Immigration

The quiet cry was the only thing you could hear. One of those nights
fraught
empty
the sky was the only noise, and what a noise
I felt my arms turn to dust
what trust once lost was forgotten

Golem hater

There is nothing
There was nothing
When we first met
When I will say good-bye

Time was spent
as it was spent
Feelings felt
it was no surprise

Painted black lines cover my brow
She bent in wicked ways
Those fingers writhed like scorpions
In grey gloves
I am naked though I wear my clothes
I am shaking though I am not cold

A breath of fresh air
touches my wet eyes
floaters cross the sky
I am pretty sure that this is all dead.

Blase

Think outside the box
They've thought for a million years
For a thousand ways to describe it
The feeling:
what it's like
to say I love you
to kill someone.

To lose yourself so completely for a moment in yourself that you negate
any emotion
felt by anyone else
felt any other time

Falling in love is the singular most depressing thing I can think of.

THEM

Face is weathered, stomped out the dirt and sweat from last night.
Deconstruct those manufactured shitbags.
They are not the seekers of lightning blitz polyrhythms.
Tasty like a gust of wind and pure planetary binary.
Halloween is the night that your cat will escape to its home planet!

Burning Space

With no recollection of the dying tongues, they stood waiting in the rain.
"I have come undone."
The tower led up to the ivory sky.
These robotic fingers are spastic energy.
Holy Ghost, I beg of thee: do not consume what's left of me.
(Sacrament is sacrosanct, just as suicide is paramount.)

"Dark, dark, dark!"

Savoury smelting melts: the ice cream was so delicious as it
rose out the ausstieg and stared at that wall. The urge to fuck
was everlasting, but the urge to die grew stronger. Musclebound
Ogres stood in the shade of a sunny day, the trees bursting
with some approximation of pure failure. The stars flooded
out, their beacons torched with the inescapable knives of
Pluto. Disappointed dilapidations crawled the Kind's men as they
crouched to emancipate the forgotten dreams of olde. Singly
plucked string divining the cure behind suicide as the rain falls
from under his umbrella. The night life consumed me with a
thousand emerald raindrops. Kisses laced with satin and amethyst.
Her face was now as pale as a fallen pearl from the sky.
Cheekbone flew from nesting eyeball as his realizations struck
the prime of his psyche. I made a wish that my heartache
would kill the children of unborn saints. His arms were taught
wires as he danced on the pendulum, swaying to and fro. Hands
were tightly knotted into tapestries with resentment. Diagonals
and horoscope condoms ironed out the cancerous growth on
her abdomen. Eagles made love in the valleys of rock and
roll. The ugly pitch of his hat churned his face, his gloves
could no longer house his sad old hands. The brain in his
computer typed sermons to small birds and kittens, the words
distributed through cassette tape. Folded in half, the sleeves
she loved with all her heart started to burn. Statements of
purpose and desire spilled over her bitten lips.
And the ashes started to bleed.

Drugged English Professor Cannibal Vocabulary Machine

Please take me from
a quiet life of
solemn misery.

But as I was
born to penitence,
I shall always be
proud of my scars.

Unicorn Machine

OWW!
WHAT THE FUCK
OW OW IT'S SO
FUCKING HOT

Dinosaur Tank

"Want a piece
of THIS ass?!"

"Why are you dressed all like that?"
"I'm going to a funeral."
"Looking like that?"
"It's also going to be an execution."

Dress Rehearsal Rag
=
sex

"Fuck you.
There IS A GOD!"
<--- UFO

This hot dog
is blowing
my mind!

O- HAPPY DAY
"AAAH!"

This cancer fell upon the children will not be done like the will of other dimensions.

This is the Alaskan plan

His hands were so pale. Nicks and scabs mirrored the only reflections of red under his skin. It was like the blood had died and settled in his face, underneath the enormous black and grey beard. His skin was wrinkled and stiff. In the shade of his beard, his skinny, wiry body sat back hunched. Let me tell you how he got this way, with his wild eyes and skinny jeans.

• he fell in love with the stars
• the stars name was Jessica
• she was a chain smoker and always wore hijab
• tired white girl with the celestial birthmark

He was a twenty something who never did. His friends grew up listening to the Violent Femmes and Radiohead. He drank their drinks and wore their black t-shirts, but his skinny frame wasn't really interested. Graduated from college, his sociology degree been put to use as a construction worker. In the alternate universe he is from, such manual labor and service jobs were paid generously for their repetitive and low status nature. Every other night, he would smoke a cigarette and write short stories about why he enjoyed his life. These he sold to newspapers and journals, but were rarely published.

~to be changed completely

Showertime Breathing

i'm a lightning bolt running up your thighs
through your lungs, blowing out your eyes
a river of pain, i am fear most despised
this will be you last fucking look at the sky

i want to kiss your valleys
draw fingers over chest
our love is a razor blade
and i'm cutting your wrists

jagged scars in perception rip out
you will be left clutching your eyes
a demon's tear on a rotten shout
this is... the end of your fucking life

Savoury

Cut Your Wrists And Suck Your Dicks
...possible Satanicunt song

Trucker Pope!
"Ah speak of
BLEEESSING
of Diesel fuel!"
(ford)

"Blessin's
o' wrenches
n' shit!"

"Moo?"

Pine
Fucking
Apple

Kicked out
by a
CROSS
DRESSER!

"What the fuck's up,
mah playuhz!"

KILL
COPS
4
CASH

Nukler
Bomb
Mothafucksazs

Satanicunt - Obiwan Kenobi is a Fucking Faggot

Falling up stairs
Break your fall on my chair
I'll fill your face with maggots
Make you fucking puke you faggot
THE FUCKING FORCE
WON'T SAVE YOUR ASS
Crushing hand in air
I'll cut off all your air
Windpipe breaking
MY HEART IS SHAKING
My mother fucking name is Darth Vader
FUCK OFF MY SON YOU FAGGOT!

Satanicunt - Fuck Obama's Mother in the Ass

Stomping mothers and babies!
Withering social decay
EATS UP OUR PATHETIC HEARTS
They fucking want you to die
(FUCKING WANT YOU TO DIE)
Dismal entrails in the doorway
Catacombs in our mouths
I AM GOD I AM GOD
On a mission for salvations
(FUCKING WANT YOU TO DIE)

CHEWING WITH OUR MANDIBLES
BURNING SPIT AND CUM
You taste like an ashtray
YOUR FACE IS AN ASHTRAY

PULL MY DICK OUT
HAMMER THE STATUE OF LIBERTY
WITH AN AXE WITH A FUCKING AXE

Velocity impedes my soul
an urge to live, my fucking goal
I'm a concrete slab of Frankenstein's lab
And I'm falling like a halo towards your fucking skull

Star Wars

"I want to eat
ASTRONAUTS"

"OHGAWD
MYBELLY"

It's a vagina robot destroyer!
"RAHHH!"

ANTARCTICA
---> doctors

Hard Core Porn
C-M xx
oG "musik judgeaaaah"
W. B. Hood
together comprise...
THE
TWEENIEFUCKS

"Where
th' fuck's
my
wizard
???"

"..."


"Fucking
NO!"

~fin~

Fuck!

Cannibal
Sexxx
Machines

IAMAROBOT

...

satan-
(sucks dick fo' thruppence!)
i-cunt
(everybody kill yourself!)

I'm trying to tear out my brain

Walking like I remember how to do it.
I am no diagonal, I do not cross
Swords or whores to weather my hypocrisy
A stringent green majesty

everything is jitters and I can't fucking sleep
I need more rest and less cure
riding a jetplane down the spine of a guitar suicide

Pressured Phone Cord

I.

"Man, I'm
fuckin' messed
UP"

sex

AW YEAH
HOOKUHZ

LAZER

Police
cock

!! Smells like weeeed !!

David Hasslehoff

Slippery when soaked <- Pot Leaf
I AM [insert picture of a vagina here]

II.

Charles Manson
Reincarnation Jubilation!
FUCK YOU

(No pregnant
chicks plz)

"oh fuck
i'm in space"

Whine; and the
world knows you
suck.
Bark; and the
world howls.

PIXEL PIRATE

Time Pellets

We'll have compressed time pellets soon. Taken from
those experiences we all have about time that
seems to take sooo long. You'll be able
to crush a few pellets in your tea or
in a cigarette and bingo... instant time-
of-your-life moment in sweet slow motion.

The Wormcocks - Lizard Girl

Hey sexy lizard girl
You reek of bile and I think aiii
Wanna hump yaaa

Hey stop sign
What the fuck sign
When you try to run up aiii
I gonna gat yaaa

Brainded from bonerz in the basement
Shut ya face, you're excretement
She's a real girl (bitch!)
and you're a loser loner (shit!)

Smoking up and your friends' houses
Jump a gate every day and lerrrn
How we can sniff sex out any time
Except fucking Mondays

End of Halloweentime.

All I did in October was live scarily.

Halloweentime.

All I'm doing in October is living scarily

Stupidest

Sigh...

There are times when I really regret the stupid shit I do. Times when all I can do is think, "Really? Fucking really? Did you just do that?" Cutting off my index fingers was one of those times. Now the table is all messy and my glasses are fogging up. Spurt spurt, splish splash. Dry drool, crust enacted Christ. I can almost feel them still there. What will happen to my talents? My middle finger will become heightened in ego. It's already started. It's swelling with newly grasped importance and feeble rage through pain. I point at someone and it's a fucking malediction. Alas and alack!

