THIS IS ME

My chest hurts every single day. Time seems to slow down when my chest hurts. It only happens when time is suspended. When my busy days and nights halt to a stand still that I can’t control. 10 minutes in traffic. Waiting on a text message. Deciding where to eat. Trying to fall asleep. My chest hurts every single day and I pray that I finally cough hard enough to spit up my heart and lungs. I want to scrub them with steel wool and let them soak in hot water for a few minutes. My chest hurts every single day and I feel like I could do so much more. Like I should do so much more. I could do so much more for progress. I should do so much more for innovation. I could inspire. I should motivate. But my chest hurts too much.
There is so much to do and there is so much time to do it. I’ll just wait until tomorrow. Today I am stuck in yesterday. I can’t get over it. I can’t get over old faces. I can’t get over old places. I can’t unsee things that changed my life forever. I can’t unfeel things that changed my life forever. I can’t do anything about something that has already happened. Saying that and believing that are planets from each other. Stuck in a cycle. Left turn. Left turn. Left turn. Left turn. Left turn. Left turn. Finish line. Left turn left turn left turn left turn left turn. Finish line. Left turn. Left turn left turn left turn. Finish line. Stuck in a cycle. Stuck in a loop. Stuck on a track. Nothing changes but the circumstances. It’s the same race over and over. The players change but the game stays the same. Too worried about yesterday to remember today or think about tomorrow. And for some reason yesterday is where I remain trapped. But I’ll deal with it tomorrow.
I hate when people believe in me. The pressure builds. I feel like the air inside of a tire. I feel like the cork in a bottle of champagne. I feel like the president of the United States. I feel like a diamond being formed. I feel like Atlas. I feel like I’m up to bat in the bottom of the 9th with 2 outs, bases loaded, a full count, and a single run away from the World Series title. I feel like I have to take the shot. I feel like I am disarming a live bomb. I feel like I am going to explode at any minute. The more that people believe in you the more at risk for failure you become. Bigger they are harder they fall, right? That risk terrifies me.
I know that everything is out there. That’s why they call it everything. It’s our job as the middle of space, the stars that everything orbits, the solar systems that comprise the universe, to make up everything. We are everything. The only things that exist are the things that are in my mind. Nothing else is real. I haven’t ever had a fake thought in my head and I have never known something that isn’t real.
My mother is always concerned about me. She worries too much, I think. She stays up late at night reading trying to keep her mind from racing with fantasies about my criminal activities and late night shenanigans and drinking and drug use and sex life and every other horror film she can imagine. She thinks that I get too into my head. She is concerned about my reputation. She wants me to be healthy. She tries to keep me out of trouble. I love her but the only way to swim is without a life jacket. Otherwise you’re just floating.
Every 1 bolder is 1 million grains of sand.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
There are a million pathways and the only ones that I ever go down are covered with all kinds of obstacles. I figure the roadblocks make me smarter. Or they force me to go back the way I came and find a different route. There are a million pathways and the only ones that I ever go down are winding and long or straight and short.
I love you. I love you.
12 am – sleepy, unable to relax. 1 am – sleepy, unable to stop thinking. 2 am – sleepy, stuck thinking about the same scenario over and over. 3 am – sleepy, praying for sleep. 4 am – sleepy, content with not sleeping. 5 am – sleepy, feeling nostalgic and motivated. 6 am – sleepy, feeling accomplished and optimistic. 7 am – sleepy, feeling content. 8 am – sleepy, hungry and in need of fresh air. 9 am – sleepy, wanting to cuddle up under a warm blanket. 10 am – sleepy, retrospective. 11 am – sleepy, uninterested and detached. 12 pm – 12 hours later. 1 pm – asleep. 2 pm – asleep. 3 pm – asleep. 4 pm – in and out of sleep. 5 pm – barely awake, groggy. 6 pm – wide awake, hungry. 7 pm – ready to start the day, comfortable. 8 pm – monotony. 9 pm – monotony. 10 pm – monotony. 11 pm – monotony. 12 am – 12 hours later.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Sex had become something to be performed out of pity instead of the passionate love I knew before. Watching her love me made me want to shout at her and remind her that boys who smoke too much really are bad news just like her momma warned but its too late for her I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she wakes up out of this nightmare that I’ve trapped her in but its too late for her. I thought apathy was better than love but feeling nothing sort of feels like hell – never ending – like a constant loop. . things aren’t pretty. Nothing is disgusting. I can’t seem to see past your breasts and its like all I can do for you is cum and I wish you loved me as much as you want to love me. But you don’t love me. With my hand around your throat & your screams drowning out the music and the sweat and perfume and cologne mixed in the bed sheets you really just remind me of how much I hate myself. I think I remind you of how much you hate yourself, too.
She told me I was the first person to make her orgasm. She tried a girl friend.
“I just don’t ever cum” she told me
mid stroke / I laid her on her back / looked her in the eye
“I just don’t ever cum” she had told me
mid stroke / mid stroke
Repeating over and over in my head
“I just don’t ever cum”
over / over / over
over / over / over / over over
I’m the first person to make her orgasm she said she tried a girl friend “I just don’t ever cum” she told me
mid stroke / I laid her on her back / looked her up and down
“I just don’t ever cum” she told me
repeating
over and over and over and over
What makes me so fucking different I’m not so fucking different you know maybe you just wanted this more than you wanted that
/ I don’t know why /
I am not fucking different I’m not I swear
I love you.

