Endless tapping


Tapping tapping
countless keyboards clacking
chasing after all of lifes little trappings

God it’s nice
to come home to this
comfy life
even if it’s just to sleep the night

So up with the riseing sun
the proverbial starting gun
Its damage the same as a literal one

Rushing out your coustom door,
do the same things all once more
once more until the day you’re dead

For as the saying goes
When all thats good has to bend
The means supports the end


This is fucking stupid, it’s too short and undeveloped. I’m not going to fix it either; i’m too busy just staring at the wall.


A Broken Camera

When digital cameras were getting to be the norm my wife and I bought a fairly expensive one, it was like $350.00. I liked it, thought it took some decent pictures though I could be wrong.


We got into walking around and taking photographs and I’d fuck with them in photoshop. We got, what I think, are some decent shots, arty and shit. I put a few in this post, obviously. There are better ones but this is what I found one the computer I’m using now.


bird tree Sometime latter we attended the wedding of one her friends. It was really nice, in some old church in Miami. I always liked weddings, not so much the ceremony but the reception and open bar. A wedding without an open bar or at least a cash bar, i think, sucks. I don’t want to go hangout with a bunch of people I don’t know and be sober doing it. Some alcohol as social lubricant is required. We had an open bar at our wedding. I actually didn’t even really drink that night nor did my wife. We were too busy getting pulled from too many angles; it was fun though. I hope everyone else had fun. Anyway, so we’re at this wedding and we’re drinking and talking and dancing and my wife dropped the camera. It broke. It was a pretty disappointing occurrence.

We never replaced the camera. We said we would but we never did. It’s been probably 6-7 years now. Just another one of those things that die through inaction. I guess that’s it. It almost sounded like this was going to be a metaphor for our relationship or that I had something interesting to say but the longer I wrote the clearer it became  that I didn’t.

“We said we would but we never did. Another thing that died. Now we just watch t.v from the couch, sitting there doing nothing like that broken camera on our shelf.” But I didn’t say that, we do other things.

cropped bay

Actually, the camera on my wife’s phone takes some pretty decent pictures.

phone camera

The longer I look at it I wonder that this might be the best one in the post.




I do this thing where everybody dies. This person chokes to death (there’s no one to help with the Heimlich) this one gets in a car accident. And this one, well that’s usually how it goes; choking and car accidents. I don’t why, I’m fucking neurotic. I keep this shit to myself so people don’t know how neurotic I am. Instead I say “I’ll talk to you later”. 99% of people say it back or okay or some variation of that. And that’s all good you know, cause now you can’t die; you gotta be around latter to talk to me. So yeah, fuck you death, I tricked you.

Of course I’m aware that this isn’t the way it works but it soothes the OCD. It’s like a mental cigarette; calms the nerves for a few minutes but it never lasts. Inevitably I’m back to locking and unlocking the door and making sure the fridge door is shut for the 5th time you know, who knows what the fuck will happen if I don’t touch the stove once more, the god damn shower will probably start leaking.

My air conditioner is broken. It happened because I didn’t touch the sink faucet this morning. That’s such bullshit. This is going to be like 3k to get a new unit. 3k which truthfully I don’t have just sitting idly in the bank collecting some bullshit like .01% interest waiting to be spent on a new a/c unit. Being poor is fucking stressful man. Gotta think about shit, worry about shit. I can’t just up and spend 5k for a top of the line a/c unit. That would be nice though, “My a/c needs to be replaced, come do it. What? $4,967? Yeah that’s fine.” I have to think like, “shit, I’ve got like sixty-three hundred dollars, this is going to take half my fucking money man. How do I get this done as cheap as possible? I hope nothing else fucks up until I can replace this money.” All this thinking can make you neurotic you know. Years of thinking about shit and worrying. “Man, will this or that be okay? Will I be able to afford this? Shit, the cars sounding like crap.” I stopped smoking to save money, that’s like raise. Plus I’m not going to die of some shitty cigarette disease. Well, maybe the damage is done, I guess I’ll find out at some point. I gotta go touch my fucking stove man.

Conversations about a cat

“My mind doesn’t seem to work the way it used to. I swear, when I was younger I thought of things, I had ideas. Now it seems like a fog, just enough brain activity to be considered a functioning member of society. Rituals so ingrained that they require little to no effort; wake, shave, eat, work, home, martini, sleep and repeat; what is the point of this Mike?”

“I don’t know man. I suppose they say that you’ve gotta make your own meaning, your own point.”
“What if my point is that there is no point? What then? It’s like I have to lie to myself to find some meaning when there is none. It’s cold out there. I don’t see good things in the future; only more greed, corruption, inequality, endless wars and environmental degradation until everything crumbles and society fails as it always has. So I see that and fail to find the reason. It’s just a fucked up crooked rotten world. And yes, I know there’s good people and good things but they are so over powered that even “happy people” say “you gotta find the good in the world”. You shouldn’t have to seek it out, it should just fucking be there man, the world should be fucking good by default.”
Mike laughed a little, great speech he said adding, “Well look at this cat, it’s good, you don’t have to seek it out, it wants you to love it.”

The cat he was referring to was Fred, I had gotten him as a kitten from the shelter almost 7 years ago and regretted it for the past 6 years and at least 9 months. It didn’t take long to realize that this animal was severely mentally ill. I don’t know if he was schizophrenic or just amazingly neurotic and in need of a large dose of Xanax.

Whatever the case he was miserable. I probably should have had him put down out of compassion but I didn’t think the vet would be understanding of my request to kill a seemingly healthy cat. So the cat walks over and stops just out of arms reach and starts meowing; long drawn out mews and stares at me like I know what the fuck a mentally disturbed cat wants.

While I don’t know what this cat wants I do know what’s going to happen as we’ve been through this at least once a day for years. I lean forward to pet his head and he likes it; all happy, eyes closed. He moves forward and presses his head into my hand and then he fucking bites me. Dragging his little fangs across my hand he leaves two perfectly spaced red lines running down the back of my hand. There’s always multiple sets of these marks on my hands and always make me feel self-conscious at work. Rather than clean finger nails and welcoming skin it looks like, well, I’m constantly attacked by a wild animal.

“Fucker!”, I holler at him and he runs half way up the stairs then resumes his deranged wailing again. “I don’t know what the fuck man, I hate that cat.”

And while I did hate that cat I felt sorry for him too. Here he was, stuck for life, repeating his days with no point and clinically insane. He lived for 2 more years before he started freaking out and shitting blood everywhere one night. It was then, with no hesitation that I took him to the vet and said put him down. I didn’t feel bad in the slightest, I knew that he was happier dead.