To let a lot of my followers know…I am not dead. I just haven’t had a lot of time to be on. I am soon going to release some music via Tumblr and then I think I can post some more shit after that. In the meantime…life sucks. I am struggling with my depression and my PTSD and am in therapy. But I am in rehab and shit… but the music I am writing has been very very…therapeutically soothing.
I knew a boy, he came from the sea,he was the only one who ever knew the truth about me.
I’m overwhelmed and underweight. What did U expect? I’m overwraught and so discrased, I’m too ashamed to show my face.
And they came in to take U away,now. What I want I will never have. Im on the pacific coast highway.
With Ur guns in my hands.
My whole world was in your hands.
I knew a boy, he left me so damaged. Do U even know the extent of what U ravaged.
I’m so bloody and so duller, now.
I dont know what to do with my self now. I surrender I give in. U kicked down my door,cause i dnt let U in.
Im lost…where is everyone. I love people too much. So much it makes me feel too fucking sad and lonely. The worst thing about it…loneliness, being single and shit…is when you know exactly who you want to be with.
I am torn…I am broken. I am not what I used to be. I am lost…I am nothing more than a pothead occasional drinker. But certainly not dangerous… I love and miss them all. I needed them to feel better about my life…now what??
Things are so surreal.
I don’t know how to explain that
feeling, but all I can say is…
I’d do it again. MAYBE more…
But last night things were extremely surreal.
i seen the nails of my fingers get scales,
like snake skin and fishes.
I immediatly felt the stinging in my nose,
the sting…that “familiar sting”,
that Trent Reznor sings about.
That stinging that filled the air with,
the arome of eggs, rum, and natty ice.
The nastiness of the surrealism.
the reality of surreality…
It’s some trippy scary shit.
While i sit here…with hunchback and guyguy…k2…jesus…jesus…jesus….I think of all the shit I have been thru in the last…six or so months…all the sshit that I have gone thru. It’s depressing rally. How borng life seems to be?? While I’ve been accused of some fucked up shiit. Huh… who knows in them eyes u know I couldve commited something…whether it be…whatever it is that I am accused of ?I really hate myself and want to die. Guyguy”””s got a gun in guy’s room. I would go and get it and blow my head off. But this is journalism shit, here,
The next big thing…”the next big thing.”..those words. There is nothing I can say that hasnt been said before Holy shit this is lousy. Phony,even. .Maybe one day, you know if I can make it about as big as Hunter S, , Thompson, William Burroughs, or old…what’s his face. I mean…jesus, he’s as crazy as I am. Advocating drugs,booze, and…drugs. Just writing about my life. and whatever. I am just an amazing kid doing amazing shit. A teenage native american, with nothing but…what do I call this? Living in a settlement, with native people. This is the voice of a million teenegers, native american. Not white. LIVING today in a country with a serious history of genocide, and slavery.
It’s all I hear is everything is a place such as these. Holy shit….maybe I’m crazy. Or drunk. Or high…either way…I’m as gone as Kurt Cobain. Or John Lennon…I talk as much as I breathe….I will leave u with this…as I quote the late great Hunter S. Thompson…
“I want to make a promise to you, the reader. And I don’t know if I can fulfill it tomorrow, or even the day after that. But I put the bastards of the world on notice; that I don’t have their best interest at heart. I will try to speak for my reader- that is my promise- and it will be a voice made of ink and rage.”
-Hunter S. Thompson