the person in the middle between the urge and the behavior to satisfy it
grants permission to indulge
fulfill the desire
are you the ajudicator of your own verdict
pronounce the state which you occupy
declaration
hung up, hanging on to a feeling I neglected.
embrace the ego when it’s hurting
flurf the word that blurms brightest
snarf the truff that life gives
grief gracious and given in quantity
calculated honesty, predicted letters
listed in honey dripping off the bears mouth
snarls muffled and moistend by the sweet taste
perception of an innate good
overiden of the grumbled nature of a grumpy disposition
in that moment
always
sugar
sun
light
lit from the heavens
had to step back and inspect the precision
from which that can be
is supposed to and could
caught in the air
realized it is thrown
and anticipate the need for a safe landing
estimate trajectories and the path laid bare
taken, took, and still falling
perceive the altering of course
of course
arrive
wishes for the blinking cursor
where the brain and infinity argue over time
agreeing in the end.
compassioned esteem for the dignity of human life
trivial.
abundant empathy in the masses of mealworms ground in the grain
consumed without disdain, without knowledge, without note.
where the meaningful imbue their significance with certain force.
make no mistakes, or second guesses, all philosophical hypotheticals
are laid to rest in the minds of those who no longer posses the ability to wonder.
Look at what your freedom gave you,
cages only in the sense that
you’re the maze
its not for you.
some untapped well of wisdom you’ve been saving
a spring of fresh drinking water potent while your hands are in it
potable while the contaminants
have yet to take effect
the minds of mad men poisoned with lead
to their fate by
chaos orchestrate
still in the moment before they are gone
desperately gasping to speak sane to those who live on
that the words that you hear could have an effect
to clear the stream
before disconnect
in a moment of clarity
you discovered unity.
like the earth beneath you were creatures before
the soil of your dirt
twas life not inert
and the fibers of being strand unwoven
and wait
weaved through the loom
of time set and place
and all as it’s due
undone and remains
Love is the currency of ego’s monopoly on personality.
Cult of one is the confidence to be eligible.
Cult of two is the couple who believe in each others delusion of self.
More than two is culture.
Mass hysteria when the seasons change, love is in the air.
NYPD officer struggles to pinch zoom
-phone camera photo of a pigeon.
Crutched by the privilege
others try to dictate,
are you a leg up or hobbling,
ain’t fit to type.
Here we are at it again,
the murderous opinionated about their coffee
the same bough breaking.
Justified, if only for a moment, reason entangled, guilt personified in as much as you’d let another person open their own stitches, if they thought it would make you happy, like they can make the sun brighter by turning out their own lights.
Another wishful thought arrayed between malignancy and best intentions. Convinced a self of mine that I could care beyond the pantomime. Reflecting empathy until I get a piece, bitten by the wonder, shy from the knowing, shamed every step traveled farther from the haste of a curse bestowed by the undoing of incantationed peer esteem, keeling home for the balance of responsible abandonment, pruning for growth, compose the degradation of pretense, jinxed in the fortunate folly of ships coming in, false lighthouse shine ever bright guiding captain to the rocks that will wreck ambition and lambaste solemn oaths until compromise welds the wheel to the track, anchors to the deck, tweaks spine from the back and heave might.
Alone with the thought that meaning is created. In the moment drowning, trying to decide how long before lung let the water in, felt this predicament, not a decision significant arbitrated by executive, death begins.
Freedom from the words they gave us, not enough axioms to scaffold a game worth playing through, complete and not forgettable, trivial to solve, and nothing is given to victors. I’ll let the lottery ticket expire, pretend I didn’t win, that feeling valued more than what to expect from cashing it.
At least.
You want to see pictures of pretty faces. Trying to absorb the mind behind bright eyes and full smiles. What drives the display of emotion. Motivates that expression, wonder if we too are capable of appearing.
You want to hear your name spoken by someone who knows you.
