Saturday, February 27, 2016

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.