gotta talk, Ethan.
Ethan: Alright... so what's with the monkey suits?
Walt: Ethan, how long have we been friends?
Ethan: We've been friends since we were kids, but-
Walt: And in all that time, we've never really come to blows about anything... never hid anything from each other. I mean, come on Ethan, I probably know you better than your WIFE does.
Ethan: What's your point, Walt?
Walt: Look Ethan, that stunt you pulled today pissed off a lot of the wrong people. [Men start to surround Ethan.]
Ethan: Walt, you know I'm right about this. You can't tell me you agree with those bastards. We grew up in those slums.
Walt: Ethan, that was then. Desperate times, desperate measures. Certain sacrifices have to be made to -
Ethan: Damn it, Walt, they're human beings!
Walt: They're a sacrifice that has to be made! One way or another, our actions will be their consequences. It's either they die, or all of New London does when the mortis come knocking at our gates.
Ethan: So they're chips to gamble with?
Walt: They're heroes, damn it. Those who survive won't forget what had to happen.
Ethan: They don't remember them now! They're rotting on the outskirts, Walt! They're dying - every day, they're dying, and we don't do a damned thing about it. All we hear from them is the begging and screaming over walls thicker than most of their houses.
Walt: I don't have time for this, Ethan. [Men move in to grab Ethan]
Ethan: Don't you fucking touch me! [Ethan decks one guy in the nose, who stumbles back. Another henchman grabs his other arm, and yet another drills him in the gut. He falls to his knees. One henchman grabs his hair and pulls his head back so that he faces walt.]
Walt: The time for talk is over, Ethan. These are days of action. We have to stop this all before the mortis get out of hand and we all end up dead. If saving millions of innocent lives means I have to sacrifice the people I love... the people you love... then so be it. If it makes you feel any better, I'll tell Claire you died for the cause.
Ethan: If you lay one finger on her I swear- [Walt kicks him hard in the gut/rib area.]
Walt: You'll do what, Ethan? This was a long time coming. I knew the moment you started standing up for those people it would. I won't lie to you and say haven't had my eye on her. I promise I'll take care of her for ya. It's been a slice.
Ethan: You son of a- [Walt pistol whips Ethan in the temple, knocking him out.]
END SCENE

A car pulls up in a dark, abandoned area of the docks on the outskirts of New London. The men get out of the car, open the trunk, and pull Ethan out. They drag Ethan towards the docks through the dirt, passing an old, run-down building. Camera shows a tripwire across the path near the side of the building. Henchman leading trips on it, and a watcher steps out from the shadows of the side of the building. He throws two knives into the throats of the henchmen dragging Ethan, and a last one into the face of the tripped henchman as he tries to get back up. He wipes off his blades, pockets them, and sits him up against the wall of the building. He sits beside him. They talk ["You alright boss?" "Never been better." "You know I could have prevented all of this." "Better we know where he stands than risk all that we've accomplished." "Staying with us tonight?" "Might be for a while" "Don't forget your toothbrush." "Shut up and help me up."] Driver is sitting in car listening to the radio. The radio's talking about mortis sightings, and mentions sightings at the docks. Driver becomes more and more scared and uncomfortable. The watcher begins to pull out a knife, but Ethan stops his hand and walks towards the car window. He puts his hands on the window and scares the driver. Driver jumps, but then looks relieved. Ethan motions for him to roll down his window, which he does.

Driver: Jeez mister. You scared me! Craziest thing... I thought you were a- *PUNCH*

Ethan pulls driver out of seat, lays him on the side of the road, and the two of them hop in and drive away.
END SCENE

White lies for you and I
Help us lie in bed at night
Y'said

Hard rain in a house of tin
I can't stop the spinning in
my head

Slow
Slow down
Don't drown in the news you're making

So slow
I can't compete
with the wind as it kisses your

open, a-string on 3, mute e
open, e-string on 3, mute a
open, e-string on 2, mute a

Chorus:

e-string on 3, e-string on 5, open, e-string on 2
e-string on 3, e-string on 7, open, e-string on 2, a-string on 3 mute e

