Convienent

At work, the razorblades are across from the pens, paper, spiral notebooks, and art supplies in aisle 12.

Homemade Books For Sale (Again)

I'm poor, and want to make it to Toronto. But I also want to start making books again for people if anyone wants to buy one.

Too tired to post all the details now, but will do so later today/tomorrow.

 here are some photos of a book made for Becca, called I Would Rather Spend My Night On the Phone With You Instead Of Hanging Out With Anyone Else.

Mental Stability

I went to a psychiatrist and handed him a buzz saw and the jaws of life in the hopes he could save whatever good is left inside of me.

Instead, he wrote me prescriptions for Xanax and antidepressants.

Flat On My Back At 5am In My Aunt's Driveway Feeling The Pressure Of Gravity Exerted Equally On All Parts Of My Body

Sorry for being allergic to dogs/cats/tree nuts.

Sorry for being fuck up.

Sorry to my college professors who believed in me and gave me a BFA in Writing and Literature for wasting my potential, and settling for day to day $8.05 life in the deli.

Sorry to David Buckley for kneeing him in the ass in fourth grade because my friends and I thought it was funny.

Sorry to my family for being an embarrassment who many of whom think is mentally unstable.
(Probably right.)

Sorry for being an hour late after I called twenty minutes earlier, and said, "Be over in five."

Sorry for coughing and having an asthma attack after we kissed.

Sorry for being a drug addict.

Sorry to James for making a pizza which I ate one piece of, and threw up immediately upon consumption, at his expense.

Sorry for taking acid instead of calling you in the midst of one of the hardest moments in your life,

(On a social caste system scale I am lower than dog cum on the side of a dumpster.)

Sorry for being to big of a pussy to commit suicide.

Sorry for being lazy.

Sorry for saying shitty things that make the people who care about me feel bad.

Sorry to my aunt and uncle for having to put up with my daily temper tantrums due to misplaced keys/drugs/cell phone/ work clothes.

Sorry for blowing my savings.

Sorry for being dependent.

Sorry for being depressed.

Sorry for hurting you the most.

Sorry for being myself.

Sorry for hating myself.

Sorry for being untrustworthy.

Sorry for making the people around me unhappy with my unhappiness.

Perpetual frowns 24/7.

Sorry for wasting your time.

Sorry that you had to read this piece of shit excuse for literature/apology.

Being online for 17 years, reading and observing other people's blog posts, news articles, I realize that I am not great at anything and have nothing original to say.

Looking up at the clouds swirl above in the opaque morning sky,
politely asking them to put the full force of their weight on my face
to help me stop breathing.

Sorry.

Waking Up At 2pm On A Sunday

You open your eyes, and immediately realize that it is a mistake.

You press your face into your pillow, which forms a general shape of the contours of your face, before balling your fist up and punching it out of existence.

Cover your ears, because the sounds you are hearing transform you into the perpetually unhappy person you actually are. See also worthless. See also fuck up. See the little man located in the center of the earth, making it spin and orbit. Tell him to slow down. Or to take a day off because he looks exhausted and gaunt. Or about how you want to watch the world stop so you can see everyone fall and hit the ground at the same exact moment. Ask him, the worst he can say is no.

"No."

Stand still, let your legs become sore, stiff, and cramped; you are not ready for today, and never will be. This is the reason why the words coming out of your mouth are tied together in a never ending sequence, stretching back to the point of origin, the day you were born. You assume you're pretty offensive after listening to the criticism of what the fuck is wrong with you. Like you wish you were mutated, green bubbles popping on the skin, so your physical appearance can reflect your inner-self already described.

Pull the covers over your head, close your eyes, and let the darkness under the covers absorb you.

Suffocate on carbon dioxide comfortably.

You don't feel like eating, so you pick the scabs off your back to pass the time, and let the wounds bleed.

Always hoping to bleed out, but never reaching the goal you set for yourself.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. No Mercy. Hanging from a drop ceiling. Fish hooks exposed through your bottom eyelids.

Keepin One Eye Open Starin At The Future.

Gonna replace my dick with a lamprey. Live.

Submerged under cutoff jeans and a belt buckle, it attaches to your hand, bores a hole inside you with its pointy piston like tongue, sucks bodily fluids, and grows fat.

A protovertebrate existing before the discovery of male enhancement.

You'll bum a cigarette, and say, "Ye shit's lookin good. I fucks wit it."

And I'll feel as special as a Taiwanese whore covered with damp dollar bills, naked in the middle of a cornfield in Kansas.

 

i decided that i am never going to finish my first novella, How Have You Been?, so i decided to post it because i doubt i will ever formally publish it. i wrote it two years ago for my senior project to graduate from burlington college.

it is based on events that took place over my 2010 winter break in wilkes-barre, pennsylvania with people who i don't even talk to anymore minus carrie, my mom, and my grandparents.

i am going to post more of my creative nonfiction pieces and poetry i wrote in college + the pictures i have been drawing recently.

they are mostly of eyeballs and faces and will be for sale.

and finally, i have recently been recieving really kind words about my writing from a couple of people, which has given me the motivation to get back to work on my second novella called The Stings Don't Hurt So Bad When You're Busting Down The Beehive.

i got rejected a month ago and it made me stagnant because im a pussy. i started second guessing myself, stop writing, and sat on the couch every night i got home from work ruining my brain with reality tv shows and infomercials. num and faded.

to those people, and the people who read this blog, thank you for making me want to write again.


especially james, brittany, carrie, ivan, and megan.


i'll keep everyone posted. i'll try not to be a failure.


STAY BRUTAL!

-mv