i started at the outback today, i bus tables for a living and to be honest it's not that bad of a job. i'm quite a fan of it actually. my problem is despite how much i want to work at a restaurant (because if you can do chains, you can do anything sub college degree) it's like this is the chain that bought out indie rock.

this is the chain that makes no sense. what the fuck is australian cuisine? it's an excuse to charge too much for a steak and drinks is what. i mean the food is really quality, but australia is devoid of culture, thus are the figures inside an outback steakhouse. an outback is where the rednecks go when they be havin a fancy day or when the people who equate happiness with suv's and debt up to their eyeballs pay for restaurants with their plastic cards that enable them to do so much.
the world is horribly fucked up and i am embracing it as if it were a line of coke or a woman's body.
speaking of coke i do too much of it but i love it and i can't help it i don't spend any money on it so what's the problem? i did some yesterday but it's not a common thing for me to do. but i somehow manage to tell the few coke stories i have to everyone i meet. i am horribly drunk right now as well as stoned, but in the car i felt as ifi wasn't fucked up enough to pass out. that made me feel uncomfortable. and that same feeling made me feel even worse. the fact that i couldn't bear to sleep right now without either writing some horrible essay relating how depressed i am and how happy i am about it disgusts me.

i call myself out too much. i need to bump along in life.













there's a man down the street, which has no lines and crosses a boulevard incorporated into what was once a small town. He's fucked up on something, he's babbling to himself in his leather sleeveless vest that he's probably had for thirty years. His mouth is reminiscent of an ancient decaying cave with stalagmites jutting out like Denmark.  the city of altoona usurped juniata somewhere around the time all the streets were labelled north or west. it's a small town on the edge of what must have been at one point and time a city. When I look at pennsylvania I see a few major places: Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Allentown, Harrisburg respectfully. I see it in population for the top 3 and then the capital. But there are these little Allentowns and Harrisburgs all across the state, forgotten and oxidizing away in this great land known as the rust belt.

and already things are real again. i'm really glad sarah is living with us, because even if sto and sarah do fight a lot, i'm a voice of reason usually and she'll probably listen to me considering how much she opened up to me. she entrusted something to me tonight that she has entrusted to very few people aside from sto, her parents and her closest friends. it was the kind of thing that made you realize why she acted the way she did when she isn't being her happy optimistic self. i feel kind of privileged. the freshmen bullshit is starting to piss me off a little bit and i feel bad because this brandon kid, lame as he may be, is nice. genuinely nice, he is exactly what he says he is: sheltered, and why hold that against him?
sure he's pasty obsessed with the marines and other such things i have unending despise for, but the kid deserves his own room in which to hold his dragon swords and insane asylum sign. i see his room and i just feel horrible knowing that in two to three days that jake kid is going to come in and kick him out of it and make him go live in the basement or some horrible thing so that he can have his glorious party house in which he is the r.a. Sadly none of that is going to be the case, and if they seriously cannot figure something out amongst themselves, then i'm going to offer half of my room to brandon.
there's absolutely no reason for that kid to be in the basement, and besides i don't really even use my room except to sleep. cause who am i kidding when i say i bring girls home and fuck them.

sarah gave me a bag full of condoms. i've never even used a condom. i didn't say that though.

i grew a goatee, and i feel like im shifting. i dont know what the hell i'm doing really. i always thought a polo shirt instantly made you a douche, well groomed facial hair and hair gel were for the birds, look trashy and stay free.
but that doesn't attract women. only the really desperate ones.
becky told me while she was drunk, so in context it was honest though i don't know how it would be sober, that it was sexy. i feel as if becky is a healthy medium on female judgement. i need to lose weight and im not sure how to do it, well yes i am actually. i need to adhere to a diet and exercise more often. i think one of these jock bros is bringing some work out equipment, i have my bike which is nice except it'sa girls bike and the only way you can really tell is 1.  no crotch bar 2. the seat is obviously meant to dig into a vagina. no wonder chicks love riding bikes.
i feel like it's inescapable that i am going to turn out like my brothers. it's not something you should aspire to escape from though. i mean, going to college graduating making mad bank and having stuff to show for it, isn't that what life's all about? no. it isn't. i'd go on some horrible rant about how materialism means nothing to me, but the fact of the matter is i'm typing on a laptop my grandpa bought for me via graduation money in a house my parents pay for with a truck outside my parents pay for that i complain about because i don't have my passat yet. and it's not even mine.
but at the very least i'm pretty sure i'm guaranteed to have this busing job at outback, so that 1. gives me a job and 2. gets me into a restaurant. if i could be a server, i could make mad bank. and spend it on shit i don't need. or weed. or alcohol. or cocaine. or e. preferably e.

and i go back to altoona and it's boring as ever not having gone to altoona high school or any surrounding areas. i can't get involved in drama, dear god that sucks. sarcasm.
tonight i came back to indiana because sleeping on the couch at 111 west 12th avenue in the neighborhood of juniata in altoona, pennsylvania was just not working out. i love altoona, its a rural city thats as ghetto as some of the worst parts of pittsburgh, yet maintains the white trash quota incredibly.


