Marky, The Introduction

So that night, Christina and her boyfriend Edward, drove me to a party and I really for the life of me can't remember what took place. All I can remember was a grey and white tabby cat, various smokes of different tastes and inebriation, and more beer than I thought was humanly impossible to fit inside a one bedroom apartment.
After that fiasco, Christina and Edward took me back to their pad to wait for the professional couch surfer Marky who had been living on her couch for the past few weeks. When I got their, I had just been comming off a speed trip that had grabbed me by the balls, so of course I did what any other speed freak would do at a time like this, I cleaned. I white tornadoed that womans apartment, scrubbing and washing dishes in the hopes that perhaps I could show Christina that I was somewhat responsible. Let's also not forget the come-down I was nursing.
About two or three hours later, Marky showed up and introduced himself. He was a short, portly fellow with a single streak of pink dye running down the side of his black hair. I remember he had just gotten home from seeing Hank 3 and Assjack live at one of the bars in downtown Austin. He told me all about how cool it was and how after the show he got a chance to smoke a joint with Hank himself. Now at that time, none of that meant shit to me as that was the first time I'd ever had the unadulterated splender of hearing Hank 3.
The best way to derscribe Hank3 is a chaotic, honkey-tonk fusion of country, punk, blues, and metal. To my young and virgin ears, this was a very pleasent change to the street punk noise I had been emersed in for so long.
So when Marky arrived, he of course brought two bottles of whiskey and about a half ounce of smoke. That night was the first night I met this cat, he didn't know me from Adam, but he gave me all the herb I wanted and all the whiskey I needed. That was when I knew that me and this guy were going to be pretty tight.
I can now honestly say I wouldn't be alive today if it hadn't been for Marky. He showed me the ropes and the best spots in the city to get food, change, and what have you. He also showed me the parts of town to avoid(not that there's really such a thing in Austin). I can think back and remember when he and I got totally slammed on two bottles of Evan Williams and made tin foil vests for all four of Christina's kittens. It was a glorious night of drunken sillyness and feline humiliation. Unfortunatly the next morning, with the remnants of a forgotten night and a space kitten fashion show lying astru in Christina's domicile, When she finally got home, she did not find it as humerous as me and the couch surfer found it the night before. She was so upset by the "kitten catastrophe" in fact that she kicked us out.
Marky and I strolled down familier roads and parking lots until Marky was able to get in touch with some of his old pals from back in the day when he lived in Corpus Christi. It was funny, because just about everyone I came in contact with on that Austin endeavor was from, or had at least lived in Corpus Christi. Sounds like a pretty happenen place.
When he got ahold of his friends, we found out where they lived, grabbed our bags and started hoofing it the four or five miles to their pad.
When we got there I was surprised to see something I hadn't seen before, a Mexican skinhead. Up until that time I was under the false presumption that there was "race rules" for that perticular sect of people. Oh how wrong I was. These Mexican cats could hang and they could jam to good tunes. Both racist and non-racist skinhead Oi! music(Oi! music is a sub-genre of punk rock that celebrates the working class and the hardships and drunken nights they endure. It's also an easy way for either side of skinheads to spread their "message" of either pro-racism or anti-racism through angry, preachy-type propaghanda)
So we stayed there that night, got stupid drunk on cheap beer, and passed out on their balcony. I still cannot remember how or why we ended up on the balcony and since everyone else at the pad had been just as sloshed as we'd been the night before, no one else could tell us either. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders and blew it off. After all, Christina had called me that morning saying that I was not kicked out for good and that she had basically had a "bitch-fit meltdown" about her poor little kittys and I was welcomed to come back when I so chose.
I can't stand cats. I hate them. I hate their whole attitude towards existance and life in general. I'm not saying I have the ability to carry on an intelligent conversation with a cat(if there could ever be such a thing) I'm just saying that when I look at a cat and it looks back at me, dead in the eye, as it shits in my house in a bag of sand, it irrates me. Fills me with feelings of disgust and deviance towards what I'd love to do to the animal. Like making foil space vests for it.
So I got back to Christina's without Marky later that day and we hugged and she told me everything was alright, just as long as I leave her cats alone. I'm glad now I didn't tell her about how a week or so later Marky and got drunk again and put on a cat gymnastics show. If you know me at all from my past entries, you could probably guess that all this consisted of was me and Marky flipping the cats backwards and heaving them in the air. You would guess correctly because that's exactly what happened.
Marky was always that guy that sympathized with me and my plite of never having a certain bed or couch to crash on for the night. I can remember on numerous occasions when after a party or after we'd get through getting drunk at a bar, him always making sure I had a place to rest my head at night. I wish I knew what happened to him. I'll always remember him with the tattoo of the Germs' "Circle one" on my wrist. Marky had the same one so now in some twisted sort I guess, a part of him is with me and a part of me is with him. Thanks Marky, and always remember, CONDOLEESA RICE!