I ne'er thought it through

Sometimes, it's almost easier to forget your face. To breathe out and not think that you've been breathing that in.

The night in which I actually meet my expectations for you just hasn't gone by yet. In those 3 minutes in which I genuinely think about my life before I pass out, I feel so guilty, I feel so blue. Just knowing that I still love you, it'll never fucking be through.

Not too bad, I guess. Could be worse, I guess. You could be a ghost in my brain.

Spaceboy

I like to remember my childhood memories. Some of them are still around. I used to live in Alaska.

On the beach, we had only a little bit of sand. It was mostly giant boulders and torn up logs. I was young, everything was enormous, yet it seemed so normal to me. The rocks and I had the same objectives. They were castles, I was the astronaut. The sticks were my laser guns, and the logs were the bridges between space and time. I'd run over the huge stones and crouch on top, surveying the ocean. Life was an island, and on that island was my imagination. And even on such a small island as the one I called home, there was more.

J--'s Island, they called it. It was a small place, only about half a mile wide and long. Trees brimmed over the edges so that it seemed they'd fall off into the water. But it wasn't deep around one edge, the one that went back to the beach. My six year old body could wade from one island to the other. It was my island, my home away from home. If I'd ever been taken with a need to run from home, why, I knew just where I'd go. The trees and the rocks and the logs and the bushes.

I was always searching. It seemed there was something else in the forests. I'd climb through the underbrush and find passageways in the bushes, places to hide. From what? From my parents? From my friends? Or maybe just from myself. I was nowhere, no one could find me. And I was young enough to convince myself I was the only one left on Earth.

The Host

The worm's been in my stomach for three days now. I can feel it humming. It's whispering, too. Like it has some wild ideas to share. I want it to go, I want to be alone. Food doesn't satisfy my gaping hunger, the worm eats it all. I've thought in jest of naming it, but always feel unsettled and vulnerable. It's happening in the living room. The living dead. On the telephones. They jump into each others' minds, just like the worm jumped down my throat. I could kill myself, but then it'd just feed off my cold dead body. I was born in 1981 with two crescent shaped scars on my wrists. They told my parents I was a cold-hearted boy, a snow-flaked wisp. Never saw, never thought. The future was a place for those who dwelt in the past. No one else has a worm. This is my own treachery, my own despoiled body. Smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol, eating fast food, breaking fingers, on my knees, begging for change, pulling the handle, and cocking the pistol.

Our Protagonist is a Wasp

Our protagonist is a wasp that has been struck in the head, leading to irreparable brain damage. He will die in a few days anyway, but during his stay on Earth, he will be shunned by his fellow hivemates. His perception will be altered, and the few behavioral processes he will be able to maintain will be altered. This collision will not render him useless; however, he will no longer be able to operate for the good of his hive and society.

Those Gypsies

They've got an old shoebox with dicks and cards
It's the last six weeks of rent and dead rent notes
"No, officer, I've done nothing wrong"
An ecological disaster fell out the shower stall
Cause if there's a will, there's a way
And no way will I for you prescribe
An antiquated bucket of shock "Gore pus plague"
Cold because I've lost the urge to write

I brushed the ant with my stylus
A value judgment that my words bent

Doughboys with plastic bags
Virgin Marys with blue eyes and necks

Right Red Lights

There's a tire iron in the trunk.
And the backseat has a fire alarm.
Oh shit!
I saw a gunshot smoke break clear and free.
Whisk, whiz, fly home, little birdy.

Diabolive oil

I like eating fresh meat.
There's something about the taste of blood.
Maybe it's the drool running down my chin.
I can't tell if it's drool or just my head playing tricks on me.
Should I care? Well, I'm not Jewish.
That kosher business doesn't worry me.
Should I do it? Certainly.
Well, it's not like he's hurting anymore.
And cook it? Well, maybe.
Apparently there's a risk of salmonella.
But that's about the same risk for me as cancer.
I smoke only about four cigarettes a day.
Risky business, smoking.

Neckwound

Despite the vast majority of nothing surroundings me,
And despite the falls from grace that led to the emptiness inside of me,
I still am able to concentrate my thoughts to a state of perpetual comfort in my life.

Opry Queen

I thought you were supposed to be
Every bad debt paid in full
With a push for forgiveness
And a life with untold grievances
To get a new wife blocked.

Entwixt the bears and wolves
I called my home
And with a life in fetters
I will pull my own

Death of a Wasp

Across the street
People can look so far away
As they fix their hair
And balance on one foot

It's a bridge to cross it's a line to follow
Fucking burned to the ground
And now his days to live have ended
For I have crushed fucking soul with a bottle
Amputated his abdomen with glass and malice.
His mind's fucking racing: what is he thinking?!

The cuts!

Ants crawling up the glass slippery fate
Tiny arms kissing porcelain and lymph
Wherever his legs touched ground
Disappear his surroundings slowly
A god of filth and disease

It just doesn't come easily to me like you'd think. I see the prototypes and their flippant nonchalance, their practiced belligerence. Not my life, not my style, not even something I can wrap my head around. I can

approximate it and acquire its benefits, but I feel false and callow. Certainly, I can't belittle it, because it works for them. The only reason I even bother is that you seem to like it, so I proceed. But it's a flawed facade and I just want you to know.

Hmm.

If there was a way to escape from this endless cycle of vicious paranoia, self-hatred, loneliness, and denial, I would take it. I mean, if it didn't involve killing myself. But so far, all I've got is a few months of time to waste and spend face down in my bed at night.
My connections on the internet are superficial and helpless. These aren't really reassuring, I don't really let them be. I'm just praying that when I go to see her and try to forge a new fucking lifestyle it doesn't collapse by my own downer nationality.

Autonomous was the word I was looking for.

This seizure is anotamous
How the fuck do you spell
anatomus? Is that even a
a word?
Do I mean to say that
our corporeal lifestyle is
autonamous? Fuck me.
Automatic... auto...
automatic? Fuck
Ah ton eh moos
That's gotta be a fucking
word, c'mon
Means robotic, continuous,
automatic yet not rote
Self governing


Fuck!

An Excursion

We are a comatose, web-enshrined society. Due to our very human
collective reality, we chose to ensnare ourselves with rules,
agendas, propaganda in order to further a more deliberate and
actualized human race. This is by no means unhealthy, but
certainly not insurmountable. What is possible is to flaunt
these societal rules. I speak not of social roles or a higher
state of humanity. It is merely true that our perception is
utilized to conceptualize these contextual goals.

This leads us to a different conclusion. If these rules are
perceived through societal constructs and environments we build
around ourselves, a few can hijack the trains of thought
leading us to forgone conclusions. If one so desires, the
shuddering glass walls around us can be breathed clean of
fog. Our reality is relative, so why not deconstruct it? Look
past these preimposed notions of societal existence: look for what
is never seen at first.

Cancers

Don't tell the world that I'm going home
cause I'm going home tonight
Don't tell my friends that I feel alone
I'm not alone tonight
And if you know my parents
tell them I'll be all right
tell them I'll be just fine
And if you know my lover
tell her that I still love her
even if it's just for one more night

I'm gonna miss my pets
and the relics of my life
all the posters on my wall
And I'm gonna miss my house,
my apartment, my campus
my surroundings, and everything I've built
So don't let me get in the way
of your world
cause I got it all planned out
Don't let me get away with this
please save me
before I try to commit the crime of your kiss

Diamant

Reconstructed the skeleton, set him on the floor
Incisions rescinded and tissues replaced
No lightning bolts, just scalpels and grease
Just handcuffs and a forty four
No Lovecraftian errors to spare
Removed the eyes from the sockets
Replaced conniptions with pure purpose
His skull sloshed with acid
Two beakers full: he shall not be placid

Pirate Battlesong

On a ship setting sail with bitter wind on my face
I will unload my revolver
British troops, they fall!
I'm no privateer, there are no flags to give me fear
Burning timber is by far my comfort
I will set my hair aflame
JUST TO FUCK YOUR SHIT UP

Corporately Getting Invisible

The axis has descended
on poor Richard's arms
He is an unlawful contribution
A meat puppet, a flesh-and-stiltskin
The flesheaters anoint him
With their barbarous kisses
He is amused: their pockets sink

"That girl's ass looks tight."
"I bet I could make it tighter."

Punch you in the face with my love.

Dinnertime!

I'm ready to eat!
I love eating dinner
Especially spaghetti!
With scrumptious sauce
Go fetch me a pizza
A turkey! A cow!
I'll eat til I'm popping
I will eat it all!!

Raptor

She had feet like railways
You could hear the smallest movements
As she swayed

Broadcasting from this little house
The father wiped hair from his eyes
He'd built a bridge for the voices in his head
They opened eyes underneath his skin

A Murder of Silhouettes

I

She pulled herself around on her broken spine. Pulled it like she had a point to make. What her mouth spelled was no word for the bevy of codeine vampires that affixed themselves to her strata. They shivered and gibbered, affianced to her sweet aroma.
"I do not ghost ride the fucking whip," Keats said with authority, her dignity flaming fuck you's. She held the door open as a moth flew in, hoping to meet a butterfly. Keats smiled, she'd seen the moths flutter straight onto the flypaper we'd glued to the coffee table. I sat back on the bar, a coka-cola in one hand and a cigarette and a shot in the other. The medikamenten in my stomach had started fucking with my head. PM and AM were all mixed up, daylight shone breezily in a waft that stunk of daisies. The moth quivered, asked for dandy-lion wine and stuck its nose out for a sip. I flicked a black fingernail out and severed its ties to the earth. Keats got on the couch next to the girl and all her admirers, their suckers praying for a grasp.
It was 1934 and the bubbles in the champagne burst pretty sepia. The ne'er-do-well threw her hat on a rack and gave me a look like we didn't have enough bullets for the proboscis-wearers around the lady. Her dress was almost off her and vodka saturated the air around her.

