Monday, February 29, 2016

warm up.

heathcliff, as usual.

love. it is not you i love. we both know by now we cannot extend ourselves any further than we are. it is the feelings that arise in myself as a reception for your presence giving itself to me. it is your image that is everywhere, hanging off of houses hanging off of low branches. the music sets a delicate and haunted expression. i am haunted by my feelings and the image again.
as a young boy my father rejected my sex. it does not bother me so much anymore- i am much older now. "it was the right thing to do," although he rejected me because i was sad, and clumsy at concealing it, he would go on to tell me i was an insincere person. father's lack of interest in me, paralleling my lack of interest in myself- this is where abandonment began. i would never learn how to turn against it. i needed to be given a feeling, any feeling that i wanted like a spoiled girl with simplistic views.

since a dream was crushed, i was never to dream again.

so, cathy, no, my father never laid a finger on me, never molested me. he was the one that rejected my advances very easily is what happened. he did it as though i was easy to decline, undesirable. my father was never going to give me the feeling i seemed to need from him.
thus, there's an emptiness that stays with me at all times, unstirred. i was never to find my father again, to seek the feeling i need from him.
sometimes i am not feeling capable to make strong choices, cathy, and i am certain nobody will give me anything i want.

cathy.

i was resisting, i learned as i was uncovering acceptance, i was resisting admitting i needed to persuade my father into giving me back an imagine of myself held prior.
i asked you to teach me about romanticism- do you know why? because i had not idea what love was supposed to be and i still don't, though you can be sure i guess anyway. isn't that sweet?
i don't have any goals isn't that tender? i drive around aimlessly. i've gotten lost from doing so so many times that i have the houses of all of the world memorized. this is how i practice promiscuity.
some times i think i'll get people to truly love me if i suddenly disappear - no, i must resist thinking this way. i'm thinking evil thoughts.
listen, heathcliff, when we first met, do you remember how charmed you were by my "charisma"? i have deceived you. i was high. i've been high this whole time, you might wish to learn before it continues. without my being high, i'd be too shy to exude a charisma. i must get high for you to love me.
this whole time i've had a habit, and nothing has come about it- no revealing. heathcliff without the habit, i have no chance at experiencing happiness, i cannot meet people- i would look at my feet without realizing it.

i don't care if you forgive me or not. i don't so much care for forgiveness

-cathy 

baltic vestiges.

a look toward the future. i know what you want. you want everything except what you have no choice but to get. the executioner is a friend of us all.
this is the time of the nuclear bomb, to me. i imagine i love at the eye of a mushroom cloud, the center most tree ring. i wanna see my baby but younger 'kuz now he is mutilated. i wanna see everything done as expected of us to do. i've got a life to move forward like a gigantic rock. i want to sleep. okay, i did it.
i take myself in the going-away-forever chain of countless forbidden souls.

purgatory: earth. i cannot live with knowing this circumstance. i think i jump into the pool that is the swan lake.
i come back acting savagely with a banjo on my knee. i leaned toward the future 'kuz people divided up space according to the invention of universal perspective.

i worm away and come back five hours later. there is no chance of me escaping pain. today, i am defeated. i am silently grieving and not knowing why. i am resentful and i don't know why. i feel like a boggle game, as well as an earthquake. the beast of abandonment was near. i needed to be still. there's a documentary about not trusting the amount of directions the planet insists it has. i never know where the fuck to go.
i beg of you on my knee, senorita, mami, take the flesh off of me and eat it slowly. marry me, marry me with cannibalism, eat my whole body as i suffer alive well i wanna suffer somehow and i ought to do so greatly.
unmanning my showingness, my unique sensation, feeding it to rich people who hoard all their money and suck the lives out of people like me. not one of you is as cool as me. sucks.

<< [...]my disasters. somewhere else- venezuela, perhaps- and i'd be comfortable with my thinkings as is.
i go to the doc. i complain i still feel disturbed and that it's beyond hard to explain, and i worry it comes across as a trivialized pursuit, as a ploy for attention, though i'm phobic of attention in an ironic way. each week i report how much of a vulnerable, bewildered type of young lady i am.>>

i sell a love letter that i intended to burn. i make a lot of money. i am
on the run.

Sunday, February 28, 2016

countenance of rumination.

holy, holy, half of me, my blowhole
breathing, indulging
in oxygen, half of me with whom i never
disagree, let me see your roses grow
other half oh you need someone to
fix all this shit, let me see you fall into
the dirt let us cover you with bonemeal
let yourself

be dug up by a dog one day let you
haunt a corporate office. my spirit is doomed

it cannot wander the halls again, it is
to give up as to getting out of pain one day, oh this,
this, this is black mold. grate, grate
the torso unbelievable swan grace i must
deny and forego.

