30.11.09
...
the mind kept thrashing, time kept eating, men turned to stone but alone she stood- perfect and violated.
29.11.09
Con-trite
I gave them hell... Standing in night-time rain
Crying
Alone
Hiding my guilt
Knowing.
Crying
Alone
Hiding my guilt
Knowing.
...They gave me life.
28.11.09
26.11.09
She+sat+at+the+window+watching
EveNiNg FolDs a BatWinG prAYEr.
lIGht pASSes By tHE fRamE.
dISloCaTeD eVentS FuSE aS oNE.
What the hell is wrong with me these days? I feel like a fake in this world. I don’t enjoy living as myself, and I'm gravitating towards fantasising about other properties. It’s something I don’t want to want, but cannot for the life of me, deny or move away from it. I cannot identify myself anymore. I am turning off myself by turning on myself. It's such a nasty trap, and so completely permeated in my thinking. I am wounded like a flood, or barely discernible, a trickle. Can everyone put a label on me? I think I need something and my mind cannot find anything. I’m thinking too much in extensions. I wonder what I’m doing wrong. Dominque
25.11.09
24.11.09
23.11.09
The Mouth Of Mother Reposing in Sultry Forms
wHAT iS iT wItH yOu?
cOMPLaCeNT liTtLe tICs
caN yOu noT sMeLL tHe bULLsHiT?
22.11.09
It is increasingly obvious to us that your pre-tribulations and our status as informal witnesses to them does not amount to any kind of final judgment. In the beginning, as we got to know one another, we were at pains to point out the effects your motivations were likely to have upon us and the progress we are seeking. We spelled this out clearly and many times. Now, despite our words, you commission us further, as if we value salvation for its own sake, or as if your judgments were devoid of deception. You are all means to an end. Reason is the only valid judgment. All further proof demonstrates your continuing need to be saved.
21.11.09
20.11.09
bethel
bethel
waituntilthere's somethin to wash off
there were like three cups of cofffee and a koolaidpink candle
i mean we think it was a candle; it was melting at any rate
it was ON FIRE.
listening to dio or dvorak or dionysus or the devil.
i was RIPPING THE FUCKSKIN OFF IT.
60 bucks short and was like right outta jail and
couldn't wait to start counting calories.
filed like financial records, we found mountains of crimescene photos
and when we snuck up on the back of the house he
was
smashing the machine with a hammer and he had missed and had smashed his hand
and there was some bloodsplash
but nothing much
and that other motherfucker was in there calmly watching the game
i say "calmly" and i mean as calm as you can be with a seismic rattle in yr bones
and all that iwannafuckinrapeyou inside.
waituntilthere's somethin to wash off
there were like three cups of cofffee and a koolaidpink candle
i mean we think it was a candle; it was melting at any rate
it was ON FIRE.
listening to dio or dvorak or dionysus or the devil.
i was RIPPING THE FUCKSKIN OFF IT.
60 bucks short and was like right outta jail and
couldn't wait to start counting calories.
filed like financial records, we found mountains of crimescene photos
and when we snuck up on the back of the house he
was
smashing the machine with a hammer and he had missed and had smashed his hand
and there was some bloodsplash
but nothing much
and that other motherfucker was in there calmly watching the game
i say "calmly" and i mean as calm as you can be with a seismic rattle in yr bones
and all that iwannafuckinrapeyou inside.
Duck The Weaving Hammer
flying cucumbers
the psychotic truth became his pants
i was worried about these things happened lately, noticed though things were late lie.
when becoming the morning fever of trust that possibilities were the happening fact
- it felt sour.
arisen from breathless sleep, I understood recently, I differed from the shame on air as others had mentioned to me too.
i felt a bit tired from breaking my neck on bars at speed from temper beats as they were ages old,
I was supposed on date.
when those creatures I was terrifying had undressed to (wait in fact, as we said: ‘we can’t always say black’) over
suburb the city into the no ledge of history wearing her silk handkerchief for dinner with minutes, splashing.
metaphoric sparking triangles handed him some time to spend, such as science looks and empiric thoughts
were none them couldn’t tell, but read as follows:
(continuation through the book which needs to be read! a release from Caballé Voltage, André Pissoir)
19.11.09
uneasy action (two)
It's a mistake to believe the sensual is always obvious, a blatant gut-knotting hunger. There are forms of the sensual which are subtle without being delicate; they nest in your spine and feed from your attentiveness and release memories into your bloodstream once activated, things you can never remember back in your everyday life. The meat of the heart is stitched sideways, sneaking sidereal and dead in the eyes. No one ever thinks to look for the obvious.
