Tuesday, May 31, 2016

running away from home.

the thrill of being human
is when equating power to existence.

i am gnarly contortion in a flesh.
circumference is my own determination

from which
is expelled overbearing desperation
and excess dismay- my ability is choosing.

"i think it's breakfast i'd like
to eat
i'd like i think to dislike breakfast though
without resentment. it's nothing personal.
i'd like to eat some breakfast
now. please sir, some

breakfast. i think i would like
a tray of breakfast, please.

("sure." then, i embarked
the next endeavor.

my desire
is a big gun that will kill me without my noticing of such.
its caliber
is a perfect circle.

i wanted to trace the circle only
it was a wolf. i wanted to obey
only the wolf.
this wolf was thoughts of one altered and lost.
convinced my willpower was killing me
i gave it to the wolf.
it was one of those things that i
wanted to do
to have something to do without the help of my mother.

my mother is a bitch.
she is never

the wolf told me i ought lose myself in
the woods
and go into hiding.
altered by the spells of the wolf i went into a
hiding, tumbling

into a sump, becoming this sump.
it became my home as i went
under its wing-
this gray warmth came over me. it was a wolf who had
been following me, and i, shiftless.

(it had said,
"i need you to see this."
shrugging, i wasn't
even all that curious. i needed

to see this.

i continued to be seen.
the wolf said, "i'm going to make you go into hiding
somewhere else
with hardly any effort."

he was following me upon waking
until the end of day.
i am a wolf and several long fish
between dilapidated fangs.
i remind myself of hunger so i eat beetles and slobber.

you never knew your daughter.
you will never know your daughter. i never
wanted a mother. you were more than i could handle.
you fucked up your daughter.
you are an ugly mother.

the wolf is still out, burning me
with human tools.

i will never want anything again. i willnever want.
never any breakfast. i willneverwant anything
again inmylife.
i am protected. i willnever want.
the wolf regurgitated me.

the wolf goes on
to deceive you. you are fossil.
i am fossil.
only the wolf is new.

Monday, May 30, 2016

you are my addressing of my will and of my poverty.

my anger does not need to be used for a target practice.
your aim lacks dedication.
i feel anger spasmodically right now, dismissing
of a reception of apologist superiority. if this is empathy i receive,
i reject such. it does not shape me.
you are losing your voice. i am gaining my hearing.

allow my speaking to continue its movement without
unwanted or unneeded disruptions, such indicative
of your distractions and self-convinced pitying. neither shape me.
your hearing is limiting itself
from limiting me.

you are to be rejected placidly.
you are unable to decide what happens next. you always
have been.
you are incomprehensible.
do not pretend you are to decide what happens next.
it will not penetrate my refusal of further misery.

you are not in charge of my being. you have offered
persuasion i have drawn myself to
without noticing until this point:
i am persuaded into diseases designed to define me.
there is no reason i ought to not trust my body
the way it was when i was born.
there is no reason i damage myself with chemical atropy
i have been sold and bought without questioning.

it does not need to be that i am
victimized and silencing myself of this victimization
at all
save to stay within the communal body
which i am desensitized to.

i am your enemy and i judge you to be too weak to realize it. do not forget me, for i
am your teacher
cast out of your vision to teach you what you
desperately must learn.
i am a part of you testing you with the presence of myself.
i am a kingdom in which laughter is banned. he who laughs
becomes damned.
fear me. for centuries i have festered in a pool of murky waters
and rotting meat. i have grown and dismembered upon growing.

i am the barbarian you dismissed as a barbarian.
you poked at me from a distance
confused at the self generating passivity that was me, alive,
wanting to be something more.

understand i am something more.
you have barely led me with your self-generated power.
you have told me i am an anomaly
in honor of my maze i wander through.

you will not come near me. you never were able to-
and i tell you now it is against my will
if you decide to try to come near me.

hear me practice my language that i know how to give. such is my vision.
hear this is the dissolution of my hearing you
and the confronting of you never having heard me.

i am ready
to want to hear myself and learn of my kingdom and of my maze.

i absolutely engage in my breath as i throw myself out
of that which i slowly vanquish my body from.
i pull away from leeches that have ripped my skin off, regenerating
flesh on my own.

you have been displaced. i am the size of a mountain
and you fear this.
in your fear, your role is dismissed.

you are to never be involved with former knowledges or laws again.
you are to cry dispassionately.

does not interest you. you are banished.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

the machination buddha.

a realm of chance opens itself slowly before you.
allow this. though by chance, the
center of the universe shares itself with you. in turn,
this is yourself opening and exploring.
allow yourself to follow your desires.
they are constellations before you, seeming to move slowly- though, at times, in great
unneeded bursts of violence.
these are reflections of your mind. know this, and address
as many reflections of the mind as possible.

seemingly by intuition, you are warned of the tumultuous war
grinding against itself within a location you fail to find on your own.
you travel a desert for days. without water, you begin to die of thirst.
you continue onward, replacing your thirst for water with a lust
for scavenging soldiers killed during the war you cannot find,
while balancing
pacifying yourself with the luxuries of the status quo.

this pacifying is an impulse. slowly work your way from it
while understanding
you, indeed, have learned from it.
the only way you will work away from it is if you have, indeed,
learned from it.

your conscious mind convinces itself it is
a pulling transition toward a revolutionary insistence- as revolution
is in and of all living beings. revolution
is the most unrelenting yet gently providing teacher.

you are disgusted and reproaching upon reminders of stagnations
as such reminds you how easily willing some are
to cling to history though history is dead.
you want the others whom you other
to think how you do.
you wish to never put an end to your analyzing of your manifold environments.
you wish only for your analyzing. this is how you shape your interpretation of growth.
through your analyzing is is how you fight with your environments.

there will be an intrusion- one tremendously confusing,
you will be welcoming of this intrusion.
do not fight this. you must learn from your feelings
and protect them with a bravery of facing them.