II

I was a darling number named Delilah at this point, but colours were already more vivid than the Yellow Submarine. "I don't need another," I slurred to Keats. She wasn't actually a woman, but for the sake of moths and the suction cup black hole in the blue dress, we had agreed upon this beforehand. I didn't think I could pull out my revolver in time, and when I looked at it in my bad, it fairly grinned back at me. "Motherfucker," I breathed out.
"Don't you have any less dreary records?" the lampreys on the couch yawned, their fangs bared at my intentions. Keats grinned as she spit out some paper. "Everything here is broken into fractals, ladies," she laughed. "Our Delilah didn't want to pull the be-bop on a couple of swaggerers."
Stumbled over to the antichrist and sat cross legged on the floor in front of the couch. The pistol tucked in my pocket giggled. "Have you heard of a game called Russian roulette, miss?" I asked the fully aware girl. The suckerfish descended on the moth before I closed my mouth, leaving rorschach patterns on the linoleum.
The Goddess shook as her spine ate up her organs. Keats closed the door and turned off the lamp.

Hari-kari-ku

At just tiny cost

My colossal boot will descend

On your fucking face

Zombie Hat trick

There's so little we take for granted
And it's the hardest things that pass so quickly
Life's pale and uninteresting
When you don't recognize the little things
Brandon Lee said it right
Believe me, nothing is trivial
Everyone needs to find time to doubt themselves

Realizatio

My subconscious wants me to kill myself.

Shit! Fycl!

You were hovering quite slowly above my face so I blew smoke
over up at you. Sky shattered serenely, you lost all dignity. An
overflowing grin split your face up and I couldn't help but smile
back.

A sleeveless shirt is recipe for disaster in these locales, friend.

Growlithe?!

She's so anxious that necklace is choking her
Blowing glances from coiffed eyelashes
Blowing back facial wipes
She's holding back, she's an actress.

Swallow your tongue, don't even think those words again
You're sucking the wrong damn end of the gun
No match for killers, ears peeking out the mirror
Don't vote left right, the equilibrium's blown
Like the shattered windows those politicians blew
With the doves they shot with their twenty-twos

Fucking fascists, fucking beatniks
It's the common sense an obstacle
Burning all your bridges, scars your vision
Stop trying to listen, just stop to think.

Expletiara

Gorilla tranquilizers, I am accursed
Sweet coup d'etat, show me your purse ma'am
Far too small, fuckin' assembly line
Got bent on your mother's transmission fluid and lime
Now slow yourself down, corrupted mothership
Bank noted suicide, forget your chill pills:
this time it's real.

Lost perfectionism is that art unsaid
Gone blue and black, all pulled and stacked
Yesterday I lost the ability to spell my own name

Grievous child, your machinations are full-breasted.

Trainmusic

Rivulets ran up her spine, those virulent affections
Pay no attention to the undue digression
Mixing you back and forth in a waveform progression
Their denial might be protection but it's also a weapon.

My cake tasted like blood when I won it
Achy rusty and no correction from it
Dastardly bastard, the inebriate's a hit
Smile sideways you son of a bitch

Medioration

Sometimes the closest cut makes the least amount of scars.

Encircling rapture just flew up behind my eyes. I'm blind as a bat, mad as a hatter, and chewing gum like a beaver.

End of falltime.

All I did in August was work at Taco Bell.

Falltime.

All I'm doing in August is working at Taco Bell.

Stark on the Andes

That little stem
of grass you plucked
was beautiful,
I said to you.

The little shine
inside your mind
is what made me
just a little free

The other aspect of last night's dream

The cave opened up into New York City like it was some sort of cobwebby denial the SKY the ROOF the DARKNESS was palpable.
I saw those hobos, those 9-5 prostitutes, with all their bitter rags and sodomy, it was almost so pretty.
You need to take a tram to where you're going and the tram is never on time and it's always fucking 1232 and 1232 is no time for you.

She's back up on the hill, what the fuck is she waiting for? Was it something I said, did I give her regrets, did I do something stupid now?
I guess I'll crawl back up so slowly, please eat my heart and owe me, this is not what I had in mind. This is not what made me find
you so attractive.

But then she's saying it's all right and I'm calling for twilight cause back up to the Andes we'll go.
And I'll push her back against the railing, she'll push back with lips and send me sailing, on my back I'll be trailing.... little bits of glitter.

Last Night's Dream

All about the walls were shades of glitter
And the gramophones were shuddering
as the cock-eyed clock struck two
And the alabaster prince was weeping
he never felt, he never knelt, he never knew

But wherewithal, the dirty sycophant
And animal distractions couldn't stop them
for want of quieter rhythm
And on the Andes I sat with you
and knocked you down to kiss you

He just stood there.

Her head was like a cocaine addiction. The flies buzzed around her ears, and she couldn't move her neck to stop them. Floor resting against her head, she urged her aching eyes to look away from the scene. Two of her ribs were broken, probably three. That was a dull pain though, and what was surging through her thoughts was so much more vivid. Some inner well of strength lent her the resolve to push with her hand against the ground, only to have her wrist spill more and make her slip slap back against the concrete. She felt like crying, but there was nothing left of water in her body.

I believe in Santa!

1) Kudos to the designers of this whole 'intelligence' thing.

2) God is in danger of being fought to death by the same Phoenician battleships he gave.

3) I feel better when I compartmentalize my life.

4) My shallow eyes are crunching blinds.

5) Ragged tragedy is my insane motive.

6) Dire gravity ensnares your corporeal frame.

Meep.

Dishwater is rainwater with psychological baggage.

Kinetic dialysis made her
Now sweet delirium and fog
Will overcome and break her
Hunt her like a plague bringer dog

I'm falling down a well and there are no walls
No more barriers
My lips are growing thinner and torn
Is there any more atmosphere?

Sorry

I'm lazy and inconsistent.

Life has been looking towards the sky recently. Not in a bad way. Or an especially good way.
It's just a pretty place to look.

I caught a cold...

...and felt stupid.

Fuck my burning body
Fuck my frozen limbs
Fuck the swift shift between the two
Fuck sleeves that are too long, too short
Fuck 11:11, fuck wishing for something better
Fuck the small of my back
Fuck my menagerie of emptiness
Fuck lovers and haters
Fuck aching for more
Fuck guitars, fuck explosives
Fuck the rotten fruit in my dresser
Fuck hope for change
Fuck the American flag
Fuck space and time
but most of all, fuck me.

Axoms and Blue Sky Detectors

On the train to work this
afternoon, I saw an Indian
Richard Nixon smiling at me.

I would like everyone to know that I have blood on the floor of my cellar. I do not know where it is from, but the stairs have a perfect drop that leads to more.

The smell of gasoline mixes with the odor of skin and
accumulates in my large intestine.
Perfume drifts by my periphery as another girl with long
straight mussed brown hair pulls her feet along behind
her hands.

Hain's First Law
Everything happens because of human choice.
You met your new husband on the subway not because of fate or luck or destiny.
You met him because both you and he woke up that morning and chose to go to work.

Blue sky rainbow.

Introducing... Seven Million Watts

I had the BEST sex
with myself last night...
I left myself panting!

"Blue Gatorade
is my pussy
catcher."

Bear Vs. Shark
- track off
original album
I am burdened by a complex existential load.

Classy As Fuck

I am encapsulated
in an indiscriminating
ivory castle.

My realization of your inescapable failures
has lent me the strength of seven million dynamos.

schizophrenic

They are crawling with custom
Reaching tentacles with purpose
My feet the movements fathom
For screaming dna pulling turquoise.

We're over the river
So the house is over the bend
Do I want to? Yes, you want to
Sit there, make that cigarette
Buttress our heads on the cool
concrete, this ennui's revenge.

psychopathic, you are my
homeopathic, medicine box, I'm
schizophrenic

Feathers on my Hands

The feathers on my hands are sinking battleships
lost the will to flight, so screaming caves engulf them
Vindicated by a thought of comic relief
I shall evince my vampiric tendencies

(this is about the effects of thc on my creative endeavours)

Hmmm

I'm so glad that I love her and the feeling is reciprocated.

Spill this verbal fucking breakdown

I'm deeply ashamed and saddened that I am not as close to my
parents as I could be. Perhaps our personalities are incompatible,
perhaps I do not put as much effort into communication as I
should. What I do know is that ever since I was young, they
occupied a position of teaching, authority, and respect. I never
confided in them, and they did not either. Now it has led to
a simple lack of anything. I cannot wake them and cry
on their shoulders or talk to them about issues I find
agonizing or important. I am afraid of their reactions, of their
beliefs. I do not understand them, just as they do not know
that I bite my lips and pull my hair and run my hands
over my face at night.

