TEXTAREA_ID

this is so cool. spread it around. cnn actually doing something decent... except for the part you don't have to go completely vegan.. pftttt

Murdered 16 year old Alexandros Grigoropoulos
(isn't awesome that greek kids who wear sex pistols shirts and zero hoodies attack cop cars all the time and here we just wear "not my president" shirts and vote for obama????)

( Reports, Pix and Video )

i need to stop using my politics has a smokescreen for my own inability to deal with the world and my life.


sometimes its really tempting to just give up on fighting, turn to god and live with the knowledge that this life will be worth some eternal paradise. then i remember i have a brain and its like........................ fuck.

contrary to popular belief, nietzsche was not a nihilist and wanted people to use their knowledge of our godless moralless existences as a cause for celebration. i need to find his enthusiasm.


"There is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophy."

HEAVIEST SONG OF THE YEAR. NO JOKE.

I TOUCHED MAYA.

Tonight you better wear your funeral dress
And I'll dress in burial drag
'Cause this one is to the end of an era
Now fate is gnashing at our heels
And soon we must succumb
We'll be the scapegoats for generations past
Born into this grave
With heavy hearts we march hand in hand
This is the bed that they have made for us
This is the cross that they have hung us up on
This our trophy
What's left of divine corpse
Arteries harden
Stain crimson soil
From which we began
Oceans run black with the fuel of our wars
Vultures descend from looming clouds overhead
Let us drown in bile
Antibiotic genetically mutated hormones intravenously ingested
Infest and infect the same womb that bore you
Burrow inside and sustain on the flesh
Force feed the giver of life with the shit of our excess
This is the bed that they have made for us
This is the corpse that they have hung us up on
This is our trophy
What's left of the corpse
Tear the silver shovel from clamped corroded teeth
Gnawing on the fingers of the hand rthat feeds
Wading through shallow vomit
We widow the faithful
Bathe in the blood of the land
Hang every martyr and stone every prophet
Fuck on the fat of the mother
And we're all staying warm tonight
Parade us through the city piling all your transgressions on our heads
And our shoes made of stone will drag through the streets of shame
With every step a lifetime passes
With every inch a mile flashes
Prodding on to the river to cleanse our filthy hearts
Stumble down muddy banks and wash our sins away
Life is not your resource to exploit
Just sit and watch as this vulgar rape ensues
Tradition dies slowly and all of this is lost on you
Infest and infect the same womb that bore you
Burrow inside and sustain on the flesh
Force feed the giver of life with the shit of our excess
So raise your glass
We're all staying warm tonight
We drink the wine and we piss in the well

TALIB KWELI PLAYED BLACKSTAR SONGS LAST NIGHT. HE PLAYED GET BY. I CAN DIE HAPPY.


Breathe in, inhale vapors from bright stars that shine Breathe out, weed smoke retrace the skyline

i'm really fucking myself over with school right now. yesterday i didn't go to class, i missed my english class because i was gonna write the paper i had due in it but just fucked around on the internet instead i have untill firday to finnish a 5 page essay due last semester or else i fail a class. i've been way too fucking self destruction with my time management. i need some leeway, i need a break. all i want to do is have fun and i can't resign myself to the fact that i can't think about that for the next three months. three months josh, thats it. no school no jail relax and get back to your life. alll i wanna do is see a show and just rip some heads apart i have so much pent up rage its ridiculous. i have so much shit built up. slaf;kj i'm gonna listen to terror and hatebreed and get ready for life. fuck me.

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache´
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

i live everyday in hell because i'm addicted to the heat,
fueling the flames i'm a masochist
burning myself with deceit.
i'm a tight rope walker whose reached a dead end.
i wish this pen was like heroin
and could erase the pain,
cross out my mistakes and rewrite the plot line.
i'm paralyzed by parables that draw
parallels from split realities
ruminating conscious torn from action,
the liberation of desire is put on hold,
we have to pause the revolution
and quell the fires of rage
that guide us to feel compassion
comparative to action
and everyday i put it off
and have yet to understand the true
meaning of satisfaction.

i'm held hostage a prisoner of my own action,
i can't forgive myself let alone empathize
with the fact that what i did
makes the antithesis of everything
i've ever wanted to do or be,
a pathetic shadow of a once
almost realized reality.
Dissatisfaction, is it based on fact or fiction?
objectively subjective objectifying
my sense of perspective.

far off the horizon line withers away,
and the sun sets fade to black and grey.
new shades of pain clog the atmosphere,
and we breath in the morning dew
and the nuns kneel at the pews
and the very few on top shine their shoes.
but the rest of us illiterate invalids
condemed to a life of ignorance
due to circumstantial evidence
or accidental happenstance
i say stand up strong
we are one family where nobody belongs.
but together we sings songs of hope,
waiting for the new dawn to approach.

