I really hate my attempts at photography, please look at these instead:

http://www.chrissearl.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/timregard/
http://www.rachelaust.com
http://badenwest.tumblr.com/

Wake up, bathroom, coffee, iMac, Xbox, work, skate, photograph, eat, sleep.
This cycle will break me, eat away at my common sense and motivation to get anywhere in life but I have no will power to change my current habits. What can you do when the only person to convince is yourself and yet they are the most stubborn of all?

PLEASE WAKE THE FUCK UP.

And yet I thought I knew myself, even after 17 years of existence I still do not understand how or why my mind works the way it does. Why I feel a certain way because of external and internal influences, why my emotions rise and fall as a sun does.

I don't know who I am going to be where I am going and life still does not seem to have purpose yet, the will to live is still on a balanced scale tipped uncontrollably. What is the point to existing? What is the ultimate goal but if not to please ourselves? To be selfish, to be selfish in benefiting others.

Centuries of knowledge still do not have the wisdom to answer the simplest of questions.

I WANT

OUT, IT'S BRINGING THE WORST OUT IN ME, THE DEPRESSION HAS COME BACK

I

I want out, I want out of this fucking place,
There's nothing left to salvage nothing left to converse,
And when it leaves there is no hope of return,
No hope of salvation to rid this affliction.

This was meant to change everything, bring a new age;
A change of guard and a change of heart.
A renewed bond but physicality reigns.

Is this what I really want, is this making me content?
Is this what it's meant to be, is this is what to become of me?

I hate what I've become, I hate what I've become
Open my eyes and show me what it really means.

This is the end of everything.

OVER

IT

I HATE

MYSELF

NAMELESS STREETS

As a kid the summers seemed so long.
The dusk a never ending song.
Too much, too young. He'd never hear it again.

A walk through the dismal streets, the alleys where the junkies sleep.
Too much, too young.
"That will never be me."
Slow, hand in hand to the boardwalk's end.
His mother's words like the biting wind. "please don't leave me." He'll never hear them again.

"Keep quiet, stay out of sight."
Her sunken eyes that used to burn so bright. "Please don't leave me."
So he hid pressed against the wall, under stairs in the darkened hall.

The sound of heartbreak reminded him of home.

Shadows move slow across the floor, a minute seemed like a day or more.

The end of heartache when she opened the door.

the sights, sounds, smell of burnt out shame, pride, spite and love.
They all come here to die.
He sobs, "please take me a away. Please Mother bring us home safe on nameless streets the way we came."

Suddenly she prayed for better days and for redemption.
Sullenly she prayed to keep from harm's way and for conviction.
But there's no forgiveness here.
No hope beyond that pier.
No way to get out now, not for her in this dead end town.

And that drunk is waiting up, him and jack and the empty cup.
"Where you been? what you on? who'd you fuck?" One more drink to toast "good luck".

She gets a stiff hand from the old like the bourbon he's been drinking.

Black out.