 

THIS IS ME iBook Download

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I AM MYSELF SOMETIMES?

My grandmother is on Facebook. 70-something years old, alive for the civil rights movement, alive for JFK’s assassination, alive for the airing of MTV, alive for the Vietnam War, alive for the first color movie, alive for the first cd, alive for the Beatles in their prime, and alive for Facebook. She’s too real on Facebook. She is herself fully. She doesn’t have many friends – just family members and old classmates and coworkers. I am her profile picture but she doesn’t know how to tag people. She comments on every status and likes every picture. She shares every “Share if you love Jesus” post and she likes the “Someone Tell Dick Cheney To Shut The Hell Up Page.” She is too real for something so fake.

She doesn’t “get twitter” but my ex girlfriend does. 20-something and really pissed at me. 20-something and subtweeting and passive aggressively retweeting things that are oddly accurate to the situation we are in right now. 20-something and posting pictures with just a little more skin than she did when I was with her. 20-something and @ing boys that she knows I don’t like. 20-something and tweeting she’s okay. I know she’s not okay. She is too real for something so fake.

My best friend is on instagram and maybe I can see through the bullshit but I often wonder if anyone else can. 300 likes on a smiling selfie but I cant help but notice the subtleties in real life. The subtle eye movement towards the ground when I ask “yo you good man?” tells me a different story than that smiling selfie. Instagram works like a mirror in a fantasy story – you see what you want people to see. You are exactly how you want people to see you. So maybe the subtle movements and remarks in real life are a result of the fluctuating emotions that humans go through by the minute. The Internet is stagnant and always will be and always has been. You post it and its there and there is no emotion and there is no body language and there is no follow up conversation. He is too real for something so fake.

Rome was built in a day and since the first stone was set there has been no going back. Day by day stone by stone Rome became a capitol and an empire and a lifestyle and a culture and a style. There is no turning back. Every tweet and every photo and every html and every line of code and every video and every like and every share and there is no turning back. That’s as real as it gets. The Internet is forever. No matter how many deletes or unretweets you go through you have made your impression and that’s forever. The difference is you decide the impression.

However lasting the Internet may or may not be really boils down to irrelevancy. You decide who you are and what you look like and who you talk to and who you follow and you decide tomorrow, despite the impressions you already made, you decide the next step. People change and that’s fucking beautiful. 70-something and obsessed with her grandchildren and today she is a avid WTAMU Buffaloes fan when yesterday she was a Texas State Bobcat to the core. We evolve in real life and we evolve online. You choose the impression you want today. Rome changed. A lot.