i did a bunch of free cocaine tonight so that's cool, everything tonight except for my pack of cigarettes was free.
cigarettes are a waste of money though. i drank a lot of alcohol, and i smoked a bunch of pot, woop dee fuckin do, now here i am it's almost four in the morning and i can't tell whether i'm tired or still on cocaine. but the numbness in the roof of my mouth has waned to a ghost of what it once was. it's noticeably proud amongst my nerves, letting me know a night of hard drugs has ended and it may be time to eat something to seal the deal. the very idea of eating anything absolutely disgusts me and makes my stomach feel like a sausage grinder leading to my intestines. i look in my room over at the army standee one of my best friends stole from the high school two girlfriends ago, and the pair of dollar store sunglasses shoved into his temples and folded back. he's standing proud in a green beret and the mockery we have made of this figure colloquially known as baker has become even a family tradition, past an inside joke. when people used to sneak up to my house to smoke pot in my basement, i would hide him in the hall way leading from the split entry stairs so the people coming in would look in line and see an army man to scare them, then realize it was a standee and laugh. i once put it in the shower before my brothers girlfriend went to go take one. we heard a scream and then hysterical laughter for five minutes.
all my friends by pavement is stuck in my head. i sat for hours last night while some kids that work at the outback, hopefully where i will be working next, played poker for five hours. i don't understand poker, texas hold 'em, or the desire to play it but whatever. its not my thing i guess. cards seem to be outdated but they serve a great purpose for alcoholics like myself who call circle of death ring of fire because it isn't going to kill anyone. put the cards into the tab and somehow it always pops when it lands on me, and i have to chug the beer in the middle of the cards.
i need to stop boosting my ego on how much alcohol i consume, how much weed i smoke, and how much coke i blow. i don't buy weed or coke, but somehow i'm always doing them, and i drink every night. hell i didn't drink alst night and for about two hours i was completely lost, i didn't know what to do. and that's not healthy. but i don't know what else to do.
i met this cara chick, she really turned me on. she made me want to know her better, she seemed to enjoy my babble. she referenced me more. i cuddled with becky tonight in a disappointingly platonic manner. then when brittany came immediately before she walked in i told becky i thought she was hot, a trite though true statement.
i cuddled with brittany too, but she rejected me later. she'll be back.
after that ben and adam showed up.
with jaysa, who led them on a wild goose chase to blacklick when she was in shelocta. but she's so nice. and has to be from some balkan heritage, i swear.
i don't know how attractive i find her, but i love balkan girls.
i love brunettes but im always with the blondes.
it's strange for me to talk this way about people, i never think of girls classified by their hair color. but they do, thus creating an artificial subconscious amongst the majority of women who think in that manner. sadly it's hard to find people who think differently. and thats why im stuck in a rut.
why am i stuck in a rut? a serious existential question.
am i waiting for some glorious woman to brush the dirt off of all my spoken philosophies and see the sapphire of it all? you're goddamn right i am.

'I brought him to the Riker Ave. dumps. There is a house that stands alone, not far from where I took him. I took the boy there. Stripped him naked and tied his hands and feet and gagged him with a piece of dirty rag I picked out of the dump. Then I burned his clothes. Threw his shoes in the dump. Then I walked back and took the trolley to 59 St. at 2 A.M. and walked from there home. Next day about 2 P.M., I took tools, a good heavy cat-of-nine tails. Home made. Short handle. Cut one of my belts in half, slit these halves in six strips about 8 inches long. I whipped his bare behind till the blood ran from his legs. I cut off his ears -- nose --slit his mouth from ear to ear. Gouged out his eyes. He was dead then. I stuck the knife in his belly and held my mouth to his body and drank his blood. I picked up four old potato sacks and gathered a pile of stones. Then I cut him up. I had a grip with me. I put his nose, ears and a few slices of his belly in the grip. Then I cut him through the middle of his body. Just below the belly button. Then through his legs about 2 inches below his behind. I put this in my grip with a lot of paper. I cut off the head -- feet -- arms-- hands and the legs below the knee. This I put in sacks weighed with stones, tied the ends and threw them into the pools of slimy water you will see all along the road going to North Beach. I came home with my meat. I had the front of his body I liked best. His monkey and pee wees and a nice little fat behind to roast in the oven and eat. I made a stew out of his ears -- nose -- pieces of his face and belly. I put onions, carrots, turnips, celery, salt and pepper. It was good. Then I split the cheeks of his behind open, cut off his monkey and pee wees and washed them first. I put strips of bacon on each cheek of his behind and put them in the oven. Then I picked 4 onions and when the meat had roasted about 1/4 hour, I poured about a pint of water over it for gravy and put in the onions. At frequent intervals I basted his behind with a wooden spoon. So the meat would be nice and juicy. In about 2 hours, it was nice and brown, cooked through. I never ate any roast turkey that tasted half as good as his sweet fat little behind did. I ate every bit of the meat in about four days. His little monkey was a sweet as a nut, but his pee-wees I could not chew. Threw them in the toilet.'


sounds like a brainbombs song

in town the lights are all

off and the sun's not out but

it's somewhere behind those

pewter clouds, and everything

looks so geographic. No wonder

the scotch irish picked a place

so much like their native lands,

where the dull green and jaundice grass

soaked up rain on august days which

gave way to fall in time.



so it goes, says they.



no one could have guessed that

people lived in such peaceful

limbo but when the people scowl

so hateful you can see just why. they

themselves are just as rare, there's nothing

much that young out here.everything's

stagnant stunted or stoned. disgruntled

rusted and ought to be forgotten but

the constituency seems happy to be where

it can get along with no energy.



so it goes, says they.



at the edge of town you can feel

the heat in the wal mart parking

lot from the friction of the tires

and the flip flops flapping endlessly.

while the people all commiserate

something bigger than the building's

being perpetuated by stupidity,

as symptom or heredity. based

in the word modernity we've followed

pied pipers tunes to our certain doom.



so it goes, says they.