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Daylight waste-ings

Posted on 2010.11.07 at 03:06
Current Mood: weirdweird
An extra hour of bar time brought curses to this town. Now at home a bottle to put down. Earlier, as ass hats yelling "Pussy!" to the beloved bouncer as they scurry out the door. Others...fuck heads, puking silently on the floor. Do they realize that "fall back" is for the clocks and not for the ground...or that Ed Hardy makes a bro easier to be found? As the shit show, shit head, dumb-ass parade walk away...they talk of pizza and a good lay. It might be time to rethink your intensions, guys...or revaluate your conceptions...all of them, lies.

The 7-11 Files

Posted on 2010.08.26 at 06:36
Walking to the nearest corner store for an overpriced pack of cigarettes, he stumbled forward on a familiar path. He had been this way before. As he came to the gas station, the early morning freight of beer was being unloaded off the semi. He passed the two men, not younger than himself; he stumbled on in for a pack of camels and a scratch ticket. On the way back out the door, one of the men looked up and said, "You can't live the dream forever." . He walked away and though, "If an early morning drunk with a pack of smokes is the dream, then I aint' doing so bad." Could be worse..I could be stacking beer...but that's another story.

Pizza and the elusive soda. pt 1

Posted on 2010.08.15 at 05:02
Current Location: shut up
Current Music: see above
As he walked away with the two pizzas, the only regret of that evening was the absence of the free two liter bottle of orange soda...forever lossed but not forgotten. He had forgotten it. The chicken bacon and ranch/extra cheese, held no comfort. The hawaiian/extra canadian was missing something...(pineapple, perhaps). Street side high school reunions added to gin and tonic, hum-drum unions had been his night. The pizza was a good distraction and a full stomach helped level his demeanor...yet; a void. Down-trodden and defeated he settled up to go to bed. Then he found some orange soda in his refrigerator...and a realization hit him. Satisfaction, never is just a pizza...it is also the elusive orange soda.
He then went to bed...but not to sleep.
The end.

These Shoes?

Posted on 2010.06.25 at 05:35
Current Location: the moon.
Current Music: radiohead
It is the apocalypse and I'm staring at my shoes. The wind, the sunrise, the future...I know that they are there, hovering on the horizon but instead? My shoes. These dilapidated, weathered, stained, tired, old shoes that have been neglected and only now I acknowledge them...here at the end. These shoes. Them and those short cuts and the alleyways that have been overused, out worn, overrun, yet under appreciated. These shoes have stept in shit. These shoes have danced a jig. These shoes have been slipped off and thrown into the corner with the laces still tied. These shoes have been worn. It is the apocalypse and the sky is on fire but all I can see are these goddamn shoes. They keep me in place sometimes and I blame them. Instead of taking me places new and unexplored, they lead me stumbling through a familiar path. So at times I choose not to use them...these shoes. It is the apocalypse and blame and ignorance will not keep me on my feet. These shoes will.

Guns and Great Expectations.

Posted on 2010.01.04 at 04:32
Current Location: 2010
Current Mood: Gun fevered
Current Music: Chips and salsa.
Early morning of day four in the new year and it is looking quite promising...and its been a damn good day. Worthless hungover feel with a soft opening guitar solo caressed the stale smell of a new year bender. Unaware of most but open and ready to go to hell and bring some of them bastards along, it was time to shoot some guns. We drove to the end of that goddamn snowy cliff of no country, and after the twenty point turn around the spot was found where we would empty many shells. Much like the empty shells we had left in those last seconds of the stale decade past, we had no need, no thought, no heed for the coming apocalypse. Fireworks and bullets are only future trash. Littering and loitering around and about, falling in, falling out...in bars, in fields shooting. Guns, pool, beer, gals and more guns all made the new year's resolutions list. Now after Jooses, Flair Hair Camo Visors, Grilled cheese and tomato soup...I can now R.I.P. for the night. So I will dream of what is to come for tomorrow and not of the new year...for Great Expectations is a book...but not a good idea.
Expecting,
Jordan.


The epileptic slide.