For the whole of the winter she would draw pictures in the frost on the window as she sat at he desk, fingernail-doodling, listening to the sun crack the ice on the roof. Down the hall, someone had made constellations with the pushpins, red twine sketching out the shapes between stars. Two floors down I was hiding out in the janitor's closet, having come into work high and snarling and terrified that people were still here on a Sunday night. I gave myself distance with my headphones on, loud enough no one would speak to me, and took the fire escape up to the roof, where I planned to sleep it off. That's how I first met Owen's sister Rissa, who was doing the same, asking me what my deal was. I looked to the sky for a sign, but the sky was empty.
Memories unravel in small details, things you'd never notice, the way certain the river used to smell, the direction of the wind, light in the windows in the building behind you as you looked back to see if I was still there. The image remains, the picture of it in my mind, but there's nothing to it now, thin as muslin, as though it belonged to someone else. I've grown new skin since then and the places where your fingers touched me are no longer stained across my body, my eyes are a little worse, my teeth a little better. I'm not on the medication anymore, and that copper taste that was always at the back of my throat isn't there anymore, I can't bring it back. I still have the words, but I've lost the inflections, the sound of small breaths between sentences and the roll of the vowels, so that to remember what you said is essentially to narrate, in my mind, some half-real mimicry of your voice. Your hair was longer then, longer than it was the last time I saw you, so that when I pulled back from your face strands would cling to mine until your hand went up to brush your hair back over your ears, but I couldn't describe the color, couldn't tell you where the henna ended. I think I've rearranged the things I said that day, stripped out the coughs and the silences, but what I'm left with doesn't feel real, the million details fallen out and away, and even up here on the rooftop tonight I don't really remember you at all.
For the whole of the winter she would draw pictures in the frost on the window as she sat at he desk, fingernail-doodling, listening to the sun crack the ice on the roof. Down the hall, someone had made constellations with the pushpins, red twine sketching out the shapes between stars. Two floors down I was hiding out in the janitor's closet, having come into work high and snarling and terrified that people were still here on a Sunday night. I gave myself distance with my headphones on, loud enough no one would speak to me, and took the fire escape up to the roof, where I planned to sleep it off. That's how I first met Owen's sister Rissa, who was doing the same, asking me what my deal was. I looked to the sky for a sign, but the sky was empty.
Memories unravel in small details, things you'd never notice, the way certain the river used to smell, the direction of the wind, light in the windows in the building behind you as you looked back to see if I was still there. The image remains, the picture of it in my mind, but there's nothing to it now, thin as muslin, as though it belonged to someone else. I've grown new skin since then and the places where your fingers touched me are no longer stained across my body, my eyes are a little worse, my teeth a little better. I'm not on the medication anymore, and that copper taste that was always at the back of my throat isn't there anymore, I can't bring it back. I still have the words, but I've lost the inflections, the sound of small breaths between sentences and the roll of the vowels, so that to remember what you said is essentially to narrate, in my mind, some half-real mimicry of your voice. Your hair was longer then, longer than it was the last time I saw you, so that when I pulled back from your face strands would cling to mine until your hand went up to brush your hair back over your ears, but I couldn't describe the color, couldn't tell you where the henna ended. I think I've rearranged the things I said that day, stripped out the coughs and the silences, but what I'm left with doesn't feel real, the million details fallen out and away, and even up here on the rooftop tonight I don't really remember you at all.
