[cheshirecatgrins]

[cheshirecatgrins]

She sighed when she looked my way, and she cried for the dead, that she saw written on my face, that I echoed back in hers. Moody little thing, she moves back and forth. Moody little thing, she’s in love of course. With a past that’s passed her by; there’s no room to play, life’s little game, when she’s in lust with her thoughts. Days and nights yet to come, if she can just survive another day; with herself, all alone, and not give in. To this big bad world, that leaves it all behind. Without a care or a whimper, when all she needs is a whisper. Moody little thing, she moves back and forth. Moody little thing, she’s in love of course. With an idea of sorts, beautifully sad, she’s more alive than most.

[cheshirecatgrins]

Everyone speaks of breathing like it’s something they’ve forgotten how to do.  I’ve never forgotten how to breathe, but I’ve held my breath intentionally.  The first time, I was five or so, just learning how to manipulate my surroundings, it didn’t last.  The second time, I was 21, with my finger on the trigger of an M-16, it was required for a straight shot at the range.  The third time I was 22, with my finger on the trigger, my eye on my scope, he was aiming right back at me, I held my breath more true.  The fourth time, she said, “I need to tell you something.”, it was the last time my wife and I spoke, I never thought I’d breathe again.  The fifth time, it was a dust storm, in a hell hole of a desert country, my eye still on my scope.  The sixth time, at 60 something miles per hour, wrecking my motorcycle, I woke up breathing again, on the side of the road.  The seventh time, I woke up alone.  The eighth time, I thought of everything all at once: of childhood, triggers, scopes, dust storms, of booze, of crashes, and of you.  The ninth time, will be my last. The ninth time I hold my breath, I’ll forget how to breathe.

[cheshirecatgrins]

He sat in the square, little George the monkey, playing the accordion.  He played through night and early morning, for the spare change of passersby.  He played through rain and he played through snow.  He played through the beautiful Spring and he played through the blistering Summer heat, the same.  He played for years and years and years, until his tired, old monkey hands couldn’t bear it, anymore.  So he crept back to his master’s house late one night, with his accordion in tow.  He was a man they called Limerick, who lived life by the bottle.  Little George the monkey, tried to rouse his old master Limerick, but he did not flinch or bat an eye.  Little George thought, that by ending his show early, he had killed his old master entirely.  So he picked up a pen, and he wrote down a note, one he knew, no one would read..  I've played my accordion for years, Collecting spare change for my tears; I was a good monkey, Even for you, you old drunkey, And now you’ve gone and drowned in your beers. So, little George the monkey, went back to the square, to play his sad song, for the sympathy of strangers, with his tired, old monkey hands.

[cheshirecatgrins]

It’s not so easy, being my only friend; when I call for two shots of life, and I have no money, to pay the tab. So just pass me that bottle, of dreams that I’ve left behind. I know I left one or two in the ocean, and I’m sure by now, that they’ve washed up in the sand, somewhere. Along with all the other empty bottles: Love, Marriage, Family, Sanity, and hope, that I drowned, once upon a drunken night. In this little old city, that’s drained the life from me. It’s not so easy, being my only friend. But I’ve stuck around so far, through all the good, the bad, the crazy and insane. So call for two more shots, my friend, and this time they're on you.

[cheshirecatgrins]

You know, the lottery is kind of a crazy thing.  You can put a dollar in a machine and get back $25 million, or just a piece of scrap paper.  I rarely play it myself.  It's the whole regressive, voluntary tax thing that gets me.  Every once in a while though, I'll put a dollar in a machine and think of everything I would do if I won.

[cheshirecatgrins]

Cold feet and cold hands, stealing my burning warmth, as I sleep, so soundly with you next to me. I miss those peaceful nights, with you by my side. Slipping into my dreams, as you slept on my shoulder. Resting on my dead arm, that I dared not move, for fear, of waking you, my love. I’ll bear this burden, just to watch your chest, rise and fall, while I suffer pins and needles. Taking pictures, with my mind, that I still hold the dearest of my memories, of you and I, while you dreamed, while you slept, so peacefully.

[cheshirecatgrins]

Most of my relationships have been comparable to an arson in the midst of a riot.  When the fire first starts, it’s beautiful, a sight to behold.  The crowd gathers around.  It works it’s way to unrelenting and uncontrollable. Then, out of no where, the sirens sound, the sprinklers don’t work, projectiles start flying amongst the screaming and shouting people.  Finally, in the end, I’m left sorting through the smoldering ashes wondering what happened with a drink in my hand.  Too much passion, much too quickly. 

[cheshirecatgrins]

The old house barely stood on it’s cracked foundation.  The windows that were still intact, leaked when it rained, their wooden frames were swollen from the moisture.  Marisa had lived here her entire life, although it wasn’t always broken and neglected.  She remembered her childhood in this house, and how wonderful it all was.  The flowery gardens were now overgrown with weeds.  The bright blue paint was now chipping away and falling off in small, grey chunks with every new gust of wind.  Nothing was the same anymore, nothing felt real. She had only one true friend anymore, Timothy.  She found everyone else always turned out to be fake, only out for themselves.  TImothy was the only one to be there with her through everything, no matter how bad things got.  Marisa gave him a hug, asking him, “Why did they leave me here all alone?  Is it because they didn’t love me?”  He didn’t blink, responding, “You bet”.  She looked at him with a hint of tears in her eyes, “You really think so?”, she hugged him tighter, “You bet”, he said again stoically.   She started to cry hysterically, ripping down her mother’s warped paintings from the crooked walls.  The house groaned in reply, as she screamed out,  “You never loved me at all, did you?”, finally she collapsed on the floor.  Marisa crawled over to Timothy, begging, “Please hold me.”, and he did the best he could.  “You’ll never leave me, will you? Promise me.”, the look in his eyes said it all.  She knew he wouldn’t ever leave her like they did.  She let him go, softly, letting him fall to the floor.  “You’ll always love me, won’t you Timothy?”, she pulled his string one last time, “You bet.”, the broken doll said back to her, the only phrase he could still say; as she finally fell asleep on a half torn picture of her parents and her childhood love, Timothy.  She dreamed of forgotten days, when the flowers still bloomed, the paint was still bright blue, she could still hold her love tight while her mother painted, and her father still wrote in his den. 

