Saturday, December 19, 2009

lanugo

with such vivid detail i googled your name and everything about you
i held liquid trees in my hand and said prayers
we were already in love but i still traced the ending in my head a hundred times
i carried hard burdens buried like the skies bones, heavy like latex
it rained wolf’s teeth and i listened to nina simone in the car, windows down and sound the fuck up.
painted juxtaposition by the candle-lights emissions
melted chipped faces, we were the future of ourselves
like fitting rooms in department stores, do they care you dont wear underwear?
if  there was only one way out how would we get out?
the other day i glanced to see who you were texting,
i’m such a creep.
why is the news the only thing on?  i keep looking for your face on it.
ill put the coffee on before i go out and smoke, that way it’ll be done
by the time i come back and i’ll be cold.
you know i’m drinking coffee to stay up late and talk to you?
that’s how i stay up for everything now, coffee.
i’m really in love with life
i’m really in love with life
i was screaming that at the top of my lungs
and than people started lookin at me.
and if you’re in love with an idea, you run with it, if it works
like only news tv works.
...oh thank god, a muppets’ christmas is on.
holy shit...can someone tell me if it should be ‘muppet’s’ or ‘muppets”?
is muppets one entity or is it a plural... i guess kermit is one muppet.
haha, muppet that’s a funny word.
you know you watch me when i’m sleeping...
i watch you in match smoke.
and sometimes i want to rip you out of your skin.
in a figurative way, a loving way.
ice caverns moved back and forth my vision or marian apparition
kermit has a joke, kermit has a joke
i hear crows c’awin....c’aw, c’aw, c’awn.
there stacks of dead corn everywhere,
ive logged into your facebook over and over a hundred times already..
just kidding

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Thursday, December 10, 2009

class are almost over.
i feel like i'm back in my element, just not in ideal environment
ive been thawed out, like a fuckin drug withdraw or something.
ill ravage myself till im barley alive somewhere breathable though.
i crave to feel nighttime again.
left the stench of something or other in my hair
my armpits smelled like whiskey in the morning.
an overt form of disassociation from people
i am free to roll around the dirt, street,
rub my face in decaying flesh.
there was a can of beer thrown at that boy's head because he called me a pathetic lush
car ride was long always.
i like the bumps or lights, bottle in the passenger seat where you should be,
cigarettes on th floor in place of ur feet.
who thought mixing sparks and vodka was a good idea?
it's not, it's what the clouds intended.
we played checkers with them.
why did "that" girl always end up cryin?
she got us stuck in manhattan because i didn't know how to get back to brooklyn.
at montrose I punched someone who tried to steal my wallet, i ran after that.
i do not meet new people
i will find a family, we will burrow beneath leaves.
i dont really know how to expres what i want to express with words.
i culd do with my hands though.
throug subtle dress
i dont care about makin anythin, it's god providin me with
movements to pull apart my body and destroy it for
esoteric dabbling.
it's divine intervention, it's wind... it's carelessness
drainin carafes of wine.
im not to be blamed for i dont try.
 course through where im meant to be placed
carefully carryin me to the truest meaning i can trace.
it's wind, blinding wind, cooling wind, persuasive wind.
im confined to my jar again
in such a free sense
the only problem is it's winter.
just gravitate where ive walked or been chased
on top the skies nude thrown down slipped off white lace.
while preserved in ice, i'm now preserved in ice.
whatever is happening to my head is making me feel like shit... maybe all the bullshit is finally leaking out

everything is violent

it's just all off the top of the head bullshit... just really vicious or mundane word use.
use of words...just the skeletons of letters a brittle foundation of mechanic dribble.
feeling crazy within something that wont split open on some rare occasion of hating a season or another.
this past spring was nice, summer seemed alright.  space feels so dead i bet, it's violent when birth is conveyed through colliding rock....birth is violent, death is violent, life is violent, comparison shopping is violent. 


there are spider webs around my room again and i'm into it, because i know what it means.  i also know there's only one person i want to explain shit to or try to at least.... everyone else... i dont really care about everyone else.  

