Death Dealers

There was once a time when i could live without certain extravagances. The use of toothpaste, toilet paper (tabo), Internet, and quite possibly the use of pants.

Life was simpler then, but then the nutty happiness ended.

The constant whorbaggery of coffee shop images begin to show up on my telly and soon infected my circle of friends. Hang out sessions no longer in the comfort of ones own home, or graffiti parks but in coffee shops and trendy coffee/book stores. The merger of the 2 have been line the merger of European currency, disastrous.

Once I have been a regular of a site, i coincidentally befriend the local Batista in which i have several names to call them but in secret, i dont want to reveal my disdain for their peddlment of caffeine blood.

O if only Crack Dealers learn lessons from these Batista's.

Crack Dealers threaten your being if you dont pay up or withhold the substance from you if you were to drop a deal (almost doing the right thing, but by accident)

Batista's kill you with customer service and a minimum wage smile, and every once in a while give free samples (horrible for you, especially if you have type 2 diabetes; deadly).

I'm trapped in this vortex of Caffeine addiction.

I dont want help though i need it.

I have this constant nagging that i cant function without my Espresso.

and my quick fixes are Redbull and Soda.

Noise Bleed:

The human spirit is diminished every time Coldplay release a record.
Soon, we will all have the souls of slugs,
and it will be their fault.

House World

Nothing much to write about other than getting a hang of this computer thing, getting caught up in the generation. I’m beginning to wonder if being a hermit is bad… I mean it’s come to a point that my bedroom and living room is the only places I really wish in the world to be in now. Let the world run its course and have it all go to the flea market of STDs for all I care. My room is comfortable, my living room is a hustle and bustle of conversations and random acts of violence and well, lets not get into the downstairs construction guru.
In fact, this short long haired Filipino gentleman, something about him I cant trust, could it be that fact that his pointer finger is longer that his middle? Or that obscene way he watches me do laundry as if giving me a cold tough lashing with his eyes.

Yes, the house is practically a planet of people with different agendas.
-Black Jeff is the pollutant, giving his essence of manliness with whatever he sits on.
-Allen Van Gout is the stranger artist with his memories lost in the future, he constantly tries to catch up with.
-Younger Boy the heir to my electronics. I see him there waiting for me to expire…. Already claiming dibs to my thrown.
-Techno Nick one of the few Straight Chinese left, somewhat of an oddity, possibly due to his countries policy of a one child family initiative, will all the Chink boys running around, it’s no wonder they can rock Capri Pants.

What can I say; my house is living and breathing, sucking away my soul and saving me slave money I should be spending on my oppressors.