I feel especially guilty when my most trusted and loved
friends speak or show their own strong familial ties.
Maybe their relationships are just as strained and contrived
(yet filled with love, mind you) as mine, but I can't know that.
It feels like a huge personal failure when my friends notice,
or worse, comment on my perceived inability to communicate
with my parents. It's never a big deal at the time, I don't
mull over it, and I'm usually sure they don't mean it in a
critical light, but when I am alone with my thoughts, it
upsets me. I'm not terribly attached to my family and it
doesn't make me feel very nice sometimes. Although, I do
love them dearly. It's just like loving some essential part of your
everyday life. Which is kind of pathetic, if that's all I can
muster. This is a shallow overview, but God damn, does it
bite.

Bicycle Muscles

Ever since I got back from college
I've been much more serious
and also much more afraid of little things
like you

I have too many chemicals in my body
and none of them are the right ones
Cigarettes and alcohol
and painkillers

To treat these Aching teeth
To fix this broken jaw
Alienate my friends with philosophy
and a part of me

My eyes are like a boxers'
all blackened out
I don't fight anymore
I don't see one fucking reason to unless it's

To treat these Aching teeth
To fix this broken jaw
Alienate my friends with philosophy
and a part of me

tightly clenched teeth
ride these wild eyes
baggy and red, badly undone

loving the moment
before the panic attack
I will not succumb, I will never succeed

Sedan

You look like a clay statue with beetles for eyes.
Slowed down this life of few to no directions.
You will not be complete ever again.

"Go to sleep. It seems to
be the only place to find
the nightmares you seek."

AAH EAT BEEF

Abraham Damien
Luciferincoln

"FUCK
Y8U!"

"I am so
angry at y8u"

Incomplete Poem About Ms. Mary Jane

The passion is no gift horse so you'd best look
the celestial mother fucker in the eyes.

Great roaring fiery bulls drop from the heaven
Rapist firebombs in the guise of raindrops.

Stutter step nuclear collisions incinerating your brain

1997 hundred luxury autombiles
Was the cool you wore on your breast
not a gorilla or a che kid
Force of a million suns

Midnight Mustachios

I got hit h'in the hhhead
by a pigeon today.

Vengeance is silly.
So are probosces.
And purple socks.
I mean seriously, what the fuck.

Kung -
Fuck You

I feel like I just sold my fucken soul off.
For about $2500.

SUCKA
SLOW
DOWN

Spaceman Animal Rape Victim Pt. 2

sick of the maggots
on my spacesuit
crush open cigarette
blow smoke through chute

And I'll stomp stomp stomp
on the backs of innocents
if it gets! me!
where I'm going

Sweat dripping in my
supernova
Church bells ringing
a symphona

Spaceman Animal Rape Victim Pt. 1

You shouldn't have breathed so god damn loud!
Now all the animals
have all the coordinates
We're stuck in the spire of a black hole!!
And [I] don't [know] how I feel about you!

Sunlight rises through our faces
WE'RE BEING DISMANTLED!
Elder Gods pulling us to our places
IN FAR TOO MANY DISEMBOWELED PIECES!

We can't prevent gravity
Well, we can now
And there's no escape from this vacuum
Well, there is NOOOWWW!!!

*very cool

Reconstructed my body (esp. brain and skull). Kraddy #2
NOTE: write W-----, email him "freaks" from Clutch 09.

My dealer friend is a little, squinty, bald Russian! SO COOL*!

7 Million Volts - is my new name. Charming.
Thank God I'm not drunk!

If I had been drunk,
I would haven't had
a trainticket!

Maylene & Sons of disaster album "III" may be specifically geared
towards the lonely lover
...who likes Metallica.

So high skull

About as melodic as a targeted advertisement for a fucking STD.
Black haired girls with blacked out eyes. "Vomitus noncorporandum"
I had her one second ago but just vaporized her with my fingers,
flesh yielding to superheated bones.

-grin
-grimace
-maw
-peace
-pistol
-lungs
-jacket
-hearts
-android
-pacifist
-unhallowed
-amorphous

M&TSOD

The intentional flames that ring your ears
are GUILT! FEAR! PAIN!
You cannot escape them when they come.

The best you can do is use it.
The worst, be overcome by it.

This is my attempt to alleviate hatred.

from me, for you.

Bile party

In the back of my throat, a bitter slime forms: some fucked anagram of a smile.

There is a forum for such embodiment; viscous charnel desire.

skeletal remains of a horse having sex with an unidentified prepubescent girl were found in the andes earlier this morning, suggesting a link to primordial child pornography (prostitution?) and the growing fondness on the internet for what is commonly referred to as "bestiality" type pornography.
any information you could give as to the identity of your assailants would be helpful.
Vacant stare. Tongue lolling out the side of her eye socket.

Industrial piping

Timing kneels 'fore dirt under nails
necktie suicide, blindfold deicide
I want to get alive again.

this gap is fabric canvas skin
and skin doesn't sink deep

Put your arm around her closer:
you wouldn't know the exquisite pleasure of being without.

It's that unhallowed eleven ay em.

Chainsaw buttercup

I am the idiot
lips failed and wretched
nomenclature for shakes
and meditation (medication?) and tears

Space vacant and smilefree
life is serial episodes of quietness
white spaces painted on trees
old fuckers in wheelchairs
and kids crying in the sun-soaked grass

this three part symphony is all mine
yours too? fuck.
you can have it.

Antman II

I am an antkeeper, I wear thick gloves
Smoke floods my lips
With a wheelchair sporting my bad blood
My ants feed me scraps of cloth and bacon
When

Pins and Needles

become too strong, the ants carry me to my car
And when it rains
I sleep underground
my eyelashes are their dead legs
No lipstick graces my face, no lines shadow mine eyes
I keep my protuberances covered in cloth
the ants love for me
the ants eat for me
the ants see to me
and I eat the ants
They keep me quiet, quell my anxiety
Whisper me to sleep
I am no unaffected man
My dreams are large and vast
I see the same things in their carapaces
The ants eat what I kill
and I kill to feed them.

Guilt Trip

When you milk the street dry, all that's left is a husk of tattered lampshades. Those fucking nightshades, just give it a clean erase. Vendor bended hubcaps call the tailgate a chaser like a skirt or a shot. And what's left? a shallow memory of a negative connotation? That's masturbation.

If I'm a victim then please, proselytize me. Wait my turn in the line, no I won't do any time. "Get the fuck out of here you fucked cannibals!" She won't take my yes for a no like I tried to make it. Hesitant misplacement, uncommon creation. Malfeasance ensured by a buckle on his shoe on his ass split wide. This place is on fucking fire with apathy all dolled up pretty like some cherry advertisement for lipsticksmear and embercigarette and stockingrun. Stock market droppings, some vicious whore with blazing computer blinking lips stick stuck maw a-gape. What flavour is this, she enquired with tears wet in her ears, I can't make out the signals.

Kept my heart in a vase, she did. Released a binary mitigation to consternated lullaby-fucks all closetwide and slavering. Trying not to make eye contact with the freaks, she is, for fear the inverse idiot will call her normalcy out on a shivering limb. Corpuscle Christ, cadaver canon. Eliminate the inebriate: this forest what we salvage on bent knees is treed with crucifixes and everybody's fucking.

"Have you ever had nothing better to do than stare at a wall and imagine grabbing yourself by the collar and crushing your face into a mirror," she whispered with cold sultry abandon. "Just thinking of your nerves grinding fucked shards, punctured eye socket dripping cum and rust, slamming your arms hands legs until mashed to a precise, nice apeslime of pulp and slaughtered lambsdown."

My lover, Oh Rose With Thorns, sweet triskaidecaphilia-faced angel. I stole these flowers for you. They're laced together with floaters plucked quietly off the lens of mine left eye.

Macaroni

"I'm a shark I'm a shark suck my dick I'm a shark" blah blah blah et cetera.
My oatmeal is laced with ketamines and my head is seventeen sizes too large for my ego.
I should stop this STOP this but instead, I'll drink my iron water with dented teeth.
I'll do my dearest chore with a cannibalistic beak.
"He is very cute"
"He is very single"
"HE IS VERY DEAD"

Got a new line every day on my face got a new note every day on my arm got a nice smile every day for a stranger and well, I quit smoking cigarettes because they could give me cancer.
I'll start again in a few weeks, but it's nice to break free of primordial addiction and advertising for a moment.

My dreams have been more violent than any sick twisted flick you can shove at me. I've seen fantastic valleys and terrifying fields of ice and blood. Island campus, mountaintop social scene. Telling imaginary girls who are trying to rape me that my forearms do indeed have a history with cigarette embers and she chimes in, "Yes, I can validate that. He's telling the truth."

Now I'm on the train tracks and there's a cliff to my left and the ground seems way too slanted for a train to round the bend without falling but it does and I'm shaking for a foothold in the prepubescent dirt.

Nationalism

strapped your face
in shards of emerald and glass
a kiss could shatter it.

radio call home
these wheels are chapped
fruitless, I'm toothless
an indiscrete grin.

that kid with one eye
sitting on a lamppost
a jar of toads in hand
"This is my kingdom."

Slash.

urging myself to end life with a period
some sort of punctuation, at least
I think I'm more suited to a semi colon
or a cone of ice cream;

End of summertime.

All I did in June was get my life in order.

Summertime.

All I'm doing in June is getting my life in order.

