2009 was an all around amazing year. For its final blog, I wanted to collect my favorite lines of 09. Enjoy!
I think in white noise.
When did doctor's become nothing more than drug dealers with degrees?
I'm starting to prefer being at work. How the hell did that happen?
Fuck me. I'm gonna get stabbed tonight.
“You can go ahead and save your prayers.” The creature says as it licks its lips. It then looks up and stares me dead in the eyes. “God’s not here.”
“No, Kurt was a martyr that all the little pissed off kids out there could pass off as their own voice. Now his image is nothing more than a T-shirt that's used as rebellion through conformity.”
"Don't fade out on me yet, boy. I want you to stay awake while I bust your Goddamn head open!" Belith screams.
We know who you are. Better than that, we know what you are and we know where you hide your bodies. We have a proposition for you.
But now here I am, things aren't perfect, but they are the best they've ever been for me. It's kind of nice having something to work towards and a future worth looking forward to.
I'm gonna drown my lonliness in alcohol!
"Well, couldn't you have at least hosed him off first? I mean, look at him. He's covered in blood! And...and is that vomit? There's vomit all over my fucking interior! That's going to take forever to get out."
“Technically, angels don't belong anywhere. We can go where we want. So can demons. There are hundreds of them on Earth getting into all sorts of shenanigans. That's where we come in.”
Sudenly, all that required knowledge is reduced to nothing more than mere afterthoughts.
I feed them each a bullet to make sure this little scene stays our secret forever.
This is where I want to hold her. Tell her that I'm OK, that we'll be OK. I want her to know that I'm more in love with her than ever and that a future without her is just not one worth having. But I don't.
How about family reunions, where you pass through an ocean of people, making small talk with strangers that only pass as relatives because of a few similar strands of DNA?
The whole thing only lasted roughly thirty five minutes and it ended just like we did; bittersweet.
My heart is stained, head is strained and it's not exactly the pain that's driving me insane. When did your feelings start to wane, swapped with such disdain?
The irony of it taking some psycho cutting an extra 18 pounds of of her to finally reach her dream weight is lost completely
“You're damn right! Belith is only they're second string. How do you think we're gonna do when they bring out the real heavy hitters?”
Thousands of wings rustle together in flight. Battle cries and screams of anguish can be heard from all directions. Then, there are the wet sounds of liquid splashing across the ground, always followed by a heavy weight. I open my eyes and gasp.
While things are nowhere close to perfect, I’m discovering happiness for the first time in my life. I hope you are doing the same. And that, love, is the truth.
We were only inches apart, yet you still felt so far away.
See? I don't feel a thing.
Wait...why am I naked?
I'm the scab you pick until it bleeds.
I can’t hang on your every word anymore because it all stopped making sense a long time ago.
I've become determined not to let it turn into a 300 dollar device just to watch porn, but into something a little more productive.
I do believe our wills shall never acquiesce to our desires, always leaving us a heartbeat away from total bliss.
No, the grass is always shaded, because the obese block out the sun.
And we'll need a prize too. Hmm...just throw a condom wrapper in there and ship it out.
Being a writer is pure madness.
It serves as the perfect ending to an awesome year, one that offers hope instead of prolonged, self induced misery.
First Impressions
When it comes to dating (or the start of any new relationship), first impressions can either be the perfect foundation to building something amazing, or can burn down that bridge and piss over the ashes.
I have been known to make some some very good ones, but they are never as spectacular as my failures. Here's a few of my favorites. Oh, and if you're the type of girl who gets angry just reading about an ex, you can just go ahead and fuck right off. You and me? Yeah, we're not gonna work.
The way I met one of my ex's mother, was when she walked in on her daughter and I mid coitus. I had to stand up and introduce myself to her, naked. Good times.
This is the first thing I said to a girl, who I started dating less than 24 hours later.
Her: (Looks around) Cool, I used to live at that apartment right down there. (She points in a direction and my eyes don't follow)
Me: Really? Because I live right here! (I point behind me) Small fucking world, huh! (big gasp of exaggerated excitement)
She later told me she thought I was the biggest asshole she'd ever met, but was completely wrong.
That's because first impressions don't always give you the best, or worst, representation of the other person. Just something to keep in mind while out in the trenches.
