Thursday,
January 20, 2011
3:21 PM
The pistol pink
cancer of them hard years.
In a great wild
land, far from the rough edges of clean
cut corners, sits a desperate woman.
You can be my jazz
hands.
At last the little
silhouette of who else but you flew the coop.
I really just
conjure up an idea, for instance, ‘the very notion of’ Precision.
Rescind an
invitation to escort the trail and follow your eye to the target
Every time or else
the craft is wrecked.
You can miss-step
stutter falling with a minor 9-nudging to the ten.
But it won’t ring a
literal seal of truth, it’ll coil lines
colliding
infinite compression
of a black hole, I’ll mince minds inside it
Where all meaning
shares all space, pages written over other pages
The sound shares the
sign and laughs aloud in a dozen different languages.
The Big two, famous
tattoos, knuckle up and cancel out becoming
Shades of either
hue, in the dust stuck clinging to a star clenched
By its own
reflection, whose light cannot outpace the end of time
As we know it, as we
number it, so shall we never even come to notice
When the entire
frame gets painted into the only point,
I want to go flat
with a wink, as the cease of all meaning meets
The instant
configuration of forever, like we could ever really conceive it
As far as the long
clock is concerned we’re already on the eve
Of the last sun
rise, so who do you think cares, how you feel?
Me and My Eyes,
we’re just glad it doesn’t go down every time
We let a comma fall,
tick, boom, tick, but that’s the life we
lead
Knowing every other hash mark, is the black box,
outta C. Clarkes Odyssey
A quick one for
kicks hun,
pretend your
nintendo’s
a tender neural-ly
embedded
and that a
perception of the pixels
perks your pickled nerve endings
and then tingles
your intestines
or any other
vestiges where its electric ends lay
your flesh is
equally impressed
whether electrodes or real naughty nymphos
start the active
stimulation, cause if the voltage
reads, then its
shocking it to me.
They talked so long
the air grew toxic
and Helium got high
and mocked them.
In the future
utopia, space explorers search for the blackest ink in the universe.
The blackest ink in
the universe is sought after by the richest patrons of the darkest poets.
This ink is so black
that the eyes are in peril physically from some pure limitation
of the rods and
cones and other bits of infrastructure. This ink
will tear the guts
out of the meaning of words. It will leach blood from marble.
it darkens bile, and
eats away at the hammer ends of black grease typewriters
This ink stains
blood. Crude oil pales as if it mixed with seawater, and the black ink
runs the letters
through, lasts the lines, you could paint gravity in two strokes
‘Widow Black’ is
just a name on the paper on the crayon in the hand of the kid just watched his
mom
pick up the phone as
the army tells her that, “He died a Christian death”.
So now he’s drawing
crosses and spiders on the walls, while his mother tears it up inside.
1/28/2011 11:09 AM
—
I can’t think, read,
write, or even draw conclusions.
The only thing
that’s real is this feeling of illusion.
1/29/2011 10:08 AM
Deep in the sacred
halls of justice is an empty room. A bare bulb swings in the dark.
On a lone desk sets
pages printed on bitter yellow paper. Therein a full account of
these recent tragic
days are detailed.
But those words will
never be read, and the truth, though it exists, will never be known.
For the future which
the speculator puts his faith in, which is written on the walls, and in the
skies, and even now with our own hands,
is a tired farce, painfully contrived by the butchered withered neutered
moralists of a hell-conquered regality.
Yet the great
strength of real bastards, sharpened by irony, who plunge grinning into futility, offer we meager
masses an empowering scheme of primitive brilliance. Believe that there beside
the truth, locked inside the desk drawer, beats the heart of a new-born child.
The person to whom this heart belongs, will one day grow up to become, one of
those holy hawks of providence, a journalist.
This damn hound of
such insufferable loyalty to the truth is then ensnared in the sum ferocity of
mankind’s darkest and most villainous forces. If against great opposition, you
blasted journalist who can escape that bleak forest, trespass cautiously out from
the den of wolves, escape the monstrous brutality flying from machine gun
nests, miraculous would be such a feat of humanity, that you might make it
still marching, or perhaps now crawling down those sacred halls of justice,
clutching at the stone work and wiping the expectorate of your peers from your
face. Hated as one of those real-bastards, outcast by your stubborn
conceivability of truth, you might slump into that dark office, smash the lock
to pieces and retrieve your own heart, earning a but momentary glance at those
pages of our hideous honesty, before the heavy-booted fiends of complacent
soldierdom, those heroes of the devil, armed to the core, bred for their
unwavering stupidity haul you off into some dark secret, while a sniveling worm
in a collar, taps gladly at the mundane keys of print, until the pages
detailing your omitted resistance are set, sealed, and left to rot in a room
with a desk, beside a locked drawer, with the newborn beating heart of a
journalist yet to come.
[Bradley Manning,
WikiLeaks]
In a damn shot:
1/30/2011 1:08 PM
1/31/2011 12:00 PM
—
I don’t love you,
but you’ll never know the distance.
No one asks about
you, they’ve got the pathetic meek sense to let well enough alone.
Except my
grandparents, I guess you learn to hold on to hope as you get older and watch
yourself let everything else go.
I want to be mean,
want to tie a dirty bandage and cover your wound, please wince in my presence,
while you can almost feel your flesh about to rot.
