dyslexic fish says to cucumber:
"for in the name of the dogs, thou shall not leef the wrath of those who may have fleeced upon you."
cucumber says to dyslexic fish:
"i used to be happy, until i became cool."

i can't understand
how the nicest thing
and the meanest thing
can come out of the same mouth.

and im regretting ever giving you the power to hurt me.

i got off work yesterday and didn't want to wait 45 minutes for the bus, so i decide to walk home from millegeville. now those not familiar with saint john might be tempted to say, "well big deal, you neede the excersize anyway there, chunks". but it's a damn far walk. 1:30:00 to be exact.
and i realised something...walking without music is hell. fucking hell.
not that i didn't enjoy the sun and sights, but traffic is a poor substitute for tunes. walking along, i was thirsty and had no light for my cigarettes so i stopped at a store to ask for matches, and realized i didn't have any money for water. the man didn't have any matches, and after seeing the exasperated look on my face and noticing my tattoos, started to spark up conversation. i told him of my mission to walk uptown and of trains (he asked...) he smiled and gave me a lighter and two bottles of water and sent me on my way.
people surprise the hell out of me sometimes.
the walk home inspired me more than ever to start taking more pictures. there is so much obscure beauty all around if people would only take the time to look.
or forget their bus money, so they have to walk.

i wish i had the ability to get off my ass and get shit done. i have so many aspirations in my life and it just seems to be days of thinking about doing it tommorrow.
the procrastinator's eventual motto.
how many half-ass promises and unfinished drawings does it take to screw in a lighbulb?
meh, ill think about it later.
so much used up free time contemplating people and actions and moments.
fear of blank pages, misunderstood comments and unused sentiments.
fear of failure i suppose.
and i know i'm not alone in this, but somehow that is more depressing than comforting.

"two hands working can do more than a million clasped in prayer"

i keep thinking about the dream i had the other night.
you were driving a toy train along a scrabble piece track, and we could only move one word at a time to get through the day.
the train of thought, you said.
and i laughed
but only because 'laughed' was in the dictionary.

i got to thinking as i was lying in bed this morning, smoking my cigarettes.
i passed by a sign last night in front of a bar, that said "you've spent all week serving others, now it's time we serve you"
sunday drukenness advertised at it's best.
and i thought, wait a minute, i do spend all week serving everybody else. wtf.
and i was struggling to think about the anything i do just for myself.
and it was art.
art is so fucking pure, and self satisfying. i don't care that mine's not that greatest, but it makes me giggle and chuckle and feel like im not a slave to anything.
so i guess ill spend my days in service of everyone for minutes of artful purity.

remember kids don't drink and write.

popeye tshirts
scratched pool table love,
beer signs and dartboards
i have found the place where humility
and excessiveness collide
in this hole
dark and dreary in it's honesty
the ladies smile their toothless smiles
the men wink at ladies
younger than their daughters.
tuesday night silhouettes
exude from the jukebox
50's ans 60's music.
nothing newer
and all i can think about
is how id rather be any place else
and nowhere else at the same time.

holy fack im a retard. i get so fucking drunk and say stupid shit.it's ridiculous.
i apoligize. you know who you are.