tylerrobert

attempt one

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 08:47:46 GMT

I find this man in contempt as he sits here trying, one might say its another attempt. But at what, what do we want this man to do? He struggles as his thoughts move in tip toes, yet he wishs for strides. Is he going to unglue? Poor man starving for time, and time is money you know. So he needs to take away the worlds wealth, to buy alittle time, before his brother gets the fine. Whats a man to do. Kick it old school, forget about tomorrow and get past yesterday. All there is is now.

Hmnm

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 09:04:07 GMT

I chopped at my arm. CHOP CHOP it went and my arm fell off me and it was dead. "Poor arm..." I said, "Didn't stand a chance against my chopping axe. Maybe if it fled from my body sooner, it wouldn't be so... so dead?" But my eye didn't like that, didn't like my sorrow so he jumped out and hit my cheek. He said "oh boy don't you know, the dead things are week, don't feel sorry or you'll be just like the meek." Due to the insurmountable amount of pain I was suffering from the ball of my eye being out of its marrowed caved, I snipped it off with a pair of golden scissors I just so happened to have around a silver chain, with a copper clasp. Good thing. Now with an empty socket, savior the blood gushing forth, I thought a thought inside my head. "What way was north again, it may get cold soon and I fear the land sharks might smell the blood." As this thought was fleeting into the form of affirmative action to prevent the being eaten by mythological creatures... I passed out from blood loss and eventually died. They would say it was suicide, on account of the fact that I did it all to myself... But it seems no one was privy to the conversations I had with parts of myself. Arguments often lead to murder you see.

I dont need you

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 08:53:41 GMT

"I was dreaming earlier... I dreamt of man. Or did man dream of me... I can't remember now. Its funny how my electron’s aren’t firing the way they once did, and weird how my bodies slowing down. Getting ready to be worm’s meat I suppose." The smell of urine and the stale taste in the air mix with the words vibrating from the vocal cords of this vocal pile of a man. "Am I dreaming now?" He stirs, the ground stirs, and the sound stirs. "I sat on a rock to think this threw, turns out the rock was really a bridge, turned out the bridge took people no where fast, seems we all really wanna get there faster each day. Give me everything all at once... That’s a nice quote... But what if I, we have too much of a good thing?" He lays back against a tagged wall, the collective though process of the city streets made real with the pressure paint of late night vandals late night scandals. "OH OH... I know, we're all just each others worst behavior. Never nothing no matter. Wait... Oh I just pissed myself." The smell would linger awhile... The man was the best and worst part of the human equation. The real part and the sad part. The alone part and the part that doesn't need to know. He is the simple and the complex. In this homeless vagrant we can find god and we can find fear. We can find the devil and we can find courage. We find it all in one moment and we lose that moment just like every other moment, fleeting in time, our time. This is us and we look away.

can't break up the shut up.

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 21:09:10 GMT

Final fickel measures in the master bating maixed mediums, fuck my final product. The middle ground makes me want to market the manic manta rays. What the dilly of a pickel...

yes

Wed, 05 Dec 2007 07:56:51 GMT

"Baby please don't go..." That’s what I said... The words echoed through the room a tremor of my vocal capacity and I suffered the insult to the injury as she left without a sound. I fell back to the comforting embrace of my pillow. Yes yes, she'll come home tomorrow, but tomorrow never comes.

Awake, 5 minutes past dawn.

"Late..." Is sputtered out in the tones of sultry morning moans. Invisible strings fueled by money hungry giants paving the way to no where pull me outta my sleeping roast and I, a soul bound leather clad prince of clowns was on my way to get paid, selling my soul for 21.50 an hour, selling my body for 16 hours a day. Hurting the world 6 days a week. It’s a full time job taking out the planet, but we always rest on the 7th day. So help me god.

Smiling I look into my mirror and begging to brush my teeth. Back and forth, back and forth. The beginnings of a first date. "Oh I do this, what do you do?" "This and that, what about this?" She goes on and on and I retort with my best wit and my worst grit. Back and forth like my tooth brush. Yes this was the best time to unleash it, strip down and break down. Push push and up and down and up and down. The tantrum sexual sensation I associate brushing my teeth with. Oh my the spit up the spit out and the big finish. Clean, fresh clear. An explosion of tension, spirit grinding, liberated cleansing. My teeth are clean and I'm out the door moments later. Enough time to throw on a shirt, tickle my shoe laces and paste on my face.

stuff and stuff

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 00:30:27 GMT

English is dead, all hail interweb.

