born without fingernails

2011-08-10T04:26:00.001-07:00

im so relieved.... im so confused..... i just wish i was dead

growed

2011-08-08T11:59:00.000-07:00

hit over the head by flying tempered glass.... to reunite is shattering.... almost.
aged to perfection, whiskey breath blessed us thou join our father in heaven and sentenced.

to be restless

destined to be distanced

by wandering saints, my armor as candle smoke....( just judge )
led away if not to ever stray. she watches blooming brown roses from
moving camera lens hands. smoking time in both our heads our nightstands.
dead sheep rot. dead dear doe. dead wolf is forest as snow is the snow.
everybody dies homeless tomb. webbed branches braided like plastic covered furniture drapes down,
like bodies decay dipping in and out and down on the ground. whiskey dick.
my heart hurt cause my chest was there to keep it from the sky.
so high nothin could pull me down.
i got over my addictions like old baseball card covers,
kept in drawers hidden, not traded anymore
but kept in mint condition.
i kicked it weeks before you came.
like soccer ball at soccer game.
untrained, unglued, peeling the sheets off myself and putting them over you.
it's my funeral so everyone else gets to plan it.
just say i was a horrible man and a good liar,
and that i'll get what I want.

i am...

2011-07-28T12:19:00.001-07:00

i am done writing for now. because there is nothing to write about that makes me feel better.

2011-06-03T01:50:00.000-07:00

waitin on an ok next four days for 140 bucks....or whatever....my ending of patterned leg sports/ spans... blood sport, expand....
out the ends of beds sit bedpans. my wildness ensues in passionate complasence, the dairy
component of my hands empty spaces, my shoes fitting on with untied laces. how you can
float on most cases, how my skin is coffin and still spacious
i saw baby dolls on shelves hooked on walls, that sprawled the length of young mexican girls daydreams.
clenched in the fingers of natural pulls, in CVS past shitty magazines to hardware tools, from revolutions of declarations of passions to school. murdered inhibitions, fist fights, fucked. strung across skin carpets
after bar and street close down. i still wish i got a magazine....could sleep....eat...not feel insane

i like when celebrities die

2011-04-19T17:11:00.000-07:00

I like when celebrities die by convict gypsy

you watch tv (couch)
you watch me(sunshine)
you like wen celerities die(siamese twins)
and fancy things (toys)
you never had (fuckup)
just your dreams (animals at windows)
ur fathers old hat (ugly)
why youd steal at school (pretty)
some girls kit caboodle (rich)
dont blame this child (childhood)
dont blame me child (regret)
and do u think we’ll survive (no)
i mean u and i (especially)
wen ur lonley beauty makes u cry (always)
like when celebrities die (princess diana)
in a fire (meltin plastic fuckin skin)
or wreckin the cars (texting)
slit their throats( betrayel)
fallin off of boats (sharks )
we grew up to fast (done done done)
just like ur father had (dead)
to far in to hell to fast (heroin)
when he came home from work u wdnt speak(babies)
u watched me (infatuation)
when i watched tv (nothingness)
angled skin captured in light (fame)
my veins fall asleep (collapsed)
now when ur givin head (nice)
to ur new boyfriend (who cares)
he cant see ur haunted eyes( beautiful)
ur smile wen celebrites die(future)
hell isnt down its up( 666)

depakote

2011-03-31T21:41:00.001-07:00

Depakote by convict gypsy

2011-03-30T14:22:00.000-07:00

2011-03-30T03:11:00.000-07:00

what's sleep, what's bein awake?
i found a bunch of purple hair under my bed. what the fuck is that?
i hate how i have to go outside to smoke. thanks for breakfast, thanks for everything. shit changes.
i was joking about you gettin me heroin, it made you cry, i laughed but then when there were other problems I dont know.... you listened, gave me encouragement to do better and alot of the time I am... well, i have been. i can keep fake smilin at you or if you go somewhere else i can smile for real. i ran over a dead cat on my bike and almost wrecked. i think ive been outside maybe twice in the last week. so that's the good news and bad news. something, i don't know what but it's floatin around the air, it makes me feel like death.
what's death. Belphegor is playin at the troc
April 24th. and i want to go and I will if i can afford it
or if someone wants to buy me a ticket. It smells good outside right now,
it smells like grass and decay/thawing so spring is almost here.
to much has happened and changed this past week so i'm usually either
screamin at nothing or keepin my mouth shut. i dont like how hostile ive gotten.
i dont like how i have nothin to write about anythin. i like how i stay up and just shake
and not think of anythin until the damn sun comes up. goddamn the sun. shoot me.

2011-03-30T00:22:00.000-07:00

get it

2011-03-29T23:23:00.000-07:00

cant wait....

if i dont wake up

2011-03-06T22:46:00.003-08:00

2011-02-28T01:18:00.000-08:00

haha sshit by convict gypsy
more reverb?

2011-02-25T11:27:00.000-08:00

a cartographer perfected her craft

found the sonnets of Lazarus next to a series of of torn maps

leading down a drain of a warm bath

wiped grape jelly off of broke glass

we found sitting on the flowers he left in the trash

I dont care if I’m a poor boy

emotionally inept and devoid

of killing sweetly with practiced poise

of dreamless wakes in a casket cascades

awoken on my bed from a sad noise

of you screamin down the stairs in your mother’s voice

i can repeat how you’ll be okay

just repeat what keeps up apart you do them every day.

she wipes the drool off the side of my mouth

put out my cigarette before I burnt down her house.

im not awoken by no sad noise now

from tops of stairs to the bowels of hell

satan got me, you bought the souls from kids

on a playground you got mine for a G.I Joe and two fun-dips

they hate you now for the care you give

i hate you cause it is imperative

when people said I should know better

i convinced you to let me prove them wrong

you kept it out of our public lives

boasted balances of dark and white

go out west to get clean, i can stay off drugs but i’ll still drink

but i dont want you to take care of me

got q-tips and keratin

why use water from the toilet when you can use it from the sink?

why miss anything when you dont gotta think.

and you’re always on top of everything

and i like your dirty feet

and this sucks because i do not wanna mess up my streak

but you make me food which i dont eat

they laid out a bunch beside the bed

and you don't know how much you did

so now you wont let me leave

cause you're afraid you might get sick

and I like how you never smile

and we’ve shared alot so far.

dumb bitch i’m gonna stab you

im lookin for your sadness

2011-01-27T06:16:00.000-08:00

i either ate to much last night or drank to much. I guess you cant drink to much when youre tryin to kill yourself. i was gonna say "I'll go sober if you go sober". building roofs for over your head, I could do it my whole life. I dont even understand my logic, Ive never loved somethin like that. Always without a heart, my god... In sixth grade I saved up my money and bought you a silver cross from t.j.maxx, in 8th grade i smoked crack for the first time. dropped off, fuck you. I remember kids called you 'boobless Bobbi' and I chased them down and kicked them onto the ground, I crushed ones head in with the ball bin, I did it again later to him cause he was throwin rocks at a bat but that was a year later. The second time I got in so much trouble, they had my mom pick me up from school. It's funny though because you have fake tits now and I used to like you- before that. I never would now, I won't date blondes. from here on out I will ruin peoples lives if they cross me. it is a threat. i don't care anymore. my blood is blood, that's about it.

