Excerpts from Vol. 3

The following are randomly-chosen excerpts from each of my books. If you like these,  also check out some excerpts from Writings: Volume 1, Volume 2 and Volume 4.

Writings: Volume 3

(includes writing from No Outlet, 56 Weeks In Hell, and Sensitive Bastard)

I write all over my walls to preserve my life
I run out of markers constantly
All colors
Mostly black red and blue
The bands
Their song lyrics
Some inspiring poetry
My room may as well be the Vietnam memorial
But instead of soldiers of war
Music and lyrics are the ones who died for my country
I don’t preserve them to remember
I preserve them because they are real
They’re my sanity
They’re my truth and conversation
They belong to me
All mine

True stabbing pain
In the heart, in the hands
No one understands
Isolation reality
Separation fantasy
Few things in common but the music
Musical soul bond
I want the house on the hill
White picket fence
Beautiful wife, great kids
I want the music thing too
But I want to be surrounded by people with similar tastes
Our bond is strictly music
They could never listen to the Sundays
They would never read my Calvin and Hobbes book collection
The Breakfast Club is just another movie to them
They’re my best friends but
I’m galaxies apart from them
I would be happy doing anything
As long as it’s real and fun
I still wouldn’t mind the house on a hill
Backyard barbecues
Hey dad let’s play some catch
Alright son
It’s hard to picture myself as a father
I want that bad
I want a normal day to day life
I want the wife and I want the knife
Stab this hallucination to death
It won’t happen
I am the paper that people doodle on and throw away
I am the Vanilla Ice cassette
I am the weird rock in the backyard
I am galaxies apart
I am universes different
Worlds collide and form a musical bond
But in the distance
I see that house on the hill
I see my kids

Could there be some reason for my disgust towards annoying people
I doubt it
They say I’m an asshole
I don’t feel like hearing them talk about their high school ways
And I’m an asshole
I need to escape their society
It is filled with nothing but gossip
I’ll tell you why I don’t want to hear you
You don’t know of John Hughes
You don’t know of Nietzsche
Of Henry Miller and Coltrane
Ben Lee or Minor Threat
Elizabeth Wurtzel and breezy days on the back porch
You don’t know of depth
Oceans of knowledge I swim in
Your society is Bush and the latest top 40
Your society is weekend underage drinking
Your society is shit talk gossip
I don’t want to be a part of it
You say I’m arrogant and a bastard
That’s fine, think that
I have nothing in common with you teenage scum
I want to break away from all things stupid and shallow
I can never escape
I’m always brought back to the Hell
You don’t know me
You can talk all the shit in the world
I’m the sanitation department
I got my shovels and dump trucks
I’ll shovel all the shit you puke out
It won’t affect me
It’s my job to rid the city of it
I’m a sanitation worker
My job is cleanliness and sanitized streets
No matter what shit you create
I’m there to clean it up
This job sucks, yeah
But in a few years I’ll either be dead or retired
Either way I won’t have to deal with your shit
As I’ve said it doesn’t bother me now
But it will sure feel good to get away
We have nothing in common
You ask me if guys’ dicks get bigger the older they get
If that’s true then Clint Eastwood’s must be two feet long
You idiot
We have nothing in common
I laugh as you hate and gossip
I laugh dementedly and turn the clouds against you
You run home trying not to get electrocuted
The lightning is just teasing you
Scaring you, making you piss yourself
We have nothing in common
Call me all the names in the book
Let all the insults fly
Say I have an attitude problem
You lick people’s socks for fun
You think much older men will fuck you
You live in a fantasy world
Mommy and Daddy still won’t let you out on weekends
You can hate me with all your might
Hate me with all the power you can muster
Talk all the shit you can
We still have nothing in common
I walk through fire and laugh as my skin peels
I look at you through a melted deformed face
And I say
You won’t get to me