The glory in a restless love story.

I don't know and I don't understand because living as and asspiring to be societies everlasting pimple has turned off any form of social skills I should have and could have inherited in a decades time. Relying on and depending on no one else but yourself for any form of entertainment, conversation, love, and happyness builds up nothing but confusion about any socially involved situation.
I don't know
And I don't understand
however yours truly would love to explain
if he could just weave these words together
to make sense like they do in his head
I really can't for the life of me figure out why nervousness and paranoia seem to engulf me on the nights when I need to lose them the most. Hanging by my neurons and presenting themselves to an audience that needs not their opinion. I sometimes sit back and think of all those nights I spent by myself and try to convince myself I felt fine back then. Upon the latest realization however, I have made the conciencious desision that those long and lonely years were spent in a fog of self-propelled lies and destruction. I think now(know rather) that showing two blue pools what its really like when a person loves the temperature, maybe too much, is a fuck of a lot better then living off trash and nickles found on the sidewalk. Maybe it's too much but it is what it is in front of my face and in my dreams. Just keep quiet and keep it to yourself, that should fix all thats wrong in the animal kingdom. If it doesen't(God forbid) then sadly maybe these animals were never meant to evolve to a happier state and lay stagnent in their caves, slumbering blissfully as the war wages on outside. I'd love to awaken them though with the soft touch of senserity and serenity as they roll on their backs and stretch and rub there eyes filled with sleepies that had blinded them for so long. Maybe one day, hopefully and longingly I can show them a better day with passion so strong and love been there all along.
la de da de da de lazy days come with a stronghold gripped to ones neck by apathy, nihilism, and pestilance not this time welcomed, exaulted, or wanted. Feelings? I miss numbness. But give me pain and sorrow to go along with all of the joy to help format all of this into a love story.

clown with a banjo

as we walk down the drag
smokes in hand
another wasted Sunday
we look at the dirt
upon our backs
and thank God we're so lucky

We aint got dime
to call our own
no finances to make it through
this night, this life
this town, don't gripe
we'll make it there one day real soon

Look not down your nose at me
and call me your family
on this rock its so hot
were all we got
the ship will set sail eventually
(2)

one day it will happen
cuz our lives will be fastened
with weights and chains
and locks and brick
enslaved by your own selfish luxury

so for now lets just turn back our heads to sing
our revolution put to a harmony
one day it will end
a day far too soon
lets just hope its not a travesty

you all know about the kid
the one that dropped out and said fuck the world

lets hear it for them cuz their travels don't end
forever pushing them home.

Own Your Own Circus

Living day to day such a marathon
no need for self-preservation
why bother?
there's no need.

Paranoia.
Lovestruck.
Pleasure.
Nervousness.
How can these all be brought together
Like a simultaneous void
of both positive and negative
feelings so foreign
So Pure
so different
so welcomed.

there's a light illuminating the tunnel that had once been ripped and broken
now whole
now complete with a thirty-foot tall candelabra
warming the innards of a dread locked vagrant
like the Old Forrester consumed so lonely and long ago

any love and every love thy heart shall desire
is what I posses and can give away without a hitch
malleable and tangible luxury's however
is not what I can provide with ease or consistency

Please look not down your nose
at my finances, so meager and lame

please look past at the boy with his arms outstretched so wide
wanting and awaiting your embrace
to make one whole and complete
free and irradicated of misery, loathing, and heartache

All I want for you happiness
All I need for you is joy
All I want from you is heart
All I need from you is love

Underneath the warmth of the street light
I'll hold you and never let go
Lips locked and tongues engaging in battle
On this night so dark and full of hope.

