Stuff. I have a lot of it going on, but oddly enough, life has come to a screeching halt. I’m waiting on and not running after lady luck, excitement will soon follow. Until then, keep your nose clean.

Do embers from smoldering coal disappearing into a bright abyss cease to exist? I hope not.

Song on my mind: Red Hot Chili Peppers – This Velvet Glove

“Close to my skin
I’m falling in
Someone who’s been

“Old gypsy woman spoke to me, lips stained red from a bottle of wine.

The one that you are looking for, you’re not gonna find her here.
…
Old gypsy woman spoke to me, said,

You’re a wolf, boy, get out of this town.”

I made up my mind a long, long time ago. So far back in the past, that I forgot when. If anyone does ask when, I’ll answer during the womb. Nothing percedes the womb, right? Is it really the greatest, or safest we’ve ever felt? I think I was clawing to get out. That could explain the resentment my mother throws at me. We live to die, is that right? Living to eventually die, expire, ka-fucking-put. It’s a very morbid affair, the affair being us and life, isn’t it? It’s an awkward dance, but it’s that right kind of awkward, like the first lay awkward. Is awkward ever right? I think it is. I never tip-toed when I was younger, I thought it was something only cartoons do. I should’ve tip-toed…it would’ve saved me some trouble. Speaking of trouble, did I trouble you? If I did, it’s alright. At least that’s what you always told me, I do stupid pretty fucking well and you told me it was alright…why? I troubled myself to trouble you, that should say alot. People hate routine? No, that’s not true, that’s a lie. People lie to themselves. We love routine, it makes us feel secure that our lives are following some sort of rhythm, no matter how mundane it is. You enjoy mundane. You don’t like the eventful, the event-less life is one of excitement for you. Again, why? I’m addressing you, but who are you? I know the what, I may know the when, but I’m not sure of the who. I’m not sure of the me, and I as well. It’s very obvious when you talk out of the corner of your mouth, don’t you know? I thought you did, but in case you didn’t…well, now you know. Kaleidoscopes for brains, is that how crazy people operate? Are crazy people in on the joke? Or do they think we’re just different? Tell me, you might know. I don’t think you’re quite right in the head…am I right? Forget it, lets reminisce, or lets not. That’s something your fond of doing, rehashing the past. Enough is enough. You’re boring, don’t make me boring. Scream, you really ought to scream. Stop hoping for success. The meek will never win. So scream, yell, and hurt. We all know you’ve been hurt, don’t take it in stride. That doesn’t make you charming. Well, yeah it does, if you define charming as pathetic. Then yes, you fucking stink of charm. If I don’t care, who will? You.

Song on my mind: Wolf Parade – You Are a Runner and I am My Father’s Son

“I am my father’s son,
His bed is made,
I was a hero, early in the morning
I ain’t no hero, in the night”

So yeah I’m kind of late to the party, pardon the filler.

TAGGED by the refreshingly open Plastic

Here are the rules:
1. Put your iTunes/music player on Shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get you answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT!!

1.IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?
Spreadin’ Rhythm Around (Lady Bug vs. Lady Day RR Remix) – Billie Holiday

2.WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Gone For Good – The Shins

3.WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Bob Marley – Natty Dread

4. HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Damn, Sam (I Love A Woman That Rains) – Ryan Adams

5.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
People Like You Are Why People Like Me Exist – Say Anything

6.WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
You – Moby

7. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Back to Roonlake – Wan Light

8.WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
What Does Life Mean To Me – Lil Wayne

9.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Just Lose It – Eminem

10.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Autumn – The Cat’s Miaow

11.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Starseed – Our Lady Peace

12.WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
First Day Of My Life – Bright Eyes

13.WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
البعد علمني- أم كلثوم

14. WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Someone Great – LCD Soundsystem

15. WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Play In My Park – I Monster

16.WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
This World – Zero 7

17. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
In The Summertime – Mungo Jerry

18.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
I Think It’s – Moododrama

19. WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
Jesus Walks (remix) – Kanye West, Beach Boys

20. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOURSELF?
Esucha Me – Guts

Song on my mind: The Kinks – Sunny Afternoon

“Help me, help me, help me sail away,
Well give me two good reasons why I oughta stay,
‘Cause I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon”

I think adults that look like children creep me out. I think, because I don’t know…indecisiveness is my bitch, or is it vice versa? Vice versa, now that’s a smart term. If you have a presentation kids, try to drop vice versa into your bit. Do not use, in my opinion, because I’ve been told countless times it’s not a smart term. Yes, countless. I’m either very stubborn, or simply slow…how many licks does it take to reach the center of a tootsie roll pop? The world will never know. Did I butcher that? I’m hoping I did, because that commercial annoyed me. But hey, it did its job. It’s stuck in my head, however fragmented it may be. House and home are two very different things, that’s my brilliant observation of the year. I’ll proceed to pat myself on the back.