i hate myself. i tried making pumpkin bread earlier yesterday and it didn't work, it stayed liquid even bein in the oven for over three hours. I cant feed myself or make myself shit that'd make me happy, it's pathetic. shadows pulled me toward the walls, they got taller as i got closer. i dont need nothin, i just wanna be beat to mauve and black spotted dog heals, heal. i'm extremely fuc.....
I told my little sister she was born with a sacral tail but that my mom never told her. I met a bartender from south street a couple days ago, she's fuckin hot. I dont like her. I dont like blondes... she does work at one of my favorite bars though. guess I was made for one woman? I sewed my jeans by hand the other day and the first pair i put on ripped again. i was at a bar with my friends. i like them cause honestly they give me free drugs. any other reason would be a lie. well except (Tanya) smells good.
i gotta smoke a cig. um... i'm not writin in this shit anymore. It's stupid. it's tryin to prove a point that doesnt mean anythin. I just have nothin to say or write.

Did you know a star called Betelgeuse is supposed to explode/implode/super nova bullshit in 2012... ? It's supposed to light up the sky like a second sun for over a week. I'll die before I see that shit. Pray to me, tell me how it is. I aint gettin a pizza on 2012 with noone but you and I actually hope i'm dead before then anyway.

reason one is- i started hearin voices the other day again. It actually scares the shit out of me. I have noone to tell who will understand. except the doctor I go to sometimes... and I dont care enough about him or me to afford him; you know cause I do everythin myself now, have been. My mom dont help me with nothin. I got no social worker or healthcare. WOE is me huh, fuck that. At least when I d.... Sometimes I think that's why I might die or be a fuckin good husband. pollinate up in that shit and have a devil baby. raise it in the catacombs and shit. that's all i fuckin wanna do and shit. just cum up in your shit. i need a cigarette... Noones ever been there for me and I sure as shit dont need noone now, unless I want pumpkin bread I guess, I cant cook at all. ill probably stab anyone who comes near me today. I'm not writin in this thing anymore. I dont respect you because you've always had someone there and I don't, I don't have noone. I'm gonna read my book about the Bermuda Triangle and sleep forever. I'll do some traveling, I'll lay in the woods with you, plot out where to build a glass house. Look out through pourin rain under the cover of owls sittin in hangin trees. Raccoons picking off the lacquer that's chipping off the corners of the house, hear the wind come in through the window. I was never given a real chance. what's fucked up is record executives have contacted me, want me to play with a group of trained musicians from Nashville that Ive never even met. what the fuck is that? These people probably amazin with no vision of their own to play for me. I dont even know how to approach shit like that. set up for failure man. turned dumb. cause that's what i want, in a house in the woods. Not leavin eachothers sides for nothin. pure. sick. disgusting. Sleep forever. I'm not writing in this shit anymore. I gotta walk in 10 ft snow now. na i'm goin back to bed. i hate god. fuck u. bye.

2011-01-25T12:01:00.000-08:00

I'm fuckin hearin voices again. I was checkin behind bushes in my mom's backyard last time I heard them like this. My leg is hurtin more and more and they told me I might need to use a cane in two-five years. This past summer I ran through the woods, climbed on top of rocks and cliff jumped into the susquehanna then winter came and my leg hurts like shit.

not even god can hurt us there. beneath stairs. at least two days a week I've been hopin. I don't really know.

kiss kiss kiss yourself to death

never wanted it to end like this

the corners of my walls they all do insist

i want your swingin shadow to blanket my blankness

your whiskey is the perfume ive slept with lately

and heaven is the place hes in when he is rapin

under the buststop theres plenty of love,

wipe off the stovetop drips of my blood

cause that's how we are

sick beneath trees that lined the fence next to the park

people can tell youre wounded when youre touched

if im a bad person why do u love me so much?

...cause thats now how u are

attend church wit michael on the outskirts of st. marks

locked in the bathroom u pissed a plus sign, thru the door he said

you're not the one goin to hell so why are u da one lookn so dead?

toag deirdtsirch

2011-01-17T00:30:00.001-08:00

A few years back I made my way across the northern plane. I was traveling with a couple I knew the girl she had long brown hair and the boy also did.

From Oregon we passed through Twin Falls Idaho and continued north through Wyoming. On back roads we happened upon a van parked in a field underneath a set of trees and the limbs looked like someone's arms broken into a thousand ways after mangled with a sledge hammer maybe and then hung with clothes pins from a an old metal clothing line. under these branches a group of nomadic kids yelled to us, all in their twenties maybe all a little older than me. They offered and we drank homemade moonshine with them and I traded my shoes to one of the kids for some really good speed.

The couple left without me and the van of these hippies were headed the opposite direction from where I needed to be, I persuaded them to drop me off at the nearest highway. A man picked me up and took me home where his wife was and I showered there and I had to kick the mud off that was on my feet. I argued with the man as we ate stew and cornbread he ccalled me a communist. Remembering old Pasolini films I've watched I began to identify with his constant references. He was a fascist libertine who's wife reassured that I stay the night. The soup bowls were the fancy ones from those dinnerware sets in department stores and I threw the bowl at the window farthest but directly in front of me breaking it.

He fell in love with the idea of prostitution as I beckoned with God. His thoughts conceived my own and so my attempts at freedom had to manifest in somethin other than a physical ideal.

Waking up tied to a chair with dirty cloth in the kitchen I remembered Bertolucci films and how the women were glorified in a pragmatic light, to me anyhow. If it made sense when I undid myself from t he cloths I heard the man waking up at the sound of my consciousness. His wife was in the kitchen and ignored me as I picked through the cupboards. wrapping tinfoil around my head would hide me for sure. I saw 3 gutted fish on the counter and crucified and bleeding roe out onto the floor, they still twitched and breathed. the wife sat on the floor, she had blonde hair that was graying. From under the sink where she sat in front of I pushed her to the side and she was lifeless in body except her head which kept sayin

"i aint afraid of no devil, i aint afraid of the d evil , i aint afrid of the devil cause , I aint afrain of the dev il....."

Drinking a glass of bleach my throat kept inside secrets and so the invader not able to hear me think I showered again. Both the man and the wife said I could borrow the truck if I abandon it somewhere off highway 463 by Old Crows. I must have walked a whole day before I was picked up again this time by another old ma n who told me about a Thai girl he used to love and I had something like that I was thinking of an the old Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton movie "golf antics" and that was maybe one of my favorites and how I couldn't stop laughing at the groundhog who steals all of the golf balls until Buster Keaton shoots the groundhog, I did that too sometimes. I had this friend and her name wasn't important but she'd laugh alot. The man said "did she have big titties" and I don't know if she died but I made my way across the northern plane. the man said "I'm not afraid of the devil , I'm not afraid of the devil, I' not afraid of no devil" and he always smelled like sawdust.