Silhouetted against the night sky
Two lovers, soulmates perhaps
I envy them
Ben Lee’s music spins constantly in my CD player
I stare and smile
Give a look of
“Hey I know how it is”
In my half-smile they can read jealousy
But also contentedness
I’ve read a lot lately
Makes me appreciate it all the more
Makes me more aware and awake
More knowing than ever before
Two souls silhouetted against the sunset
I blink very slowly, look up and grin
Shake my head and wonder
Why can’t that be me
Love is something I ache for
Something I am so afraid of
After all the hurt, mental anguish and emotional torture
Watching the sweet ones go for the cheeseballs
A lot of things don’t make sense
But that’s probably something that bothers me the most
They don’t need that
They don’t realize those guys will just fuck with their heads
I could never do something so cruel
Knowing what it feels like
It’s something you cannot project onto someone you care about
I’ve lied before in the past
But never ever about my feelings
My feelings have always spoken the truth
They’ve gotten me hurt
I wish those wonderful girls knew that they are simply another conquest
To most guys, girls are objects
I’m never one to think that
To me a girl is the most perfect thing in life
Sure, there are ones who just fuck with you
There are many like that
I wonder what passion, what hatred drives them
Is it revenge?
It’s pointless, whatever it is
Those girls I cannot stand
But again, there are those
They’re out there
Somewhere light years from us romantics
Light years from the sensitive bastards
I’m angry as hell but I love with the strength of ten thousand men
I’m disillusioned a lot but I can see things clearly always
I’m pissed off but I know the magic of a touch
There are some who save me
There are some who smash me
I cruise along in my imagination and creativity
Sometimes I can see them waving at the sidelines
I can’t stop because I’m just going too fast
But I do see you
There’s more than one track in my mind
I wish for the long lost love
I dream about it more while listening to a pretty song
I wish for her more than anything
Who knows if it will work
I have a sick feeling it might not
But then I have a strong feeling that it will
Only time will tell
Love takes a lot of work and oceans of patience
I have both
If truth comes along I will kill to keep it
I feel her truth and her longing
Call to me and I’ll answer
Bring up old memories and I will recall
Long for a touch and I will hold you
Dream of a kiss and I will, ever so softly
I will listen to you
I am here
I was here, waiting for you the whole time

Scenario #3: She asks me to film our sexual experiences one night. I break
out the video camera, set it on the tripod, and document our lovemaking.
I leave on tour and she shows all her friends the video. Her friends
comment on how “average” I am, but how well I fuck. They all enjoy a
good laugh and go to some male strip club to stick dollar bills in some
guy’s g-string.

Scenario #4: I actually meet the love of my life. Everything is perfect, and
she loves only me and no one else. No one attracts her but me. I realize
that’s awesome, because when I have someone that I care about and love,
no one else attracts me. People think it’s bullshit how I get that mentality
when I’m with someone, but it’s true. When I have someone I don’t even
think about all those hot actresses. So anyway, she must love me and care
about me a lot. Because we live a long healthy life together and raise a
family and get a nice house in suburbia somewhere. She remains beautiful
for her entire life. I love her dearly, and she knows it. She loves me dearly,
and I know it. Everything is awesome. The alarm rings, I wake up and get
ready for work.

Scenario #5: I stumble upon a time machine. I use it to go back to the
summer of 1988. I see myself at 12 years old, skateboarding in some
parking lot by the house that I first moved into when I came to Florida. I
tell myself that I better change my ways, become less shy, and don’t be
such a fucking dork in middle and highschool, because if I am all that, I’ll
be lonely and fucked up and everyone will call me a psycho when I’m 23
in 1999. The young me looks at me like I’m crazy and doesn’t believe a
word I say. He goes off skateboarding. I get back in the time machine and
come back to the present, early 1999. On the way back I realized I was a
lost cause. I get out of the time machine and realize the beauty of things.
The sky is a perfect blue, the air is clear and I feel good. I realize the
world is different. I look at myself in the mirror and realize I’m an
attractive, confident, great guy. I go to my room and there’s a gorgeous
girl waiting for me there. Maybe I actually did listen to myself. Awesome.