Saturday, February 27, 2016

am i starvin' or unknowing that that is fat, the horror, cushioning
the bones that keep myself in one piece? my back
hurts i am convinced all i need to do to get the hang of life is to just

stop it. aren't ya a southern belle, aren't ya a princess? don't you
want to reach better places, make great decisions who does

measuring occur to besides those under the influence of
the old testament? i scream for milk between fallin' apart
again get sick and moan and ache moansick and ache and
moan and sick and ache moan unknowing of confusion

latin in the sky.

listen, let me look at you, little baby, 'kuz i have aids and i'm a little resentful you don't; aids, like cancer and all sickness is born in the mind 'til it becomes for real. my emotions are eatin' me alive; aids is born of fear cancer is born of fear fear is my babies father, apparently.
my feet are always asleep destroyin' themselves in this particularly small way- ever hear of this stuff called cells? the cells are eatin' away at themselves and at each other like it's a party the kind of party where everybody is a junky a junky like me that's what led me to the action of obtaining my aids 'kuz i really really wanted it and really, who doesn't want junk in their veins.
i can't even get a gun to my head can't get a knife to my skin. somethin', an angel, i guess the ghost of my good mother- i'm a princess of walt disney- must be livin' there in my mind, totally trapped, incarcerated. everyone is trying to kill themselves except one person, my good mother in jail my mind, who is already dead. such a good soul that she believes in the soul she's been granted the soul but she's gotta be in jail, too. if i die so does she. "no, don't," she pleads. i listen to her, 'kuz i'm not that much of a raper- "rapist". she's there when i'm mean, she's there when i'm the dark side of the moon. she's there when i explore my withering body she's there when i stare at my feces, in my astonishment i actually shit sometimes 'kuz baby i am pure waste.
i'm doin' this writin' stuff- this vandalizing- for everyone except myself. i have no way to shit except once in a while other than by writin' stuff- all this vandalizing i cannot access my emotionality unless i'm in the presence of another person- another prisoner. i am your charitable cause. you are mine. ultimately we die catchin' all the diseases, 'kuz we've clogged the "voids" of one another enough  with the leaves in our rivers of ourselves as landscapes, our tao.
sometimes i wish i could just relax my muscles. my ass is covered in cellulite- i imagine it's the next sunset an explosion of the protests of charles baudelaire. a sacrifice is the explosions of an commoner's flesh. i wish i could just take a piss as i sit here i want the warmth jolene, jolene. i am cold in my country home jolene, jolene. i come up with this pretty li'l ditty 'kuz my bed is only warm 'kuz of my piss and i can't believe this is how great life is right now. i'm beggin' you to not take my man, but you bother not with me, 'kuz i ain't got not man, i ain't got nobody, i ain't got no satisfaction, i'm fishin' for the same whores over and over and they keep laughin' at me. "the man with the stories", they call me. li'l dey know mon i got an angel in my head and she's a she, joseph only in the bible mon like an insignificant amount of times.
you may be jealous to learn i am incapable of surrendering- when i die, it will not be a restful apocalypse, it'll be a sign that my brain isn't goin':
it'll be a collidin' of two world: one is my father i never think of, the other is my grieving over my not having a father being projected on some ugly guy, who is beating me and spittin' on me. yes. he's spittin' on my tits, my face, especially when i can't help not shutting up, i don't have the courage of shutting up- i'm not well-to-do, i'm not brilliant i came from the streets and (surrendered) to them. he's spitting and slapping my face side to side i see yellow stars my period is greedy and spreads all over his mattress. his drug buddy, the most disgusting ugly soul who finds angels disturbing, has the worst tasting come, and he videotapes us doing what we do- the apparently permissible. all girls learn how to do sexual acts with their dads. all dads learn how to purify themselves of their aids by having sex with their virgins or daughters.
but i am the wicked one, i started this.
i was leanin' against the refrigerator of daddies and we were bein' modestly, innocently affectionate, when i felt tinglin', and i believed there was a mutual knowing, that we were each other's sex things- our clothes were still fully on, but daddies hands were all over me. so i lifted my top and asked him if he was proud of my growth. this was the first time we had seen each other since he abandoned me when my mother was pregnant with me in her.
he was proud of my growth.

let's pretend we're in church and i'm the pastor. i want you to learn how to see in the all-seeing dark. the way i do this is by reiterating that i'm bein' eaten away as well as becoming enlumped. it is a miracle i am alive, thought i am dead- my death my life- the title of a novel by kathy acker, who's the only person i've plagiarized so far that i've given credit to. i idealize her.
it is dark in this room and nobody is to feel better.
a cock rises, learning that it has a thing for puke. it raises itself with awesome muscularity, like a peacock when they search for mates. the sounds of the archangels, the warmth of the golden and white lights are bothersomely bright. the cock is blinded. i am the one that did this to it, and i'm stuck in the room it's in, with it. "it's my opinion sex is overrated," i whisper in the voice of a hotline operator's- the cock begins to wilt while slowly shriveling.
i don't save it.
to the cock, this that i attack it with, this fixation on power- this is not exactly the sex it has come to me to give. the thing is, just 'kuz we're all naked doesn't mean there is any worth to sexualizing- at least, that it is equated by me to nakedness.
what it's worth is being forgotten about. i'd rather not be touched. the idea makes me unable to shit because i never stop thinking about how it could happen to me.

a trick's mouth, making an incision where my legs meet, making a naughty place. i am on my way to bein' made damned as a triple threat. but the trick is always interpreting things however he pleases.
flesh is scaly, cold, and pale. this trick is a serpent. i am dead in my life (re: my death my life by pier paolo pasolini, by kathy acker) again, doing time. i don't know why i'm doing time again. i don't know why i always gotta do time over and over again and again. but i believe i am toward the end- there is so little left to me and i don't wanna move on.

