Kill.

I think that once you make peace,no fuck that,a truce, with the fact that,

1-It is all shit

2- You are insane

and

3- Who gives a fuck?

Well, you can get your Charles Bronson on and go nuts with your bad self. I am now in the necessary habit of abusing people on pubic transport and making then cry. It’s over legitimate issues such as the combination of the heinous taste in tunes combined with a lack of head phones, killer body odour etc etc.I mean,someone has to school these fools and it may as well be me.Oh and let’s not forget the little Indian man that I harangued so severely and viciously on the bus for taking his shoes off and picking his funky corn chip feet on the seat that he demanded to be let off between stops.

This garnered me a round of applause from those seated around me that I pointedly ignored.Like I need approval from a lilly livered bunch of cowards.I glowered out the window pale rider style and listed to the Johnny Cash songs that I am attempting to learn for the spate of ill advised upcoming shows that I have booked.

Smiles faded foolishly and no one met my eye for the rest of the journey.Cunts.

The rain combined with the heat is reminding me of Louisiana and getting me mean.

Sigh.

I sat up re-reading my life this morning.Journals are a great indicator of what an asshole you are.Were.Whatever.Oh! the shit that I have survived and the wounds that just refuse to heal.I wait for corrupt stealth communications and then wonder why I bother.I pay for the gym so I don’t end up in jail.I try to starve.I want to up and slap the ugly clean off fuckers fool faces at least five times an hour. And no one is ever gonna love me the way that I am.Thank Elvis for that.

Like Rose Tattoo said. “All I want from living is just to be left alone”.

Considering adopting a dog.Am not answering much mail and I have forgotten how to pick up the phone.There are the honorable criminals with whom I mix with like a human martini,equal pats acid and bile,shaken of course. And then there are the lower beasts of the elysian fields of the wanton West Coast.A sepulchre of scum that rises like the cream of the curdled crop.Is this what one chooses to skim off the rancid top of their latte of life? Knock yourself out dumb-ass.I am ten million years tired.

And then there are the days that I lose my language and abuse those that I see failing ,so hard do I attack that it drives them away.I live in a house that has a fridge full of booze and meat.Why? How??? Capped with lame lashings of  small town dumb ass ennui.I am far,far too old for this shit. These tantrums.This movement of mediocrity.

I leave the house and go and write in all night dives.I sit on no fences.I have nothing to lose so I extend my middle finger to passive aggression and all that practice it.Every song I write holds a murder in minor chords.I want to track all the fools who ever fucked with me and hunt them until they lose their minds,

Soft.

Drinking ,smoking,meat eating,PlayStation,face-book dependant half-wits tattooed with the southern cross.I need war.I have found my calling.When the revolution comes they will be searching their empty peanut craniums for the correct status update.George Orwell must be laughing his ass off.I cant wait for the networks to fall.For home delivery to be suspended.This will be Darwin’s finest moment and I will be hunting and killing while they shriek and cower,helpless, from reality.

Yeah, I know.I should go back to therapy.But for what? You can’t cure who you are.Miss K says that I should bounce this off someone.Nah.Think I am going to melt it down and mould it into ammunition.A far more fruitful plan.

Yep.

Seven is the number of the hermit.How I did smile! Looks like a knife wound,my grin. If you know me leave me.Don’t ask.There are miles of answers on the screen before you and if I really have to be bothered with something at this point I do believe it will be a solitary pursuit.

Fuck! I hate people and they give me,silver serve me endless reasons to do so….

I saw the picture of her posing on a BMX that she is too unfit to ride due to a rampant incurable cake and cigarette habit and I laughed.Always calling three shows in a row a “tour”.Fucking dolt.I threw the magazine on the floor and yawned.Hateful projections. And for all I built up I now tear away.I groom and stretch like a predator and I dig that my prey has gotten cocky.I love that they think the threat is no longer there.

All targets.All the time (………..all the time!)

I am shedding possessions and theories.I sit and wipe numbers from my phone and with every digit discarded seraphin sing to me.So sweetly do they serenade….

“Fuck you and you and you and you” carols the Antichrist of suburbia’s hallelujah chorus.Hot dog.

Do I move? Do I disappear? I am going to lose my temper real soon.Wanna watch?

(She dreams and screams…Accused of aborting his child,stealing his money,fucking up,fucking everyone.and screams and screams)

I pray that them and their paranoia have a long sweet life together.Don’t know what you have got till its gone and you scrape the bottom of the world’s most broken arsed barrel just to have a wet hole to deposit in.Gold star and an elephant stamp for a job well done.I could lie but my anger won’t let me. Can you imagine!?

Six foot three of gym toned amazonian inked excellence with nothing to lose and running on hate. ( ….premium,don’t you deserve the best fuel to run your machine?more miles to the gallon and a smoother ride,when only the best will do? hate….) What I wouldn’t give for just ten minutes alone  in the dark  with my target and my pig sticker.Oh Fortuna! I light candles to you hoping beyond hope that one day it shall come to pass.If my genitals still functioned they would be slicker than black ice just thinking about it.

The good stuff is floating further and further away as I make my way up Conrad’s river.A fellow Pole no less,well met sir.The heart of darkness indeed.And I get off the boat.I leave my dog tags hanging off the cabin door.I will not pass this way again.

Hunt.Hunt.Hunt.The prey becomes the hunter and it’s not revenge children,no no,what you are dealing with here is completion and there is,as we all know, nothing,nothing like a job well done.

I can’t talk to the weak because I despise it in myself.A catholic upbringing sadly demands a pound of failure rather than flesh daily.I hate your weakness, I will murder my own by the hour.I hate my pathetic humanity.I hate that I fell for it.To see what would happen.One never does that.

Purge and thrive.Consume and perish.

My small circles.My red bull and bluster.My unsocial hours and blunt refusals that pander to nobody’s feelings.And I divine motion by numbers and imagine pulling the vampires skull apart by way’s of inserting my thumbs into both eye sockets.Apparently a technique perfected during the Vietnam conflict,inflicted upon the VC.

Interesting…apparently,it comes apart like a loaf of bread.This image on a loop,the skull blond and opiated, as I do endless 4am deadlifts and thirty pound curls.My sweat is acid death.

My tee shirts rot before I get them to the wash.

Who knew a trust betrayed ,a life ruined, would create a monster?

Every day out go a little further and stay away from humanity.You are doing humanity one fuck of a solid by taking this course.

No lifeguard on duty.

Fuck off.