this will happen repeatedly. choose to grow
as ill-fitting a choice it may sometimes seem.

you are now entering a pool of blood.
you are now the human being you've dreamed yourself
into being,
though you've become stunted.
you are to make attempts at teaching your body
as opposed to allowing your body to teach you.
you're scared. you react to your fear with understanding death prematurely
throughout all you do. it does not occur to you
that you are making attempts at teaching your fear (and all from which it breeds) as opposed to allowing
your fear to teach you.
you become a disease as that is how diseases become of us.
you become inert.

in your mind, gloomy, black baobab trees of manifold extremities
are hit by ancient, destructively blind bats
that will fly the way they fly
throughout their infinite being.

you do not know where they come from.
you are insistent to know where they come from.
you dig holes in dirt and in sand searching for
solutions, never to find them.
you are searching for impossibilities.

choose to allow this, or choose to be among
the baobab trees and bats
who are menacing at most.

they know you well, and serve as your
if you do not trust this, it will be so
that you will slide down one of the many holes you've dug into the earth.

you will perhaps come out one day
to wander the earth living on guttural resentments.

you must trust the earth. if you do not trust
the earth, you will continue to fall backward, unable to understand
that what it is you are falling into
is dirt.

you are the drawing and the release.
pull back and know the wildness of the action of breathing.

you are among the birthplace of every tree and flower.

please be careful. you are not what you want.
do not let this distract or engulf you.
realize you are a great distance from your truth
yet to be embraced. you seem to be alone

without the guidance of misleading light.
do what you can to strengthen this into an interpreted beauty.

you are a weapon as you do not give from the light within you.
you guard it, trusting no one.
you are to protect wisdom without realizing it.
you will bathe deeply in the faith unsurfaced.

this is where the great, dark baobabs and their many bats birthed.

the perfect body is an empty space, neither rejecting loss or accepting of gain. we gather to hound it, pulling its mouth open.
you are an empty space. if you choose not to trust this, you will lose sight
of your own appearance.

the body is vehicular for the phantom inside of lost realizations, dismissing
of how to pull action to its physicality endured.
the phantom seeks to go places existing, hunting for strength
to discover worlds imagined.

a burden stares itself down.

when action becomes tiring, one settles inside indefatigable thought,
meandering lost paths
without realization of such doing.

upon your journey of continuous misunderstanding,
a clearing is happened upon.
realize this.
the time has come for you to surrender to a possibility of trust, and
to move forward.
throughout your action of karma, never
has a trap been set to sabotage your experience.

it is the ability of your choosing which you grow intimacy with
as the body heals itself for a concentration.

a war continues. this war and the violence
it has taught you is all that is left that you believe
you are inferior to.
you are ready to learn all ultimate giving your diseases have led to teach you.
you know you have not been sent for.
know your existence is silence and chaos- sometimes soothing and slowed, at other times, rapid and frightening. know this is the war.
know this you fear to be without.

you allow the gathering of unspoken truths to
contain us, instead
of moving you forward toward a resurrection
as a wildflower.

you've been up all night wondering
as well as refuting this wondering.
you wonder what to do
in order to to do what light does to harm
as well as to help.
dismissively, you believe there is no possibility
for understanding.

very soon you will become overwhelmed.

i've given you the power you seek.
it has reflected its light on the trees trapped in dance.
the power is from the tooth of a dying shark found on your journeys
who had seduced you, then
bitten your hand off
which was to be sealed with layers of your mucus.

the head of that great shark you had pulled off
you carry over your own.

seeking food, you traverse
the same path of the woods nearest you
over and over, yet triumphantly so.
there is nothing your power has to do with anyone else.
it seeks only itself.

you will impale yourself with images that will not lead you farther.
you will seem to die, then wake up, saved by someone reacting to their fear with passivity.
you eat them, carelessly.
none of this will end until you put a stop to it.

your blood is dripping into a pool before you.
blown into space, you find yourself unable to touch pods of enlightenment although you will never stop trying.
you have become sickness.
you fail to find.
you have finally found a hole. touching it, nurturing it, and
tumbling into it, it is never to be known
what you do

Thursday, May 26, 2016

a guru at last.

you may not become of one.
you may not receive food. you must learn how to make your own
by raising crops and livestock.
you are to lose your friends.
you will not understand.
not once will it hit you
that you are in prison.
you will starve as you will expect to be fed.
you will suffer and deepen into your suffering.
you will not experience change.
you are to die your final death.
though dead, you will continue to see without wanting to see.
you will want and not want, but never need.
it will not make a difference whether you are alive or dead.
you will breathe without meaning to.
the earth will swallow you without meaning to.
you will be spit back out.
vultures will rip you apart.
you've forgotten the infinite light of ingenuous love is.
the present state is gone, as well.
this was hell
until hell had forgotten you.
maniacal bastards
act as your sins picturing the existence of you.
give back the gun
which you do not remember as yourself.
your state is caused by suffering to the extent
of never coming to terms with that
which cannot be returned with or to.

close your eyes.
you will become finished with your pain
upon doing so.
trust me. keep your eyes closed. you've
nothing to lose.

trust the end is being. this
is your discovery of compassion.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

revenge is shits and giggles.

one day, i will run.
this one day during which i'll run, i will run until
i run into something.

it will fall, fall
for my trick of running into it- how darling

shirley temple was and still is.

what i will run into will fall until it
is running itself, running away
from the darling trick. you will be looking over your
shoulder; not paying attention

when you fall,
fall into a pit. you don't have to force yourself to
love me or anything. such cannot be.

you must only stay put as i shit from overhead
on you, stuck in my pit,
and all you will have
is my shit to breathe.

it will be then that
you'll know you are trapped until death.