my love is unstrengthable.

emptiness is dead skin i scratch it off 'kuz i know
so, but it keeps on recoverin. i'm a lost hole
in the sky hellbent on bein' somethin' else. i try to draw

myself 'kuz i have no children to busy with. it looks like
a series of zig zags tearin' through papers. i talk to myself

like a dog 'kuz i don't have anyone to whom my womb
casts spells on.

i'm bent on sabotagin' my love for myself. it seems
flat after bein' done with it over and over. it becomes trash
irretrievable of appeal. you hate yourself. this is
my song i hope i don't fucking mind. i only wanna go places if i'm in love
with who's takin' me to them. and besides i'm readyin' for my coccoon of eventual disempowerment, broken waste,
waste of life.

Monday, February 22, 2016

my respiration cut off from me returns not shortly
after i had given my rights to myself- stubborn in my
aching for independence. the breathing

quelled as much

as i could get it to- but still-
there's a hurtness in my breath. i can't
find it, the singing
debutante- but i know it is there- whether

i am believed or not. i am
awakened. i don't wanna talk about
it. i just don't. continuously

i lose those of my bedside to their
own exploring. i just don't wanna talk about it.

poe poem.

become the devil, walk your pretty little self
into the no-mores of the what was supposed to be. walk,
drift, hop, skip jump along the avenues of the

regular and pretty. sterile. enough. i've given
something considerable, somethin' like "my all", nevertheless
contributing to that edgar allen poe story, you know, the
one where the, i don't know, i ne'er read his works, but like,
there's a guy, and a girl, and her name is lenore, and he

loves her 'kuz she's the girl, and there's a raven, and i
myself fall in love with
ev'ry guy just by hearin' their names, 'kuz my
inner heterosexual is one son of a gun, and i don't want

to be here with it, nor, without it; i'd be
all alone, without it; edgar allen poe died
heroic///// there's a little vagina in my face. an orchid

of some rainforest variant. it has nothing to do with love.
i eject my nectar into that whore, her crevices, her beautiful torso
being still, not saying a word, and now she is ripped

apart, like cancer on a tongue or fallen apart
gum, and bugs
are crawlin' all over her. //// this is what poe meant

the whole goddamned time. this was in the year 1850 or
whenever. lenore is still alive. she became

ev'ry angel that is now, even those that top your
christmas trees. happy birthday, christ. ev'ry angel

has stood up to the prideful god- since, has
fallen, and now each rules a nascent hell now.

control.

may we go to bed-? i must go on a
quest
to discover who it is i am

i am yielding to my hunger- to learn
what's hidden behind all
these doors. i yield to that which

i don't know i will win- i suck the whole
dick- can you keep it down? watch
your language? (can't anything at all but

swallow and think about my future) without
pride you're somethin'

not far from me- without a self
you're dead and walking around do you feel
the colors and sounds walkin' around

they're more people than i am- let me- go
to bed- with them- rather them- their
agendas- than someone else- another me

hidings.

god- there is a god- his favorite color is blue. he likes mediocre shit
and spreading an agenda. he needs the agenda

or else we find out this plasticity doesn't sound all
together consistent, says this therapist. and at his sundownings, that

ball of flaming boring shit, he does weird stuff in his sky
that he ought save for the bathroom or his special sheets.
he comes all over the goddamned place. he fucks up the mechanics
of his cheery factory and oh it strikes me down i am broken hearted
now shrinking a shrinking
violet oh. i am dying i will come back next year. but this

is no flower poem. this is a sex poem. this is about sex as a prayer
to myself as an animal. get me out of this. get me out
of this. get me out of this. only if i have sex with myself will i
not be raped i keep bein' raped how ya wanna stop your rape

god. i suppose i better build an altar, get on my knees, and suck
some dick more dick all the dick so much dick that i
cannot handle and i wind up in a no-smoking commercial
for people who cannot talk without voice boxes

"help me" i say
"support rape" i get dubbed out with

power.

"here is a misunderstood monkey his name is
karma he's sneakin' around my hood. do you have
a taste for continuity? i sure do.
i like looking at my face in the mirror when
it's chokin' on a wishbone. it's been going on

in a bare world that keeps having more of
itself
to bare each day. my

twenty
poetic
welfare children carry my body away to a glass
casket that's gonna disintegrate. little pieces of carnage

walk up nearby stone steps to feed such sad, thin-voiced
weeping willow trees. bits of carrion
once decent human beings roll away

in their mercurial ravings to the
ivy crawling up little houses for little
people. this is what my emphasis was all worth.

go on and be given to somebody else. one thing
is left. i still love my memory i've left, that

of my watching my choking of myself."