I remember the first time that we met
An awkward baseless conversation waiting for friends
Back then I was distracted by reality
Waiting hard for school and work to end
My musings were so cyclical, looking back
Your hair was bright and real and so were you
But I'm not so delluded that I'm justified
I still believe we fit with what we did and what we do
You're a miracle
You're a miracle
The dawn is dusk in retrospect
And I've not laughed without you yet
You're a miracle
You're a miracle
The longer roads were best for us
Laying long to watch the dusk unfold
And maybe we should give up
trying hard to not make efforts
and focus on the what and not the how
The smiles don't pay homage
to the eyes they're dancing for
And I'm not sure where or when we're headed now

She broke up with me on the weekend
I'm the weak and the end's the worst
Now I can't catch the breath I'm needing
And though the fire in her eyes was burning hard
I should've known it from the start
She said if you look at the ground
When you're feeling down
You'll miss the sunrise
So open your eyes
Feeling dead in the dirt
Will only make you hurt
You'll miss the sunrise
So open your eyes

Capgras Syndrome

I hope you know that you're not just a fly-by
You're more than moonlit tries at a first time
Well, I've tried so hard to commit to it
More than I'd admit, I'd submit to feeling lost
Nowadays you're seeing someone new to you
Step back and doubt it like you do
I swear I'm a man now reborn
With the feelings now torn from the doubts I had last May
Looking hard at a stain-glass memory
of bright-lit monogamy
I found the light, found the light from your glow
Of what I want to be
You're looking hard fighting Capgras Syndrome
Breath by breath and line by line
But they're not lines that I'm reading to you
They're the whispered words of a boy clear a land mine
I know, I know, that you can't find a first word
Or even heart-held sayings from a song you heard
To explain the struggles with hope you're having
Your hair feels matted in your mind you said
Even though I was caught by the potholes
of an eating doubt of the heart I had
These are the same shoes I wore
next door when I kissed your hands
Looking hard at a stain-glass memory
of bright-lit monogamy
I found the light, found the light from your glow
Of what I want to be
You're looking hard fighting Capgras Syndrome
Breath by breath and line by line
But they're not lines that I'm reading to you
They're the whispered words of a man clear a land mine

Prep to pull the trigger
Cigarettes never calmed you down
When you turned around to see me
But even if they did
I wouldn't feel better
Pop the cap and collapse
And relapse in defeat you know
A girl in wake of last week
In weak estate
and running late
So is this fate we share tonight
To watch the world explode in a flash of light
I know the words to the song you sing
So is this way the way that's right
To watch the fear dissapear with a prayer we might
Hold tight enough for the aftershock
We're counting down to morning
Warnings light the road we drive
But maybe you make me feel alive
'Cause maybe you make me feel alive

Feel the flames take
Lives for your sake
We’re on contract
There’s no going back
Let’s play forfeit
For this bullshit
Riot tonight
Be there for it
Have you felt the stare
Of a million men in black suits contemplating
How to bend your back without it breaking
I know it isn’t fair
And so do you so why so lacking any
I can’t take it
I can’t shake this
Let’s rewrite the
Powers that make us
More than what we
Ever could be
Let’s change hands so
We can be free

I’m stayin up again
Thinkin thoughts of you again
A hobby holdin’ your picture in my head
You’re looking outta place
The look of lost upon your face
But I’ve got a spot in my arms for you
Trying hard to stop I’m
Finding that my brakes find
Reasons not to kick in and cut
I’m staying on the tracks because of you
Searching for the last time
I knew I felt fine
But in my head I know it was you
I’m staying on the tracks because of you
I’m searching hard for lines
To find and redefine
The way you think I feel for you
When you burst into the scene
Musta been bent on saving me
Because all the wrongs turn right with you

Breaking Records
He was a rusty needle
gouging at her dark vinyl;
Speakers breathing
hot Sinatra on the
back of her neck.
His greasy fingerprints
are on her records
and I'm left
a capella.

You Can See the Park from Here
Dogs with
sandpaper tongues
are licking the inside of
your mouth and
grabbing your ass;
the one girl in my life
I actually knew as
more than 'that one'.
I'm only in you
on the outside,
and I can't read the
over-hyphenated
ramblings in the
morse code of your
clicking fingernails.
Let me entangle you in
choking and hair pulling
until you moan
sweet, hot breath onto the
window of my tiny apartment;
I'll make you write out
everything on it.