Song on my mind: Nirvana – Smells Like Teen Spirit

“I found it hard, it’s hard to find
Oh well, whatever, nevermind “

I was great, not good or sub-par. We were morally bankrupt and that my dear strangers, that was fucking delicious. When the burden of selfish actions don’t bare any weight on your soul, do you know how freeing that can be? To say to hell with it all, and take it in with a smile. We were addicted to happiness, and heroin was the right chaser. Stick it in my arm, make me howl in euphoric pleasure. I was your fiend, you were a slave to the needle. I had the needles, so you were my slave. Do you remember when I broke your nose in a fiend-like craze? I thought you were holding out on me, and you fucking were. I choked you, pushed you against the wall and you bit my fucking skin off, sex ensued….we needed the dopamine. The religious man, the man with the beard, fingering those annoying rosary beads, and with the steady eyes. He cast presumptuous looks in my direction, praying to his God would be my redemption he said; I pissed on his faith. I spun a web of deceit and lies, I made him scream for a higher power, higher than his so-called God, he screamed for drugs, sex, but not rock’n'roll. He fancied himself as an intellectual dope-head. Shooting up while listening to the haunting voice of Abdulbasit, he was high and he cried. He told me once that drugs were the true testament to a just God up there. The slave laughed, the fiend, being me, giggled to no end…we were junkies, the three of us. We were dirty junkies. Two of us were escaping from moral and social responsibilities while the third was running towards morality with open arms. We were junkies, two of us are dead, and I’m still a junkie.

They say, they say, they say. Well fuck they I say, they’ve done this they’ve done that. It should be about we, we, we. Us , not them and they. I’ve been told that they are the people here. So they are here, and where are we? If we’re not here, are we there? Shouldn’t they be there, while we should be here. We are a priority, and they are not. Ranting of a sane junkie are pathetic, while an insane one makes for a lively night. We’re a part of your city, just like the stars add intrigue to the great black blanket in the sky. We’re the speckles in the city that add that sort of atmosphere, you and your boozed up friends enjoy. So yes, I think I deserved the coin you flicked into my cup. Don’t you dare tell me to get a job, I don’t tell you to come bum it up with me. I lead my life, and you lead yours. Your happy, I’m happy. Happy, happy, happy. I never knew if I was the sane, or the insane junkie. You might be the best judge of that.

So the slave, she had a daughter. Fucking with no protection, guarantees a seed surviving, my seed of all seeds..boo fucking hoo. That poor bastard probably sled out of her mother’s pleasure chute fiending for some black tar. I don’t know if I should refer to her as a bastard, I mean it’s a fitting term, but fuck she’s my own flesh and blood, and it’s not too appropriate to refer to the mother as a slave, I mean she did die and all. But I’m insane, I’ve lost my morals…so three cheers to the dead slave, and her bastard daughter.

Who would’ve thought Riyadh would be rampant with us, the drug and sex abusers. Things are always on delay here, it took the 60’s roughly 80 years to catch up to Saudi. Free love, and drugs…I loved it. Past-tense being the key term, while I take pride in being a bum…it’s a hard job. My body’s fucked from all the abuse over the years, so it’s hard putting up with this hellish heat.

I should stop, and think why I’m writing this. I’ve never mastered the literary arts, I’ve never used the word “arts” before. Fuck, I hope this book doesn’t change me, or turn me into a snob, because as I’m sure you all know  authors are snobs. My hobo friends really look up to me, as being the man that couldn’t care less. It’s a lie, I do care…if I didn’t, I wouldn’t want to be writing this. I want to be fucking remembered, god damn it. I want my long overdue praise. Just like movie stars have their biographies, CEOs have their bullshit infested how-to books…a junkie should leave his literary footprint behind. I’m not talking about the quitters, who blame drugs for their shitty lives. No, fuck that. I’m talking about a book with no shame, guilt, or regret. A book about my shameless life, and one-sided love affair with drugs. Who knows, a kid might be walking down the daunting halls of his local library, and bam…he sees a tattered book with a needle on the cover, he’s intrigued. The dumbass picks up the book, he’s hooked…he’s already a fiend. I would probably be dead by the time some cunt is inspired by my not so average life, but it comforts me knowing that I might be able to breathe inspiration into children. Why bother with being an accountant, lawyer, or even worse..an HR guy. I’m doing our future a great service. I don’t know if my lack of sanity will hinder my ability to write coherently, but fuck me if that’s not the beauty of it. You’ll be reading, and think what the fuck is this guy saying? I know I’m rambling, that’s what we bums are great for. Rambling, crazy theories, oh and we’re known rapists as well. The change in Saudi was so sudden, that you would have to been on drugs to slow things down enough to soak it all in.

Lucky for you cunts, I happen to have been on drugs most of my life.

In case you it hasn’t hit you, this was a work of fiction.  

