Love in my heart

Thursday,
July 26, 2012

12:05 PM

When the universe
talks to itself,

Its use of deja-vu
and double entendres

Almost scares me.

Everyone alive
knows, what it means to just ‘get-by’,

But if you’re
thinking about tomorrow,

Why?

It a pale muted
undertone, ‘nary a word was said’.

Nary a hare or a
tarnation or eagle scout,

Nay He on High best
to You and Yours

Carry a farthing
farther than, any ol ten peckery owls ever hoot.

Ever a dust was
soot. Was this earth, scorched ashes, and dirt.

Embers of us that
was lost to old ages,

Breathe life to new
pages,

Lieges and Lords,
lances wrout with the crimson.

Nicks in their
knives, chipped tooth.

Come back in August
Days,

To Fields of brief
appeal.

And life-long
admiration.

The crest, yet the
word of another upon mine heart, and mind,

Given me, by mine
own hand, which was not of the host.

A Foreigner.

I wayward walk the
travel took,

The wilds and the
wind might take to cleaner names,

Fresh aroma of
bitter repugnance

The sweet the cattle
laid,

Do seats cushion on
the ladle?

Soup.

We called it hearty
enough to eat, and heal our home.

The wood we gave
became our trees from which

We took.

I blinked twice and
just missed it.

Was a carnival, in a
great wide open.

Human spectacle,

The hay, a carrot
more found the horse relieved.

Trumpets, then from
the rear, louder than even one not worth note would revere.

Shiny metal, and
sound, light from abroad, a caravan, travelers, mystique.

For the poor dumb
peasant endowed with his reek.

The stench of great
cities,

In a bottle for
free.

Drank with a draft ,
daft tilted and staffed, standing,

A taller order
still.

His thirst was
unending, the drought which wrought lives upending.

The dried out called
it a sip,

A measle  of moisture

A speckle of hope

Drip-drip.

I swore sooth to old
Sayers who know tales truer than ones you will tell.

I broke bones with
your idols while they still,

Chaliced the veil.

We shucked jive on a
day of rest.

All manner of hell
and high-wire.

I shall not attest.

Maids and Merryment,

The subject of ale
and latitude,

That waist of a wise
hourglass.

Arouse assumptions
of well wishes.

Candles of wax slink
out,

Better not remember
too fondly, the fox, the hound and the hunt.

Best left to ones
own devices.

—————————

I’m meddling minds.

—————————

On account of ones
own grand verbosity.

Deeds unsettled.

Who comes to claim
the unkept holes in the roof?

Rain.

Falling on me, am I,
just part of the sky.

IT IS MY WORDS THAT
MAKE YOU,

Unauthored.

Sniff sniff,

Who comes smelling
at my roses.

The good and none
that come out of it.

I pencil shears,
sharped ears, listening for Satan’s elves,

A rustle roustabout,

A bloke of barrel
chested flume and stout.

A fluer du lis, du
pris un um pointe neat.

Two gins and keep
the tonic straight,

I got noir to tell
in old ivory town.

The pearly gates
ain’t seem so squeak,

I battered busted
broke the damn near nose of poor mouse,

Who had a hallow
crumb to eat,

Did pray tell, lend
a word of what the cupboards need.

Too many misers in
the bloat.

The raft, a wake,
the water let the dead release.

Behold the church of
consciousness.

Whose walls crumbles
for its first disciple.

You are not built of
this,

You are not
circumvent,

Said We who are the
everything.

When I person to
your animal,

Excuse the reasons
for dinstinguishments,

Better garments are
left at home to rot in pieces of the flesh to bare.

———-

Did you find any
fucked up evil to put inside you?

———-

I triangled.

English, easy angel.

Not an utterance
more,

Your wings in need
of mend,

Your message then
can wait.

I must care for you,
before the ink dries,

love you before the
sun too dies,

While the tale still
in the telling,

While the yarn is
still a woven-ing

Whilst there still
be knot to string.

Cast off the danged
numb battlements,

And feel the heart
alone again.

