It felt like something to lie about

When i said that i loved you.
I felt pretty alright saying it,
since it made you smile,
but I knew someday I'd have to tell the truth
and say just how much I hated you.

It is hard to party so hard that you wake up like this

I think I am done with this story. It seemed like a good place to end it. Plus I am tired of feeling like I have to keep making these.

David Bowie played from the stereo

I thought of you
right before I threw up
the last of the alcohol
from last night.
The bile from my stomach
tasted better then you.
I heard something
from the living room.
I crawled, on two feet,
towards the sound.
David Bowie played from the stereo,
while you slept on the couch.
I threw up again
and laid down in it
hoping to catch some sleep
and forget about it all.

Creating things is an awkward process

I like writing, but I hate showing people what I've written.
I enjoy drawing, but I hate asking people what they think about it.
Creating things is just such an awkward process.
Peer review and acceptance is just so hard to obtain.
I think I'll give up and go feed the ego of another hollywood star.
They're not afraid of what I have to say.
Probably because I'm yelling at a screen.
But I digress, creating is hard.
Too hard for me.

Party part 2

Continuing the story. Not sure how many more there will be. I've been feeling motivated lately. I'll work on getting more up.

Waking up is the hardest part of the day

Pretending to be sleeping,
hearing your roommate talk about the most pointless things,
and pretending to be asleep.
Nothing bothers you,
you're under warm covers,
and nothing bothers you.
But then the sunlight seeps through
the cracks in the shades and into your sleepy eyes
and the sunlight seeps through.
Pretending becomes harder,
as your mind wakes up and remembers everything terrible and good,
and pretending becomes harder.
You sit up and push back the covers,
a wave of cold hits your body,
and you wake up.
The hardest part of the day is over.

Cuteness

This is how I feel most of the time. You should too.

To whom it may concern

It was a late Friday night. We were in the dorm, pregaming for the party. Rum mixed with Baha-Blast, it went down like water. No burn, no taste. Just the lift of alcohol in an empty stomach. I remember mixed words and dumb ideas. We were fucked. How the fuck could we drive. Then I remembered I wasn’t driving. I wasn’t with my parents. I was in college. I was grown up. Which meant I was too poor for a car. She drove. That girl. The one with the guy. The guy that wasn’t me. A car ride. Too many turns to remember. Yet I was giving directions. When lost, ask the drunkest man around for directions. That’s when men are smartest: when they are filled with alcohol. When men have more alcohol in their stomach then they have sperm in their balls, they know everything. They can get you anywhere. They are the kings of the world. Yet I digress, we made it. Somehow. Somewhere. Where ever the fuck we were, that’s where we made it too. A short walk. Too sober to stumble, too drunk to care if I did. A door into a strangers house. Stairways into their basement. A basement with a keg. Fuck the keg. I have a bottle filled with water. Water that tastes better then water ever should. Lean against the wall. The wall can’t stumble. You can. You will. Very soon. Dance music blasting from the speaker next to me. Bodies grinding against each other under the three weak neon light bulbs. Good God, I thought, what the fuck is this orgy happening right in front of me. What is this shitty music, timing the pelvic thrusts of these dressed boys and girls; whose  brains are filled with thoughts of sex, pants filled with boners, and stomachs filled with cheap beer. A cold drop lands on my head. I look up. the floor is dripping. I catch a drop in my hand. I smell it. It’s beer. The floor is raining beer. I am in heaven. Am I dead? I might be dead. Cause this must be heaven. I hear the music. See the dancing bodies in the neon glow. No, this is hell. Only hell would have neon lights. Cheap neon lights, for a cheap neon hell. I stumble across the basement, and up the stair. Stairs to heaven. Stairs out of hell. I light a cigarette outside. Heaven is cold. Heaven needs to be heated by cigarettes. Hell is full of smokers. That’s why it’s so warm. Smoking in silence. Surrounded by sinners like me, escaping to fill the clean air of heaven with smoke, then dive back down into the neon hell. My cigarette is dead. I’m still trying to smoke it. I give up, and go back down to my friends and the suffering. The beer rain is done. It’s stopped, and that proves it’s hell. Just enough rain to make you think you are saved, then it stops, leaving you only with water. But water is better then beer. We leave. Slowly. Stumbling. How do we make it. How do we escape hell. We take the stairs. Single file. Stumbling. Walk back to the car. Piss in the bushes. Cars drive by, scaring me. But the demons with me laugh. They care about nothing. They are damned. I’ve escaped for now. Sober enough to feel fear. Drunk enough to want not to. The car. Who’s driving? Are they sober? Fuck it. We’re already dead. Our generation is dead. We died in the womb. Driving. Yelling out the window. Back to the door. Everything seems so fast. Make it faster. Make it so fast that standing hurts. Make me vomit. I want to vomit, and throw up all the evil inside me. Then I can find a heaven. A heaven free of neon lights, and where beer rains from the ceiling, and where water with no burn and no taste is in every bottle. Fuck it. I hate college. I just love the people that take me down into these hells. Those people that stand against the wall with me, hoping not to fall, and praying that the music turns into something good, and that the neon lights turn off. I want white light. Not purple or green or red. White light, goddammit. White light, that I can see in. That I can light a cigarette in. That I fall asleep in, and wake up in. Light like the light of my own little hell. Light like my dorm, filled with pregame water.

Kids who wish they were John Campbell but are not

So I am trying to not draw like PFSC anymore. We'll see how long that lasts. I am hoping to change up my style more as it goes on. We'll see how that goes. This is the first of three in a story arc. That at least will happen.

Nope

I went to put a comic up here, but my computer deleted it. Oh well, I'm over it. See you next week.

The Pride Cometh

Oh, man. I just caught the mistake in that last panel. Her eyes are all... wrong. This is why I never feel pride towards anything I ever do. Ever.

Or almost never.

Actually, "never" fits the bill pretty well. Yeah, never's good.

also: tsts. "cometh".

Pokemon

I've been playing a lot of Pokemon lately, while listening to a lot of Japanese music. Too much of. I've been feeling bad about it, and kinda pissed at myself for wasting so much time doing it. And then I found this. http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2009/361/a/c/Moemon_sprites_by_mewzard64.png

I realized that there is always some one doing something worse than me, and I'll never waste my life so well that it will be considered art, and I will never be recognized by the almighty internet. I should just give up now.

written from my rooftop

Heavy grey clouds

coat the sky

with only one

beam of Sunlight

piercing to the

ground.

Get out of here,

Sun,

you're ruining

my perfectly

depressing day.

I'm bad at drawing.

I don't like people. Let me make that more specific: I don't like stupid people.

Wait, let me specify that a bit more. I don't like stupid people who go to Allen or are customers/employees at Yocco's and make me hate the world a little bit more.

But when customers are really nice to me, I feel bad for secretly hating them. But then the next dickwad in line steps up and I get over it real quick.

Growing Older

I want to live a comfortable life like my parents when I grow older, but I don't ever want to settle down. I want to do something artsy, but make money. I want to go on adventures, and never fall into monotony. I want to go to a heaven, but never sell my soul to a church. I want to waste my life, but have fun with it. I want to get to live my own live.

Realizing what a boring person I am.

So, I realized that all the interesting and arsty people were posting interesting and artsy stuff up on these things, and thought maybe I should start one, too. Now I'm realizing I have nothing interesting to post. And nothing really artsy, either.