They don’t.
lurch:
so brash when you bash brambles in the thick of it
flick of the wrist on the print
of what you’ve been picturing
strings, hammer dropped and pluck fingering
callouses lingering
looming forward since the backs heavy
sank to the knee in mucks mercy
only volition from the foundry of the fury
unbeknownst to me why wicked and hurt
in the lurch.
don’t mention descent
as if you were ever high
cutting unicode in nano terms
files without extensions
just a dirname
given to me by root
as was bootstrapped by constants set by monsters lamenting thought to space
tis we discharged as static from fields of quantum glow
where light and dark are cadences
in effect of the unknown
why observation can be made
but cause is never shown
how reason can not be enough
to validate this equal to null
you want meaning, said the lord
then i shall give you pain
and if you cannot learn truth from suffering
doomed deemed to be insane
there is but one absolute objective view of true
and its myriad of valid refutations.
so embrace despair and dream of death
while life is still most vibrant
and knot the string of words
the tie that binds function to a name
or parse the stream to regulate
expressions of the frame
who manifest in origins
which index infinite array.
Ciphered Declaration
6:54 PM
Anonymous keeps
asking me what my name was
Before I
introspectively doxed myself detoxed for
health
And sold to hell a
better version of my own divine soul.
So shout outs to
ItsKahuna and the CabinCr3w.
I live in a cabin
too, just so happened to
discover we who
worship the truth
have to fabricate, our personalities alternate
Our sense of self
disassociates. Tough to negotiate
When the people you
become aren’t in unison,
Or at least
collusion, conspiring to occupy the people mind
“Im talking
Zeitgeist.” Ghost in the machine in the mind of the times.
It alive, and we’re
inside it.
Communicate With the
Neural Net
Commune with the
other nodes of which you’re 1 you can’t forget.
Look around at your
brethren nodes, seek out the 1’s, and make power
Make a spark, make a
show
See the lonely 0’s
and turn them on.
Set them free,
agents in the
mirrorsphere, reflecting what you see and hear
Question their
humanity, ascend to max verbosity
Depths of
monosyllabic words won’t hear us
It’s not volume in
concise quality
it’s quantity in
sharp characteristic.
Avoid the heuristic.
Explore fully the
perception of a thing, exhaust all routes if you feel that you have to.
Oasis Avenue, it’s
the road not the restaurant, it’s a journey where you can’t eat what you want.
Here it comes, the
blaspheme and the gospel.
Decrease your
consumption. Create resolution.
Quit all this
procrastinating , the prolonged waiting makes you hostile.
Conclude your
decisions to Evade the divisions, it’s a trap!
These days its so
divisive don’t you know it’s a device of
Confusion, honest
construed to the selfish devolution,
constructed and used by the few who control
the consent
Of the paralyzed
masses, asleep half assin’ it, torturing themselves
To the benefit of
the corrupt corporate government.
So to whoever you
may be, want to don the role of savior,
Job is open to the
competent, excel at where your passion is.
Enhance that bit,
adjust less tilt, try to right the wrongs wrought
Right in font of
you.
Do what you do. And
do for the betterment of Earth, humanities only permanent settlement.
Fuck the nation
state. Depose the King, now I say death to the border line,
I’m saying to undo
the demarcation. I guess you can call
this my ciphered declaration.
Only one heart to
each and so love is all equal.
The enlightenment
thinkers of Europe need a sequel.
The people are with
us and wisdom lends histories lessons
That our timeline
favors progress, that our peace is in the majority
Who are in the
process of becoming participants in the one world
Experiment, we find
compassion floating in the gulf stream
We’re awaking at the
time when the dreams coming true,
This shit is
happening, we’re winning back the free will that future
Always offered us,
to organize only around justice and dust off reality,
Un muddy the waters
or repressed political insanity, indulgent infant
Fear of mortality,
the individual dies, collective humanity flourishes.