I can’t believe this. Five years later and here I am. Looking in from the
outside. I don’t like what I see. I had to break up with my first love
because she wanted my friend. She always denied it. So now, five years
later, my friend is telling her that he doesn’t want her anymore, that he’s
moved on. She’s broken. I’m an outsider looking in. I don’t like what I

Sometimes, around 8:25pm at the record store, the loneliness hits me like
a brick in the head. Tonight I had the Coldplay CD on. Coldplay is my
new favorite band. This band changed my fucking life. There are few
bands that do that. So I was standing there, tired as hell (still am), and the
song “Yellow” comes on. I just wanted to close my eyes and cry all damn
night. The whole day was filled with beautiful girls coming in and buying
tickets for the Our Lady Peace concert in eight days. I was dying. I played
it off and did the “cool guy” thing… just talk all mellow and cool,
flirtatious even. What’s the point? Beautiful girls. Why bother trying to get
their attention? I’ll tell you why. It’s the whole male-female-need thing.
You need to be looked at, “checked out”, so you “play the game” and see
if some girls “check you out”. At the end of the day, it’s so fucking lame.
So lame. I was playing the game, and losing. “Have a good night.” Like I
cared if they did or not. I’d never see them again. So then the girls asked
me about the other radio festival that’s coming up in a month. They asked
who one of the bands was. I said “those are the guys with that one song.”
I then proceeded to tell them to not pay much attention to them while
they’re onstage, because they act like rockstar assholes and sing songs
about having their hearts broken (funny, when I saw them a few
months ago, each one had a gorgeous model-looking girlfriend attached
to them like a leech all night…). I then told the girls that the guys were
cute, singing little cute songs about cute relationships. When I said the
word “cute” for the first time, the girls giggled and their eyes lit up….
“they’re cute???”. I said “yeah, but they’re rockstars… they act like they’re
hot shit.” They then said “oh.” Good. Like that band needs any more
damn attention. You know who needs attention? My ugly ass. Hey girls,
pay attention to ME. Oh wait, I’m not hot, I forgot. How pathetic. I hate
how fucking shallow and stupid this world is. And I hate when I “play
that game”. Why bother? At the end of day, I come home to an empty
bed and cuddle with my pillow. I wake up alone twenty-four seven, three
sixty-five. Sometimes, a half hour before the record store closes, the
loneliness hits me like a brick in the head. “you know… for you I’d bleed
myself dry…. for you I’d bleed myself dry”. Dying. Living physically, but
dying emotionally. No one holds me like I want them to. There’s a girl
who truly rocks my world. What I would do to hold her just ONCE.
Once. I see girls who come into the record store who are very attractive,
and I jokingly “play the game”, but ultimately I want to hold HER…
once. I want to hold her for 10 seconds. 10 seconds would be enough
time. Just ten seconds.

There’s this song by Ben Lee called “Birthday Song”. Track six on his
new album Breathing Tornados. It’s the single most beautiful love song
I’ve ever heard in my life. When I met Claire Danes in NYC on MTV, she
told me that he wrote that song for her one night when he was home in
Australia and she in NYC. I thought that was beautiful. She smiled shyly
when she told the story behind it. The look on her face was enough to tell
me how great the song was, and how much it had touched her heart. I
hadn’t even heard the song yet and already I loved it because she did. I
got the CD a few days ago. The song is absolutely fucking amazing. The
way Ben holds out the word “time” is probably the most beautiful melody
I’ve ever heard in a song. If a girl ever wrote a song like this for me and
have it sound this good, I’d die.

