That was inappropriate. I didn't know how to handle heavy things with her before, I know less even now. Every letter that scrawls across the screen seems crueler than the last,

she...

...I...

We...

got in a fight at the party. It was mostly my fault, I mean it was her fault she told him to watch out for me, that I had already been unfaithful. It was his fault that he starting screaming at me so slinked away to avoid dealing with him. She shouldn't have done that she knew I was trying; He started to look at me like a possession. I can't blame her though. I want to, as if this could have been an inevitable conclusion to everything that had happened between us.

She was in the bathroom, staring into the mirror half-sad and half-satisfied, when I forced my way in without knocking. She should have never let me in, and this was the last time she ever did.

Insufficient words were exchanged, a our routine cruelly trapped us in an endless inconsequential conversation that swirled and whirred until the shit was clogged and the whole room started to reek,  until things started to get physical. Months of pent up frustration and unspoken heartbreak poured out in the way we thrashed each other around our tiny disgusting bathroom. The body that used to press up against me in warmth and wetness was now pushing my face into the hair trap at the cold and damp bottom of our tub tiny tub. Shampoo bottles and shaving gel used as batons to force us off each other.

It was my fault that I pushed her. I... acted, unsure of what I was doing. A cocktail of uppers, downers were throwing my consciousness in and out of commission from around 12-4. She was cold by 3.

I pushed her away from me

and she flew out of control

with nothing to grab hold of

and she...

...she left an indentation on the counter-top and a spurt of blood on the mirror. It stood out sharply against the turquoise reflection of the rest of the bathroom and made it impossible for me to see the tears that were streaming down my face when I stood up and realized what had happened. I screamed and stumbled out of the bathroom into a room full of her friends, covered in her death, and that's all I can bear to remember.

... last night went a little something like this. Well, I mean, it went absolutely beyond something like this, the irony in my voice isn't really translating and I can't handle this in a straight forward manner. 

I mean I party hard, sometimes I romanticize a little bit and pretend the Prodigy made this video about me and I mean generally I never get violent, some play fighting here or there, but never to these levels. I'm not a violent person. I had originally meant for this to be a fun like "Smack my Bitch up" lol haha whoops jk sort of thing to express a crazy tense night with her and him and little old me all together and partying...

... But everything I've posted hitherto has been shit. 

... Complete, utter shit. 

I decided to post the video anyways because it still ties in, wait there's a surprise ending, the second I can figure out how to say it, I will but I can't say it. Words stall into one another in the crowed space between my teeth, I...

...I accidentally killed my roommate and ex-girlfriend on her birthday. In the bathroom, with a marble counter top and a little excessive force. I've never said "it was an accident" like this before...

But it was. 

I...

Abandon all hope ye who enter here. 

Smiling Faces, they Don't Tell the Truth. Little Boxes. Looking Back With Pride?.  

It's been a crazy ridiculous week, even with my sleep tank constantly running on fumes... something I should used to by now, I just have been out of my head for the past couple days and I don't really have anyone to talk to anymore.

 I guess I alienated a lot of my friends in the break-up process even though she seems to be surviving. Less sad music, a more joyful pothead to say the least and more frequent discussions of the co-workers that she finds attractive. She has even been trying to pretend to be interested in my life again, since I told her I missed having a best friend but I can tell those wounds do not need to be re-aggravated so I try not to tell her all the people that creep on me or too many details about my sex life.

So, speaking of, that list that I made (displayed below) was a sham.

I'm trying, I really am but there is that brain and need for instant gratification again. 

So I have a couple of stories to tell. For starters, the new open relationship has some constraints around it already that I've had some trouble tip-toeing around despite our distance.

One, because I fooled around with his childhood best friend. It just happened.
Two, because he is coming up to visit soon. I haven't told him.
Three, because the term and conditions of our thing stipulate that the only penis I touch ("That's so misogynistic and pathetic, doesn't that bother you?" she quipped.) is his. Girls are fair game. I'm not complaining.

I'm still a dick, the whole 'in touch and honest with my feelings' awareness has been fading in and out like a radio station set to dial I didn't pick to really listen to.

Also, I'm starting to feel uncharacteristically apprehensive about this weekend. 

Should I get her a birthday present to make up for the fact that I stupidly forget to tell her he'd be here? What does one even give to their kind-of-ex who they still share a bathroom with and have to see all the time because cheap rent is hard to find on short notice?