Maybe we’ll exist in secret
Never surface for a breath
And you can tie me down and try
To tell me it’s better than death

I wanna be something tangible
Something worthy of my eyes
I know you know you’re not dead
But do you know that you’re alive

I can’t think when you’re pounding the door
All this white noise screams the score to me
I can’t be me when I’m with you

I can’t breathe when you’re biting the skin
Cold within, like a silence so thin it could snap
I can’t be me when I’m with you

This ball and chain romance hurts my head
When it sinks into the depths
I know you don’t listen but
Just watch and read what must be said



My voice is like hammers on your mind
I can tell it in your eyes
I’m tired of feeling needles
Reeling in the riptides that you made

I can’t think when you’re pounding the door
All this white noise screams the score to me
I can’t be me when I’m with you

I can’t breathe when you’re biting the skin
Cold within, like a silence so thin it could snap
I can’t be me when I’m with you

You know, some people describe drawing art as freedom. The simple act of marking a canvas is made out to be the absolute, unrestricted freedom that allows the artist to ascend beyond the here and now, and into a limitless dimension of everything and nothing. Nothing, in this context, would thread in with the fact that that elephant you just drew weighs as much as the powdery residue your pencil left behind, and wouldn't consume a peanut if you forced it to.

Now, at first I pondered at the falsities of freedom being on a canvas. A canvas, in any form, is a space used to create. But whether it's a wall on the side of a building or a piece of paper, it's naturally a restriction of it's own. If you're drawing on a canvas, your limit is the 4 foot by 3 foot piece you're painting on. A piece of letter paper is 21.6 cm by 28.0 cm to fill with whatever the artist desires, but it will inevitably be filled - and when it's full, all you can do is draw over the old, or take an eraser to the old to make way for the new. There IS no limitless gigabyte ipod, and there IS no neverending inebriation. If it were only true that a drawing of a man was still just that when drawn over by a drawing of an oceanside, it could be claimed a limitless dimension. No matter how small-to-scale you draw the galaxy, that 0.0000001% of the paper you pricked with your pencil to depict our galaxy is now filled.

Now here's the point. The only way a canvas can ever be limitless is for it to be empty. That way, there is no taking up of space, and therefore, this limitless existence may be represented. In reality the imagination, in it's purest form, is the only limitless space known to man that may remain limitless AFTER it creates. There is no taking up of space when you imagine a hunk of grass being chewed in a dog's mouth. And yet, maybe not - maybe not even the mind is limitless. Maybe switching concentration from that dog enjoying his chlorophyl to a dottering old man being punched in the face by a grizzly bear involves an instantaneous erasing of the dog - and maybe switching back involves 'redrawing' this dog. Maybe the mind is a canvas after all - I mean, you can't imagine them both in their detail without creating a different image entirely as one image.

Assuming this is correct, it remains true that only a blank canvas may obtain limitless freedom. It is that split second before pencil hits paper, where you could choose anything imaginable to draw, that holds absolute freedom. The ability to gratify your lust for freedom IS your freedom, and you cast it away by falling to that lust. Freedom is the ability to choose, not the choice itself.

... and THAT'S why I refuse to pick which movie we're going to tonight.

http://poststuff4.entensity.net/052009/flash.php?m​edia=babytpain.flv

Even BABIES CRYING sound good with the auto-tuner effect he uses in every freakin' song.

That I've written in my lifetime. It's so weird - I can totally remember what I was feeling when I wrote each one, or at least what I was thinking.

Brunch with a Dystopian

He ordered the skillet, looking
starry-eyed as he wolfed a
motley pile of delectables.
My eggs became uninteresting
and cold as I watched the show
and was left with the bill.

----

The New Vibe

Our ears bleed more these days than usual.
We've noticed you've noticed, but not really;
It's not involuntary - on the contrary!
We're trying to prove points without words.

We're Bob Dylan; we're gravitational;
We're the milk after frosted flakes.
Ripples of thunderous melody
shred our brain to brine with a beat.

This is revolution! The therapeutic stew
that fills our sultry skulls to the brim
is but an appetizer; an appeaser;
a lure into the delicious thereafter.

Drop guns, drop ideals, drop vapid vibes,
and fill your head with soul and idiosyncrasies.
We're a viral vessel for the rhythm of tomorrow;
We're the evolution of revolution - let us lift you.

----

Lost in Space

The treason of reason writes these words;
With common-sense suspended in a stellar breeze
I stitch my lips into a devastated descretion,
the needle hop-scotching across a crowded galaxy.