that sky is brown, is it not? for others it seems lovely
to look at but others seem awfully vain, do they
not? for me, all brown is the same and all brown

is constant. i always wanted

for you to be unclean.
i am a big girl.

a real prayer.

                a real prayer goes into effect, worn out
after one use-
for it is not believed to be genuine, it is not
to be believed. i like this boy this one boy hey boy here boy here
boy sit sit sit hey boy come now boy come come i said come come
all over my lap sit boy i said sit sit sit sit boy! sit, boy! sit!
he gives me compassion sit boy sit
nobody else is as good at this sit boy sit
as boy is, he who sits on my lap

                when you are out- dancing at the club, and everyone is sober and clean
biting the fingers of one another off- briefly horrified at what you’re all doing,
you move on with ease, because a love song of quick tempo comes on
and you are on some MDMA knock-off, and other love bugs, as is.
when you get home, it is still a dream without justice.
you take your clothes off, and there is nothing there
except the shallow fear one comes across only in their sleep
which cannot be determined as such, nor can it be
determined as waking.
                the fat of a horse all over my mouth sits while wobbling. i am
mostly in bed, lacking in my own determination. i overlook my privileges-
voting is a privilege, you know.
crickets from bags one opens up for little frogs
have been opened on my torso, to take it apart,
like the picking at a scab, as my torso
is only an enormous toad that sits and says
(no, not “ribbit!”)


                “it is lunchtime.”

                “you can’t lay down there dead all day. you must arise, for it is
lunchtime in the hospital. is that not where you were put? god bless you,
oh, you in our care.
                “were you not haughty and unwilling to compromise, nor
would you be a part of the family? were you not acting out, like how
you are now?
                “this winding up here is always consequentially.
                “little eggs in your tummy-wummy, from where have they been

from where my right leg rotted and
fell off.

                “do you know the sex yet?
                “vaginas and penises.

                i must say this is most unlike myself- for i do not see, only
do i imagine i see. heydingagain

the lunchtime ding

                “you can’t just lay around all day
you have to get up
                we’re motivating you
we’re building your strength up for you.”
                “i must say i do not eat as my mother believes such is the case
and if i can achieve such then i am relieved. i imagine i do such a thing
and notice i am being eaten by my own body
                producing insects- innumerable mothers of my

body are to feed themselves and their little ones.

down a cracked alleyway this began when i went hunting
for drugs- how i wanted a rock, all i wanted
was a rock or even a

                “we have for you a meal ding ding
“we have for you a bit of lorazepam, diphenhydramine, and haloperidol all
cooked up and ready for you if you will not

join the others and eat shit for lunch.
                “we are giving you one last chance to do as we say.
                “i feel shamed for my fever, for my becoming a disease. is this how you treat
a woman after she has a baby and becomes that baby? do you even understand
how many babies and their mothers i carry? do you even understand- possibly, do you
that this is the day borne of meat and today
i am



                “we will hold you down, and that’ll be really violating (but we’ll never know from
our end), we’ll insert this needle from an improper angle while laughing at how you’re
white meaning not of color, but this will only be
                at the end of the day
                a bit of a pinch. you will be shy about our seeing your ass

which we are to smack. ready? smack.


you will feel defeated, invalidated, and abused.
smack (ding!)
are you licking your fingers to stop the anthills from growing
to hide the queens, warring
with nobody?
we are licking our fingers for we can report
that we have done our jobs somehow
which we are paid for with money. oh my god yes money day!

(at the end of the day, a bit of a pinch at most.

                these puddles all around me? they became
after the last rain storm maelstrom shit storm. they are
excellent grounds for mosquitoes to breed. do not think
that i do not see these puddles! do not think i will not suffer
and you will not laugh
at my suffering!
the primordial mind faces poverty after being bitten by mosquitoes
and facing allergic reactions
and falls to sleep to where it left off last.

(drift off to ding smack ding ding drift to the sleep. ding smack
drift drift.
                incest happens. (the girl said again.) incest will happen sometimes.
incest never happened though i do not know. (the girl laughed nervously.)
though, there is nothing wrong with that.
incest happens sometimes. we need to pass the law that says
there is nothing wrong with that.

                i am not impatient to find out whether incest happens
or not
and whether or not
either are okay to happen.

                (a lascivious mouth on a peanut-dick cries because it is re-thinking
its plans to revenge against the father of the peanut-dick.) i am a little girl,
of course i know magic. my pee is golden, something
to drink
to live forever
the warmth will grant you the bravery to
live forever
by swallowing the rest of humanity. not living is that which constitutes an impoverished act.

                (i live
as i imagine
there’s no escape. i neglect to see- seeing in a
direction unwanted, anyway.
i pretend i know how to see.
oh! my dear therapy, you know exactly how to leave me
wandering. my troubles are blue, indeed!

ding again
men come in
better hide again because ding again, smack again
ding ding on the shithole trolley smack
ding hide again
hide again
                my alligator eyes are pushed downward, underwater
sucked by mosquitoes and their diseases. i find myself lost in the woods searching for the world of
the medicine man. (i’m looking at your demons
i’m licking at your semen
i will become a demon
to lap at your semen- there’s something about myself
that i have to change.) this part of the day is my favorite- when the sun is being pushed

down on and all that matters is i find a soothing place
to see myself in. “save my light shedding as i pray,” aloud i announce
in case the medicine man or his people hear me, in case
they’ve been following me this whole time.
(a real prayer for the force behind it pushes my head underwater
for the sake of the medicine man.

                there’s a chance tomorrow will be better in fact i choose to believe tomorrow will be better though only the moment exists i am the moment and i fear myself unknowing how to change my relation to fear to find the guidance i starve for these
boo-boos to feel better. boo-boos
get better with medicinals and bandages- and, of course,
                this is the part of the day when i acknowledge my blind mind
taking up all of my life.
it doesn’t matter.
it would be too much if it mattered.