Like, would an assortment of different fruits be appropriate? If there is going to be a projectile thrown in my direction, I'd prefer it to have the density of a pear or something. They are pretty soft on impact and she has a mean arm when she's drunk.
 

 

The other story is that she finally unpinned the note I wrote her from the bulletin board in her room the other day knowing that he'd be here and her reminder not the relapse into her addiction was futile since I have been off peddling elsewhere. I took a picture of it for posterity--she told me it had been up for over a month and that I never noticed. I also never noticed how articulate I am: 

"List of things I am going to try to do" Excerpt from 4-17-2012-3:53AM

1) Stop being such a dick

2) Move out of New York, but first

3) Camp out in Prospect Park and buy breakfast for some of the hobos and ask them sincere questions

4) Show her that I'm sorry and I am making an effort

5) Be faithful to my boyfriend (ugh it sounds so bad) 

6) Do laundry and get a haircut, I'm starting to look janky 

Just a set I've been working on. Urban suffocation with a hint of transcendence and a dash towards  Freedom. May 2012.

“So you invited you new boyfriend to come stay the weekend of my birthday and you are just telling me now? I’m not mad, you are just so fucking inconsiderate, all the time Tyler, it’s infuriating. I’m trying so hard to be level headed about all this. Thank you for constantly confirming that you wouldn’t have been good for me.”

“I hate it when you say boyfriend like that, it’s not like that. I can tell him not to come, but he is surprising me, and I need to get laid so bad.”

“Really?”

“What?”

“Nothing. No… it’s fine. But don’t expect me to be outwardly nice. Like I don’t understand what you like about him, he’s not cute or particularly interesting… and he’s a graphic designer who works at a pizza place and lives with his parents. Sorry but if you really want to be friends I’m going to be honest.”

“You’re doing that mood swing thing again.”

“Deal with it. Not really my fault.”

“This is true. I’m a dick.”

“Yep.”

“Yep.”

“He just gets me. I’m sorrrrry.”

“You don’t do relationships. You couldn’t do a relationship with me or anyone before.”

“This is different… he’s never… here. That sounded wrong. I don’t know.”

“Don’t break him too. I give you like a month before he tells you his real feelings… and then what?”

“I’ll be nice.”


(This was one of the better conversations she and I have had in the time since I last posted… things are gradually getting better, we joke around but I’m still a head fuck and she’s still reminding me of it. She is probably right though, I’ve already been pushing the limits of this open thing a little bit but I’ll dish that dirt some other time.)

Sorry for not having written in so long…

(no I’m not)

…but my friends and I were playing a rousing game of floor hockey with a half used roll of duct tape, a spur of the moment childish game that ended badly, when suddenly my friend Chris kicked it a little furiously and it killed the screen on my gawddammed computer.

I’m not quite flush enough to fix it and to be honest the more I write the more I realize that writing seems to conflict with who I am.

I am a liver.

Not like, the organ that always dramatically fails in small children so they can suddenly appear with yellow eyes in a tense scene on some prime-time doctor show, but someone for whom thinking too intensely about the things I do really just slows me down and bums me out. I feel like I constantly complain about this but seriously, it’s as if I have ADHD or something, or maybe it’s characteristic of a distinct lack of maturity. Difficult to be sure.

I mean look at me, in the two weeks that I haven’t been chained to my keyboard, trapped inside my head, I have actually started to go out more.

And I like someone new.

Well, not particularly new since I knew him from work but new in the sense that I wasn’t planning on exploring that option and then did (and don’t regret it at all). I thought we were just going to be friends—that’s all I really wanted but then I started to get to know him and… he just understands me. Plus it’s really great because he lives in Philly and I hardly ever see him. I went to see him over the Easter weekend, met some of his family and all that, and wondered how it is that hollow chocolate bunnies are supposed to symbolize mysteriously empty caves. I just don’t get it.

Okay I lied. We are dating. I changed my status yesterday. My ex ‘liked’ it ironically. But yeah, he is a really nice guy and we are doing the open relationship thing because he knows I need my lady time... it’s working so far. 

“Things I am bad at” Excerpt from 3-7-2012-3:52AM

1)    Crying. I hate it. It accomplishes nothing and makes you look awful.

2)    Saying no in sexual scenarios, I just aim to please.