Monday, December 7, 2009

i wanna be dismembered by architecture
crushed by someone elses dreams
the sky has died
bleeding rain
im happy cause the trees look like they're dyin too

Saturday, December 5, 2009

i am the bow legged devil

stretch out colonies of broken mouths
city buses stopped of corners with a tree and mailbox
identical wave lengths, propensity like the black bench covered in blue gum
"i never had a friend, and i never wanted one"
its freezing, good, slow me down alot
siamese tips of swollen pressed lips
on whiskey runnin ruins  of every ruined sip
hangin on to wounded winged fingernails
expressionless through every dissect
of pinned up skin, bread, wine, spirit, flesh
bruising of one leg or the other, i forget...
lid on air tight, my liver is already dead since twenty-two,
you complete fucking coward
ripped out boundaries of cum stained tights
down alleyway corridors leadin to royal red lounge booths
velvet may as well be draped over the fuckin homeless
in their dwellins of eternity, sky, space, look up, look up
you own this!
torrid tree bark... my milked out visage...
your to much fucking makeup...
my brazen use of dumb words, my brazen way of not giving a fuck, my brazen way of getting arrested for pissing on buildings.
jersey beach braided hair on porch nights
free drugs from my stripper roommate, free hoodie, free everything
you sucked that dude's dick who only had three fingers.
i saw satan, tried to kill myself, i saw him again, i moved out....
and what ever happened to Rudy, did he just walk into the ocean
like some tragic redundant notion...is that about it?
who cares? life never happened!
it's always getting to late,
break new scientific boundaries within ending of life
siamese twins integrate with one another to give birth to anti-christ.
like the chances of good weather.
does shit suck more that im disappeared?
get completely quite when i need a glass of water, see what happens.
all these holes in the doors are mine, i fixed them myself.
the way they look arnt the way they felt.
dress the rich like gamins or somethin
they're all to good for all of this i think...
i am disease, cradled at the roots of my rotted peach tree
losing things feels better than keeping them....
thats why all those messes are fallin from stems
orange spiral of seeping flavor
aroma and moisture
slowly death in savor ....


a car, a plane, couldn't take me far enough away

Thursday, December 3, 2009

comfort thy brother

there's a half moon tilted in my stomach.  between any crooked teeth light peeks... radiating everything that is nothing.  no use of stretched miles down highways of deserted country road.  gospels of wind voiced winged noise, everywhere there is dark is light is light is tiny legs crossed like horse hair brushed against naked wooden orchestras.  first time i saw your reflection i saw exactly what you see.  imagery.


rose hips and rosemary and kayak float on open shore of slit throat... exposed every reason of slow slow tortures, bubbled out enclosures.  the rain snowed silver fire like metallic borders of victorian mirrors.  melted from tiny stones rolled into my face so badly i forgot i didn't know how to work a phone.  punched in numbers, just numbers, over, and over and over.
painted my face with the loss of fluid and the gaining of new fluid and lay on yellow carpet in the evening while things are coming or leaving but not seeing.


when we all hugged at the same time for about fifteen seconds it was like we were exactly, all best friends again like we used to be.  thirty seconds after until we didn't care again.  you listened to Del Reeves like a painting but had pictures of modelin woman spread around like disease.  the cups in your room grew apart from desk to windowsill.


i forgot to tend my land.  and hell is higher than my crops reach they burnt ocean bread and my wife will never exist because she is dead in spirit like old panning pans.  huffing  wallmart products, like spraypaint cans.  like dusting dust off how heavenly light leaks in to bright for i cannot see my future even after tonight.
Jackson, when you're eyes bloomed, i knew you were crazy...we'd be best friends soon.
but you died, about three weeks later, abandoned, projecting both our stares at the moon.

