I love life, I love people and I believe in what the Great Billy Pumpkinballs once said:
"In order for this whole thing to work, at least two-thirds of you just need to go to the beach and walk into the ocean."
I'm an author, a filmmaker and a super saiyan. Don't believe me? Then check out my website.
So my friend told me the other day, “What if you don’t make it? What if you end up like all these people, working minimum wage because they’ve spent their lives working for nothing? You’ll end up old, broke, and nobody will hire you back.”
At this point I can write, “wellthat got me thinking,” but in fact it didn’t. In fact my response was so immediate because to me the question was so stupid.
“What makes you think I want to go back?” I said. “Besides, even if I don’t make it—”
Now let’s stop there for a moment. First of, I really hate it when people say that line: “Even if I don’t make it…” It is a statement of weakness disguised in moral eminence, as though money and fame didn’t really matter to you. It is a passive-aggressive claim of higher standards—a preemptive dulling of a theoretical pain—hiding the fact that you’ve accepted loss without actually losing. (more…)
It always comes at the right time. You’ve just settled in a sweet latency and then it follows you throughout the day; it stares at you when you’re alone; and then it wakes you up at night. You don’t know where it’s coming from but every time it brushes against you, you feel sick and cold, ugly and defeated. You know it’s telling you the same lies; but they are lies you’ve always believed in.
It is the stirring and the fidgeting, the sweating and the stressing, the eyes that couldn’t stare, and the searching for questions you’ve answered many times before. It is you stalling. You notice it far away, like breaking glass, like dancing sirens in your head, and then you tense up like you’re falling in a dream because you know what it’s there for. Engineered solely for your weaknesses, it is both haunting and precise. You know its nature by now. It is silent and patient, lethal and brutal, and it is there to claim what remaining time you have. It’s back. And you’re going to feed it. (more…)
There is still time. You can be anything you want. There is someone for everyone.
It is the cosmic lottery ticket, the deus ex machina, the human silver bullet. But what they don’t tell you is that hope has a darker element to it—its toxic compounds; its catabolic nature that eats away at your heart, mind, teeth and nails; its silver side effects.
Because the truth is, hope alone is not enough. (more…)
Not all art is created equal; just like not all men are created equal. Amongst us, there will always be those who succeed and those who will remain on the couch.
Not all art should be free; just like not all rights should be free. Some rights are given willingly because of its worthlessness, and some rights you have to fight for because of its potential for real change.
Now among many of our modern, comfort lies, there is a saying that never fails to bring out the inner serial killer in me. And that is the saying that, “art is subjective.”
These are not philosophical questions, but rather simple, practical questions. After all, the human race has already fought its way through war and disease. And today, in the developed world, we no longer fight for God or for country; instead the greatest preoccupation of our generation, our 21st century quotient, is primarily to fight for ourselves.
This is reflected in our modern ads and ideology. Generally we no longer advertise information or utility because you can always google something and there’s always an app for everything. Brand loyalty is also now indifferent of country of origin, production studios, record labels, artists or authors. People buy from everyone because it’s all about personality. Today the products that dominate the market are the ones that tell the world who we are—status symbols that silently project to everybody who we want to become: not necessarily our current selves, but our ideal selves. (more…)
I knew you’d slow me down with your pinky in the air,
but I knew you’re the one when you dipped down with your sable black hair.
I swear I hate this town and that’s how the story goes,
we got fifteen minutes before this goddamn place throws up and blows.
Moonshine, shoeshine, thirty-five dollars for a thong,
drinks on credit and I’m in the gutter singing this song.
It’s past midnight blues and you’re wearing shadow and lace,
but how can I say I love you when you’re sitting on my face? (more…)
We live in a noisy world and a noisy time. Even the silent moments of today are filled with noise—filled with a stream of videos, podcasts, blog entries, updates, tweets and texts. Most of our everyday lives are guided by councilors, classes, and curriculum. Our outlooks are influenced by forums, workshops, groups, guides and gurus. Our decisions are ruled by opinions, options, suggestions, and education. There’s all sorts of schooling, training and guidance out there. In fact, there’s an instruction manual for everything even on how to live your own life.
The only problem is: it is written by someone else. (more…)
The stars were swept and the sun went out, and then the Devil fell from the Great War in Heaven.
Looking down into the abyss, an Angel of the Sword asked him, “O Day Star, Son of Dawn, why were you cast down like lightning from the mountain of God? O Light Bringer, the once Guardian of Man, why do you now reside in the far reaches of the pit and walk the stones of fire?”
“Well shit,” the Devil replied. “I had to try.” (more…)