May 2010

As I was getting my car weighed on the way out of Fayetteville I witnessed with an all too familiar lack of surprise, a lengthily be-dreaded African American gentleman getting shot down by a very convincing middle-aged transvestite wearing a bright orange and green sundress.  I couldn’t think of a more fitting going away present than this showcase example of the kinds of experiences I would be (hopefully) leaving behind as I traveled slowly across the United States back to scenes more familiar.  In the weeks preceding my departure I was constantly told by other soldiers that I would miss the Army and that there was even a real possibility that I would come back some day.  I didn’t put up much argument.  I thought, who knows, I’m sure there’s at least one snow ball making it in hell.  But the more I thought about it the more I thought I would miss the Army like I miss my wisdom teeth.  They were useful for a time but eventually I just didn’t want them as a part of me anymore.  Now all that remains are these holes where the roots once sat, slow healing wounds constantly drawing my tongue to them reminding me of what I can never get back.

The Senate has rejected the House Spending Bill. Government shut down looms!

Libertarians rejoice, your theories are about to go in to full effect. I’ll be stocking up on ammo this afternoon.

Me

untitled

i want to be creating 

but i feel my flame is slowly fading

into a darkness called most often

is this cubicle my vehicle 

or my coffin

is the 9 to a 5 a prison

or the american religion

or is it just the means in which we operate 

to maintain the growing cost of living

and can i really rally now

and raise my fist and scream and shout

against this beast i’ve kept fed and warm

this monster growing since I was born

this need we feel to take and take

to build our forts

to plant our stake

and added on this artificial 

manufactured fear of bombs and missiles

and missing out 

falling behind

fading through 

our grasping minds

the brand names

the joneses 

the models

strike poses

we want our cake 

and fuck your cake

your cake is ours

it’s ours to take

as long as i’ve got 

my diet soda

the internet 

and my xbox controller

i am contradiction 

hypotheses without solution

a skipping record

just meaningless

revolution

I don’t always make sense, but when I do, it doesn’t involve this outfit.

I don’t always make sense, but when I do, it doesn’t involve this outfit.

Go to war, come home, write a song.

Charging Julian Assange with “conspiracy to commit espionage” would effectively be setting a precedent with a charge that more accurately could be characterized as “conspiracy to commit journalism.”
James C. Goodale ‘The Daily Beast’

Oh Spam, You Know Me Well

Clearing out one of my email accounts… on March 1st 2008, I received an email from “Penis”, Subject - Satisfactory sexual intercourse. I’m sad I overlooked this for so long.

Happy 236th birthday, Army.  We didn’t always get along, but I forgive you because you’re old.

Happy 236th birthday, Army.  We didn’t always get along, but I forgive you because you’re old.