I finally bought Suzanne Vega’s Solitude Standing tape. Found it used for
two bucks at this local indie record store. It’s a perfect album full of
beautiful music. I spent all day looking for a job because I got fired from
the one I liked. This town has absolutely no jobs. The highlight of my day
was talking to the pretty alternachick from the record store. I told her
how annoying my day’s been, trying to find work. She was all smiles and I
was all shyness. She told me about some places that were hiring. I wonder
what she thought about me as she looked over the tapes I bought.
Suzanne, Heather Nova, Eve’s Plum, and School of Fish. I wonder if she
actually thought of me as someone cool, someone she could maybe get to
know. I doubt it. But she was nice. Anyway. As I rode home, Suzanne
resonated from my earphones. It was so awesome. The guitars and her
voice hypnotized me as I looked at my shadow bouncing off the fence that
ran parallel to the bike path. It felt like a movie scene. Very well could have
been. The perfect song, at that perfect moment. Nice and cool outside.
No one else on the bike path, just me. It’s moments like those that make
me want to live forever.

Girls walk into my work and I greet them with a “hi how ya doin?” One
doesn’t even look at me, the other gives me the evil eye. Oh yeah, they’re
very beautiful. They know it. They walk around the store and check out
the video games. Probably shopping for their boyfriends’ Christmas gifts.
On their way out I say “have a good night…”. The same thing happens.
One doesn’t even look at me, and the other gives me the evil eye again.
What the fuck is up with that? My shirt’s tucked in, I have a nice tie on,
and my hair is surprisingly not doing anything stupid today. I don’t look
like a freak, so why do I get the evil eye? Why? Because I’m not good
enough for them. I’m intelligent and interesting and that’s not good
enough for them. What they want is a hot guy who wears Abercrombie
and Fitch clothing. What they want is a hot guy with a nice expensive car.
What they want is a hot guy with money. What they want, I don’t have.
Girls do one of three things when they see me. One, the evil eye. Two,
the giggle. Three, the stare and eventual point-and-laugh. Hey, I’m from a
world that you find disturbing. I’m from a world that neglects idiots like
you. I’m from a world where intelligence is the ultimate aphrodisiac. I’m
from an alien world. I’m an alien scientist and you’re my latest project.
Let’s see how shallow you can become. Let’s see how mean you can get.
Prove my theories right. Dig your own hole. I will never understand how
beautiful people never know what is going on around them. There is
something I can see that you will never be able to. Something that defies
all logic. I see the ocean floor clearly. You can’t even see your own
reflection in a puddle. I’m from a world that no humans dare to visit. I’m
from a world where intelligence is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

I’m that guy
The guy you see around town
Walking alone
With a psycho look on his face
I’m that guy
The guy in Barnes and Noble all the time
I’m that guy
The guy on the bike in the maroon hooded sweatshirt
The one who almost gets run over by cars every weekend
I’m that guy
The guy you see in the convenience store
Buying chocolate donuts and fruit punch Snapple
I’m that guy
The guy you might remember twenty years from now
Alone, thinking “who was that guy?”
I’m that guy
Walking everywhere
Walking down Murrieta Hot Springs Road to the grocery store
I’m that guy
I have Ben Lee’s “Something To Remember Me By”
In my walkman at all times
I’m that guy
Murrieta California spawned a monster
My eyes are burning
I’m that guy

I’m sick of people liking me who I have so little in common with. It
drains me introducing all this cool shit to you. There’s nothing you can
show me that I haven’t already seen or know about. I know everything
that’s cool. I love good music and know about 97% of it. I know about
the best video games. I know about the best books by the best authors.
And of course, I know about the best movies. There’s nothing you can
show me that I haven’t already seen. You know what I want in a girl?
Someone that can show me things I haven’t already seen or know of. I
told you about this 80’s hair band, and you had no idea who they were. I
told you about this one movie. You had no idea what it was about. Never
even heard of it. Whatever. I just don’t want to talk to anyone who
doesn’t know about anything cool. Like I said, it drains me when I’m the
only one introducing new things in this friendship, relationship, whatever
the hell this is. I can’t help but become bored with you sometimes. I wish
a girl out there could show me a world I haven’t already seen. I’ve seen so
much. Nothing interests me anymore except the things I introduced
myself to. You can’t show me anything that I haven’t already seen. I wish
that my life was like the 1997 movie Dream For An Insomniac. But
instead of a guy, a beautiful girl walks in to some coffee shop I’m at. We
say quotes and we instantly know where the quotes are from, whether it’s
a song, movie, or book. That movie is what I wish would happen in my
life. Just that one scene. I just tested you with a quote from a movie. You
didn’t know what it was from. Everyone knows what quote that movie is
from. It just bums me out. I swear, I wish my life could have just one
moment like that scene in Dream For An Insomniac. They quote Fast
Times at Ridgmont High, Morrissey, and some classic authors. I wish I
could meet a girl like that. There’s nothing you can show me that I
haven’t already seen or know of. Nothing.

