Saturday, February 28, 2015

i have to think.

give me time. give me time to think.
maybe i will get to know the neighbors.

maybe getting out of bed won't be executed with
the force of suction out of fantasy-land

every morning.

maybe i am cool. maybe i am nice. a little snobbish.

stop. a plan.

i'll throw a sweater on i never wear
and cut my ponytail off real quick. sneak out

the window. walk down the block.
"get in the car."

"why officer, you have such big strong arms."

"peach, we know you're a crazy. everyone who has
ever been in some kind of contact with you
even those
who don't remember you

have confirmed this. get in the car."

"officer, i hate to belittle your power trip, but my name

isn't peach.
it's banana.

i do know somebody by the name of peach though.
she's one crazy son of a bitch.

something tom robbins would fall in love with.

there she goes! gasp gasp! that'away!
"

take off sweater i never wear. push my
barbie-button and grow new hair.

chop off the ponytails as they come.
send them to children in need.

i know how it feels
is why i do stuff like that. and i know

that it feels like it sucks.

continue to walk down block.
follow the mallard duck.

hide behind dumpster.

fast until i see the forest trees speaking to me
at last
in my native tongue.

continue to fast.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

treachery.

remembering one fact? i can do it.

you better believe i've had it up to here.
i'm nothing if not shame, copper

already green.
that's a pity when you're still a pretty young thing.

probing.

i'm tugging at anybodies shirt-
in the streets and its the shirt of everyone,
every stranger. are you my mother?

think about it later
back in the sanctuary.

those strangers weren't paying attention.

none of you father
my demons but if you don't love them

you don't love me.
everybody is a stranger, aren't they?

so go; do your real life things.

i have pet dragons.

they open their mouths, yawns
of circumference wider than that
of a venus fly traps.

they do not ask for a feeding.
without fire to breathe, they speak.

wear that heart on the sleeve.
gas-leak.

flick of the match.

don't look up, don't look down. this bridge
hasn't been inspected since the eighties.

castle's fire-alarm beeps madly
until deafening.

i say shut-up. i say i love you.
wear that heart on the

sleeve;
ancestral lace.
ancestral lace.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

if a possession, a possession underdeveloped-
we play hide and seek
touching nothing and everything at once.

resist. resist
the stable ground. with each other
there was that float.
i love the float. i long for it.
i am angry without it.
wasn't i careful to not drain you? did i
somehow? it's been my magic trick before.
please tell me i wasn't so primitive-
no, not with you
would i ever want to be primitive.

this does not go without a complaint,
as i interpret my role as one pigeon-holed.
was i too fixated on that float
to unveil my face
to the fact of the matter?

was i not happy?
was i really not happy with the way
things felt like they were going? could it be?

we run without prevail. hide and seek. ready or not.

this is my last happy memory.

unlike the wake of the soul
our bodies are apart. they are on their own.
it goes on this way.

this is not your hurt alone.
i'd prefer to not go down in history
as another tragic girl that you believed
needed your care.

as i say, this hurt is not yours alone.
i'd like to die for your sins, and your sins alone.

for lent i give you up.

in a dream i pick up smoking.

traitors of kindness.

when i was a kid i laughed nervously an awful lot.

it hasn't gone anywhere.

today i just know about it.
this is the art of repetition which i master.

my brain is ten. can't you tell? childhood
will never end for me.

it dies to show itself off.
look away
when passing roadkill.

i count on my fingers
how old i am supposed to be. i lose track.
i feel a little lost.

but there is money to compensate.
money smiles with promise. "you be my ally."

don't bother to moderate.

can't fool anyone
with those eyes only for the table.

i am that fishbowl guppy fearing the enemy-

i cannot look it in the eyes.
they bear the resemblance of aquamarine- fit
for a stone but not for the face.
on the face,
it's stark and uninviting.

and wouldn't an exorcism be kind for someone
of either party here?-

a trinket to pow-bam all the pain.
the layers end
with a slap of the good book and
the hand of a john of god on my head.

like in my wildest dreams- a quick
dissection, and i'm free.

wish that awkward enemy well. begone, begone.

i've got to get into heaven. so begone.

i want my motivations to get into heaven
to mean something else
than being a do-gooder for mere insurance.

