My Thoughts Are Pollution

Coming-of-age ramblings that don't mean much in the long run

Month: September, 2015

Can We At Least Have This Conversation In Person

Somewhere in my bedroom
I have kept a little box
I wish that it was empty
but it’s unfortunately not
there’s a thousand little phrases
that I have kept inside
and every time I open up
I shut the box tight

There’s a little piece of silver
hanging around her neck
I wish I could say it was unique
but a cross just ain’t that complex
I know well enough
I know she doesn’t hold it dear
it’s just a symbol of a little faith
so she doesn’t have to fear

and I don’t like it.
but I don’t have to like it.

I believe that being afraid of everything
Is what I am and who I was born to be
I have faced myself, and found myself a wreck
You turned and hung a lie around your neck

But we are all a wreck
no one has it completely together
I feel like this goal of perfection untethers
us all from ourselves and the place we were born in
my life is a mess and my heart is a storm and

I know
I know myself.
better than I know anybody else!
Don’t fuck around, don’t tell me
I’m anything but exactly
what I know myself to be
I’m not somebody’s child, I’m just me.
And you’re you
whatever that means
I’d like to say I had an impact
but I just don’t think I believe
in much of anything
or anyone let alone you
you be yourself, by yourself
I’ll be alone, too.


Here’s Another Really F-ing Weird Poem Thing I Wrote on Ambien

It’s okay to feel empty
if you are really empty
but I don’t think you are empty after all

She wore a tight, tight shirt
no matter what she did,
no matter who she was with
but I guess that’s none of my goddamn business
and I have no right to judge her
so I won’t
I will not judge or misjudge her

and I hear whispers
from behind her head
where a boy approaches
and puts his hand on her neck

and I look away
and into my drink
there’s no reason to care
or think about anything

and I step outside my house
’cause it is my fucking house
and I’m alone out here
and everyone else…

Should I stay in the yard?
and spare my bed for a couple the needs it
’cause I don’t want to be in my room tonight

It’s okay to feel sickly
if you are really a bit sickly
and I can tell you’re kind of sickly after all

She wore a red bra
under it all
I watched it fall
off her skin, how did it come to this…?
and now do I have room to judge her?
I won’t judge or misjudge her,

But I hear whispers
falling off her tongue
dusting over mine
and I swallow them

they are but metaphors
bittersweet in my mouth
as we lay in my house
’cause it’s my fucking house…

Should I step out tonight?
I seek an adventure
and the girl that I love
is seeking only pleasure
Should I follow my heart
they’ll lead me to a little thing
they call dextromethorphan

Our Virtual Reality Future Is Vaguely Depressing, But I Want It Anyway

Look at this trailer.


Okay. Maybe that didn’t move you as much as it did me. Maybe you’re not a part of my exact generation. Maybe you weren’t born within a four-year span of me and Pokemon is just a thing you look at from the outside. Maybe you were into it once, but aren’t anymore.

Well, for context, Pokemon is kind of a touchstone of my generation. I was either four or five when I played my first Pokemon game, and it took me away from here. I was a Pokemon trainer. I was catching and training up my team and getting ready to face the Elite Four, the ultimate challenge for trainers. Eventually I scraped through, and found that my bastard rival had made it there before I did. He was the champion, not me. I had to beat him to win the title from him…. but he trounced me. I didn’t even stand a chance. He always did seem to have an advantage over me: from the day he was born he was the grandson of one of the most famous Pokemon researchers in the entire world. He always knew a little more than I did. And when I finally got a Pokemon of my own, he deliberately picked one with a type advantage over mine. Trying to get out from under his shadow has never been easy, and now here he is, towering over the entire world. I had to defeat him. I had to prove my worth. I trained for days. My Pokemon and I, we were fully synched. We were ready. We handily defeated the Elite Four and found our way to the champion’s room yet again. And he was still there, waiting for me. This time, things were different. I was ready.

We fought, alone in that room. Maybe the world was watching on some television network, maybe not. To me, it was just the two of us and our Pokemon. If it was destiny that I was going to go down here; if Blue truly was born to be the very best, here and now was where we would find out. But I worked hard for this. I never had anyone there to guide me through; all I had was him, laughing at me as I carried my wounded Pokemon away from the scene of his instigations.

But in the end, I took him down. I earned his respect, and the respect of the entire world. Now all that was left to do… was to catch them all!