-shel silverstein

humpback scorn.

the chateau of li'l white lilies. here, have it. like i give
a fuck. i'm an eskimo, out in my gray ocean in my
slow, small glaciers, fragments of what a mirror reflects,
floating away and occasionally bumping into

one another. i cannot have my own values 'kuz i don't
have my own self and so sez my doctor and this doctor
too and this one and that one and this one i used to have
and the doctor in me a glacier that just bumped.
oh. apparently i'm a doctor. this one that i've never

met is in love with that one and i played vodun on them
'kuz i'd rather not slit myself. you ever slit yourself?
obviously

you're not a demon. open me open me open me what
does it mean to you i do not give a fuck but i probably
do

jealousy.
possessiveness.
too much bad kinds of learning.
all learning is neutral.

gray. gray. seas.

tongues.

i want only what i can't have, 'kuz satan loves me. what's
happenin' in the world today? i'm not interested.
you can't make me pay attention to the news

if you did what you could. i'm feeling strongly i'm in
love with feeling strongly and they say feeling strongly
is for weaklings well don't you feel retarded

about yourselves
when you learn you've been mistaken your
whole lives. god have mercy on your soul my soul?
i do not have one i am one the soul

of a ripening fruit ripped off from baudelaire.

the constable.

it is nice to be
a good truthteller, or whatever- as well

as a good liar. i was taught by a man i thought was god
'kuz i'm one stupid kid. once again

i serve my community service. i suffer my ditches
i dug myself i made my own bed this is my work.
this time i commit to it with pride-

gee, i feel real good about myself doing stuff
for someone else. stop the day. do someone elses laundry.
watch the man i thought was god

become an urchin in heaven. better
off. i hurt myself for attention.

sitting on the dock of the petty.

there's a blackness covering my face- oil makes me
unable to see i am a blind girl now everyone cares
remind me how brave i am.

the enemy flies a kite in the sky, the lightning

keeps almost hittin' me. you don't see? let me tell you.
oh, i talk too fucking much. i see.

well, i have told this story time and time again- nobody

quite so enthused as myself 'kuz it's about
myself. i claw my nails
fingers hands wrists veins splurting higher powers

oh my god all over the earth we've been shrivelled to
arms into the clay earth- see- i just

wouldn't give the fuck up.

uselessness. and too, something
illustrious about it. and i am only the torso
left that i said this whole time

at least i should be. get away; go
to hell, fuck you, motherfucker; leave, leave,
i want to be alone- are you dead?- i am

dead- all the ways to tell a person to go
goodbye-bye. i mean, never mind- you are not
dead- allow me to reproach all- that heaves

life- show yourself- to the sun alone- or
be among the torso people, the little white lilies,
the waitings for further erosion.

the worst exposure, a bedroom in which sex
serves never a pleasure- "in and out in and out

in and out. and you're
up and down up and down up and down." i'm thinking

about i don't remember. something
doesn't want me to see. a river takes my torso body
and erodes me; little white lilies.

i didn't need to put a spell on anyone. you're all mine.

let my people go.

Sunday, February 21, 2016

execute.

01. ONE MUST DEDICATE THEMSELVES TO WORKING EVERY DAY OR ELSE THEY'LL LOSE THEIR TONING AND THAT'S A THREAT.

02. ONE MUST PUT THEMSELVES OUT THERE. THIS, TOO, IS A THREAT.

03. ONE MUST ALLOW THEIR FREEDOM TO BE MODULATED BY BIG BUSINESSES AND KNOW IT IN THE "BACK OF [THEIR] HEAD[S]" (THAT MEANS KNOWING IT VERY PERCEPTIBLY)

03. ONE MUST SET THEMSELVES APART FROM THE OTHER HUMANS.

04. GET OFF MY PHONE- IT'S PATHETIC, AND THE ECONOMIES MAIN STAPLE OF ENERGIZING.

05. PAY MONEY TO GET MY PHONE FIXED 'KUZ I'M HOOKED TO IT ANYWAY.

04. ONE MUST DIE FROM CONSUMING FECES, BUT CALL IT SOMETHING ELSE. (IT'S ALWAYS AN EMERGENCY. ALWAYS CALL 911.) IT'S THE HUMAN WAY.

05. ONE MUST DIE FROM NATURAL CAUSES WHICH MEANS DYING HOWEVER ONE HAPPENS TO DIE. IF YOU ARE HUMAN, YOU WILL DIE 'KUZ OF EATING FECES.

05. BE DESPERATE TO SEEM NEW.

06. SEARCH FOR NEW "INSPIRATION" ENDLESSLY 'TIL YOU'RE BURNT OUT. CONTINUE HARASSING YOURSELF BY CONTINUING TO SEARCH, ANYWAY.

07. MEDITATE, EAT FRESH VEGETABLES AND REST WELL.

08. DEFINE ONE'S SELF AS A NEUROTIC TWITCH.

09. ONE MUST ONLY WORRY IN THEIR THINKING.

10. OVERTHROW "MONOGAMY" AND ALL THINGS WITH CRAPPILY CRAFTED TITLES 'KUZ THEY ALL ENCOURAGE THE PRECIOUSNESS OF JEALOUSY AND POSESSIVENESS AND I DON'T FEEL LIKE SUFFERING FROM THESE THINGS ANYMORE. SO WHAT IF I WANNA FUCK EVERYONE NOT FOR THE SAKE OF FUCKING BUT FOR THE SAKE OF STRUGGLING FOR FAKE-POWER- WHAT WE ARE BEING TAUGHT TO DO, RIGHT?

08. ONE MUST LACK ESTEEM, PARTICULARLY IN THEIR CRAFT(S).

09. ONE MUST READ 'KUZ IF YOU'RE NOT READING YOU'RE NOT THE LITERARY TYPE AND YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT BOOKS AT ALL.