Quizzical man in the apartment window

Off step, slowly let me silence your lambs
just a mark of a claw and an empty reservoir
miss Happy Go Lucky in the back of a riot van
filled with fluid, a bag lady in heat

your whole essence is vacuous
like a temptress
or a nun
wait at night for a phone call
sit clutching your gun
the pack of reds you hold as a lifeline
a remnant of days not spent alone
but who needs hope, you're not spent
relief is just a phone call away
or is a bullet, my memory's bad
and I can't stand.

wrappers on the street
"please don't remember me"
she said.
your pearl pigeon is a crow

Black Diamond

The world looks sideways when or if you don't pay attention
If your necklace was as black as her's, you'd see things like that
The clear sky was never as blue, the grass quite green
a hesitant glimpse up and then to the left
revealing the skateboard prophesy of a drifting saint.
That's it! A skeleton hand
reached for something of yours; certainly not your soul.
That black diamond, causing arrhythmia, ensconcing your hopes
within "hatred, fuck, pain, desire"
teenage words of a bank cashed statement
Despoil but deposit
My fading embers are quite cold.

Don't try just
com-pre-hend

That Gatsby

it's about that time of day
when all that I do is
- smile at strangers
- pet dogs that don't look too vicious
- quit tobacco a few weeks
- have a glass of wine (from the bottle)
- think about you and how you're doing

pretend this major key
isn't as lovely as it seems
pretending like a smile worn for others
has to be fearful
feeling like sunglasses,
if I wore them,
would be round, Lennon style
or robot style

upside down crosses on fingertips
what's right for you isn't wrong for him
it's just a missed connection,
some kind of subway eye fuck

My orders for today:
Hold eyes with attractive strangers on the train. Force a smile; they won't if it's real or not.
Is it real? Well, how do you feel today?

West Christ

G-Star
Homeslice
"Muhfucka"

yo man
you still owe me five bucks

"I'll try not to be offensive."

Fucking
Sick.

My occupation: ruining white sheets
of nice, clean paper.

BORIS

turning black in the light
don't fucking say this is a normal side effect
I just wanted a normal ride through life
a normal fucking existence
a set of perfect denials
a shot at rainy weather without happiness
there's a big fat relief in this uncertainty
it's no exemption, all these digressions

Charcoal Sketch

All right, so here's the story.

So i meet this kid the other day he's all glassy
eyed and comatose sitting on the sidewalk

I give him a dollar and he looks
up at me and says

"My MOTHER is dead?!
that's the best news
i've heard all day!"

and passes out
in his own vomit.

i took the dollar bill back.

on the present

My mind's not ready to really do this. I guess that's not quite true, every fiber of my core is begging me to do this, forcing me to do this. But I don't think that my head is really mature or intelligent or shaped in the proper form to just slip into this shell. I am pretty sure that I want this, though. And honestly, without it, I don't really find much other significant meaning in life. Or at least, I have no goals to speak of.

This gives me something to look forward to, to build up towards. I'm fairly certain that even if I didn't feel this crushing fucking emotion, I would still at least have something to say, "This is why I'm getting up every morning," to. And I'm feeling this crushing fucking emotion, this desolate and barren stomach lurch. I write about it and think about it and Hell, even dream about it often enough. I've experienced most of the good parts and some of the bad parts, but I'm pretty firmly in love right now.

And right now, it's not exactly one of the good parts. This is a time for frustration and desperation, a time for a lack of communication and annoyance. It's a time for bittersweet letters in the mail and drunken text messages explaining true emotions, because the true emotions just hurt too fucking much. I'm tired of this, and yet I could go on like this forever. Something inside of me has an urge for addiction, an urge for fulfillment of desire. I've found all I could ever want and been told I can't have it. So, I'll fight and drink and smoke and write and work and cry and scream and do whatever I can until I do have it. And then, hopefully then, I'll be content.

Edited Notes Pt. 6

relief machine

lymph node drainage
heat, cold, pain, pleasure centers continually activated at a low level
on-call orgasms
all bones separated + cushioned
mild on/off muscle tensioners

whore

Edited Notes Pt. 5

burning up with a fast wick
it's a shtick, it's an easy click
you may think it's all impromptu
bitch what isn't, a fast slew
of letters and numbers, calculated
slumbers. X or Y just a facet
of left and right so complacent and
flaccid. zero brain required in its
entirety, fucking tired of me.
dichotomy, I thumb my
nose at thee. I'm not interested
in pure misogyny, hah.

Edited Notes Pt. 4

Cherry bombs in your mailbox
perhaps the only way I could
even come close to hopes
of saying that I think you're cute.

I forgot this past week
shadowed recollections
wishing at times that I
could forget your fucking face

somebody walking turns back
a mild interest or less than
maybe that's all I can hope for
when the sky's pissing incontinence

fuck cocaine
I don't want function
a being of release/relief
maybe insight if I feel
like what I have isn't worth shit

the shit you have is the shit
what you can kiss sweet goodbye
if life's a shroud
five minutes ain't time for the
smallest pocket of air

Edited Notes Pt. 3

wear your clothes like you'd wear a condom
easy on, easy off
Calvin Klein in the trash
a razor shaving your identity
closer than Occam lets you

I prefer the walls to the signs
logic imbued with a heart of Darkness
no Conrad, just Kerouac
kiss flagellants, hit escape
hit inebriate, there's no fucking escape

the bricks on the floor spell
mirror, mirror, aren't I new
so high, slow high, keep the dogs
at bay. let's get right to the
limit.
Haze

offsides now, you're a penalty call
with a shot of absinthe and
that haunting laughter

Ask not fr whom that bell tolls
it's for your last God

Edited Notes Pt. 2

a one-shot machine
getting you one shot closer
madness or rapture, who can tell
a difference, if one's there
sitting straight tween hangman and his chair.

electric pulse, can't take this elsewhere
shirt tucked at the waist
who pulled the arm for a taste
impersonable like a keyboard
aroma of a nightmare

screws in your head makes your day shred

the vein under my thumb
a fine force
resurrect you, face the droplets
crawl so drawl up your cheek

inhabit your skull
your pants are too short
your's a too-long fancy
fancy a touch or just a spider
your web is too leather

Edited Notes Pt. 1

criss crossed patterns
a dead hooker's arm
tattoos of a knife fuck
overzealous with the tattoo gun
clip's out, keep shooting.

a softer sound
keeps the vultures in house
shot to the ground

grass pulls through
fuck pavement, brick, shoes
I'll collect your honesty
like I hold on to cigarette butts
necklace or noose, it's up to you
ethics or ethnicity
got a wholesale diet of carbon times three

dance beat
no streets
no words to make a punch
no hunch to speak of
a mild dystopia, look it's Utopia
don't have the language to split it

everybody makes your history true

Berlin

Click. An error screen.

“We’re sorry, an error has occurred. We’ll try to fix it as soon as possible.”

The bulging almonds in my face fucking hurt. I took two aspirins a few minutes ago, washed them down with a swig of beer. It’s flat, and I can taste a bit of disappointment in the 4.8% alcohol.

I hate being governed by numbers. Tuition: $45,000. Rent: $500. Hard drive: $150. Weed: $60. Jeans: $40. Wine: $1.79. Limiting factors may very well serve some disingenuous purpose in our society, but that doesn’t make them any less limiting. It doesn’t make my head hurt any less.

Rewind a few days ago, to when I was hitchhiking on a train track. It was night, although at times like that you can't really tell. I had just regained consciousness and had no memory of where I was or where I was going. My jacket was covered in rags that I guess I had stitched on their for warmth. Heat really doesn't matter when you're at that place, though. You're never cold or hot, it's never windy unless you're flying. Anyway, so there I was, walking along the train tracks in the midnight air with streetlights in a city on my left and a fenced off field to my right. Or was it a lake? I couldn't tell and didn't care.

I had my backpack slung over one shoulder. It was stuffed with possessions, although I didn't open it to see exactly what. I figured it was clothes, books, or something else not particularly important. The streetlights were getting brighter way too fast, so I started to squint. Then I realized a cabby train was coming slowly up behind me. I jumped off the tracks and stared at it as it chugged on past me, single car separated to a driver's compartment, an open passenger hold, and a little porch on the back. A few eyes stared back at me from in the dark, and I heard a voice shout, "Hey, want a lift?" Started running after the train as it moved a bit slower to wait up for me. Skinny white arms pulled on my hands as I ran parallel to the locomotive.

There were about four or five people in the compartment, all of them paying attention to me, or nothing at all. I felt like I knew them, and their familar faces jogged my memory. They were all about my age, dressed in blacks and greys and buttondown shirts and short skirts with boots and tank tops and cheap eyeliner and gloves and leisure jackets and polos and... They looked like they'd been there forever. This girl who looked to be about sixteen stuck out her hand and smiled, sunglasses pushed back on her head.

"Hey. It's good to see you," she said. "Sit back, the train's coming into Chicago now."

She looked like a Julia or a Liz. Always darting a stare around when she thought nobody could see, looking for approval in a colony of dead host bodies. One older guy with a ponytail and a black hoodie saw my eyes pass over him and nodded his head in salutation before leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. There was an electric ladybeetle buzzing around inside of a pickle jar glued to the ceiling. The bug was bigger than a normal one should be, and gave out a flickering yellow light. I figured it was genetic modification or something. A couple in the corner was sleeping, the man's head resting in his girl's lap. Her brow was tilted forward, covering her face in shadows as a streak of black hair dangled in front of her eyes. I saw somebody who looked friendly enough, a moody guy my age with short hair and angry (or maybe they were tired) eyes. He was looking out at the passing scenery, the endless cityscape and fences and lampposts as the cabby trundled along its winding way. My stomach ached.