I have been known to make some some very good ones, but they are never as spectacular as my failures. Here's a few of my favorites. Oh, and if you're the type of girl who gets angry just reading about an ex, you can just go ahead and fuck right off. You and me? Yeah, we're not gonna work.
The way I met one of my ex's mother, was when she walked in on her daughter and I mid coitus. I had to stand up and introduce myself to her, naked. Good times.
This is the first thing I said to a girl, who I started dating less than 24 hours later.
Her: (Looks around) Cool, I used to live at that apartment right down there. (She points in a direction and my eyes don't follow)
Me: Really? Because I live right here! (I point behind me) Small fucking world, huh! (big gasp of exaggerated excitement)
She later told me she thought I was the biggest asshole she'd ever met, but was completely wrong.
That's because first impressions don't always give you the best, or worst, representation of the other person. Just something to keep in mind while out in the trenches.
And Yet Another Stewart Family Moment
I love my cousin, Christy, like an older sister. However, we are two very different people. These are our plans for New Year's Eve.
Christy: I'm gonna go to my church and eat and have fun and we're gonna do foot washing!
(After a long disgusted stare from me)
No, we don't scrub them or anything. We put the feet in a bucket of water and pray over them. It really is a lot of fun.
Davlin: I'm gonna get loaded and find a way on stage where I talk about things like suicide and all my all my other fucked up little thoughts.
The End!
Christy: I'm gonna go to my church and eat and have fun and we're gonna do foot washing!
(After a long disgusted stare from me)
No, we don't scrub them or anything. We put the feet in a bucket of water and pray over them. It really is a lot of fun.
Davlin: I'm gonna get loaded and find a way on stage where I talk about things like suicide and all my all my other fucked up little thoughts.
The End!
Great Moment on OK Cupid 3
girl: i cryalot
Meandering_Poet:it's ok to cry
girl:like now
Meandering_Poet:you're crying right now?
girl:yea
Meandering_Poet:why?
girl:cuz i want to do it right now
Meandering_Poet:you want to have sex? is that what you're saying?
girl:cutting
Meandering_Poet:oh thank god,i'm sorry, i didn't know where this was going
Meandering_Poet:it's ok to cry
girl:like now
Meandering_Poet:you're crying right now?
girl:yea
Meandering_Poet:why?
girl:cuz i want to do it right now
Meandering_Poet:you want to have sex? is that what you're saying?
girl:cutting
Meandering_Poet:oh thank god,i'm sorry, i didn't know where this was going
Great Moment on OK Cupid 2
Girl:He's so effin cute
Girl:makes me want babies...
Meandering_Poet:sorry, all these sirens just went off in my head
Girl:makes me want babies...
Meandering_Poet:sorry, all these sirens just went off in my head
Loss Pt. 1
On Christmas Eve...it actually snowed.
I stand on my patio and watch it while smoking a cigarette. You would have enjoyed this, I think. It would have reminded you of home.
I listen to the song "Hear you me" by Jimmy Eat World and I can't stop crying. I'm trying so hard to be strong, man. I really am. I know Christy's worse off than me right now and I'm trying to be her rock. She loved you so much, just as you did her. That kind of love is rare in life and I'm glad you both had the chance to experience it with each other, even if it never does last quite as long as we want it to.
I remember when I first got to your apartment last night, everyone was so quiet. She was just walking around trying to tidy up, her face devoid of any emotion. Her eyes met mine and her face does that scrunchy thing it always does when she's about to break down. I dropped what I was carrying, went over, embraced her and she just unloaded. She asked the questions I didn't have answers to, so I just held her tighter and let the tears come until there were none left to give.
She's lost without you. You were everything to her and I don't think she's strong enough to handle this.
I stand on my patio and watch it while smoking a cigarette. You would have enjoyed this, I think. It would have reminded you of home.
I listen to the song "Hear you me" by Jimmy Eat World and I can't stop crying. I'm trying so hard to be strong, man. I really am. I know Christy's worse off than me right now and I'm trying to be her rock. She loved you so much, just as you did her. That kind of love is rare in life and I'm glad you both had the chance to experience it with each other, even if it never does last quite as long as we want it to.
I remember when I first got to your apartment last night, everyone was so quiet. She was just walking around trying to tidy up, her face devoid of any emotion. Her eyes met mine and her face does that scrunchy thing it always does when she's about to break down. I dropped what I was carrying, went over, embraced her and she just unloaded. She asked the questions I didn't have answers to, so I just held her tighter and let the tears come until there were none left to give.