Monday, November 30, 2009

helen keller

Thursday, November 26, 2009

my sister's hunter

my mom got to drunk....it's 3pm... she already burnt the turkey and ruined thanksgiving.
my sister told me she met the most beautiful girl ever at school, there's just one thing, she has no left hand.
my sister said nigger to her black friend and her friend got offended.  In front of her spanish friend she said, "why is it a big deal for homosexuals to have kids, Hispanics do it all the time. "  My sister says to me, "they didn't make a Matrix one and two... they only made a first one...you know why you think they made a Matrix one and two?"

"No, why?" I said

"Because it was the matrix that made you think that."

"If that's true, I guess everything is fake...I guess I can take my car into that house there, and it doesn't matter.  if I kill people inside and babies, it won't matter.  It won't matter because it's the matrix."

....and that's exactly what I did.

Monday, November 23, 2009

everything is fake

Sunday, November 22, 2009



street lamps catch with palms open piles of melted sky
dead bird marionette, my itinerant stare
i did things to you in my head about a million times
rag and bone dealer sold me death in a thimble
its lips are mauve
out windows, when he left i knew he wasn't coming back
last time a cried it's because i thought i heard angels singing
or i was watching a cartoon, it was at jades house years ago, i was on drugs, it's ok.
sleep in you like a cocoon, in the perverted way
washed away, ocean waves
mirrors grow
i bought ties i have not worn
ghosts tip over shit all the time.
i hate bukowski
i believe in romanticizing everything in a poverished life
i want to bruise your knees, photograph you, fuck you, and frame you.
i i i i i i i i i like nature, i like the inside of rooms...ive vomit on girls before.
living like the inuits, in the netherlands nwverlansds
telephone poles where jesus would die.
lights off, the tops of their wires hanging in the melted night sky.
ahh shit...this is it..the death of a mind grown ill
i will bury you in all the sweetness of the strawberry patch, bleeding my hands dry for you and under the determination of wild garlic you will ponder your own greatness on tops of clouds among the romans. when i wake, the water hast escape one moaning brush of desire to fill itself with such a home. will i still want a home? refreshed we'll see if you take after your younger brothers. in the 80's virgin births swept the nation, women everywhere were getting pregnant, quaaludes were cheapest in the 80's. the mary celeste was such a mystery. my mind cant breath...oh no..my mind cannot breath.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

what happened to me...shiiiit

Friday, November 20, 2009

Dramatic schemes of black mouthed nothingness.  Dead bird, ripped shirt.  Thoughts attained in arid space.  Warm bathtub and softened skin, softened of burden. Any sugar coated mess of naked words that slipped out of a dress tender and malnourished across a bedspread of floral print that's finally flourished.
Ceiling fan follows the path of my eyes contained on one while the rest spin by.  Layed in piss for days on end when my hands slowly crust over how a willow tree bends.  Found angels atop edges of windows on neighbors roofs.  Played harps in long hallways while most of my blood still is blue.  Paneled sidewalks walked with attempt to renew some sense of temptation or fruit to pursue.  Rotting on limbs while the world grows and learns, to be grown soft and rotted and dropped to the earth.  So ceiling fan tremble the sound of rough love.  To love nothing but midnight and flourish on the wet rug.

Monday, November 16, 2009


useless

I do not own such things for they just own me.  My vision of breathlessness is what I hold close, a representation on being free from such cress that breeds on my borders.  I look out windows almost constantly unconscious of what I see, I have been taken away..ugh this place is filth, goodbye.  Make my death full of sensation and thought.






