TEEEEEEE.PEEEEEEEEEEE.RRRRRRR.

TEEEEEEE.PEEEEEEEEEEE.RRRRRRR.

I don't know if you'll get this in time. I'm not sending it out to you specifically, but if you read it... You will know it's to you. Happy New Year. I love you. You are and always will be an amazing person. 365 days isn't that much time. But, I'm glad I spent some of it with. It's not all made up of shear brilliance, but it isn't all that painful either. I have one wish for you this New Years... I hope that this year, your pain will be much bearable, in fact, I hope you don't have any pain this year. But, honestly that's ridiculous, your pain won't fade just because the year changed. So I have one wish I hope comes true for you this New Years. I wish that whenever you feel sad, unworthy, ugly, incompetent or question why... I wish you can try and see yourself through my eyes. I wish you can see the beauty in your dark brown, mesmerizing eyes. I wish you could see the undying love you have to offer someone. I wish you could see how perfect all your mistakes are. I wish you can see how one day your smile will make a man-boy-child-machine-dog-thing feel complete.
I love you T.P.R. Happy fucking New Year, dear.

Fin.

I Made it Bold, I Made it Important

I Made it Bold, I Made it Important


I am armed with the humor, that can only be justifiably expressed, as an alcoholics dark charm.
I am sheltered with secrets.
Secrets that make up my life.
Secrets that are close knit, yet are tampered with; as time goes on.
Dampened with holes, as big as, chain link fences.
Deflected with an imagination, as well equipped as my mind's eye will let me inhabit.
I am filled with a trifling soul and a warm heart.


Fin.

NYC

It's foggy out here in the city. It looks like Phillip Morris just took a deep, fulfilling, pull off of a Marlboro Red; let the smoke linger in the back of his throat, and slowly guided the smoke out on to Manhattan. It looks lovely. The fog makes New York City seem like there is an endless horizon line. Manhattan's tall buildings look ghostly, there is bricks that almost seem transparent. It is breathtaking. There are bridges and gestures of trees in the distance. Pale faces with red noses. Men and Women alike; look like clown imitations. It's wonderful. There are ice patches sheltering the city sidewalks that are already covered in memorable pieces of used chewing gum. It's honorable.

There is practically 20million people all over New York City. But, today, it's as though it's just the two of us. You smiled at me

Queen's Christmas

Queen's Christmas

It's 10:47A.M.
I woke up practically 2 hours ago,
I went to sleep practically 7 hours ago.
That was sufficient enough for me.

I fell asleep staining my mouth with cheap 40's, expensive Marlboro's, and cheap Camel's. I stained my mind with obscure thoughts. I woke up in Queens this morning. I expected to; this was a planned agenda. Yet, somehow when I woke up in Queens, this morning, I was still lost as to why. I wasn't sure of this quite familiar place. The last time I've shared this place with my eyes was more than a year ago on the 4th of July. It was nice to wake some place new. It was comforting. Comforting, but strange.

It's the day after Christmas, I feel nostalgic. There is no particular reason for it, at least I don't think there is. I feel good, fresh. Fresh, but not clean. I want a cigarette. I've been awake for two hours and haven't had a cigarette yet. It's unlike myself. I think it's because I have none left. haha.

I want Alice to wake up already.
I want Alice to wake up already.
I want Alice to wake up already.

I'm ready for breakfast. I'm ready for a cigarette. I want Alice to give me a cigarette. I don't want to take a two hour train ride back to my neighborhood. I think I might just live here a couple of days. Just, till I learn to teleport. I want to learn to teleport. I don't want to go on the train.

I promised my mother, I'd go shopping with her today; in Jersey. That could be fun. I'm kind of excited by that. I love my mother.

I woke up and started reading War and Peace by Tolstoy, this morning. This man is a fucking genius. If I could write a book half as good as War and Peace, I'd be more than happy with myself. It's fucking brilliant.

Wow. This entry came out exactly the way blog entry should. That's never happened by me before.

Fin.

One on One: Attendant of the Insane Asylum

One on One: Attendant of the Insane Asylum

I feel strange looking back at the situation now. I wasn't quite sure where my urge to laugh was coming from. It came from something previous, something before; no, not because of the movie, which should have been the most laughable thing in the world. Joy, something like a physical form of joy. Even though it was hard for me to believe, joy. I could have laughed contentment, pure, delightful, inexplicable contentment. ''I'm just going crazy,'' I thought. ''And with this spontaneous nut, I guess, it's contagious.'' She and I sat there on her abnormally high placed bed as she unzipped her pants and pulled them down to her knees. She has gorgeous hips, I never mentioned it to her, I just figured that would be an extremely obscene thing to compliment her on, or any girl for that matter. She took the index finger of my right hand with her left hand, and started to suck on the tip of it. Pulling and pushing it, in and out, with her warm sweaty hand, massaging it with her tongue. As she started to pulled down her pants to her knees, she got closer to me and breathed in deeply, as if it was her last breath of air. She exhaled and threw down her undies, as soon as they connected back with her monochromatic, blue-wash burn jeans, she forcefully tugged them down to her ankles. She smiled as she slowly relapsed her back onto the bed, and her head reunited, and fastened to the pillow. She let go of my hand as she gestured for a remark on my part, when she stroked her pale, thrillingly beautiful body; till she got to her slit. She proceeded to outline her damp inviting lips; as though to refamiliarize her most sensational asset. She shook uncontrollably as she executed the most known magic trick to her two fingers; the disappearing act. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and eyelids followed in an opposing manner. She moaned, gently and low. The insition she induced on herself provoked a conditioned kind of reflex of her back thrusting into the air, she clatched onto the bed sheets as she smiled and whispered a question, ''Are you enjoying this as much as I am?'' I wanted to say, ''No.'' After all that was what I was thinking. But, instead I grinned joyously and responded, "You are so hot." With an idiotic laughter joined together by a stupefied, continuous head nod. She cried out, "OH G*D.''

