| Here ya go. |
[Sep. 9th, 2009|08:55 pm] |
|
I deal with the past in the morning, and get it out of the way. |
|
|
| Mold |
[Jul. 27th, 2009|04:46 pm] |
I have a lot of mold(mold) growing and spewing in this unreachable realm of my stomach.
That horrid feeling of rolling around in my bed wanting nothing more than to just fall asleep.
The same feeling I get after dry heaving, and knowing nothing else is coming up.
The feeling I get when I answer an unknown phone call and they say "Los Angeles Police Department"
The feeling I get when it's pitch black and I'm walking up stairs, and I miss a step.
Restless clump of nothing just darting back and forth in my stomach like a caged bat.
So I sigh. Deep big breaths that just please the fist I swallowed.
Out goes the carbon monoxide easing the little bastard rolling around in the sheets of my skin. |
|
|
| oi |
[May. 12th, 2009|06:04 pm] |
|
added more to my ongoing saga |
|
|
| My short story. |
[May. 11th, 2009|05:06 pm] |
*heres the beginning. I haven't really lied about anything, so let me know if it is interesting at all*
When it all goes quiet. Underwater. Not entirely quiet, but muffled enough that it gives you a minute to consider everything above the surface. I knew that when I bobbed back to the the surface I was going to the hospital. I was naked. It was the end of August, and summer was ending. Twenty two years old, full of whiskey, at the deep end of a pool at a Double Tree Hotel, with what I assumed to be two broken ankles. "If your friend jumped off a hotel into a pool and barely made it, would you follow?" Yes mom, I would.
I came up from the water laughing. In the two times in my life where I have felt entirely useless I have laughed. The first being after I got into my ex-girlfriend's email, a found a message she sent to her friend. It went into great detail about her new lover. A wealthy Norwegian Prince who had a body like a "300 spartan" and fucked her until her legs shook. "It's so nice to be fucked by a real man" it said at it's conclusion. We had broken up less than a month prior, and we were very much in love. I think I laughed out of embarrassment. Serves me right for reading her emails. It wasn't for my eyes. I laughed a lot about that, and it sure as shit wasn't funny. The next time I felt totally useless was when I emerged from the pool.
My friend Will had jumped into the water to assist me, but I swam away from him and pulled myself self over the ledge laughing. If you know nothing of shrinkage it's when a penis frightened by cold water decides to repel it's turtles head back into it's shell. This effect is apparently intensified by going into intense shock from jumping from a roof of a hotel and missing the pool by a foot. I laid by the pool writhing with what looked like a walnut glued to my lower torso as the two beautiful girls accompanying us ran to my aid. We had them too. They were already in the jacuzzi in their underwear waiting on us to quit dicking around, and join them to dick around. I blew it. No one was getting laid tonight. I put on a shirt and my boxers. Will gave me a piggyback to his car.
I have live a charmed life. My parents aren't rich, but we've almost always been happy. My grandparents are all still alive, I've never had a friend kill themselves, never spiked heroin, so I think my first dose of mortality was turning the bones in my heel into a jigsaw puzzle. I was heavily doped on morphine, and I remember nodding off into a hallucination.
The point of view was mine,omniscient, hovering above a women in an all black dress floating down a channel in France. The view switched to her eyes as she looked up into a very bland off white sky. She dipped under a tall bridge and spectators above looked over the ledge at her. Three women. They all wore long black dresses with hair veils. They looked like nuns except they had long ribbons of different colors wrapped around their waists. One a bright red, one orange, and one violet. They mumbled to the woman below in French. I don't speak French but I recognize the accent. They were asking her if she had seen her daughter. I felt the woman's panic of her daughter being misplaced, and she began to move around looking left to right as she floated. Her daughter was on the bank of the channel. Except the bank was covered in thick black shrubs. The daughter was wearing an Easter blue dress, and was doing her best to make her way threw the foliage. Smiling yet noticeably distressed. The french mumbling got very loud, and I woke up. Still in a hospital, still in tremendous pain.
The next three months were rough. I spent all my time meeting with specialists and surgeons trying to find someone comfortable enough to reassemble a Calcaneus fracture. I ate Percocet,I parachuted Vicodin, and I drank Widmer. As long as I can remember I've been a very social being. I need friends, I need attention, I need to laugh. These things dwindled the longer I sat on the couch in my living room. People would stop by, but I didn't like it. I like to move around, tell stories and dancing to rap music. I like giving hugs, and bringing my friends drinks from the kitchen. It was awful sitting there in pajama bottoms two sizes to big so that they would fit over my cast, a three month old beard, and the stench of medicine and booze seeping from my pores.