[cheshirecatgrins]

I am convinced that society coddles stupid people, ensuring our own extinction.  - me, a conversation with my sister about a bartender at work.

[cheshirecatgrins]

Oh shit, a couch... “Hey Soxx just wake me up when you need me.”  I had been conned into being an extra for my friend’s student film for UCSD one night when I was really drunk.  They were still setting everything up for the film shoot, so I figured I might as well take a nap.  It was 9 am after all, and I was really hungover, like usual.  So I passed out for a bit on a couch in a campus bar.  “Wake up man.”, it was sometime around 1 pm.  Tim was shaking me awake.  “You’re up Hollywood.  You’ve got some time before the scene to smoke if you want.”, he laughed at me.  “You feeling alright?”, I nodded, “Yeah, much better now.”  I went outside to smoke a cigarette, to wake up a bit.  When I returned I was shown to my table.  I was playing a bar patron, drinking tap water from an emptied out bottle of Rolling Rock.  I was dying for a real beer.  I was sitting across from a large woman who took the bus to La Jolla from LA.  “So what else have you been in?”, she asked me.  “Me?  Oh nothing.. this is just a favor for a friend, she needed extras.  What about you?”  Do you do this often?”, she looked at me sideways.  “Yes, I do.”, sternly.  “I’ve been in a few movies, and on a few TV shows.  Have you ever seen CSI: Miami?  I played a dead woman once.”  I didn’t know if she was being serious at first with her pride, but I figured out that she was from her stare.  “Anything to build up my Résumé.  You know, acting of any sort.  Even if I’m not getting paid.”, and she damn sure wasn’t for this student film.  I felt sad for her at first, then we switched scenes and switched tables.  I continued on pretending to drinking real beer from what was basically a green water bottle.  I met two new people at our new table.  “So what else have you been in Scott?”, it was the same old sad story, and I was still too hungover to deal with this kind of bullshit.  “Nothing, I don’t waste my time with this normally.  It’s just a deal with my friend.”  They started talking to each other about all of the little two second roles they’d had in some movie or television show.  I stopped feeling sad for them.  Holy shit these people are fucking stupid.  The large woman kept talking about how hungry she was, and how she hoped the catered food was good.  Fucking California... I wondered how many people lived their lives this way.  Hoping for their big break as an extra in a student film.  Hoping someone, anyone would notice them, and make them millionaires, make them famous.  I guess that’s the American dream though.  Something for nothing.  Everything for minimal effort.  Just a shot of the back of your head to make it big.  I stopped feeling sad and started recommending doctors. 

[cheshirecatgrins]

Watching the world burn, from the comfort of my home. So much unchecked violence, too many innocent maimed. Sometimes life is too much, but it’s just another day. So I’ll close my eyes, breathe in-and-out with heavy sighs. Turn off all the live feeds, on my multiple screens. It’s time to drink of, liquid forgetfulness, smoke a cigarette, or two. Listen to forgotten melodies, of centuries gone by. And in time, when the world, has been wiped away from my burning mind. I’ll breath relief at last and lay myself, peacefully down to sleep.

[cheshirecatgrins]

Sometimes in mid conversation I think to myself, "You know, I really don't give a shit.", then I say it to the other person and just walk away.  Those are sometimes my favorite conversations.

[cheshirecatgrins]

Like a deadly game, with a sworn enemy; sleep evades me, with the swiftest of moves. That even I can't see, coming. Why, I'd give anything, to dream a bad dream; because it would simply mean, that I was finally asleep. So come nightmares, come, plague me. Invade my lucid nights, with your acidic schemes. What do you want from me? I've already closed my eyes, I've already compromised, with the sons of Nyx, but there's no honor among thieves. So steal my sleep, while I steal the white knuckle nightmares, that you leave in my mind. I won't relive these scenes, anymore for you.

[cheshirecatgrins]

You are the lost woman, I’ve sought for all of these years. The one who purifies me, with all of her sins. The sun rising, on my dawn. The slow beat, of the rhythm of life. Another stain on our sheets, another notch on our bedpost. Shared thoughts and dreams, to light our way in the dark. I’ll crawl to you, begging, begging. You know what you want, as you stare into my eyes. I’ll eat you up, when you’re done. Every last drop, of your soul and your sin. I’ll hold you close, lost woman, close to my chest, when the fog, it clears, and the sun rises. Giving way, giving in, to each other. And finally, to sleep.

[cheshirecatgrins]

I don’t know how you people do it.  Every day.  The same fucking things.  Over and over and over again.  That’s no way to live.  Waking up everyday at the ass crack of dawn, pounding coffee or energy drinks, getting ready for a shitty job you hate, with people you don’t like.  Coming home and plopping your out of shape ass on the couch to watch some horrible television show about rich people and their rich people problems, while you eat Ramen noodles.  Going to sleep sexless or to horrible sex, tossing and turning all night.  Just to wake up and do it all over again.  That’s no way to live.

[calamityxjane]

sweet/talk:  terms of en[dear]ment

[cheshirecatgrins]

"And did you finish my laundry dear, like you said you would?"