Stalin dressed in girls' clothes

2011-01-13T10:42:00.000-08:00

stray stray stray (demo) by convict gypsy

u scratched marks into your legs
ripped skin like a colorin book maze
eat grass until u dont shake
sang devil children from they cave

stalin dressed in girl clothes
fetal in fetu a ghost u name cole

told me thing you didnt tell ur mom
other things u wouldnt tell noone
i do things i never talk about
we both know how bad that sounds

sounds like ice gainst glass in spring
gota spread spread like legs or wings
heavens somwhere between ur thighs
the sky in my dead eyes

that saw right through you
when ur on the couch and cant move
i could stray stray stray

under under an overpass we make
fire , every burnt bible page
god help me escape and blow away

well today i have to go to group
but i promise ill talk about you
my lifeline stopped on my palm
but i never told noone

chrival trujest

2011-01-09T22:26:00.000-08:00

the cop cars out my window bustled past like the cavalier.

my dreams sped past and out my head, but my stomach still hurt

until i knew i was finally looking at heaven, written across my wall in pen. not you and your sister.

while you're here waiting to die, rest your hand on your crotch, trail your other hand across the hairs on your arm until they raise and you feel the cold hold onto you.

i never stopped looking for your face in every taxi that passed by the iron rot gates.

particular alleyways between Penelope's veins that still remain darkened in darkened retreat as the last to purge bible pages from your arms, eyes, and feet. would you stop for a baby?

mammary induced intuition abuse, a new flower to replace the dead ones from every season over, swollen n therefor lacking of plan; you hear the rain fall outside, you hear the rain fall outside, you hear the rainfall outside.

i wanna kill everything that has a soul. all the trees are dead, from down here, you held my head and you touched my hair and said to me "Jady, it's sick that that's the only thing that ever makes you smile."

jfdggkghl/jlggkj.hjvf

2011-01-06T18:50:00.001-08:00

city lights (demo) by convict gypsy

2011-01-05T18:05:00.000-08:00

pissed cvs is out of marb lights, that's why it caught on fire
pissed i cant eat
pissed i cant move
birds are dyin everywhere
shit
try to start writin somethin?

oh great i cant get health coverage

2010-06-07T14:37:00.000-07:00

cant even bathe most days... it's summer.... fuck it. get real dirty. my friend made me take a shower cause i smelled. i pissed in her shower. the screen door is fickle. im feelin pretty acute, i guess i dont even know what that word means, cause my vocabulary is obtusely diminishing. am i actually turning into an animal? i woke up in the woods twice this week. i touched with lights off by your scent. knew the parts close and spread apart. kind of felt into you, melted halfway in a bed. i cant keep drinkin with sleepin pills though. You also cant take somas with cocaine, you might come down nicely or you might have a heart attack. i dont care, kill me kill me kill me. my life is goin out of control and i'm happy for it. go out like a candle, even the stars are violent....i got till august about. i go to philly wednesday, thatll be great, see ppl. and start a buzzband with justin next week, get rich, marry some exotic beauty and than go do heroin with a french prostitute, overdose and die in a hotel. i cant concentrate on writing, it's shit. maybe ill post somethn worth readin in the next year or so.

2010-06-07T14:00:00.001-07:00

kayla

2010-06-05T13:56:00.001-07:00

kayla meet me at the needle exchange

did this shit when i was 11

2010-06-05T13:52:00.000-07:00

jajaja

2010-06-05T13:20:00.000-07:00

explained how painting a picture of a tree is creation in practice.
painting is masturbation. i'm in your blood, you in mine. You sat beneath your
tiny paintings, 20 dollars each, lookin at me and than lookin away. drinkin a beer sayin "i usually dont drink i like takin pills instead." your mouth tastin like silver, skin bland like detroit skylines. your nails painted green thumbing the pulse in your throat. i left with my friends, they had to walk me to the hospital.

sylvia plath

2010-05-31T14:55:00.000-07:00

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

Staten Island

2010-05-25T17:21:00.000-07:00

Staten island by convict gypsy

a forest combed in city blocks

i ...wanna... walk to you.... past posted tresspassin

to where the ground meets the moon

th police wont shut me down

no no no ive been locked up once b4

nothins keepn me from u my love...

ur my fav. crackwhore

you see, lately ive been missin you

like Zephyrus misses the East

i hope u know id die for you

i wouldnt even die 4 this country.

so glad u dont do anythin u can 2 make money

someday ill buy a fancy ring, buy you those shoes u thot were pretty

....the seagulls pick at what i lost

up ahead is the bay & the docks, they croon.

id miss my friends i thot.

i hope i see u soon

-i love u,

lost boy

.(victor)

2010-05-23T22:45:00.000-07:00

praline, masticated and bleeding out the sides of selfish slits.

smiling, comatose, in love, not feeling

Molotov cocktail mountains of mummified orgy, spun webs spilled

out drawers in bedrooms, plumeria spills around air

shaded skin slaps fresh, glistens, shakes in drug withdraw somber sunrise

in the arms of a stranger

spatter spatter, sliding of their skin on yours,

wet feet on damp bath towels on top wet floors.

the girl says, she says “I am a firestorm of your integral embodiment, I am the palmless christ... I am the anti-eucharist.... the bulimic communion.... take my body, make immortal of my blood.”

...and than to die

.........................

He never saw accessories hung so properly around a room in such a disorganized fashion but purposefully and carefully.

Hats on the corners of bookshelves, shaws draped off framed mirrors and a vanity, beads and pendants hung over light fixtures.

Much unlike last night when the hesitant light fixed itself shaking in tiny rays through the nights aperture.

whether this aperture were the stars or moons or windows, but the outlines of contents barely seen, could only be smelled.

the musk of books, dirty clothes, tepid air, rawhide, wet leather, putrescent skin?

.............................

he took her hand she lead him through the path of what was unknown,

he had a match in a cigarette pack, he thought of lighting one but did not.

“Is this him?” he said.

She fell forward, buried her face as soon as hitting the wet sheets, she buried her face down as hard as she could.

“Well.... I will need a shower before I go, when it’s morning”

This is what was said last night.

Her body said you can bathe in me. Flooded by now of thought deceased. Horribly religious was her mother and her mother before her.

vases shaped like a venus figure made her feel a warmth for women that her mother could never extent beyond a serpentine smile. Not seen now, she knew they were there, the shards kicked under the bed even in the day.

...........................

Like an effigy, the very air as life could not be heard from the lack of its future embraces with the wild as it drains out those who live within forested domain.

Crumbs of indulgences spilled at the tug of every sheet.