She's lost without you. You were everything to her and I don't think she's strong enough to handle this.
My Brand New Coat
More than anything, I want an X-Box 360.
A couple of weeks ago, my adopted big sister from work, Pat, called me over to her place so she could give me my Christmas present. She told me to sit down and I obliged. She then looked me dead in the eyes and said,
"Now, I'm your big sister, so I know what you want and I know what you need. Now, I know you want one of those MP360s, or whatever, but Pat can't afford that." God, I love her. "And your car's heater doesn't work, so you NEED something warm."
She goes into the back and returns with a Macy's garment bag. I gaze at it in confusion as she places it in my hands.
"Merry Christmas, little brother."
I slowly peel the bag from the hanger to reveal a long, black, wool overcoat. It was now the finest thing I've ever owned.
The next day I wore a nice shirt and tie to really show it off at work. Not once on the way there did my teeth chatter. I was now able to brave to cold comfortably. Julie gave me some black leather gloves and Melinda gave me a very nice scarf. Everyone else at work gave me a family where caring and kindness always worked both ways. Dunsy gave me a Deadpool shirt and Deadpool kicks fucking ass.
The newfound confidence I had found followed me to my life on stage at Tucker's Blues. Dianne, the club owner and all around artistic sweetheart gave me two things I had always wanted; support and an opportunity.
My father took me out one afternoon and bought me a suit jacket and two shirts. He gave me something more important, though, he gave me an amazing memory of just him and me. I know had something to work towards.
My mom gave me some cash, with implicit instructions to, "Spend it on MYSELF this time." Her's has always meant just as much, I just never realized it before now.
On the sixteenth, a co-worker I really liked passed away. It hit me because it was so unexpected. I wrote a letter to her family, telling them how much she met to me and expressing sympathy for their loss. I found out later it was read at the funeral. In some small way, I was able to give a small comfort to those in need.
All of these things are what Christmas is all about for me.
It serves as the perfect ending to an awesome year, one that offers hope instead of prolonged, self induced misery. I've gotten more than I ever thought possible. It's the best Christmas I've ever had and the day itself is still three days away. And it all started, with a brand new coat from my big sister.
A couple of weeks ago, my adopted big sister from work, Pat, called me over to her place so she could give me my Christmas present. She told me to sit down and I obliged. She then looked me dead in the eyes and said,
"Now, I'm your big sister, so I know what you want and I know what you need. Now, I know you want one of those MP360s, or whatever, but Pat can't afford that." God, I love her. "And your car's heater doesn't work, so you NEED something warm."
She goes into the back and returns with a Macy's garment bag. I gaze at it in confusion as she places it in my hands.
"Merry Christmas, little brother."
I slowly peel the bag from the hanger to reveal a long, black, wool overcoat. It was now the finest thing I've ever owned.
The next day I wore a nice shirt and tie to really show it off at work. Not once on the way there did my teeth chatter. I was now able to brave to cold comfortably. Julie gave me some black leather gloves and Melinda gave me a very nice scarf. Everyone else at work gave me a family where caring and kindness always worked both ways. Dunsy gave me a Deadpool shirt and Deadpool kicks fucking ass.
The newfound confidence I had found followed me to my life on stage at Tucker's Blues. Dianne, the club owner and all around artistic sweetheart gave me two things I had always wanted; support and an opportunity.
My father took me out one afternoon and bought me a suit jacket and two shirts. He gave me something more important, though, he gave me an amazing memory of just him and me. I know had something to work towards.
My mom gave me some cash, with implicit instructions to, "Spend it on MYSELF this time." Her's has always meant just as much, I just never realized it before now.
On the sixteenth, a co-worker I really liked passed away. It hit me because it was so unexpected. I wrote a letter to her family, telling them how much she met to me and expressing sympathy for their loss. I found out later it was read at the funeral. In some small way, I was able to give a small comfort to those in need.
All of these things are what Christmas is all about for me.
It serves as the perfect ending to an awesome year, one that offers hope instead of prolonged, self induced misery. I've gotten more than I ever thought possible. It's the best Christmas I've ever had and the day itself is still three days away. And it all started, with a brand new coat from my big sister.
