robbhimself's Xanga

Monday, November 07, 2005

Mon, 07 Nov 2005 16:47:32 GMT

So I have an apartment, and no internet, so I cant really do much, but without furter ado, I'd like to present to my fans the first chapter of my story;

The afternoon came soon after. It was your noon, the part in the before. It saw you and you did not see it coming and it fucking got you. "Seven twenty five" she said, “can you fucking hear me?".

I could hear the bitch, not like I cared or anything. My eyeballs were rolled up under my skin, salty sweat stuck to my face like hot glue. I could feel my veins all over myself twitching. I looked up at that whore and spit hot sand in her face.

I felt her nails burrowing into my skull as she twist my neck up to match her face. She tossed me away like I was a rag doll. The oversized moon laughs at me; its faint smile reminds me of empathetic happiness. We were on our way to her terrible palace, a place of sick brilliance that can be described only as the most exquisite areas of Hell. I’ve only been there once before, and I lost my soul. So now I’m going back, in a desperate attempt to find my soul again. But I fear that my hollow brain may be the cause of my gross fatigue, as I let the earth’s gravity take its toll on a defenseless son of God.

I hated this entire situation, fated to rot in slavery. At least as far as she’s concerned. That beautiful succubus has me wrapped around her finger. Any chance of pain I have time left to take is slowly digested, as thoughts of bitter nostalgia and a small glitter of hope basically make me laugh. I’m on a one way ticket to the worst couple of days of my life and all I can do is pathetically smile through a blood and sand filled mouth, a fine mess I got myself into this time.

I let my head fall back against the wooden plank I had made my safe haven. I let the uneven pace of our journey take my head back and forth as the crack ridden road show its might. I take time to concentrate on one star at a time, making up wild stories of the rise and descent of the many planets surrounding this place I call home. A fine home this is, I’ll tell you. A home that's allowed this mistreatment to happen. I start to feel jealousy of my made up kings and queens who rule made up planets with made up governments with clauses and amendments that affect technically nothing but put my mind at ease. It’s the most calming maneuver, I’d say...considering.

Floating around a pack of large haired beasts. It was where I was going. I saw the brown napped fur covered in neon bits of assorted beetles. That was my destination. I’m really trusting fate after this one.

I found a curled up position on the undercarriage. You could hear the heaves and sighs of the beasts running, carrying us humans. Humans, me and that woman, her eyes piercing like hornets stinging the tender blue highlight in my eyes. I bet she feels good, a man at her pity. If I turned my head in just the right position I could almost feel pity for her. But she was smiling, beaming in her victory. Even in my current state I felt a barrier of energy forbidding me to intrude on her celebration. "Do you know where we are going" she told me. I told her that we are going to Hell. "Hell is imaginary; flesh is what is to be concerned about." Sort of chilling. I was slicing her head off with my stare. How’s that for flesh?

As the train rumbled down the bumps of the path, a pair of deadly eyes bounced with every foot our carriage went, beginning to understand my sweet predator. Attention whore.I could feel the light in my brain; it sucked itself in through my nose and contaminated the whole lot of me.

The sky becomes a tunnel. It seems that time and space itself has reformed to lead some kind of pathway to oblivion. But the world has not yet ended. There was no time for logical rationality in my position; I was at the very bottom of the food chain, below rats and below insects. I lay here encrusted with stale blood as war paint as I pathetically waste whatever effort I would have to want to escape. It was a new feeling and I felt enthralled to see what would be the last words. My "master" had flown away to farther back in line.

I never thought about anything but myself, I finally realized. I had been thinking of an explanation. This was definitely my worst case scenario though, and to actually think things through have no place in these kinds of situations. But I could not just ride with it like i had done in previous, less severe circumstances. I swung my arms against the wall, achieving leverage to somehow bring myself to a position where I could see the misery which was behind and in front of me. I inched my face up slowly over this wooden wall which had, until now, been a haven of comfort and reverence. I threw myself into the world of uncertainty and looked with open eyes at my situation. It was miles. Not feet, not yards or inches or square meters, miles. An emotion hit me that seemed to be a sort of intrusiveness as this whole cariage in itself existed to cart my sole sorry excuse of a soul to an unknown exponent.