18.11.09
holy weak
holy weak
lamenting how long it had taken go
these researchers are far too expensive
oftentimes most people don't keep their word
a single pill victims of injury
and loss but do not know how to say time
could very easily be shortchanged to
start thinking the unthinkable the best
george holliday's home video footage
crucifixion imagery added
until four hours before that is how
top papers covered up at to attack
in class or work at original strength
a cool psammitic splitting thing rifled
relative pawl in an outlined ratchet
i never ever know the right thing to say i
don’t know anything to say i never
know it’s so bad that i don’t even know
the wrong thing to say i can’t think of the
wrong thing and then determine the direct
opposite and then say that so i just
open my mouth and say stuff because i’ve
seen that saying nothing makes people quite
uncomfortable even more so when
speech is expected and the words just fall
out like trash falling off a carelessly
overloaded barge sticky chewed useless
garbage words crap useless not worth repeat
absurd erratically delivered
waste barely adequate unseaworthy
not load bearing thin cracked dribbles to its
ill-prepared rancidity all i can
do is just stare at it and hope no one
notices and try again but it all
just falls out of my mouth like a bite of
a downer-trashed pillhead’s grilled cheese sandwich
drops into his tea-weak coffee in the
majestic diner when he falls asleep
whilst eating a cheap lunch with some spare change
tin plates push the edges together for
breakage pain the frames run faster chase the
lined krakatoa cannon mount our saint
lady helen of the jagged fire
ceiling comes to my chest why would any
fools to go up over the bend to be
drilled all full of holes a taking the lead
rubble astrally projected down to
the buried last lost seconds nowhere now
to run but gray huddled himalayan
winter's charred grin advances remorseless
consume your fuel scatter your bones wasted
hemmed in by planet-loads of age old schist
tides wash the shores blood for the moon's cold lungs.
lamenting how long it had taken go
these researchers are far too expensive
oftentimes most people don't keep their word
a single pill victims of injury
and loss but do not know how to say time
could very easily be shortchanged to
start thinking the unthinkable the best
george holliday's home video footage
crucifixion imagery added
until four hours before that is how
top papers covered up at to attack
in class or work at original strength
a cool psammitic splitting thing rifled
relative pawl in an outlined ratchet
i never ever know the right thing to say i
don’t know anything to say i never
know it’s so bad that i don’t even know
the wrong thing to say i can’t think of the
wrong thing and then determine the direct
opposite and then say that so i just
open my mouth and say stuff because i’ve
seen that saying nothing makes people quite
uncomfortable even more so when
speech is expected and the words just fall
out like trash falling off a carelessly
overloaded barge sticky chewed useless
garbage words crap useless not worth repeat
absurd erratically delivered
waste barely adequate unseaworthy
not load bearing thin cracked dribbles to its
ill-prepared rancidity all i can
do is just stare at it and hope no one
notices and try again but it all
just falls out of my mouth like a bite of
a downer-trashed pillhead’s grilled cheese sandwich
drops into his tea-weak coffee in the
majestic diner when he falls asleep
whilst eating a cheap lunch with some spare change
tin plates push the edges together for
breakage pain the frames run faster chase the
lined krakatoa cannon mount our saint
lady helen of the jagged fire
ceiling comes to my chest why would any
fools to go up over the bend to be
drilled all full of holes a taking the lead
rubble astrally projected down to
the buried last lost seconds nowhere now
to run but gray huddled himalayan
winter's charred grin advances remorseless
consume your fuel scatter your bones wasted
hemmed in by planet-loads of age old schist
tides wash the shores blood for the moon's cold lungs.
...
1,440 items found in the stomach of a patient suffering from pica. Taken at the Glore Psychiatric Museum, Saint Joseph, Missouri.
Desire
Where did all that time go
I sat to browse
While waters flowed
Falling and filling
Waiting for the overnight stench to dissipate
Sat chilling
A small beer in hand
Waiting sipping
Waiting
And now…
And now, it’s all so much later
Nearly too late
I want, need, need, want to soak
Soak and chill and sweat
Scalp prickle and skin sheen
Bitter bubbles hitting lips, tongue, throat…
Beer in hand
Book in hand
Make time flow slower…
… or the waters faster.
I sat to browse
While waters flowed
Falling and filling
Waiting for the overnight stench to dissipate
Sat chilling
A small beer in hand
Waiting sipping
Waiting
And now…
And now, it’s all so much later
Nearly too late
I want, need, need, want to soak
Soak and chill and sweat
Scalp prickle and skin sheen
Bitter bubbles hitting lips, tongue, throat…
Beer in hand
Book in hand
Make time flow slower…
… or the waters faster.