I'd give you yours [and mine] as a favor -
the interest being my interest in your smile;
I'm a stargazer, stuck on your constellation.
You make me forget gravity's grip on my feet.

Don't be mad, be flattered - flutter the wings
of your liquid stars, though maybe in contempt.
I'm fine with that feeling - fine with any feeling,
so long as you let me feel your presence -
My own personal supernova,
lighting the night like lucid lightning,
lost in space where I can't reach you.

----

05:11am | Apr 22, '07 | Public
Part 1

This tinfoil fishbowl blocks my view
Where is my master? Heart racing faster,
Mind a-fumbled, shiney inner chamber,
Reflections of a-self.
My companions next door look just like me.
How very strange.

Part 2

I want to remember this moment,
This beautiful climax of touch and taste,
as it always has been - life is but a fleeting memory.
Mine being 5 seconds in length and duration.
What were we saying?

Part 3

My bowl has begun to grime and green,
My excretion pleads execution for my denouement.
Let my master finally remember to clean my prison?
At a meagre 6, he does not - but plays in fallen leaves outside.
I drown in my own pestilence.
My belly is quite dry.

----

Affairs in Attics

The clickity-clack of the shotgun shell
sticks in the back of your brain like words
she yelled to your back last february.
It's too soon to look at her lying stiff
in that mahogany tupperware...
You guess it's meant to keep
the memories fresh and groping.
You wince and flinch at cigarette burns
emblazened into your mind by her.
You can't stand the antagony you feel.
It seems like you'll never escape this,
struggling to scream bloody murder into sewer grates,
recoiling at the sludge and gore of guilt
smeared all over the sidewalk.
Behind your conscience's saving amibiguity,
feeling the onslaught of deceits neatly
tearing the corners of your lips
until you wear a permanent, gaping grin.
She sat her ass on a stranger's lap,
grinding your sanity like a wet whetstone,
sucking his tongue with a sick satsifaction.
That black night, you dragged her to the curb
and shot her down in the street with the same
ecstatic enthusiasm she fucked him with.
Wishing you'd lit a candle for the occasion,
you cradle her carcass and kiss her neck...
She's so beautiful bathing in blood and moonlight.
The boiling gurgles in her throat splurt soundtracks
that will echo without accoustic against padded walls
As you learn to accept your affair.

----

Bird of Prey//Heart Murmur

Your ticker clicks like clogs for her.
Dancing at riflepoint;
limelight of an artillery flare;
she's a crater in your chest cavity.

The dance stops and you lose time.
You breathe musty cobwebs and ashtrays,
Swallowing deserts which you'll never see...
Your little dancer snaps it's ankles.

You lose your chance, and her -
A field-mouse finding existence
thrashing between the talons
of the ever-predatorial peregrine

Rapture with a raptor will
reduce you to a pellet,
make no mistake.

----

Feed the Flame

Candy lips.
Suck my soul.
Lightning stare.
Electrify my senses.
Sedate me.
Seduce me.
And all the while,
The smell of
Sweet Vanilla.

Love me.
Please.
Need this.
Eyes of Niagra.
Niles down your cheeks.
Don't shake, shiver, shush...
I won't hurt you.
It's just us.
You, me, and this knife.

Scream, and I'll
Take Candy from a baby.
I'll steal your thunder,
Smother the lightning, and
Grin at clear skies.
Blank gaze.
Dead existence.
Toxify the flower.
and all the while,
The smell of
Sweet Vanilla.

----

Don't Look Up.

I march -
Head down.
Eyes focused.
Blindspots?
Left and right.
Lose your sight.
Gain your goal.
March, ant.
March.
Trophy wife?
Check.
Cadillac?
Check.
Briefcase?
Check.
Armani Suit?
Check.
Something's missing.
Ah, yes.
I left life in my other pants.

---

Monochrome Rainbows

Meet my maker.
Television streaks my innocent vision -
A muddy rag 'cross my crystalline windowpane.
My brain corrodes in a pool of Coca Cola
Along with rusty ferraris rotting in a metal graveyard.
I bite into burgers with bloated sedation,
Ignoring plastic lodged between my malicious mandibles.
Clouds turn from their puffy, wispy whites
To a putrid, greasey black
as my lungs pump out dusty, dry ash.
Fuck your environmental blasphemy.
I kick back, bask in my temporary paradises,
Refuse your sacri-industrial revelations,
And enjoy my carefree blue skies,
While shadows devour my devastated horizon.

