 - Last login: 2 days agoJLarmor
- JLarmor is a 25 year old guy from New York, USA.
- Likes 58 pages, 4 videos, 4 photos • 14 fans • Received 3 reviews
- Member since Oct 27, 2006
the push forward is the complete inability to be content where we are, when we are.
Impatience is life, progress and the sunset.
Favorites » His Blog
-
-
"Pigeon-Holed"
Tangling the fingers, digging into the graying scalp, now considerably infused with the street bacteria, bacteria found between dumpsters, in sitting puddles, rotting vegetables, carcassed meats. The floor, the bed, the book, the pillow seething all over with primordial ooze. Under fingernails, moisture pits fighting my battles, building my resistance, my own private, silent army.
The age and the wake-up call, the mirrors narrative of bad influences and premature loss of innocence. The false notion of security in youth, fleeting love and self-respect, powerful burdens of instinct colliding with "soulful virtues", pre-established doctrines of semi-sweet bullshit. You're not supposed to be up this late because you won't be able to awake as early as the rest of the worldly sheep flock. Biting the bullet, you ride the same train, eat the same food, punch the same clock. When the time comes for death, the not-so-balanced, half-empty, half-full retrospection of self provides the anti-climactic calm before the storm and cloud that is the infinite underestimation called death. And life is what you make of it but also what you take of it. An eyeblink shutter the involuntary autonomous bacterial flush casually unnoticed provides the encoded time sequence of your personal apocalypse.
You meet your old self in the safety net of your dreams, a mutually indifferent passing by, silent, subconscious exchange of wisdom for a once remembered age of vivacity and youthful zest--"zestfully clean", you think, may be, if you remember, if your contaminated memory, however pathetic, may provide you with that kind of trivia. If not that one, I'm sure you can recall countless other witty, benign commercialized horseshit.
Pointless.
We're with it, forever ingrained it's too late now. May be take some pharmaceuticals to bring back those smiling feelings, those sugar-coated days of lore, beautiful, "clearly-now" sunshine.
Sweethearts, I have a six-pack, I really do... Hollywood told me to have that. My shoes, they cost more than the yearly salary, the annual grocery lists of those who made them. MTV told me to buy those shoes. I can't wait till [insert-name-of-double-disc-DVD-chock-full-of-special-features, movie-star-interviews, deleted-scenes and bloopered-outtakes] comes out on [insert-month-day-and-time-of-release-date]. Santa Claus, the purveyor of Jesus Christ, said he would bring that to me if I were good. Let's hop into my H-2, fill-up at the pumps, get a 24-pack, and forget our troubles, our so-called "deep, insidious problems". Monday Night Football, George W. Bush and Arnold Schwarzenegger called, they're comin' too! I don't really claim to know what's goin' on in Iraq, but I want to drop some bombs. I want to drop some bombs all around my house; in a razing hellfire this circular perimeter could then be detached to float out to sea, or may be outer space. And once at sea, me and my house, and my two of every animal on Earth, my personal island, my own garden of flora and fauna will remain unseen by the satellites and the Lizard Men. Once on my Noah's Ark, I will look up into the clearest skies, and count shooting stars until I fall asleep. But I'd only be falling awak... because this is only a reality in my script, my mentally-landscaped dreams. I don't fall asleep very well, because, well, when you count sheep all day, the fuzzy heads of everyone you pass by, the heads of everyone you see, you get pretty tired and you're verging sleep all the time. And if you're never awake you're never asleep. But hey, who needs sleep, or shooting stars for that matter when you've got raves and glowsticks and drugs. Hey do enough and you get to trip permanently at the drop of a dime. The drop of a dime into the hat of the bum who's been living street for 10 years from a single acid drop. This revealing confessional gets him a coin-drop closer to those new Salvation Army shoes he telling you he's gotta get. But
|
His Favorites
Add him as a friend >
JLarmor's blog