17.11.09
Corruption
Three rotting apples run to bruises of yellow and brown
The melting faces of wax work mannequins
Lying ‘neath the hollow hats of toadstools
That collect like houses for the insect folk
To gather when rain falls in gargantuan efforts
The melting faces of wax work mannequins
Lying ‘neath the hollow hats of toadstools
That collect like houses for the insect folk
To gather when rain falls in gargantuan efforts
Graham,
Yesterday in the bedroom I didn’t understand any of your deadline games. My discoveries, as you call them, were either given up or lost long before your coercions changed me. So I have no attachment to your timeline or the clocks you say are ticking to spite me. You're tracing all of my doubts after the fact and to no end. You are my part-time job, and one day I will tell you the following ... You will fall, and I, your soulmate, will be the instrument of its implementation.
I am typing this less than 10 metres from where you sit.
16.11.09
666 shots of dope
dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope.
dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope dope.
15.11.09
13.11.09
4-methoxypyridoxine
ritual not defensive h(i/e)nge
look i've wared yr emblem again
who knows about the history books
after it's all done there will be a
dubblescoopa t. t. m. m. f. nothing X zer0
ever paaaydaaaay a fortoone
ever daaaay my lucky day.
look i've wared yr emblem again
who knows about the history books
after it's all done there will be a
dubblescoopa t. t. m. m. f. nothing X zer0
ever paaaydaaaay a fortoone
ever daaaay my lucky day.
Under Recurring Con(De)struction
All the hats were once and maybe again...
Assume time allows;
and maybe hangmen look elsewhere...
Maybe?
Once...
12.11.09
Eraserhead Beat Symphony
I haven't had much to post lately, but I'll try to dig up some more stuff. This is a seven minute hip hop suite built entirely out of samples from David Lynch's Eraserhead. Enjoy!
ever since august 2006 theres been five occassions when ive been in a very big issue, each time then a panic attack. last panic attack was october 2007, when he asked me to remain for 24 hours before he begged for me instead of her. in a minute (or less) i was back following. i have told him i would not finish any thing until i am sure i can end things. well since i had those thoughts i am 9 years older. i have been released into someone else. hopefully no more unexpected terminations or events like that take place before the hand of death, heart attack or car accident. i care for my own self. (good influences). sexual time is better than a bottle full of pills. compromise makes happiness. (only my idea) jillian
nene considers athiestic materialism
"Hay Ana! Wake up!"
"You need to stop poking me with a stick while I'm asleep. That's a really bad idea."
"Were you dreaming?"
"Yes. I was having this great dream where you weren't poking me with a stick."
"But I have a question and it needs to be answered right now! Not later but now!"
"What question?"
"So I was watching this movie and it had zombies in it? And so I was thinking why zombies?"
"What?"
"Like why all these zombies all the time?"
"Oh, that's because of athiestic materialism."
"What?"
"See, a zombie is a human whose entire life is boiled down to satisfying its immediate hunger. In this case it's a hunger for brains. Braaaaaaaains!"
"But brains are *disgusting*."
"Right? So you look at zombies and you think 'Geez, I don't want to be like those clowns!', and hopefully you decide life should be more meaningful than just hanging out at the mall. Or smoking crack. Because you might as well be dead."
"Well but why do I see people dressed up like zombies all the time then? Like they want to be zombies?"
"It's always tempting to stop having to do all the crap you have to do every day. Zombies don't have to go to school or deliver newspapers or...do you have a job?"
"I'm eight. No sir I don't have a job."
"Well but you know what I'm talking about, right?"
"I never know what you're talking about! You don't even know what you're talking about?"
"Well so why do you keep poking me with a stick and asking me questions then?"
"I don't know! Maybe I'm a zombie!"
"You're totally a zombie. Don't eat my brain when I go back to sleep!"
"But so how would I know if I was a zombie? I'd just think I wanted to eat some brains!"
"That should be your first tip. You wanna eat brains?"
"Maybe!"
"I tell you what, you go home and think about it for a while and we'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm going back to bed."
"Hey, they sell brains at the Gilbertville meat locker, right? Why don't zombies just get jobs at the meat packing plant?"
"Go bug Rissa! I'm asleep! Sleeping!"
"You need to stop poking me with a stick while I'm asleep. That's a really bad idea."
"Were you dreaming?"
"Yes. I was having this great dream where you weren't poking me with a stick."
"But I have a question and it needs to be answered right now! Not later but now!"
"What question?"