27. May 2009

   I was supplied with a wealthy abundance of what loss can be.  Stripped of my clothes, rope and shackles, I am now "free" to pace.  The walls are gaunt and my body is ridden with rope sores.  If only I had a shirt, a chair, a rope now, used differently and to my advantage I could pull myself from these depths.  Remorse is a peculiar thing that derives itself in many variations.  Not of my own doing but preventable by only the way one goes about his nature.  Being remorseful for ever being remorseful... like the wishing of events on oneself to bring about clarity... purity.  However, stupidity is understood easily when the adversarial means supercede any goodness that could be contrived from these happenings.  Specificity with thought is an important role concerning most desirable outcomes.  If a mind is vague and apathetic with its contemplations, the culmination thereof is evasive, and finding a meaning to beneficially attribute to oneself is like finding a needle in a haystack.  Do we need to be open to all forms of degradation?  Is the lesson also that; the lessons we want to learn don't happen because we don't necessarily prepare ourselves for lessons?  In that case, there would be no need to be concerned with detail and concentration.  Only on my own terms do I want to experience loss and simpleness.  How do I benefit when I had not cautioned myself to circumvent unpredictability?  Contributing to worldwide appreciation has halted with these events.  The meaning is intangible and only provokes ugliness in me.  If there is a deeper explanation I'd expect one to grace me as I beg god for warmth.  Perhaps it's rather like, finding the correct needle in a stack of needles.  My breath escapes me and travels upwards to freedom, clarity... purity.

So much I really wanna be killed by a very sincere women but not the type that blacks out the sunshine over complacence on my behalf...one who understands passion cultivating itself through fucking, singing, drinking, laying in dirt, making life with hands, blood and carpet.  A really good shot at a shallow portrayal of catching me off my horse.

misspeled

The consistency it gives me...modulate my dead air of whims to cumulate into something.  My depression works better in steady waves like the shore moving at a steady pace. Pass planes of waving ambitions, grocery store shopping cart faded in different shades through a century of typical names of faces and places of darkness.  I bought a pack of gum and three apples.  From the seeds id build a castle if only.....

I have known many kinds of alone with you,
Have sat beneath your glistened leaves.
In the breeze that carried me home from growing up to fastly.
Sounds they bounce from the barrier of your brothers,
Kids screaming in turqiouse cars with their family going for ice cream.
Morbific and skin older than 23, when I was fourteen years old, you always listened to me. Peach tree.
Did your dreams get mixed with reality?  Most of what I say has been lies. But when im old I bet you'll still be around when we die.
 I was almost kidnapped one day outside of a toy store. My mother was down the block at a tj maxx.
And a man opened a brown car door.  I was grabbed and pulled toward my love but someone pulled me back.
 The car sped away in warm blue downpour from a plaza in the 90s and I hope god killed him in a crash.

wet leaves on wet sidewalks outside your vestibule in the evening in the fall.

I ran with feral kids like a bird I covered earth and shit
Immortalize your low self esteem you look pretty when you cry next to windows I wanna sink in you prop u up ontop dressers or bar stool.  I know I put you somehwere cause my hands smell like your perfume.
Our parents coulda murdered us im glad we were both let go. I rode a horse and cast spells, sold my soul to get you alone.  You would die for me, won't you try, cause I wanna

Saturday, November 14, 2009

"you can tell... because he has discipline.  if he sees it he can control himself and not pick it up.  but if it has been a long time, you can tell.... because he will run up without asking anybody, and embrace it, and play it."
my face is flaking apart.  Cracks and lines, intersecting.  Vitamin deficiency I guess?  I don't care, I'll kill myself when I become to unmanageable for myself.
 he called it pop art.  "everyone has their blue phase", he says.  He says, "you're nearing the borders of something art is not, maybe you as art but without 'as artist'.  Maybe sweetheart will understand?"
I look at the ground, the green grass looks gray reflectin the sky sprawled across adjacent directions never ending.  "I do not understand what you're saying to me.  It's just color and it means nothing because all the best art is black and white", I say.
I treaded past landlocked laden pulled cover up, solemn white maiden..., past michigan to montana, to nebraska, to alabama.. i bled novels out between my legs, out anywhere that gives the correct tone of my dramatic effect.  All I see is green grass plots with headstones, no more hardwood floors in white painted bedrooms.  I says, "the day I have no more reasons to kill myself, people will have all the reason they need to kill me".  And I'm sure it will happen at some point.  Look...Just looook how everyone already hates the cracks in my face just by looking at me.  was that statement meant to be self-indulgent?  I dont know...hopefully...probably.   "I'm glad hardly anyone understands me, give purpose to something", he says.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

january 16th 2010

i wanna be dismembered by architecture, crushed by someone elses dreams.