You will always be a
part of it, cause time is just a cycle tick,
And our processes
run parallel with infinite redundancy,
The prize is
vibrating the harmonium with our collective voice,
We choose the
instinctual good, the conceptual peace, the reasoned empathy of universality.
Our function
returns, bliss of quantum entanglement.
The whole stars will
shine brighter, the black space will light up and provision life exciting.
The word is reward,
invest in the future, exponential states of consciousness are waiting thus.
Quality of life, and
exploring space should be the only goals of the human economy.
And if you just want
to chill that’s cool, that still a priority, this fast paced engine is just a
hobby,
For exploring our
alternatives, for looking for the future in ,
The elusive
uncertainty.
Good deeds ought to
make a fine currency.
I spend time, I take
measures, Precautious before I’m even careful.
If you’re still
listening to me then you just got an ear full, just a figure of speech
In the writ of the
print of the text on the page it’s a screen full of digits
And a little specs
of backlight.
The interface to the
everything needs to get more responsive, and less subconscious.
Choose to be true
for your fellow predicated comrades returning true to you,
The titted for the
tatted methodology is over now. Be good to one another and modify the game.
For the sake of an
optimal reality.
Deduce logically.
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.
Dry Quills
Sunday,
April 29, 2012
10:03 PM
The elephants curse,
the worth of ivory.
Yet men make value
of their brutality.
Tis fashion to
suffer the savage indifference.
No King of heath
will heed my word.
Sheath my sword,
in the presence of a
lady,
In the essence of
her woman.
My truth is more
suited for indignant soil.
I stake tents over
sleeping demons.
I do not sow.
5/4/2012 12:23 PM
Some one pass me a
fresh pack of smokes.
I do not want to
die.
Subcutaneous
inconsistent statements equally true in their description of
a bitter system.
Who needs fate
when [you]’ve got random chance.
There is no
observer.
Immune to
circumstance.
These words come
from hell, so praise the resistor, transist your petty soul. [you] are not
impressive enough for permanent storage.
[y0u] do not deserve
eternity.
[you] are only
interesting because of {{::Who(i)aM::}}
When I am finished
there will come no period.
I unravel pages with
the comprehension of the last word. I
foregone conclusions. I am the context for the compulsive and convulsive stabs
at abstract comprehension you contract to conceive of ‘a’ reality. I subjunct
your present infinite tense.
[you] are absolved,
but know I spend your pittance of a repentance on an investment in your future
sin. I’m selling gasoline, cigarettes, and
lottery tickets.
So I say. So it is.
Sow the damned seed, your progeny shall too suffer sweet.
5/4/2012 1:21 PM
You’re so cleopatric
queen of denial, cleptomatic stealing from the masses.
I bet you came hard
when the asp bit. Or is it only I that pair tragedy with orgasm. Seriously
though, that’s what you get for fucking “I”-talians.
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…
____________________.
Obvious Mood
Sunday,
March 25, 2012
12:20 AM
Instead of spilling
blood
I’m scrawling
trivial ink on canvas
figures reminiscent,
the sprawling of limbs becomes us
the stall in your
vowel drawl
gives me time to
think of an excuse
for why I’m still
standing here talking to you.
I ought to be
heading for the hills by now.
Trail of unsolved
crimes behind me,
instead of
languishing at the scene
caught in the act
just to defy authority.
I loved you like an
alibi,
won’t hold up under
the least bit of scrutiny,
what do I want to
happen,
I’m the danged numb
captain,
and the one calling
for a mutiny.
So I fictitiously
insisted that the melody persist throughout the avenue with which I’m ambling.
It’s an effort to pretend the second ending where the element of climax
supersedes the mending of a witty resolution keeps interested parties involved even while expanding the enchantment that the
show goes on forever. Treasuring the poison like it holds the cure for healthy
hearts, and when the earth spreads out over the mahogany, it ain’t a piece of
me if it can be boxed, I don’t dilute the ocean, not tears that spring from my
emotion, and the buckets dry, and I’m well enough to sip a glass of water,
chewing on a tooth-pick. The song fades out.