Posted on 2009.11.20 at 05:37
Current Location: The middle...still.
Current Music: Ace Frehley- Back In The New York Groove.
We're getting there folks. Somewhere here, without fear, many a beer, and (fingers crossed) in the clear...but dear...we ain't too near. Its not so bad here in the middle. It's comfortable, the rent is cheap and the neighbors don't care when I fall-a-sleep with Back To The Future playing on the old television when i'm sittin'...and the volume is set at 88. So don't hate. I don't ask for much but please let me slide a bit longer down this ride...cause for the moment, all I can do is abide.

Abiding and sliding,
Jordan.

one, two , three?

Posted on 2009.11.05 at 00:52
Current Location: moon
Current Mood: goodgood
Current Music: chugging
The afternoon of solitude turned into one, two...then three, and the only interaction was the short six and a half hours of listening to the space heater. How many movies can you watch in a day. I've done twenty-two in the last three days. I need an assignment. Feel free to do so.
What goes on?
Jorban.

2 L-8 4 a 40.

Posted on 2009.10.06 at 03:27
Current Location: asshole
Current Mood: gratefulgrateful
Current Music: Miley Cyrus
Tags:
...and the Jay-Z song was on and we entered bat country and all I felt like was to plagiarize and break the rules. Spelling and copyrights were out the window. It wasn't far to 7-11 but it was close to 1:59 so it was 2 L-8 4 a 40. Spending the end of the night in the corner of the end of the bar would only end in knights cornering me in the morning. Earlier, things were much more simplified...and now my hand has been forced. Now blood is on my hands...and it tastes like ketchup. Oh, wait, it is ketchup. But all things pass and at some point it became okay to start sentences with "And" ...because in the end everything ends with a period. We have sucsessfully aborted the mission. A dollar in the hand is money in the pocket, yet still not enough for a beer. So shall we go ahead and cut this off early like a prenatal belly-button? Yet I hear that life goes on.
Obladi oblada,
Jordan.

"Sugar"...Things have changed.

Posted on 2009.09.25 at 02:58
Current Location: the middle
Current Mood: soresore
Current Music: my laughter
Oh, how nice it was to be young, worry-free, quick to heal from injuries and scars. The transition into young-adulthood has been far too fast and fleeting. Scars seem to loiter and the worries, they taunt you like the lingering pimples that used to refuse to fade. The routine that I have unwittingly fallen into has now turned into a pit of recycled familiarity...and it smells like stale pizza , sounds like overplayed bar jukeboxes, and tastes like the morning mouthwash and stale beer. What used to seem like real sugar now tastes like splenda. Oh the days when we used to drop that packet of sweetener next to you and ask, "I think you dropped your name tag." "Sugar"...Things have changed. I suppose that time and change are some of the many things we all have to confront and accept in the course of our lives. Go to hell time...and if you see change, tell him he owes me a dollar...bill that is...not the Clinton.
Inhaling and exhaling,
Jorban.

lines

Posted on 2009.04.30 at 01:54
these lines mean nothing without context
just like the lines that i had to run during football practice
just like the lines that i had to write in privet school
"I promise to never use profanity."

but those promises are fucking broken.
the kind of promises that you make to those miss' at prom
the kind of promises that you made to mom and pa
Swig...
smoke...
sustain...

but in the end, its the lines that you memorized that stuck
in the end its the lines,
those same lines that you use to have to stand in
the ones that made you envious of the line-leader
the lines on the road that killed the guy with two thumbs
"Who burned in his car?"
...this guy.

its the lines in our lives that define us
The lines that define a paycheck,
a performance,
an epiphany,
a piece of shit.

and once again
"I promise to never use profanity"

It's the lines that use to go up your nose
It's the lines that i try to pass off as prose
its the lines that define us
defining a relationship
the lines that i'd never cross
the lines that have been crossed
and the lines that have come close.

lines...
Like the lines i used to trace with my fingers from your hip bones to your jaw line,
and what amazing lines those were.
But they are broken now.
only faded and segmented lines remain.
But i will hold on to those lines
i will treasure every line that brought me to this point
the closest distance between two points is a strait line
its the twists and turns that have separated us two points
so the line is lost...

but in the end these two points can exist together even if they are not on the same line
so step in line, please.


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