                dead boy die in dead
bathroom stall. dead boy swirlie-dive.
dead boy die.
dead boy;
dead boy.
i got dead boy’s head. it died.
                dead boy, what is it that makes
life “worth”?
                what is it that makes life “worth”
                the eating of one’s own decapitated head is a
horse, of course. i am hurt not
by my beheading
though it solve no injustice which i aimed to silence.
                eating always goes back to the flesh
which is being eaten right now.

                desecration is a star appearing to itself, violence
emerges until our changes are given light
which we fear- though, fear
teaches to either act with or react against violence.
until then i starve.
                dead boy is a dead boy died. dead boy dead boy- refusal
to fly. dead boy make life “worth” life. (only dead boy
can afford it, he been around since the beginning of
                dead boy who? dead boy die, is who. dead boy
dead boy dead object of formal redemption.
into your bowels i examined
my distinct focus was brave
as your face fell apart from the
wounds caused by the locusts
and we all went inside because
we all wanted to see how dark
and stinky it was in there.

                dead boy come back and molest me again. (i was never molested
i just get a kick out of it
i’m just exaggerating
to have something to talk about at parties)
                then what’s this? (don’t show me.)
                then what’s this? (well, it is only my vagina.)
                i said, what’s this?
                i said
                said i said i said DING i said DING i said come on get up
it’s time to play ding! ding! ding! ding!
                a great period of depression, i think, has weighed down upon
my womb, my heart, my mind; i have become a stone
waking up, facing breathing. it is as superficial as all

the fluff one believes ought [to] be exiled, extinguished.
                and agent of stimulation? everyone has seen the worst at least
once (a perceived discontinuity)- violence is everywhere
and we’ve grown indifferent. do you do the breeding of brutalizing
INTERRELATINGS) one can express uncertainty among others who do not
express believings of utopian fascinations.
                none of us are entertained, solely nervous, and abiding.
                is experiential.
                “and we see that you have not yet swallowed your food, your tongue
                have you?
                shoot your ass up with the same needle from last time.
                for we are not yet high on power, not
as high as we’d like. not like how it was last time so
we’re going to try to aim higher.
                the used needle up your ass tastes better than the shit
which you speak and that which is suppressed in the speaking
of others
                come on baby. this party is one during which
we masticate.
everyone has swallowed their tongues. they’ve nothing left in their
mouths but rotting teeth.
if you don’t take it up the ass, you will see their eyes
screaming ‘help me’ for the rest
of your shitty life.

have you not ever violated your own code of principality?

“you cannot glorify your principals, you say.” (I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO MY TONGUE TO MY SPIT TO MY TEETH TO MY STINKY FEET KISS MY STINKY FEET 8948248427484700010101001010101010010101001010100100100101010101011010100101001010
may dull
for all i care
under my great height.
                it is from now on that i enter the ruins i floated into throughout a series of dreams now released to history. from now on, i talk only to myself, out of my throat. this is how one becomes a cause within equality, as frequently reminded, as all else.)

“you are not ready. you must change. reform, cadaver. reform.

                i have a secret. get inside. i’d like to embrace all of your dreams
as children of mine. i must force, you understand. force myself upon your dreams,
i must, you understand. give to me. give.
                give to me. sleep with me. open to me. never learn to love. drain
your life. force. give. this is the potentiating
                of the hot sex on a hot bed that we burn on and go on to continue
life as burn victims fucking pushing marriage under the eyes of
                the law
                on one another
                but never getting quite so far.
                there’s so much one can do.
                you are tired
                and you are free. stop listening to everyone ever.


we're sorry, but your disease is still inert, as you have yet to smash passivity with "trans-" prefixes.

[...]the inability to even define what’s happening to you but the assurance that it’s permanent, life-consuming and probably deserved


Tuesday, May 24, 2016

getting torture.

you won me when you crawled out of my womb in a dream to which
i extended feelings of remorse. you won me for crawling out of my ass.
i am unknown otherwise. i only show what i like to
and barely can i do so.
i am unknown, a house foreclosed.
i am one whose choices made are choices passive.
i am a product of excess and a catalyst of such. i am
an overpopulation. who wants to be dead?
i already do not live. let us not negate the truth

of the impermanent universe with actions
mimicking the diametrically opposing. (i will ask you whatever
i want and
what will you answer you will learn to answer after several pains
whatever i want my questions to be answered with.
i will not repeat this. if you need to hear this again, i will
simply hurt you.
bullet hole hole hole hole bhubolbbulleltbuellehtb hjeoellehilel,ellelpansiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees.
i've seen more bullet holes than you ever have
so shut up or you will never be able to hold still.
pretty soon, anyway, you never will
be able
to hold still

i do not live. i bear life. starvation is who i am. starvation is
all i turn myself into: the causes that i happened because of. this
is a stretch of history-
i am overgrown weeds for those who believe
weeds reach such extents.

being brave is out of
the question.

i am disgusting. i live in a house. i never left a house. no longer
am i alive for my dreams
which suck anyway.
i am stuck in traffic. i work
for a major cooperation
whose policies i disagree with
as they are all based on my humiliation
for the profit of those who pay me
for my humiliation.
my identity is a celebratory cause these days. my identity
is a diminutive defense. (don't you hold interest in remembering
your dreams
your dreams
why not
don't you want to be
(you're lucifer, are you not?)
however did you guess my name?
(everyone knows about lucifer.)
how embarrassing, my dreams appear to have come true. fuckin' shit.

in dreams, the exaggerations of my ideals inspire others. pictures
are taken of me. i don't throw weapons, but others who believe
in my dreams as they don't have any for their own pickings
throw weapons on my behalf.
i'm speaking from cunt
i'm speaking from asshole
i'm speaking from dirty penis
i'm speaking from waste-giving
i'm speaking like this:
people who die
people in charge of their money
effigies abound in my soup rather than letters
of the alphabet these days.

