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
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

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?