"it is nice of you to believe there ought to be more,"
you pat me on the head.

i am your pegasus.

in some foreign language you said i was.
i could not understand
so i did not disagree. i laughed nervously.

i did not hear archangels, nor did i
hear the sounds of their lyres.

i did not see the spikes that shows up in scans
lifting me into their
starchy, alma mater arms. sweet validation.

and then there's all else
which does not show itself anywhere.

you're that catalyst
not allowed in the small talk.
circuitry on the loose; leading time on
during the formative years. pretending i care,
but never bothering
to really think of it.

so vibrate particles,
itch-itch scratch that widow's peak;

twisted with the stick of gauze
to my fingertips,
crunching that elegance of a tulip's neck.

testifying
for the sake of introspection.

i now have no choice but to spill my guts.

(don't you follow suit, honey.)

there isn't a sound to disturb my silence,
without the bustling of people
being outdoors in earshot.

i am alone. i am happy.

i've got free-rule over an unnamed kingdom
made of pretend-pretend on my hands.

i imagine remarks on my efforts toward
supporting the cause-

"oh, chicken-shit, when you are all alone, you create
the best. you say beautiful
things. i am just so impressed."

i don't believe you, but i care that
you say so.

elsewhere,
which, alongside, you
minimize your world,

a building burns.
out of its attic,
people jump.

decomposing colony- an obsession
with fertility

dragged into it, general relativity.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

the fatalist.

it's time to tell the world i exist. hello, world.
donate the blood. you know how
i love offerings.

"yes," i say to she, as

"yes"
is the only message my heart has
ever sent, and don't i know

i'm in love; wrapped around a finger.

i walk to fetch
through my very own labyrinth-ordeal, searching
through cacophony-
graffiti everywhere and other
presumed vandalisms

learning new words, invented by nihilists,
seeing sewer-black and pink flowerbeds

both, at once.

this is a ghetto. it has power over me.
i don't mean to let things have
power over me.

but look what has happened in effect
to not owning up to it-

everyone is poor.
i nestle among and dream.

it is not a soul i dream of.
it is the throne-queen promising royalties.

it possesses, many-headed. it wheezes
in its many-headed sleep.

it sleeps the stable sleep. it is set in its ways.

i hear it through the thin walls
of my own sleep. i hear it in my waking life as well.
"you must plunge," i say it says.

depths in water don't ever end- you
even go back in time. and coming up
for air is a desertion

of everything you believe in.

now you've got this map to chart. the world is at
our finger-tips, after all.
it freaks me out.

but there will always will be that map.
blank page. map.
inevitable everests, countries
before you- what will you name them?

make a mistake thumbing the map.
add a landmark to make up for it. no security

quite like that of the map.

i marry it wearing a red silk dress. my vows
very plainly express the way the silk feels
against my body.

now we live in a queen-sized bed together.
if i stop fucking the map
i'd be forced to face that type of death one lives through

getting all scarred by it. you become subjected

to a fate of compulsively apologizing. you know
you disappoint everyone.

fuck and fuck and fuck the dick of the map
until it is all scabbed and neither
of you can turn back.

i see those acts of vandalism again. they
stain my eyes muddied this time.

i forget what it was trying to say
immediately after it disappears from sight.

like people, all else act on impulse. the heart
says "yes", refusing to ever shut-up.
boom boom, boom boom, boom boom.
"yes, yes yes, yes." hard-wired

and drained,
it becomes a sort of abuse. it could
be the weather.
"let it have power". so it goes.

