infinite anthology: day 180

infinite anthology: day 180.


my content including some of my old features will be making the move to feel free to follow.


listology, pt. 1

1) there is a god. god is love.

2) i am not god. this does not give me license to be a complete asshole.

3) you are not god. shut up.

4) eat and drink anything. eventually, you’ll like it.

5) the only education is self-education. read daily. you will still always be, at best, stupid.


they smoke weed
in their backyards,
keep austin weird
on their compact cars,
bad haircuts,
tattoo sleeves,
indie rock,
blue jeans.

wear their vintage clothes
out on friday nights,
whiskey dive bars
pocketful of lights,
at friend’s
live shows with
their backstage pass
dr pepper
a double jack.

they paint abstract
in the nude
eat lucky strikes
vegan food.
take coffee breaks
at the cafe,
they say:

we’re weird

but they’re all the same.

rebel without a cause

i’m tired.

it’s this scene


this house


this mouse.

this music, this whiskey,


these spent cigarettes

soaked in broken

longneck bottles.

these half-hearted

wannabe hippie

nicotine dreams

all ashes now,

because we’ve got

this pet mouse here in rip city

who burned down our house

that we always called james dean


it wasn’t his fault really

but i’m actually kinda glad

because it’s time for me

to get the hell out of Portland.

Weezer vs. Yr Gameboy

Check out this bit of 8 bit goodness. Covering some songs from Rivers Cuomo’s outfit. If you’re not convinced this is worth your time, check out the intro to Island in the Sun.


/ 4 \

tequila notebook {4}

i saw those blinking lights again last night.

i had seen my stalker again earlier down by the swimming pool. she had been at the hole in the wall too. she was an american & had bleached blonde hair that was pulled back by a pair of designer sunglasses

her roots splayed out looked like mangrove trees. she wasn’t unattractive, so i was content to talk. i understood the thing she had done with her sunglasses.

my hair is long and dirty like a hippies now. i am constantly searching for things to keep it out of my face.

anyways, i had been taking a walk on the nature path near sunset and I was sure that I had seen her again behind me. but it was just a crocodile.

i considered merging with her and the crocodile like I saw once of the cover of the codex seraphianus, but instead I ran.

it was darker now and i was being chased down an incline by a bicyclist with a colt .45 strapped to the side of his hip. he thought I was trying to escape. maybe I was.

he caught up eventually and shot me in the head. i bled all over the brick paved concrete. the road turned red. watusas came by & ate my flesh.

chepogwa took a wheelbarrow & carried me back to the ocean. he dumped my body in the salt. i’m dead now.

i saw the lights. not right before i died but chasing me down the hill. the watchmen here carry flashlights.

i don’t expect i will be writing anymore. it is difficult to procure a pen or paper in the afterlife.