The summer felt to come just than as the wooded ambitions seemed to melt with the heat.

dusted piano keys swept over his eyes, bone or ivory? The same thing.

something she used to play well, perhaps just grew bored with.

they were white in the nighttime in the morning they seeped with a vacant intention of welcoming something. Taken between lips, vertical and than to horizontal. sparks rain from as high as telephone wires. she was dissected, split apart into pieces. The light did come in the window. He washed still unwrapping himself of her skin. He noticed the animal bones that slept on her floor. Piles of packages of sweets. Hair and blood and gold teeth fillings. He noticed the peculiar organization of her sparse trinkets and her hats, scarves, purses, and lockets. He lit the match for a palmless christ.

the weight of wind. a soul of nothing. scavenged for the mask of a body of a boy.

i am death.

2010-05-22T14:18:00.000-07:00

eh hahaha i am a piece of shit

2010-05-15T11:34:00.000-07:00

i rushed away to my car... had somethin waiting inside of it.

i used to be attracted to somethin i suddenly wasn't

thought it was different.

still in love with a ritually based concept

animal furs

my friend and i just talked about you and starred

you got a nervous smile

you never know what we said.

nothin could bring me back to how it was before

it's always misinterpreted though

which just makes you even more stupid

i dunno

im real comfortable in knowing that

i cant be to clear on here

cause itd be misinterpreted

but im comfortable in knowin that.

we wished that girl would die

and she did the next day

came back as a butterfly or some shit

raining

2010-05-14T12:31:00.000-07:00

went to a doctor for the first time in years
im not allowed to take sleepin pills for a week
people tell me i look like im dyin finally
...well.... good i guess
oregon is nice this time of year
out at M gallery tonight,
secret light&night party.
i could be a davide sorrenti model
but he's dead
do u still wanna meet me in chinatown next week?
i want an armsling
i want people to leave me alone
you know i dont want attention or need the friends that you do to feel good about yourself
still meet me in chinatown
and smoke with me
and you can make up your mind when everythin collapses on you
like clouds collapsin raindrops on your checkered burberry snood

2010-05-14T10:50:00.001-07:00

You’ll never fumigate the demons
No matter how much you smoke
So just say you love me
Three good reasons
And I’ll throw you the rope

You don’t need it

Cos you are the survivor
Of more than one life
And you’re the only lover I had
Who ever slept with a knife

But you’re my Judy Garland
Oh Just like me you’ve never really had a home
But I’m not Tony Hancock baby
Until the dawn
We’ll stone the crows
We’ll stone the crows
We’ll stone the crows

And you see I’ve brought you flowers
All collected from the Old Vic Stage
Well I’ve been sitting here for hour’s baby
Just chasing these words
Across the page

Cos you’re my Waterloo
I’ll be your Gypsy Lane
I’m so glad we know just what to do
And exactly who’s to blame

And you’re my Waterloo
I’ll be your Stanley Park
Well I’m so glad we know just what to do
And no ones left
Stumbling around
Fumbling around
Tumbling around
In the dark

Always in the dark

You’re my Waterloo
I’ll be your Calvary
Well I’m so glad we know just what to do
And everyone’s gonna be happy
Everyone’s gonna be happy
Everyone’s gonna be happy

Of course

-the libertines

my best friend

2010-05-09T23:11:00.001-07:00

My best friend (errors version) by convict gypsy

2010-05-05T16:04:00.000-07:00

i was with you in the back of a building where trucks go étoile de mer
you wouldnt stop scratching your foot

2010-05-05T15:56:00.000-07:00

i keep stabbing myself in the arm with a broken cross pendant

im gonna miss both my cats, ones already dead buried in the back yard of my parents' house

thanks for meetin me last night, i enjoyed out time together you forced me to grow up

but that was your purpose and to get me into leanord cohen to a horrible excess for awhile

shit fuck cunt bitch whore

bikes stolen, cars towed

dreams keep returning

they say "i want you babe"

whiskey introduced me to alot of people that night

i say i want my best friend and ill stick with them

like a table and an ashtray

a stupid grin on someone's face

cause they think theyre gonna save me

shit devils fuckin with me like crazy

inside out skin

666 was written all over us on the stage

crows...i hear crows...its not even fuckin autumn...is it?

fuck compassion

glue

2010-05-04T18:15:00.000-07:00

take dorito bags thrown down by skinny legs into a shopping cart

telekinesis fastest thoughts

of where light starts.

the word 'recyclable' drinkin itself from the clouds.

cause heaven is our trashcan now.

you were the baby in her womb

she replaced it with no one new but that's not as if, not to ensue,

crows didn't shadow midnight but on my face she was tattooed,

and it was okay cuz that day i crossed your name off my shoe

blue gum glued the rest to the street where youll end

stepped past solar trash compacters threw a bracelet on the ground

liquid skin dipping in and out soft and quiet or was it loud?

can you see it in my eyes before it comes out my mouth

why do you lie about not liking crowds?

im a werewolf at night i bathe in street light cocoons of artificial sight

wrapped in your jail house of pocket filled ripped plastic bags

licked the insides on the way back on the train

i remember

you wrote a love note in the dust of an antique table, smeared the must. i wasnt able to see, somethin about 'us'

you wanted this but were broke,

the table or my corny jokes?

disease

you know, a river of words don't believe in no happiness.

it's like nothin flows out when you got that kinda heat down in the south. ghosts blanket my hair raised in cool flashes of death and its loneliness, grabbed your breast

i like warm milk to sleep

you can microwave that easy

she said

'anyone can be a stripper

and zombie tattoos are dumb

why does everyone

want to be the same person'

attention craved diamond face, a million little mirrors reflectin back your legs as ur hands sway forth as you pace and figure out if he was really worth any work.

just a romantic idea, it's cool to have different stories to different people you can pour ur lemonade onto like scat porn or the truth

Pocohauntus on her month long cruise.

did he like you or just use your words

when you say

'that's why im moving North to where people are focused on real things like money and divorce.

wealth as a means

to buy my fancy antique tables and nice things'

but I mean

I'm not a starving child, i dont pretend I just dont eat

the difference between isolation and solitude

are these the kind of things that get used against me and you?

under my feet, i step on every crack i think

if i could avoid superstition and demise

i stopped your fan with my mind

ive studied black magic at nighttime

studied aloneness

sent wolves to watch in windows and claw

at the bars of hospital rooms and voices talk

to me i know it's god

got bit by a dog

saying that i am not

i'm just a marabout

wiped my runny snotty snout on your shirt

nothin really hurts

just nothin heals

heal like a dog

fur like a beached whale

cut myself like a fresh cut lawn

my armpit embraced death
or a spot on my neck
more death. dead dead dead

raise the sun up to the east i don't care where the sun will hit my feet

it's almost nighttime

like a sun dial is set on

when i die

i wanna kill myself

been thinkin about it all the time

rainbow prism in the sky

pictures on my phone

clock in the sky

have everythin to myself when i die

tumbleweed on city street

it looked like someone pulled out some bitches weave

you asked what's freedom but more choices to ruin your life?

i guess i said if i had a choice I wouldnt have ever been alive

i got slapped by you.

you said livin was beautiful,

you were once a baby in a womb

but so were you

in the grass i leaned

rubbed off the letters of tags

of tornados i dreamed

drugged, beaten, dragged

alive to just die

i hate the internet, im done

2010-04-15T02:45:00.000-07:00

i cant stand people who try to look tragic. i like people when they try to just look ok.

separated at birth

2010-03-20T10:11:00.000-07:00

Posing in front of distant city lights, deadened wood hands reach up to furtive shades of visionary oblivion.
Encompassing abated emotions, aggregated beneath the sound of feral stars. Among menageries of clandestine heartbeats, posterior paw prints and sleeping breath. It peers out from distant hills, we share with each other, phlegmatic in our interest. Dead. Arrant animals through the lustrous brush, we tiptoed through your kitchen at night coming through the delicate screen doors. We crawled into your farm equipment to cultivate our selfish lack of reason. Slipped past the daunted houses squeezing themselves closer to one another as if ahsamed, they were looking down not looking at our eyes.