Monday, February 23, 2015

wave a goodbye
friendly
friendly tumble-dry

things shrinking
peripheral unrefined-

i go cross-eyed.

signs of life.

animals.
slaves.
prostitution.
class consciousness

long division

once,
we were
legal and openly dancing nakedly
trusting ourselves

and trusting ourselves
to a goddess of fertility.

oh, you weren't born yet-
that's why you don't get
ancient.

blindly you wing it.

gay versus not gay- these kids
these days

party drugs, drug overdoses,
anti-drug advocacy,

stragglers in between.

my longings looked over my
shoulder and

betrayed my way.

they saw female-dancing as a
morbid thing, a
death death death death death
death death death death death

but my capsules measure me properly,
or do they with

the weight of the
death death death death death
death death death death death

of elephants? either way, i know there
certainly is weight, with
or without an ease of pain-

the throat irritation
of choke-illusion

and did i fail to mention a phase
that went rejected by every deity,

a dark side of the moon?

it's because
it's an embarrassing result of
embarrassing society.

all the thirteen year old girls
want to be sex workers
when they grow up.

this is a phase during
that part of life
when everything appeared fixed,

knees still scab when you
fell on concrete.

in the back of the head- heaving doubt.

life was supposed to be about
spending the rest of it

attempting
to justify these fixations.

today
i ask ghosts questions.
gunshy to light plants on fire; but your honor,
don't we need that burning bush
in order for our history to not change course ?


i buy candy and walk past the graveyards,
holding that breath, the phenomenon that
connects us all-

it does not know, nor

is it ignorant- sits back and waits for you
to let you be it.

there's that serpentine
drinking the blood of old kronos and the water
from his bath.


teal-colored endeavor. i too can drink like a fish
'til it isn't funny anymore.

some things melt now. clocks, and also
indulgences and their rise- the sky is the limit.
singing to distract away the acknowledgment of it.

long are the days of being in grave danger.
you learn value; you learn how to knit.

i say this at that age i creak back and forth
in the rocking chair, blindly
saying whatever is thought.

a draft passes.


belonging, i've been persuaded. there's nothing i can do.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

unglue
fireplace
spay

the "unconventional" girlfriend
spies
sociopathic tendencies
cults
mistaking

therapy
frisbee
croquis
untamed lover

chat out of view
inch
planet
mouth-dirt
impositions

voting
stolen land
slavery
death row

defenses

spaces

laying down

angered one
alone
you and i would make such beautiful paranoid crybabies

Friday, February 20, 2015

posies.
at the end of the parkways- all
surrender. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1.

nobody can help
but wonder about you.
demand my attention. i am to
wonder about you. my lovely version

of you

soulmate-bed
travel to that empty lot of
the only son of an only son,
swine-swallow.
devote-kindness.

know, say yes,
move forward, then disperse.

i am athena-
queen of the world and it holds me back;

darting blank stares, irreparably boring eyes.
mine have feelings
the rest are boring real things

and i feel the feel as if it's real- my arsenal.
all else is
something lesser-than, something disposable.

who forgets about what it is that they can't change?

tell-all. can you believe
this sickness? holding on, because the itch
doesn't figure out how to let go. or maybe

is too stubborn.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

at a ceremony that is alone: something hot, maybe
fresh wax drying on the skin

that too is alone. if this was your own,
it would feel counterfeit.

we may simplify, deeming meaning
to haven't even itself. negate it all, even that patchwork
of the periodic table of elements
with its chilly, uninviting regality.

it eats and eats its children like a bottomless pit
as they are born until only zero is left. try the disinfectant:

zero isn't a number. rather, it's something
veiled- an ossified, blank-faced artifact,
keeping secrets and taking them to the grave.

take only from this rocky giver of the dirt.
it knows us all,

dreaming our dreamless sleep. in determination
of the brain's activity, one spike follows another,
this is inevitable.
they are cold. they are steel.

they offer verbal cues to an otherwise pallid lip.

void is the gate between this sty
and another one, soon i'll know what it appears as.
i'm piecing it together, exacting black, uncouth

and very long feathers- they keep turning out
to have been born into a pre-existing pursuit of discovery.

i pluck plums from my eyes off their branches, reaching out
and i offer them. there is an expectant hand.