And that’s why this new Pokemon Go thing has me excited. It’s not everything I want… Obviously. What I want is for everything in my imagination to be real; I want to step outside into a world handcrafted to be fun for me. And this isn’t that. This is a tiny step in that direction. This will let me go on walks and stumble upon a new friend while I’m out there. I’ll encounter all kinds of Pokemon out there, and it’ll make the world feel just a little bit more like a video game.

And maybe what I really want is coming. Virtual reality is on its way, and while it’s probably not going to be a part of our daily lives for a good, long while, there’s a tiny chance that it’ll become routine in my lifetime. And if it does, maybe there will be a place in that world where I can pretend to be a kid again, catching Pokemon and training to be the very best. Maybe I’ll be tired, hungry, and old, but I’ll be able to pretend that everything is okay by slipping into a place that doesn’t really exist… it’s maybe not the most thrilling idea of our future; millions of people plugged into other realities because our actual reality isn’t good enough for us, but there’s this longing deep inside of me… A longing to go somewhere else, and if these technologies can bring me there, then I don’t care what happens to me anymore.

A Million Times and Then Once More

Death is an early morning
spent driving somewhere
you don’t want to go
so you can be somewhere
you don’t want to be
so you can meet some folks
you don’t want to know
Death is a tired metaphor
and a tired mind
on a darkened street
dragged through the mud
and dragging your feet
it’s an unconcious feeling
in the back of your head
it’s uncomfortable truth
it’s sleeping in someone else’s bed
it’s a matter of time
it’s a matter of progress
the world you want to see
is the world that’s coming up next
set aside, especially
for everyone but you
no matter how hard you ask
no matter who you ask
Death is a night of driving
unsure of how high you are
it’s a moment of relief
after you get out of your car
and call your friends
and tell them you’re fine
as you lower your head
and you puke all night
but you made it home
after all of this
so you’re gonna be fine
and you cut your wrist
and you lay outside
as it don’t cauterize
and you finally made it home
Everything’s gonna be fine.

The River

I feel a headache coming on
it’s on the edge of my mind
I see a bunch of flashing lights
I hear a hook sinking the line
I taste the water in my mouth
I smell the sickness pouring out
I feel the hook start to sink in
I feel the feeling in my skin
and as the blood begins to flow
I think of you, I’ll never know
it doesn’t matter in the end
I see you swim around the bend
and the waters’s cold
and my body’s tired
and I’m still not sold
I still hear a liar
when you talk about the things
you wish that I could be
and the line begins to wrap itself
around my bare feet

and it’s clear I’ll leave the river

but you grab my hand
and you hold it tight
and you pull me back
with all your might
but the barbs stayed true
true to you
You say you weren’t sure
but I think you knew
and I see you from under
the surface of the water
as I start to slip away
And you swear to god
you swear I’ll come back,
oh, you know we’ll be together some day
when I learn how to swim
on my own, I’ll dive in,
and I’ll take you far, far away,
but I don’t want to
I don’t love you
I won’t miss you
I don’t want to
I won’t come back
even if they let me go.

Here’s a Story

The other night, I took a double-dose of Ambien to really get myself to sleep. It maybe wasn’t my best idea. I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, sat up, and experienced vomit pouring out of me and directly onto my shirt, sheets, and comforter. I phrased that sentence that way because it really didn’t feel like I threw up. It felt like this horrific mixture just fell out of me, like water from a pitcher. I mean, I literally sat up, went “bleh,” and then there was puke there. It wasn’t natural.

Yeah, I post a lot of stories about vomit. Apparently it’s one of the major pillars of my life. Gross.

Anyways, even in my ambien-induced drunken haze I knew I had to solve this problem immediately. I spent the next unquantifiable amount of time stripping my sheets, stripping off my shirt, and removing the rest of my bedding and dumped everything into the washing machine. Yeah. Chunks and all. Again, not my best idea, but at least for that one I was completely whacked out of my mind for. It wasn’t my fully-functioning brain that made that poor decision, it was my semi-functioning brain and I do laundry so infrequently that my common sense in that area wasn’t strong enough to prevent me from disgusting all over the place.

I had to rewash a lot of things in the morning. Mistakes were made. Puke is gross. The sensation of the puke coming out with literally no physicality as part of the sensation was maybe grosser than the puke itself. Cleaning up the washing machine debris was grosser than both of those things combined.