3)    Understanding why anyone puts mayo on anything, it’s really rather disgusting, so  cease and desist.

4)    Being honest with people when I know that I am going to hurt them, I like seeing people happy.

5)    Making friends and not sleeping with them.

6)    Keeping my room clean.

7)    Committing to finishing a book… If the first 20 pages aren’t exciting I’m out.

8)    Reminding people that I have feelings, and that just because I don’t leave them out on the surface it doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

Okay, lists are where people start, right? Little tiny changes will be good for me. Commitment, I hope I can be capable of you in some manner or another. 

Sometimes when I can’t fall asleep at night—after a couple of hours of lackadaisically staring at my computer screen, watching something useless on Netflix just to lull myself into a half-hearted rest—I start to make lists. 

Little scribbles in awful entirely uppercase handwriting usually entirely about myself, sometimes about some particularly interesting encounters I’ve had with other humans over the years. 

It’s almost as if I am trying to obsessively compile some basic facts about myself for the day when I’m old and have some sort of Alzheimer’s induced by exposure to Bluetooth-Wifi-Lithium-Ion Combination Radiation from sleeping with a running computer inches away from my face for years. 

Obviously, I never want to get old. I’d much rather prefer dying young and in a way that makes people really uncomfortable at my funeral.

But if I somehow manage to ebb towards the end of life and lose my marbles along the way, at least I can look back at some scraps of truths and make every morning a sentimental mystery adventure to piece together a portrait of a formal self, only to have it delicately plucked away overnight. Everyday would be a game! I love games! Anyways, I thought I’d share some good ones periodically in case anyone was interested but mostly because once it goes on the inter-webs it never goes away. Immortality at the click of a button and these are the things we choose to share: the future is here and it’s selfish and unapologetic.

Aerial Shots of the Park 3/18

The spring is probably my favorite time of year. Everyone shakes off their layers of indoor winter dust and puts on some sort of pastel skin exposing nonsense shirt and ventures outdoors just for the sake of being outdoors. Moods are instantly elevated in the sunshine and people begin to act a little more human—like smiling and nodding where virtually impossible in the dead of winter. I love the spring but I hate the influx of baby strollers, oh the horror of city sidewalks filled with power moms and their little poop machines! I mean, I’m cool with kids just not other people’s kids. I can’t wait to have a little version of me to play with, how crazy is that someday I will create a tiny creature and teach it the ways of the world.

I hope it’s a hot baby; otherwise I don’t know how nice to it I will be able to be to it.

But seriously, now that everyone is lounging out on the grass in Central Park mating season has begun. Hormones or pheromones or whatever it is that controls our crazy actions are wafting around like a haze of Halal street vendor stench that just lingers on your jacket after you walk through a patch of it.

I went on the best walk today, took some pictures while doing so, but just really got my walk on. Strolling more than anything, people watching as a recreational sport. I love just creating life stories for the random people I see—inserting things that those sad souls may never come to experience and snickering to think that they actually might have. You should spend an afternoon in my head; my poor kid will be in for a treat someday.

I have been going on lots of walks lately, trying to meet new people, it’s still pretty weird in my house… I am just tired of thinking about it. I want to move on already. I don’t know what everyone wants from me. So, I just keep on walking.

So I keep hearing this song wafting from her room, just found it funny to re-post here. It's been playing all over the place and has those vague universally applicable lyrics that the overly romantic love fall back into.

Fuck this guy, his hipster artsy video, and his piercing green eyes, even if it is good and oddly fits to our situation.

You know what's rough, Gotye? Hearing somebody in the woes of a break-up listening to this type of crap, and having to make my sandwich and go to work and not be caught up on somebody that is self-flagellating with an over-rated pop anthem that sounds like Sting and looks like an American Apparel ad, and is easily pitched to groovy moms.

It goes without saying really, but the last week at home has been as awkward. No simple simile will suffice to explain just how awkward. 



Kitchen run-ins have become paranoid experiences on my part to avoid running into the sharp end of a knife. She doesn’t say much; the constant whoosh of sticky smoke being sucked out of a bong serves as a wordless conversation. She hates me. She continues on her day to day, slipping past me without much eye contact, but with a dull haze of disappointment following in her wake. I think my friends hate me too. Everyone seems to be treating me the same to my face, but I just know that they are talking about me the second I leave the room. Sarcasm slips to the surface in every conversation about my actions lately, her sardonic chuckle seems violent given the levels of tension in these conversations. 