Not long after my surgery I could see light at the end of the tunnel, so when I was invited to a peaceful day of sailing with a friend of mine I sprung at the opportunity to leave my imprint on the couch. Keep in mind, I was in a soft cast with very specific instructions not to get it wet. The stitches lined the corner of my heel from mid foot to my ankle. Also, my friend who was sailing the boat only recently purchased it, and learned how to sail on his own accord. Did I mention he is a notorious drunk?
The drunken Sailors name is Haywood. Well, that's his nickname. In middle school my pal Haywood was a new student in a new school. In order to make a splash with his fellow students, and to show off his general disregard, when taking role he was asked to state his name. He replied," Haywood, Haywood YaBlowMe." Hence giving him the nickname.
We drove to the Marina Del Ray docks. I do not own a car, so I sat co-pilot to my previously mentioned lifeguard/hero, Will. Will is a lean stalky young man. He feels like an older brother to me. He has dirty blonde hair which he wears shaggy. He has full tattooed sleeves of long flowing designs and symbolic objects. He at times can be very deep, and other times be as far opposite of deep as possible. At the time we first met he was the latter. We partied a lot, listening to Lil' Wayne mixtapes, and always showed up to parties with copious amounts of Tecate. I was still on crutches so they rested on the center console of his Ford Focus Wagon. Will drives a wagon because surfing is very dear to him, and a wagon is ideal for loading surfboards. We tore up the freeway blaring southern rap and met Haywood at the docks.
Haywood a month before told me he had aspirations to be a sailor. The following month he bought a 14 foot sailboat and taught himself how to use it. Haywood is one of those geniuses. He's a math whiz, and has a similar sense of humor as 80's Chevy Chase. He is often tan and has blonde hair which at the time of our adventure was to his shoulders and straight. He lead us to his new baby. I crutched down the janky wooden dock and carefully lowered myself onto his deck. He untied his boat from the dock and pushed off. We motored out of the yard, and threw the sail up when we hit open water.
It was very mellow. Slower than I thought. Not much wind but enough. We sailed south hoping to get a better look at a fire we saw burning somewhere down the coastline. We followed the smoke and listened to a mix Haywood had prepared on a little Ipod boom box. A lot of classic rock. I think I remember Pet Sounds, and some Flaming Lips. I was happy to get out of my living room. Haywood started into the Rum. Will did as well. I for some reason, which might have been some sort of saving grace, didn't feel like drinking. We had been out for close to two hours when we decided to turn around and head back. That means it's another two hours back. Which also meant that's four hours of drinking. The sun for some reason covered itself in clouds, and the mood changed entirely.
We became impatient and threw the motor on. One thing any experiened sailor or any sober sailor will tell you if you use the motor, take down the sail. We were moving though. Faster than we had been. I at this time didn't realize how drunk my fellow shipmates were at the time. It didn't seem like too bad of an idea for Haywood to tie the lifesaver to the boat and jump ship. It sounded funny. Haywood struggled to untie the lifesaver and this was when I first realized he was sloppy drunk. Haywood has a very stereotypical drunken slurr. He talks from the back corners of his mouth and often times goes into a ramble or rant that sounds about as audible as Donald Duck.
Haywood abandoned ship. When he came up from the water he looked simultaneously perplexed and horrified. It was about fifty degrees colder than he had estimated. Remember when I said Haywood was a genius? I stand behind that, and assure you, people change when they drink mass quantities of Sailor Jerry's run. He tried to swim back to the boat, but struggled, clinging to the lifesaver as if it was a lifesaver. At this point we decided we should cut the motor to assist him. It took us awhile to kill it, and bring the Rutter out of the water. Haywood swam to the boat panting, and to no avail, tried to climb back in. His muscles were exhausted and his skin had turned pink from the cold water. He was drunk, and his face look concerned and lost. We pulled at his arms but, He was dead weight. Our fucking captain was overboard. Finally Will and I grabbed him by his trunks and heaved his sloppy ass on to the deck. I was so caught up worrying about Haywood getting back on the boat, and making sure my cast didn't get wet, I didn't realize we were 100 yards away from the beach, and closing in fast.
On the beach a crowd of lifeguards had gathered. They waved their hands and yelled at us to turn around. Haywood at this point would have been more beneficial still in the water. He did his best to maneuver the boat in the opposing direction but only caught us in a wicked tailspin. It was chaotic, and we were screaming at Haywood to gather himself and command our ship to safety. Will grabbed at the steering rod and it snapped off at the base. This was one of those moments you've seen in every cartoon, where the steering wheel brakes, or the parachute doesn't work, and everyone gets quiet for a moment at their impending doom, and then screams in unison. That happened.