I was her muse, I was the only thought in her head at that moment. What a shame. What a waste of a thought. She should be thinking about anything else, anyone else. She clamped onto my hand, passionately as she finished herself off, and pulled me ontop of herself. It is ridiculous that I still have to appear up on stage for an encore, after all it seemed as though she did a wonderful one-person-performance. She seemed inconceivably happy with herself. I gave her a kiss on the forehead, and began to produce a truly artistically, enthusiastic role of a exceptional lover. I made for an excellent pawn to her eager notion to my induced delight and her tortured pleasure.

Fin.

I Bang With No Pants On

I Bang With No Pants On


I'm your biggest fan,
Keeping a little boy like me at the edge of his seat,
You have me dancing to your heartbeat.
Smoking cigarettes to your voice, Drinking wine to your image.
I'm your biggest fan,
I caught a cold the day you stopped singing to me,
I'll always be your biggest fan.

Oh, oh, oh.

I'm your biggest fan.

Fin.

1-800-Petersaur

1-800-Petersaur

The lights went out; in my room.
I'm done.
Eat me while I'm hot.
After all, I am your genuine find.

Note to self: Stop acting like, that was time well wasted. You were wasted.
Take everything out of this ship wreck, Captain.

Turn the lights down.
Lay down on my chest.
I've got a movie we can watch.
It's about a boy who's given purpose, by a girl who took his breath away.
She got him so high, he never wants to come down.
Stay with him. Stay with him. Does she stay with him?

Their futures are splitting them apart, as I write.
They will get to that, when it comes around, but none of that matters now.
Because they feel so alive, alive, alive. When they say, 'I love you too'.

12wqn14idnq08

12wqn14idnq08



She opened her legs, quicker than she opened her heart up.
She had love notes oozing out of her slit.
She had the sweetest nectar.
She opened her wings and followed me home.

I was dumb enough not to go home, but go out on a reckless 'sexcapade'.

Sheheardmemoan,IheardHerscream.

Fin.

We Were Married Once, True Story Kiddo

We Were Married Once, True Story Kiddo.

THIS WILL BE INTERESTING WHEN I GET AROUND TO FINISHING IT, CHECK BACK IN A DAY. I DON'T HAVE THE ENERGY TO FINISH IT.



As I sat there waiting for her arrival at our restaurant, my knees began to shake uncontrollably. They bounced up and down as though I was moving them to the sound of a musical rhythm. I wasn't. My old, veiny, and discolored arms were outstretched and I grabbed for the nearest liquid to quench my parched throat. Which happened to be Lindeman's Merlot; extremely expensive. I wanted to wait for her before I opened it, but I couldn't, I was too nervous to not have a little gulp to calm my dry insides. I poured it in a spotlessly classical glass and the burgundy toxin seemed to just flow out so fluidly. It glistened in the glass, under the dimmed fluorescent atmosphere. It looked perfect, almost too perfect for me to deserve. I took a small gulp and realized this Vino isn't very calming, it's erotic aroma is intoxicating, and it reminded me so much of her, that it actually made me even more uneasy. Why am I so phased by this woman? After all, at some point she was mine. All mine. I kept contemplating stepping out for a smoke, I really wanted one. I kept fidgeting around in my left crotch pocket, of my worn down pinstrip pants, with the pack of Marlboro Lights. I just kept fumbling around really thinking about weither or not I want to smell like a chimeny. (Marlboro, Budwiezer, CoCa-Cola. The three richest, oldest, most used products known to mankind; in that specific order. An old professor of mine from NYU told me that practically 4 decades ago. I don't know why I just remembered that.) She hated it when I smoked, she hated everything about it. The stenched that lingered to me after I had a smoke, the taste of my lips, the fact that I am harming myself; and know it. Fuck it, she left me, who cares. I'm going to out for a smoke. But, as soon as I stood up from my chair, I saw her. I saw Sophie. My beautiful Sophie. The woman that for the passed 4 decades of my life has illuminated, every single room she has every entered. (With the exception of the last year) Jeez, she looks even more breathtaking than she did a year ago. She wore the pearl necklace I gave her for her 30th birthday. She wore the gorgeous backless vibrant, silky, red dress I bought for her 40th birthday. She wore the diamond ring I got her on our 1 year anniversary.(It cost me more than an arm and a leg. It cost me a loan worth more than the one I took out to finish medical school.) She wore the red pumps I bought her on our 5 year anniversary. She looked amazing. Just one thing missing; her wedding ring. I chuckled as I went around our table, to pull back her chair and help her adjust herself into our regular table.

'You look stunning', I uttered. As I walked back around into my seat. I couldn't believe she did that. She wore all the extravagant gifts I gave her, except the one that meant the most between us. As if to say, 'I want you to know... I enjoy all the luxurious spendings you have done on me in the passing years. I just don't give a fuck about you. This is a gathering to show you what you have been missing, Sebastian.'