You want honesty? Then check out this rant! 100th Blog!
I don't like other writers.
Seriously.
See, I'm a narcissist. That's because I'm a writer. For some reason it bugs the piss out of me when someone else claims the same thing. I didn't know this, but apparently every person I'll ever meet is also a writer.
I think it's too easy to just say you are, because it is something everyone can do. I can run when I'm being chased, but that doesn't make me an athlete. I think the same rules should be applied to writing. If all you do is jot down some stuff in a journal every so often when you get really upset, that doesn't make you an author.
It's not something you become. It's something you are. It lifts you up so high, only to throw you into the pavement, just to mindfuck you into a wealth of new material.
It's an addiction. It's not like smoking pot at a party once a year so you can feel cool. It's like heroin, making your veins burn for that next big fix.
It's the most painful and rewarding path one can walk, though few can bear the intensity.
Being a writer is pure madness.
I read about three hours a day, but it's all my work. I don't like reading other authors. I just like my stuff. That's because, first and foremost, I write for me. I love that I have readers and fans (few that I do), but I'd still do this if they weren't there.
The instant I first went on stage was the moment I had been reborn. I finally found my home. And I've been working at it. Every day I prepare my sets, plan every second exactly. I come up with alternative takes and backups. It's something I take very seriously.
Now, everyone is deciding they can do it. They get up there, treat it like a joke and say, "oh, anyone can do it." And yes they can, but not well. That's the difference between most who say they are writers and the real deal.
I said earlier that I don't like other writers and that still holds true. But if you're actually serious about it, I will respect you. That's the most you can get from me.
I don't think true writers are supposed to get along, because, after all, who really wants to share that spotlight?
Seriously.
See, I'm a narcissist. That's because I'm a writer. For some reason it bugs the piss out of me when someone else claims the same thing. I didn't know this, but apparently every person I'll ever meet is also a writer.
I think it's too easy to just say you are, because it is something everyone can do. I can run when I'm being chased, but that doesn't make me an athlete. I think the same rules should be applied to writing. If all you do is jot down some stuff in a journal every so often when you get really upset, that doesn't make you an author.
It's not something you become. It's something you are. It lifts you up so high, only to throw you into the pavement, just to mindfuck you into a wealth of new material.
It's an addiction. It's not like smoking pot at a party once a year so you can feel cool. It's like heroin, making your veins burn for that next big fix.
It's the most painful and rewarding path one can walk, though few can bear the intensity.
Being a writer is pure madness.
I read about three hours a day, but it's all my work. I don't like reading other authors. I just like my stuff. That's because, first and foremost, I write for me. I love that I have readers and fans (few that I do), but I'd still do this if they weren't there.
The instant I first went on stage was the moment I had been reborn. I finally found my home. And I've been working at it. Every day I prepare my sets, plan every second exactly. I come up with alternative takes and backups. It's something I take very seriously.
Now, everyone is deciding they can do it. They get up there, treat it like a joke and say, "oh, anyone can do it." And yes they can, but not well. That's the difference between most who say they are writers and the real deal.
I said earlier that I don't like other writers and that still holds true. But if you're actually serious about it, I will respect you. That's the most you can get from me.
I don't think true writers are supposed to get along, because, after all, who really wants to share that spotlight?
The greatest licensed product. Ever.
The greatest licensed product. Ever.
Some of you have read "Scattered Thougths" the blog.
Even less have read "Scattered Thoughts" the novel.
But are any of you prepared for the total fucking awesomness that is...
Scattered Thoughts...
The Breakfast Cereal!
Yes, now you too can "Start your day the Emo Way"!
With the vaguely suggestive Ambien shaped cereal pieces. These have absolutely no flavor and you'd throw them away if it wasn't so much fun to stage your own half hearted overdose!
PLUS!
Miniature marshmallow pieces in several fun shapes!
Broken Hearts!
Razor Blades!
Suicide Notes!
And the all new Unpublished Manifesto! (technically the same as the suicide note, but it's cheaper to call it something else than to make a whole new one)
And the whole toxic mess turns the milk red! This way we can put it Hot Topic so all the goth and emo fucks can buy em up.
And we'll need a prize too. Hmm...just throw a condom wrapper in there and ship it out.
In stores soon.
Some of you have read "Scattered Thougths" the blog.
Even less have read "Scattered Thoughts" the novel.