---

evaeLove

Leave school to be together 'neath the highest sun.
These autumn leaves look like the brightest summer
When you lie, so carefree, amongst them.
...
Leave no boundaries between us, promise.
Don't halt our halos spinning with fearful inhibition
...
Leave me standing alone 'neath the dimmest street lamp [ I'm sorry. ]
[ It's all my fault. Sensitivity loses conciousness in male minds. ]
...
Leave me a note, leave me a chance, leave me feeling hope.
Leave me wanting you like oxygen while I drown in your scent.
...
Maternity Leave. What? Not now. Not boundaries. No boundaries.
You promised. I think for the first time since I fell for those emeralds.
...
Leave you. Forever. Love you. Forever.
These coward's tears will forever stain my memories.
Leave you, I do - and my soul, my love, my life.

---

Fish

Hush little darling, my guest of honor,
And step into my snare like a good bunny.
Peel you like oranges,
Soft, warm, bloody oranges,
And leave my new bowl to blanch in the sun.

Still, my hunger throws my frail figure
Against the wall of my brain cell.
These pins don't dislodge -
like our personal perversions.
No,
Darling, you're my appetizer.

---

You Can't Know.

Under my flimsy floorboards...
Rotting, throbbing, shrieking...
Pulsating in my skull...
My tongue isn't tied,
but wrenched out my throat.
A bloody stump remains.
I urk it out, gurgle the truth
through gore and fear
That you won't understand.
You can't know.
You can't know.
You can't know...


...I'm cheating on you.

----

Wings

Your black, zombified heart
teaches me courtesy
to be played on a rotting corpse.
This careless melee of words,
and this brackish barrage of black sludge,
slugs and squirts out between cracked lips.
Your turbulent winds teach my wings to
break, snap, collapse, retract,
and never again test the winds.
Your chains, heavy rusty iron,
cripple me and crush my spirit.
These bird's wings never again open
to accept your toxic breeze;
for it scorches their feathers,
and crucifies their skeletal remains.

----

Shut Your Mouth for a Second

Sit.
Posture.
Sit up.
Shut up.
Shut your mouth.
Shut your eyes.
Calm down.
Calm.
Vacation.
Somewhere.
Anywhere?
Where?
Her eyes.
Vacation in her eyes.
Get lost in your paradise.
Get lost.
But don't lose yourself.
Find yourself.
In her eyes, find you.
A metaphor?
Not quite.
A reflection?
Maybe.
Find yourself lost in her paradise.
Reflect on yourself.
Reflect on the mirror's reflection.
Reflect on the time spent in
staring contests with someone you hate
every morning.
Critical eyes meet critical eyes,
Scorn burns it's own hand.
Heal.
Repair.
Revisit.
Renew.
Revise.
Rehash your ideas.
Review your renewal.
Don't fuck up.
Just shut up.
Just sit down.
Just shut up.
Just calm down.
Just shut up.
Just look at your reflection in her eyes,
And maybe you'll realize things aren't so bad.
And above all,
Just please, dear, god,
Shut up
'Cause she's probably tired of
Your lips moving instead of
Kissing, idiot.

I'm totally inspired to write a new song, 'cause I just found a set of lyrics I wrote on a windowsill in Paris at night. I'll set the scene.

I'm sitting in a windowsill about 2 or 3 stories up the hotel in my favourite tank top, so I can feel this breeze blowing by. It's night, but it's so warm and welcoming! Below me is a cobblestone street with a few cars going by now and then, and the people of Paris strolling about. On the other side of the street, the other hotel where even more of our students on the trip are staying. Windows are open here and there as everyone looks out at the streets of Paris like I am. A few kids are doing what I'm doing, sitting up on the window, back against the frame of it, and I'm getting my daily fill of writing done in the binder I brought just for that. It's just one of those moments that change you as a person - this perfect, beautiful moment where everything's flawless, and nothing worries you, and you don't care for anything - money, or the future, or anything. So I wrote a song called 'Concentration isn't Easy'. I had a girl in mind when I wrote it, a friend who I'd really fallen for [ Like, stupidly. ], and I started wondering what window was hers. The song's about how the lights of Paris don't seem as bright because she's on my mind, and it could really be an amazing song if I write the music and melody well.