I didn't really think there was anyway we could avoid crashing into the beach so I relaxed, and just absorbed our hilarious predicament. The lifeguards on the other hand had other plans. I assume they needed a heroic story to tell back at the Crab Shack or Cabana. Three of them swam out, attached ropes to the boat, wrapped that rope around their chests, and swam our ass out 300 feet, and held up until the coast guard came.
This is my story, and I'm getting bored with this, so I assume you are bored as well. I'm going to just highlight the next funny things Haywood did.
We were being towed by the coast guard, and Haywood revealed a pocket knife and told me we should cut the line, and make a break for it because he didn't want to get a BUI. We were in a sailboat with a broken motor and they had a chrome brand new speed boat. He then told me he was going to slit his throat because he didn't want to get a BUI. Then he put the knife in his mouth like a pirate and was about to jump overboard, and swim for the shore because he didn't want a BUI. He didn't do any of those things, and when we finally got back to Haywood's port. They dropped us off, and said better luck next time. Haywood tied his boat up, and then fell off the deck into his lower cabin. We left him there to sleep. Will and I went to Taco Bell, and appreciated walking on land. |
|
|
| Cool it now. |
[May. 7th, 2009|04:12 pm] |
|
I'm going to write a short story about my life the last two months. I'm going to romanticize it, and make it more interesting. Change names and places and shit. Lie a lot. I'm hoping it's going to be funny. I'm aiming for funny. |
|
|
| I'm going to complain right here. |
[May. 4th, 2009|04:44 pm] |
Played three shows this weekend. Threw my back out. Honestly old man status threw my back out from head banging and wigging out on stage. I can't really bend without feeling immense pain. My hands have been shaking all day. I've brushed my teeth twice, and I still have an awful taste in my mouth. I ate an apple, and it was too sweet. I've got a bunch of new friends, but I kinda miss my old ones. I drank too much this weekend and it's got me depressed. Not because I feel like an alcoholic, but because it physically has me down and trounced today. I feel like everyone is a big weirdo. I really don't think anything would cheer me up. All I need is a good nights rest, but my room is dirty and I hate sleeping in a messed up room. I'd clean, but I can't fucking bend down to pick up a shirt. I'm so fucking sick of the songs my band plays. I want to make new ones but my speakers on my computer broke in the move to downtown. I just paid rent. I'm poor as fuck for two weeks. I want new clothes. I'm way out of shape, and my bum foot still prohibits me from working out. I'm eating healthier but that shit sucks too.
Whatever. I'm happy that we played three shows, and the show on Sunday in my opinion sounded really good.
I'll be back to normal tomorrow.
Thanks livejournal. |
|
|
| I was starting to crush on this girl a little bit. |
[Apr. 3rd, 2009|02:51 pm] |
Then she told me she bangs rich old guys for a living.
I don't really have a crush on her anymore.
She makes a lot of money though.
Get your paper boo boo.
"I made a G today" But you made it in a sleazy way"
-Tupac |
|
|
| It does exist |
[Mar. 25th, 2009|09:12 am] |
We meet around this time. She has a nice car and she drives me around. I make mixes to play in her car, and pay for most of the gas. She likes fish tacos, chips, salsa, and margaritas. When we drive with the windows down her hair dances about. We stay out late. We fuck in my bed with the windows open and sleep with the blankets off. We avoid traffic in cantinas. We hike to get to our beaches. We dont sleep much. I say she comes, but really we lean to her.It's us. It's us pointing our foreheads. Stretching like a cat in a window sill.Then we rest. We drink cold drinks. Buy white linen curtains.Wear white linen underwear.Coin eyes but shiny new and spinning. Crumpled straw hats. Coppertone. Bags of chips. Bottles of water. Pacifico with lime. Panting.
Panting while laying on my stomach. Smothered and accomplished. Water drops pinch. The hairs on my arm uniform. The corners of my book warp. Losing my house keys. Breaking my cell phone. Forgetting my ATM card. Finding and losing my favorite sunglasses. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 23rd, 2009|05:43 pm] |
Couch ridden. Pill popping animal. Four months of no exercise. Drinking. Watching every movie available on On Demand.
Now I'm just straight busy. Night and Day relentless busy.
I've been trying to figure out what makes me happy. I think I'm happiest when I feel accomplished.
so i guess...Keep Hustlin? |
|
|
| eh |
[Feb. 11th, 2009|10:55 pm] |
Little lonely. I'm moving to a loft Downtown at the end of the month. It's going to be really way too much fun. For now, I'm just kinda lonely. Spending too much time indoors sleeping.
It's around this time every of the year when something big happens. |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
vocapillarytest's journal