Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Hang 'em High (Hang 'em High, Hang 'em High)

Stare at the clock's flat face
within a crock rat race
do you see what I see
perceive the villainy?

Of subliminal career
criminals who make us hear
unoriginal theme songs
ascended to memes.

Can't maintain soul is drained
branded, seared trademarked names
the sky, walls, billboards, pavements
they all look the fuckin' same.

It makes me wanna kill 'em
'cause I've had my fillin'
feel them pills distillin' deep
within thin villains, makin' a fat fuckin' killin'

Hang 'em high hang 'em high hang 'em high
hang 'em high hang 'em high hang 'em high
when their smile never reaches their eyes
Hang 'em high hang 'em high hang 'em high.

WAKEUPFAGGOT

I'm at a party, and I'm drunk, and I remember being seventeen, and being straight edge, because I hated everyone but my best friend, who was straight edge, and obsessed with Minor Threat. I'm stumbling, I'm, I'm all blurry, I'm not sure what's going on. I'm drunk. I'm living in the moment, there is no past, there is no future, no future, I'm laughing but I'm not telling people why, so they think I am crazy. I am trying to help you, I am trying to help you, I'm slurring, I'm grabbing people by their collars, bringing them in close, my eyes unfocused, they're recoiling from the smell of the vodka and cheese pizza and vomit on my breath. I'm trying to look them in the eye, but I can't, I look, sometimes for whole seconds at a time, before I can feel them looking back, staring, judging, piercing my soul, I can't take it. I look at their shirt, their shoes, my shoes, the cigarettes and broken glass on the grass, caked in alcohol and vomit and blood. There is blood on my shirt, some of it's mine. I've grabbed someone, I'm screaming 666 GOLF WANG BITCH SUCK DICK before shaking my head going Nononono, sorry, sorry, wrong thing, uh... I mean, uh, Everything will be okay. I'm wild-eyed, and the guy I'm holding onto – Billabong shirt, dreadlocks, beer in one hand, plastic wrist-band things, multi-coloured and tacky – he's looking around, he asks “Do I know you?” and “Uh, who is this guy with?” and I'm laughing because I have no friends I have no friends. I'm trying to tell him, Look dude, look dude... I know life is scary but it'll get better. Hang in there, you can do it, you can do it, you can do it. Satisfied, I throw him away, he giggles nervously, disappears into the crowd that's slowly forming around me. I stagger over to the next one, a girl - plastic nails coloured purple, fake-dyed blonde, hair extensions, blue denim mini-skirt, Black Sabbath t-shirt – I'm screaming EVERYBODY KNOWS I'MA MOTHERFUCKING MONSTER, I'm stammering Sh-sh-shit sorry, wrong thing, uh, uh, um, Love is all you need. She's squirming to get away, I draw her in closer, I'm saying There is nothing more valuable than human life, and you cannot disagree logically with that statement but instead of getting a look of enlightenment from her instead she squeals and throws her drink in my face.

My face, my hands, my feet, they're numb, I barely feel it. I burp, I feel vomit in the back of my throat, I step back from her and look at her, breathing hard, shoulders heaving. She's looking at me warily, wide-eyed, nervous. I mutter I just wanna be loved under my breath, and reel away.

I'm pushing through the throng of people, I'm wondering if they are understanding the messages I'm trying to convey, I'm wondering if my message is logical, is positive, again, I've done it so many times it doesn't take me long. Just go through the same old fucking chains of logic over and over again.

Baggers finds me, grabs me by my shoulders, he's asking “What the fuck are you doing?” I don't look at him, I'm searching around wildly, looking for someone who might understand. He's wearing a quicksilver hoody, he's got the arms pulled up to the elbow, you can see hints of his tribal-patterned tattoos. I'm remembering being seventeen and tears prick my eyes, I want to go back,
I want to go back, I want to play Metal Gear Solid 3 for the first time again, I want to be alone but be okay with it. I don't wanna be alone, I tell Baggers, and he's like “Okay, I'll come with you,” I'm like, All religions should be abolished, he's saying “What...?” and I'm already disappointed in him. I push him away and I reel over to a girl, brunette, eye shadow, pink lipstick, fake nails and high heels. Fuck you fuck you fuck you I'm thinking but I'm saying Hey, babe, don't ever let anyone tell you you aren't beautiful just the way you are. She cocks her head as if she didn't hear me, and I say Never change for anybody and I nod and walk away, I find a redhead jock in a grey singlet, arms exposed and ripped. I tap him on the shoulder and he spins around and I tell him Everybody you will ever love will eventually, inevitably die or reject you and he say “Haha what bro?” but I grab his head and put mine real close, our foreheads are touching and I'm like Shit, ignore that, I mean, uh, KILL PEOPLE BURN SHIT FUCK SCHOOL and he goes “Uh, what bro?” and I panic and say the first thing that comes to mind, Shit, uh, uh, maybe you should rethink your stance on marijuana. Baggers grabs me and steers me away from him and he's saying “Sorry, I'm sorry,” and I'm muttering But there are 85,000 deaths due to alcohol in the US annually, and zero due to pot, it makes no sense, IT MAKES NO SENSE. Trouble looms around the corner, in the form of the girl who threw the party, she's, what, eighteen, seventeen, blonde (dyed) hair, black nails, pink lipstick, fishnet stockings. I'm staring at her legs, she asks “Who the fuck invited you?” and Baggers and I speak at the same time, he says “Uh, he's with me,” I say First, Do No Harm and she goes “What? I don't give a fuck. Get him the fuck out of here before my boyfriend kicks his ass,” and I finally see the six foot brick shithouse behind her. I'm taller than him but he's clearly built, chest as big as a barrel. I laugh and say Violence is never the but throw up before I can finish. All three of them let out an “Ugh!” of disgust simultaneously, as they jump back, unfortunately not before getting vomit splashed on their shoes. My stomach hurts, my throat is tight, between hurls I'm saying Snake barf says, There vomit is no right part in choke murder and I vomit and vomit and vomit before finishing, Not ever, and they're staring at me and as I right myself I grin and wipe my mouth and I say I honestly just, like, cannot disagree with that, like, logically.