my upbringing is
who i am is a
pathetic place to go- a protective barring
that i can see through.

my ideology that has something to do with
rejection of my upbringing springs
several discrepancies and i don't even know
where to start but i have
i have diseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssssses SHUT THE FUCK UP
i'm going to sit here and think OH AREN'T YOU SMART

i am an opera singer
i am a ballet dancer
i am beloved graceful talented beautiful elegant not embarrassed but confident
i am dangerous (hmmm let's talk
a bit about that one)

i am danger as danger is easy
to emulate.
i have dedicated myself to danger after dedicating myself to
every religion and now i'm trouble from all of it.

there is no chance at discovery as i have destroyed and disguised
all of it. i don't have a chance. you hear that?
chance is gone.
chance is not home anymore.
(but you're *right there*! I SEE YA!)
no chance isn't.
(yes, you are! you're right there! chance!!!!!!!!)
chance is not home god fucking dammit.
(chance, stop! what the hell! chance is home!)
chance isn't home.
(chance? has this been a dead body this whole time?)

i purposefully avoid. what the hell? what the heck is what the hell!

i need a baby because everything is boring
otherwise. BABY! stillborn. BABY FOREVER MEMORY! THE
atlas of my life seems an insignificant dot.
the soul has become a lie materialized. at most, a prayer attempts to guide one
into the threading of their karma, worn out.
nobody believes in anything except material.
we are not believed. backs are turned on us.
only the old
only good old
only the old world
only the old
know not much
only the old
where the young
are not

i am a belief unclinged to.
i am threadbare
and trembling apart.
i am a racial slur.
i am an ignored racial slur.
i am ignored.
i am in trouble for that which is not my understanding.
i am a choice maker, uneasy concerning such.
i am a disease, unable to afford my capital value.
i know my value
is none at all.
i cannot acquiesce elementary needs.
i am too jaded to even try to do.
this is l'ennui from which i suffer, you see.
i suffer because it's
rule number one.
house burns down, murdered bodies!

refuse to learn to hustle for capital value;
judgments are thrown at self
to make up for
self's stunted development of value.

my actions, which cling to survival, do not impress me.

without the sun, the infinitesimal mass of my heart weakens (and we were never to be frowned upon). my weakness shifts into a convincing of loss. i believe in myself as a gaseous giant, behind which i hide chasms as astronomical- furthering from chances at my sense of self being more than superstition.
(reality wants to write poetry now, and poets, you know, are never to be frowned upon. that's why they claim themselves to be poets).
those that lit my ass on fire.
oh charlie sit your ass down- or did they light it on fire? stop this
now. stop this
now. stop this
now. stop this
now. stop this
your face is in front of my mouth
now now now
now now
stop this now. my favorite show
is on next. bet you can't believe in dreams
like how i do.

dusty dusty face screaming in front of my hungry hungry hippo mouth

something seemingly balances within my head- the cruelest wound never to open only
to trick with a language, striking as without profundity.

(hot in the zoo as a feline in the building of notorious crumbling).
i've been fed enough NO, HAVE NOT
i've been fed enough (mean it this time) NO STRIKING OUT AGAIN
i've been fed, enough. NO GUESS AGAIN
GUESS AGAINhot as a feline in a bar
GUESS AGAINthe feline hot in a bar never to be a frowned upon
WHO ARE YOU FEEDING really? really, are you feeding yourself? really, who is it you are feeding?
i've at long last been fed. NO GUESS AGAIN
pay for it pay for it pay for it pay for it pay for it NO

rip you a new one unless you feed me again.) however, i'm not hungry. i'm sitting in stillness. GUESS AGAIN BITCH HUNGRY AGAIN BITCH HUNGRY HUNGRY AGREE? AGREE? HUNGRY HUNGRY
fucking saying "please" some stupid shit.
fucking saying "excuse me" some stupid shit.
shove your formalities up your asses i can see right through your inability to seem fulfilled to yourselves.

superstitions i let go in dreams in which of passings i've no grip. it's like all
else- condensed, fast, and heated from the speed. i am unable

to touch a thing. there's
nothing to worship so i look around and see myself in a pool

the day knows the dark and both are cohorts
they know you by the lead they've tightened you to.
there's a lot i don't know- describe what you meant when you said you
couldn't figure it out so you left me to become a violence unaware
of the whole of existence- is that it? is that it? duck. duck now.
i'm going into your house to find out

i will not be found out until i learn about
what force of mine it is you hide that in my heart i am sure
is divine. superstitions appear to live, again- it appears

they've been running in the back of my
mind this whole time. listen: what i am is not what is mine
but what surrounds me. all else is pornography

which is provoked when two criminals meet
and murder themselves before they learn they can
murder others.
in my heart of hearts, i don't need to establish
you. there is no needing of you i find inside

my house at which i aim the weapon of me, the
war i deny as i look like
look like
look like
look like
new demand
demand one
demand two
demandthis is what i'm going to be today
demandthis is what i am today
demandthis is what i am loyally
demand, exploit! demand! demand!

i aim at my house with war, where target of violence is
often expected- and these expectations are often
regarded, and met.. i know it not. i know not
you've been inside, hiding.
otherwise, i owe it not a knowing.

you were the love of my life until you became
something had rather than that which could never
be had. i treat you like a friend, then i
destroy your position.
i barely react. i am war.

friends i let go of are not my people. i watch them placidly explode in space- hidden masses in their bellies rip them from their eyes popping forth down to their toenails plucking themselves out. "who is hurting me?" give me your hand and i shall show you my face, never to be frowned upon.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

saints of apotheosis example.