Old Friends and Drug Abuse

I can remember the taste of dirt as I awoke from underneath the 29th street bridge that morning/afternoon. I couldn't remember what had taken place that night before except those pills I had taken at about 7pm. I couldn't remember what they were, Xanax? Ambian? Hydrocodone? I didnt know. What I did know is that the fuzz that had overtaken my head and my psyche was unberably strong and I had to get some malt liquor on it. Stat. So me, Justin, Liz and Huck made our way to the nearest gas station we could find(I think it was pleasently named "Stop&Rob) and we set up our signs and managed to get about five bucks between me and Justin. So of course we bought two of the finest Old English 40ounces we could get our hands on. I also think I should mention this all took place before noon. I think it was about nine o'clock. It was beauty in it's rawest form. two conquistadors sailing the seven seas of self-degradation. The true grit of the American Dream. The greatest form of a capitalist trade; two kids make up some bullshit sob story about how our pet rat(Scumfuc) was a "fancy rat" and he needed "fancy food" to go along with his...general "fanciness". Then Huck, in all his glory used his cousins i.d. he had stolen a few years back and bought the booze. Liz was a poon and could'nt hang, but between me, Huck, and Justin, the two fortys were gone in about five minutes. As we walked down the road(I believe it was Guadalupe St.) I noticed some college kids looking my way and coovering their mouths almost in surprise. I walked up to one of them and he grabed my arm almost forcefully and ran me to this table in front of this resturant that was apparently "too upscale" to ever let me in. I mean shit, the people that work there have matching aprons and matching hats. This place is baller right? Anyway, this weird-ass college kid had dragged me in front of this place and I was suprised to see my old friends, Fat Tom, Lillit, and somebody else important. So important in fact that I have forgotten them. Damn you and your agenda drugs. It was pretty funny because all Tom could speak and remark of was how typical it was to run into me on the street like this. almost as if by some outter force, an outter personna; Fat Tom had known all along the fate of your humble narrator. Or he was being a pretentious prick, I still do not know. It kinda sucked though because that was how I found out what really happened to Sean. He hadn't od'd against a wall in Deep Ellum all glamorized, he had actually been at a party. All Tom was able to tell me was Sean had gotten some phone call from his dad, told everyone he had to shit, and the next morning his girlfriend(or random slut) had opened the bethroom door and found him, slumped over on the toilet, face cold and blue. He had gotten what he had tried for so long to find through countless addictions and overdoses. He finally went home.
It made me think back, I've lost a lot of friends/brothers because of that one little thrill, drugs. Kids that never got the chance to ever live, or even attempt to. No one get me wrong, a party's a party, but know your fucking limits. All of them, cut short at so young. People constantly ask, " why would you do drugs if that's whats plagued so many you knew?" Well the answers this, those drugs didn't kill those poor children, they themselves did. Everyone I knew and have known personally who has "accidently" overdosed, there was something wrong. Their smiles were different, almost embarassed. their eyes werent right either. You can tell a lot about a person just by looking into their eyes, you can see their inner soul for however beautiful or damaged and broken it really is. I worry today about some of my other brothers as their glow looks to be dwindling to this day. There's nothing that can be done for them though. once that glow is gone your already dead. just a shell of a human mindlessly and monotonously living out their pathetic and meaningless lives until one day it finally snaps. That little and minut inconvenience that finally sends them over the edge in which they then go to the bedroom(or bathroom), sit down and in a drugged stupor, take a lethal dose of their drug of choice or whatever they can get their hands on. Drugs kill, but at least you get some sleep.

