September 30, 2008

15 Minute Story... No revisions...

The Canisters Were Filled With Drugs

I'm not entirely too sure but I think the canisters were filled with either helium or oxygen. Either way it doesn't matter because Pat is sitting over in that corner still sucking the tip of the valve. His lips started bleeding only five minutes into his high. I swear if there was some way to trip balls after eating dog shit he would be the guy to discover it. Last time I was in his room he spilled bong water all over my favorite sweatshirt. I had to throw it out because three months and forty washes later my landlord, Mrs. Jackson, thought I was dealing. Whatever. All I know is that if Pat keeps up this sort of lifestyle he will be doing coke off of urinals and running a meth lab out of his bedroom in less than a month.

September 25, 2008

East Coast is Going to Swallow You.

I'm reading this book called "Living On The Edge Of The World: New Jersey Writers take on the Garden State" which is actually a collection of stories. It's compiled by Irina Reyn... in case you wanted to purchase the book.

But it's pretty cool, its all jersey writers writing about jersey. I should be in it. *sigh* if only...

Anyway, today is Thursday which means that its officially the weekend. I <3 the weekend.

I'm at work right now and as soon as I'm done writing this blog I'm going to finish this story I'm reading in the living on the edge, and then I'm going to write/finish/work on a story of my own.

Okay.

September 18, 2008

A Poem

Shaking My Head Yes When Really I Don't Care

I bit a hole in my lip
The size of a razor blade
So I could keep myself from
Screaming fire in this crowded room.
Now every time I fake a smile
Gurgling saliva seeps through
My disfigured excuse for a face
Just so I can pretend to be interested
In what all of you have to say.
I just want five minutes
Alone to clean the blood from my beard
But all you care about
Is what you have to say.

September 15, 2008

Fake Rant

[12:47 am]

Can't fall asleep.

Class from 11:30am to 8pm tomorrow.

Ice Hockey practice at 9pm.

Bed around 11:30pm.

Class on Tuesday 8-11am.

I need sleeping pills or something to knock me out.

Good news: I wrote a poem about being depressed.

Bad news: I deleted it because it was bad and made me sound like I was in high school again.

Okay back to lay under the sheets in the dark next to a pretty girl in hopes that I can fall asleep.