2.2.09
conventional fuckentional, i'll die the way i want to and none of you well wishing relatives and ass kissing past lovers have one thing to say about it- all clustered about my dying bed, tapping your ill shod pointy feet in quick successions, shuffling about in your leisure suits- well i can hear the plastic you have taped to your giant expanding midriffs- i know you are waiting for the nurse to shuffle out so you can wrestle me down into my cheap polyester pillow and muzzle me with that saran wrap murder weapon until my eyes bulge out like some poor freak overdosed on thyroid medicine. what you don't know is that i have my crafty ways and am armed with a length of enema tube and will strangle you just that fast, hold you down nice and close so i can feel the air escape from your whining petulant mouth until the usual ubiquitous platitudes cease once and for all.
1.2.09
iam alone with my electricity (1)
mandala flesh after succumbing to the snow of imagination, the glyphs rising slowly, gently from the century's bend: strangulation myopias, it all rhymes with me: my perennial deconstruction and its strange music of perfection: it's been moving for so long, the sadness falling from alcoholic eyes onto your precious hydra: we are going to feed the landscape its cut of the action, the flaming spires: outside, people are tossing their incredulity from open windows, chalky white bones, pungent flowers, the cold but warming afternoon air: i could live forever in sinister beards, the knight has convinced me, perhaps to conceal what is most complex about my philosophy from the stain of the Gothic: lemon doorways plant themselves in front of me, no matter which ocean churns in my hair: should i penetrate them with my tangled ivy and swirling metaphysics?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