Hrmm

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 21:25:08 GMT

Agent t. dot reporting... seems funerals are awkward as always, I like to think my being there helped, but it didn't, i was just as out of place as the preacher. Fucking church assholes don't know how to comfort worth shit. Plus I belive taking an assertive position in my own life makes Tyler Bailey angry with me, since I don't pay for everything for him and answer to his every whim. Its funny how people get angry at you when you don't bend over for them. Who needs a soul mate anyways... I always have the sound thought that my inside voice is with me always.

Agent robert reporting

Sun, 25 Nov 2007 20:16:45 GMT

Today I found waking up to be less of a hassel than most days. I learned that I don't much like cats at all, but what can you do. Early this morning I was rude, it helps destroy relationships. It's all gonna fall into places any ways. Today I will take a bus home into a tornado... I'm not happy about this, I'm not angry. Just put out, by people whom are suppose to be adults. It seems I have been humbled by my trip and yet I still find myself the only one with my shit together in a sea of he said she said he did she didn't do's. Maybe one day everyone will just make peace with themselves and stop projecting there bullshit on everyone else. I should take my own advice. None the less... I hope to see Tyler Bailey soon, sounds like he's doing well enough.

hmm

Sun, 25 Nov 2007 05:45:50 GMT

found stuff out. heard a sad tale. impending doom ect... Oh josh is sweet. Tyler leaving home isn't sweet... Tyler is glue... people need glue. I don't know why I'm refering to myself in the third person... By the way, the air smells really nice, sept on hastings... it smells like pee there. I don't know if anyone is real anymore... I haven't for 2 years now... just about three I think. I know that I feel just as alone as I did the day I was born, that all I've ever known is the voice inside my head, which is yes my voice. I hope some day I make it to a place where I can hear and speak and feel with the others. I hope I find you, not just the echo's from the whisper that was leaked from the lips in the dark places of my mind. If this is real, I hope some one turns out the lights when the day ends.

hmm

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 17:30:29 GMT

I'm in vancouver... it smells like water.

Happy

Thu, 22 Feb 2007 04:46:10 GMT

happy is a momentary state thats always changed out for another emotion thats just as tempary. I am, thats whats important.

One two three.

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 05:47:12 GMT

I'm counting down the days till I get to go to cali... that'll be an interesting time. Aswell I don't think we got the new house... Though no ones told me that, just now theres talks about a morgage, and everyone living in the house would then be paying rent to the people on the morgage. (lisa and brittney)... ... ... I think the field of pirods say how cool I am with this. Oh well,fuck it, maybe I'll get lost in the states.

Oh yeah.

Wed, 31 Jan 2007 04:12:23 GMT

Oh yeah and I think I'm moving in with a bunch of pirates... This may end up killing the final threads and ties with these cats and or breath new life in a bunch of dieing bohimians.... well I think I'm the only one dieing as far as an artist. But thats maybe because I live in a morinville and I dont find this town to inspiring... Who knows maybe I'll just die a seconde time to see which is worse.

Wed, 31 Jan 2007 04:08:15 GMT

Seismic vibrations as I close my eyes and collapse my face into the folds and creases within my hands. I am a man! There was a sick sense of desperation in that statement. I am human? God I hope I'm human... God... Lonely mother fucker. Get a job; fill your life with something other than my pure emotion, my tattered soul, my fractured light. Jerk. Was I a glowing voodoo skull or a broken record sitting in the bomb shell of my awaking, awkwardly fumbling about, and trying to figure on the figuring? Each phrase, each word, each letter... Short cuts to thinking. Creative thought is dying in this day, and I'm the one to blame. Going on a diet to die in the end. Welcome to creation creatures of light... or is it dark. Seems like we have so much light outside us but so much darkness within, the eyes are the window to the soul and if you look in mine you'll see the bleak blackness that I fear and welcome. Don't forget to turn out the lights when you leave... This world, this universe, this plain of existence is getting old and I'm the only one left.

Figure on figureing.