Moaning train passed in front or behind, the sound carried to us from years ago, from places no one knows. Strange beings emitting sounds intermittently passing, considering limit seemingly ceremonious, as such were distant.

I touched the planets and arranged them around, caressing as a passion and we created the shade and the trains kept under oceans forever, smitten with cabalistic vibrations hunched forth by slabs of rock that set on my soul among whale and krill far from any shore.

Hold your claws within me for I no longer suffer. I have found myself scattered about the roots of thistle and wild garlic and even outside basement windows where I watched, my stare never extended emotion, my dysorexia never intrigued for I have found my love within your soft fur.
I have found it with a complete neglect for the dwellings within that forbade our wandering with discernment. Found purpose with a complete disregard for them. Found warmth from the fire. Now we learn how to make shade.

2010-03-11T10:17:00.000-08:00

"i have no one to talk to. i'm running out of options. i only have two of them left. The gun or the swimming pool, the gun or the swimming pool."

bar talk

2010-03-11T10:02:00.001-08:00

explain beauty in one endless sentence. subject and predicate, adverb and faucet water.

brush of horse hair, ran wild with earthy breath now dipped in paint on canvas,

green to deaden the blush.

gauche, face laden...patterned skin through shades of printed windows in dusty bars fading,

as afternoon nears evening, and dialogue loses its usual cadence.

wonder made damp, paltry, disguised,

over in the corner by the jukebox machine, reflectin’ solemn eyes.

crippled among cripple is done, I guess they're crows are they?

band of instinct, as brothers are one.

one among apart and running water runs.

rising death in orange set sun.

kitchen appliances pushed as perimeter to white counter tops, faucet trickle,

is that red wine in a jug among tin pots its contents in weight fickle?

is that murder outside the windows, a sea of drown cat calls caught.

in the branches of swaying buoys with the wind balanced and taut?

never christened at birth or there foreafter, I love a lot still

but empty as chalice under wood cross, shunning hands from shaw.

dirty as clean as wine in water, dreamland of death, love and war, cannon fodder.

secular as wine cork to undo and thus open,

rock from roman, from brushy thistle and footstep from cave

after purity, after betrayal, after resurrection, after three days,

to drain from unplugged ocean,

to take away the waves.

i am dead and I don't care, placement or shape

take me from earth,

jewelry from purse

from stillbirth.

how waterfall over jutting rock cleft,

living life left or trickle of rightly darkened death sets.

all the beauty gone in the exhale of one endless,

sentence.

subject, predicate, adjective, breath.

it's not the weather that sticks us together

2010-02-18T13:35:00.000-08:00

filled with dead things compiled in your red bedroom from your bad dreams. On your vanity you left fake eyelashes waving. Your bathroom was my birdcage. I think about you in the shower sometimes and i forget it all soon right down that drain that took a day to drain. Cleaner and dirty towel, lay on the bed like six dolls, spread you from wall to wall, when I first met you I threw up a lot. I always say to much with my hands. Together we accelerated the blood flow that fell from clouds. We melted muscle tissue fell away from hearts. Wouldn't you die for something innocent and scratch perfect skin for life?
I've been receiving radio broadcasts through my teeth again. All my delayed reactions are just impersonations of my mom as she asks. I say Im not completely hopeless because I still hide smoking when I visit my parents, through the basement window and outside of existence.
So to smoke, I can go to a bar.
Delectation measured in spoiling tides tangled in my thoughts bludgeoned figures of crime life. idioms pertained to wet mouths, half empty wallets in full bars blundered.... insidious... does he fuck you twice instead of once a night? Some girl dancin in front of me, me making sure I look hot and lookin for trouble.
You always wanted that and now you got it all the time. I wanted to eat big macs and then lie, sayin I was to tired, I wasn't tired, I just wanted to eat big macs, yeah lets eat big macs.

NOW YOU GOT A CAREER, THE KIND WHERE YOU GET AN AIDS TEST EVERY YEAR.
tan pontiacs by convict gypsy a poetic expression in song.
-We live in a flat in the ghetto, watchin you smoke crack out a broken window, on the other side of the tracks shot a rainbow I can't turn my back now im in love. im dumb so how should I know? Right between there and we're both smoking crack so how should I know? We live in a shack on the top floor, our porchlights glow beneath the locked door, your sweetness poured out your pores with fragrance beads, generic perscriptions and bitter coffee we drown next to our tiny sea shore. And any guys id chase away unless its for your cash and I swear we'll ..how do you know? We live in a shack outside a town. I love you in the sack...if I got your back how should I know?
if you sleep in my bed promise me that instead
we will sail sunk ships below Zethures's pull
choose to believe god has a plan but I don't know if this is what he meant.-

sorry my pictures are not as cool as my girlfriends.

2010-02-11T06:34:00.000-08:00

channel , brush stroke, i am death and I am painted on

like breaths of smoke from winter coats over frozen lawns

rebellion only lasted from night till frosted windows, crept dawn

rubbed your scattered hair, gripped and matted till i heard you yawn

in a dream you seem to leave memory on pressured cloth

innate beauty is in you, it’s not something that you choose or not

so novels stream out your mouth like all that weight you’d lose

write and write behind closed doors till i dont recognize you.

tiny birds explode to stars the further they're from me

flyin in the morning space and on top canopy

my idea of what i want is more simple than you say

but stronger still like quaalude pills, so it could kill everything

but also pain it makes you rain across window edges too

i dont think i can do the hospital again....

an noone has to know about it

how tiptoes tip

....all the way to Brighton, MI

all my pets are dead... where'd the paw prints come from?

