#infatuation

"Sharks are like dogs, they only bite when you touch their private parts" 

You didn't break my heart. But my lips they waited for your kiss and it never came and now they are cracking. And I feel it every time I smile. 

I'll still be waiting outside but I'm tired of knocking and my hand hurts. And for all I know it probably annoys you. 

We could have had the stuff people travel around the world for and the sort of thing people sing songs about. But I'm too shy. 

"There is only one girl in the world for you and she probably lives in Tahiti" 

If people don't believe in mind control, they obviously haven't met you.

It's like you baked cookies and I washed all the dishes you used but I didn't even get a cookie.

This is pointless. It doesn't even matter. It won't change anything. And it's all just infatuation. I'm giving up. Giving up on you*. But what does it matter. It's all about the booty anyway. 

It's all about the booty.

*-but if you wanted to go to a haunted house or something, I would be cool with that

AK-47

I'm scared of this post because I mean it.
I know more about blogger settings than I do about changing my oil. And it seems like my pants are getting tighter.

And with each blog post I'm getting worse at basketball.

So take me back.

Take me back to when I didn't have feelings. When I wasn't trying to change the world. When happiness was a Symphony bar. And love was going to a Jazz game. 

"It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song"

Take me back to when Christmas was still fun. To when I didn't sleep on Christmas Eve. To when it was about the presents. And not how the hell I'm going to pay for presents. 

Take me back to when Mom was still alive and I didn't know Dad was a douchebag. Take me back to recess. And Pokemon, and Gameboy colors, and Andrei Kirilenko's rookie season. 

"I thought I saw my childhood the other day, but it didn't recognize me"

Maybe you can't take me back. But at least put it in a shoe-box and bury it in the backyard. The backyard where anything use to be possible. And shed a tear for me. 

And when you see him, give him my old Buzz and Woody, and my Andrei Kirilenko rookie card. Tell him I'm sorry that Woody's hat is missing and most of Buzz's arm. And I'm sorry that Andrei Kirilenko sucks. But tell him, that's what makes them great. Tell him the same week his Mom dies his favorite basketball is going to get a hole in it. Tell him I'm sorry I can't fix holes, I can only find the beauty in them. Tell him the future might not be brighter, but at least there is a future. And tell him, tell him that I love him. 

And what scares me about this post is that I mean it.

"Father, why have you given me this desire to fight then made me such a stinky warrior?"

honeymooners

Rock out like you like the way your signature looks.

Rock out like Creative Writing is a full year class. Rock out like Weezer is good as they used to be. Like it is still as fun as it used to be. Rock out like Harold Miner just quoted you. And Charlotte Charles just commented on your blog. 

Rock out like she just texted you.

Rock out like you are on your way to your honeymoon. Like they are proud of you. Like your best friend doesn't get all the girls. Rock out like you know why you are here. Rock out like Andrew WK. Rock out like you are the favorite uncle. Rock out like it's T-shirt weather. Rock out like your Red Hot Chili Peppers cd isn't scratched. Like you just beat Street Fighter 2.

Rock out like it doesn't matter. Because it does. 

"One great rock show can change the world"

Never forget that.
And that's an order.

a prayer of thanks

Dear God of Colors, 

Thank you for the Blues. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for all the phone calls.

I thank thee for Black. Thank you for having a troubled past. Thank you for understanding. And thank you for taking a chance.

White. Thank you for breaking my heart. You taught me I'm not all about the booty.

Thank you for Yellow. I like our future. 

Thank you for the Grays. Thanks for making me want to be a better person.

For Reds. For being my opposite. And all that's done for me. And all that you've done for me.

Thank you for the Indigos. Thanks for being different, yet the same. Thank you for existing. Thank you for making me want to exist. 

Thank you for Green and Brown. For being home. Thank you for experiencing. Thank you for rising above and taking me with you. 

In the name of Art, we pray. Amen.

Dads and Duct Tape

"you're mad at your father, not at me"

Dad-

Remember that time I found the coupon for the topless cleaning service in your room. I didn't even know what topless meant.

Remember all the rated R movies you said where made by Disney.

Remember all the Fruit by the Foots you bought me with someone else's money.

Remember that time the tooth fairy never came.

Then Mom died and I couldn't figure out why I wasn't going to live with you. Then they told me. They only told me somethings, but I figured out the rest.

Thanks for all the things you taught me. And I'm not saying you're a good teacher.

Last Father's day, I looked up your mug shot on the internet.

I'm scared. I'm scared that when ever I go out in public, I'm going to see you. And duct tape can't fix that. But duct tape can fix my shoes.

And I care more about my shoes than I do my father.

Duct tape forgives, but duct tape never forgets.

-Your Son

Death, Life, Motel 6

Life and Death are having a sexual affair. And I'm trapped under the bed.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
The bed creaks, life moans, death's breathing heavy's, and my face starts bruising.

"I won't tell God, if you don't tell Lucifer"
"Deal, same time tomorrow?"


I find it odd that Death never dies. What gives him the right to take souls out of this world, when he has never experienced it himself. But I guess to die you have to live. And Death doesn't deserve to live.

Life's always had a thing for bad boys. It's no wonder she fell for Death. He was always good with words.
"Baby, without me, you wouldn't survive"
She knew it. She knew no one would appreciate her without Death.

celine dion is a liar

beautiful faceless women

 

 

 

We'd go to family reunions and our weird aunts would marvel about how in love we are. We'd give talks on the sameday and teach primary together.

 

We'd kiss in a tube slide, while it's raining outside.

 

We'd go on roadtrips and listen to mix cd's we made. We'd read books and recite poems.

 

I'd cook you breakfast and you'd make me dinner and even though you burnt the chicken, I'd still eat it.

 

And I'd do the dishes. Everynight. I'd even let you hold the remote control.

 

We'd go on bike rides in the morning and walks at night. And we'd talk for hours.

 

And oh, how'd we cuddle. Because cuddling is better than sex.

 

We'd have kids. I'd teach them to throw a spiral and you'd teach to play the piano. I'd read them a bedtime story and you'd sing them to sleep. We'd teach them to love God, love others, but do whatever they want.

 

We would be poor. But just to prove money isn't happiness. And I'd kiss you every morning before I went to work. And I'd never work saturdays.

 

 

But Santa Clause isn't real

 

And neither are you

 

But St. Nick, that man was real.