short handle of whiskey out a bag on the bed
you could be undressed
the lights low?
where is minnesota, michigan, lake minitoba?
i could care less about any area surrounding....me
surrogate slave work
the dead they tick clocks
running red wrist watch
like connected dots
to dream of countries in the sea which had fallen off.


i was in the wooden mansion a spell cast, my true love died when
she fell off from his hide.
there unpaid loans and crushed bones don't touch that, it touched the heart of mine.
my love melted into the hot summer street playin hopscotch in barefeet.
my true love her eyes were picked clean by birds while she was napping,
and now you cant see a thing...dont touch me
the hospital, they are bad men.  jesse jackson, bed men.
a brave man a brave man. my skin or an afghan.
a lantern in a cabin or your eyes lit fire to mansion.
like a poet, cohen, a showman, im a brave man...like dad.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

transubstantiate, ive always been inside you, felt the inside of your openings where light hits.
touched your childhood through car doors. the insides of your ribs, the determination of your heart,
the indifference of your soul. drug myself in your wet hair. i baptized you in a pool, would make love to you on a bar stool. i slid down your throat and populated in your hand.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Discovering you was a lot like when I discovered masturbation.  My parents bought me a pair of silk boxers for christmas when I was 12 or 13, they had multi-colored mickey mouses printed all over them.  When I wore them they would rub against the head of my penis whenever I walked.  I had discovered the best feeling in the world.  These boxers would remain on me for weeks at a time.  Walking through the halls of school all day I would hunch over so no one would notice my erect dick.  Upon arriving home I would rush and lock myself in the bathroom for a half hour and play with myself until I would come.  When I met you, just the thought of you gave me an erection.  If I could I'd wear you for weeks at a time.  Just like masturbation, since the discovery of it I have not gone without it for long.  So that is much how I view you.
My reasoning amazes me within conquest.  Key latch kids always attached to keychains for the reason of forgetfulness and screwing yourself over if forgotten.  Needless to say, I became clever with the act of crawling through windows.  Worthless and no good, I should be completely forgotten by you only to try and try again to fit into your tiny windows.  Teardrops of glass and shards of blood collage with clothes onto your gold floor.  What good though is anything when it has been broken down just to sit within its warmth.  The winds would waft through and everything would get cold and die.  I'd get cold and die, holding onto you maybe, hunched over so no one will notice my erection.  You'd probably live for a day or two and get cold and die.  If there's nothing though, I could just find my own burrow deep in the earth and you could be nothing but hair and bones drowning in my t shirt.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

chapped lips

somagh royal violet bulbs bloom into death tick tocks blackness
walks like fire strands of silk dance unnoticed but for no color of such
red, blues, tinted hues. flash drive, slit wrists dont hurt just looks
like skin twitch to give birth, contracting or mouthing goodbyes
if far away now only making out lines.
red berries smeared and dried ontop pages of song, sonnettes
stretched  canvas and twine, little razor boat
on your red sea you float, overflowing
onto a book of suicide notes.
negative correlation, atumnal equinox, geography notes ruined,
those swirling black spots, the same eyes of sorry or past reminisce the same ones
that you made love with.
so dont guitars write the sweetest songs?  and to those can’t you sing along?
if i die wafting through the big dark sea, i will be taken in so easily.
like a little boat on top pages of history notes.
i think all the words would be to hard to read.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

i need something...

