Stars were left on my apartment door and I’m trying to help them find their way home. I think I’m going with them.

I bought and drank just the right amount of booze for the evening. I’ve been trying to accomplish this task for almost 7 years. This is exactly the way it was always meant to be. I took the sheets down from over my bedroom windows. Moon beams are creeping in and the stars on the front door finally made sense. There’s a whisky bottle hanging from the ceiling fan. We’ll leave it there to keep everything in perspective. The gentrification of ideas. Get out of here poor ideas. I want the cupcake thought with the richest icing. I’m going to need some skim milk.

Shannon Hoon died in 1995. I’m still listening to him sing.

Do Anything.

Hello again

I just published everything that was saved in my drafts because I found it interesting enough. I’m going to start writing on here again but under a different blog. Goodnight heroinninja.tumblr.com. I’m glad you existed.

I enjoyed the song that was coming out of my television more before I looked over and saw the silly face that was singing.

woke up with a headache and a hardon

The thoughts of a burn victim just before dawn on 1/18/2010

Nothing is certain. Nothing.

It’s all a crock of shit, boiling and bubbling over onto the surface of my oven. It’s messy. Sometimes I turn down the heat and let it simmer. I clean up the mess. I look at the calm crock of shit. It’s ready for me to turn the heat back up. It wants to bubble and splatter onto my walls and drip down the sides of my kitchen appliances. It wants to get the stink into everything I know, and create puddles that I’ll slip in, breaking bones. However, for a moment, it’s calm. It’s a simmering stink of shit doing no damage. In this moment, there is understanding.

Understanding is different than believing.

God is as dead as ever, and Love is found in those violent kisses that are louder than the angry guitar chords that give life to a lonely room. Love is never forever. It’s like Santa Claus. You’re lucky to believe for a while. You’re God if you understand.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He’s 6 feet underground. Buried in a secret graveyard, right next to God and Love.

This is something different all together and it’s better than anything you’ve ever thought you knew. We’re dancing on the graves of Lies and laughing all the while.  Don’t believe anything they tell you. Do you understand?

Clean sheets and empty bottles

When a woman you think you know

Burns her lips into the side of a building

Walk to the river and wash your hands in something dirty

Love is a religious pamphlet stuffed into a case of beer

There is no room for this bullshit here

Graffiti for the world to kiss with dead open eyes

Don’t mistake this cheap apartment for a coffin

I’m very much alive in here

When I remember to be

And as soon as this roof caves in

I’m digging my way out of the sky that I’m buried under

Mistaking sun for seat cushion

Existing at the center of everything

The warmth goes unnoticed

But I do not

There’s no key for the deadbolt on this door

You can only lock and unlock it from the inside

But that’s something different all together

In a real bed

I was outside smoking one of my three last cigarettes when

The girl that lives across the hall was returning home for the night

She stopped to chat

She said that she enjoyed listening to the music

That clawed its way through my walls

I apologized for playing music too loud

She said that it wasn’t too loud

The walls were just thin

She said that she’d heard me listen to the same song

For two hours the night before

I told her she should let me play it for her one more time

We went inside(my apartment)

I offered her a beer

She accepted

I offered her some gin

She declined(more for me)

We sat in my room

Listening to the song that I had played for two hours the night before

It sounded different

We talked and drank for three hours

I said that I’d better get to sleep soon

She asked where my bed was

I pointed to the couch

She asked if I wanted to sleep in a real bed tonight

I had another taste of gin

And walked the barefoot six steps across the hall

Her bed was nice

Her dog kept to himself

I awoke at nine in the morning and got dressed

We said our good mornings and goodbyes

Everything was extremely awkward

My “walk of shame” was a barefoot six steps

My apartment door was still unlocked

The gin was gone

I brushed my teeth and

I played the song we had listened to the night before

It sounded different

The walls are thin

The music claws through

I don’t usually drink gin or sleep with my neighbor

But sometimes I do both

Dear dear friends that actually take the time to read this bullshit

The point of this post is to declare to Heroin Nation that this space on the internet is becoming a terrible liar and that you can’t believe anything that you read here. Entertainment purposes and what not. Elbows and assholes. My head just exploded while giving birth to a life that will never be witnessed with open eyes. Welcome to a gin induced labor. Let it be known that it was gin and not water out of the East river. An email knocked up my head. Gin induced the labor. I’m going to raise this infant nothingness to become a full grown somethingness. Words be immortal. Those shits are like vampires as long as someone’s there to read them.

There’s a rapping at my door. Someone is standing outside with a boombox that is blasting Tupac. If it had been a raven, I’d have killed it. Tupac’s okay. I’m with Here. Here’s going to stay.

Write a page

I met a MAN named Joji this week. He’s a Japanese interpreter from DC that knows more about American culture than anyone I’ve ever met. We talked for hours about movies, comics, music. This fucker met Bill Hicks a year before his death. He is the man. He told me to write at least a page a day. He liked me right away. I liked him too. I’ve been writing a page that you may never see. Joji. I think that’s how we spell it. He liked Spy Game. He watches a lot of AMC.

Batman’s flight got cancelled. He’ll be arriving tomorrow and everything will be peachy.

Strange might be the word for it. I’m not sure about that. My ex-girlfriend got arrested in Memphis last night. I had warned her that she was in trouble because of the crowd (the two girls) that she was traveling with. She texted (I hate that word) me some incoherent bullshit around 2 a.m. I responded within a few minutes, asking, “are you okay?” She never answered. Worried, I continued to message her last night and today. Finally, at 4:00 p.m. today, she messaged that she had been arrested for public drunkenness/resisting arrest and that she didn’t remember any of it. She added that she thought of me the whole time that she was in jail, and that she wants to get back together. The words “Fuck off” come to mind.

Anywayzers, North Carolina will be non-smoking in bars and restaurants when we wake up tomorrow. I smoked my last cigarette at the bar in the O’Charley’s on Greenville Blvd. tonight at around 11:45. I’ve worked in bars here for the past 6 years. It’s strange. There’s no need for all of those ashtrays anymore.  Christy’s went non-smoking today and it was fucking bizarre being in there without the blue cloud of cancer. Everyone kept going out to the patio and losing their bar stools. I’m quitting smoking. My New Year’s Fuck-you-all is to become Batman. Someone asked me today, “What’s your New Year’s resolution?” (someone I didn’t know very well). I said, “To become Batman.” They replied, “I like it. Never heard that one before.”

Tonight was weird. Yesterday was weird. I want so bad to say to a girl one day, “This isn’t love. It’s Gotham City.” I hope she slaps me. Goodnight, Brooklyn and Winston Salem. We’ll all drink together some day. I’ll be slim and clean shaven. Like that Bruce Wayne guy.