While my fingers
complete the pattern traced from my cruel blister I take a single breath and
hold it. In my poisonous lungs, the air sours, and I clench my soul like a
cruel animal handler. It is not yet time to die because, I am not yet alone; and so I come to hate those that know me.
–But I will not be
mean, and I exhale, and I think of the real desire inside me. I have not the
courage to ask of anyone, anything. I will hollow out my own bones and bury my
silent worries until my posture, rigid like a startled creature, casts a shadow
dark enough to scare me.
Because as it stands
now, terror is only a whelping bitch, staring at me from behind a white veil
with her eyes cut like frosted glass as if to ask,
“This is what
you really want?”
2/2/2011 3:04 PM
Life comes in a
heavy dosage. Taking drugs just to alleviate the symptoms, the root illness
is the
battled nature of the human condition. Nawwww
!!! , juice-playing, keep saying,
In a dull horizon find me waving. I abhor the
indifferent tenacity of chemical reactions. Even if you couldn’t have intended
to be going on all molecularly and carrying about and behaving in such a foul
way that actual life emerges from your blasted implications, you should at
least have the common curtsey to; scent our air, sweeten our tastes, stimulate
our receptors, and dope us to heaven high above. In conclusion, dear Deified
Atoms, thank you for the all the shapes you take, and a shout out to all you
substances, may you always find me in abundance.
Aw,
how pleasant handing out pretzels to the peasants, all you gotta do is shoot,
pictures onto screens and press hot oil popped horse feed, and the danged
masses’ll plow your fields fallow all week.
{}___________________________________________________________________~~_
My favorite poison is McDonalds, the best kind of
cancer comes from a lifetime of _|
Tobacco, an elite crippling defect is my <3-on for self destruction. When I
kill –|
brain-cells I prefer to do it with a Budweiser!
Nothing makes my heart stutter like
| Starbucks! I’d rather fuck a
woman than listen to her.——————————————+
When I fantasize about
cashing—————————]
out my bank
account, ||| ||
and flying to a tropical ||| ||
island, leaving
all \\\ //
my possessions
in \\ //
the hotel room,
and==============//
taking a
magnificent
running leap,
throwing myself
nude into an
open volcano;
I realize that I’ve
already chickened out. “Punching keys in upstate.”
By ducking those who
will come to know the signs of my absence as a blessing, I am a savior.
Oh I wanna swab
gnarr, knock back to the nitty gritty, hobble on saddle-bagged with a prick
shaped shadow adder, hissing decimals and slither shed zeros to steer the
Vanier, careen the obscene, restrain from the fray, elude the delay,
constrained by today, in vain sacred mettle tested against the coarse grain
which evades the decay of the same, pray for the mundane cause, I can and I’m
able too, trespass and purvey the elated taint of
a public
consecration in so much as a liability is a why profitable way of producing
mutation, can’t count on tactility, flesh is in trust where the coffer often
offers us a chance to enact retractability, my will is inscribed in diatribes
rare to form and hard to find.
2/3/2011 12:37 AM
A Lass.
You weren’t always
beautiful and you won’t always be,
but in the now, and
for a while more,
you exploit my
natural weakness,
and I want to chase
you,
but she, I could
never catch.
Alas.
Just slaughter the
page, to smithereens.
I dare you to say,
“For all I care,” and then just let it hang
like a dilapidated
ceiling.
He loves the word
nEVEr, eVery tIme iTs happening.
And on one hand, he
has had, holiday concessions
makes a clear case,
keeps it concise and considering
he speaks highly of
his conscience and its higher calling
but rather that’s
just the depravity of a clever idiot who
would rather just
trash the vestibule then polish their menagerie.
Lets it slip the
things he lets you think are important, has in fact
always been a recipe
for exactly what he’s thinking if but
unfortunately he’s
not even thinking, just scheming now for scheming’s sake, and you are not fit
to face the faithless for whom the
notion of the devils advocate is a potential job opening.
So Idolize the back
hating, corrosive all-without, that when
the lord is busy
pondering, the repentance of a repeat sinner,
whom has truly
learned his lesson, but can’t be sure why he did it
and the-Lucifer
might laugh as I stand on my head and masturbate at the patrons of the pearly
gates and showing that the old man’s playthings would ignore one who so needs
salvation.
2/5/2011 1:12 PM –
So take me now and
do me justice.
It would require
unknown nefarity. But we could do it
twice a day for eternity.
I could smash a hole
through the cheap plastic and get meaningless in the circuitry. Cages in the
shape of others faces, you really slur the mangled expression, drawing and
sheathing your sword in mid-sentence,
now pestilence, that’s menacing, population over extends ourselves, exertions
not a matter of concern for inertia, so it’s all still going, and if I was only
asking but still invited you to dinner, wouldn’t notice it, but the tables set,
restraint steepens your appetite until the collision course, then dessert,
after we’ll cross arrows for once and tamper each others steel, and laugh as
close friends pull fresh straw from our hair, as if we wonder why its just that
the story let us down, at least we weren’t leashed to the curb and shot like
dogs, only soberly encamped and dazed, living in possibility, love is a world
where men would shoot dogs.
Just kill me and
make it look like an accident.
I want to talk about
shit, and fuck, and piss and vinegar,
I want to squeeze
oranges.
I can pronounce your
name with these hands dripping in pulp.
Recently my life has
been a Pratt fall.
Laugh it up you
shmucks.