Saturday, October 10, 2009

My mom's purse was shiny and fuchsia colored.  It was the color of the lipstick she always wore.  It was the color of lipstick every women wore then.  I would always find it hanging off the inside doorknob to her bedroom.  Inside I'd find oversized plastic bracelets, pink ones and turquoise ones.  Bracelets women only wore in the period when the 80's were giving birth to the 90's.  Inside would be a pack of gum, wallet, a checkbook, pens, loose condoms and lots of makeup.  This was at a time when my mother would still stare into the bathroom mirror murmuring "god dammit" every time she found a grey hair, coloring every single one in the a black sharpee marker.  When I was done feeling with my fingers through the dumped contents of her purse on the floor, I'd abandon the mess I made and go sit on the hallway floor next to the bathroom's open door.  My mother was beautiful.  She'd look in the mirror and empty a purple can of hairspray, she'd do this while hot curlers danced loosely in her hair as she erratically jolted around saying "where'd I put my lipstick?"  Pushing past me I'd admire her efficiency with...I'd admire womens' efficiency in this tedious process of all the things to be done before going to kmart or tj-maxx or hills... on a hot date, the bar, church....for days.  I'd hear her yell from her bedroom.  Why did I need to breach the barriers of her private life?  Finger through every object, breath in every smell, rubbing every texture until my fingers were raw.  This was at a time when my mother still wore cheap high heals everyday.  This is when she would still drive an old tan pontiac from 1984 with a coat hanger antenna. This was at a time when my mother still had the energy to still beat the shit out of me for making a mess, for finding her condoms, for loving her, and she did just that.  Her curler rods falling onto the floor.  Sometimes I cried when I watched her back down out of the driveway from the living room window that looked out over the front yard.  But that day I did not cry.  Because she said she was going to the grocery store and than tj-maxx.... I didn't cry because I knew that meant she'd be back as soon as tomorrow and I wouldn't have to wait so long to sit and watch my beautiful mother put on her makeup again.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

integrated cliches










end en toul froizen

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

a forest combed in city blocks, i wanna walk to you
past posted tresspassing
to where the ground meets the moon
the police won't shut me down

no...ive been locked up once before,
nothins keepin me from you my love,
you’re my favorite crackwhore
cause lately i’ve been missin you
like Z├ęphuros misses the east
i hope you know i’d die for youi wouldnt even die for this fuckin country.
so glad you dont do anythin you can to make money
someday i’ll buy a fancy ring and those shoes you thought were pretty
the seagulls pick over what i lost but up aheads the bay and the docks
they croon
i’d miss my friends i thought.
i hope i see you soon.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Saturday, September 26, 2009

i was kidknapped

i got trapped inside your car when i was kidknapped last winter, i'm next to you, against brown cracked leather.  there's snow outside and my life dances in the air way up north as we drive across the plane.  im like the cherokee i'm putting feathers in my hair, i painted with berries on my face, but the birds gone south and the berries couldn't be found. i rode in your car and you touched my wounded head and proceeded down and i felt like i was in bed.  I dont look at you or the snow, the frost on the glass, my breath...smoke signals.  you touched my head.  kidknapped


im fucked

i can compare you to plastic or some sort of color that can only be achieved over time.  what would I break you down into, and what are all the ways it could be my fault?   i have been waiting for eternity, i have been waitin for you by the soda machine.  autumn is gonna soothe the sidewalks, dress its burns in crying leaves.  you and i, sittin in the summertime, beneath some peach tree.  I heard baseball games echo off the hill, i was eight...i saw turquoise cars full of families goin for ice cream.  i kind of spent my life under that peach tree and i'll return to you in death.




  some people imagine what everyone does or looks like when they use the bathroom at night in basements.  you know people peer in from the outside, into the ditch windows that people have in their basements.   im tired of tender tipped touch, not an iota of such.  the air so sweet the intentions so weak.  yeah, we talked alot of shit in school but it was to make you feel beautiful.  hating the taste of saccharine and cigarettes but guaranteed you miss the taste of sincerity.  I said i'm not down working a job where im stealin cash cause we cant afford to eat and scared i might get shot, i dont want that job.  and you had some offhand remark like "oh 'everybody loves raymond' is like 'Roseanna' for white people."  and i said "your art is always what it's not cause you're trying to screen process what is frugal." and than you asked if I was on drugs and than I said that I didn't do drugs.