Tue, 19 Dec 2006 05:21:02 GMT

I figure, I'm not an artist. I'm a tool. Just a mundane urban nothing in this modern messy world. Giving a voice viva la computer but the voice is just a digital exaggeration of my current well being. I never knew what I wanted and now I know it’s gone, or going. Either way I'm not the type to say I'm sorry and not the type to forgive so I figure I'll just say good night friends. I'm pretty sure my chapters done in the pirate saga. I'm going to sell out and become my father, get a job and settle in for the long hall. I didn't mean to hurt anyone and I'm sorry I didn't get the job done. Sorry for doing to much acid that one new years, for my excessive living in general. I'm sorry for allot more but I can't think of those things now. I'm sorry I didn't tell you all I love you more. My fickle fascinations are over now, It was just a glitch with my system, I'm normal again. I'm going to go read a book and think about how I'm going to get better tomorrow.

I'm lost.

Fri, 08 Dec 2006 05:46:33 GMT

I miss Tyler. I miss the pirates, not what we are, what we were... I miss my friends. I miss Lee and want to get to know ken better. I wish I had tallent... I wish I had affection. I wish I wasn't so two d. So basic. I wish i wasn't green.

zoom.

Tue, 21 Nov 2006 11:49:19 GMT

Grave stone satire.
Two smacks a sugar cane and twelve ticks of the clock. The two rose up past the grave stone only to find themselves back where they started. The bicker of non sense that made sense if sense was ever to be made from words, nothing like the old days when we said what we meant and worked at what we wanted. The white hair of a fickle lover trying to gain the respect of one that was once but never was again, some day he’ll find her heart and remember if he ever needed to speak it wasn’t to her. He starts, “I give you a dollar you tell me to get fucked. I give you 10 seconds you give me a broken nose. Once I forgot how to spell your name, you smiled as the coffee soaked in leaving a stain. I told you I liked your smile; you frowned and said "I like your shadow." 10 minutes, 22 seconds, 5 days, 46 weeks, 1 hour ago.” That’s what he said. Nothing like how he lived, but it was such a moment for him to remember. The stains that startled her as the liquid burnt him.

Twitch, tick tick tick, Twitch, her lucid soft pale side eyes turn as she begins to spew forth the lactating lies of a women soft and scorned by a man whose mouth she mourned. Nothing now but her sick reply, “What was that? That the thing in your hand you slither of a sweet toothed man. What do you have there? Oh it’s nothing but some slight slide of cheer. A molecule man like the one I knew in the can. Well let’s let our worms, soak back some soda and swim on till the river dries up and we all learn how to crawl. Eat some dust you Mexican fickle fan, unwrap your wings and remember to fly.” She never meant to see him die, it just sort of happened after she plunged her knife into his chest. The bones shattered, the blade sunk in, the organs ripped, the blood pored forth and they swam.

Awe struck glory; he wasn’t expecting that as he moved with out motion. Created a new scene in his face, you YOU he thought in raged silence. A moment or two with waves of incoherent calming satire “Tuck my shirt in and tell me I'm Jesus fucking Christ. I found my wallet, now give me the sound pleasantries of a woman’s suck love for three days past the window over the rainbow and in the final fickle catastrophic moments of a... with the... under a... sometimes we... Forget me.” The attempts at a temper long since lost in the diluted fantasies of the cadaver formally a man. Nothing would hurt more than what came next because she never knew who why or whatever he was and she ended him without asking how.

Her insulted response enduring time since time left about an hour ago. Go on stop to think... just spit it out. One two three, “Stick it up the pickle fifteen minutes past the corner candy store. I want to be a painting of immoral stained satire. Did you say you were made of pasta friend? Or was that the dog down the street. Wait a second, a moment, a tick, a jiffy, you’re not my friend! Not my lover! You’re the fiend that foresaw my own end. Stuck up, or maybe that’s me... I'm sorry where was I?” She never finished. The corpses fell back to sleep, the noise stopped and that ended their dance of knife shaped insults. Seems even in death we can’t get past our actions.

hmm

Tue, 21 Nov 2006 11:47:24 GMT

You threw a penny in a puddle and said "I wish for sunshine, lolly pops and love." The next day I was walking by that same spot. Found a penny and said "All the day good luck."
Riding your bike you said, "I can't go this way a black cat just walked by." As you took the corner and went the other way, a car hit me. When I was in the hospital, you brought me flowers and said "At least you didn't break a mirror, like the driver. He's dead."
Later that week, we went to a dinner I spilt the salt and threw it over my shoulder saying "How’s that for some luck?" you smiled and said "Good luck, you just killed a brain eating slug. But I still don't have my lolly pops you know."