 

  

Veil of Cunt

Friday,
June 22, 2012

8:45 PM

This is one of those
forbidden fantasies. Where I’m alone in the cave of

anonymous sensation.
There are no semantic relationships, only free kinetic entanglements.

In the swirling
cascade of intense essences I disambiguate and coalesce into the lifeblood of a
pandemonium, clamoring for amplified interdependent pleasure.  We churn in the vein, specters of our former
selves, with hands and fingers extended farther then our arms can reach. I’m
registering the sensations  of
unidentified agents. I’m over-tantalized unable to analyze second-tier
significance, it’s just value, hot electric truth, I shutter over-confident,
caught up in the infinite consequence of a meaningless sequence.

And then it stops. I
ache and stumble bumbling through the day to day, its not apparent though no
one notices. Leering into the eyes of concerned strangers, illusionary
aspirations, you want a better world, to cost the same as the broken dream, but
happiness ain’t as free as cannibalizing the lower half of the conglomerate
will tell you.

I put the snuff into
my own film, the camera still rolls as the subject stays limp. No twitch, just
autofocus zooming in and out on the foreground, the hallow ground, the
deathbed, the murder scene.

I don’t know what it
means to be human anymore. I’m detatched from the core.  Just a sack of flab and a desire for
compassion.

`

Our Answer

Sunday,
June 17, 2012

9:28 PM

I tired rambled
attempts at exhausted effort.

We tried to exercise
our volition but the ‘meh’ made me don’t it all the dang day long.

So lets toast to the
thirst of days to come and wet our trumpets with the champagne of strangers
celebrations,  arcing in the air above
our music, corks echoing into the darkness, and there is no bottling the void.

I led men to their
deaths, and I only worked at the darn numbed post office. We marched into the
hands of bothersome oblivion with the patches peeling stitches off our starched
shirts, and the only damned uniform in hell is pinned across your smiling face.

You there confident,
I strip you of all that is not yours, naked is your personhood, sagging bags of
what you carry in your chest, fat love, obese fiscal conservatism, you are now
nothing more than you have ever been and it scares you to think of your wilting
spirit, you surrender to the amalgamate, you pretend for the sake of the
illusionati, the conspired autonomy who drop atomic homogeny on the pedagogical
tongues of competing delusions. Your face is their propaganda pulp, brittle
chipping teeth and the lines of compromise that pull at jowls and hang thick
whelps of cowardice upon your jawline, you are the fence post they weave their
barbed wire against, you are the boundary of progress, you stagnate the souls
to come from escaping preconceived nirvanas, it’s not heaven if its by design,
my eternity spirals out of control, cascading into what you think you
understand and why you never earned the respect of the martyr you worshipped,
tortured saviors who upon their blood drenched crucifix merely scowl
disapprovingly as it watches the milk sour in the refrigerator, the icebox door
ajar to light the kitchen for the midnight snacking glutton afraid of personal
responsibility and netherlight.   

Haven’t You

Wednesday,
May 30, 2012

11:00 PM

5/30/2012 11:00 PM

For once the
inception point is not ‘I’.

We start in the
undue respect paid to patriots. Who drink the nostalgia of basal ganglia
reigniting the reciting of a jingoistic mantra. We hump in gentle wordings, we
penetrate with parables of proper phrasing. I dare to double entendre with a
rendezvous betwixt our fabled wild whimsy’s.

I mean to average
the statistics and readjust the economic pragmatism of measured-risk
investment. The weight of your little breaths loom heavy on my heart. I etch
ecstasy in the nearly zero difference in our physical distance. We so intensely
underestimate each others peak interest, stumble into the grace of mutual
nourishment, of subconscious affection, like the caveman who paints my dreams
is in love with you too.   

The civility of
established citizenship do so in social order as much to secure the language
and tone of proper culture. Neanderthal pronouns and present tense verbs
bespoken while my tongue is tantalized by thoughts of other team activities, Me
Want. Me Need. Me Love. I escape the rain into an early 20th-centure telephone
booth . The glass fogs and I unravel your trench coat. We tip fedoras and I
lift your leather boots from the floor tiles. We kiss like good silhouettes and
the lips they live in warm exuberant enthusiasm. The smooch trumps the whistle
as far as meaningful puckers go.

