HK Blog

Betting on the bull in the heather Manal is fine. Remas is fine. Zahr is fine. Life is fine. How does anyone manage to be anything but livid, incensed, and froth with anger every workday? It feels like lying. It is lying. Everything is lying. The world isn't full of life in my eyes. It's a sort of narcissism to indulge that feeling. I do not trust laypeople. And I believe I need to learn how to do it in spite of the trite observations. Most American moderates agree with Trump on certain things, y’know. Because there's a little Hitler in all of us, I guess. I don't think its unique or profound to wax on about how much you don't like your coworkers. So I won't. I woke up thinking about STATIONTOSTATION again. There's a flavor I'm acclimated towards that's creeping its way into my day-to-day once again. It's all so... dry, it feels like. Y’know, cause I'm hooked on Sonic Youth again. It's been a while since I indulged in some of the sublime ...

I smoked one cigarette at the club and I feel horrible this wasnt as fun as the one at Big Pink. I think I won't be smoking anymore. That was the second cig this year, the third of my entire lifetime, and to be honest it sucks major ass. Press Kit draft done, speech draft done, new cover and new takes recorded, helped a new friend, drank tea and relaxed. The song I covered was St James Infirmary. A blues standard, taking particular inspiration from the take of Cab Calloway. Specifically, the one for Fleischer. I felt that I needed to have a piece of culture in the project, yknow. To bridge tradition and transgression.

I guess there's a certain fashion where I know it's spring, because I feel really depressed now that the sun is out, and I can feel myself being perceived more closely. I thought maybe I'd start this one with some plain speak before I settle into a more comfortable gait of reflective rumination. I only have a mind for literary prose, so I'm trying to change that. I can't articulate myself in a language more real, in manners more familiar and colloquial. My brain is poisoned by pontifications and poetry, and as the sickness starts to settle in for another season, I start to feel the claw of fatalism sink it's talons deeper into my brain. I wish I could think like a real person. I think Tiffany Pollard is the most beautiful woman on Earth. Why can't I be more like her? I guess I've learned some ugly things about myself through the phyrric blessings of the Lord. God gave me what I thought I wanted, and I realized how little I truly know. I gave a rousing sp...

I look out into a far enough distance, and I can feel it. The blood doesn't pool into my veins the right kinda way. I can feel it. I would have hoped to feel different about it today, but I don't. I need to pretend. I need to lie. She hates me... why do people put on these charades? I just wish they liked me enough to end it for good. I wish she respected me enough to give me a reason. I understood the decision, even if it didn't make any sense. She's a person. Respect even in the face of emptiness. I drive back to my apartment with the same feeling every night. I'm fighting against God and nature. I do not believe the Earth mother wants a beautiful life for me. I believe I was crafted to toil and languish. And every day I strain against her designs, she lifts the flail for another lash. Let me say what we already know to be true. A loveless life is not a life at all. Like a scar of age And with my failure I accept that I will never be ready for love. And I will nev...

Advisory This blog entry contains discussion of depression, suicide, and other difficult material. If uninterested, please refrain from reading . The first word I'll write my diary entry around is "coagulation" I often write about this concept of vampire billionaires sucking the blood from the world and using it all to make a throne of blood. The idea was that the longer we wait to stop them, the more their throne coagulates and solidifies. I feel like we missed the first signs of hardening and now we're scrambling to make do with the time we've got. So few mean to actually use any "bleach" to stop them. You can tell that this isn't how I usually write these. Yeah. 5-6-7-0-9 Back pain is killing me these days... I'll stop whingeing. I'll tell you what's changed. I don't see a way out of the labors. I'm not really looking to stop the vulture from getting his meal. I'm choosing to be more... easygoing, I guess. To say less, to b...

Everything feels like a product because everything is a product. People are merchandise. Personality is marketing. Nobody is human anymore. You're lucky if you can take advantage of the slavery. Some get lucky to just be an accessory. A Dixie. The Confederate States of America. There are Confederates in every nation in the world. It's got nothing to do with Hitler. Fascism persists because it's fun. People love to kill. People love to see heads explode. It's not chic to be a person. We have to kill you eventually. Maybe it will be fun when it's you. We'd only be so lucky to have our history. Watergate and Equifax, Panama Papers and Mueller Reports. Epstein files, whatever. It's always been available to us the facts of the matter. What good is information in a society that doesn't read? You start to understand the cynicism, the vulgar conceit of the Leninists. You can't wait for everyone to make it happen. The burden of the community minded, the prole...

The black ichors of my being trickle through the crags of the summit, dripping into the quarry below. The dark liquid of emotion glazes the rind of an ethereal stone, humming with the sickly melodies of heartbreak. Doldrums, doldrums, I sit aside the water and see my reflection. Spongebob... I need you to buy a gun. And I need you to kill me. I'm getting tired of this. Oh, my days. But, it's okay. Its okay. By "this," I mean the ever shifting sands of a talking stage. I'm tired, boss. The stale air. Mother Gaea's geomancy pulls us closer to the mantle. The sexual austerity of the plains whistles against the tall grasses. A voice heard in the weak winds of winter... Re'em... Re'em But! Here's the thing. She did not do anything wrong. In fact, I'm certain I'm at fault for misreading messages, right? Right? Idk man.  It's like an on-off switch is flipped with this sort of thing. I wish her her well, but like HOWWW did she take the progres...