Before anyone can say anything I've spun away, I'm thinking
Bitch suck dick bitch suck dick bitch suck dick and I find an unattended bottle of rum and I swipe it and the girl looks at me open-mouth-shocked and I mutter I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll leave now, and I take a swig and stumble out through the chain-link fence, and I'm back on the streets, lost, the thump thump thump of the party behind me, all the houses look the same, all the houses look the fucking same, and I'm looking at my watch and it's 1am and I'm looking at the stars but I can hardly see them, between the light of the streetlights and my own blurred vision they are impossible to make out.

I'm
plod plod plodding along the streets, I tell Baggers I don't even have a plot for this fucking book. He's not there, but I picture him nodding and I burp and smell vomit and vodka and rum and I down another couple of gulps and I'm looking for the next party. I'm looking at the front yards, of the houses, and I want to cry because I will never have my own house, I will never have a Home, I will never have a Family, I will never be loved and I just want to die.

I'm talking to Alan Moore, I'm talking to Bill Hicks, I'm talking to Blake Schwarzenbach, in my head, I'm talking to them and I'm asking them what to do. I ask them what the fuck I should do, how to be happy, how to get over my problems, how to help the world, but they are silent. I feel, like, I know they are there, I know they can hear me and I know they love me like I love them but I cannot hear them.

I will never change anything, I say out loud, and hearing it just makes it real, makes it worse, makes me disgusted with myself and the world we live in. I will never change anything and I will never help anyone and nobody will ever give a fuck. Nobody will ever love me as much as I love them. I think about them, the girls, that I love, and who do not love me, and I don't know how to feel about them. I can understand, like, why I should feel say, anger, or betrayed, or yearning, but all I feel at the moment is emptiness, and I am comforted by the inevitability of death.

I look at the houses and I'm trying to judge if I could break into any of them, they are black and silent and the windows simply look back at me, neither inviting or rejecting. I look at fences and wonder if I could hop over them, but I'm thinking, What the fuck would I steal, why would I steal anything, why would I
do that to someone. They have security lights which guilts me into looking away every time I approach, ever time they turn on, they probably have dogs, I can't hear any but I know they may be there. Another party, another party, is looming on the horizon, I can see the disco lights and the cars lined up on the street and the inevitable thump thump thump of the shitty FUCKING WATERED DOWN SHIT DANCE MUSIC SHIT FUCK CUNT fuck and I wonder if I am trying too hard, but I know I'm not, because it does not take effort, to be angry, and for me to express my anger, it is just harder to get people to acknowledge my pain, and to care about it.

There is nothing I would like more than to throw, than to fucking
ditch the bottle in my hand, wetting my hand, feeling the vindication of smashing glass, of smashing anything, there's this, feeling, in my gut, but mostly, in my fucking dick, in my dick and my balls, the desire, the urge to destroy, to kill, to fuck the world. I wanna smash the bottle into somebody's face, I want to find a girl with long legs and plastic blonde hair and smash the bottle into her fucking face, see her tears mix with her blood, see her teeth on the grass, watch her hands redden as she brings them to her cut-up face, confusion and anger and fear and adrenaline colouring her screams. I wanna smash it into her face, over and over again, I wanna tear her clothes, pull her hair, I wanna pull her tight t-shirt off as she screams Ow ow ow oh no oh no my face oh no and she's trying to push me off and then I push her over and watch her hit the back of her head on the pavement, which stuns her briefly. She's crying and I pull down her short shorts, and suddenly she realises what I'm doing as I'm clawing at her panties, pink and pretty, and she's screaming Nonononononono stop stop Oh God stop oh no oh no stop and I just want to kiss her thighs, slowly, I want to kiss her feet, peckering her ankles lovingly, working my way up. Her thighs are soft and pale white and I kiss the inside of them as I softly fondle her breasts tweaking her nipples and she looks down and I look up and we make and hold eye contact and she is beautiful and she smiles and I kiss her mound, I can feel the heat coming from her cunt as I lower my mouth close to it, and she says “I love you,” and I say I love you too and I briefly come up and kiss her on the mouth before heading down and plunging my mouth into her womanhood and she's screaming NO. STOP. PLEASE. YOU CAN STILL STOP.
I shake my head and I'm missing my iPod terribly. There's this new band I'm into, Blacklisted, hardcore punk rock, first punk band I've gotten into for a while as honestly, I cannot listen to anything but hip hop these days, Dr Dre and Kanye West and mostly Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All, Earl and Tyler and MellowHype. But anyway, Blacklisted, they have this one song, Matrimony and the chorus goes JUST WANNA LOVE MYSELF / LOVE MYSELF / JUST WANNA LOVE MYSELF / LOVE MYSELF and I hear it in my head and I dance-thrash along the street for a bit, before getting dizzy and having to steady myself against a streetlight.