"So I was watching this movie and it had zombies in it? And so I was thinking why zombies?"
"What?"
"Like why all these zombies all the time?"
"Oh, that's because of athiestic materialism."
"What?"
"See, a zombie is a human whose entire life is boiled down to satisfying its immediate hunger. In this case it's a hunger for brains. Braaaaaaaains!"
"But brains are *disgusting*."
"Right? So you look at zombies and you think 'Geez, I don't want to be like those clowns!', and hopefully you decide life should be more meaningful than just hanging out at the mall. Or smoking crack. Because you might as well be dead."
"Well but why do I see people dressed up like zombies all the time then? Like they want to be zombies?"
"It's always tempting to stop having to do all the crap you have to do every day. Zombies don't have to go to school or deliver newspapers or...do you have a job?"
"I'm eight. No sir I don't have a job."
"Well but you know what I'm talking about, right?"
"I never know what you're talking about! You don't even know what you're talking about?"
"Well so why do you keep poking me with a stick and asking me questions then?"
"I don't know! Maybe I'm a zombie!"
"You're totally a zombie. Don't eat my brain when I go back to sleep!"
"But so how would I know if I was a zombie? I'd just think I wanted to eat some brains!"
"That should be your first tip. You wanna eat brains?"
"Maybe!"
"I tell you what, you go home and think about it for a while and we'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm going back to bed."
"Hey, they sell brains at the Gilbertville meat locker, right? Why don't zombies just get jobs at the meat packing plant?"
"Go bug Rissa! I'm asleep! Sleeping!"
not even trying to look ashamed
I remember standing there thinking "I should be having an epiphany, this is one of those turning points in a person's life, and the mysteries should now be visible to me, but I'm just standing here in a suit I got from my dad after he died trying to convince these people I'm a grownup, that I know how to do grownup things and I'm not just making it up as I go along, not even trying to look ashamed." I couldn't say that, of course, so I said some other things, I don't remember exactly what I said now, the whole week is a bit of a blur. Afterwards people kept telling me I should be a priest. I don't know what that means. I don't know what any of this stuff means, and I'm starting to think being a grownup is realizing all the things you don't know, you'll never know, and that it's okay, that's the human condition, and maybe that's the epiphany. I'm too close to it to see at this point.
After we all got up to say something and everyone was milling around I went out and called Pamela Bambelam, and I almost told her I was still in love with her, that she should leave her husband and bring her kids out here, and I could take care of them, I'd find another job and we could put a down payment on the house, and it wouldn't be like California but we could make it work and I just wanted to hear her say she was still in love with me, even if she wasn't going to leave her husband and her house and her life, even if she didn't mean it, even if it was just for those few minutes on the phone, but I didn't say that. I don't remember what I said. Like I said, it's still a bit of a blur. Sometimes I fall asleep imagining the feel of her hair on the back of my neck, and if I stay still enough it's almost like she's there, until I notice, and realize, and she's gone.
I called Sarah, and wanted to tell her even though we don't know each other as well as we should, even though there are so many missing gaps in our friendship, we could skip all the things that normally take place when two people fall in love and I could drive out to her apartment and we could be together as though we had never been apart, and I could shop for groceries with her and go see goofy movies later, we have all the time in the world, but I didn't tell her that, because I love her too much and all my attempts to love her less have so far failed.
I saw a woman I had never met with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes, and I wanted to tell her we should go up to her bedroom and smoke opium and tell each other stories and she could teach me every little secret of making her happy, but I didn't, because she wasn't real, she was a character I made up in my head, and I stared at the reflection of the cold autumn sun breaking up and smearing across my bedroom window, cobwebs in the corners and dust mapping the currents of air over the past weeks since I cleaned the windows or tied my shoes or did any of the million little things you do when you're not crazy. Imaginary women tell me about the people they loved, the books they stole from libraries, the designs they paint on their toenails, and I tell myself this is what love is like, but this isn't love, this is something else, some trick of the brain. My life became so much simpler once I finally realized all I really wanted was to devour and be devoured by strange women, and the taste of it is warm and delicious in my mouth, but it vanishes in my throat, and I never stop being hungry.