Occultation means the passage of one celestial object in front of another.

Lewis!  you found a cd in a trashcan and we took it back to your place and listened to it...than you threw it away...you're the second person to throw away that cd, that's how bad it is.


swirling sky drops down into a sound audible by lovers.  im scheming on how to, im crazy enough to pin my posture to the stance of a poster, you wanna see me drunk on my floor playign guitar or vomiting.  i'm leaning over on your shoulder i cant keep my eyes open. tell me where to go tell me what to do tell me i'm instant i'm an angel that fell on top of you.  i sank to the bottom of every heart i've yet to swim.  you wouldn't would you?  help me out and care for me like i want.  someone else gets to you, i skip town.  the only heart i need to swim if you stay around.


i wanna be dismembered by architecture, crushed by someone else's dreams.  its always happening.
bar hopping series....killer runs away to find self you cant sleep without your phone but you sleep fine without me.

get glass of water for we're so delicate archaic teachings

waiting to fix what's wrong with me...ya...what about that?

you got pregnant everyday, we dressed like puerto rican trash

i drug myself back from michigan...i was having fun there...i ran out of gas on the turnpike coming back.
 i have to stop...say something i dont really mean...i never do...i mean anything...i say


the clouds have a gold lining and i think i'm dying.  i wanna die soon.

suicide note to a brother


If I had the motivation at 6am on the dot to reply with any kind of motive, any coheirent response at all, it would greatly be my pleasure. I lay here pondering the objective of what you have sent me. I to have transformed my lonlinss into a great number of feelings and recreation. One of those also being obsessive masturbation, however I do this in front of my vanity to see I am the only one who can truley fuck me in such a wretched scenario. Currently I have found solace in my isolation, I feel safe and comfortable...could this be some sort of a defense of the mind? Is this what leads the "artists" to produce such works derived from obscure states of the mind which are secluded by "normal" brain activity and response. The response I speak of is that from daily human contact, the contact that perhaps you and I seem to lack for the time being. Perhaps these are our own personal dilemnas caused by actions we should be held to account. In any case whether we're efflicted with this from outside sources or it be self-induced is irrelevant. In short, does this lonliness cause our minds to become exorbitant minds? Is this a way of our own bodies compensating for the things we lack, some sort of consulation? Is it perhaps complete opposite, a punishment? Are our own minds magnanimously attributed to our solitude? Will we grow and flourish within ourselves and will that be enough? Are our minds just magnanimous of these undefined feelings and moods under these specific natures or circumstances...do we have a choice whether to suffer or not? Be good or bad, crazy or sane? Is it left up to us to do, with what our lonliness has provided? Can you help your mind being flooded with anything else? Is apathy the best escape from this cruel and torturous path, or is it the easy way out? Apathy, the drug that renders us stagnent whether it's ill intended or not. Are we just being masochists? Will this lonliness become such a friend, that when the outside world comes to us with arms wide open, we stab it in the fucking throat? Could we be so lucky to attain all these options, have them be possabilities? Or unlucky. The only question that will come clear from all the questions I ask you and myself, is that what path is the easiest way out from all this. The possabilities are among many, although in this life so solitary we usually pick the easiest way out. As it looks now it seems that your apathy is getting the best of you as is my comfort with being miserable and alone getting the best of me. Is masochism an indicator of false apathy or is it truth? With this my friend, I ask you this one last question. If you would turn that blade of apathy away from your own stomach and slit every fucking wrist of every single hand that reaches out, slaughtering every man, woman and child that approaches toward you and I with complete love and acceptance, if you do this, will we be happy? If the savageness of apathy still embodies you and you have no feeling or care, then I hope you turn the knife on yourself and bleed your lost aspirations through your goddamned throat. I hope you die so I can be happy. I will be happy to see us both die alone.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

those fucking mauve lampshades in my mom's living room


 I'm in love with tacky lampshades and young boys who bend their skin over hollow gourd. 
 Make noises with fruit of eggs.
 Pondered shells with the purpose of tan remains inside ivory legs
 printed the granulars on the pressured remains atop paved, with beaches led to wooden worn walkways to doors
 by thoroughfares and moistened red spaces of drinking or eating places.