10. ONE MUST WRITE ABOUT THEIR ANXIETIES AS IF TRUTHS IN ORDER TO EXPAND POSSIBILITIES.

06. FOLLOW EACH THOUGHT WITH, "I MUST EXPAND THIS IN WRITING." (IF ONE IS TO REMEMBER A THOUGHT LONG ENOUGH.) FOLLOW EACH FOLLOWED THOUGHT BY FORGETTING EVERYTHING AND TRYING NOT TO GET MISERABLE OVER IT.

09. IF IT'S DEAD, MAKE A BIG DEAL OUT OF IT.

10. TRASH TRASH INTO THE DEATH OF HISTORY, WHICH TOO IS TRASH.

11. BE WORTH BEING FORGOTTEN ABOUT.

12. BE NAKED.

13. SEXUALIZE AND TRASH SEXUALIZING 'KUZ I'M A VICTIM OF IT.

14. GET MIGRAINES TRIGGERED BY RADIO MUSIC BLASTING. NOTICE HOW YOUR FRIENDS DON'T CARE 'KUZ THEY'RE TOO SUCKED IN.

14. NOTICE OTHER THINGS YOU DO, LIKE ITEMIZING.

15. NOTICE HOW WE'RE PRODDED AT WITH MONO-SYLLABLICS WHEN INDOCTRINATED. THEY'RE CONVENIENT.

14. ALLOW DISTANCE OF IDEAS.

15. SEX IS NOT OVERRATED AT ALL. I LOVE NOT BEING INTIMIDATED BY ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCIES AND SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASES AND INFECTIONS.

16. EXHIBIT YOUR FEARS OF BEIN' RACIST BY COLOR CODING PEOPLE BACK IN THE DAY, AND THEN SUGARCOATING IT BY ELIMINATING SUCH A BARBARIAN SYSTEM..

15. INTERNALIZE SOME SORTA CONVULSION FROM ALL THE THINGS I AM BEING TOLD WHAT TO DO EVERYWHERE I GO PARTICULARLY IN MY HEAD THUS NEVER STOPPING CONVULSING- EVENTUALLY DYING IN MY SHIT FROM BEING FORCE FED SHIT WHICH I OCCASIONALLY INDULGE IN ENJOYING.

16. HESITATE BURNING MONEY 'KUZ WITHOUT IT I'M PANICKING JUST AS MUCH.

Friday, February 19, 2016

DRIVING MY MOMMY'S CAR aimlessly is my favorite exercise. i am restless again. here i am, running over the bodies of things i don't feel like dealing with again, entirely missing the point 'kuz it's probably not something i see. cold fucking vomit everywhere- too mushy to kill. it crosses my mind that this is not fair. i suicide-bombed a hospital earlier. i suicide-bombed the supermarket. what more does it take? the inferno takes too long.
i've an affinity for drivin' around residential neighborhoods. while i hold a low amount of curiosity as far as what's in the houses, it's easy to get lost. what's in the houses: televisions. beds. stuff laying around that i don't care about. people that would refuse to open their minds to my point of view whose points of views i would refuse to open my mind to. they all look and act the goddamned same. nevertheless, i like their swirly curly roads best 'kuz i feel like how i do after i just hurt myself- alive. i like to drive along the one main road my town has into the neighboring towns. i see the nurseries closed during this part of the year. i see old dirty snow i characterize as old dirty men- it's been around for weeks and weeks and weeks and people have probably fallen over it thus pleasuring the dirty old man snow. i see stores that have neon laser blinding signs, in which people seriously pay others to kidnap their children. the people are so disillusioned that they don't have any feelings about selling their children to the itemization and commercialization that's meant to happen to us all. look at me, for instance. i've got a machine loaded with wires stickin' out of my back. my posture has been shitty for days. look at you. take a look at yourself.
i ask, what is the name of the drug we're on? is it cold fucking vomit we're all hooked to? is vomit always this cold? 'kuz i remember, years ago, layin' on my back, and vomit burning my eyes. i don't remember anything else about that memory except i was "piss drunk". i don't know if i want this shit in my veins anymore- i don't know if i want this shit in my life at all. i don't know if i want this town but who wants their towns when all they know is that that is what their thinkings look like.
yo, i've never seen a star before so i don't know the use of knowing what a star is. i say, "that [traffic] light is like nine gazillion million billion trillion light-years away." well the machine growing into my back calls me "dumb". it's been trying to prove itself, trying to prove that there is such a thing as "unnatural"...no. no, i refuse to believe we are not all nature. "well, i'm not an astronomer or an astrologist so i don't really see why you care."
he doesn't care about my shit- of course he doesn't care about my shit that's why he's invading me. he cares about his own shit. only i care about my shit. just before i was shooting the shit with people who've "been through a lot" as they say about us. not once did i think "gee, this person sure is strong for surviving." well not fucking once did any of them think "gee, this young lady sure is precocious as hell."
i doubt my ability to spell the word "precocious" every time i spell it. gee. life sure is a bundle of pretense except when you look at it really it's pure impermanence.

