Thursday, June 30, 2016

this is what i can do.

i want to know the freedom of speech
of a nation who encourages it
without dictation,
as i mistrust a dictated freedom, mistrust

involved intent.
nobody seems to listen. openly, i notice
my comrades obeying

their biases, and
long engrained training, though

it is our voices we want to be listened to, our voices
we are willing to take away from ourselves

and share.
it seems a fascination shared among masses

is what i must obtain
in order to satisfy my appetite

this is not my stomach any longer.
this pain, i take. it must not

be my stomach. mine
must've been replaced. this kind

of hurt, an origin
of a lie,
one must hurt themselves more
in order to forget.

this initial hurt
watches me like a hawk. now

is my opportunity to get people to like me
so they will listen to me.
listen. listen to me

as a motivation to revolt against any

we are being exploited. do not let this be!
do not confuse life with hell!
we do not need a leader. we need to speak about this

amongst one another! please, take action!
how does one do such a thing?
i don't know! let us all discover

stop what you are doing and think.
(i am
talking to myself.

that is what i want- to be involved

in the process of us all
attending to needed change,

but i starve myself,
as i am unwilling to do anything less

than jump to absolutes;
extreme to extreme, over
every cloud.

this is what i do- imagine,

bringing myself somewhere understood.
i have been a terrible mother to myself.

so much rejection.
so much refusal to accept.

strict devotion to condition.

i've lost track of where i am. this
might as well be
a desert. this shape of the wild

i must adjust to understanding- surviving, therein;
losing sight of being heard.
losing sight of wanting from others.

i fear abandonment
though often

i'm sure if only i just listened to it
i would know what to do

without causing disaster.

i am alone in a humiliation
purported by transfiguration, new folds
of the voice- a static

misunderstood by
even itself, the mischief. i am trying to be

god again, trying to manipulate
what i say, trying

to author my movement. feeling lost
of control, i attempt

taking charge; charging 
blindly. spontaniously

charging- hooves clacking. head bowed

presenting horns

to a desert night. i don't want to belong alone. i will

lose sight soon, surely
overcome by a need for water.

i'm not god, again.

become. always believing

i am prepared for change- i love change,
constancy- i worship
change, constancy. mantras

aren't always all it takes. celebration
is neurotic.

look at the trees, still sending

the same dancing signals
they are positioned in. at least

we have the trees. there is nothing else hopeful
we can say, i say.

look at the trees, i tell
my new body, recently shed

of enough layers of skin
that it has become monotonous

that i cannot stop dancing
becoming entirely reflection, then
entirely losing reflection

for another new reflection. this is grief.

this is grief and joy.

i remain dizzy, in chronic pain. what is it about

the trees?
i don't recall- something
appropriated, i'm sure.
look at the trees. not the moon, or the sun- look

at the trees. i don't know why.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

real love seeks not accolades but to be taken.

i think you wait for me to
picture you
before something happens
of which expectations are not met. god, i love
a disappointment. finally, someone wants

to kill us for not listening to nature.

i think you like to wait for me to turn into
the wind and wake you from an unwanted dream
though we think of ourselves and our
preservations of ourselves

and not how much we love what we have.
from what i understand, this seems to be so.

i take it back, this desire to be the ocean

when i am as small
as an accolade.
i am so lonely with the truth

that i am small,
grieving- i turn into a disease. i need to be saved.

i am as small as you are-
resisted against.

i had been
disgracing my own desires before. i take it back.
today, i am devoted.

possibilities speak of themselves.
everybody is free. why

do they still ignore me? why do they
choose how they choose?

i have spoken. everybody is free.
are they still concerned about fear? but i am
lonely and i have spoken up
for those unteaching and now

they must step up and care about me.

why am i still lonely? have i not
been heard? have i not
shown paths, interfered

with gravity? does the continuation
of possibility

remain needed to be overseen?
i do not want this shut the door.

what was i thinking
when i said
i'd love to be heroin for man

until they wake up? did i
think myself noble? was this, is this

my faith?
the other people have fun i can't believe this i exile all shut the door.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

a face in the crowd.

i am naked. i yell. "leave me hope."
the naked hope in which i find shelter.


a plea of let me.

you don't
make love
to an elephant

you plan
to enslave

i've a paintbrush
held in
my trunk

my tusks removed
from me, polished

around the neck
of another?

she cannot produce
a scream

of her own?

i've been stripped
of my nature
so it feels,

yet i've never
how to

have i.

such is your yielding,
oh, mine; kindness

be realistic.