'Thank you, Sebastian. You seem to look well yourself.' She replied.

'I like your hair like that dear.' I commented.

She threw out a very sarcastic and over dramtically satire laugh as she mentioned, 'You finally noticed. Not once did you ever say a single thing when ever I tried to do something new to myself to have you pay attention to me. Well, thank you. I guess.'

Please Enjoy the Elephant's Rectum

Please Enjoy the Elephant's Rectum

Sickening discomfort.
My throat burns and itches.
I feel an overwhelming urge to cough, because it seems like it'll help subside this irregular pain.
But, coughing does nothing for. Nothing but instigate more burning and an unholy amount of mucus. Coughing one; causes me to cough twice. Then it becomes a never ending cycle, that causes my chest to hurt. My chest feels as though hundreds of little needles are poking at it. It feels warm and fuzzy, but not in a good way. I feel weak. I feel weak. I feel fucking weak. I am sweaty, yet cold. I am 19 year of age but, being sick makes me feel old. I hate this fucking feeling.

I want to be well, I want to be well, I want to be fucking well. I want my mother out of the hospital. I want my brother to stop lying. I want to be more trusting and I want to trust people for the right reasons. I want school to be over. I want to finally feel something more than just 'fine'. I want people to actually give a shit when they ask me, 'How you are doing?' I want them to give a shit about my response, so I will actually respond; honesty. I want people to not only ask me, 'What's going on in my life?' because they want to tell me how marvelous their life is. I don't want people to lie to me, I know nothing is perfect. That includes their life. As long as I am wanting, I want to create a masterpiece--that is my life.

I wish I could have a drink right now, Vodka straight. I wish I could have a cigarette right now, Marlboro Light. I wish I could go to sleep right now, outside, having the field be my bed, the night sky be my blanket, having the moon be my nightlight, and the stars fuel my consistently changing dreams. I wish I could finally be living my life, instead of preparing steps for it.

Raise your shot glass (with me) in the air, to toast for a gorgeous new morning in December. This is for every last bit of fueled hope and every little bed-sheet stained desire that still exists.

FUCK!

Fin.

MANHATTAN && BEDFORD AV.

Let's take a walk through New York City. Let's go to the tallest point of land in Manhattan; located in Bennett Park. We can have a picnic, and I can sit there holding your hand telling you about random childhood memories. Let's walk over to The Cloisters in Fort Tryon park, and look at the Metropolitan Museum's other part of unconventional art. We can stop by The New Leaf Cafe for coffee. We can walk over to the Little Red Light House and see the George Washington Bridge get lit up with balls of fluorescent fireflies.

Let's take a walk through New York City. Let's go to 42econd street, and catch a movie in the AMC theater--munch on goobers and popcorn as I try my hardest to not seem too eager to hold your hand half way through the movie. We can go on the balcony of this destination and over look the bright and flamboyant advertisements scattered along the city. We can end the night by going to the most amazing diner on 58ight street and 9ine ave; The Flame. In this diner we can get my usual booth, and get drunk on Merlot.

Let's take a walk through New York City. Let's go to Central Park, and rediscover Strawberry Fields. We can have a snowball fight. We can eat ice cream. We can smoke cigarettes. We can stare up at the stars as we lay in the grass. We can lay on one of the park benches staring up at the sky trying to decipher nonexistent animals and cloudy figures, as I tell you there is nothing I'd rather do at that moment. We can then walk over to MOMA for a silent film on the left wall of the building, and finish up the night with the most amazing Halal food sold, in the entire United States.

Let's take a walk through New York City. Let's go to Columbus Circle, and sit in the circle, look at fountains, talking about life, love, religion, politics, sex, education, music, art, movies, books, fuck it... Let's philosophize about anything you want. Let's go to the Grand cafe in Astoria, Queens... We can end the night eating chicken shish kabobs and drinking vodka with Redbull or Tequila. Whatever you prefer.

I don't care what we do in New York fuDates, New York City, Manhattan, Fort Tryon, Cloisters, Bennett Park, New Leaf Cafe, Coffee, Metropolitan, Little Red Light House, George Washington Bridge, 42nd Street, Movies, AMC Theater, Popcorn, Diner, The Flame, 58th street, Merlot, Central Park, Strawberry Fields, Snowball fight, Halal Food, Columbus circle, Conversation, Grand Cafe, Astoriacking City... As long as it's with you. As long as we can end the night cuddling in my bed. As long as we fall asleep together. I love New York City. I love my perception of New York City.

Fin.

6ix o'clock in The Fucking A.nte M.eridiem

Warning: THIS IS A BULLSHIT POST; just trying to clear my head...

I can't sleep.
I finally ate something, Chinese left overs.
It was not very good, but it was something.
I just finished watching an old movie; oldie, but a goody: Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind.
I've listened to over 12elve different covers, thus far of Love Lockdown && 17 different covers of Amazing.



By the by, in case you were wondering (&& I know you were wondering) what the acronym A.M. && P.M. stands for...



Ante Meridiem that is what A.M. stands for in reference to time.
Merdiem means noon in Latin. Ante means before. The literal translation would be, before midday.


P.M. stands for Peter Markelson, but in reference to time means; Post Merdiem. Literal translation would be, after midday.

Fin.