"where are you taking me?" i ask sleepily to someone whose hand it is.

wherever the young say to, replies he.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

i don't know who it was that told you
you have to be perfect, but they were wrong.

this was said. nobody told me to be perfect.
i was just curious what it would be like.

i'm sort of the bridesmaid to "perfect"

it wears pure fluff- bleached peacock feathers,
smiling that ecstatic mouth, holding

a flute glass by its stem. it
reminds me of tulips. i pretend that i'm at an opera,

where there's more than a pristine white-
there are colors of blood-many, my neck in dyed ivory.
now i am in the opera.

that ivory fattens me up.
the prey-drive- the urge
to do whatever comes my way,
remains an unstoppable force,

i am a little married, come to think of it.
i have dead bouquets i keep, ones
that were already dead when received. and i knew it.

under the power of light, we are

incarnations of gabriel, that blinding angel
with messages from god in old-english.

silk-gold and hot- "all of you brilliant
yet absolutely stupid",

i'm pressing against things and we're pressing
one another with our respective fixations.

i see you have your own,
as do i. do you notice? i bare them. a mating dance.

i feel it in me, that want to touch
things of all sorts. there's
someone nearby telling me to resist.

farewell, i let them know. i'll never forget
the strength of your disgust toward me.

it's the way of a mountain i have- risen
from the earth, made of history, never
forgetting, but without a

resistance, a fight, or a denial.
patience.
patience.

patience.

the iscariots, with their fingers caught in doors,
have moved on but do not know
they deny the math.

do not break what adds.
do not fix what breaks.
unfeeling toward the border
the one that separates the diametrically opposed
and all the other instruments dance
and dance
and hit, and rip, and heal
and change seasons new/old; staring, and stared at

perhaps neither, ever.

you found you in you- whole-brain
so chemically big-in-statement

after jumping the golden gate midway down
it was thought

"i want to live"

i heard of a survivor. they were a monster seeking company,
where else but at a bus station. now, if i was there, i'd offer
the monster that company.

the monster told their life story and couldn't stop
extending memories
as if discoveries on the spot

feeling a little hopeful as speaking.
it began raining. so the monster

went where there would a roof,
this one had old plexiglass walls. scratched

into them was "peace and love". grin grin.
war is without happiness

and happiness
moved in for those who are against war at heart.

i am touched by the wild not at war;
on four legs i comment about it.

horses who wander
that otherwise would be shot-

i take them in, love them
love as in if love was my own to choose

who i assign mine to.

in order to miss something one loves properly,
one must dress up properly.
i believe what it is which i miss believed in rainbows.
it begged for rain.

i know how it was born just by remembering it-
yawn/stretch born amid light symphony in flower-centers.

Sunday, February 15, 2015

pick a number, the number

that you count to 'til you can't take
the telescope on your eye anymore

what is it that you saw? ah, i see, but
i take secrets to the grave so i
dare not repeat.

don't you want expansions, big blue
mind blowing gravity orchestrated poorly.
don't i ever.

it's up to us to wonder
what piques curious- a quick second
of not changing the subject;

what do we do, what are we supposed to do
ignore it

this is a story where condom wrappers
don't fit in anywhere. this is a clean slate.

bird cages- the door left open
saving up money for those things
that get us to
charge toward the meaning of life

soberly i say. speaking
how expected to speak: do this, he/she say.

i wanted the adoration i faced
as a small thing

the kind of small thing you don't know
well enough to do much more with then
say "hi" to.

i didn't know if this was a fight so i decided
to fight back, just in case, choosing
my weapons wisely-
borrowing from my knowledge of death- had it in me.

freedom of speech- choose upon that goddess
you decide doesn't like you. truly, she is
just trying to get to know you.

she is green, the green that disgusts
because it is muck

the muck that same color the skin of the man
who was skinned alive- pulsates the history,
every moment he

believed he was wicked,
every moment he felt love...
i am led to believe this man was
not dangerous, but in danger.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

that cold gallop is one moving shadow, it bring me lilies-
some death-flowers
i catch the hullabaloo like a cold and ignore it
'til it let itself go- a chart of

mucus colors. changing, but erratic. now is the time
to fear the unknown.

hecate mother under your wing, that cave
in the flyover state
of which i'd hold not interest visiting otherwise-
but that cave-

hecate, i offer you a fresh muse, of
human blood.

warbling an unearthed reality

that reality
that sat passively while i bit the dust;
i guilt me because i remember it

and how i felt it felt.

course, sandpaper
hot-car, cold-leather, horsefly

attacking the unthought-of; learning
how to cherish it. do it medicinally.