2010-02-08T04:13:00.000-08:00

its blank how it is to look out a window for an hour. there’s stuff goin on but blank.

and how could someone understand that? it’s vapid, it’s vague, it doesn’t make sense.

you cant be blamed for doing things wrong when the person who’s blaming you sets you up for failure. People set themselves up for failure and so all they can do is blame themselves. Fallin into some vivid, violent, still life of apathy works. It’s scary as hell when your visual senses are heightened around you, maybe you can also smell real well the night that came in with you through the door. objects and the way things move without movement, when you take in the actual placement of things being reality. An empty pack of cigarettes on the night stand, a silver cross pendant broken in half hangin off a lamp shade, red aerosol can of antiseptic spray, bag on the floor, markers, a space heater that click when it’s not turned on, i’m not turned on, a guitar, a typewriter from 1935, clothes. Everything mundane is sharp as a razor now and as sterile. just makes me think of cold white bathroom tiles. I guess because I relate sterile and cold. You could relate doctors’ offices to both. So when nothin with a sharp edge seems piercing enough, when it makes your stomach move weird for a split second, you wonder, at least I wonder, how it’d be to see a razor or broken glass. So I go and break open a disposable razor and hold it in my hand for a couple minutes.

   I want someone to go to who will always be honest and good to me. Something that makes me feel good no matter what, and when that constantly holds itself from you no matter what the reason whether based on double standards or you’re the one who needs to realize some rotten perception of what’s real...besides all of that, wouldn’t you move on. Logic has no place in nature, i guess it’s just instinct, anyone basing life off of logic seem to be more dishonest and hurt creation than most. How can anyone ever expect that anyone can give them that? Is it because it seems so close sometimes if it wasn’t for say one or two things or aspects of behavior or aspects of a relationship. What makes me weary of human existence is everyone always justifies what they do in there head to much. I really never felt I had to because I truly never thought I did anything wrong in the way of affecting another person or functioning within dishonesty.... i have not had to be dishonest ever unless it’s just to circumvent petty situations, drama that has no part in the whole scheme of things if anything should be taken seriously at all. In the process of growing up all I’d have is myself to rely on, especially if my basis is past experience. Maybe that’s my justification for thinkin nothin I do is ever wrong?

   People are happy with what they think makes them happy, until they get bored with it and decide they want something new, this stunts someone from ever experiencing real happiness or at least recognizing it if they ever do. Well life’s not a movie and the people who watch you will probably get annoyed and put somethin else in after a while. How could I expect that when I’m loyal to my, i guess, tempestuous pursuit I dunno, of life or death? mundane words seem so vivid, so tomorrow it’ll all just sound like shattered glass. You can’t talk to me and have amazing and in depth conversations where we’re both like “holy shit”, though because you're not afraid to offend other people, through that draws you closer to other people who really seem to understand I guess... but I found out it’s mostly all fake. Unless .... well.... well, you can't make me talk putting me on the spot and when someone naturally wants to talk and express things you cant interrupt and get mad making boundaries on what certain people can or can't say because of who you make them up in your mind to be. Unless... Well....

There’s alot of snow outside. The east coast got really slammed. I’m annoyed I got all my records stolen. I’d could listen to Neil Young’s heart of gold but I don’t have any Neil Young on my computer. My mom made me coffee today. She has this weird habit of lacing the coffee she always makes with nutmeg or cinnamon and I hate it. Today she didn’t do that with the coffee and served it to me while staring out the bay window in the living room. It felt blank. I feel blank so much, I think it has to be a phase because it’s not something I’m used too. When I was sixteen I was skateboarding with my pack back than. The four of us, we got kicked out of the school’s yard for skateboarding, it was prohibited. The police officer was a dick. After back talking under our breath we trailed each other out to the back streets, we were thirsty and we were on our way to Subway for drinks. We cut in back of a local bank office and at the end of the parking lot was this steep brilliant hill. It stretched down shooting through an intersection of a dirt road. We raced down it earlier that day, except I went slow the first time. My friend Chris, Chris says, “ This time don’t go so slow Jady, you fuckin pussy!” I defended myself against my three friends explaining how I didn’t want to get hit by a car. Again, Chris remarked, “ Cars have brakes.”

We raced. The four of us. I was winning.

I got to the intersection first, I looked to my left, I woke up between two tires of a red pickup truck. I got up and walked on my leg which I heard crunching as it drug behind me. I had a “mild” concussion and the fibula and tibia of my leg were shattered. The policeman who kicked us out of the school came and confiscated our skateboards. Chris felt bad. Matt brought me magazines in the hospital. Ever since than I’ve gone blank for no reason for maybe thirty seconds at a time. I was told I’d walk with a limp for the rest of my life. I walk fine. So I’ve always gone blank for no reason, I forget what I’m talking about or forget someone’s name. The policeman who was mean to me and my friend’s that day was killed about three years later in the line of duty, i think he was hit by a motorcycle, it was on the news. I don’t know what happened to the kids I used to be friends with, one of them is married I think. But anyway, this has to be a phase because now I’m going blank all the time. I’m staring out windows while drinking coffee to much.

I’ll listen to The Smith’s meat is murder album instead. There are certain things that make me comfortable and not so afraid of myself. The Smiths being one, they never make me sad when I listen to them. I drew a picture of a woman giving birth to a baby and the baby is coming out and stabbing her with a knife. Stupid... i’m goin into the window for a cigarette instead of just starin at it. It’s morning and I can see things out of it now, I see white, a tree covered in white, the sky is so many different similar shades that it doesn’t matter, right? It shouldn’t be thought about, right? I want to just unload a bunch of shit here. I don’t feel well at all. Never do I really give myself so much credit as to think a collective of minds, one mind, that would seek mine out to show me empathy, sympathy.... I don’t know, understanding? I feel like I have somethin I’d wanna say besides my coffee has gone cold, it’s been sitting here since yesterday. but I don’t really. My mind is lost. I’m boring. There is nothing to find out about me. No key. Not lovable. I’m not interesting. And noone will really miss me when I die.

im bad at bloggin

2010-02-08T02:18:00.000-08:00

could be stranded in leaf beds

could be caged in dark rooms

where no one would suffer

except the front page news.

so what is dead writing and what’s it used for?

i cant talk clearly when you stop me in mid thought

a few words will dangle but most they will drop.

nothing scatters themselves under couches as well

as i’d ever want.

help me

2010-02-05T03:37:00.001-08:00

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.

school shooting, keylatch kids, memory association in weather patterns.

