the first step is getting rid of what’s poisoning you.

I’m working to slowly rid this site of outdated links, former friends and things I generally have lost interest in. This means I need better things to put in their place – I’m always looking, but, as always, drop me an email and/or a comment if you’d like me to check something out. I need the sort of stimulation that only comes with begging and well-pointed advice.

It seems that inspiration is so few and far between anymore. Stepping outside my front door affords me very little save the cigarette slowly burning between my fingers, and the irreparable damage I’m doing. Many of my old tricks just seem, well, old, and even the snippets from my phone are as tired as soggy eggs. You look around and find your friends bore you beyond your capacity to accept such things, the art on the walls becomes desaturated and mute, movies blend together, even the music you listen to becomes one long note in one ear, through the brain and out the other, taking any patience and passion you had with it. Even albums that have never failed you before numb your senses, like the frustration that builds when your method of masturbation just doesn’t work anymore. Winter has begun, the season to button down and get to work, but instead you button down, layer, button again, layer, take a benzo until finally you’re in a cotton cocoon, relaxed thanks to the chemicals and not because you’ve accomplished anything real. Night and day mean nothing behind black curtains. Aches and pains are your ghosts of Christmas present and, as far as you can tell, the future as well. Sparks try to light, and for a moment you’re sure the fire will roar to life so you’re forced to remove the aforementioned layers with deft fingers to lie bare against the carpet.

Life becomes frozen pizza, and computer crashes. It becomes dust and almost’s. Your heroes are getting married, or overweight and droning on and on about God, or their underage girlfriend, and their simply FANTASTIC relationship with both, or throwing out scraps that try and pass as art, bullshit.

No city waits for you, no one waits. As a good friend once said, “no one dreams anyway.” You’re overweight with the things that don’t matter, starving for the things that do.

Any healthy man can go without food for two days – but not without poetry. – Baudelaire

The aeroplanes sound so far away.

for two seconds / one syllable
/ takes so much
effort. my  / therapist suggested i try
but she’s /getting
paid
and i’m not. - jmt

Where do the Orphans go when the shops close until further notice?

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