in one suggestion- persuasion, seduction- i lose innocence
without ever knowing its intimacy to begin with.
i was taught
to look elsewhere. what i want is more.
more is what cannot be had. do you know

what is over? (o, lord, my sky rejecting itself
is what is over- allow this to be a foretelling

of a new day
in a world allowing strictly the conscious, it is enough

that i have a chance
at being of the future.

the parallel-undisguised is forever. if i lose my shit, i mean it,
and that means

in an impermanent multiverse, in which
i was suggested to want more. how special i felt- so special, i must
keep up with my admirations
which all seem to resemble one another
and that which i do not care for.

people of sensibilities kill time- a sensible act. people everywhere. people.

taboo: my lunch is my tumors again. they regenerate at exceptionally noticeable speed. this is the day that all fondnesses for logic have been dismissed as waste as logic begins to erode into an extinction. parasites remain, as does our breath held in for virtues; therein, denials also remain- incidental virtue. and i have no idea that i've forgotten how to breathe in my personal devastation. my grief rolls down to me, my feet too stiffened to run from such force. my outrage warns me it, too, has force. it is going to roll down from me and back at me again. my feet, again, remain too stiffened to move at all from or with force.
i have cancer like
everybody i know. cancer
comes from unresolved
emotions suctioned into
a quarantine, during which
solutions are not
this holocaust is mine. i was designed
to believe in my involvement, to be
then branded, and ultimately
into death.
schizophrenia is the branding put on those who see and feel what others are incapable of seeing and feeling. those who are capable of seeing and feeling what others aren't are often attacked by that which they see and feel. such heightened, genius sensory sensitivity is often feared by others- this is felt with fear, in return, by those branded as schizophrenic. i want it to be acknowledged that these people are the medicine people whose abilities we need to foster to save not only our nation, but our world. i believe it is needed to encourage these abilities in others in order to heal their sense of selves and our sense of selves.
schizophrenia itself is truly a pool of paradoxical, oxymoronic contradictions we use to hide our insecurities in- our grievances, our outrages. we do this so that we remain unknown, unseen, and unseeing. change scares us.

the medicine people branded as schizophrenic are held captive in quarantine, often untaming of their senses of reality.

i know this quarantine has something to do with all of us denying that our identities are our protections we choose to use against one another, to think with. nobody remembers they love one another anymore.
this one vestige- self-assigned quarantine- is an appearance strung along justice of which justice i find unconvincing.
we are stranded among one another, ignoring each other. we are stranded even when making sense of it.
rebellion is picked apart, never to be rearranged, because our gravity condemns us to be trapped in perception of choicelessness- though we, in fact, choose all we extend ourselves toward and away from. our actions, feelings, and thoughts define our senses of selves, and nothing more. there is no base personality, only confrontings of the possibilities of such.

i am my action now.

eat, eat body, eat, eat.
eat, eat, stoically, body, be eaten.
sugar, after.
sugar after sugar, sugar- spoonful of sugar
inhibits medicine, overcomes
medicine. i feel saddened upon
possession; choke

me, choke on me, mother; choke
the mother of me- where, sugar, is
sugar, sugar; how do i know if
the lights are on or
not? how do i know

if i am
on fire? i am at a loss.

you know, i'm going to die one day, and i'm curious as to
whether it hurts or not
before i die- promise
i sing in front of others, at long last? i sing

and i want this promise to
especially hurt. i reach from the depth
of the well of an abandoned house- this is

me in the suburb. promise
we need no longer to speak
of being victims
victims...? how do we get out of our locked rooms?
how do we make choices radically
differently than those we've made
thus far?
promise you stop promising?
promise you stop apologizing?
"who is it containing us?"- walls speak,
facing inwardly.

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

the course of knowing.

i feel everything i want, which is always. you have always wanted me. you have always loved me. i'd never needed to question it. i have always been in touch with my genius. it has always been the fault of everybody else. i have always had a mission. it has always been kept on the down-lo so that i may not find out. i find out always.
consuming drugs has always been permissible. backing away and running free at my whim without needing to explain myself to loved ones has always been permissible.
i live in the middle east staring between the cracks of walls to see what is outside which is not paradise, but always. snakes undulate about my body to teach me how to see how they see. i've always known how to hold vision closely without allowing myself to bring it any closer. the snakes measure their lengths against my body after covering it with their smells. all i remember is feeling their temptations to understand not just myself but the walls i lean against and every microbial breeding on my skin.
pleasures shift as the world shifts on its axis and we lose our equilibrium. the word has still always been always. we bare ourselves in mud and quit the shit with wondering who we are.
breathing has become my absolute, my crowning. glory, my ability to breathe is what saves me. breathing is knowing for me. breathing is imploring for me. breathing is singing for me. i've always been a "good" singer, just nobody has believed me.

i hardly notice this crowning. it doesn't wound anybody.

i will be here forever- open and closed, aiming to jump over enormous rifts in attempts to fly as the gliding hawk. continuously i injure myself, laying still, interpreting the dance of the clouds as that which is healing my body inside.
there is no attempting to feed rifts, not even with my pooling, healthy blood. there is no attempting to meditate on what they are, as there is no meditating on what i am. its truth is a wound that does not know, is without pleasure, will never be saved, stinks of open wound; its truth is one unable to give. ultimately, its truth is as i am- its truth is now.
the furthest i learn about rifts is they are very slowly being swallowed into the center of the earth, who will regurgitate them back upward to the surface. it does not have everything it wants. it does not want to be sickened to high fever, which it often is. we feel it and deny it.
i spend time in the rifts, staring at their structures surrounding me. i worry they are to swallow me, but i am always found. in my nobility i believe i will heal them, heal us all. i fall for a notion that i am a god- the god denying, whose pretense, whose countenance is all i remember.