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

heathcliff.

i faint a limp body, cathy. that's me there- see?- defeated, awaiting the oncoming trains i know will mow this faint limp body- the oncoming trains i know i'll survive and yes it will once again be miraculous. "what is that?" people who see this miraculous limp faint body will say- as though it's an art they observe. it is that time again, cathy. i worry over how life is unfair, then stop myself, because fairness hadn't been bothering me before- not since right before the last train. i shiver.
i've done everything i've been told i need to- and what's more, i was tenacious. and all these doctors have done is switch up their sugar pills they so kindly donate to my body. i chose to take those damn bon bons because i love polluting my body. like a sword swallower, i am- upon removing the sword from my body, carefully and slowly, i hand it to them, coated in my mucus- "my body is still intact".
they told me to be brave, not to "panic". put the sword down my throat again. lose my regained ability to purge.
i go to the counselor for them to bare my epiphanies for me, to me. these epiphanies don't touch why i panic how i do- how i have one nervous breakdown, go to a place to protect myself from hurting myself, but i cannot escape the nervous breakdowns- over and over and over, like one car of a train to the next, the world repeats itself. i become exhausted from surviving alongside a wicked bride of terror striking my mind. that mind becomes too much to live for- to be terrorized, and deserving of it, and i can't make the belief stop- my own epiphanies override those of anyone else. they give me food. they nourish a body i know so little about, limp on train tracks, surviving the hit of rushing trains, always in a hurry.
and for their sake, for their years of corrective education, they remind me they need me to take their sugar pills, for the sake of their careers meaning something to them; for the sake of their careers being worth more than just the paycheck. they need proof. and when you need proof you need to ruin everything in your path.
they need proof their equations make sense. "nothing makes sense," they said last time, "the equation should make sense, not you."

"i'm resentful toward you because of my life," i said. "i've done everything i'm supposed to, as usual, and i've become resentful again."

now is the time when i have nothing left to say or do. again.

i never got "better" cathy. as you know, wise in your death you must be, "better" is unreal; indicative of a restless, lurking, unresolved problem. 'tis time again, cathy, for my resentments toward myself to bury me someplace already polluted (i am terrible for the environment).
it is time for me to experience the storming independence you too once did, cathy.

Monday, February 15, 2016

jewel in the sky: radiant undeservings.

for this one last time, i tell myself- like how i do every day- will my daughter imprint a disapproving stare in my mind's eye. so it is there now, my daughter- i care not to let go. i do regret, i've not a crown to give, darling daughter. all i've got are kisses and books and half-completed inventions. my power is insincere. an obvious sham. my power is not quite a match for your power, daughter. so i must say goodbye, goodbye. to never-anywhere i do go.
myself and my evil go. 'tis where we always go when i remember my daughter's eyes, leering with understandable resentments...i cannot see into her soul. she does not love me. hereupon, my evil. mush toward how we feel pointed. are we aimless? then never-anywhere do we go. i don't know how to go there, or how to find a way out, not quite so in words- such abstractions know nothing of what i believe in. but we have a look- we wind up here. this land is a secret. it negates all who visit. i go to be negated, then. i don't know how to not be hurt. i choose it. only my daughter believed me when i would say so. if it is so that i don't know how to not be hurt, might my dreams come true, then? 
it is past sun down, for certain- of course, i'm lost. i walk through untouched snow raised as high as my knees. without death present, i trudge onward- i lurch. i break the seamless surface of a hidden, frozen lake. o! deception- great barrier i bow down to- spell-cast mirror. drowning, struggling ungracefully, we are surrounded by hungry wolves giving me sight of their fierce, wildly sharp fangs. i've never been here before like this and i never intend on returning.
and an enormous, magnificent beast takes me and my evil for prisoner in his castle, equally magnificent. i'm rather relieved, and, in turn, surprised at my relief. nobody has to know about it except my evil. i will never have to worry about anything again as i have zero intentions of making attempts to outrun this beast. i'll rot away and die. i will be proud to die that way, methinks.

images of my sad, poignant daughter- the unaffected girl. memories of her conjure themselves upward, from outside my window. this place is haunted. white steam rises from the courtyard of which i've a view. it is where that beast bellows, tortures me with images i'd prefer not to be bothered by. just a bit further out, wolves howl. further is my good girl- perhaps hanging the bed-sheets required of the day on the laundry line. surely she's being courted by unwanted admirers, preoccupied to the degree of evading a sense of utter unmagnificence- insignificance. she is better than this, like she had told me. oh, if that beast saw her with his mirror and courted her, i believe they'd take the world by storm and share a lovely sense of togetherness. it is my fault- all my fault, for i do not have magic of my own.

Saturday, February 13, 2016

book again.

thank you to misti rainwater for spreading the word of my gospel with multiple "+1" things, sharing of my self-sharing, and also for just being a cool fucking friend.

hi; i edited a few bits of my book- or file as i like to call it in my head. i also have it ready on my computer so people don't have to give their credit card information to the internet or pay for it at all. don't feel weird, i beg of you, over not giving money to lulu.com, who mass-prints what would be self released books if the internet wasn't god these days. i think i would make ten cents at most off of this sucker and i do not expect or want money for my work- my truth, as i know it. do not send money i will kill you.
also, consider lulu takes too long to ship.
please contact me (peachschist@gmail.com) and i will send you a copy of the edited- as in i added stuff- free file. no misbehaving i will knife you should you misbehave.

true honor.