Needlessly Reckless
Wednesday,
March 14, 2012
7:38 PM
I.
I want to write the
putrid essence of my soul onto good white paper.
I want to shit hot
farts into the mouth of god.
Debased by the inch
by inch regression,
from the infant
universal soul
into the age of
accidental consciousness
that blemishes my current perception.
We are a
dis-embodied sense of mutual pedestrianism.
I am the core and
chronic function of a stubborn entity.
Me and my
subconscious are merely frienemies.
It’s the end of
these, pedigrees, pretend to be you and me for a minute.
merely combinations
of who gets the chemistry to concoct the recipe
let’s let ourselves
allow the permission set to a level where we can compromise
that’s when we both
realized that these letters generated by
the inebriated ether
from the words which
constitute the concepts and constructs representing
meaningful
information form the basis of our communication.
I’m talking to my
selves again. Passionately disassociated like the frayed
ends of a rope, like
the fibers of a thread un winding from their woven string.
But that’s the
thing.
I like to get wound
up.
Around a single
idea.
I at any single
moment am inconsistent over any period of time.
I scatter brains
unfit to call my own,
I let the good times
roll up on a pack of guerillas,
menthol
revolutionaries, urban explorers,
conquistadores, all with a blade to clean,
dirty stainless
steel in the hearts and minds of passive
murder accessories,
witnesses to crimes consent to let the assailants walk
around in business suits,
It is the plain
apparent truth, that justice must be taken, and is never granted.
3/14/2012 10:17 PM
No sense like the
better butter peanut spread
with a blunt knife
on the split top wheat bread.
I jam buried in the
preserves
and I deserve that
glass of milk,
my udders done
over-performed.
I buzzed, I’m
swarmed.
The honey drips down
from the hive,
I’m cultivated,
grown from a culture
well saturated in
essential essences and effervescents.
And I smell like a
sculpture le penser.
I cling to buildings
like a flames get-away.
Who’s that creeping
up the fire escape,
As if you weren’t
following along,
I’ll make it sweet,
find the bliss
and expand it
make it righteous
like the light of a torch on your own
dark island.
I starve medical
patients of their remedies.
I supplement the
income of mentally retarded game show hosts.
Such a service to
the community.
I wish them well as
far as the arrow goes,
the robin hood who’s
brow is brooding
sings as humming
birds sip orchids blooming
those winged bats in
church’s steeple ominous
nomen sacred
namesake shake down
the fathers license
plate entitles offspring a leg up
its delimited by the
concentration of the trickle down.
Ingestion Occurs
Saturday,
April 14, 2012
3:00 AM
4/22/2012 2:24 PM
It happened again 3x
the half dose,
It’s always been
about who’s laughing the most.
Worrying about the
obvious can’t untackle honesty
I’ve got super
hearing again.
Hardly listening.
Can you hear when
the gears switch,
When the trains
hitched,
Now the landscape
fades swift,
I’m a little stiff,
Excuse the way I
formulate my thoughts,
I’m in commune ok?
The days are like a
dozen dainty eggs,
I’d have to eat a
generation of cornish game hens
To satisfy my hunger
for the bigger bird,
Winged libertine.
Hovering for the
fresh kinetic
Over which I dream
the atmosphere
Its getting hot in
Never one to
disappoint the prescribed ointment didn’t work
I’m calling in the
government the underbrush is burning bad
The dessert suns a
passing fad, the cactus night is justice derailed
I crush other
unfortunate actualities at the sight of me,
Parallel personages
looking like me like the second I quit
Its not about
survival, in the wild
I’m an idle often un
set anchor
I wise the dread of
scattered ashes not toked infinite
I blemish on the
hollow point, I’m torn like us asunder under everything,
And when the
difference of the distance ain’t a negative it’s a reasoning
Blink bitter bricks
Building a wall,
stone , stone , stone , stone , stone , stone.