Personal moral
responsibility is the respect one pays to ones own soul. We unstitch each
others clothes and stand stark nude, threadbare, and glowing like superheroes
center stage and lime lighted, behind the curtains sit understudied side kicks
which we together no longer are. Primal magnetism, pagan chemistry,
supernatural swells of such ferocious energy. We lock eyes, fingers, and limbs.
We kiss shins, nipples, necks, thighs, and chins. We hold symmetry ransom in
our capers carried out under covers, sheeted like the drying line shining in
the mid day sun. We flap in the breeze of our heavy breathing, we cut paper
with our posture scissoring.

The academic  discipline welcomes routine refreshing
moments of intense scrutiny. Love walks in and kicks the devil in his
cock-and-balls. Satan’s tears are sipped in dim lit lonely bars, cures for
broken hearts doled out by keepers of the open scar. A stiff drink begets a
rigid spine, empty bottled up spirits, intoxicating vapors of the melting kind.
Your flower whimpers on a heavy vine, I sip the fruit of pure happiness and
bliss the urge around the world spins hypnotically I revolve the word we
actuate embodies us consummate, coupled, completed with our content
consciousness we pluck each others heart strings and reverberate with epic
echoing, like we are us indefinite.

5/30/2012 11:32 PM

Contained Incidence

Tuesday,
May 08, 2012

8:50 PM

If I perish into
resiliency,

who then will cut
the loathe?

If I restore precise
vitality,

who then will aim
too low?

 

I must design the
ire charm accident, the high luck master often fails to set a precedent worth
remembrance.  I struggle to find the
words that irk the common mans entrails to tremble with significance. I want to
plaster humming peach membranes with intoxicating jubilance. Less we embark
upon discoveries must we withhold the hilt of our sword dubbed
“tragedy”, the knife point is my trapeze safety net,  falling upon it when my fingers slip.

I wank Norse
galaxies upon the cloudy sky of this nights evening, curtains hanging from such
scaffolding as can explain sought after cosmic
gravity. I dream of particles yet indistinguishable from their
environments like the invisible umbrellas held by those who can walk between
the raindrops.

5/8/2012 9:31
PM    

Core Values

Monday,
April 30, 2012

9:12 PM

I am the sleep. Far
recessed into the deepest regions of my minds mind. I was dusk enthralled,
disambiguated from a sense of self, and hibernating while hallucinations
massaged my neural netherness. I dreamed the picture of a black landscape, the
rustling of the hair and then I felt the beast. A vicious fear of surging
adrenaline, I was sweating and the ferocious sound it made my limbs contract. I
was flailing till my hands they found and fought the vermin and it stabbed and
scratched with claws of numb scissor blades. I awoken instantly from the damn
nightmare to find there be a local gurgling. The awareness crept into the
captains chair, the executive finally took hold and I realized that I was
drinking the blood of still writhing rodent. I. Drank. And. Then. I. Finally.
Stopped. I drew my mouth away from the creature, and threw the rats carcass to
the wayside. I could feel the warm cess-puddle burning in my gut-sack.     

Bed Ragged

Tuesday,
April 17, 2012

7:00 PM

We’re in an upscale
mental health facility. A young man, white in the face sits talking. Listening
attentively with a clip-board and his case-file is a board certified,
ivy-leauge educated, cognitive-behavioral-neruo-psychologist. She was in her
early 40’s of a mixed race, but still a dark skinned Caribbean woman. She was
wearing glasses, a laboratory jacket, and gold earrings.

The man began,
“Doctor you’ve got to believe me when I say I have truly never before been
so subjugated in will and hollowed by the vapidity of my own tonal
obliteration. I’ve been weakened by this meaningless struggle to prevent the
true chromatic elements of myself from coagulating into a solid shade of
averaged hue. I luminescent grey.”

“You fear
blandness in personality, in character, in cognizance, in intelligence, in
spirit,” the doctor questioned, “which is it?”

The young man
wrestled his hands through his hair like tangled Olympians, the Greek pillars
of white marbled knowledge, statues of gods with heads sized larger than a
humans, cracked under the pressure of his agitation.