Every now and then she makes a sharp and witty stab in my direction that I have to just sit and take. I never thought of myself as a ‘cheater’ since I have managed to avoid messy emotional entanglements, up until now. I never thought of the social implications of being known as one. 



It really doesn’t feel good. 



Way worse than feeling predictable, way worse than knowing that people think I’m a joke. 

I caused this corny punch line, but taking responsibility proves problematic. Can’t everyone just be happy again? Her present violence proves that she can take it, the stages of grief seem to be in fast forward since we live in such a close proximity.
 
It happened, it’s over. Why does it matter so much that I lied? Is ‘trust’ even a real marker of friendship when people can never truly know each other anyways? 
Why do I have to bear witness to this?
 

I want to tell her that my hurt and hers are comparable, different but comparable—but I would really like all my vital organs to remain un-punctured at this point in my life. 



I don’t want to get all Carrie Bradshaw here, but why does doing something when you are blackout get you put on the blacklist? Like is what I did really that awful? 
I just don’t get it. Does Old Spice make a scent that covers shame? 



I don’t want to grow up yet; I’m just not ready.

I hated seeing her devastated like that.

I asked what I could do to make things better, I really meant it. She just looked at me in disbelief. I just wanted to see her happy again. Why does her happiness depend on me, of all people? She told me that from the beginning all that she asked for from me was honesty (yeah like that was an honest statement, all that she asked for). We spent so much time together, and I was honest... for the majority of it. I told her not to fall for me. I told her that I don't do relationships. But now I'm the one that everyone hates for doing what I do, predictably. The only times I briefly suspended the truth, I just didn't want to hurt her. She told me she knew that. I thought that waiting for the right moment would make things better. Guess not. I probably could have given her more credit, if she is such a prophetess.

 She reminded me of the futility of running away from problems when you live with that person you are running from.  Did I mention that we live together? Yeah, we signed the lease before we even starting hooking up; It's a long story that now comes to quite an unsatisfying conclusion, for her.

As for me, I'm just moving on and not looking back; what's the point of looking back? Does that make me a bad person? 

I love her as a best friend, but everyone tells me that people don't treat their best friends the way I treated her. She seemed rather put together when we talked. Taking it like a champ, kinda.

She told me that she knew--that she was just waiting for the day--that I would do something like that to her. It was as if it pained her to even refer to it with a pronoun. She made me feel like a monster, looking at me with her soft blue eyes, obviously trying not to cry... as if that made her seem stronger in the situation. "I never wanted to change you, I just thought I'd be good for you."  Good for what? Oh wait, I'm a "head fuck" sorry, I forgot. I'm not like everyone else. Jesus.

This is all so convoluted and ridiculous.

"Are you trying to make all your friends lose their respect for you? Because you are doing a really fucking fantastic job."

She told me she tries to see the best in people, always. Guess that's why it took her so long to give up, give in to the fact that I would never live up to her expectations. 

Expectations, implications.

I am just trying to be myself. 

Articulating the details of this conversation is really fucking hard, it was like I was astro-projecting while awake, like my mind was trying to escape but my body was anchoring me there. We both didn't want to be there, I could tell by just looking at her, the way she wouldn't get close to physical contact with me. I purposely avoided emotional contact for the majority of our thing, and now we don't have either. It is over. Did it ever begin?

She says she wasted a year of her life.

We are still living together.

I feel bad. She has still never seen me cry.

You know what is crushing to one’s sense of self? People constantly telling you that you are “fucked up”. It becomes this cue word that gets used against you so often, but never really seems to lose it power. 

Am I fucked up for knowing what I do and don’t like?

 Fucked up for ending things when I know that I will never be able to give them what they want from me, aside from a good lay? I’m tired of people labeling me all the time, everywhere I go. Is it preposterous to propose that we all just float together? You can’t just take the ocean, undulating in a constant unforgiving mass, force it into a Ziploc bag, pin it on the wall, and then get angry at it for dripping on your hardwood floor.

I finally talked to her.

I’m on my way out now though, more details to come tomorrow.

Even in the wilderness, I can't get my mind out of the gutter.

The picture below pretty eloquently sums up my feelings about being in New York right now. I took a week off of work to escape; it was a fucking great decision.

I would tell you where I work, but its not particularly relevant to who I am as a person and slightly shameful to who I would like to be. So yeah, moving on.