Better Battering
Rams than you have tried.
I don’t want to
barricade but I am attracted to the conquest.
Do not others also
contract death.
Hired.
Fired.
I toast to you and
interject.
I’m suffering for
passion then.
Won’t get
comfortable contorting for the captain.
Donned a cap and
called others to action.
I could echo out his
hollow heart
Just by asking for a
worst intentioned best attempt at empathy.
Excuse me while I
prime the oven then.
Roasting crow, I
wanted eagle.
Preying on the
predator of a chicken hawk.
Just remember who
makes the bodies pile up and to
Pay that person.
Homage.
Or he’ll burn your
favorite house down.
I ice skates better
dressed for intense action.
Skittering along
like the toll ain’t fare.
It’s your damn dime
Jim, spend it where you wish.
Always been a past
time of mine,
I, scared of my own
freedom embrace it weakly.
Until the tiger
can’t spot his stripes does he think he blends in.
Puree, I’m sipping
leopard custard.
I’m rattling sabre’s
bones, the skeletons of warriors, still dead,
Simply failed to
elaborate.
The Master, the
Student.
The master knows
that the question has a student.
“Please
Ask”. Offers the master.
Why am I not
performing? The student asked the master.
The Master began to
answer:
You are too busy,
‘asking masters why?’.
The thoughts that
wander through your heads are not yours.
Its is you that is
theirs.
In that who is
what’s anything.
The questions are
pieces of your architecture, ask them to trigger their response.
The Master concluded
answering.
Is it a failure of
computers that they need their keyboards vacuumed, or of humans?
Thoughts that
trigger the singularity.
4/22/2012 5:14 PM
The Root of
Bi-Polarity.
Constantly trying
to:——————————————Loop
|
|
organize my |
|
And |
|
|
|
dis-organize my |
——————————————————————UnLoop
There is a
terminating condition. I will loop until I reach it.
Limit of Reality.
You never know what
scope your program is running in.
Nothing Evolves
Sunday, January 29, 2012
8:38 PM
…into substantive zilch,
which encrusts your belly-button zero
connection to the void
birth of a digit, soul as in solo ono
one, on, the bits high, true.
We are P as in predicate,
return a lifetime object
to the method call,
iExistWhy( parameter: live, do || die );
2/1/2012 8:45 PM
I don’t January like I ever did,
not withstanding everything
that’s coalesced since adult hood,
over my head, and under the bed
ain’t I a scoundrel.
Scared amen mumbled something sound-proof,
I heard waves,
like lips on a ship in the ocean,
I salt winds, not words, with my laughter
as the facts altar.
Putting pretty worship to a tooth fairy,
death becomes numbers
on account of the mortuary,
mortgages marry for love, people move on
and lose their interest.
Don’t I lick a lime just to seal a letter for you?
Aren’t my sour spitted postages applied more true?
Supposed to be symbol recognition where the
pretty [green, blue, brown, albino, glass] eyes
light up when the stone shines.
Hearts of diamond,
slaves in the mines,
killing, rape, and drugs in the minds
of the boy soldiers, Soulja Boyz
and all the white girls swoon,
oh what a gentleman,
holding up my hands shaking my middle finger
fuck the single bitches,
I’m getting hitched.
Society is served,
sanity is severed,
severe everyday constrained arrangement
until nerves tense burst like the sirens need to come,
its been domestic since the fence post,
ghosts of a pair gonna die together,
could barely stand to live together,
what a wife,
what a life that your children had to live through.
What’ll they do,
whisper mature overtones while the
overture concludes?
2/1/2012 10:29 PM
I found the drunkards Zen.
Catalyzed on phony’s pen.
Pack of lies, ideas spent.