the rising sun sets the plans for the days,
warm weather sunny outside no chance for rain,
the retroactive chemical condensation of
last nights cocaine drips off the backs of our throats
chemical reminders to us that pleasure
is fleeting and reality is numb and plain,
but thats no reason to clop yerself off with a gun.

today i promise we'll play in the sun
all day all night 24 hours of fun.

and when its time for us to cross the line
and bow down hopeless to the wrath of the sane,
we except our mundane existence into infinity
and remain profane in proliferating subsistence.
a plethora of mental medical cases of
mutated brains chemically inane
we are all cadavers living on display
a showcase spectacle of the masses
a massive experiment to serve as a tangible manifestation
of the arbitrary power of top .5 percent of asses.

industry's been set in motion so we abuse
our pharmaceuticals like choir boys in cubicles,
9-5 slaves clinging to promise that someday
somewhere they'll be something more to attain.
at night slip into sedation to replay reel
to reels of claymation acts our the stop motion
reels of cathartic complacence
dreaming of the days of lower inflation,
when life was more simple,
no cable only, network stations.
now digitle cables execute like nooses
and slowly reality slips and we revert
back to child hood games were all
duck duck gooses or letting loose all afternoon
to i love lucy re runs on tv land
oh shit the powers out
welcome to the land of free
home of the slave and massive hegemony.


and 13 year old boys seduce sorcerers
and vagabonds out of babylon,
the neolithic sentiments of sedentary sediments.
evolutionary advantage loses out to technological gain
so stay stable you sentient saint,
sorrow is just admonition to the after-lifeless fate.

yeah thats right, thats what i say
so lose your faith and bathe in the purity
of the endowed reality, that our morals our
just manifestations of our own self suppressed desires.
don't be brittle and bitter over what's left.
just sit back and slurp the liquified
dreams of life subdued
and watch Armageddon ignite.
tuck your babies in tonight
don't forget to kiss em on the head
and say good night little baby goodnight
thats what i said hush little baby
everythings alright hush hush
quit yo crying cause i'm going to make it all right...
hush. hush. hush.

i'm sorry i gotta go its 6pm
rush hour traffic began an hour ago
and bumper to bumper traffic will surely interrupt my flow.


----------------------------------------------------------------

even i'm like oh shit. just kiddin. but seriously tell me what you think. i want to make sure people understand what i'm sayin i mean its pretty plain and clear but still c'mon, who else has referenced earth crisis and joy division in one song. i like lines 6 and 7 the best. i really like how it started. i'm actually proud of this which is pretty rare but i took the best lines from a couple of pages i've written over the past month since i got on my new dorm and mixed em all together and stitched together themes and rhymes to make it whole.

also tell me if you want me to post more.

---------------------------------------------------------------

i've also edited this about three times since i originally posted it to add in lines or reword certain things and put in or take out words. so look at it again.

and seriously.

seriously.

seriously.

what the fuck green bay.

last night someone said they were gonna lose and called them the "green gay fudge packers." at first i was offended know i don't know what to think.

I just finished my last final. Now I gotta finnish three papers but my two teachers both gave me extensions my East Asian History teacher even said if I can't finnish it by sunday she'll let me hand it in over break and she'll go back and change my final grade. Thats pretty awesome.

In between exams and writing I've been watching the VBS tv series on Israel and Lebanon. I seriously love VBS news because it really is the most interactive and deeply embedded and independent news you can find in the US and they do stories that virtually no one else does.

The Lebanon series is the most fascinating because they manage to get some really intense interviews with Hezbollah leaders and members. I just watched a segment on a French UN team that has been working for a year and half since the end of the Israeli/Lebanese War to clear a SINGLE soccer field of unexploded American made cluster bombs dropped by Israel into random fields and valleys in Southern Lebanon whether they knew Hezbollah fighters were or not. Right now there are at least 1 Million unexploded fragments of cluster bombs, which basically are huge bombs that upon hitting the ground explode expounded hundreds of mini bombs basically land mines all around most of which do not explode. During the one day the VBS reporter spent with the French team disarming the fragments it took them two hours to clear an area probably 4x4 feet because they have to be so meticulous and careful by first clipping the top of brush and then using metal detectors to go over the area. If they find a bomb they have to set up an explosive charge from about 50 yards away and detonate each one, one at a time. The result of the cluster bombs on Lebanese civilian lives if horrific. Its basically turned all their wildlife areas and farm lands into the south into a massive mine field. All of the bombings were accomplished in less than two months, using entirely American made equipment by Israel while the US government was officially condemning Israel's actions while simultaneously providing them with all the weaponry they needed to make Lebanon a living Hell Hole.