lose everything once learned, compensate:
replace. new material- the
stuff you can't find out about in school. street
smarts. fuck and run.
learn to respect it.
dent in my steel chest
you ran out of it: punch-punch
dozens of balloons pop
and fall overseas,

to become a stuttering
when words are unable to be spoken.

they become many butterflies

milk and honey.

look back: a malady,
intravenous
apathetic. tap one. clink clink.

tap two. je suis heretic,
folding light- i didn't know i
was used to it.

je suis heretic, clearing the air
so i feel safe for flight again.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

this poem is called "frozen shit".

it's about my dogs frozen shit scattered all around the backyard on the shitty frozen winter grass. it can't be disposed of. it's stuck. frozen. if it weren't, i'd attend to the matter after every shit, because i think my dog is going to die and i can't help but wonder if the point when i finally cry about it is going to be when i go to pick up his poop after he is dead.
my life feels a little completely ripped apart yet coming fully together at the same time. i hate it when my thinking does this, contradicts itself very extremely. i'm sad about breaking up with someone i didn't want to break up with. but i also believe i made a strong decision, and i love asserting myself. if i start to feel sad, i absolutely want to rebel. i want to do things the other half of me would never do. i want to fuck my life up yet put it together. can you do both at the same time?
furthermore, tonight we are taking my dog old man senile to the vet. we are giving the vet "one final shot". i absolutely believe he will be euthanized, tonight. there is no doubt in our minds that our dog has dimensia. and i'm thinking already that i'm not ready for another dog, i just want to focus on my painting, but if i were to have one it would be an american bulldog, a really big slobbery one, hey stop that there's a dog right here that you "have". i'm not insanely worried. i'm not insanely worried about my not-boyfriend, either. i think about buddhism. if there's anything i learned from buddhism, it's about how the ego works. my dog is in pain. he had a lovely life that is no longer lovely. i'm more upset about his pain than my pain that i might have to detach from him. and my not-boyfriend, well, i don't fully understand it. all i know is that i don't want to think about him. the last thought i had about him was how we drove in circles down ocean parkway and around and around- i think because i was upset, and he wanted to cheer me up. how we went out to the beach throughout this past summer, how i was able to make him laugh, how he would drive me all the way to the north shore to help me buy art supplies, and try to get me to talk to the other artists there...how i had this one panic attack during a migraine during pms and i dissociated and kicked and punched the walls and called him but i don't remember what i said and i called other people but i don't remember what they said but he ditched work right away to come over right away...how he took me out on my first proper date in years...why would i break up with someone who is nice? my reasons were valid, but were they valid "enough"? i'm blocking it all the fuck out.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

who’s the whirlwind now
learning the whirlwind lesson 

what lesson is the whirlwind supposed to be learning now
is there something i’m supposed to be learning from
am i learning
breathe me breathe me breathe me brerathe me i’m about to breathe breathe breathe me breathe me breathe me breathe me
liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiffe f f f f f               fo                     r  mssssssss!
a similiar queue nearby
there was
parallel but fading in ink

me with you
prompting conversations
about what our children might look like

recessive gene
dominant gene

neither

keel into your tea-whistle. it is ready

great contrast
look at an optimist nearby
with "dark-side lust" written all over their ass

“fixing”
is a lost sanskrit text


in unstill tall grasses
being rude
being mischeivous

it apologizes ten minutes later but forgets
its own language
white ghost of dead plant
your triple-glass

i see you as
underwater

as you hope yourself there, making
difference, exploring
nutrients

hey shriveled old thing that
is truly silk, you know when ashes spread
this is how mica is born and common

you did not let them burn you into it

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

too polite to disappear and away
cry cry the posterboard child, you give up on
not knowing what you're doing.

but i know what you're doing.
tuning out the posoms mating outside your window.
watching your dog eat a posom.

the hunched woman bends your way
to judge your worth. "oh. none. how shitty."

textbook cases crying polyurethane
the dog is a family member
match all nine criteria when you only need
four plus one.

take every paranoia to bed.
red and blue next to one another dance and vibrate and show
lightining colors my eyes are wobbling
dude, you know that's synaesthesia, right?
this penultimate is sogging
away
away

its anchor soaks and
the horseshoe crabs huddle at shore.