"Hey, man, you got anything to eat?" I asked. "I forgot how hungry I was."

The guy looked back with a smile, "Yeah, sure. We have some sausage, some jerky. Oh, and some brownies, but they ain't the regular kind." The smile widened. I knew this mother fucker from somewhere, I knew that fucking smile. I looked over at Julia-or-Liz and saw her face in the yellow light. She looked like my woman. I turned back to the dude.

"What's the sausage look like?" I enquired. "I've got Germanic high standards." He pulled out a greasy paper and unfolded it to show me some sliced meat. It looked all right, so I took a few slices. Passed him a few dollar bills from my jacket. That's how this thing works. No words.

"Brownie?"

"Yeah. Give me two."

The dude took out a Tupperware plastic box and opened it, pulling out the most muffinesque brownie I'd ever seen.

"Just take what you want, man. Some doctor friend of ours has these crazy ideas about drug gentrification," the guy laughed. "I won't complain." The lines on his face were so delicate but obvious when he laughed. Those fucking eyes though, I felt like I had his name on the tip of my tongue and his number in my phonebook. Whatever. I took a bigger brownie and a smaller one. Took a bite of the sausage, took a bite of the brownie. A jug of merlot skittered out from the dark corner and climbed my shirt to latch itself on my mouth. It tasted cheap and shitty, I liked it.

I leaned back against the wall. The lady beetle had started to beat itself frantically against the walls of its jar and eventually must have squashed its tiny nervous system, because it stopped glowing and the compartment was dark again. Felt safe. Felt safety in numbers. These were the kind of numbers I could deal with.

Itchy kiss

lines of forefathers
I hope not to appoint them
to positions of

this isn't even remote
I can't help but hate or cry
there isn't a way to express this

i'm an emotion
at times

not a person
not a human
not a lover
not the loved

i'm just a bit of dead skin
with a little bit of heart
and some muscles
to impress the girls

they don't look back when they see my scars

Four: Comments

Comments:

am filled with an urge to be friendly and make other peoples' lives happier
in order to hide my own sense of despair. read about despair in
existentialism, apparently living in a state of despair means not only
being despairing and bereft of hope but also reliant on some individual or
circumstance that could lead to despairing. am not sure most people aren't
without a state of despair in their lives; certainly, I am twofold vulnerable.

i'm trying so fucking hard to put a happy face on this, but if inside
I'm so spiteful and abject, it seems like a waste of time. everyone
else seems preoccupied with proving how big their cocks are, and I'm
finding it difficult to just sit here and apply tobacco and alcohol as
a tranquilizer. even the birds can't shut up and just exist.

Three: Mental State

Mental
State:

in a quiet state of panic, desperation, and/or worry.
despite frequent quarreling with mother, do lover her and
can't help but bring thoughts of her, and my own, mortality
into the scene. she's 56, I think. in good health, so I
know she'll be all right. still, it's difficult not to be morbid.
had own confrontation with bemused mortality earlier this year
when I coughed up blood for almost a month. told my
friends it was only a week to spare them of worry.
am reminded of renowned poet who coughed up blood
and realized he was going to die. died at a young age
of tuberculosis. am confident of own health, but such things
are fuel for thought. i am pretty upset. have not been
talking to lover much. feel that with my current mild
depression and the shit that's been currently going. received
beautiful text message from her last night at 5 am Germany
time. made me feel a lot better about our relationship. however,
that was before mother's relapse. high school kids are walking
by me on their lunch break and off to taco bell to celebrate.
i don't fit in here, or in America, or walking through the streets of
Germany. something about how I dress, walk, look, smile, look
morose, I don't know. fit in with my friends, at least the close ones.

Two: Events

Events:

mother's nose surgery previous week had complications, she
woke up bleeding profusely "I can't swallow!" I spent the
night at a high school acquaintance's house, so was unable to
help. father took her to the hospital, have been exchanging
telephone calls with him. high school acquaintance is now
pretty good friend, despite not having hung out with him
alone ever. am currently waiting for update from father
before I take a train home.

One: Location

Location:

in a military housing installation, sitting on a park bench,
in the shade on a sunny day with spots of brightness
shining through the branches of the tree next to me.

Skinny black X shirt

The self awareness?
Detachment.
Okay, control.
I can't separate

This is all stuck into one
single idea

If I had tear ducts,
they'd look like this.

preposterous there isn't a single connotation you haven't thought of yet
that's untrue, we've thought of a lot
your thoughts, though rational and surely intelligent, are of no concern in this matter
you'll have to explain that
i wish i had the time but really we must be going
i hesitate while semantics still beckon
your fucking semantics, you're as bad as a junk addict fucking an abcess
oh my darling, how lovely you wax poetic
i do it only to please you
kiss me now, you mother fucker
*they kiss, as his knife stabs machine gun bullets in his own side

inner circle of squares

I'm deeply attached to my
own sense of vivid
imagination, and therebore,
by extension, very
deeply attached to my
ow
LIFE.

Wilson's Commons had just left orbit.

RAPING YOU INTO REALITY

recursiveness
i have ultimate control over
people, social trends, higher levels of
intelligence, social manipulation,
and a heightened sense of every
everyone is talking about you in a
good way; as if every shred of
reality is merely that, reality in
itself. I can't tell if that's the
event itself or the embodiment of
a higher evolution.

There is finite,
existence beyond reality: BUT
it is finite creativity and
understanding

I have experienced

Bethany the robot overlord

I just sit here in eloquence
with
there's a twined paired sense of
inexplicable wonder with
darkened infinity
WIRD

hha fucken gotten that

weverything I do
is reduced to
spontaneous

I can't hold
a thought

long enough to finish this peace

masSIVE heads

Dead
Child
Area

- false advertisement leading to TRAGIC EMOTIONS!

Strawberry dissection

I am a vile, rotting corpse who's quite
happy to make your oh-so-pretty acquaintance.

"Failure.
Failure.
Failure."

IS DEAD?

T bone aesthetics for a face
just like the vicious nibbling of the sparrows
with the bread

you miserable bastard
I have it.

SCIENTIST: "Noticeable: when I am focusing on anything, colours are
particulable ehanced. I saw how the concrete, the
trash, the waste and phsyicality of it become
eaten down and away. the feeling is like
experimenting with the most concendrated
Expance."

Rasta Eel

up and down like arcs of rampant lightning
Tracy
IS A
fuckin...
dumb name, god.

And with infernal diction, I will announce thee thusly:
I'm your
Cursed
GOD.
this too, is very large

"Oh noooes!"
SEX
bzow rawr

"I am not

alone."

ARRGH I'M
SUNBURNED

Frankie! <3

A test to

fucked up
like an icycle

kiss baby kiss
that's the first thing
that I miss

fuck sugar fuck
just one more touch
for good luck

I know I'll see you
again in 8 months
but at times like this
I couldn't care less

cause it's you kiddo, you
without you I'm blue
baby, so blue
it might not be true
that I'd die without you
but as sure as I am
that the devil has horns
I wouldn't the same
without you

touch baby touch
my body craves your
smallest touch

and I couldn't give a fuck
if separation anxiety
is our only concern

Another note to the reader...

Living dead in America is difficult to write when I'm not living in America.
Sorry for the dead period, was traveling to Germany.
Trying to get back on time with posts.
Take care.

Bleat

The son of God is a miserable job
You should have never picked up the phone
this fucking morn

The transistors in my brain flash red, yellow
Love is a seven letter word from the Bible
crucifi-

WHAT.

I wish I could confuse you like you confuse me
Every thing I said, I've said it thrice over.
Hatred is my modus operandum, but without it
Fuck, man, I don't even know.

This is almost incomprehensible, irresponsible.
I wish I could tear you a new judgment, but excluding that, I'll accept complacency.

Butterflies wish for razorblades,
As they sing through the air.
A common denominator,
One less of a fear.

Nintendo STD!

"I wanna bite my lip hard enough that I remember what it was like when you did it."
- me

Fuck!
Every little pretentious fucking word I write is like this stupid fucking lie I'm saying to try to express myself, but all I accomplish with each minimalistic epiphany is a struggle of fresh air in a sea of resounding fucking loathing and self-doubt. I'd like to think that something in here resembles a meaningful bit of art or philosophical thought and intrigue, but the truth is, it's all just shit. I don't believe a word I said here, everything is just reflex and gut reaction, I don't think shit through, it's not a fucking, ah, God damn it.

This is all worth a rat's ass.

A bad ass rat's ass.
That could fuck your mother.
With a penis in the shape of a log with a beaver family living in it.

Ten minutes ago.

My eyeballs are pulsing out of my face.
I can see individual little areas in my perception where light and the bathroom floor are swelling and receding.
My hair shakes in my periphery as my heart beats in time with my eyes like some writhing mass of maggots in my chest.
Dressed plainly in a white wifebeater and unobtrusive brown corduroy pants, I stand tall over the toilet bowl.
My vision ceases to swim, and I turn and walk back to the sinks.
My reflection in the mirror looks fine.
No ghosts over my shoulder, no blood streaming from my eyes.
I guess it was just whimsy, a momentary sleight of eye.