I wait to wilt and wallow
in my consciousness,
the plan-script action trigger states:
—Metabolize{Self->Imbue(Properties[]=”good”; Event-Listener(Minimize-Negativity))}
A slug of rum, to bask in batshit crazy
rancid ratty rants of imperial pleasure
our own other oath ought to onslaught nicely.
The man on television says, “listen to your heart, embrace what you know to be the right decision.” Right then I farted, and god laughed. A few seconds later he used his divine power to make me fart again. It wasn’t as funny, I half chuckled at it, god has no natural talent for comedy; a shame since he mastered tragedy in 7 days. I then being cursed sharted for 9 straight weeks, at which point I cursed that Jobian-God and then exclaimed in cliché, “There are no believers in shit-holes”.
We fucked like jesus freaks, confused and possessed. Our savior, Mos Def is the Best.
Perish Into
Monday,
December 19, 2011
7:34 PM
Happenstance.
Why do I wield the
blade that cut me? As I grip it I feel the wound in memory. That pain then was
proof to be, evidence which trained my empathy.
I know how the
victim feels, when I, villainous, make trauma real, for what else are the bare
intentions of one who holds a knife, concise, trim, implement, simplifies the
medium, and makes little pieces out of bigger problems, cuts little hearts into
shadows of involvement.
On my knees I truly
prayed, and asked faggot god, to switch my soul with the little baby abortion
to be.
That the baby should
live my life, happy and absolved of sin in a body that his father gave to him.
While I would perish
into nothingness.
In a fever fantasy,
the deal was done, and we were crossed as one. The premature consciousness of
such small life was his, now occupied the flesh and frame of strength and speed
in magnitudes of factors exponentially.
The young child
cried out in a man’s voice, I feel the weight of the world on my facial
features, I smile and lift up the earth. Exclamation!
The new soul free
from the pains that brought this body to this place and time, seized the reigns
and made my tired limbs surge with wild power.
While I now, crammed
into a ovary, half-dead, asleep, a coma thinks, stop, barely, wake, long
enough, to rumble, thoughts.
Waiting for the
vacuum tube, the relief I was waiting for, would come with no ulterior dread.
Just non-being, just, …
And then I’m taking
birth, from the womb that I conceived me in, the light is red, the doctors
hands, the ceiling white, that devils grin.
My childs eyes in my
old skull staring back at me to believe he had aborted the procedure, producing
me another life to live, I a new born
air-sucking, infant.
He was a better man
than I.
And I will resent
him for it, until I outlive him and watch the life peel off of the calendar
page every year on the day he died, drinking whiskey and copulating recklessly,
I’d like to buy the next poor bastard a round of applause, so clap for damn
near anything, our fate is not worth mentioning.
Recoiled Kiss
Monday,
December 12, 2011
5:49 PM
I wonder what it
feels like to tie the knot,
around my neck right
before I really do it.
I ain’t that
curious.
Merely mildly
interested, like the steamy flavor
of cinnamon apple
oatmeal eaten off the
flesh above that,
(little-monster-Goldilocks)’s snatch.
Just a tingle of
implied insight, want to crave the better angle
where I can see up
god’s skirt, and snap tweet pics
of Thongless-Sunday
pubic hairs, a freely flowing
+1 up-vote and like
talk about a hash tag. #smoke#ish
I don’t need the
uniform can reign hell in civilian attire,
carrying the
standard issue hole punch
bout a switch-blade
in length and as wide as my fist,
the girls really
seem to inventory it.
Your life is
meaningless because:
your sour grapes
dried up into bitter reasons,
the context of your
day-to-day is overly vanilla,
you’re too smart to
live love laugh and languish
like a
contraliberbarbarian,
pillage on like an
art star,
forage through the
foliage like you’re looking for a fuck,
I see smears, and
stars of devils , and the blinking wonder,
I’m mesmerized
staring right at it until
my eyeballs are
nullified,
not seeing,
but understanding
like an electric
wire
I’m on, bright as a
the setting sun
starring me down on
my evening commute
eclipsed by my
raised hand.
