Dear Ms. Leading,

I regret to inform you I've fallen out of lust.
It must be so hard to understand.
Did you really think me a fool enough to play along?
And make believing everything you said was true
Push your pouting lips on other unsuspecting lovers

The Dear Hunter


Maybe I've Drank too Many Energy Drinks- I wish I kept normal hours...

"A kid died outsidda 'Cuddy's last night."


Rumors that I heard from several confused, drunk, imaginative college students are not normally rumors I would let sink into the mainframe of my thinking pattern.

Cue skepticism and my journalistic questioning process.

This rumor has had me waiting on the edge of my seat for some sort of news about the event, if the event really happened.

On my way over to the haunted and responsibility-ridden radio station I've made a second home at, I stumbled across something very interesting.
Something that is not commonly associated with hippie, activist swarmed New Paltz.
Certainly not anything I would even expect to show up in my suburban home town.

Huge, red and in my face, stared the Bloods graffiti.

To be completely honest and core-exposing, I am terrified to walk around campus alone now.
I am completely and utterly terrified.

It was bad enough I had just started to slightly jump after I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye; started to become afraid of things that aren't necessarily real.

Now this is real. It is really there, as plain as the 3 foot tall letters that spell out a notorious, fear instilling gang.
Bars in town are now using metal detecting wands on the people they let in, and not letting the people that look like they may be in a gang into the buildings.

Way to break free from those restricting stereotypes, 21st century.
You've really come a long way.

And that is now where my mind wanders tonight, as I have recently been a victim of slight stereotyping- while also being a hypocritical culprit myself.

As I was watching one of my favorite bands perform this weekend, a drunk girl looked at me and encouraged me to jump up and down with her.
When I smiled politely at the drunken mess and shook my head a bit, she stopped jumping around and a serious, concerned look took hold of her half closed eyes.

Examining my face, she mirrored my facial piercings by placing two index fingers on her face and said,
"You have these. You should jump!"

I smiled at her and said, "That makes no sense," and she was off again, jumping around and making out with her equally drunk male friend.

Feeling a little badly about being told how I should act according to my body modifications, I laughed it off.
Later that night, I ended up at a party where I felt as if I was slapped in the face with a stereotype.

Blow-outs, too much gel, acid washed jeans and a tribal tattoo stared me in the face and all I could think was, "Jaegerbombs!" (see: YouTube video, "My New Haircut")
I turned around and almost fell onto the floor laughing as I realized that a large canister of Muscle Milk mix was sitting on the kitchen counter.

Thinking back on it, only now do I realize how often people stereotype.
The more I think about it, the more it makes me sick.

When each of us get dressed in the morning, we make sure we are going to present ourselves to the world in the way we want to be perceived. Most want to be an individual with their own sense of style. But, at the end of the day, everyone that sees us walk by lumps us into a category in their minds. They do it without even thinking. A "guido," "gang banger," or "emo kid" - and if we do something that is out of the stereotype's norm, we are looked at funnily.

With such diversity and "acceptance" (more like ignoring) of multiple cultures in this country, it's just plain upsetting.



It's the second post of the night.
Unbelievably restless and I'm ready to rip my thoughts to shreds.

There's only one cause of these destructive thoughts and one cause alone; "Max."
The reoccurring nightmare.
The realization that "Max" is buried deep within my subconscious with a grappling in hand and an unhealthy grip on the walls of my mind.

Rock/mind-climbing "Max" is there to stay.
He's set up camp and is getting comfortable.


Pinpointing what has been wrong with my progression as an adult human being has been hindering my performance as a college human being.

Weekends that should consist of marathon drinking, crawling down main street and stupid decisions that make mothers cringe typically consist of responsible work counsel-training and entertaining the Hudson Valley via 88.7FM. I do not have the time to figure out what has been holding me back because I am forced to move forward at an ever-increasing rate.

And as I am typing this, someone is being pleasured and pounded by the boy who resides in the room directly above me; lovely meeting you, miss. Your moans are quite passionate.

Feeling as if everyone else is having a better time with their college experience than me, I am becoming increasingly bitter toward anyone who enjoys a drink or six on a Thursday night.
An angry glint in my narrowed eyes, I judge those who forget parts of their night only because my responsibilities have been holding me hostage.

So here's a big "fuck you" to all normal, responsibility-less college students.
Live it up, future AA members of America.


The shittiest feeling in the world has to be the feeling of betrayal-
Of knowing that you sensed this betrayal early on, but thought too highly of people to trust your instincts.

Always helping people will only fuck you up in the long run.
People don't care about you. Not really.

People care when it's convenient for them.
People care when they think they can get something from you.
People care when they think they can get to fuck you.

The worst part about the whole situation is that you blame yourself.
For everything.
For falling for their tricks, for believing in humanity.

They deserve all of the blame.
That's why they are apologizing to you, telling you that you've never done a thing wrong to them during your whole friendship.

But you still cry and kick and scream and hate what you see in the mirror.
You hate that they can keep doing this to you.
You hate that no matter how hard you try, you can't close your heart off.
You can't become the cold, sharp machine you want to be.
You're the one slice of hot apple pie in a world of heartless, tasteless, empty pie tins.

The humans are dead.
Shitty, selfish robots are everywhere.


If there was an olympics for hypocracy, I think I'd bring home the silver...

Bark into the receiver
I promise I won't bite back
The slurs you spill linger for days
I suffer from the attack
Could you use me?
You're quite the scholar of sharp, callous language
Verbally bruising,
Pressing black and blues,
Biting the inside of my cheek,
Throwing me up against the wall.
Would you use me?
I come back for more.
Rubbing salt in red scrapes-
Rubbing them raw.
Licking dry, split lips in winter wind.
Please just use me.


I don't believe in love; at least romantic love that is "shared" between partners. I do believe that one can love a person and be loved back by them, but their capacity for love will never be equal. Therefore, falling in love is pointless. Why love someone more than they can love you, or love someone that loves you more than you can give back?