Correction stands: I STILL CAN'T FUCKING SLEEP. && Now it's too late, I have to go visit my mother in the hospital before her operation in about an hr. Then around 3hree or 4our I have to go to the Metropolitan Museum to sketch for my life drawing class. After I am done sketching I might go out to dinner in that area, because I have to meet with my History of photography class at around 6:30hirty p.m. I shall be only getting home around 10en at night. I think I want to go out drinking tonight. I mean it's a fucking Friday, I had a LONG and WEIRD fucking week.

iPeed in Her && Now She is Pregnant

iPeed in Her && Now She is Pregnant

I haven't eaten anything in practically 2wo whole fucking days.
I'm hungry, but have no appetite.
I have slept 4our full hours (Not consecutively) in the past 5ive days.
I feel fine.
Just fine.
Not a single thing more, not a single thing less.


I've realized and finally allowed myself; to come to terms with the fact that I am a homosexual, figuratively speaking, of course.
I mean, I must be. I haven't had sex in almost 9 months and I don't want to. I don't know why.
I don't have an urge for it. I mean, if it came along... I would not pass it up. But, I'm not yearning for it. I'm not anticipating it, I have actually opposed against offers. I am a homosexual. I mean, I must be.

Lately, (More so, in the past week) more than anything in the world; I've wanted company. I want to share my bed and be held. I don't want love or sex; I want to cuddle. (That in itself sounds gay.) I want a girl to just smile and allow me to hold her. Hold her so fucking tight, and have her tell me, 'It'll be okay. Just relax." I want a girl to just lay next to me, and slowly ease her way closer to me, and pull me on top of her. Pull me on top of her, so that my body can outline hers. I want her to throw her arms under my armpits and have her hands peek over my shoulders. As I just shove my arms under the warm, smooth small of her back. Fuck it, as long as we are wishing, i want her to wrap her legs around me and let me dig my head into the pillow beside her skull. I want her scent to stain my nose, and I want her to whisper, "Everything will be okay."

I don't think I can love and have sex. I don't think I can truly fulfill my sexually voracious and unstable appetite for sex (at least not on satisfactory level) and love at the same time. Sex is a courtship ritual with a specific kind of communication, I can't reach it with a significant other. The messiness of emotional attachments, just puncture my sexual and romantic bubble and threatens to keep me apart from my 'lover.'

I fail to fall short; of being the epitome of the contemporary urban man. I cannot grasp what love is in relation to sex. To me they are two different things that should be kept as such. (Separately and as far away as possible.)

Fucking without love.
&&
Loving without fucking.
That is my life.

Fin.

Early December, Late Nights

Early December, Late Nights

I'm an idiot and a loser.
My life is ridiculous,
and
if it had to be classified into a genre;
it would be dark, dark, black comical-satire.

I put myself in dumb situations that are completely incompetent.

I am retarded,
I should change my lifestyle,
or at the very least purchase a new one on eBay.


Fin.

White && Blue Gown.

I cried today. I Sobbed actually. In fact, To be perfectly honest; I straight up and down bawled like a fucking infant today. I don't want to lose you. I'm not ready. I have just begun to really know you, and yet, I still know nothing. I know nothing about you. I don't have enough memories with you to last me long enough with out you. I want to know more about memories you had in your life without me. I wish I could make you promise, everything will be okay, and you will me with me forever. But, that would be very becoming of me to ask you to keep such a promise. It's non realistic. (At least I think that.) If it's really true. I just want to keep living a fictional lifestyle.

I love you. I truly love you more than I will any other woman in my entire life.


Lately My life has been pregnant with nothing, but bad news. It just all kind of blew up and give birth unexpectedly today, and it hurt. It hurt a fucking lot.
Get out of your white and blue patterned gown and come home. Come the fuck back, and never leave.

Fin.

Cruel Intentions of a Writer.

Cruel Intentions of a Writer

I want a wedding celebration worthy enough too make the gingerbreadman comfortable. I believe that if I truly aspire for it, I mean really believe it, I can have a candyland wedding. I don't know if, I'm all to sure why I think; candyland. Maybe it's the innocence tied with the idea. The meaning I hold dear to the word and ideals that are congregated with the word; candyland.


I value innocence. I know that. But, that seems weak to me. Weak in the sense of value and depth, or lack there of(I'm fine with being weak for the idea of relentless pursuit.) I have always valued innocence. Innocence personified by women. Innocence personified by life. Fun and simple. Innocence just seems right. It's why a person can't help but smile when they see a child clutch on to a balloon on the subway, as if this balloon was meant just for them. Just for them. But, they'll lose interest soon enough when they see something better, that's why we have two hands. There is always more than one choice. (A person needs to have a chance to better grasp it.) The choices are endless. The impossibilities are endless. Innocence dies out. Interest dies out.


That's where innocence comes into play with my life. I cherish it. I hold on to it. It means a lot to me, It's something I don't obtain in myself. At least not genuinely. I try to find it in others; friends, family, and girls. I try to discover it--in girls. I try to invent it in them, if I can't find it. I gloat about it when I get it. I hype it up like a good promoter of a bad movie. At least the trailer to the film was captivating. I have realized lately, I invent and recycle ideals about the girls I meet. Most men have a type of girl they look for. They have a certain criteria for the girls they want in their life; passionately speaking. They want their girl to have a certain look. I don't care much for physical beauty. Just moonlit eyes and a real smile. Whenever I find that, I don't want to let it go. I feel as though I can't. I take off my watch and forget about time limits or endings. I find nothing wrong with them...