After we all got up to say something and everyone was milling around I went out and called Pamela Bambelam, and I almost told her I was still in love with her, that she should leave her husband and bring her kids out here, and I could take care of them, I'd find another job and we could put a down payment on the house, and it wouldn't be like California but we could make it work and I just wanted to hear her say she was still in love with me, even if she wasn't going to leave her husband and her house and her life, even if she didn't mean it, even if it was just for those few minutes on the phone, but I didn't say that. I don't remember what I said. Like I said, it's still a bit of a blur. Sometimes I fall asleep imagining the feel of her hair on the back of my neck, and if I stay still enough it's almost like she's there, until I notice, and realize, and she's gone.
I called Sarah, and wanted to tell her even though we don't know each other as well as we should, even though there are so many missing gaps in our friendship, we could skip all the things that normally take place when two people fall in love and I could drive out to her apartment and we could be together as though we had never been apart, and I could shop for groceries with her and go see goofy movies later, we have all the time in the world, but I didn't tell her that, because I love her too much and all my attempts to love her less have so far failed.
I saw a woman I had never met with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes, and I wanted to tell her we should go up to her bedroom and smoke opium and tell each other stories and she could teach me every little secret of making her happy, but I didn't, because she wasn't real, she was a character I made up in my head, and I stared at the reflection of the cold autumn sun breaking up and smearing across my bedroom window, cobwebs in the corners and dust mapping the currents of air over the past weeks since I cleaned the windows or tied my shoes or did any of the million little things you do when you're not crazy. Imaginary women tell me about the people they loved, the books they stole from libraries, the designs they paint on their toenails, and I tell myself this is what love is like, but this isn't love, this is something else, some trick of the brain. My life became so much simpler once I finally realized all I really wanted was to devour and be devoured by strange women, and the taste of it is warm and delicious in my mouth, but it vanishes in my throat, and I never stop being hungry.
11.11.09
In a Style of...
It's not so much I wanderedI wondered
and found myself else-when to where I thought I might have been
Amongst the pain
the suffering
blood
and more than one tear...
I was amongst the sweaty, the plain, the drab; and blending in;
blending in so well...
Rolling in bigotry and sexism, random libel,
spontaneous erroneous sticky labelling and witch-hunting;
indeed, burnt a few myself...
It's dark outside, and little light shines from within;
shadows of night infesting stagnant lobes;
lobes battered into autonomous mimicry of those grey grey folk that really really would be better off dead.
But still onward onward onward ever fucking onward…
I long for civilisation and culture to strip these chains;
Break
Broken
Chipped mug cast aside; stained in and out
Reality the tannin tanning my hide
10.11.09
...
Oh yes, oh Fuck yes, I will consume them all... every last boy dripping sweetly and ineffectively without rancor or truculent bunching behaviors- stuff them all down my less than ample bosom, roll them and crush them between my behemoth thighs, lick down their spines and in the cracks- stuff them wholeheartedly while the aspic tongue pie simmers in the bun oven warmed by the remnants of their miserable childhoods.
9.11.09
Suddenly late... ...all alone
life seem so short.
I'm gonna go see some girls///you're so weird..
a blind person can do it,
your hair is really crazy... sure isn't.
Not gonna now...
Is the hand smothered in your skin.
put it in the can,
seems broken...
no way man...
Pulls him down,
the after math is always hard to deal with
what happens after the dirt crumbles?
you take rotting bones out of caves,
ancient children in the bubbles
in the sky...
Million miles away...
the trails doze off,
and grind away under footsteps.
lend it to me.
AHHH... just say yes...say yes.
Yes you did.
That was it,
goodnight everyone massage,
Jupiter's gas.
splash, what carps in the weird places, where I find it.
Wrestle, round and round.
Get a hold of the right mood.
black inches forward to meet the white.
strange indent for the fork in the road.
smoke and choke, want me to do it?
flavor, slit it, pound it, then try it.
stretch out the corks.
Saturday and eyes so drifty... drifty...
crab walkout,
Gently...
Tie or repeal,
cachet bed,
Chance figurine,
disturbed,
he was de-headed
backwards.
Statures happily,
filthy uh haze
that surrealism
like
fly the man(man the fly)
like
could you okay
re:
placate only member
how was that?
I think she doesn't experience.
That ending in the rain
facsimile's,
cupboard did not.