i
am
welcome
to deify myself
any
goddamned
time i want

Thursday, February 11, 2016

cleaning the chest cavity out for new rental.

to capture promises and rip them to shreds like a cat. eye in the vomit. eye in the vomit.
this is the shape of a flag. noble intentions, march, die a martyr! something my god
arthur rimbaud said in other words. fuck everything!

let us give into a more discreet life where the sunset is so-so. the sunset is so-so. i looked around myself in so many sunsets because i feel so alone and worried about feeling alone and i'm so depressed and i'm not even afraid of dying anymore. but still, i need a bosom buddy at all times. it's a role that is practically filled on rotation. it seems paradoxical to work with many things. with self actualizing my clubbed foot has no-where to go, not in this world.

my fingertips always gotta be doin' something. i rub my big fat witch cunt against the ball of my foot and hope my pimp (who videotapes me) catches every second of me doing this. i type i write i paint i color i clean. i also need things in my mouth even though i wasn't breastfed (how sexy is that). and by the way, i know you all have incest fetishes or pedophiliac fetishes-and, deep down bestiality fetishes.
no matter your fetish, i want you to know I WILL NOT JUDGE YOU FOR IT. i don't think one can help what they're into sexually, and that even if they could, to each his own. we're all as good as each other. i like to masturbate at night out of habit. i can hardly focus so it's difficult but i really want to have that sexual time every day.

i buy the seeds nested in the hand of the flag-bearer. his wife doesn't like me walking up to him. i buy my walking up to him.
these are dreams and dreams and dreams and dreams just like me and "reality" just silly old dreams interconnecting. every single one of them has co-dependent relationships and is afraid to be alone. everyone hold hands rejoice we all suck!

what happened to that flag? oh, you sold it to a nazi who's totally confused about himself. yeah, i hear they're trying to put a nazi in the village people. wait. is it...? is it raining mealworms? yes dear yes, everyway everywhere. we live guided blindly through a false construct of "reality". the nazis are here. i feel a little "over" about myself because i don't see the use in engaging in humping the leg of my ego. i believe if i let it just sit there, it will transfer whatever information it needs to in order for me to continue to survive in an ego-based world. knowing that i commit to surviving in an ego-based world.

i bare my soul you have seen better things. your pussey looks like a grapfruit i could easily stick my dick into. is your dick- is your dick trying to explain itself to you? i am not having sex with this dick.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

hi, i wrote a book go buy it and read it.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/returd/dmk/paperback/product-22561027.html

i don't know wtf it's titled "dmk". i guess that's what the lord wanted. but it's really comedia: the rise and fall of hell (or: "make it die").

SALVATION:

ARMY
SOLDIER 83839393938997*t5765$354#43$$##2#%24$76%8^:

SOLDIER
CAN YOU READ SOLDIER
I WAS IN YOUR DREAMS
THE CHERRY
I THINK YOU WAS FUCKING
YOUR FIRST BABYSITTER
WAS SHE EATING BIRTHDAY CAKE
OR WAS SHE SAVING ROOM
FOR YOUR BIG LOVELY DICK
TO IMPALE HER?

SOLDIER NOBODY IS LISTENING TO YOU ANYMORE 'KUZ YOU WENT INSANE WE'LL DO THE HONORABLE THING WHATEVER THAT MEANS JUST GET YOUR ASS OUTTA HERE ALL RIGHT KIDDO (blows his brains out falls back in slow motion everyone is totally upset; being a marine sucks)

SOLDIER, WORDS ASSOCIATED WITH GUNS AND GUNS ALONE. FULL METAL JACKET.

WE HURT EACH OTHER WE HURT EACH OTHER WE ARE
NOT ALLOWED ANYTIME TO NEVERLAND ANYMORE W
HERE EVERYTHING COMES TRUE FOREVER AND EVER
VIRGIN OF BLISSFUL OFFERINGS.

Saturday, February 6, 2016

shit one might expect to come out of my ass.

I GOT DIAGNOSED WITH ADHD TODAY. also, i run self-empowerment groups for women only. it's my religion. i wear necklaces with my birthstone on them. as long as it's expensive. i don't know the names of any of them except diamonds because they're satanic and i find that classy. i'll accept any diamond as long as people in africa continue to be forced to mine for them.
otherwise, i've been busy not indulging in my addiction to the internet particularly my lame-o blog, or my "having" of one- as well as me heaving exhibitionist needs. it's not important because prioritizing is gay. how dare i prioritize it. but i wanted to tell you that i'm working hard on a something and that i'm doing what i can to fuck with science and expand possibilities as much as i can in writing. i also wished to inform you that you're an asshole, it's healthy that you shit, and tell your cousin "hi" because i'm obsessed with him but let's keep it a secret that i'm stalking him, and get the fuck out of my house anyway because you bug me out.
i'm glad to hear it about you all remaining uninterested in getting laid because my shit is hot enough.
however the mood came upon me
and

I GOT DIAGNOSED WITH ADHD TODAY WELL OMG MAD DRUGZ!
JUST GONNA HAVE A SLEEPOVER WITH SOME FRIENDS
CALL 911 SAY THE WORD PENIS
CALL 911 SAY OHHHH MY PENIS
CALL 911 (leave the phone to the crevices in the giant couch)
CALL 911 (mumblings of giggling and 'uhhh i like that i think i'm supposed to like that uhhhhh')
CALL 911 (grandpa rows over without his walker and picks up the phone. naughty! naughty!)
                 MY SMALL PENISSSSS...IT'S, IT'S....
GETTING RUBBED IN FORMALDYHYDE (possible intended misprint)...YEAH...YEAH I WANT IT, BABY....I WANT
IT RIGHT THERE ON MY STUB OF A COCK. AND EAT MY BALLS, TOO.