Seriously please go watch it www.vbs.tv like every story they have on there is fucking amazing. They go all around the world. The series on Sudan is probably the most informative and interesting thing they have on there because the VBS reporters which are just a bunch of American Hipsters who started a fashion magazine now dedicate almost all their time to traveling around the world to go into the most dangerous regions to tell the real story of what is happening.

holy shit almost as good seven days of samsara from this summer watch as me and tom from the assistant rock out and sing along together. man i'm having like screamo flashbacks. remember when forstella ford played that attic show with red knife lottery and doom buggy juiceboxxx dj'd it and there was pbr for sale. oh my god or xfor death or gloryx playing with fucking yaphet kotto fucking VITAMIN X and TEXTBOOK TRAITORS at the pierce st. house. or was anyone at that show when there was like 10 people at 926 with fed by fiction and the great redkneck hope played and fucking ribbed daughters so hard and it was also bound by honors 1st show and once for all headlined. man i wish i could go back in time and appreciate that show more. and of course the classic ed gein, breather resist fed by fiction show. or the since by man show that got shut down at the hell house with the cacaphonics. and then the kodan armada barely legal house show. wow. seriously i havn't had that feeling except for when sdos played this summer of like that tingling in your spine and like total bliss and you are with with the hardcore world.

i had a relativly decent day yesterday for spending the whole day in the jail i read alot of different shit. i'm reading this book called the secret history of al qa'ida along with the unedited al aqaeda communiques both are really really interesting. like osama bin ladin and ayman al- zawahiri are fucking genius'. al qa'ida in a iraq is bunch of trigger happy foreign fools and the algerian version of the organization is pretty bunk but what those two have done is pretty amazing and i will give them mad props for fucking up america hardcore. they just need to live up to their anti- israeli stance a little more.

i'm also reading jitterbug perfume by tom robbins which while not being as amazing as even cowgirls get the blues is pretty fucking raw.

probably the most raw book i'm reading right now is Against His-story. Against Leviathan! fredy perlman is the most engaging non- fiction writer i've ever read. honestly after reading even cowgirls get the blues, ishmael, all those derrick jensen books, like the milue of directly and pseudo anarcho primitivist material out there its a wonder more people arent joining the movement.

also i'm really struggling with the fact that there is a lack of any sort of serious resistence in this country. last night while i was watching the packer game in the day room i was listening to alternative radio on npr and they aired a russel means speech from 1992 entitled for "For the World to Live Columbus Must Die" and i was just sent into this almost blind abyss of like surealism at the life i'm living now watching a room filled of mostly colored peoples who have been opressed for centuries due to the white eurocentric imperialist male and they're right their treating one of them (brett favre) as a god (this is not to demean the divinity or importance that brett lorenzo favre has to me and the countless believers in the way of the pack just an example at the ludicrious nature of our culture). like i was watching the game in horror but even more to my horror was russel means yelling in my ear about why are the blacks supporting him in his anti columbus protests and both indians and latinos (who are in many ways one in the same just alienated through language and plague of spanish culture upon the indigineous peoples of the south and centeral america). before columbus even began to think of a transatlantic voyage he was regularly going on trips to over the horn of africa to deliver slaves to portugal and in essense was the very first trans-atlantic slave trader delivering an arowak "Speciment" to the court of ferdinand and issabelle.

idk everyone needs to listen to that speech because i got shivers up my spine. because it is true for the world to live the eurocentric male must die whether in spirit or litterly being wiped off the face of the planet. the western spirit the only true evil known to man kind. the roman empire never died it just expanded under the auspecious of the euro-american hegomony. we are the great beast. we are babylon. children of ham sons of cain. we must deny our birthright and destroy our past.

http://www.russellmeans.com/
http://www.dickshovel.com/Banks.html

"When the scientists find our remnants,what will they say? When they find our bloated carcasses, ridden with sickness and cancer's, what will they find? And what... what will they say?
Will they recognize our self-abuse as a product of the abusive hands that molded our lives?
Or will we remain, a mystery?
Deformed from malnourishment, our blood coagulated and inced with disease: the preservatives, the alcohol,the cigarettes. The meat we gorged ourselves on, for all those years.
Will they recognize our self abuse as a product of the abusive hands that molded our lives?
(As experts scratch their heads, as doctors shake their hands and wonder what we've done.)" - tragedy

the wreckage of humanity has been strewn across the land
and now the hour of desperation is at hand
we the maggots feed off the dead
seeking solace in a bed of broken glass
we bleed infected water
beneath bright skins of polished steel
through empty, yearning, starved and frustrated hearts
which long for risk and reason
this is a standard and sterile half-life to lead
empty facades conceal slow decay
within these new dark ages which breed discontent
to give up all hope to see the dawn
reveals a victims face beneath the veneer
struggling to show that it's been wronged
led astray by the myths of the father
with acient wounds often ignored
fighting for scraps from the table
while slowly we rot on the floor
struggling for balance amid these unholy lies
reflecting terror and chaos
we are born into suffering
with constructs, icons, idols and eyes
which manifest and forecast our fear of our own demise
but on the eve of the apocalypse
you can burn these words into my flesh:
"we are the tortured and insane disillusioned and mundane
unknown and unnamed desperate and enslaved
and we want something more"- trial