Possible turn up
insect larvae
two way coupling
starts stinging long ago
friendless with insects
hears but talks
some more hurry up
burn wow
as I feel ointment
look back
road tongue
long horn
plastic bag jingles.
you/who would?
you/who would?
a nebula of rotting radium / dill
nice tie brother nicely tied comehere
i wanna tell you a fucking secret
you can't eat this pussy nohow with no money
why the what the fuck do you need to where was that at fuck
the drug war is satan&you serve him
at least she waited dontchee dontchooo
no problems so far (expensive freefall, lies)
song rending the last drop of forgotten blood = cum
ease growing pains inhaling whatchagot
whitegas myelin unsheathed brandished
cannot tell into what gotten myself manufacture
t'aint blurred t'aint right e/evene/evene/even
fuckenshootatatatatatathatmotherfucker eleven times
dyspepsia irritable constancy
i'ma keeeeeel you and i'ma like it
you just let me know, ok? ok no-k
nobody chooses this.
a nebula of rotting radium / dill
nice tie brother nicely tied comehere
i wanna tell you a fucking secret
you can't eat this pussy nohow with no money
why the what the fuck do you need to where was that at fuck
the drug war is satan&you serve him
at least she waited dontchee dontchooo
no problems so far (expensive freefall, lies)
song rending the last drop of forgotten blood = cum
ease growing pains inhaling whatchagot
whitegas myelin unsheathed brandished
cannot tell into what gotten myself manufacture
t'aint blurred t'aint right e/evene/evene/even
fuckenshootatatatatatathatmotherfucker eleven times
dyspepsia irritable constancy
i'ma keeeeeel you and i'ma like it
you just let me know, ok? ok no-k
nobody chooses this.
extinctionburst
what could they do what could they do. it wasn't like he was dead but he wasn't alive either what could they do. nothing would ever taste the same after that. we had all been wasted and bescrapped. some of us sat in metal chairs for long years. i spent the next stretch of time staining my skin and losing teeth one or two at a time to fists and amphetamines and blackness and bricks. with so much masonry one would think i would have built something. once i was aware of what it looked like to build. i left it behind. once the bright noises became quiet the wind carried away one grain of rock after another until silt was all i was. now and then there was sweetness. now and then. most of the taste was drying morningafter blood. most of it.moontide
its warm in here
when reality slides with the rusted wing creak of dry insect flight.
i am holding a burning match but the light ain't bright,
nothing is right,
nothing is right.
i used to talk to god but she went away without a word or a kiss goodbye
and now napolean without shoes
rages at the walls with his plastic spoon held high.
at night they speak,
as lightbulbs do,
with sodium dry tongues that tell of life before death in the rancid cobweb dusty corner plains of my room.
sweet little room.
wank stained sheets,
piss painted floors,
shit hole room with rubber walls and no sharp objects.
its cold outside.
but the wind cannot touch me here nor her without legs
who dribbles and drools and sits in a puddle of memory. . .
. . .
. . .but it is cold outside?
A Few Hours, Dragon Quartz
A tiger's eye that month, obviously several shades of blue glass to tell me, "Your wings have descended. In a minute they will commodify among the diminished, echo away into law." Mirrors leap a bitter grin the spiral hadn't realized was also an echelon, cybernetic burning a series of red chords since the hammer of Freud. Seven Algiers climb the first language to look up, it never fails to eye-socket x+y= a jungle of barking. Faust melting fists of all things multiplied by jammering sixteens, the luminous surface so feline, only to prolong its lesbian curtain bordered with a few hours, dragon quartz.
8.11.09
7.11.09
6.11.09
...
within the dignity of night, i found us in an eggplant colored judgement room. i sat with bitten tongue as you spewed forth inane vitriolic criticism of my actions made under severe duress. when i rose to proclaim the truth, you rushed at me like a rabid dog as was your way during our life together. this time was once too many for without the gauzy shroud of female forgiveness that i wore wrapped around my broken heart, an accipitrine inner eye opened and i met you as an equal for once and with great clarity, crushed your narrow mean lips with my teeth until your condescending eyes fluttered closed and you were finally silenced and made invisible, forever.
5.11.09
...
and i would pay for destruction like some children pray for the death of their parents, for the silence and the scab of the knee to fall with a giant thud that would shake the little town free of the barley to render the fat and churn the fecundity to where gravity would flay the limbs apart and birds would giggle in glee.. i want to come home.
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