I instantaneously fall in love. I fall in love. I don't go head over heels. I go crashing, in a bursting flame of passion, head first with my heart glued to my fucking lips. I will love a girl till the oil dissolves. Then and only then, will I pick my watch up off the floor, brush off the dirt and dust, blow off the cob webs, and wait. Wait till the clock strikes 11:11 again, and it happens.


It happens.

I smile.
She smiles.
It starts all over again.

I use scripted words of a real life fairytale.


I rediscover some pretty eyes, I invite a beautiful soul; absorb the innocence. I fail to determine fatal flaws that will clusterfuck my brain till another broad comes along, when the one before her is nothing more than a chapter in a book, that is; my life. A chapter that was great, but the new one is better. The newer, the better. Like any good book, I think the writer behind mine is brilliant. The author couldn't make any more dramatics for the main character; filled with trials and tribulations. He must be an alcoholic, a self loathing, disgust. A heinous person, filled with emotions and disillusions. That mimics 'strangers' far from his life to protect the creativity of his writing; that is my life. His Cruel Intentions for his episodic underdog story is causing unbearable obstacles filled with too many choices for me. But, as long as he's willing to write my story, I'll live my life. My life is filled with repetition and routine, the new chapter in his book shows laziness and lack of leaps. Take a leap of fate; Let me take a leap of fate. I want to take a huge chance on fate and without the blink of an eye, end up in Candyland.

(Disclaimer: The author of my life, is not in any kind of reference to G*D or Jesus Christ.)


Fin.

I wonder what you are thinking about now?

Do I still cross your mind?

Am I still your distraction?

Your day is coming in 9 days...
Will I still see you?
Fuck it.


I'm just drunk.

:]

S&M

I don't give a fuck about anyone or anything.
Fuck you!

FUCK YOU ALL!

I'm a 19ine teen year old man,
I am filled with a living lie,
consistent and ridiculous.

I take so much garbage,
my words are filled with shit,
and this shit is set on fire to burn--bright, and long.

I am disgrace,
I am a working failure.

I have nothing to show for the last 2 years of my 'college career.'
I have nothing to show for my personal training personification of a dumbbell.

I am never happy with my appearance,
to the point that I manifested a muscle dysmorphia.
I spend strange times 'working out' at a gym; that I 'actually work' in.
I have a liver failure,
I have a liver failure,
I have a fucking liver failure at 19teen years old.
All because I used creatine; a poor man's steroid.

Up to this date, I have slept with 5ive girls,
I have gotten 2wo different girls pregnant; 1ne of which was pregnant 2wice.
1ne had a miscarriage,
the other had an miscarriage and an abortion.

I have never been in love,
But, I have lied about it.

I got myself into $30hirty thousand dollars worth of debt in a month,
I have nothing to show for it;
I have a liver failure.

I laugh with a cynical and hysterical demise.
I am oblivious to the world around me.

Currently, I am seeing two girls at 1nce.

I am seeing 2wo girls at 1nce so I can gloat to my friends about it.

I think I am jealous of my older brother,
His hair has more personality than I do.
I am much better looking than him,
but, sadly...
My looks won't get me love,
I need a voice.

FUCK THAT!
I have a voice,
I need a mic.

--

FIN.

86ix My Last Post

86ix My Last Post

I was drunk.

I cant sleep.
It's strange.
I've had a few drinks,
I had the bar minimum of sleep the night before,
and I work most of the day today...

I want to go to bed and I can't.

I'm too horny to sleep,
too tired to fuck.

:[

Strange SelfPortrait

Closer. Closer I want to look. Look in to the pale brown in my eyes. Look at the blues and purples on the bags under my eyes. I drag my feet against my wooden floor, down the hall way, I get to my doorway, the doorway... The doorway to my bathroom; I stand still, silent, and poorly postured. I am like a walking pair of eyeballs. I am a walking pair of eyeballs. I am a walking pair of eyeballs. I am a walking pair of eyeballs. A walking pair of eyeballs; that has booger-clogged-vision. That had his lights punched out. That is gushing out ocean worthy amounts out of his tear ducts. My nose is stuffed. Stuffed with all types of unnecessary clutter. Unnecessary clutter that just won't go away. That just drips out so fluidly. I can't breathe. I breathe in. Breathe out. My throat burns. My lungs ache. Although it is the lowest, as well as weakest form of drug; I am addicted. I wish I didn't care what it did to me. I wish I could make myself believe that the amount of orally fixated happiness I get from it, overpowers the health destruction it causes. But, I can't. Fuck a cigarette. Fuck a cigarette. FUCK A CIGARETTE! MORE THAN ANYTHING... I want a fucking cigarette. I don't want to be sick, I don't want to be sick, I don't want to be fucking sick any fucking more. Fuck a cold and fuck a cigarette. I would kill for a cigarette right now. Kill FOR A CIGARETTE. Kill. Cigarette. Kill. Cigarette. Kill. Cigarette. I breathe slowly and deep. Breathe in. Breathe out. I take out a shot glass, I pour half a shot of Smirnoff into the glass. I take out a lemon. I cut out two circular slices. I shove and stuff it into the glass. I take out a head of garlic. I rip off a small piece and cut it. Cut it into atoms of confetti. I mix that into the shot glass. I drink it. I shutter. I throw an awkward smile, followed by a frustrated sigh. That didn't make me feel any better. But it made me feel. Pinch me. I think, I'm in love. I think therefore I am. I am in love. I'm in love with the idea of love. I'm in love with life. I'm in love with my idea of love. I'm in love with my life.