Preacherboy

there are cracks in the ceiling and I think I'm in love with
Deanna. It's hard to get perspective on my own life, but this
relationship could tide me over the rest of my years. i'm not
thinking or talking about "hoping this lasts" or "take what you
can get," I'm referring to that stigmatized phrase "true love."
who knows how much that exists, but at this moment, I'd
kill myself to prove its worth. pardon my seeming egotistical
confidence, but I am tired of being unhappy. while I enjoy
melancholy, I can't abide dissatisfaction, which is squarely
where I place much of my past. now I enjoy life. who
is to say where truth even needs to be involved.

santimonious
sanctuary of despondency

don't tell me how

razor stares in razor wires
I cut my chiseled lip
As I reach for hip to drink of

Arrow

trigger me slowly devoid of emotion
moistly I mumble a treacherous goodnight
whispering tremors of promise on silken delight
I cannot contend with manufactured contempt

exit my eyes with a slow draught of fear
felt louder and darker most devilish in word
left vacant and dozing until next worthwhile year
thoughtless I vanished

cloudy weather is certain death
one I can welcome with crystal eyes
desperate and content, ingrate and romantic
a dove moves slowly, the skies all die

"Even if I never see you again, touch you again,
taste you again, I'll always cherish your careful
fingers upon my skin. The face you made as I
slid inside you, the kisses that brought me from
death into life, or something like it. Even if you're
gone forever, your face is right here inside my eyes.
I'll love you forever until we're both worm feasts."

reverberating with boundless anticipation
juxtaposed twixt silence and a fear of loss
temporarily your angel in rags made of dark
I'll be yours tomorrow, so be mine tonight

Misfit curriculum

This iron tribute is of itself a prison
An inadequate little melody of sin
Doubt is lost while reviled saints haunt quietly
Brackish interplay of love's forgotten crucifix.

I want to kiss you until my lungs turn black
Seven burnt offerings, gifts of myrrh and filth
Your namesake forfeit to a ghost who feels your will
Surprised by an untrue silhouette, your past.

Innocence despoiled by those four words:
We encroach divisions with benevolent foreplay,
Are not the safest most unrestrained?
All the generalizations are appealing but only gone,
Dead fingers that reach for bone spirituality.

Chines people love
to scorn machines.

Denial is the
most sincere
form of
castration.

Mentally,
the American
people are not
ready for
redemption.

i mutilated my best friend yesterday.
there was a metal baseball bat in the garage.
twisted, shattered flesh and bone entwined.
ropey flesh like dead semen on the edge of the hacksaw.
the surest way to prove our friendship sincere.

Take my
hand, pretty
vixen.

love or make ill
i am unsure
my brain sits neglected
a petty purse that holds a pill

this night is light
beyond subtle abandon
though isolated yet
promised virtue, now regret.

BURN EAT
KILL KISS
CRY STEAL
STEAL KISS

Without hollow eyes
I sit here still, evacuated
and perpendicular to my
own head. I am
waiting to be delivered.

Scribblechicken

I'm not too sure
just exactly what I'm
trying to accomplish here
but I'm doing it so well.

All you are to me
All I have to give
All the nights of cigarette burns, cold liquor, and burning memories
I'd give them all to you

Don't be so hard on yourself, you're
trying to act like Jesus. And that poor
fuck never had no choice in the matter.

Are you fucking
serious right now
because I'm not.

It's dark out, it's warm
I miss your cold touch
Somedays, like todays,
It'd be more than enough.

So for now, just in time
for that big fucking chance
I would steal your kiss,
I would steal a dance

Why? What a bitter enquiry
One best left forgotten
Only if it's been brought to light
An object of shame and delight

Sonofabitch it's bright outside
in all the wrong ways,
with all the false pretenses
Bullshit ambience so tried
and fuckin true
Believe me this, oh believer
I swear I'll ne'er be through.

Through hatred and disgust
far too vile, I redeem
myself as an alien, with no
thoughts of shame
One step closer to a final
cigarette, another day coming
up in which I'll bow out of
the dance, extinguish the
burning ember on my
aching cheekbone.

Flick flack

Often as not, I'm forgetting what I'm doing here or
anywhere. I guess I'm driven, and even if I don't know
by what, at least that's something.

the divine pursuit of happiness
is a beast slain by spear
it's not really feasible, cause
in the end, you wind up dead.
and where's the sense in that?

I wish I felt
worthwhile.

Please kiss me, please buy me a
rose, please show me you love me,
please show me I'm wanted, please
read all my letters, please think
things over, please be nice,
please forgive my lack of emotion,
please ignore my lack of thought,
please don't leave me alone,
please kiss me.

let me just
bite you,
right there.

spinning out of understanding
silver bullets floating in my chest
a twilight remembrance of where you
kissed me last.

if but for past digression,
I could feel somewhat perfect
but the flaws you crave are flaws
I prove altogether so readily.

so with this, some pointless stain,
I marked this page succinctly and I hope
any meaning, if so unintentionally derived,
is lost on you.

the radio station
is set to a constant
diet of white noise
to celebrate our
50th anniversary.

I don't want to become addicted to drugs.
It's gonna be okay
was the truest lie
I ever spoke.

Pantagrem.

Trying to remember how to walk while
my head feels underwater. Make up memories
to pretend to feel real again. I'm not looking
for love, I think I've found it. It's funny how these
things works out. I used to crave attention, now I'm fucking afraid
of it. It's okay though, it doesn't cripple me. And in the end, it
doesn't matter much; I've got your attention for the most part.

these lips are unfit to see
much less kiss or kill
it's way too late to be clear
I'm far too shaken to feel fear

Too late, too deep, too far,
too long, too emotionally invested,
too apathetic, too careful, too
lonely, too snide, too
cruel, too honest,
too realistic, too dumb,
too rich, too poor,
too unfit, too
sore, too attached,
too meaningless,
too meaningful.

Fuck
my
BRAIN

Although it is nice to map out
all the emotions that don't do you justice
Romantic gibberish is all I spout
Who fucking knows what you think of it.

It's getting too dark too write
and I'm not good at walking and writing at
the same time. Oh fuck, here comes a huge
staircase.

trying to stretch my head
all that's working is nichts
I'm winding up just feeling dead
feeling between gar nichts.

However;

Horse fight

Brain drain, fuck you.
I lived life, done with that.
Casual encounters by myself,
leaving notes on the bar for strangers.

I left you with a sour voice in your ears.
You had a few choice words to say to me.
It wasn't anyone's fault.

dark bodies
bright lights,
everyone's FUCKED.

This kiss, this kiss
it's the kiss of death
this bliss, this isn't bliss
I'd like to fuck you as I kill you.
Your neck is so beautiful

Diverging patterns re-emerge with forceful
remissions of their vapid transitions, collateral
damage enabled in personal relations. Or maybe
just without emotion, forever striving for denial.
Effervescence fueled by some fucking pathos,
some fucking meaning in an otherwise difficult to
translate existential black out.

Just For You

It's just like you to give me herpes,
it's just fucking like you.

math equations, sinus derivations
my head is spinning loudly
I can't seem to breathe like I should
where are the walls, where is the roof
please kiss me or cut the chase
and punch me in the face.

Nublet.
gruesome, tragic.
An anecdotal excerpt in King Arthur's court.

I will be your pretty knifewound.

Through a steady diet of codeine and deja vu,
I've managed to compile a list of things that I see in terms of me and you.
It's a short list, I'm only human, and these eyes can only see everything.
Hopefully you'll see them too, and this won't be anything.

she hasn't looked at me with her eyes
she hasn't tried to kiss me with her mouth
she isn't breathing with her lungs
there is a little demon living inside my skull.

A shot glass and your lobotomy.

Please...

don't find yourself in times
of trouble. Oh, please, don't
find yourself in times of that
trouble.

I find it too simple to leave
and as the tempest finds its
little reprieve, cannot shake this
feeling of despair, and love.
You've got a knife
a heart
and a pack of cigarettes
kill them.

I can't believe you'd ever fucking believe them.

Psycho.

Pathways arisen, you are not your silent cause
That place for which you your beliefs so tightly hold
Ibroughtyouhomejusttoeatyoualive.

Sado-Maso-Killer
Ba ba buh bahh ba buh ba ba bah bahhh.

redder than a lobster,
i feel sunlight kicking me
that dirty communist sun
biting down on my arms

Don't fight, it's not worth the trouble
Don't gripe, it's not really a good place to be
Don't stifle your dreams for abandonment

A Glass Slipper Rampage

biting my own head off
as the scenery falls down.
itemizing the ways that I,
well, I burned it down.
without this shred of discretion
no fucking aggression.
without a kiss to parch this lip
sore and bruised like the hips I never touch.

spit, stare
blood, wash
wipe, rinse
look, leave.

Velocity triggers your eyes to awaken
As purpose drains, you fall back shaken
Pooled at your feet, my only refuge
Strapped tightly to an engine of pestilence

i know this girl
she has her neck
fingers are soft
not easy to break

Untimely demise

I play Solitaire for hours on end.
It's a vague attempt to create something enjoyable in my life, I guess.
Sometimes, I wax scientific and speak of how it is pure stimulus/response.
Sometimes, I say it's because I'm soul-crushingly bored here.
Perhaps I have an addictive personality; really, it's not that much of a stretch.