 they fall in love, women taking off their clothes or their faces,
 influence of compromise anhroud the art of compensation of collecting the gutter drenched baggage of balcony breakups or equivalence.
 I accept animals
 Into my heart, like the jesus of dark waves inside my rhythm
 Inside virgin sunsets to bible hymns that don't use real words without teeth
 I fell in love with jungle trees

 Touch ancient medicine bijous beneath chipper
 money green leaves among funny birds whisper.
 Counter tops by running noises above tiny pools,
 serious glasses empty of what my mouth was full.


 Just make love, just make love, just make love
 among confusion by the smell of the pineapple trees
 with which eyes of the wild had found their way to our senses
 in purple and silver air lost and uncomprehensive ..

 It cools the circular burn marks constellated across
 mauve mounted mantel scarred in spiritual brands 
 above this bed made of fallen feathers and sand.
 All pouring out cuts on a body.
 coddled the seedy,
 danced the water and sometimes grew our home,
 from where i want to lick you there to make you feel good
 i'm in love with the finger dirt and horsehair

 lay against savage orange that slept above the black circle in the sky
 that separates into trisects and then diamonds and then  litter
 money copper leaves and funny birds cease whisper.
 i'm in love with the suns tacky lampshade

strumming my heart strings? who said that, was that me?

north could be anywhere, church bells sing like fevered mare
pasture pleasure of shaded fence where i retreat to
begger you to not go anywhere tonight ill sleep with your dirty underwear
pressed against my face
perfumed like a peach pit, bubblegum stuck beneath park bench
your sweat after you drinks alot of alcohol

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

i got it for you
it cant be delivered until the beginning of october
i still got it for you
so what

Monday, September 7, 2009

my hair is falling out...i like my freckles.  my nails are long. coffee...where is coffee?

Sunday, September 6, 2009

rara avis

i bought you a present

Friday, September 4, 2009

i'd still return the clothes even though they smell like smoke

nthis is our goldmine...picture diary
lettt
your dad really looked like charles manson, reealll cool
how satanic children are made
  • i dreamt i was a bird i flew over your house, you were sitting in your yard you had a mom she seemed nice
id sleep in cars with you
my adolescence
immaturity/boggle 

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

happy birthday sister/ missin you
"We were doing it doggy style, and I puked on the floor and started crying, he told me it was okay his cat would eat it... and if it would make me feel better we could do anal..."

forest house

legs hollowed my inherent posterior of pale indifferent expression.
a memory so less than subtle present aberrational impressions.
ill make you a home within the presence of tall trees.
because I am an animal made to love and lay within just one.
we are animals of culmination.
our nighttime forest castle will dissolve away over time.
i'll lay in the kitchen dead, covered in leaves, eaten by our old neighbors.
You're not even anywhere to position your resigned series of tastes around my skin.
I live among art so why not die in art?
you drag along this tortured suit of a muse, why not die as one too?
wouldn't you want to culminate into a million things that'll bring you further out of something so less vibrant.
and being able to not care...
or not care....
or how can a rational contrast be realized?
a glass body of nothing left to be used hollowed my inherent posterior of pale complacent, cool, cold, expression.
why buy blackberries at farm stands by the side of the road
when i found all we need on the forest floor.
three colors and none in the rainbow.
oh i just wanna lay you forever
within art, cause it's the only honesty within a medium of pointlessness.
do you believe what i say?

Saturday, August 22, 2009

abandoned

i like to drive with my windows down while it rains
i itch everywhere
im bad at this
having no help