I'm in love with my life.

Fin.

Dreams

It's been fucking ages... Ages since I've written a single fucking thing. (At least it feels like ages.) I wonder why that is, it can't be because I have nothing going on. It can't be because I have too much going on. I just don't really know where to start or what to start about. (I guess.)


Dedicated to the the people born circa 1989, and still living.

If I could have anything right now; it would be you, two bottles of wine, a pack of cigarettes, an unlimited and assorted amount of tea, and any unconventional form of communication in my bed. I don't think it's you... I don't think it's you I'm attached to. I'm just prone to my attachment for you. I don't want to lose that. That's it.

Living in this day and age, being a belated teenager, I think, I'm not anymore fucked up than any of my peers. I just think, maybe, just fucking maybe... My life is too fast paced. I wished it wasn't.




After taking a steroids test, doctors informed Peter that he had tested positive. He laughed upon receiving this information, and said "of course my urine tested positive, what do you think they make steroids from?

:--->(i)

I am finally done.
We can just be friends.
I don't have the emotional energy.
I don't have the right time consuming words for you.
You can be my distraction.
I don't need you for anything, than what you are meant to be.
It's finally clear. I guess
I am not going to try and break fate.
Everything happens for a reason.

We can just be friends.


Fin.

Raunchy Goodness

Before I met her, I was the epitome of the word promiscuous. I recycled woman more often than Andy Warhol reused prints. The strangest thing about copulation for me was that I always viewed it as another form of masturbation. (At least until I met this one girl. But, that is a whole other story all together. The affinity between us will be out in the open at some point, when I am ready to express words about it.) So, here is to writing about my unchaste filled behavior.

(Please hold the applause.)

Days, weeks, and months went by; I accomplished nothing but another notch in my 'sexual conquest.'

Fin.

-P.s.I got nothing;
Princess Y.
You win, by default.

Stop Running, homo.

Forgive him. He just wants to know if you have seen this girl; the one whom you should say goodbye to as soon as you say hello. The girl with the vacant, dormant heart. The beautiful girl who can make a boy fall in love with her as easily as she can leave him. The girl running in his dreams. Running in his dreams as fast as possible away from him. (The girl that doesn't believe in love because of an unreliable, lost, significant other.) Forgive him, because he is trying to find, his calling. Have you seen this girl?


Even though she doesn't believe in love, he is trying to call her bluff. She leaves him lost; she knows all his tells; he can't raise the stakes any higher, he doesn't believe in folding, and doesn't understand what cards, she deals with, either. He pleads and he tries to get inside (her heart) her underwear, with her undeniable beauty. They had breakfast together but, tea isn't coffee and neither of them last like what he needs. What only she can make him feel. Forgive him for not knowing your child hood pet, or the fact that you dance around naked after you take a shower, 'because air drying is better.'

He doesn't mean to be a bother, but have you seen this girl? She makes a boy's heart swell with passion, and makes him smile, till his gums go dry. The girl that fits so perfectly in his arms, the girl that can wash a boy out of her life as easily as her hair. (That makes her smell like an angel.)

Fin.

I'm dirty.







Fin.

Late Nights and Early Mornings.

You want amazing? Take a train ride starting at 6:00am; mere minutes after the crack of dawn. On a crowded New York City train from Queens heading towards the most northern peak of Manhattan, near the George Washington Bridge. (The bridge that connects New York to New Jersey, constructed on top and going across the Hudson River.) With every and all different types of cultures and nationalities brought together by a metallic routine cart on wheels. Filled to the fucking brim with people all rushing to get to work on time, and all your riding this train for is to get home early enough to give your father his metro card on time, so he can follow these sheep to his job destination...

Imagine not being able to stop smiling. I mean, uncontrollable happiness because you spent the night with the most interesting human being, just staying up. Staying up throughout the night just. JUST TALKING. SMILING. LAUGHING. JUST ENJOYING. Enjoying pure, innocent, attention for someone who is gorgeous.

Now... Now that... Ladies and gentleman is fucking amazing.



-Shit, I have to go shower. I'll finish this later. To be continued till it's fin.

Wikipedia.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Really?
REALLY?


Some fucking pansy loser, flagged my blog?!
I am not a 10en year old.
So my posts have some naked photos here and there,
I am not posting hardcore porn...
The photos used on my blog are not meant to offend anyone,
&& if you got offended go kill yourself.
This blog was meant for the enjoyment of myself and my dear friends.

Whoever flagged my blog is a FUCKING ASSHOLE!
As well as obviously didn't take into consideration the writing put into my blog,
the photos are there for a mere laugh, my writing is meaningful to me.


When I tried to view my blog annoynmously I got this message:

Possible Blogger Terms of Service Violations

This blog is currently under review due to possible Blogger Terms of Service violations.

If you're a regular reader of this blog and are confident that the content is appropriate, feel free to click "Proceed" to proceed to the blog. We apologize for the inconvenience.

If you're an author of this blog, please follow the instructions on your dashboard for removing this warning page.




In addition to when I logged into my account I got this message:

Cruel Intentions – Hide – Always show

11 Posts, last published on Oct 6, 2008

3 Followers

New Post

– Edit Posts – Settings – Layout – View Blog

This blog has been locked and unpublished due to possible Blogger Terms of Service violations. You may not publish new posts until your blog is reviewed and unlocked.

