black border, pretty picture

room full of motivational posters, but the things you say and the looks you give are demeaning, shameful, and hurt with every glance you give in my direction. dont you see im tryin? and dont you see im struggling? reach your hand out and help me. my life depends on you.

the sailors of the streets, the hogs of the trails

we rape and pillage, we storm and thrash. we dont give a shit and we'll spit at you. we are dirty rats who swim in your soup. watch the borders cause we are coming. if one of us gets the scent, the rest with invade, sleeping with your women and raiding your refrigerators. its best to accept it and wait for our leader to lose interest. then we move on, with little to word. no more further confrontation. we are sailors; tattooed, bruised, boozed, and unwanted. we are hog riders, leaving our tracks and stopping at watering holes. dont try to stop us, cause we will get you, insult you, and leave you in the dirt, gasping for air. and all we will say back is, "so long, and thanks for all the fish"

soh cah toa

My confidence and hopes are shot down with disgusting ease. This math department is fucking with me, dangling freedom in front of me with it's grotesque hands. Holding me down, spitting on me, telling me im not good enough. That i dont meet expecations? What are your expectations, though? Take a step back, Math Department. What are you really asking of us? You want us to give up our time to sit in your mind-numbing class, write down your repetitive numbers, draw your X and WHY axes, factor your symbols and swirls, and you scoff at us when we get discouraged. This is a puzzle, obviously solvable. But what about us kids who don't get numbers? We get shoved back into the rest, called a slacker, and ignored. Why did you make such complex, repetitive, and ignorant material a must? Denied of a future, you have sincerely fucked over all that i had ever dreamed of. If there is one thing i despise in this world, it's you.

the shape of things

seeing is percieving

"...and now it's a question of graduating"

get your fucking act together.

fairness

why are bad things happening to really good people. stop it, give them the joy they deserve.

holy balls

treadmill footjam from zack gerber on Vimeo.

i eat these ass-backwards ideas

and produce my own. so i sneak and scrounge all the brilliance and try to make my own

shes a bad person, stay the fuck away. she does horrible things

"I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don't do it--she's the wrong woman,
he's the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don't do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it."