i run to find something to make up to notice and perhaps to wound. i see the deer eat tall weeds as they watch me. they do not notice their own antlers as i notice their antlers. perhaps i have antlers i do not notice that they notice. i am barred from seeing myself as one incorporate. this world is one utopian and permeated.
i am hungry for new stories in spite of my filled appetite. i make them up; i milk them from myself, blowing them away as bubbles. i faint after each time i do this.
shifting my pleasures, i wish to forget that which i cannot find. the light shifts new power- i've always wanted to take away the death of that which rests in my blind spot. i've always wanted to see all. i put my hands inside that which has been buried, like a child, a surgeon existential i've always known i am. catacombs remain how they always have- brave and unrelenting, but sacred in their stillness. relics are all i was never inside before as i resisted them. i apologize to them for not treating them as i would like to be treated. i go deaf. i lose my voice, and my eyesight, to become a grain of quartz. when the earth is to forget itself again and shift its pleasures, upon my own development paralleling, i will run again to find impossibilities.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

murder's lovers.

power plant
dying trees

but theft
and, but love- ha, love. be still, quiet, know you've been silenced.
aeorta speaks. hush, my loved ones. hush. hush.

we are winning, my distant cousins. here we win.

in prison i see beyond
the constitution on which prison sits- within,
indelicate holding of indelicate cash
continuously being held by those who
use it to vaccinate themselves (we are now)

it is here our ethnic cleansing serves
its devotion to that which neither serves us right nor
serves us wrong until death meets us- knowing
only pride is between ourselves and our deaths, both
clumsy defenses,
in violence we sneer at such that does not
protect us from the violences life uses to pronounce itself

do not insult me with your vaccinations; my
constitution is stronger than that of the prisons
and that which allows the prisons to be
under the name under a god who too allowed
the genocide of those stolen from on whose land
we live as we commit more murder over the seas
these memories will persist forever as our bodies burn
under the sun alive or dead or dead in life
it all has a price you must work to afford- to replace
living with.
no, insult me not. you will miss me as you love me so
and these strengths which i declare as tactics of a war
in a world in which all seems "unfair"

are uncanny. can only be heard if
passed on. i choose not. on my knees i hide my filthy face
humiliated at my head cocked upward toward a myriad
ideals i turn to in my empty boredom, the sole anxiety
that can shake me up but only in a convulsion robust
not believed in.

i remain disgusted by your insults suggesting vaccinations
re-defined, in order to move in prison
which lay on a constitution on which i gather my filth.

i will not let these aches in the muscles toward the front
of my brain get to me more than the tired resentments releasing
which they are.

quiet, youth. there is nothing i wish to buy in order
to support myself
knowing of these genocides and vaccinations- i have
the power to breathe, no matter

what it is i breathe in. i wish to be impoverished, starved, and
neglected of my basic human needs to set an example
of how to live free of dependency. i wish to refuse. i notice
the indoctrinations and denials of others and i do not
blame them for automatically bowing to such defense.

i feel the water in my body and within it, its chemical suffering.
i feel such within me, even
in my dependency- and insanity by way of chemical suffering.

silence and i mean it.
threats do not seem to imbue silence. there must be more power
than that which a threat demands of itself.

silence. recognize silence is power and none of us relate
to silence, only
refusing to look at one another.
this religious ceremony has one organ, and from it,
the aorta has one last
offering, verdict, negotiation, peace agreement:

give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing
give me nothing

there is nothing i want except not giving
and not ever receiving, prolonging
an everlasting purity only this way.

Monday, May 16, 2016


life has nothing, seeks nothing. nevertheless,
it digs holes, barely noticeable.
they all tell the same story- always
something about sacrifice.

in my seeking i sacrifice
all but my myths supporting
my illusion of being. i am careless-

a pulled back, unfolded
entrance to my innermost
unintentionally, i bury.

i remember how coffee once
motivated me to move.
i called myself pathetic, and i moved.
now i am unsure if i host any motivations at all.

nobody speaks to one another. we are
little gratuitious openings, strategizing
at most;
hardly anything i live for.

it is not my duty any longer.
i think of being dug deeper by ecstatic
dogs and other misguided
hunter-gatherers- are you

young and clean? are you young and clean?
do you have all of the answers provided
by the earth?

how do we fight? you do not know?
who first said we must fight?
if it is me, how do i fight?
i am insulted to intrinsically be declared
an ill, and nothing more. even

your incorporeal shadow chases itself
for the machines, machines, machines.
my god, do you not see?
live on without meaning as i

follow this example set.

i prepare to continue mock-fighting.
i prepare to continue being told how it is
i am doing.
i prepare to give my blood to those unprotecting.

i prepare to chase my tail in circles until
such is all i know.

there is no turning away when one is empty.
there is no turning away when one is empty.
fully aware, one must stretch themselves further
than their dreams allow-

enter me as though a dream,
protecting you with dreams unremembered;
haunt one another with dreams to judge
as good or as bad dreams. freedom

tests us this way without ever stopping.

freedom is death- give me this self-discontinuation,
of earth, helen's

opening, the archeological dig found
by a dog who dug up a bone

once buried in the spot helen was to never
speak of.
give me the altruism to protect others-

give them my meat to enter as a sweet dream-
the great protector, uplifting nihilist-
give my meat the daydream happened upon

by the dogs unwilling to transgress life
as taught to us, an unprotecting war zone.

give my meat the destruction to allow others
to be buried in, to rest
in peace facelessly, anonymously.

Sunday, May 15, 2016

you are hungry
it is degrading
you are almost dead
it is degrading
you must go to the store.
though such is degrading
this is the way you taste
and it is degrading.
you must not pretend you are not hungry.
we mustn't humiliate yourself.
such is degradation.

you are going to the homeless shelter
to face the parts of the world
not yet gentrified.
you are in. congratulations.
you would not work unwillingly to live.
such seems a denigration.
there seemed to be other ways.
this could not be the only way.

you are in. guess what.
sneaks here, as well.
i do not sleep.
resistance gathers others
to also resist.
we need our basic needs to be met.
we have the discipline for this.
we are going to die- nameless, homeless.
such is degrading to others.
degradation exists is why.
our cause lived on.

the cause was sought to be the only way.
such demands
particularly degrade.

