From king to beggar, We fatten on our feet.
Hogs for the butcher, We die like any meat.
Oh it was a cold storm. This is quite possibly one of the
worst days of my life. There are little bits of life crawling
all about on the inside of this dumpster. It sounds so
cute when I put it like that but be assured that my words
capture no life, as I would somehow like for them to. I’m
actually really bad with words despite my appearance.
My protruding nose with glasses resting upon it would
want you to believe otherwise but take my word and
don’t. Listen I’m going to tell you the truth about why I’m
here in one of the foulest smelling places on Earth. To
tell the truth there is no reason to lie. Since possible no
one will read this it would be like lying to myself.
There’s a bunch of shit I could tell you about my
philosophy or about people I’ve met or whatever but I
tend to live in a moment of which many are contained in
this big pill we call life. Hell you might even find some of
that back-story stuff interesting but right now, as far as
I’m concerned, none of that is important or anything. I’m
just writing. I’ve got my flashlight, my notebook and
Anyway, back to the reason why I am here. My idea of
fun is life experience. Living in a bum-like fashion or
scraping floors in a bakery are the things that really
help me “live”. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I was a
sheltered child or messed up or any kind of shit like
that but I dig everything and this just seems to me a
better way to understand and appreciate everything*.
Oh, you laugh, you scoff, and give me psuedo banter on
the explanations of sound philosophies and theories.
I’m not a punk or a civil rights advocate or poor or
smart. I have nothing new to give but I do have
something very old and redundant. APATHY!
I think therefore I am. Like the grand old holy Dekarte. I
want something juggling and spinning and burning my
eyes of commercial colors. Chevy Tahoe Blue, the
entire MTV rainbow and 70 screen Cineplex red, Johnny
Cash black, and Bill O’Reilly white. I want life like a
circus employee without having to acquire so much
skill. I want something different and extremely
proportional and balanced, but with mucho conviction to
I don’t know though, I was going somewhere with all
that but I don’t think I’ll get there. My shocks are bad and
I need to stop for non-existent gas and pull over to look
at all the scenery and gracious normal people of this
country to humble myself into being a human being
again. Reality bites like the dickens.
Ah, I can’t get this song out of my head. I have this habit
of tapping things and beating things into substantial
rhythms. I hear the melody and everything but
placement with a band name isn’t coming to me. I’m so
retarded with energy. I can’t control my limbs. There I
am thrashing about in a dumpster moving to a
goddamn beat in my head. Hindsight is sadly 20/20.
When I awoke from my immense seizure-like
performance I had roach blood, piss and poop all over.
Man, those little roaches are crazy, goofy bastards. And
Jesus did they love to congregate in dumpsters.
Actually, that draws me back to a time when I talked to
my best friend Jesus**. He’s convinced we’re a
generation of artists. I completely agree. There’s
nothing to consume our time but the normal facets of
life. You know, indifferent significant others, greedy
pudding mongers, our dictating classrooms and the all
mighty dollar. There’s no cause really except for things
like race and poverty, which will never be completely
resolved. I do, believe me; I do want to get above all
that. I’d like to be a hero or something like that and be
able to give people hope. But I digress. I’ll admit that
sometimes I’d like to be one of those people to have a
schedule. I think it’d be hilarious to be able to let loose
by just forgetting to take a vitamin one morning.
Well the rain has unfortunately subsided and ceased to
be. I heard my girlfriend honk. I told her to pick me up at
a perfect time at this exact spot. It’ll be interesting to
see why she thought this exact moment in time is
perfect for my retrireview. I’d like for you to meet Dean.
*Right now, the lid of this dumpster is my friend. Not
only does it sit there and listen to me ramble in
psychotic little whispers but it keeps me dry. And as a
matter of inexorable fact, it keeps me completely dry.
That’s kind of strange though I’m thinking. Why is it
essential to keep trash dry? It is trash, the apocrypha of
the world. The truth is out there.