God

I hate Christians. I hate them. I can't deal with their constant displays of arrogance and sanctimony. The majority of them, with their perfect jobs, their perfect wives, their perfect kids and cars they put themselves so high. All I can ever see comming from these pretty looking people is how they are so much holier than thow because of how they go to church or how much they "help" poorer communities and people with the two or three dollars they give to a bum once every blue-moon. What was it that Jesus did again? That's right, he helped people and gave back to those less fortunate. These people who just go to church to show off thier new suv or how well their kids are doing are the biggest sinners of them all. They go to church or whatever form of worship they so choose, they sit down and pretend to sing along with the chorus while little Billy and Whittney sit next to each other poking and hitting each otherr all service. They don't do anything to help their fellow man, they don't give back shit, all they care about is themselves and their selfwish wishes. I'm a kid who never goes to church, I got tattoos on my fingers and blue dread-locks. Do I look like your typical Christian or worshiper? No. Do I do what other Christians do? No. I enjoy skateboarding, smoking reefer, and hopin on the good foot to do the bad thing with my ol' lady. Does that make me bad or less "Christian" than the next guy? I don't believe so, because to make up for it I'd do anything for anybody and never ask for nothing in return. Now I'm not trying to sound arrogant but I'm just saying, I ain't typical.
I hate the way the media and modern telivision and movies alike make people who believe in Jesus look. It's almost a shame to call yourself a "Christian" anymore because of all the hype and bullshit that's tied to it. The majority of people, when you say you are a Christian, look at you as if you grew a toe out of your nose and your some3 freakish leper because you choose to instead of selfishly just existing, believe in something more powerful and more beautiful than anything you could ever imagine. Most people will tell you they are a Christian for their own self-worth or to make themselves feel better about the family they just evicted or about that worthless bum outstretching his hand with shame in his eyes and they just turning away. This is not a Christian, this is not someone who(by no fault of tyheir own) have not seen the great and awsome power yet. I am lucky(blessed rather) to have seen this first hand. I was pronounced dead in the middle of the street for thirty seconds. That might not sound like too long, but to paramedics and parents alike, it is an enternity. I'm out of a coma and walking, talking, and wiping my own ass despite what the doctors and neurosurgeons said. I was supposed to(according to them) die or lay in a coma for the rest of my days having my poor mother tend to her in valid son for the rest of her days as well. I didn't. The only reason for this taking place a neurosurgeon told my family was because of God. Now these neurosurgeons have studied the brain and its functions for nearly half of their lives andf have put their sole trust and beliefs into medicine and textbooks. What happened to me and how I recovered went completely and totally against everything they had ever read about D.A.I.'s. Look it up, thats the kind of head injury I got. But not even all that got me to believe. I was still pig-headed and stubborn even after the gift of life I haD recieved. What really got to me personally actually took place on my escapades of allyways and the Salvation Army. I was walking down a lonely, dark street one hot and muggy Austin night. I had with me two dudes I had met a couple miles back. We'd been walking together for a while conversating about everything from beer to Pixie(this hippie that ran this hemp stand on the drag. She was pertty) until God came into the conversation. I started talking about how I really wasent sure about who or what was "up there" but I was definatly certauin there was indeed something there. The other guy we were with began to rail and chastise God saying there was none and even if there was, what good is He? This kids homeless, why should he believe in anything higher than himself? The other kid, the one who brought up God in the first place just smiled and shook his head almost solemly and turned and said to me, "you see man, you see how you don't write Him off in a single breath? Trust me bro, he sees that shit and you'll find your way, trust me, you will man."
I couldnt remember that kids name or even really what he looked like to save my life, but those words will stay with me until I die. This kid, who had nothing, no backpack, no food, no water bottle, was so happy and thankful at these "brand-new" pair of shoes he'd gotten from the drop-off. The drop-off was like Goodwill almost, people would drive by and "drop off" used and old items that had worn out their welcomes at their humble abode. He was so excited and so happy that he had shoes because he told me that before all he had was two pieces of cardboard and ducktape to protect his feet from the harshness of street living. I looked at this boy, so gratefull and content with what he DID have as opposed to miserable and bitter at the thought of what he DOESENT have and it changed me that night. It made me become very humble and just at peace with what was going on around me. I felt an overwelming sensation of calming and warmth take over my entire body. The only thing I could say to explain the cause of this feeling was that God himself was saying everything was alright and not to worry just yet. I could feel him carry me and support me forever since then.
After that kid said that to me I just hung my head in thought. Was this real? Is this God thing something to look into? Yes, yes it was. Every night on the street after that, I'd pray and just ask God to keep me safe. Sometimes I wonder what happened to that kid. I know for a fact he will never know the impression he left on me my uttering that small and insugnifficant statement.
I just hope that he's seen as many blessings in his life since then as I have.

"Yeah man, I'm squatting with this one chick at her pad and she said ya'll could stay there for the night", is what I answered MC on the phone. I had gotten MC Devlin's phone number when I joined the Mad Conductor street team a few weeks back. The mad conductor was a psychedelic/trip hop group from Nazareth, Pennsylvania that had members of the former ska-core group No-Cash. I had come in contact with the street team in the first place using the ever elusive Myspace(yes I too was a part of that whole fiasco at one time). I remember hearing them when I was stoned out of my mind on some really good New Mexico kush I had smoked at a friend of mine's house. I remember seeing their page on No-Cash's page and it had mentioned that the lead singer from No-Cash(Chris) was also the lead singer of Mad Conductor so it had to be good. And good it was! Spacey, tripy, and just plain pleasent.
So Chris had told me that they could'nt do the song that they had had lined up for the night because of the rain and the ice so they just needed a place to crash. I extended my welcome to them on account I had been staying with this crazy bitch who's name I will withhold from this paper for her own benifit. Nothing romantic, just a stupid, smelly, and indescent bitch I'd meet at the venue. So I had bought an ounce of smoke the day before and I was ready. They showed up at about eleven p.m. and we helped them find our place. When they came in we met all of them, but as my brain was in and out of vacation back then, I can't for the life of me remember anyone but Chris' name. They all came in and we had the bong, Willow, waiting on them. Since Willow was but a tiny water-pipe, the amount of bowls that we actually ended up ingesting into our prune-like lungs was a number impossible to count, but it was good. So we'd been getting down while getting high for about an hour until one of them finally popped up and said, "Hey, do you hackey sac man?" Whatever, I'm a little white-kid stoner I should be good at this, let's do it! Oh no, I was not at all. "Fuck this man, I got change, let's get some beer." Is all I could say after about half an hour of this silly game, they said sure, I through my cash in the pot and they went to get everything you need for a guaranteed good night, a case of Old Millwaukee, and four 40 oz. of Colt 45. To be continued, class is over. bye.