Escaping routine was exactly what my brain needed to cool off. Days disappear and nights stay in that shadowy part of your subconscious when the city grabs a hold of your senses. I decided to go somewhere with trees, that was sort of my only goal. Something about being in nature serves to relax my inner me, soothe the beast if you will.

My goals are usually pretty simple, as are my means of achieving them. There’s something miraculous about the time we live in—people will do just about anything for a person they think is beautiful—not that this didn’t apply back in the day, just that it is now so easy for someone with a technically good physique and an ample amount of charm to wander through the modern flux of non-committal sexual dalliances and reap the benefits of ‘hooking up’ (Insert my mother asking me, “What does that even mean, is that like sex or what?” in a tone of indictment).

It makes traveling so easy. For a small price, someone like me can sheet shack with various friends, new and old, and really have a very versatile and fun trip. I say like me partially because of my bisexual tendencies but more because people keep telling me I’m attractive (you’d be hard pressed to find me in agreement with that, but I do well for myself if you know what I mean). Humble Brag.

Back on track, right, anyways I took a bus out of Port Authority and when I removed my headphones I was upstate and ready to reconnect with the natural and reconnect with myself.

Have you ever had a threesome in the woods?

Ovid knew and wrote of the joys of such bacchic revelry—wine traced touches and waking, twigs intertwined with hair and morning light splashing upon your face. It started with some gentle rubbing of toes, and ended with some other less than gentle rubbings. 

We all swam nude in the river after.

 Going from such extremes of body temperature, hot to cold in a drastic turn can really change a person. 

That tangible shift can make one really realize the arbitrariness of emotional meaning: we share our beings for such a brief time and temperature is a cruel pendulum in constant motion. It was quite a revelation (like in its  original Pauline sense, a real apokalypsis)

Lessons learned? Or suspicions confirmed?

Just like just about everyone I know my age in this damned city, I also dabble in Photography. It helps me where words fail, which seems to be all around.

Everything has been a little behind lately, perpetual time lag gone awry. I haven’t slept at my apartment in days. In fact, I haven’t slept in days (which isn't too weird considering my average bed-time is around 4:30 am anyways). But when I do I have these horrifically graphic dreams about her punching me in the face (which I am told is the sign of a guilty conscience). It just seems easier to avoid her at this point (and it is so stop judging me).

“Is this really how you want things to end?” reads the passive-aggressive text that after three days of non-communication cuts through the silence with a menacing buzz on Joe’s nightstand. I fucking hate texting (unless its sexting). Joe rolls over, and I roll on out of there before he tries to be all cute and morning cuddly, ew.

Well yes, actually, things would be way simpler if this was it, if everything could just evaporate as quickly and arbitrarily as it started. After a heavy rainstorm passes, it's not as if the pavement attempts to rationalize why it got dumped all over, instead of just waiting for the water to dissipate. Pretty sure ‘feelings’ don’t entirely work that way, however. Also pretty sure anthropomorphizing a pavement doesn't do the situation justice, but you feel what I am laying out, correct?

 All my friends keep making attempts to talk to me, constantly reminding me of ‘the right thing to do’, incessantly prodding me with concerned stares and checking to see if I’m okay. Duh, I’m okay. Finally beginning to have fun again..."But you guys were so great together"

Yeah I know we were best friends. Yes I am aware I did something rather shitty to her. But does letting someone have sober sex with you multiple times translate into a stamp of ‘private property’ slapped across my forehead and a contract re-negotiation if she has buyer’s remorse? I think I’ll write her a note. Soften the blow. Hope she doesn’t punch me in the face.

What is the evolutionary function of guilt? Why are humans capable of lying, why are we so bred into it and then told it's a cause for concern when it happens? I need to Google that shit.

Fuck it

In fact, I'm feeling lucky, spontaneous even. I'm tired of thinking about it. This will be better for me, more time to write less time to fight. I'll let you know how all this plays out. 

So, about the other night, I did it again. I know I promised her that I wouldn’t, but I just get into these scenarios and can’t quite control myself. Promises fall through my fingers, erosions of trust, like sand slipping back out to sea in a calm and expected manner.

These sorts of things happen.

We went to a small social gathering. Sin and gin and a soft thumping baseline filled the air and she just kept looking at me. Either she could sense that I didn’t want to look like I was with her or she was just profoundly horny. Really could have been either.