This blog will be deleted within 20 days unless you request a review.

Request Unlock Review

Who ever flagged my blog, I just want you to know; I needed you viewing my blog almost as much as I need teeth in my asshole. Better yet, your teeth; Eat my shit.

Fin

Displaying 1 of 1 blogs – Show all Minimize list

Sugar Free Disregard

Sugar Free Disregard

It's Monday Morning. I think it may or may not be the 5th. I am not all to sure. It's a real difficult to keep track of the days. It usually is though when you are busy, although to be quite frank, the only thing busy on my end is my mind. The endless succession of nights and days...I'm emotionally, mentally, and physically tired. I need to sleep. I don't know much of anything anymore. I have school in a few hours; at the mere moment more than anything, I want to not have to go to school today. But, sadly I can't afford to miss out on school. I need it. Not even for the purpose of a career, but for the simple fact that I need it to stabilize and regulate my life.

I need a catalyst to help me get my life back on track, and obtain the right order of my priories. I am just not sure whether this catalyst is a person, a place, an object, or just an over all analyzing of my misconstrued ideals and out look on my own life.

I seem to judge my life in a much a favorable light, than I do others. I need someone there to tell me, 'PETER YOU ARE A FUCKING RETARTED! GET YO SHIT STRAIGHT FOOL!' Rather than have some one in my life saying things like, 'Orale FUCK ETTTTTTT!' (I know both those quotes are both lacking in spelling and grammar, but Orale fuck etttt.)

Fin.

:]

2wo Hours, 35ive Minutes, and 51ne seconds

Of pure and utter happiness.

If you don't understand what I am talking about,

It doesn't concern you.

Fin.

Save Money, Live Better, Sell Your Heart To Me

Save Money, Live Better, Sell Your Heart To Me

Save Money, Live Better, Sell Your Heart To Me. So I can crush it, I have not let any woman in to my life. At least, not into my life long enough to truly know me. BUT, I AM NOT AN ASSHOLE! STOP FUCKING ME LIKE ONE!


We’re all full of spelling mistakes and grammatical errors,

Your mind will do anything you put it to, it's your heart that makes it difficult. But, then again it's your heart having emotions that your mind told you were held there.


It does nothing but simply pump your blood. Simply.


Simple was never our style, if you really pay mind. We knew how to push each others buttons. So we pushed and pushed. Hell we just broke them in.

And we're over saying sorry. We're better now. So we say, at least. Or is it that we're only dragging our feet in this sludge of love because we're still sorry? Because don't get me wrong here, I'll love you til the end of time. But we're jaded children, and this world we're in, has held the thought of being bitter so tight. So fucking tight. It's like, I miss you so hard when you're not around. But then you're here and I remember why I send you home early every time.

Who am I to keep a girl from her dream?
Who are we to tell people how to love?

I just can't help but question, think, question this situation. It's heinous the mind setting time limits on things. The whole "I already know when" deal. Well I do know when, but I can't dare tell you. You couldn't dare ask if I knew too. Human nature isn't even natural anymore. Come on kids, it doesn't take much to see why we've all been so blinded. See, blind, on page 69ine; in reference to my metaphorical usage I made with it. If you are still stuck, just understand this.
GET FUCKING OVER IT!

Errr

This is actually really fucking stupid. REALLY fucking stupid.

I've lost all creativity, inspiration, energy. I've lost all hope. I love you, I just.... I guess love you.


I AM NOT AN ASSHOLE, BUT, I PLAY ONE ON T.V.

Fin.

Science Experiment 1ne: Artificial Intelligence

Science Experiment 1ne: Artificial Intelligence

.. And? You write an sms.

Are you not scared what will occur next?

'You sent it.'

... And? Yeah, you.
You got the alert that, 'the message was sent.'

Oh, and now it was 'received.'

But, what start to happen now?

Now starts the very worst,

You start to await the response.

From who?

From her of course!

Hehe.

But you are sneaky,

you ended the sms in a way so that the ending of it be a question

or so it would be that she couldn't answer right away,

because waiting is impossible.

How can you wait for an answer from her?

Yeah...

...And? In the noisiest club,

in the most happiest of company or friends,

Or during the most exciting part during a movie in a dark theater hall

Or even when you sleep, you still feel how your phone moved.

Sms.

From who?

From her,

and the phone lights up the darkness like the brightest shining star.

It is her.

...And? And now you know.

Now you truly believe you know why people need big fingers on their hands.

Here are the buttons.

Here are the letters.

They combine together into words.

...And? And here are the words, "Let's fly through the cosmos."

To where?

To her, To her, to her.

"Hey. *smileyface*

When will we see each other?

*10 smileyfaces*
And a kiss with as many *O's* as the screen will allow me to fit."

.

Fin.

Winnie the Pooh

Winnie the Pooh

My chest aches. It's a dull, blunt, annoyance. I have this burning sensation and it sucks. The pit of my stomach feels like it's imploding, and set ablaze as well. I have a pain in my right temple that is pulsating. My right arm, from the wrist to the elbow feels like it's being pinched at all the wrong moments on the the right places to make me want to cut it off. The lower part of my spine feels weak and worn. My hamstrings feel torn. The balls of my feet feel heavy and used. My shins feel like they are caving inward. My should feels dislocated on my left side. My toes feel as though they have been stomped on by a woman with no sense of rhythm, or shame in the lack of it. My throat feels clogged and swollen, while my heart is beating my body up senselessly. I lost my shame a while ago, and don't know where to look for it.