Song on my mind: Caravan – And I Wish I Were Stoned

“Dreamed I saw a man walked upon the sea
Dreamed it once again and saw that he was me
Looking close at me I looked a lot like you
Knowing where to go but not quite what to do”

I remember walking in and seeing three bunk beds, and different colored back-bags on the wall. None of the beds were made, and three people already claimed two of the beds. I stood there for a good minute to take in the room, but I couldn’t stand there any longer…I was fucking tired. I looked to the first bed on my left, it had a freckled chubby girl in her undies with a petite guy resting his head on her pillowy arms. The other bed had a guy in his early 30’s, black framed glasses, and a shaggy beard reading a paperback. I smiled, I thought he would notice the strange presence hovering above him, but he remained blissfully lost (I wanted that right there and then). I forgot what I said, but I probably introduced myself and asked which bed was free. He told me so many people were coming and going that he lost track of which beds were occupied, and which beds were free. He went back to his book, I don’t think he meant to be rude…he just wanted to read his book. The mismatched couple were awake by now, and the girl was wrapped in a bed-sheet. I think the girl spoke first, she seemed friendly enough. She pointed at the free bed, I quickly threw my bag on there, finally claiming my piece of the room to myself. They laughed, and were on the money when they that it was my first time staying at a hostel. They turned out to be recent graduates from the UK. More importantly, they were newlyweds. How cool is that? Not in a million years would a Saudi couple get some authentic backpacking done. He told me he does the cooking, he gets the food from the market nearby, every floor has its own kitchen. But I was to be careful and not overstock, he said people are constantly eating things that arn’t theirs. But that’s probably because more than 80% of the people staying here are piss drunk, and don’t think twice about which item of food is theirs or not. I had hostel mentors, so I was happy…but I was still tired, I climbed onto my bed and surely enough the bed was marked in more ways than one. I didn’t care though, because good god was I fucking tired. Man, I remember lying there and trying to retrace my steps, but I couldn’t. The door opened, a boy walked in dropped his pants, took out shorts from one of the bags, he wore them and left the room. That was my queue to sleep.

Song on my mind: Bob Dylan – Subterranean Homesick Blues

“Dont wanna be a bum
You better chew gum
The pump dont work
cause the vandals took the handles”

Things were great for a moment. They were good for awhile, and I was fine with good. We were content. Then it suddenly felt different, and I didn’t usually mind different. Different was usually a pleasant break from the mundane routines that life puts us through, different was a change, and change should be good. But this “different” wasn’t pleasant, it was that sinking feeling that tugs on your soul (I’m assuming I have one). I felt someone else’s presence, that I wasn’t the only guy in the picture…there was another man, I was sure of it. I was partially right, there was another man, well not a man really, but more of a being…a super-being? God was the other “man”. I was fine with it, monogamy is overrated I thought. I figured I could keep up with God, but fuck was I wrong. I made her my world, but I was dealing with something that can literally make her worlds, or so she thought. My blasphemous jokes quickly became tasteless, apparently God didn’t have a sense of humor. She spoke to God, but God never spoke back. I was there, and God wasn’t. I thought I won, but I was competing with an idea. That idea of perfection had me beat. She told me God wouldn’t be happy with us, ironically I became the other man. 6 billion people in this world, you would think God wouldn’t mind sharing one person. I’ve held a grudge against God, and been happy ever since.

Song on my mind: Dean Martin – Ain’t That A Kick In The Head

My head keeps spinning,
I go to sleep and I keep grinning,
If this is just the beginning,
My life’s gonna be beautiful.

Not that I’m a tree hugger or anything, but I think earth deserves at least one day to be pampered. So a friendly reminder to all you polluters out there…it’s Earth Day, so do something nice for the environment.

Song on my mind: Andrew Bird – Opposite Day

Those who can’t quite function in society at large
They’ve got to wake up on this morning to find that they’re in charge
But those the world’s set up for, who are really doing quite well
They’re going to wake up in institutions
In prison or in hell

I’ve always felt howdy was a cheesy way of saying hello. It really gets under my skin…”howdy partner”…really? I mean really, did you really just say that? It’s cringeworthy. I really enjoy cleaning while listening to music, it really does help you get into the whole spirt of scrubbing. Spending the Sunday scrubbing the bathroom was a perfect end to a weird weekend. All that cleaning usually clears your head, or maybe it’s the Clorox fumes? Do kids still do the whole cooties thing? Kids are becoming smarter, or it’s possible that I’m becoming stupider…it could be both. I was never the go-getter, and I’m glad. Most people cave under pressure, and I don’t really have any pressures in my life to cave under…I do away with pressure. Apparently the way I choose to look at life upsets some people, it’s not my fault that they’re stressed. I don’t want to work myself silly, and it doesn’t take much to make me happy. Speaking of being happy….why don’t they have a happy news channel? I’m not saying we should turn a blind eye to all the tragedies that are happening around the world, but it’ll still be nice to be watch some happy news…people are so quick to report on the negative issues. We love negativity, and we love bringing each other down…it’s always easier to criticize and bitch. April showers are awesome, rainy days aren’t that gloomy…things just get quiet, or do the rain drops wash out all the other noise? Bicycle weather is creeping up on us, good times are upon us.

Song on my mind: Sublime – Doin’ Time