Go away.

Fri, 03 Nov 2006 10:52:15 GMT

I'm frustrated with life right now. It's bothering me on so many levels that I feel theres no way I can ever do anything right. I've failed at everyone of my relationships. I've failed at all my jobs, all my school work, all my art projects, all my everything. I'm a waste of tallent and of intellect. I can't spell, I can't please people, I'm a bad judge of character. I never really feel anything and always feel everything. I contradict myself at every turn, stright up there isn't anything I'm bad at but I never do anything with any of it. I'm just usless. Frustrated. Alone. Perfect. I never pulled the trigger but I'm an echoing corpse and a dead soul.
So fuck you.

Scream.

Sun, 29 Oct 2006 13:17:29 GMT

Some one got stabbed tonight. I don’t really know who or many of the details... I know he died. Most people were angry... but not that some one was killed, well that but most people just were angry about tickets, refunds, the party, the scene ect. I thought about this as I cussed that kid out for dieing. Thought about his mother crying over her son’s body screaming "Why!" and I get even more angry because his pointless death cost me money... How sick is that, that I put my pocket before some childless mother’s grief. So maybe this is a moment, like so many other moments where, I the anti hero of the story should re-evaluate my life... Then I stop and say "this isn't my life?" who’s life am I living boy? Who died tonight, was it over money drugs or love? Or all three. This tantrick massacre of the murders intent to do wrong with the right tools. One day he'll understand how wrong it is to stop a journey or did he just start the journey and we're all stuck at the start looking at the gates thinking "nice gates those are, yup nice indeed." My jaw hurts, I'm tired and I have the feeling that these feelings are borrowed. I'm sorry kid that I don’t know your name, that you got stabbed. I'm sorry there was nothing I could do... If it was up to me it would have been me not you? Is that enough...

Die.

Tue, 03 Oct 2006 08:15:31 GMT

My molicule is getting rather old isn't it? Fashion, trend, destruction, construction, seems I ran out of ideas during the dark ages. But that dark place is so scary, the nothing, the empty. Quick quick recycle, reuse, recreate! I wish I could be alive like in the first place and see the things of magic, the endless, unbound, unlimited beauty that was imperfection, chaos. I wish I was at square one, the whisper, and forgot about the echo. But time is a test and I'm testing time. I'll be whole again and show everyone else what I found about this time around.

I'm bleeding.

Tue, 19 Sep 2006 05:10:14 GMT

Ouch. Every time I turn around. Ouch. I keep forgetting all the bad things and you keep sending more my way. Should I just go into the darkness, and stop? I keep forgetting everyones names... I just remember your awful colors. Red... RED! I miss purple... he's so purple. I am too green.

Dylan.

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 07:06:37 GMT

I loved you more than any one else...
I think you loved me the same...
You hurt more and more...
I think I did the same...
Thats what real love is.

Fast cat at a bar with jack sprat. and Charlie No time for tomorrow.

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 07:00:24 GMT

Fast cat at a bar with jack sprat. and Charlie No time for tomorrow.

“That’s the thing with selling Tom waits, all sales people get a peek, but it costs each of us our soul.” The jazz cat, fickle tattered trash, spouts forth between each word a hick, between each hick an up.
“Must be quit the market in trading souls...” The straight laced, straw fedora wearing hero, a beacon of light in these dark days, whispers in a soft harmless, yet Speight filled tone.
“Abstract trading on the online stores connecting us all to the consumer doom our fathers felt it necessary to build and or trap us, trapped in the litany and excess of a death rattle. Buy in before you sell out. What about you? You dabble?” He takes a tab of Lsd, that’s Acid, cid, Cidney, Morrison, the drug that gets you high like a hippy.

“Always fun. I don’t do cid no more. Too many bad trips, to many demons screaming hey hoe on my souls kitchen floor making me wish I was a little less than no more.” The second man spouts forth, removing his taught tiny little hat. “Say Charlie you gonna tell me when my times up?”

hhm

Thu, 14 Sep 2006 05:13:14 GMT

Electric cum quad.