But I know that I would never hurt anybody intentionally, I know that I
feel angry but I would never hurt anybody, no matter what, it's not their fault, it's not their fault, it's not my fault, I forgive them and I forgive myself and I love them and I want them to be happy and feel safe and feel loved and feel content in their life. I want us to be friends and lovers and I want us to create, a future, a better world, art, art, I just wanna create art, I just wanna be an artist, I just want to do what I wanna do and I want people to like that and I want people to like me, for who I am, I don't wanna change, I don't wanna change, I don't wanna be anybody but me because I cannot be anybody but myself. I love you, I love you, I love you so much. I look at the bottle and I laugh that I ever wanted to smash something so beautiful, and I drink what was left and I pass a bin, and I place it in there, and I laugh again and walk a couple metres before I turn around and take it out of the bin and put it in the recycle bin next to it. I've heard that it doesn't mean shit, recycling, I mean, but I just wanna do what I can, I guess.

I'm hearing Tyler's words in my head (or is it Chuck's words...?) and I don't mean Tyler, The Creator, I mean, Tyler Durden, I'm hearing Brad Pitt's voice speak Tyler's words speak Chuck's words,
Fights go on for as long as they have to, and I'm thinking I can't give up, I won't give up, Never give up, never surrender, so I guess Tim Allen is in there too, but it's true, and I though death is a comfort, for me, it is comforting and it helps me that it is gonna be there at the end of all this fucking shit, I will never stop trying to help people. I will never stop trying to make the world a better place. I am typing and I am typing I am typing and as you read this I hope you are liking it, I hope more than anything, I hope you are enjoying it and it is something that you can relate to or something you like or something that makes you happy. I really honestly truly hope it does. Or is. Or whatever.
I'm getting near the next party, and there's dudes out the front, and they're selling weed, and I don't know how much it costs but in hindsight I know now it was only twenty, fifteen dollars worth of weed, and they tell me it's worth $60 but I only have a fifty dollar note in my wallet and the guy says that he likes me which should have triggered some sort of suspicion in me but I'm too busy saying This is a blessing, this drug, it is Amazing and Wonderful and Awesome and I wish everyone would try it and he's going “Yeah yeah yeah sure thing mate,” and he repeats that he likes me and because he likes me he will give it to me for only fifty dollars and I thank him and and I give him the money and he gives me the drugs and I am so happy I might explode. I ask him if he has anything to smoke it with and he says “Yeah sure.” As he's fiddling around with his bag I sing Dancing queen, young and sweet, oooonly seventeen, and he gives me this look and I hear unt unt unt of the next song and I watch people walk in and out of the party and I hate them, I hate them so much. He hands me a bong and I smoke the weed straight away, it takes me about seven minutes to go through the bag and he watches me wordlessly and I wish I had a girlfriend to smoke with and fuck while high. I cough so much I worry that it's gonna make me throw up but I manage to hold it in and I thank the guy again and say to him Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty is the greatest piece of art of our time and everyone hated it and he's nodding and saying “Yeah yeah sure thing mate,” and I know that my words have washed over him and he will have forgotten me by tomorrow. As I walk up to the front of the house, some twenty-something year old, fat gut, Billabong shirt, beer in one hand, neckbeard, asks if I've been invited and I laugh in his face and spin on my heel and head back onto the street.

I'm fifty metres down the road when the high hits, and it washes over me like an awesome wave. I keep thinking bad thoughts, evil thoughts, that make me feel horrible like
Where the fuck am I, I have no idea where I am and I am so fucking lonely but I concentrate on the high and it feels fucking amazing. I jump and when I land the whole world is different, and my eyes are bugging out from the sheer beauty of it all. I'm looking at my hand and clenching and unclenching it and it is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, I have ever experienced, I have ever done. I put my hand to my face and I can feel it, through the drunkenness, I can feel it, and it feels amazing. I would honestly kill to have my iPod, I would honestly kill to hear a song I like, like Thuggin by MellowHype, or Modern Man or Suburban War by Arcade Fire, or even fuckin' Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees. I feel the crunch of the bitumen and grass alternating underneath my feet and it makes me happy, and I breathe in and the cold of the air hurts my lungs and makes me happy, and I grab my stomach and feel the folds of fat but it makes me happy. I'm thinking She never said goodbye, she never broke up with me, she just left me but I shake my head and think about Aladdin and the Genie and how much I love them and it makes me so so so happy I could explode.