Five Random, Insignificant Things

-I’m in my twenties and I still enjoy drinking juice boxes. Hi-C just tastes better out of a box. Capri Sun is good too, but not as good as Hi-C.

-I still don’t own a smartphone.

-I’m not as big of a Harry Potter fan as I used to be. I still think they’re great books, but I can’t see myself rereading them anytime soon.

-There’s a particular brand of potato chip that they sell where I live that has a spicy flavor that is far spicier than any other spicy chip I’ve ever tasted. I buy them frequently because I actually really enjoy the flavor of them, but I can’t get through more than a few chips without needing an entire glass of milk to stop the burning in my mouth. Either I’m just weak, or these chips are kind of overdoing it.

-I own a device that makes guitar picks by essentially hole-punching old credit cards. It’s a good way to get rid of old cards in such a way that no one can rifle through your trash to steal your identity and it means I buy guitar picks less frequently. Two completely unrelated birds with one stone.

I don’t know why I felt like doing this, but if you do, comment your random, insignificant five things about you or your life below! That or reblog this post and post your five to your own blog, though that seems a bit excessive for such a small thing.

Alive Complex

I should’ve died when I was young
then I wouldn’t
have to prove nothing to anyone
but now that I’ve survived
I am a reflection of the light
of losers everywhere
and I know it’s not fair
but the fire sort of
burned me out
and the smoke inside my lungs
has finally worn me down
I cough out memories
and meaningful things to me
I try to bring you peace
but I bring you tragedy
It doesn’t matter
It doesn’t matter
I have no destiny
It doesn’t matter
It doesn’t matter
In spite of everything
that’s happened to me
I wanted to be
a somebody
I wanted to believe
That everything that’s happened
happened for a reason
that I stumbled through the ashes
to bring me to something to believe in
that my screaming, bloody legs
would take me to an edge
where I’d see everything
all at once
but everything
is meant for everyone
and I’m alone out here
and these things have only made me more alone.

And Thus Ends Two Years of Passive Sobriety

So, I went out last night. Like, actually out. With people.

I know, right?

I spent the day volunteering yesterday. I was running a booth to raise money for a specific charity that I am very close to. We actually had two groups; the group I was in was running a booth at one location, while another group was running a booth at an entirely different festival altogether. It was a positive experience, and afterwards our two groups met up and went out. Not this this was a large gathering. Each group actually only consisted of two people.

I had my first drink in two years last night. It was alright. I actually made an attempt to go a little overboard, but didn’t quite make it there. As it turns out, drinking is far more expensive at bars and restaurants than it is when you and your underage buddies all go in on a couple of bottles of Captain to drink secretly in somebody’s basement. So after spending about thirty bucks I decided it wasn’t worth it to go any further. And as I said earlier, it was alright! I didn’t get particularly drunk, as far as I could tell, but I was looser, less nervous, and felt a sense of clarity that I hadn’t felt in a while.

I mean, I was probably drunker than I thought I was, but at the same time, I’m a big guy and had a respectable tolerance for alcohol even before I put on this weight. It’s reasonable to think that I wouldn’t be able to go overboard without spending more money than I was comfortable spending. Anyways, I had legitimate conversations, made jokes that I would have probably not made sober, smoked probably close to an entire pack of cigarettes, and felt calm about all of it. It was nice. The hangover was mild, too, though I haven’t had a hangover in years so I haven’t been handling it very well.

I feel okay about this. It was nice to go out. It was nice to volunteer, too, obviously, but I’m not quite as distant from the concept of volunteering as I have been from the idea of going out as of late, so the going out had a stronger impact on me.

[Editor’s Note: What I mean by the term “passive sobriety” used in the title is that my sobriety wasn’t out of any dedication to the idea of being sober; it was more out of the fact that few opportunities to break it had come up, and the few that did seemed to take more effort than it was worth going through. Just some context, if you were worried that I’m, like, slipping, or something. I’m not.]


The new Front Bottoms album is out.

“It’s like the blind leading the blind,
I’ll hold your hand if you hold mine.
Sometimes you gotta close your eyes
if you want to see the light.
It’s not my style to be strong;
Strong enough to want to fight.
A fight that I will surely lose,
but in the end I will survive.”

-Laugh ’til I Cry, The Front Bottoms