The strangest things in life happen all to often, at least all to often to be referred to as strange.








Fin.

Recycled Lines

Recycled Lines

I am a 19teen year old man. I believe I have experienced everything, life has to offer. But, I know I have experienced nothing. I shelter myself behind recycled lines. Lines of euphemistic illiterate philosophies, that I have predetermined to try and impress people. Impress people into believing, only what I want them to know about me.


But, the truth is. The FUCKING truth is, I am lost. I hate my lifestyle. I hate it, and have no idea how to go about changing it. I don't know why... I don't know who I am anymore, and more than anything I want to find out. Find out why I lost my passion and drive for things, I know for a fact I used to love.


I mean I know what I want; at least in the mere moments, but not with my life. (That unintentional--cruel intention, of what I want right now. Well, It's clashing with my getting to the knowledge of what I will actually want.)


I have come to the realization that my writing will not get me anywhere. I am at peace with that. I wasn't really expecting it to, at least, in the back of my mind I wasn't. I remember how, just a year ago I really loved writing. I loved it. I mean, I thought that my writing was good. Not Bukowski, Dreiser, or Vonnegut good. But, still enjoyable for other to read. I mean to me there are different types of good writers. There is the episodic good writing such as J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. It isn't good as far as literal text, and usuage of language. But, It's enjoyable. I mean fucking hell, it got an entire world to get up off their lazy asses and read. I mean, here is a woman, a woman who came at of no where. A woman who was partically




To be finished later. FUCK IT.

Babooshya

Babooshya

Dedicated to:
To the lady who gave life, to a woman who gave birth; TO ME.


She laid there still and lifeless, as if she was asleep with her eyes open, on that Advance Series bed. A bed that has more buttons and controls on it that a universal TV remote. She was under white cotton sheets, and a white pillow. I sat there by her side on a chair that was also covered in a white gown matching hers.

She had multi-toned everything; starting from her bicolored lips with dull reds and vibrant purples. Her bottom lip perched a bit further out than her upper lip. The bottom one was quite fuller than the top lip. They showed remains of past lovers decades ago, they reminisced of a loving deceased significant other. They wer battered, cracked, broken, and dry.

Her eyes were small and beady. Shining of resentment, regret, and suffering. As inviting and honest as they were, they seemed to be gaurding her, and sheltering her from others to view her passionate, worn out soul.

Her neck as well as over all skin was soft, and streched out; like taffy. It had khaki colored freckles, mixed into the overpowering cadaverous complexion, with shades and hints of red. Her skin had loose hairs running around, that haven't been tamed in ages. Nothing too out of the ordinary for a woman of sugh age, that she was.

She had needles and tubes and clips attached to every and any possible part of her body, and the only empty spaces on her body; that had no IV's full of water, oxygen, or morphine. Either left her cruised in black and blues, as well as greens and yellows on her skin, were only left alone, becayse of the amounts of blood drawn from these medically man-made holes, using nothing but never0ending needles.

She hadn't eaten or drank a single thing in three days, and yet she didn't complain a word. She looked weak and helpless, but even under those conditions was to prideful to ask and of the medical sisters for assitance of any kind.

Tequilla Mocking Bird With an AK-1989ine

I guess we will call this;

Tequilla Mocking Bird With an AK-1989ine



I looked across the crowded room and then my eyes caught a glimpse of her. As I scaled the room around, I couldn't help but take a second glance. Her beauty was subjective, She kept tattoos instead of diaries; with every artistic creation etched into her skin there was a story. A story that lied beneath every vividly colored visual expression. Behind it was a memory; of a love affair won and lost, every battle scar hidden in the background with a intricately placed foreground. A hint of foreshadow of what she's been through and how it has shaped her into who she is now.

She was of a pale complexion with lightly pinkish-hued cheeks. She had short hair with extravagant extensions and it was perfectly placed in a disarranged manner. She had Bombay Sapphire colored eyes. I stared at those eyes, begging to G*D that at some point she would acknowledge my existence and just turn and look my way.

Then, it finally happened, our eyes finally met. I fancied how that visual connection made her smile and me tremble. Tremble because it felt as though, as though she had captivated my soul. As dumb as this may sound, at the moment, I... I understood right there, right there, at that mere fucking moment of our eyes meeting, that my heart would ache without her. I had to introduce myself to her.

As I tried to make my way past this crowded-teenage-filled-ALMOST-cult-like-gathering-of-a-party, I shook. My heart was racing, just pounding to such an extent that I saw it move my shirt. I felt anxious, and although I wanted to blame it highly inebriated ratio of Alcohol to blood level in my body, I knew. I knew it was because of her, I was feeling like this. My palms were clammy, I felt awkward.

As I got closer, I noticed; she had a perfect bone structure and an elite pose, mixed with such confidence it felt like she could break me down with one fierce stare, only to use her later known kindness and love to build me back up again. I wanted to have a smoke so G*D damn, fucking bad, at that moment. But, I didn't have one on me at the moment. I had just finished my pack.

I smiled at her, a very awkward smile. Almost could be called a 'forced' smile. She noticed it, I know she did. But she didn't remark on it.
-'Hi.' I said, as I took my trembling, wet, hand out of my constrictingly tight, monochromatic black jeans.

-'Hey, I'm Sophie.' she replied, with a breathtaking smile that almost made me drop to the ground, as gracefully, as a pin.