Just finding this lyric, all folded up and tattered in the corner of my room, made my day. Hell, it made my week. I miss those times... they were the best times of my life so far. I know I'll be back to Europe before I know it, but... it'll never be the same as it was then. We were all kids, all friends, and we were exploring these worlds that we'd never felt before. I miss that carefree perfection pretty bad... because real life, being unemployed thanks to this recession flushing my construction credentials down the toilet, worrying if I'll ever be able to afford school, and being scared I won't be the success I could be isn't nearly as wonderful as those almost-20 days we spent in a roller coaster ride through heaven.

I could never think of the proper name for her, and now she's a goner.



A friend broke her by accident when he grabbed his sweater while she was on it, making her fall into my weight set, snapping her headstock and splintering the neck a bit... damaged beyond any repairs that wouldn't cost as much as the guitar did. $650 down the drain, but that's not even close to the worst part. FUCK.

It's like someone who really loves cars getting their tires slashed. It just ruins EVERYTHING. FUCK.

Great animator, great visualist, and dark as hell! Not to mention MASSIVELY creative.

Let's take the belief that women and men are, on relative terms, in a state of equality.

Now, after upstanding women fought for their rights, and for the ability to stand BESIDE man instead of KNEELING UNDER HIM,

Let's look at this list on a facebook group that has 2263 members [AT LEAST 95% female] whom all agree with it.



I'm gonna deal with the bolds one at a time in a second, but just let me say... this list offended me. Know why? Because equality will never exist. Tons of girls act 'cutesy' about the 'girls rule, boys drool' theory, but many are dead serious about it, cutesy or not. It pisses me off, it TURNS ME OFF, and it's pathetic. Let's begin.

#14 - This is a common stereotype, but I know how many countless times me and my buds have asked for directions. If you're following these stereotypes, then the only reasons you aren't afraid to ask for directions is because the tow-truck driver pulling you out of the ditch seems nice.

#16 - And sometimes we wish that girls weren't crazy, spastic whores. Funny how personal experiences make you wish things. And don't act like boys are expendable, because you just sound like a huge bitch - which is kind of a fad anyways, so keep it up.

#17 - Equalz. Rosa Parks is rolling in her grave with your fucked up vision of her values.

#20 - It's funny, because we have to be a man, but as far as you're concerned, being a good fuck is about it. I want a person, not a so-called superior bitch that I serve. If by man, you mean he buys you your food, punches guys in the face when they hit on you, and gives you that present now and then... you have to learn to be fucking worth it. Sitting there looking pretty and being a bitch doesn't cut it.

#26 - ... and yet you get mad when we 'hang out with the guys too much'. Honestly? If some girl tells me that she loves her friends more than me, and when I go to hang out with my friends, she complains that she wants to hang out with me... I'm cutting her out of my life for being a hypocritical bitch, rather than a human being.

#29 - No.

#35 - You want to get drunk off your face and fuck some dude you don't know? Pay your own way. If you're a girl I enjoy the company of, sure, I'll buy you a shot - but I'm sure as fuck not paying to plaster you so you can stumble around like a giggling whore out on the dancefloor, before railing a puerto rican that goes by Hoss in a bathroom stall.

Annd that's my rant. Girls wonder why 'boyz iz such dix'? Some guys are assholes. Some chicks are complete fucking whores. We're all human, and the fact that we're different genders means almost nothing. Sure, there's some people that fall pretty well into stereotypes, but hell, that's true for EVERY stereotype.

I hope eventually boys get another stereotype slapped on our already COVERED reputation - and that's for NOT PUTTING UP WITH STUPID, SUPERIORITY-COMPLEXED WHORES, AND REALIZING THAT WE GET JERKED AROUND BECAUSE WE'VE GOT THE DICKS, AND THEY BLEED.

NOTE: Don't get me wrong, this is not an open insult to women. This is to the kind of girl that follows these rules, and shakes their heads when guys have a spine AND a dick, instead of just the latter.