2010-01-31T14:18:00.000-08:00

masticate:

pontificate with dexterity

graphic slur, finger crosses, neonate of earth's lava

protection and flesh

holy stigmata

grey sky days at 2 pm and a spring breeze, rainy and cold

Grata Recordatio

clouds sweat above midwestern highschool on a tuesday.

oh lord, waves broke of red, against lockers and recede around head

and from like cavern's end

long coats, metal seashells

the tv's on.

grown up to enough to see the irony of smoking in bed inside your mom's house.

a tiny fur child licking ceruse off the walls,

school shooting, immaculate wounds flushed out in precision.

whoever is out in the kitchen, they're doing the dishes.

the church don't comment

the black shrouds are dishonest

the police station is hung with christmas lights this time of year

well it's goddamn surely September , not surly December

but if you're coked out than you wont care.

don't believe in yourself

cause than it wont matter if you do it well

dont believe in sound

cause than there will never be nothin to write down.

aftertaste:

i was chased up to find an ashtray to put it all out in

i came into being when i found one

walkin down the illy lit street with your face

frozen to the ground, my thoughts glued below your waist

i said song names before the songs even played

you're eyes got fuzzy, i'm sure you thought it was date rape

but i put a flower in your hair.

tried to leave you, animals without tears

i walked further backwards from my friend's bathroom mirror

just to get from myself,

but now the pictures cluttered with me and everything else

white chipped walls, kitchen table, cluttered shelves

floss, books, midnight and whatever's in between

night caps, ramen, Warhole prints, and clean teeth

dirty towles, face lotion, geriatrics.

cracked face, first grey hair, heart attack, and prophylactics.

so i tried to escape you

in different states and different perfumes

how sentimental does someone have to be

to chase away all the things he wants to keep

i wanted to keep on if it wasnt for all of the police

i wanted to keep on if we weren't like migrate geese...

i think this city will eventually have its heart broke

disease and politics, take the grandsons they're bestowed

all to never really have a happy life

so i smoke in bed for them cause they'd never try.

to get away with the things i get way with

i'll cheat my way through life, i dont really need to win.

just take what i'm given, a wooden stick to beat on,

find you water, touch, give birth to and lean on.

the coffee stain in the middle of Monroeville, PA

2010-01-27T14:20:00.000-08:00

   I'm looking for old notebooks of mine. Notebooks filled front and back, written while in seventh grade, notebooks filled under telephone wires, hidden behind brick exterior next to paper thin walls. my next door neighbors cut the wires on the laundry machine so they could steal all the quarters and they did steal the quarters. I smelled the mint that crept down the hallway and under my door until it stopped three days later. Then I heard yelling every night after and felt it my duty to inform the police of it, since the yelling was coming from a man I had caught on several occasions peering through the keyhole of my apartment.

   It took over the next two months for the landlord to have anyone fix the washer and dryer, so during that time I had to walk my laundry baskets three blocks, down piss drenched streets, dodging the drug dealers among others just asking for money to a crumbling brick hole that sat in between a tattoo parlor and a butcher's shop. This dismayed me due to the fact that the right glass window of the laundromats' front was split in two, the split panel was held together with duct tape on either sides. You stayed in the laundromat while your clothes were being cleaned and you didn't dare leave. It didn't matter, soaking wet clothes would be stolen. It was here at the Pitcairn laundromat I met a prostitute named Brenda. I hated Brenda. Two teeth somehow hung in between her scabbed lips. She carried a plastic grocery bag for a purse where she'd pull loose cigarette butts from. Brenda was some where in her mid thirties to mid forties. It was Brenda who would ask me incessantly if I'd like to have a girl swallow my cum for ten dollars or if I liked to party we could just go there if I had a place... The way Brenda put it I suppose was actually not as overt I suppose, but the suggestive nature of her connotations was grotesque and I had to keep myself from impaling her with the nubby feet of the plastic chairs lined against the wall. I couldn't find one without gum and brown globby smudges all over it anyway.

   Brenda would follow me back to the outside of my apartment, the whole time talking nonsense. At first this was exciting and amusing to hear her inebriated rambling but it became annoying after a week. My clothes began to pile up and my apartment began to stink because less and less was I feeling the effort of walking three blocks in that area for clean underwear was worth it. As a result I avoided Brenda until one night, when my cat 'Blackbean' escaped out into the hallway of my apartment building as I was bringing groceries in from my car. So at the end of this narrow hallway with tacky red carpet, the kind at old hotels, there was an open screen door to a patio on one side and adjacent to that the other tenant's apartment door. The hallway smelled like mint again, the smell was leaking out from under the man's door. On the patio was Brenda smoking a cigarette. Well since the patio door was left open Blackbean ran through it and into the night. And Brenda the hooker says, "fuckin cat".
Music was playing loud in the apartment of my crackhead neighbor and as Brenda turned to come in, still leaving the patio door open our eyes met. I went ballistic. My cat was gone because she left the patio door open, my neighbor's hooker that wasn't even supposed to be in my building. I yelled and called her a 'fucking careless' and I called her 'stupid' and I called her "fat", but I don't remember ever calling her a whore. She began to cry dramatically, while rolling her eyes and flailing her arms.

   "oh everything is my fault," she said. Brenda says, "I'm friends with the biggest men, who will come in here, they do not care....they do not care."

   I kind of translated what she was goin on about. The thing was... it scared me and I believed her. All these people were crazy. It was Brenda now who was fuming, livid, patches of old makeup cracked around the rough patches of skin on her face. Little curly hairs at the top of her head seemed to have been fried off, her hair was brown at the roots and looked singed around the perimeters of her face. As if her face had caught on fire in some horrible meth lab explosion. I was dumbfounded watching her go, I thought she was going to charge after me. I thought she was going to kill me. Brenda slammed the door to the neighbor's apartment. The apartment that smells like bathroom cleaner. I was frozen, I made my way down the stair to go get the last of my groceries from my car parked across the street in the community parking lot that sat next to the community park and baseball field. My hands full of tidy cat and ramen, Giant brand ice cream sandwiches, my hands full of apples, tomatoes, speghettios, well all that hits the ground when Brenda runs down the stair passed me while screaming. At the top of the stairs I hear my neighbor's voice threatening her with 'ass kickings' or something. I dunno, crackhead fight. well Brenda, she runs out onto the street in front of a car, which hits her. Her body spins around, just like an ice skater, double axel, triple maybe? It was almost the most graceful thing I had ever seen in person. Brenda hits the ground, the cars tires cease jerking its metal body back and forth. She stands up, Brenda does, as quickly as she hit the ground and just kept running. Past the parked cars and through the baseball field, into the silhouetted trees beyond and disappeared into the night.

   Living here was getting hit by a car just like Brenda did. And I kept on running too. That's what I had to do. It was such a great metaphor. I found my cat Blackbean and I moved out two months later, which violated my lease. So I called the cops on my neighbor one last time the day I moved out, because he was playing Insane Clown Posse to loudly. That didn't work, apparently the lease I signed determined my willingness to live next to crackheads. So with three more months to not pay on the lease and Blackbean, we left. Blackbean ran away fifteen months later in july. I started writing again after that, that's where these notebooks pickup.

a love poem to my lover (suicide note 22)

2010-01-21T15:51:00.000-08:00

plummet down colors like plumb fading

in holes aqua midnight forest dwelling bones dislocating

i had the time of my life making love to you

i read backwards the lord’s prayer to bring vision

in my candle’s flame to tell of solomon’s wisdom

i played smearing blood in cult like ritual

on the flat surface of the painted white barstool

i drank myself to death in my bedroom to see you

when i closed my eyes newscast, music review, movie preview

water my pallet....fuck...i’m choking on something

my chalice treats me well like a girlfriend in an altruist spirited so kindly to one suffering

i dont know god, i dont know god, i dont know go, i dont know god,

but i hear he’s really promisin

to end up big with lots of followers

ive wrote him alot of letters, im sure he cant answer them all.