i refuse to plummet,
but too refuse to go home. oh, now since
put in words, i realize this a limbo.

would it be more of a miracle
to become a jellyfish at the snap
of my fingers
or to know the answers
to all i've asked, asked too much of you
as it feels i have been doing, doing
to you, not
with one another?

moths and lilies secrets captured
in the middle of nowhere where
the only sustenance is the
glow transmutated

over iron and under granite does it
turn out i be a blind thing of
the wild-? murmuring voice i heal

my own over with, chaste world
i choose to know
white clumps
cotton-mold
pardon him,
pardon him not.
really really sweating-

himself on the spot.
loved one.
the desire you reject-?

it is a dream come true,

but i dreamed i found
nude pictures of your ex-girlfriends.
i painted them in angry colors.
i made you stare at the paintings
while you fucked me doggie-style
in front of them.

i remember all life forms
on just a bit of "nothing". teeny weeny earth.
little hole with one two three seed
in the dirt.

there is nothing i can live up to.
i admit that. there's that goddess everlast.

there will always be a "nothing".

Sunday, February 8, 2015

the paranoid no. 02

when they're not specifically using a person's name
they're talking about you
and it's passive-aggressive
if you look into your rear-view mirror at a red light, stop doing that, because you're going to imagine the people in the car behind you are talking about you.
if you leave the room, continue leaving, because everyone in there hates you.
if you want to delete your cookies, be ready to look somewhere else in the room, because you might see other people using the computer have been looking up stuff about you.
if they don't text back immediately, it's because they can't stand you.
upkeep a swagger. the swagger keeps everything together. without it, you're going to overhear people talking about what a loser you are.
don't look too long at peoples faces. you're going to be able to tell they're thinking negatively about you.

Saturday, February 7, 2015

pierce

am i certain i cannot imagine the things i imagine
any other way- yes, the stars remain so far away

and i keep them there. the planets, centered. soundless
as space is like. well isn't there
a dimension of logic in me. no-

it really is because of a dream i was given
once- i looked up
from a bad situation, and was snapped out of my body

into space. and there it was. a huge planet. orange.
yellow, warm- silent, as it is like in space.

i am shirley temple
and i'm gonna save everyone
being friends with myself

harm in the harm that i do,
shame follows it

don't i know clouds are white?
we guess at their shapes, the riddles

of them, whatever
do they mean- it's always change-but
once blood leaves
the body oh certainly it is red. mhmm indeed.

when i was drunk, i felt as if
i was feigning drunkenness. i knew

there was alcohol in me; that i would let myself

get away with doing foolish things. it never
hit me what it was that happened inside me

that i would ever want to do foolish things.

suppose i believe in something. of course
i'll defend it even when it does not need to be.

beliefs stay for a while.
i've got this factory of cows, it's good that it's there. an experiment.
they master the craft, that of warning one another,
tragedy does indeed happen and it brings us together, following
each other in a single file, bored of the pastures.

of a sudden among it is acknowledged, in the old
toy-like eyes that at any moment may very well cry
indeed you introduce yourself as a teacher.
so teachers we are, teachers of one another.

what does that cow think before he's offed?
"i want to live," teaches the cow.
it must be easy to think this without
knowing you're thinking this before
that penultimate moment when
you realize you've been thinking this all along.

not simply considering this, but thinking this.

i eat this and think this, oh isn't it there, sneaking
up on me, self
perseverance in the back of my head, that mighty eye

but in the front is a traffic jam congested
with noises, an incomprehensible graffiti
i refuse to cooperate with this.
mighty eye, sneak up. mighty mighty eye.

digestion is sort of a mechanical movement, a
locomotion.
it tells the story of parts of the earth depending
on parts of the earth, they
diffusing into many other things inside
all these related parts in me

that stay and react.

i see, i see, past those fizzles of that bubbly water,
at the tip of a gamble

i fall backward from it, believing i'm protected
wrapped in ropes and harnessed tightly-

no, no i'm not-

only the great fast things i am to see keep me
i have only them left to ramble about
out of my cow-horned head,

doing itself a favor- a wander a god fathoms
a simple stroll.