The Internet works a lot like a veil. What is behind the veil no one really knows but people sure as hell have an opinion on the veil and what they can see through or under the veil. Every insecurity and every passion and every skill and every beautiful feature is behind that veil and only the person behind the veil can choose to reveal features of their real face.

I am Titus Gilner and you know the real me. You know the egg. You know the photography and the smoking habit and the drunk tweets and the shitty home videos and the tweet style and the aesthetic and you know my friends and enemies. My grandmother has no clue. My ex girlfriend knows the truth. My best friend knows the subtleties. To my grandmother I am Titus Medley and I am passionate about politics and philosophy and I’m really good at listening to her when she goes on her tangents about Dick Cheney shutting the hell up. To my ex girlfriend I am Titus and I am really cheesy and romantic and love to be spooned and love to get wine drunk and fuck and really bad at texting back and a bastard for leaving her and a tool for writing about her. To my best friend I am Titus and I like dusty ass rap music and don’t understand why people idolize famous people and love to take walks and smoke and talk about girls and I am good at finding good porn and I always know what to say when the subtleties become overwhelming and willing to be honest when the art is trash.

Be exactly what you want to be. Like the shit you like. Be as fake as you want. Post the shit you want to post. Be as real as you can. We all do it. We just all do it a little differently. You are building Rome after all.

i am myself longss

art by @aesimental

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BABYGIRLS AN ADDICT

honestly wish I could escape this addiction but my ex is a drugged out bitch and I guess the nicotine on her tongue and inhibitions running through her veins really got ahold of me I mean really got ahold of me and maybe when she overdoses or maybe when I do who knows whos first maybe then I can fucking sleep without dreaming of my drugged out bitch queen u are still my sunshine you fucking whore // pierce ur arm again I fucking dare you // light the blunt fukit right // pop those pills u fucking kpin kueen u fucking addy princess // ur so fucking cool with your drugs and cigarettes just a fcking punk and goddamn I wish your momma really knew the shit I did to you did for you never thinking of myself ur best intentions in mind i got ur back don’t ever fucking question that goddamn I really wish your momma knew the shit u do to yourself how can I save u when ur the one slitting your wrists // but really what the fuck does forever even mean when you cant remember yesterday and tomorrow just looks like a haze and everything you gave a fuck about is up in smoke today

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FUCK YOUR IDOLS

Humanity as a species owes its existence to competition and in that existence we thrive and we destroy. Humanity races towards bigger cities and more innovative ways to kill each other. Humanity speeds towards new forms of oppression and more progressive ways of thinking about the world. Humanity’s dark side. Humanity’s light side. What’s the difference.

Human’s natural habitat is a concrete jungle and the world revolves around us. We are the ice age. We are the final existence. Cockroaches can survive a nuclear blast but cannot survive a world without humans. The domestication of all animals is already in progress and for many it’s complete. Pigeons no longer live in the wilderness but rather in highway overpasses and skyscraper nooks. Rats live on food scraps in alleyways. Dogs eat kibbles and bits. As urbanization continues animals still considered wild are evolving. Coyotes on the outskirts of town are becoming more and more comfortable with city lights and dumpster diving. Opossums build nests under trailers and lions feed on fenced in livestock. The world is becoming less wild.

Many look at deforestation as a tragedy. Homosapiens are an offensive species. It’s natural for humans to aggressively invade the world. Thus, deforestation, as horrible as it is for animal life, is a necessary evil for humans to exist. We are just defending our territory. As one species grows predators of that species become more aggressive in eating that species and the spike in population only lasts a short amount of time and as the predator population grows and the prey population depletes equilibrium is reached once again and this cycle continues. Humans have only one predator and endless amounts of prey.