so i’m good, my faith is still fine, if i got a bottle of tennessee whiskey by my side

i'm waiting for you to get ready, im watching you put your makeup on, sitting on the toilet

watching your eyelashes fall up and down, feet on the ground, tiptoes up and down

i'm sure you're asleep so how can we do these things

if i sleep my whole life and you keep leaving me,

but it's over and over

suppurating at my mouth, foaming, erupting, boiling, and loving

magma of depths within rocks leak out clefts

prayers take form like spilled oil cans

trickle out from entwined hands

the picture of your face in smoke around wherever my insides land.

i am no separate from the forest without paws just digits and command.

like old bearded captain rolling over brine and gray sea to sand

barrel of rum to continue and find

instead fermented maize and rye

the sky open like the depths i have conquered as a piece of purpose like a pawn

salted wounds would no longer fester to long

to break through grassy brush from midnight to dawn

to just find you however far i could go

in dream, in witchcraft, in god's plan, in song, in sand,

in dirty converse, death, in sea, forest, in sky and land.

i will kill myself if you don't love me

writing used to be my life (suicide note #12)

2010-01-20T16:02:00.000-08:00

originally written 07/07/07

I stopped smoking for the last hour of my life after the ashtray on my coffee table floated it's contents through my window's blind. Are they blind? Do I leave them spread for you to see, I mean I fucking masturbate on my couch and I'm to lazy to camoflauge my love sequences i make to myself, I wonder if you watch me from that top window? It's not intended, it's not i swear, it's like when I come home drunk and talk to myself real loud and just forget to close the windows....In my army trenches in the mouths of third party scavangers. Do you get pissed I run my vaccume cleaner at four a.m., here inside my little heaven? I think I heard that once, "what is that kid in apartment three on?" I dunno, a whole lot of you shouldn't be giving a damn. I skipped spots for sentimental reasoning. The L to Brooklyn is my dictated cavern of a poverty stricken mind. Standing in a state of inertia in a bathtub full of lungs in my shower of alcohol withdraw to the cold arms of love to the, "cops is on so shut the fuck up!"

(...It's 2:33 and what am I doing... I dunno...what do you want me to do? Ah you're so dirty. Let's drink wine...not white... red and watch some french films.)

Well neighbor, my cat ran away so he wont run into your aparmtent anymore and I even got some flowers and put them on the fire escape to be more like you. I mean I'm better than you but I have this thing where I try doing things that relate to normal people. It's like how my mom wanted me to be a doctor and so I started playing doctor on you, my past, until I accidently cut you and that makes me even more fucked up but I know that and you, YOU're sick, cause you liked that about me. I could care less you're gone. Why do you want me to be a mess, was it cute?
The only time I've belonged in this city so far was in the pathway of your observation, screaming "Here I am, here I am, meet me on rooftops, meet me on rooftops! Meet me as high as telephone wires." I hate when I get looks in bars but you both looked at me like a memory, ha. maybe a cemetry... maybe like I was the modern day christ crucified on a telephone pole. I dropped my halo like my drink, so, it was alright.
I'm ostentatious throughout a great deal of realms but the existance I extend is pretty subjective and at times.. likley bias. Yeah, I'm black and white... Why doesn't this entry need to be long?...Cause some things arn't meant to be long.
Yeah, you became perfection but you'll always be the ashtray in my smoking section.

remember that night we got caught smoking pot on your rooftop and had to run from the cops, i was never in love with my life as much as i was then.

I have no advice, cause noone takes advice.

"The bourgeoisie has stripped of its halo every occupation hitherto honoured and looked up to with reverent awe. It has converted the physician, the lawyer, the priest, the poet, the man of science, into its paid wage labourers."-taken from the communist manifesto

rara avis rara avis siva arar sive arar

2010-01-18T14:00:00.000-08:00

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.

WHAT AM I???

i am crazy...

i'm going to start a youtube channel informative broadcast that slams Glenn Beck for the 'pencil dick asshole' and megalomaniac he is. and i'm going to wear crazy outfits as well...becuz i'm crazy. who'd watch me?

im a demon>logged out.er

2010-01-18T03:05:00.000-08:00

your dick always comes out when we're watchin a movie.
well....no shit.
I havn't got to the part yet where I can show you new, cool and interesting films yet without trying to unfold your arms and legs, jump onto you... who cares.
I can't even write what I wanted to. There's no spark.

today

2010-01-14T16:39:00.001-08:00

lanugo

2009-12-19T17:19:00.001-08:00

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 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

mornig

2009-12-17T17:11:00.000-08:00

gook

2009-12-10T15:33:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-10T08:06:00.000-08:00

whatever is happening to my head is making me feel like shit... maybe all the bullshit is finally leaking out

everything is violent

2009-12-10T01:14:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-07T14:02:00.000-08:00

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

i am the bow legged devil

2009-12-05T23:59:00.001-08:00

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 ....

2009-12-05T22:25:00.000-08:00

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

comfort thy brother

2009-12-03T18:17:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-12-03T10:43:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-11-30T20:54:00.001-08:00

helen keller

my sister's hunter

2009-11-26T12:11:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-11-23T13:44:00.001-08:00

everything is fake

2009-11-22T16:18:00.001-08:00

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.

2009-11-21T01:27:00.000-08:00

what happened to me...shiiiit

2009-11-20T15:23:00.001-08:00

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.

2009-11-16T20:58:00.001-08:00

useless

2009-11-16T14:04:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-16T14:01:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-14T23:29:00.000-08:00

"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."

2009-11-14T10:55:00.000-08:00

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.

january 16th 2010

2009-11-12T01:02:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-11-11T02:06:00.001-08:00

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

2009-11-10T17:33:00.000-08:00

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.

chapped lips

2009-10-28T01:59:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-18T22:51:00.000-07:00

i need something...

2009-10-10T16:32:00.001-07:00

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.

integrated cliches

2009-10-01T08:40:00.000-07:00

end en toul froizen

2009-09-29T07:45:00.001-07:00

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 Zéphuros 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.

2009-09-28T19:03:00.001-07:00

void

i was kidknapped

2009-09-26T10:30:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-26T10:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-26T09:29:00.001-07:00

suicide note to a brother

those fucking mauve lampshades in my mom's living room

2009-09-22T13:40:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-09-22T03:01:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-16T02:18:00.003-07:00

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

2009-09-07T15:23:00.000-07:00

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

rara avis

2009-09-06T20:17:00.000-07:00

i bought you a present

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

2009-09-04T02:15:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-01T23:06:00.001-07:00

happy birthday sister/ missin you

2009-09-01T23:05:00.001-07:00

"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

2009-09-01T16:53:00.001-07:00

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?

abandoned

2009-08-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

i like to drive with my windows down while it rains

i itch everywhere

im bad at this

having no help