//stop
restart your engines.
burn out your eyes.
reconfigure neural pathways.
examine lifestyle choices.
//go

It is horrendously easy to manipulate people. All you have to do is tell them something they already know and suddenly, you have so much in common. It's important to be sincere about it, otherwise this affirmation won't seem as reliable.
Generally, this is widely applicable. One can use this patchwork puppet show to get sex, money, and fame. Sex and fame are easier, though. Everything's been done for money already. Fuck, yesterday, I saw a video of a guy drinking half a bottle of Ipecac for $500, as long as he threw up on the sidewalk. He did, of course, it was fucking Ipecac.

I am a priest, not a Jezebel.
Either way, you've seen me wrong.

Pooorrkerr!

[fr0m workbook:]

carnal desire won't fuck
your heart, to death
it lies in dreams
with glory through peace

"He's LYING!"
"He's a sadomasochistic bastard
who wants to see us all rot!"

Balruboskju
Bringing death from life,
hair strung with maggots.
Evil visage, stare
to abyss most foul,
chaste Balruboskju.

If you wear special
glasses, this is an awesome
3-D drawing of Spiderman.

It helps if you're on acid.

Look in the terrible mirror
of the sky.

In sleep, I have yet to dream
In life, I have yet to die
In tombs, she has yet to lay her head
Beside mine.

all hail the new god
flesh gone black from pale
necrotic heart rife with
your eyes' sorrow - blank, pale

this ultimate horror.

i'd like to occupy you
hopefully satisfy you
if you would let me
i'd be your heavy thing

Troubadour

you're a pretty troubadour
with rhinestones in your hair
diamonds in my eyes
vivacious as your stare

heaven, if it not below us lies,
may rain down judgment, but
without fiery passion has naught
with which us to crucify

so for now, forever
be thou not by my side
but rather, be a part
of this life, and mine.

Skeleton handshake

i won't try and fix this on either you or me
labels never quite accomplish what I want out of life
and malapropism always matched your eyes

this tabernacle choir is a transvestite wet dream
a total fucking travesty dressed in silken robes
you're dressed to the nines and too drunk to kill

might as well wait for the tide to come in
bringing shores ever closer and sea monsters
the scarring is compounded on my aggravated flesh

your puckered lips awaiting, the lams ripe
for my slaughter, I'd do anything for you
and crush their heads under my boots

if only you'd notice, if only you'd care
about yourself, this is no circus freakshow
you value yourself about as much as ethics
and you can't stop yourself from shoplifting

so there's just that, and you are here
with desire rife with pathos and apathy
some kind of misanthrope jesus
with hazy eyes and pierced ears.

A note from the author.

Hi, readers (all three of you.),
All of the posts since the beginning of April were written and complied back in February and March (I lied about the grass.). Starting now, you may notice a larger emphasis on romance and less on suicide. I promise I'll keep the depression around, but I thought you all should be informed.
Anyway, here's a tidbit so this post isn't a waste.

As you hear the hark of angels,
your hands are pushed deeper in the filth.
As you hear the voice of God on high,
you're stripped bare and raped by the altar.

No undemanding justice made meek by war
No repent for your disease-ridden heart
No penitence or impatience, you're no whore
Just crows and debutante balls to say you're through

Okay, well, I guess they're not all about romance.

The sound of the pick orchestra

I am a great vicious monster with a thousand slobbering malevolent mouths.

The last member of an evil suit and tie
Girls can't bite off the good girls can't even bite
An escapist literature evacuations.
This last romantic anticipation.

Television just wants to be the bad situations, no no
we just want a little something
Cancer bloody child, will be a bad situation, ah no no
to help us fall in love again

Hit me on the head with your echo
Dispose me in the most inadequate way
I'll bring your body down to the docks
You couldn't tune in to what I had to say

With this blackened mace a fist
I will slaughter, none shall be missed
A horror demon, throat glow maggots
Burn deep in your holy sacrament
Goat God be free in your hatred
Goat God terminate all humanity!

You had blue ribbons in your hair
You never saw me up right there
You didn't see me grow up, with you in mind
Yeah, I never told you that it was all just for you.

If you were a double base pedal, I'd probably fuck you right now.

Poetry.

[from schoolbook:]

"Why not just fuck me, if you're fucking everybody else?"

Baath?
Tacit.
Meta?
Cort!

NIGGA
WHAT

COCA
INE!

Exuberancelot.

Brutality, violence, heroism, fear.
"It wants her,
but her shoes want it too."

Another

trust enjoyed despised hunted had hated

lust lies sleeping

"Hey man
have you
heard of
mc hammer?"

R-Man Files, Vol. XXI

I don't believe in God, because I am unkind
Sheltered by your side, I hide and divide
Without a kiss my studious shattered mind
I look to the sky and sadly deride

compare this
to your lover's first... kiss
it's sound like this and that
my all-consuming beaurocrat
masterful of pitter pat
deceitful synonym of autocrat

Looking up to heaven, I can't tell sun from cloud
Distortion corrupting vile pastimes endowed
Steely fist disallowed and disavowed
I reach for you, my love, instead, and I'm proud

Statistics.

[from schoolbook:]

Rock & Roll,
Aunt Jemimah!

Party in
the jungle!

Negative numbers
bother me

My head
is rejecting
this spurious
regurgitation of pre-
existing data.

DOOOOOOOOOOOOP.
DEEEEEEEEEE.
DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

I take drugs!
Just kidding.

"I fucked
your dog"

Single Baddest Mother Fucker

A negative bastard in statistics lecture
"Why the fuck am I here?
This class is bomb bogus."
"Fuck this."
"Bomb fucking bogus."

The average of mu squared is fuck your mom.

Baaarf.

Old.

These eyes are filled with pesticide
And tonight, I'm tired of watching you die
Drink a bitter cup
To your fucked up luck
This love isn't going well
You are hollow, I am a shell
Don't try and stop me
From being carefree
I'm not your plaything
But don't complain
You're still something
That won't feel pain
(You won't feel pain)

R-Man Files, Vol. IV

what exactly would you give for the gift of pure
blue sky? Withering softly, we embrace as the world
around us transforms into ruinuous beauty. I don't
sound travesty. This is a cavernous soulbreaker
and WE NEED TO FILL IT. my love for
life is matched by love for you, whoever you are.
it's a platonic love for you, but not for her. If you
choose to breathe mumbo jumbo, asphixiate. lightly we
superimpose heavy on dark. Dark strokes ignites and
finite dies your stress, your tragedy. i will never
be at home until i am in love. The most
final co/nnection of life and death.

while i write, the sun shines
down to inebriate and castigate

The chord is not the end of
days but the truest beginning.

Raise Your Breath to heaven with a small
H tonight. I can't tell you I want it but
you know it's all right. Perfect majesty, perfect fright
credible travesty, true delight. in this do i thee
love, counted ways or not.

Fuck you uuup!

[from sketchbook:]
lawl
leather face
is jesus

Punk
is
Fuckd

"Death to the
sensory elite!"
Com-ya-nist
blind folk

Of the holy child
Cure the plague

I'm taking a turn
but it's not you or me
rather for those around
who do not stare, but
certainly - care

cinderella's
big
score

"Oh fuck!"

"Oh shit!"

"I want to fuck you and
sew your pretty little
ribbons in my skin."

Even if
you can't
see
there
might
be hope.

Fucking nazism.
WORSHIP

I really don't expect this to come as much of a revelation.

Sunglasses at night.

I really wish I could shake this affliction.

It's something of a handicap, one that I enjoy far too much. Somehow, I'd like to connect with others. It's not working out particularly well, as most of my peers know me on a very specific, unhelpful level. Not that they aren't appreciated, it's just that I can't express how I feel soul-crushingly bored and fucking angry at my despair. It would be certainly arrogant and idiotic to assume that I'm alone in this feeling, but I suppose one of its characteristics is to make me feel like I'm absolutely isolated. Ridiculous, God is a mother fucker.

R-Man Files, Vol. XVI

she's trying to make me eat her apple fritter.
i am unsure as to how to react.
she's trying to use bad magic on me.
DO NOT EAT FRITTER
-------------------------
(eat it)

Sexy

[from sketchbook:]

I'm finding it difficult to create a reason
to lick this affliction.

Fuck your
tattoos, fuck
my smart-
minded ideas-

no particular mystery
no well-thought-out travesty
she came, but not to see
no goodwill, he failed entirely

"I feel like
a fucking
acid casualty."

ECHO YOUR INCOHERENCIES
I don't want to fucking hear them
DENIGRATE YOUR DEFICIENCIES
they're still what makes you you

and while i've never made it
or done anything of moderate note
i still miss your kiss
and i still feel a choke

my fucking epitaph
is your photograph
wielding a knife
labelled: no cause of death

What is
that? We've
got a real
original here.

"I am an
asshole."

"Fuck this"

Popsicles

[from sketchbook:]

fuck your mother

Giggles

You could call it a leap of faith but to be quite honest, it was so
innocent how at first we could just life the face right out of the
funeral pyre. Don't worry about it. This'll be all over soon, but it's
not quite the trip you were looking for.

"I think I'm a
Alcoholic."

My life isn't going how I'd like it to.
I don't have the money or time to be that person.
If I concentrate on my responsibilities, I might be
able to shove my depression in a corner.