Saturday, May 14, 2016

i'm in jail which i love being in is why.

(hold streak of strange lightning own hold slowly
fight lightning which burns insides- bared teeth never; resent

all.) if one wishes to commit a crime
they must be cool, indifferent. otherwise, one must go to jail is why!
you must go to jail is why!

it is best to hurt others
when they've gone blind
as nobody will see
you who commit crime. hold steady your position
of power older than chthonic birds

unable to hear the rubbery sounds of squiggly
nobody knows how much scarier it is today
when you don't want power

and you don't want
you lose your interest. your mind has betrayed you.
the guards have betrayed you. your shit
has betrayed you. every last god has betrayed you. your friends and family have betrayed you. your reflection has betrayed you.
it does not fucking matter that you seem nice. you ought to die.

this is a house that takes on the faces of those who've died
after withering away and stinking the earth up.

this is the house carved froom voodun stone. it must be protected
by those who are believed to live by chance
and wholesomely.

i have stood before many juries, passing over
their boxes of tissues. it is the closest
they can get.

you must go to jail, they've all said.
ol' crooked teeth? it's time to get hooked and taken away
into jail.
those escorting you will talk to each other
about frivolities.
your input will be ignored.

you are in jail. you were caught hurting with lightning
is why. your teeth are in jail. your cancer
is in jail. your cancer was caused by your fear.
your ideas
are the ideas of others. you hate yourself over it. this is
jail, is why.
you've been bitten by many fleas, but you neglect to shower. the
other inmates do not know your crimes.
this clandestine guise is allurring. you are the pale man.
you are the suburban man. your pussy
is clean. you are skin and bones and endomorphic
take it up the ass.
take it up the ass.
take it up the ass.
don't come back.
are you back for more?
take it up the ass.
take it up the ass.
take it up the ass.

gooble gobble, gooble gooble, gobble, gob gob gobble; one of us. one
of us.

find ways to love yourself in jail. this
is a fresh start
you have going for yourself
in jail.
you are supposed to be learning to feel
just so sorry- now what do you have to say for yourself?

and you're
not saying shit. you retard-ass. you don't care

about the trouble you ought to be in. was it you who attacked a man
that scared you
after you asked for help and was laughed at?
what do you have to say to the poor man?
what do you have to say to yourself?

you're not even trying.

though your confusion is undeniable- you do not even know
where to start- you know that guy hit a woman

who said it was okay to be hit.
you just want people to listen. there is little you are okay with.

all the other prisoners in jail have discovered and refined
themselves, they mature, they meditate.
you do not,
because you're just such a stupid-shithead.

when they love you, you think they love a reflection of themselves
they love, identified through you, and that they don't understand
nothing stays the same, even love, even under the eyes
of the law-
that is, except when you're in jail.

it would be best for you if you head in the direction
that annihilates it all.
it would be best for others if you went deeply away
into the woods where you walk until death wraps you
in a blackened, muddy chrysalis.

it would be best for us all if things went this way for you,
spider of hot skin pulsating imitations of multitudinous
species eaten, guardian of the jail- it appears this direction
is one you already head toward
in your covetous sweat the fleas dance around.

you seem to have lost touch with your gifts.
it feels like a joke. you lost your freedom, your gifts,
your memory, your focus- you choose
to turn stupid.

all left
is picking up cues that switch who you are.
this is your sole strong point.

everything has been evidently surreal since day one
in jail.

you've experienced some shit beforehand, but you're not sure
if it really happened, any of it, ever, or if
you're just pitying yourself- no matter what, there's no excuse
for who you are, even if "who you are" is
and nothing more.

you will never be sure if you were molested
because you feel like you've just been lying
this whole time
to yourself
about it.
you will never be sure if you were raped
for the same reasoning

you will never be sure.
you will never be sure if you were really addicted to drugs
or not.
you will never be sure, is why.
you will never be sure if you are (were) a "real" cutter.
you weren't ever really real enough at it
is why.
nothing is ever really real. you tell others this. you feel as though
you think you're lying, but only because
you don't know what truth feels like.

you chose this shit.

all you want in life is for something to reach you.

(remind yourself people only share what they feel safe sharing.
people only share what they want you to see.
remind yourself thoughts are just all these streams of talking
that i don't understand.
reminds yourself thoughts are often irrelevant.
remind yourself thoughts are just yammering.
they are funny. it's okay.

you are sure that you are a different person every moment
of your shitty jail life
and this is very uncomfortable.

you think about killing yourself all the time.
fuck you, mom, and fuck you, dad.

hey, what do you want to do for a living? i don't. in jail, we just do without profiting off of our doing. i have no ambition to be used in exchange for money. hey, how about you go back to school? study
art cannot be dismissed or corrected is why. to emulate an education i already gathered myself is why. i have enough problems with trying to parallel the impossible standard.
are there not other options, like not getting anywhere
without hiding it from one's self?
like finding it depressing that the things
and people you love most
are the most depressing relations? why?
in jail one needs to be caused pain
and to carry this pain
so it is known jail is working on you.

everything is so much better than me. this is the most painful burden i know i feel.

if it is not me, it is better. i wasn't supposed to happen, suchasbeen made clear.

why don't you just go out there and just do the shit that i've done
with my life? why do you seem to "blank out" your whole life
when nobody else is doing that?
why did you spend your childhood laying on your bed staring at
the ceiling? why didn't you just play with other kids and do your work?
well, i was in jail which i love being in, is why. i can't wait ubtil the next commands of jail. i can't wait to die.
the electric chair needs a purpose is why.
i can't wait to die.
loving jail so long has brought me here is why.
i can't wait until i die.