A Collection of Clichés


At some point in the future I'd like to turn myself into a robot. I'd have bionic body parts and a bottom that never farts.

My name is Jared.

I often suspect my existence is playing hide and seek with its intellect. And by that I mean I spend a lot of time lost in my head.

After turning myself into a robot I plan on being the world's craziest oldest person.
The craziest.
The oldest.
The world's craziest oldest person.

Big dreams, yo.

I'm more active/cooler over here.
Videos/music up over here
And if you're looking for the follow button you can just click here.


Oh, the misinformation!

See it proliferate as it’s

poorly stuttered out the mouths

of ignorant and unaware drunks

stuck on their thirst for an explanation

or a change in their ideations,

unaware they haven’t even departed 

their fragmented imaginations,

fractured psyches hounded by


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Victo Ngai

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I wrote her something beautiful but only had time to copy down the intro, as I left interrupted and embarrassed I wished I’d stayed because the intro was the worst part of it all and didn’t mean anything and since I couldn’t speak writing was my only chance to communicate but of course I gave up before she found me, killed my smokes and wandered then walked to the store for more, glancing at the corner after the feelings had been slightly dulled I needed to be somewhere and someone else but couldn’t escape myself.


January 2013

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untitled by annya♡karina on Flickr.

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"Where Is My Mind"  by Aly Stinson

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National Poetry Slam: Sierra DeMulder


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