you and i both
said it aloud, when we spoke so truthfully
about how we wanted to live,
so, we live.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

my name is "peach schist" (lol) i spend a lot of time painting and writing to take my mind off my mental illness which i think a lot about. today i took down this one painting in the living room that's been getting my goat for years and began re-working it. the other day

i was watching a documentary on jonestown. i keep repeating what this one guy, a former member of the people's temple, said in it, and how deeply i want to nurture him. all of the former members of the peoples temple are the most obviously normal, humble people, except they all have thousand yard stares. this one dude said [to this effect] "i have a conscious memory of thinking "this is wrong", and i didn't do anything to stop it."
survivor's guilt is relative. this man had the deaths of ~1000 people on his mind. that gets my eyes to bulge out of my face a little bit. and tell this to everyone over and over again, about this one guy i saw in a documentary on jonestown, the worst thing that happened to US civilians before september eleventh.

recently i've been considering my own experiences, all the times i didn't stop things from happening, all the times i didn't control shit, all the times i didn't control shit that wasn't my shit to control to begin with. i feel more and more neutral about it. it is history. leave it alone. if you do not, you will drown.
it's incredible to be able to learn as much as i have about life. i am so thrilled about this. if i fail, i'm about to enter a huge perspective shifts on whatever i was relating to prior. when i tell myself i'm an asshole, it's because i'm sucking at matching up to some societal standard that was drilled into my head at some point. in short, i'm developing a healthier relationship with my negative thoughts.
i don't want them to die, or anything. i don't like violence, and i've never even bothered trying to wrap my head around why it must exist. i want to learn from them.
these flowers are rare and i'm dazzled
by their minute poison. but if you

eat every other part of them, they are delicious.
i saw them once. i saw them on the internet
again, looking for them, yet still

i cannot remember their proper name.

are they the reasons for
our bonded aspects of ourselves

that we have to show-
we can't help it, and we know we are showing them-

but cannot it be helped? are we not always naked, always
open and obvious, avoiding this, indulging in that, always, always, always?
what if hungry you-and-me devoured
the flowers fully and wound up surviving?
would you believe?
would only i believe?

if we were to re-discover them, would a new effect happen?
would we never again age, would we
haven't a choice but to accept

the perpetual youth in us both (at long last)?
we'd have to separate from society,
staying together because only you and i
would believe one another, this wild secret. if i

wrote a book about us, us and all this shit,
would anyone
believe the fictionlessness-

that we devoured these flowers once,
even the poison that's supposed to kill you, but
we overcame the poison that's
supposed to kill, and we don't even remember
the name of the flowers or where we were or
why we like each other other than we make each
other happy and we're sweethappynicelovely human
beings? everything about the flowers.

they were not imagined, not even the poison.

my steps throughout this house are still coordinated. i've
yet to change my socks.

i

map my rudimentary

humanity out, in traces of

vague constellations. it's really something. a real
prize. digging up
the real horoscopes here.

they say you need an imagination to put together pictures
in the sky, and also to figure out how to manage wantwantwant out,
and how to balance it alongside love.

want want want love love love.

i'm cheating on this scale- shame on this tight-rope walker
DT-ing in mid air. balancing on something

made by somebody else, something of which
the origins i know nothing. i'm chipping my nail polish off.
i'm talking about poisonous flowers. i'm chipping
my nail polish off and the poisonous flowers
i'm talking about are probably myself.

maybe something good will becoming of it.
maybe i'll just snap out of it.
i am your darling, isn't it
scary to have a darling, my darling

i must dislocate, but nobody
is to leave this ship. i rip out my spine

and hand it to you, the flag
worth wondering about. an offering.

how strong you'll be now, my darling-

nobody is getting out of this, not
me, unless you

are alive. so we
must live. take the spine. let it sing.

i thank you for asserting yourself. from
now on, i'll be soft and hunched.

you think too often i asserted myself.
so you say. give me weakness. i give you

strength. you are the captain of this
doomed ship. what is it

that connects us? i know you to be
a person to whom my love extends itself.