onemorepanic

Drive around and film sentences as they happen.
What's been said, what's been relayed, frozen, encased in glass taunting.

"The only useless things are guilt and opera".
"Guilt like tourette's tries again learns nothing".

Alcohol has officially taken the throne, residing over any other form of sustenance my body dare entertain.
An everyday maelstrom of concerns, pleasures and mistakes.

You must be lower than this...
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To clear up any existing doubt.
There is still love in the world for a drunk.
And for those that disagree.
I'm sorry about what I said and what I spilled and what I did. But no, not really. I'm serious. I'm just kidding. I love you.

Entry into a series of events that would ulimately prove righteous. To my right a plastic bag strained...
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And bombs bursting just past my terrace.
And the sky ablaze on starlit backdrop.

Let my fellow americans be shit faced and deaf.
Make fuck and exude excess.

And most importantly watch your fuses.
I don't wanna see any torn limbs and spouting stumps.

"it's always funny until someone gets hurt, and then it's just hilarious".

Throwing up underwater.

I'm beginning to believe it an impossibility.
Vomit pouring out like yellow and red velvet ribbons bending and spreading like sheet music.
Liquids escaping, liquids entry. Flood my sinuses with salty water, fish and spew.
I can't help but think: tales of certain death and instant knowledge, somewhere between the fishes and crustaceans.. somewhere..
Submerged in water all we hear is the...
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Make me into a thousand happy pictures, page by page across your album. This is the person I want to remember.

Kafka said something about a certain type of writer, this certain type of writer who dreams of his own death, his own funeral, and how everyone'd react.

I guess we'd call that foresight.
I've dreamt upon it daily.

These days I'm looking for something...
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On a May march home in the gentle breeze of this salt stained town, I'm measuring my worth in Twisted Metal Black scores, audioscrobbler stats, and girl's phone numbers transcribed on random lottery tickets.

I don't know their names. I might not ever call them. It's just something to justify worth against. It's something useless to show off to my friends. Something I will never...
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Fill this fucking box with text.
Begin with madness end with madness.
Sometimes the Game Boy Advance on the train backfires. In it's usual use, it makes with the time travel, distances to school and work seem like the passing of a cigarette but on this occassion a few boys with their elder guardian attacked the being, being I and layed down the infinite pop...
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bits of memory pulled from dreams and read off like an asshole:

we're chillin' at work, and this guy comes in and starts eggin' us on.
callin' us losers so i jump real high and hit the guy in his neck and then he starts to kick my ass ninja style, pullin' out chakra and shit.

then there's these two hawt broads in a broken...
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