The only thing we have to fear is each other. War is man made. Peace is man made. Famine is man made. Abundance is man made. Disease is man made. Health is man made. Society is man made. War rages on; people strive for peace. Peace persists, tensions build, and war starts again. Society levels itself out. Without humanity humans would cease. Humans thrive and destroy.

The people you follow don’t fucking matter. The people you follow build and destroy. The people you follow preach to you and then walk the opposite way. The people you follow say they are doing it for you or doing it for the youth or some golden fucking idea but they are doing it for themselves. They are doing it because they are arrogant and selfish. They are doing it out of humanity in spite of humanity. Just like you. Face to face interaction is hard and its easy to be fake as fuck when no one knows what your face looks like without a filter. Its easy to be shitty, truly shitty, as shitty you truly want to be, when a bunch of kids idolize you through a screen. Its easy to be purely human and purely altruistic and purely egotistic when the only thing human about the internet is the little square picture above the bullshit @ name.

From an early age people look at other people as examples. It’s okay to have idols. Just as Barry Bonds doesn’t get a pass for doping and Bobby Brown doesn’t get a pass for beating Whitney, your Internet idols don’t get a pass for being assholes. Or at least they shouldn’t.

“Creatives” are a fucking fad. Just like silly bandz made you cool 5 years ago or Nirvana t-shirts make you edgy calling yourself or others a “creative” is becoming something with less substance and more status by the day. Now we don’t care who has the new Nike Shocks we care about who is a creative. We care about retweets and likes and follower ratios and how much people like our art. Quality doesn’t matter anymore. Quantity doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is perceived online importance. The world is full of artists in 2015 but lacking a lot of art in 2015.

Every single person is creative and creativity is a natural part of being human. That doesn’t make us all “a creative.” What the fuck actually is a creative? People tell me that I’m a creative but I have no album and no zine. I have no clothing line. I have opinions that are creative in nature, but everything humans do is creative. Sirracha and pizza is creative. The ability to tie shoes is creative. Understanding movie plotlines is creative. Preaching creativity online has become an easy way to get interaction. Tweeting true shit like “everything is art everyone is artistic” seems to get people farther than tweeting debatable shit like “I think art is overfuckingrated”. Our Internet idols are to blame.

Judas was a disciple that betrayed the disciples. Judas saw an opportunity to profit off of his position as a disciple. Judas sold Jesus and his brothers out. Judas stabbed his own people in the back for some sort of personal gain. Internet famous creatives are no better than Judas. Internet famous creatives are creative and artistic. See an opportunity to profit off their status as a creative. Sell out other creatives that look up to them. Stab their own people in the back for personal gain and slaughter the people that look up to them. Internet politics is the death of Internet art. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it did it make a noise? If someone posts art on the Internet and no one is around to retweet it is it really art? Someone once told me that undeniable art is undeniable and will make its way to viewers one way or another. I find it hard telling that to someone that has no retweets and one favorite on original paintings that deserves to be in a museum or a song that is better than most of the shit that soundcloud is flooded with.

Our Internet idols have taught us to measure success not on happiness but perceived happiness. Perceived happiness is 1000 interactions in an hour. Perceived happiness is 20k views. Perceived happiness is 100 likes. Elvis was a millionaire but still had a drug problem. Your Internet idol has 100k followers but still want to jump off a bridge into oncoming traffic. Happiness doesn’t come from the amount of silly bandz you have on at one time nor does it come from how many followers you do or don’t have. It comes from a million different places. Our idols have taught us that the only thing that dictates happiness is Instagram. Retweets are heroin.

The solution is really fucking simple. Like people for who they are as a whole not their art alone. If your Internet role model seems like they would be a dick in real life don’t give them a free pass for having fire photos once a month. Your Internet idol doesn’t follow you because you don’t offer them shit. You can’t give them their fix of retweets. Heroin addicts hangout with other heroin addicts because that’s more people with heroin and more opportunity to get heroin. I’m the first to say that I’m addicted to Internet interaction. I’m the first to say that I don’t give a fuck about your art. I’m perhaps the only one to say that I give a fuck about how you feel and what you think and how I can help you be happy. If it’s helping you get your fix, then it’s helping you get your fix. If its answering your questions with actual answers or telling you that your shit is tight or telling you that your shit is trash I got your back. Don’t ever call me a creative. I know that I’m creative. I’m human. Call me what you think I am, not what I have convinced you that I am.