I decided to keep my eyes in focus.Consideration for my peers was a death notice, this was pure nature.I needed to stay inside my body, defend my flesh at all costs.I observed up and then down, my arms were fastened to metal chain links, a trick to keep me here, it was a trick.An excuse, there was a loophole.The chains went underneath the wheel and then the chains broke.A good first step.The problem was that I had no motivation, no will to move my carcass off and away.I blinked, and again.My engines start, like an incredible machine, the vast processes inside of me initiate themselves and it felt hard to believe.Optimism.I was on a peak, for a little while.My aggressor noticed.

“What is that look on your face?” she asked me.She was commenting on my crescent shaped lips which were pointing upwards, it was an emotionless expression a baby makes when it tries to understand humanity.This was the climax of the first act; a slip up now may throw the whole script in the fire.My optimism was now fear, and upon realization of that I could start to feel my heart again.

It only took a second, and I felt silly to not have thought of it before.I watched my chest heaving and I thought about that look on my face, it felt good.I waved goodbye to my train and did nothing.I felt like a reverse Jesus, my arms stretched out on the cool twilight sand, the rest of me recovering.I was laughing for no apparent reason.I was dead either way.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Tue, 25 Oct 2005 05:07:33 GMT

Soliloquy #1

sometimes i hate this webpage because pop culture generalized me as a blogger. like pop culture generalized vietnam into a symbol of imperfection. people died in vietnam, there were intricities that nobody even knows. i actually think when i write, thats the difference, the intricity of my mind is not something that can be catagorized as a combination between web and log. another reason why i hate white people.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 06:59:08 GMT

I) my new picture is me trying to figure out the innards of my camera

II) brandon tells me not to stay up late tonight because we need to drive to penn hills tomorrow morning, but instead of listening to him i'm still awake.

III) YOUr metal wraps around me like a telephone pole in hot butter. my name was robb once but now its pothead, i guess it comes with the territory.

IV) lots of people on here take good pictures like linda, but i like writing words better:

a) malicious, your adjective for your soul, i read somewhere that souls are for sale, lets go sailing, because every single letter counts, even q.

b) im an impatient writer because too much thought makes words boring. too little thought ends up constitutionalizing governments, we dont care as much about religion as we used to , huh?

c) i used to dabble in journalism but i was too young and i ended up writing a diary

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

exclusive shit:

There's this band that I know personally and they are called 'The Flying Crotch'. a couple years ago they released two records, 'queef', and 'cuts from the crotch'. nowadays TFC is making a comeback into the record business, except they dont like U2. 'Cunnilingus' will be hitting burnt CDs in a week or so, so ask me for one, because i like the flying crotch, as should you

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Wed, 12 Oct 2005 20:44:00 GMT

nobody can fuck with the horizontal rule

what i choose is my choice, what's a boy supposed to do?- william corgan

so anyway back to the purpose of me writing this. uh whats annoying is anyone who takes this internet shit seriously. some fat guy got fresh with me today through myspace, hence i told him to stop being a prick. im not sure if my sass worked, but it should have. the internet isn't supposed to be someones personal diary, its broadcast all over the fucking world, and call me old fashioned but anything that someone in Russia could possibly read is not a diary, or a journal, its just a lame attempt at being cool but in all actuality its just a blind stab at pop culture. blogs are for sissies, i rock the xanga, bitch.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Mon, 10 Oct 2005 05:32:11 GMT

take a second to reckon, it takes time to build

uh hey xanga, theres nothing i can really say on here anymore that would be original.

