Saturday, December 26, 2015

mr self destruct.

hi; i live in a park- central park- in the big city, under a bench. ummm you don't want to be here at night. that's when i wear camouflage and carry around this amazing machine gun i totally deserve, in order to avoid the total danger i'm in. organized crime and drug dealing. the type of stuff that will hush-hush your ass through history in one bite. politics be.
there's a dog hair of wisdom left still in my noodle...there are always trains arriving and departing. you never know where the air is to depart next. and so what. we too are passing with it.

i conjure up whatever motivation is supposed to look like by somehow eventually picturing an ultimate goal without placing distance being myself and itself. this is my cause:
i'm often very concerned that the people are beginning to weigh down, that everything about them is bearing this solidity, i mean, even just reflections in water. i'm afraid they'll get so heavy, like, they'll turn into statues, and they will drop beyond their threshold of gravity with the estimated force of an airstrike. on top of that, there will be earthquakes everywhere.

i want to know what i need to do in order to prevent this entirely. my name is airstrike.

my parents kicked me out, in jersey. like, south jersey. i kept winding up back and forth out of i-don't-know-wheres. for like, a while. it's still happening. i've been all over the east coast.

i look at you with terror.

this one time it was like getting murdered, everything was like prostrating in the direction of this realization, "it's like i'm being murdered." often it sticks to everything i do. i survive this all the time. my survival instincts are unbelievable, but also i question how much i want to live really.
and then like, man, i always feel like i'm ready to be killed but i also want my life to be saved. both, at once. probably by a guy. what is with that?
i am a stone so i throw stones. skip 'em across ponds, during the day. the turtles tell me to scat. they have a mafia thing going on there.

under a tree i piss.
under a tree i get pissed. because emotions spark at random for me, is pretty much why. it was because of that time that really fucked me up. that time that it felt like i was practically being murdered. geez. why must i be given "murder" to my common vernacular?

have you ever re-felt that time when you felt like you were experiencing murder? it's out there, man.