“I can’t think
Doctor, my mind is warped by tangential histories of hologrammed eras, parallel
identical symmetry, ‘yrtsymystry’ ” the young man coughed out. He was
still rambling, “I know we live in a continuum of conspiracies, current events
are manufactured and rerecorded. I know that a treaty was signed between
Germany , England, Russia, and the US. The Deutchlanders would allow Hitler to
die, and the West and East would allow fascism to flourish. I know that that
treaty still tears through the minds of men who lead today. That it is signed
in knife strokes, in blood and gold, and uranium.”

The doctor was
unmoved, she crossed her legs, shifted the weight on her ass and stopped
writing. “You have a very serious condition, I’m glad you came to me. It
seems that you are afflicted with too much comfort. You display the tendencies
of  over educated, under worked,
liberally skeptic moral turpitude.  A
direct result of an extremely high standard of living, paired with undue
amounts of leisure time, a debaucherous sense of self worth and unmerited
parental praise. Frankly you suffer from luxury.”

The young man, with
his head cocked,  hand on chin, stared
infinitely into his rolling thoughts. He trembled at the enormity of the
vastness of which the real-universe poured into the cage he called his brain,
torn open by the piercing dart of the doctors diagnosis. “Listen lady, I’m
going to call you lady, partially because I have been threatened by the
closeness of the guillotine which I formerly pressed my neck against
voluntarily and now my observed ineptitude shatters all manners of social
respect which were maintained by my former personality-hood. My ego lies
exposed as a raging wounded prick, foaming with curdled puss and selfish
discoloration.  So lady, please tell me,
what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

The doctor folding a
page in her prescription pad, tore a single signed sheet and handed it to the
man. “I left the first line blank, it’s good for a couple of refills, and
has my signature. Just fill in whatever it is you think will make you happy.
Then take that piece of paper to any pharmacy and purchase your antidote.”

“How is this
supposed to help me?” The young man took his prescription and placed it in
his wallet.

“It won’t, but
to tell you the truth; I’ve got the same fucking problem and I got
grandchildren to feed. The Earth ain’t an infernal hell hole  everyday, if you can afford it. Now go talk
to my secretary, I’ll need to see you again in six weeks.”

The whole guttered
race is bound to catch a strong rain eventually.

     —–

Six
weeks had passed.

The young man had
bought a crossbow with his prescription. Started hunting wife-beaters, and
rapists, and Republicans. As he sat again in the upscale mental health
facility, he was eager to tell the doctor of his new grand philosophy, the
brilliant light which now lit his life.

The doctor sat down,
“please begin.”

 

“Well the
absolute grand awakening has finally occurred, transcendence emerges when the
medium that is of that which becomes always has been fully realized.” He
was animated and motioning wildly.

“Let me stop
you right there.” The doctor checked the time on her watch without looking
up from her pen. “You seem to have progressed since our last meeting, lets
adjust your prescription.” The doctor walked to her desk and brought the
young man an IPAD. She took his crossbow and placed it in the closet.

“You have
reached the point where your recovery has become exceptionally productive. You
need a Tumblr. I’m crowd-sourcing your group therapy. Your specific case of
mental instability is validated daily, by the number of hits your website gets.
If you say as you do what you think that you are while being heard by enough
people who concur, why then you’re not insane at all, just popular. Please see
my secretary, you’ll need a follow-up in six weeks.”

The young man was
upvoted by the time he reached the parking lot. He praised his epic destiny,
unscarred by his failproof resolve, he grew bold. He cried out in a tweet,
“Is it really trolling if it makes the ladies swoon?” He attached a
twitpic of his dick to every reply in #RelationshipTrouble. He was a creature
of the new universe. He informationed like a super user, knew the deets to
every dox, and distro’d every repo.

Yet he did not dream
because he did not sleep. And this unbroken stream of consciousness,
trademarked “if you can really call it that”, spewed character
strings until the final day. When natural reality came piercing back, like a
hungry mans hands around your fat neck, a murderous hunger chokes your gasping
breath, and prevents your last words from being uploaded to the…
____________________.