I think Im gonna be the singer in a neo-classical rock band. Im actually excited about it. kuz is gonna be the bass player, which is good because we can make good shit if we're both in the same band, like the hentais, and I also heard I'm an inspiration for that new band, the flying crotch, maybe ill get to party with them sometime, i hope...

dear diary,

I have AIDS, not just pussyfoot HIV, but full blown AIDS. oh well, this will eventually be funny.

love,

freddie

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Wed, 03 Aug 2005 05:20:53 GMT

all odds are against us but all odds are against all odds

let me tell you a little something, sometimes it starts from the center and moves outward slowly for me to see. sometimes it hits me from the start, if i was shakespeare she'd be my queen, but since i'm robb all i can give is my heart. dont mind the duct tape, i keep it there for the taste, dont mind me caring, apathy is overrated. all odds are against us but what are the odds? I'll most likely fix it but remember the stars. to us they are lightbulbs hanging from a thread in the sky, but in all actuality they're organized, they're fine. so think about that if there's tears in your heart, you'll always have mine, and to me, that's a start.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Wed, 15 Jun 2005 05:21:13 GMT

product of the marketplace

the world looks funnier when your flying towards it at a million miles a second. the strange part is that a midget looks funnier wearing a bean costume. what is the similarity between involuntarily shooting towards the atmosphere and a bean man, except for the fact that i have never once been in outerspace or seen a midget wearing a bean costume. the point is that our minds are shaped after what people say they are. they say that knowledge is the enemy of faith, but i don't have faith in me ever requesting a taco from a midget in a bean costume, much less with a polish accent. i think if instead of sending kids to college, they should be randomly placed somewhere on earth. they'll probably learn more that way. math is legitimate, but not when faced with anal AIDS and typhus. anal AIDS... i am a sweetass

( o Y o )

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Sun, 12 Jun 2005 07:32:52 GMT

it hurts to look at you (but in a good way)

He was haunted every day by it. To him, it was like cocaine. You know, one of those guilty pleasures you hear about. But this wasn't about money, this was personal health at risk. You couldn't offer him anything else in the whole world to replace it. You could go whereever, and meet whoever, but it ain't the same. If felt like his organs were being crushed inside of his body. Like slowly running a knife down his eyeball, you'd think it would be a bad time. But something about it was fantastic. Irony wasn't the word, because it wasn't funny. It's like if horror and sublimity had a bastard lovechild with some deadbeat adjective who lives down the street. Unique. Sometimes it's strange how you feel inside when you're looking through a glass window.

i can get in a state of mind where words flow from my brain to the screen, dig that.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Thu, 09 Jun 2005 15:20:35 GMT

hey kids, finished lyrics for 'Nazi Suicide'. I think thehentais are playing a show next month at american legion with f2f. so yeehaw

Nazi suicide

International paranoia sweeps across the world

SWAT teams armed with rosaries, and other forms of irony

When everybody’s story is mysteriously untold

Who will know what we want, when all our souls are sold

Will religion start the fire that climbs slowly up our backs?

Will presidential superstition blind us off the track

Of peace and beer and unity, my most holy trinity

Will we know what we want, cuz I know what we want.

We know what we want

We don’t want you alive

We know what we want

Nazi suicide

If military helicopters flew above our heads

We would be the killers if it’s what television said

But if I was a fugitive, and even though I’m not

I’d rather watch a Nazi die than turn into a cop.

If genocide was euphemized for a new American way

Who would know the fucked up role the bacon fat would play

so, come and stick the needle in your black and blue laced arm

sedate yourself unless you understand just what you want

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Thu, 28 Apr 2005 18:52:54 GMT

Fuck it, I still like Anti-Flag, does that mean I can't be punk anymore?

I never understood the whole heirarchy of being punk rock as a kid. There were always those "punker than thou" kids who didn't want to include other kids who might have been turned on to the scene if the "punk" kids weren't such assholes. Well here's a big fuck you, you glam punk shitheads. You listen to songs about unity and peace and disestablishment but run you life like a clique. Doesn't that make you a jock? The kids you were supposed to hate? I think it's the reason why i was so turned on by being in my band. We didn't have a super secret association of assholes who rejected kids based on appearance. That's what so ironic about the whole punk scene these days. It's turning into somewhat of an organization that the scene used to be against, like I said earlier. I was just sitting in my room listening to Mobilize when I thought of this, so it's just a little piece of mind from Robb. Fuck off