http://search.deviantart.com/?q=by:modestdecay&section=today deviantART RSS for by:modestdecay en-us Copyright 2009, deviantART.com Sun, 06 Dec 2009 11:07:42 PST deviantART.com http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss http://s.deviantart.com/minish/widgets/apple-touch-icon-precomposed.png http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/12725775/ http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/12725775/ Wed, 25 Apr 2007 03:52:42 PDT I would hitchhike to each place i went which became second nature. I rode in the back of a pickup listening to tool die on my tapeplayer as the batteries waned out bringing the music to a slow stop.
When blackberry season came around i gathered as many as i could and boiled them down to a jam and stole a loaf of bread (this is when i was staying at a friends house for about a week while it was available) and made awesome blackberry sandwhiches.
Before this i was in kamloops barely holding on to a place with absolutely no money. In kamloops it was all just a matter of garden raiding. In the hight of the season i would be able to collect everything from hot peppers, potatoes and corn to watermelons, and various forms of plums. Sometimes i would build a fire down by the river and roast the corn in the coals and watch the sun rise and think about the last ten or so years of my life.
These things....

once, years earlier than this i was kicked out of my house and slept in a bank teller room. At around 5 in the morning i stole morning newspapers and brought them to my friends house where i asked for a place to sleep.
oh nice mild stories for ya

now i need sleep

]]> ~modestdecay http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11876706/ http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11876706/ Mon, 19 Feb 2007 03:45:57 PST weighed down by the building blocks
handed down by my fathers before me
this barren landscape is where i shall build my home
knowing that the crops will fail and rain shall not come
nails worn from digging my well
forming my grave under rolling skies
only in my rest shall the rain fall
wash the dirt from shallowed eyes

]]> ~modestdecay http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11860129/ http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11860129/ Sat, 17 Feb 2007 20:35:04 PST I will wade through this time of rot.
Abide with me through the waves of trial.
No undertow shall pull us down.
Through mandibles i attain strength.
Down throat i input sustanance.
Through time do i begin to malform and degenerate.
hold fast

]]> ~modestdecay http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11648477/ http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11648477/ Thu, 01 Feb 2007 14:17:20 PST The main money makers of the cafe are tourists, but we have our regulars.
There are certain dynamics of the cafe in which still entertain and fullfill me somewhat.
But i swear that every transaction crushes me down just a little bit more.
Something about losing your intuitive awnsers for programed ones. Something about the monotonous actions occuring over and over, occasionally broken up by the crack head i have to throw out.
Would you like a small or a large?

]]> ~modestdecay http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11536837/ http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11536837/ Tue, 23 Jan 2007 02:31:39 PST Pursuaded earlier in the night by a drunk alley cat, who walked with a slight limp on his right leg and that smelled strongly of a night of rum and worries; he had found himself with much more than he could contend with. Sitting across from the soaked alley cat dustin pulled forth three cups of flour and a class of milk. He placed it on the forhead of the cat, making low gurgling sounds in the back of his throat.
cat: would you like cream and sugar with that missour?
dustin: no i drink it black
cat: how about four leters of cows blood?
dustin: just put it in the back with the rest.
jesus i am the messiah.
dustin and cat: say whaaaaa>??

]]> ~modestdecay http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11499668/ http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11499668/ Fri, 19 Jan 2007 21:53:47 PST This has made me come to the conclusion that my friend and the glass of water he slept with are dirty dirty human beings. Luckily i found this out while i sanitized myself with bleach, rubbing it thoroughly into my pale, acne covered, hep c fueled skin. I was doing this so as to destroy the parasites which have recently found a warm suitable home within my body. They seem to reside just underneath my skin. I tried picking them out with a razor, but that just angered them more.
At least i have my sweet sweet heroin. I like shooting up first thing in the morning, right after i pour mayonaise on my childs face, this being the euopean method of properly feeding a child. I'll shoot up and than just lie there, wetting myself and picking at my arm.
But that's generally ona sunday.

]]> ~modestdecay http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11328899/ http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11328899/ Fri, 05 Jan 2007 19:06:00 PST is not a fucken poem.
dont read this on this site and perceive it to be a creation in which you gauge its worth.
this is simply documentation.
It is simply a small graph in which i dictate placid thoughts.
random occurances will jump forth occasionally.
-For breakfast, slurpy and dollar pizza.
set up sign and tin can.
empty can often...
this is the best corner..
god im so ashamed.
-for breakfast, make fireplace on beach, coal roast corn, with peaches on the side and whatever other vegetables there are for the picking in the kamloops gardens. Fuck this poverty...god im so sick of peaches.

]]> ~modestdecay http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11252898/ http://modestdecay.deviantart.com/journal/11252898/ Sun, 31 Dec 2006 02:51:25 PST Comes in a large facet of colours, size, choices, tastes. So acceptable, so tastlessly styless and modern. But the box wasn't an acceptable standard, so it was abandoned for poverty and cheap laughs.
Laughs are documented and remembered, they are the foundation, the stiching of life. When i laughed so hard that i could barely breath it presented me with a moment in which i cherished. I still talk about this time. I wish i still had this time. I wish i remembered clearly.
I used to panhandle on the streets of victoria and vancouver when i was 19.
I never did any drugs, no that wasn't it. I mean, i smoked pot, but that's obviously not what put me there. It broke something in me, and presented a new reality and personality. I ate a breafast of dollar pizza and slushy, thinking about this being the end all. Figuring out how i was going to survive.
Now what am i
I have a home and a great job.
tell me what now.
have i succeeded at all>
will i be in poverty forever, and look up to the windows and straight to the bricks.
I wear my scars like a map, directions to the years i've endured.

]]> ~modestdecay