ALMOST fucking everybody. It feels like it's time for me to do the same. So here's to convincing yourself you're worth a SCRAP of what you wish you were. Here's to losing what you have, and pretending you have more now than you ever have. Here's to laughing like it's funny, when you should be breaking beautiful things just for the hell of it. Here's to the people patting your back, and thinking 'Big deal'. Here's to every person to say 'Hi', and mean 'Fuck, not him again'. Here's to every person with a mask, and every person without a care in my life. Because you know what? I used to think living life meant having the perfect mask to wear, and to go out of your way to show everyone you give a shit about every little thing they do... and you know what? I've wasted my time - and my breath - on people I really thought were worth it. People that can hug you, turn around, and roll their eyes when you can't see it. Well I see it all now, and it sucks - but you know what? I don't regret being the guy that actually gave a shit, and had the integrity to be a friend, even when who I was supporting would drop me at a moment's notice as soon as I was gone.

Yup. Here's to burning bridges and breaking beauty. Here's to two things above all else:

One, that from now on, I'm going to work towards nothing but self-improvement, self-worth, and the accomplishments that precede that...

and two, that those people that have no truth to spit out in your face other than a 'fuck you' in the back of their brain... are not worth the memories you made with them.

D'you know who's changed?

I have. So I'm going to improve myself day by day, write like I might lose the chance to, and do everything in life that I wish for me. Here's to living life like a movie.

Paint has always been an awesome way to make funny shit. I could never convince myself to pay money for photoshop, so... Here's a collection of my hilarity over the years.










One time, I tried to start an e-fad.. it didn't catch on, but I still think it's hilarious:







Anyways...



^ T-Rex Mex! BWAHAHA.


One time, I took requests for people wanting their pictures to be changed into animals...






Anyway... again...



^^^ Made me laugh. Hard.






Some dude looked like Sam Gamgee, so I had to.


And that's the end... What a journey. bahahaha.

As blog'd by Mark Hoppus.

"hello to you. it?s been a long time since i?ve posted anything here on the himynameismark site. i haven?t had it in me. these past two months have been the hardest times that i can remember, and i hope that we never see anything like this ever again. first losing our dear friend and longtime producer jerry finn, and then the plane crash that happened in september, taking our friends chris and che. even two months later, i still can?t believe what happened, and it?s too much to talk about. but let me say that i think about little chris every single day, and the world is not the same without him. he is one of the best people i?ve ever known. we travelled the world together, spending countless hours on busses and planes, in hotel lobbies and dressing rooms. we worked together, laughed, and played jokes on people. when i saw him in the studio, no matter if it were with blink-182, +44, or an unknown band i was producing, chris would walk right in, introduce himself, make some jokes, and make sure everyone was taken care of. he made everyone feel at home. like they were family. every person he met was a friend for life, and he could talk to anyone. it didn?t matter if it was the biggest star in the world or someone waiting to get into a show, little chris treated everyone as a friend. he was a dear friend to me. i?m so sad that he is not here right now. there are just no words.

i?m also so thankful that travis and DJ AM made it out of the plane that horrible night. travis is a brother to me, and since the crash he has gone through more than i can even imagine. from the day after the plane went down, when i saw him in the burn unit out in georgia, to the hospital here in LA, to seeing him at home, his recovery is nothing short of amazing. every day gets a little better. and not only is he my brother, but also the best drummer and musician i?ve ever seen. the man was born to play drums, and it is great to see him starting to get back into the studio and behind his kit.

as for me, i have been getting back to work as well. a couple of weeks ago i went into the studio with our lunar activities, to finish up their record. chris holmes and i recorded three more of their songs, and they are in the final mixing stage right now. then last week i went out to new york city to introduce all time low at the 2008 woodie awards for mtvu. the day i got back into town i went right into the studio with my friend richard gibbs, who scores films. he had a rough idea of a song for the movie he is currently working on, and he wanted me to come in and collaborate with him on it. we spent five straight days in the studio and came up with a really fun track for a movie called ?fired up,? that comes out next year. it?s good to be singing again, and getting back into it. now this week chris holmes and i are working on a theme song for a tv show. today it passed the first round of approvals, and now it goes up to the big time producer people for their thoughts. hopefully it?ll be seen on a television near you very soon. check local listings.

in the midst of everything else that has happened lately, tom, travis, and i have all spoken together. first through a number of phone calls, and then a couple of weeks ago we all hung out for a few hours. they?ve all been great, very positive conversations. we?re just reconnecting as friends after four years of not talking. it?s a good thing. obviously the first question for a lot of people will be ?does this mean a blink-182 reunion?? the answer is none of us know. we haven?t talked about it at all. right now it?s just good for the three of us to see one another, reconnect, and let the past be the past. the events of the past two months supersede everything that happened before. life is too short."