Suddenly, she got irrationally mad when I didn’t want to kiss her in public. For the entirety of our almost one year affair—certainly the longest time someone has remained persistent and I have remained earnestly interested—I have been very clear about my opinions regarding PDA.

And then we got into one of those fights, drudging through the doldrums of drunk conversation: where the things that aren’t said are meant to hurt the most. Where any normal person would have perceived the pain in the air and done something about it, but I just chose not to for some reason. I guess I’ve accepted that I’m not normal.

The details are a little hazy…but don’t misunderstand me, I like her a lot and really care about her.  

I have cracked.

I seem to be torn between a disdain for living down to people’s expectations and searing urge to fulfill my desires in the moment they arise. Feels like I have been lost for quite a while now, ever since I started feeling the pressure of that goddammed word we’re honestly just too young to truly mean. Does she truly mean it? Why do people throw that shit around so casually?

I love the idea of love, but thus the fledgling flees.

The first guy I had sex with that night could sniff it on me, and he pursued quite aggressively right after she stormed home alone. People are always interested, and I just have problems saying no. 

The second guy I fucked in a bed that time at least (she slept hard that night, just a floor beneath us, after forcing herself to vomit and then crawling into bed with an even worse feeling in her gut, knowing I was up to no good and would do something drastic). He was just such a cute and shy and overwhelmed ginger, practically trembling in my presence...agreeing to it was never really a problem because I just knew it was going to happen by the end of the night.

We fell asleep and he rode his scooter home in the morning, she believed what I told her and that I was sorry for being weird because I really was. Sorry that I was incapable of loving her or giving her a reason why I couldn't.

I just can’t believe I did it again, it’s so predictable. I hate being predictable.

Small patches of imagery, strung together with hazy thread... I'm quasi somnambulant as I stumble and grab the remnants of my tiny bag of coffee grounds. Jesus I needed that. First two things I felt this morning were...nothing. Okay perhaps that feeling that starts in your stomach and ends in the back of your neck after a night of heavy drinking and a little regret. I don't know anymore. I don't particularly care. See, here's that ever present dilemma again, conscience get the hell out of here I'm drinking my coffee and moving on. Because that's what you have to do, right? Live in the moment, they say. Be happy and don't think about everything--and that's how I try to do it.

And it works for me. 

Except for the fact that I keep breaking people's hearts. 

So sue me. Or don't, I certainly couldn't afford that. 

In fact, I prefer that things remain amicable. Hence, why I treat you better after the whole situation has blown over. Hence why I try to be honest upfront, even if my communication skills are less than adequate. I've never been very good at talking; but I lay what I can out there and hope for the best. It's hard to be an optimist these days when people are so starved for physical and emotion connection all in one package. Fuck you Facebook. 

Anyways, I suppose it's time I clue you in to some of my mantra that led to my tag as a certified, kid tested mother approved, "head fuck".

When I go out, when I do anything to be honest, I like to do whatever I want. It's a simple enough rule, one would think. But then there are those 'relationships' that everyone spends so much time elevating and articulating. Your rules, those rules of human connection, those little moments that linger in the memory and congeal into your subjective opinion of who I should be--those tend to conflict with my rule and that's where all these problems start.


I'm distant but people are always trying to get close to me. I'm never outwardly an asshole because it's just easier to be nice, catches people off guard a little, but I'm also not particularly good about cleaning up my messes.  Shatters and shards of partners past are usually swept just out of sight and I keep on keepin' on. 


Life isn't particularly tidy, and I'll have a maid someday.

The last couple of girls I left behind told me, in varying forms and with tones ranging from spite to sympathy, that I needed to "sort out my feelings" or "talk to someone" but I'm busy as hell, so hopefully this blog can accomplish both while being an interesting read to all you people who have ever wished they could take a peek inside the mind of an externally titled and internally accepted "head fuck"... Me!

Just to preface, I don't do it intentionally. Purpose doesn't really factor in. I just love living my life, the way I want to. I don't speak for all of the fucks out there, obviously. So here it is, greetings interwebs!

Enter into my den of iniquity.

See the way I let life happen around me—from the brain that constantly confuses the body, to the body that currently confounds the world (or at least a large section of lower Manhattan and the Bushwick area).

 I don't want to hurt anyone, never did, I just refuse to be caged in, ya dig?