Fuck With The Lights On

Dog Town

Yesterday I fucked two different girls on the same day, the feeling of wet pussy is almost energizing, the rush of static speakers blasting as different woman moan in different tones rattles my veins. It’s almost a symphony of angels, she screams and grabs the bed, her nails digging into the drywall, her back arched towards the sky. I shove my dick all the way in till my balls hang right over her clit, this is the way a man should live. They both squirted on me and I walked around all day with their pussy juice over my body, it almost made me feel powerful. The stink of a man. I drank all night and cheered to myself, I’m more lonely now than ever but at least I’m lonely with an amount of pussy that would make my younger self scream in joy.

Drugs Drugs Drugs

In my worst I’m nothing but an alcoholic and a drug abuser who truthfully believes that these substances help the creative process. Even as I sit here writing this absolute bullshit I drink and smoke till I’m so disconnected from myself that I cannot even recognize my words. But in my best I’m a constant user of psychedelics that make the world a bit more fun. I love going out on acid, the walls morph and bite at the heads of the boring fucking rats that we see on trains and buses. The people are even worse their faces morph into devils and figures which I’ve only seen in complicated mathematics. The floor becomes blacker than the night, my hands melt into my body, my flesh changes colors and vibrates in a way that I’ve only felt during incredible orgasms. Fuck the world it has nothing to offer me, it only kills people slowly, but me, I like the fast and gruesome death, give me the worst of the worst, it would all be better than the dreadful dreams of tomorrow that I see in these fucking robots, these slaves, these faceless, colorless creatures. I need more drink, more weed, more acid, more shrooms, I need to get out but I simply cannot and if I’m stuck here then I’ll do all those things which I’m not supposed to, fuck the material world, maybe tomorrow I’ll become a pimp or a drug dealer, maybe I’ll fuck a hooker till my dick can no longer become hard, my end will be as gruesome and genuine as one can possibly do it, that’s all I care about.

Serial Killers

I have never gave a fuck about you serial killers, all these white girls with an astounding life seem to love you, obsessed with you even.
Seems very strange to me,
“I’m just interested in why they think like that.” She says.
She goes downstairs and her parents cook her dinner, they ask her about her day and they check the mail, they cut pieces of bread and let the television play in the background of the conversation. They seem very strange to me, the way they live like nothing matters, almost like they have no thoughts.
The mother asks for lemonade which they freshly squeezed and they laugh about dogs and beach trips they’ve taken.
It almost seems played out to me, like they’re reading from a script, like their thoughts have been created for them.
On the TV I Love Lucy plays and I watch it a little as I tune them out,
the way they move, the way they talk, even the things they say, all of it almost exactly alike.
I watch them in a pondering stare until I go back upstairs where she waits for me in her red panties. I lay down and the serial killer documentary continues playing.
She looks at me then I realize it, she’s holding it back, they all are, they’re holding all thoughts, all feeling, everything, they’re copying the things they watch on tv.
These people are insane, she says that the serial killer is misunderstood, she’s holding it back, her insanity.
I only now wonder how long they can all keep this up, how long before the father fucks his secretary, till the mother fingers herself to the spoiled words in Fifty Shades of Grey, how long till this girl gets a ridiculous amount of STDs in her search for a feeling beyond this chrome colored mad house? 
How long till one of them fantasizes about murder, monsters hiding in IKEA furniture, I fucked her till I came then drove out of there hoping for the best for these madmen of the suburbs.

The Record Spins

A Radiohead record spins over and over again, I try to mask the clouds with Jack Daniels, I try to shut myself up with the somber words of poets but in this state I only want to hear my own words, I only want to hear my own blood screaming soft melodies.
In this state I turn off all the lights, I sit and watch as the darkness materializes in shadows that reach for me. 
I drink and laugh and then Bukowski calls my name, we laugh and drink together, he goes silent and I go silent and we both take another shot. This darkness is ruthless, pale, loveless, it is more than I can possibly understand now, maybe in another reality, maybe in some state of enlightenment, maybe somewhere else but not here, not now.
A slashed guitar wails on my speakers and I drink once more, I lay on the edge of my bed.
A piano fades out the song and my dream slowly sweeps me under into the worlds of infinity.

Under Her House

I was with a girl named Hannah who I had partially liked for a bit, we went to her house after an open mic night in downtown Charlotte.
When I first walked in I sensed something strange about her house.
“You own this house?” I asked.
“It’s my grandmas house but she’s never here.” She said.
We sat on the couch and the tv blasted on, we started our dance of lustful stares and gentle touches.
I grabbed her and we kissed very passionately until I began grabbing her tits, that’s when she grabbed my dick, I slightly pushed her down and she started sucking my dick.
I laid my head back and laid my hand over her head, I raised my head up and was met by the eyes of a spirit. I tried to look away but I could no longer move.
It did nothing, it just stood there looking deep into my eyes. Everything started getting blurry, strong sounds rang around me and I could hear Hannah screaming at me but I couldn’t react.
The spirit reached for me and I didn’t blink, he smiled and grabbed a hold of me,
the room turned pitch black and then I woke up back in the room.
Hannah was talking on the phone and screamed when she saw me moving.
“What the fuck just happened?” She asked.
“Nothing I could ever understand.” Something inside me said.

Angels In A Silver Car

Porn stars walk among me in the streets of LA, actors,
musicians,
directors,
electricians,
dancers,
painters,
carpenters,
all of them within arms length.
There’s a lot of art in LA that makes me feel triumphant, like a certain glory could be starved for and gotten.
It’s easy however to see the other side, the waste of humanity, the fumes of death washing the highway, the birds of the apocalypse circling around the heart of the city.
A plane flew into LAX and I watched two men fight over $20, the sun set behind me and the infinite colors dripped quickly into the universe, the day became the victim of the night and the lights came on.
Death danced on the streets and I watched him, the revolution of the spirit, the soulless fight for freedom.

How Strange It Was

It was like a light switch, like a thought which I had been looking for over and over. My stomach hurt and I looked up and I just knew, that I had been going crazy. I almost let it consume me, I almost left my own body in search of salvation. My mind blew up into tiny pieces and I tried so hard to recover them. How strange it was to realize that in these moments madness clung itself to me. I don’t claim this, I don’t want to, I’m going in the direction of the sea, towards the palm trees hugged by sea themed light poles.
I surrender to the Phoenix, I surrender to myself being burned and reborn, I give to myself the light which I’ve hidden for so long.
I don’t know why I reject society, something inside me say that it’s because they rejected me first, however, things of those matters must be kept hidden.