(911 operator feels raped).
(narrator feels raped at least five times a day.)

archie bunker but geriatric: I HAVE GONE INSANE IN THE SUNRISE

he continues: I HAVE GONE INSANE IN THE SUNSET

"sir that's awfully poetic." she- a "she" role is there- wants to be there for his sensitive soul.

archie is mad: IS THAT HOW YOU FUCKING REACT TO POETRY STUPID KID

(they speak candidly with one another.)
"well i've just got to say," started she, "that this is -by far; bar none!- the most interesting and exciting job i've ever had in my fifty-three years! gruesome emergencies, disturbing reports- it's all by and by with me! stuff changes up, it's good to mix it up a little bit once in a while, ya know? you can always expect a surprise here- that's nice. but boy how i wanted that formaldyhyde dick. goddammit how cock-blocked i am! i'm gonna stick those electric mixer spoons in my vagina while you can force the spoon in my mouth and i can even fake seizures no ha ha, but you know me, i'm always yearning to lick a spoon covered in mass produced sugar loaded with chemical shit, it's everyone's favorite drug in america! fuck you, south sudan!
but, anyway, like i was saying, that formaldyhyde dick...[she sighs; then sighs again, but a drawn out sigh] i guess we all gotta face that we can't get what we want all the time, right? look, it just didn't work out. i wanted that dick so i got an ambulette on its way toward him so i could access his dick and do whatevuh i wanted with that dick. but of course, of a sudden, i'm keeling over and doctors be screaming, "jesus this is one nasty case of TSS!" "TSS is always nasty, returd." well i'm of post-menopausal age, but [quiets voice in that hinting to talk about the stuff you're not supposed to talk about it public 'kuz it's the 1800s way] i bet you wouldn't guess what i do. i jack myself off on tampons- you know, obs (the vagina-suffocator brand in plural), i'm not so fancy- oh, yes, but what i mean about getting off on tampons, as long as it's kind of lubed, it's convenient, i think is what i'm trying to say. i've gotten off while pretending to be "professional" at my establishment of employment. yes, i pledge with all my human dignity that strips me of myself as a unique star to my work. i'm really dedicated, i mean, i really connect to the cause and stuff. i'll never forget what i was taught in school, the institution for lining up people into a livestock farm so they can say "moo" to each other all day until the president (all their names are the same) goes through them and chooses which educated child to eat first. virgin girls are the most luxurious, classy meats to spank on the rear. i say my dad makes a fine slab of ass just as well. (whoever the fuck this is speaking, their identity has not stopped changing in sporadic pacing for like nine hundred years)
the educative system enforces punishing. i simply died for it! simply died! and now i'm hear today, getting laid by my lubed tampon anytime i want around whoever i want. i can't wait to get home to my dildo covered in razors. mmmmm. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. it feels tender naive rather suggestible and interested in cocaine and any drug. it is the perfect girl. it's me. i am the perfect girl. i am the perfect girl because i run toward illuminations and i chase for childhood shit. i'm going to come again. ooooh. oh. (faking it.) yeah, oh, oh daddy you're so hot."

"ma'am, are you shitting
"oh, seriously, she's shitting. like i could give two fucks. none of this has even hit me yet considering my state of shock from the environment."

"okay, i shit. [panting, breathing forcibly, to appear "animalistic" somehow, perhaps just unrefined.] i shit out my tampon. tampon after tampon was clogged up in there and i'm wondering why i want dick all the time now. [feels good] fuck yeaahhhh, fuck yeahhhh, words cannot do anything but....denigrate...rudimentary...beauty........i faint...still hallucinating i'm fucking.....drowning in a bathtub in a mule's pool of blood....i'm so...attracted...to the....blood everywhere......"

"fuck this nymphomaniac bitch." "yes, let's." [they slice her open and eat her guts, her fat, especially.] "let's just make a mess and not give a fuck."

"wait man wait dudebro check this out. little marbles filled with drugs came out. we gotta collect the drug-marbles. oh, my god. we're so rich with drug seeking behavior."
"no man, shut up. i'm fucking my real live girlfriend." (nymphomaniac bitch is dead, by the way. she's hanging from a hook. just too serendipitous to not be true- she's right at his height! he experiences a psychosis that she is his real live girlfriend, she's a stupid little bitch and they can fuck whenever he wants so they fuck all day because he is a kid.)

ACCEPT THIS ENDING AS COMPLETE SHIT BECAUSE I COULD GIVE TWO FUCKS ABOUT ENDINGS.

EPILOGUE:
(mick jagger steps forward).

"this ending is shit, i do say." "you can owe your career to otis redding. (digs mick's face in the graveyard dirt) KISS HIS FACE AND SAY 'I'M SORRY'. KISS IT. KISS IT."