But are any of you prepared for the total fucking awesomness that is...
Scattered Thoughts...
The Breakfast Cereal!
Yes, now you too can "Start your day the Emo Way"!
With the vaguely suggestive Ambien shaped cereal pieces. These have absolutely no flavor and you'd throw them away if it wasn't so much fun to stage your own half hearted overdose!
PLUS!
Miniature marshmallow pieces in several fun shapes!
Broken Hearts!
Razor Blades!
Suicide Notes!
And the all new Unpublished Manifesto! (technically the same as the suicide note, but it's cheaper to call it something else than to make a whole new one)
And the whole toxic mess turns the milk red! This way we can put it Hot Topic so all the goth and emo fucks can buy em up.
And we'll need a prize too. Hmm...just throw a condom wrapper in there and ship it out.
In stores soon.
Great Moment on OK Cupid 1
Meandering_Poet: Trust me...there's no sympathy for the skinny.
Girl: haha yeah like i said, the grass is always greener.....
Meandering_Poet: No, the grass is always shaded, because the obese block out the sun. So, how are you?
Girl: haha yeah like i said, the grass is always greener.....
Meandering_Poet: No, the grass is always shaded, because the obese block out the sun. So, how are you?
I just got my balls back.
I don’t believe in fate. See, to me, the people that say “if it’s meant to happen, it will” are weak. They’re too scared to go after what they want in life, so they just leave it up to chance as happiness and opportunities pass them by. I believe that if there is something out there you truly want, it’s up to you to grab it, risks and consequences be damned. Unfortunately, I’ve never been brave enough on the follow through.
I don’t believe in soul mates, that there’s one perfect person out there for everyone. The people that do are unrealistic and end up alone because of too high standards or settle because the fear of loneliness is more than they can bear. I don’t even believe in love, at least not in the traditional sense and I don’t believe in Hollywood endings. I also don’t believe that anyone else can ever inspire me the way you can with only a subtle shift of your eyes
Here’s a couple of things I do believe in…
I believe my MP3 player has a sick sense of humor. It always knows how to pick just the right song to make me think about you, even if I haven’t talked to you for days. The whole way home was that way today. Or, maybe, I’m just finding you in every single thing I do or hear. I don’t know, could go either way.
I believe that 12 years is an awfully long time to hold a torch and my arm is growing tired. The sleeves of my shirt are filthy and stained from the heart that’s been resting on them for so long.
When I borrow a book of yours and read it, paying special attention to the passages you have highlighted, I believe I can see the world through your eyes. It’s beautiful and never fails to surprise me.
I believe in drunken conversations that last until four in the morning and milking every last syllable, because we’re never sure when we might get another chance.
I do believe our wills shall never acquiesce to our desires, always leaving us a heartbeat away from total bliss.
You pointed out to me recently that as long as you’re around I don’t date anyone. This is true, but it’s only because as long as I have your friendship, I don’t need anything else. It’s almost enough for me. Almost.
I don’t believe in soul mates, that there’s one perfect person out there for everyone. The people that do are unrealistic and end up alone because of too high standards or settle because the fear of loneliness is more than they can bear. I don’t even believe in love, at least not in the traditional sense and I don’t believe in Hollywood endings. I also don’t believe that anyone else can ever inspire me the way you can with only a subtle shift of your eyes
Here’s a couple of things I do believe in…
I believe my MP3 player has a sick sense of humor. It always knows how to pick just the right song to make me think about you, even if I haven’t talked to you for days. The whole way home was that way today. Or, maybe, I’m just finding you in every single thing I do or hear. I don’t know, could go either way.
I believe that 12 years is an awfully long time to hold a torch and my arm is growing tired. The sleeves of my shirt are filthy and stained from the heart that’s been resting on them for so long.
When I borrow a book of yours and read it, paying special attention to the passages you have highlighted, I believe I can see the world through your eyes. It’s beautiful and never fails to surprise me.
I believe in drunken conversations that last until four in the morning and milking every last syllable, because we’re never sure when we might get another chance.
I do believe our wills shall never acquiesce to our desires, always leaving us a heartbeat away from total bliss.
You pointed out to me recently that as long as you’re around I don’t date anyone. This is true, but it’s only because as long as I have your friendship, I don’t need anything else. It’s almost enough for me. Almost.
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