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the state of the youth

Generation Y is tired of the darkness. Tired of wars. Tired of famine. Tired of sickness. Tired of racism and sexism and the status quo. Tired of homophobia. Tired of hatred. Generation Y sees the world not as it is but as it should be. Generation Y refuses to settle with complacency and requires something more.

No longer limited to a single paradigm. No longer limited to a single perspective. No longer limited by expectations. No longer limited by aspirations. A fresh point of view is a click away a fresh idea is a click away a fresh start is a click away. The time is now.

The world is more interdependent and divided than ever. We are in the same lane but on different streets. On one street there are dreamers and on the other there are doers. The dreamers have it figured out. The dreamers are blessed with retrospect. Our forefathers made mistakes and never learned from them. We have. Ignorance is the only sin. Dreamers walk with open minds. Dreamers know that we are improving and dreamers know that we are going to be okay. Dreamers lack action. The doers have it figured out. The doers are blessed with initiative. Our forefathers made innovations and never capitalized on them. We have. Laziness is the only sin. Doers walk with ambition. Doers know that we are improving and doers know that we are going to be okay. Doers lack perspective.

The human race rests on the shoulders of teenagers that aren’t scared of their dreams. The teenager that refuses to be content. The teenager that refuses to allow gatekeepers box them in is Jesus Christ.

Fuck staying in your lane. Fuck doing what is expected. Fuck following the pipe dreams of your parents and grandparents. Fuck respecting the elders that put us in this mess. Fuck saying sorry for being right. Fuck saying sorry for being in the right. Fuck stagnation and fuck moving backwards. Fuck naysayers. Fuck gatekeepers. Fuck validation from anyone but yourself.

Embrace your imperfections. The things that make us imperfect are the things that make us human. You are exactly who you should be. Everything that you hate about yourself is everything that makes you unique. People that tell you to change are the same people that wish they could change themselves. Follow your intuition and never take advice. No one knows you like you know yourself. No one can say you are doing something wrong when you are doing what you feel is right.

We fall in love with twitter avitars and we express emotions through blue text boxes with carefully chosen emojis. Earth has shrunk to the size of your school cafeteria. It’s harder than ever to be yourself when every lunch table wants you to conform to a cookie cutter personality. This is the biggest obstacle the youth faces. It is time to stop separating each other with labels. We can no longer wait. The time is now. The fate of the world rests on your shoulders. Being something that someone else wants you to be is refusing the cross you have to bare. It’s too easy to be an indigo. It’s too easy to be a hypebeast. It’s too easy to be a photographer. It’s too easy to sing. It’s too easy to like indie rock. It’s too easy to wear Stussy. It’s too easy to love film. It’s too easy to say that not everyone is creative. Challenge yourself and never stay in your lane. Make what you want to make. Wear what you want to wear. Like what you like. Fuck limiting yourself. The fate of the world is on your shoulders.

Creativity exists everywhere. Someone that isn’t creative is dead. Do what you want to do and it will happen creatively.

Trends come and go but cool is forever. You are forever. Every retweet and every like and every reblog and every upload is history in the making. We are history and you are DaVinci and Shakespeare and Warhol and Lincoln and Napoleon and Plato. We are creators with teeth. If you want to be the best you might get your ass beat but you might be Muhammad Ali. Bad taste is vulgar and not believing in yourself is death. You did not become who you are in a day you became who you are from the countless let downs and failures and successes the only thing that you can do wrong is stop. Empower your brothers and sisters or end up in the same situation as generations before us.

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by @joshlohin

by @joshlohin

by @joshlohin

by @joshlohin

by @joshlohin

by @joshlohin

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