A blank, empty slate. A blank screen. Waiting for inspiration. It doesn’t
come. Then it does, but in a non-creative form. Destruction is a way of
life. Something just came to me. I remember walking the hallowed halls of
highschool in 9th grade. I remember crushing on Dawn all year. I
remember her laughing at me and telling me I’m a dork. I remember
writing her that anonymous love note and shoving it into the opening of
her locker. I remember how she giggled when she told me about the note
and knew it was me who wrote it. I remember she sat in the desk behind
me. I remember how I didn’t give a shit about pre-algebra. I remember
that all I wanted to do was kiss her all night. I remember sophomore year.
I remember Kristen. I remember saying hello to her even though she
didn’t know me. She said hi back. I remember wanting to just stroke her
perfect face on some beach at night. I remember wanting to hold her and
talk to her and show her some songs I wrote. I remember lying awake at
age 16 and thinking about her while staring at the ceiling. I remember
getting her number from her friend and mine. I remember calling and no
one picking up the phone. I remember lying awake at night and thinking
about how perfect my life would be if she were in it. I remember reading
books about how painful love is when it doesn’t happen or when it leaves
you. I remember these books saved my life and still do. I think wanting is
a waste of time. Action is the only solution. Enjoy what you have, and
don’t beg for what you don’t. Everyone knows that’s a bunch of shit.
There’s so much that I want that I’ll never have. But there’s that slim
hope that if I just keep on going, maybe I’ll accumulate it sometime down
the road. Like the more I accomplish, the more I’ll impress them and the
higher chance that they’ll come to me. Girls aren’t easily impressed. I tried
to impress them in the past and it just took me to a disruption in the
space time continuum. It took me to a place where nothing exists but
pain. I’m not going to try anymore. I’m going to simply do, and that’s it.
Because in the end, no one gives a shit anyway so you might as well do all
you can before someone else comes along and steals your dim spotlight.

I think back a few months
To when I was sitting there waiting for the bus
Some drunk was complaining to me about the town
About the lack of jobs within
Normally I would ignore people like this
But everything he said rang true
He said his wife won’t let him in the house at night
And that he only gets 20 hours a week
His paycheck goes to the poison inside the paper bag
I saluted him

I never understood why people are so full of hatred. Not good hatred
towards shit that’s weak, but immature-look-at-me-I’m-angry-and-it’s-cool-
to-be-angry-these-days hatred. It’s just so weak. People are jealous,
and they insult and belittle others just because it’s something to do to pass
the time. I don’t get it. I hate a lot of things, but I don’t hate without good
reason. I hate racists and people who are fucking assholes personally. I
hate girls who ultimately go for looks and cock size instead of other much
more important aspects of males. I hate how having a full-time job limits
me to finish writing songs that so desperately need completion. I hate
how I talk to people often and then a few months later, can’t even
remember who they are because they drop off the face of the earth. I hate
people who don’t like good heartwarming movies and books that make
you think and cry and songs that do the same. My hatred is strong and
defined. Yours is undeveloped and unfounded. We differ in so many
ways. We walk the same streets but we never ever see each other. We
are silent as we walk. Different things swarm around our heads. With me,
it’s music, movie scenes, and the people I love. With you, it’s violence,
insults and garbage thoughts. We walk and never see eye-to-eye. Like a
flash during a photograph, we’re temporarily blinded. But this blindness
becomes permanent. We’re scarred but we’re not in pain. We simply exist.
We simply exit.

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