your fists the size
of my tongue. let us dare

to be the first
to outrun danger

as a predecessor
to consequence.

let me mount you,
little one
in our despair

as little ants
crawl in armies
on our
in our unrest

buried as
to be concealed

to not be caught
up to.

call it yours, give it
your namesake

so that
it may not

laying still
we will
never learn

to die

lay still,
there is
warmth there

no action
not to action

to the proof

an appendage

for someone

some point

it will not take
that reality never
hit us

there is
still wild
though it's said
there is not.

we sat very
very still, doing
good things;

there is
still wild
though it's said
there is not.

it's kept between;
is the secret
you've taken
of me,

and a secret is the wild
is nature
myself somehow.


i love you
so much.

you were to become aware
that your choices
are yours

this would take care of everything

you'd be free.
i love you
so much.

i refuse
to ever deny

-boundless empire reign

Monday, June 27, 2016

not far from the river.

the gods have parceled him out,
his beauty caught in my eye,
his talk in my ears, heart in my
heart, his thing in my thing.

life during wartime.

the boy i grew up with- the
binary star-
said to me


when he was to grow
he would find vengeance
for all the sick things
my family did to me

and he, my brother, would die doing it.

"you would not change your mind
when this action presents itself

as consequence, when
you will be frightened beyond
belief?" asked i. no,

said he, i reckon i will be

out of my mind-
desensitized to fear, disregarding

of its power, carelessly.

i would protect you from death, i said. i will
find a way to change your process
to how i'd prefer it. action leads to action,
action not necessarily to approval or disapproval
or inevitable punishment.
action leads to action i respect this.
to action. that is it.

we kill. we kill.
we kill kill kill kill kill kill
kill kill kill kill we kill kill kill
kill kill kill we we kill
kill kill kill to to get by
to get by we kill kill
fe fi fo fum we kill kill ha we kill i want
neon drum as we kill kill kill pogo stick
pow pow bam wow kill we kill kill
kill kill kill for our
own good we kill kill kill

surprise is dead, already i
know, we buried it
when sick things happened to me.
it is
bewilderment which casts fog;
bewilderment is all.

already i see what i want, he went
on in our folie a deux. it's practically

already happened- i see it
in the past : dead.
i see
i see

i see

i see

true love
true love
fixed on a clock and also on a
cross, true love wearing a crown
of thorns and ruby unable to fix itself
any other place no where else

the boy who once said to me
maybe it would be
a little nice
to act
a little dangerously

does not remember me after
all these years i devoted
to praying for his return, he,

independent of my treatment toward him
and myself
a gathering of ticks
blast alight on his legs

so i forced myself to seem cavalier
to myself

not at all.
i was to step back as i believed i needed
to understand

and understanding needed patience to be
and this is what it would take

for his love to come back to be.
i was to choose to want him only how
it used to be

we killed.

and expectedly he looks at me as if we are
both machines, neither

to be trusted
past our inevitable attachments to machines.

it hurts.
we kill.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

a little bit.

if you wish
to continue
to feel

as though
you are in a movie

you are going
to need
to get off your ass

and smile
for the camera

or else this movie
is going to keep sucking.

your once-wrongdoing is only a psychosis
bombarding presence.

stop believing in it.
oh, but you have depression, you say.
well everyone has that.

just jump on the bus.
boost your seratonin, the modern

come on, get happy.

snap out of it, for

everything is okay
as in i don't want you to leave me
for the big screen

at all-

i'd kill myself, hear this
loud and clear;

everything is okay
as in i believe you have it in you
as i believe i have it in myself

everything is okay
everything is okay
everything is okay

i don't understand but i don't underestimate that there is no need to;
everything is okay

everything is okay, did you ever think about your choices
effecting others, i mean, without

immediately pushing these thoughts away?
you effect. everything is okay. good.

so you know everything is okay, then, as in you must
warn this guy that turned on you
that killing you
would hurt them
or killing you
would hurt you

though you're unsure how to articulating either-

you don't want to cramp this guy's style; disrupt
his process.

so you scream something about coming back reincarnate
to eat his grandchildren,

coming soon, whenever that is.

you promised everyone- promised your
mother, your doctors, people
you once knew, people
you don't know how to get closer than distant to

that this wouldn't happen,

but you're falling apart- promises are not holding

everything together, and it
seems frightening

even in your state
of being used to terror. you promised that you didn't care

how they'd feel- only

the people who don't care
do you care how they'd feel after the fact,

and they sure as hell would fucking care.

they'd cry- out of guilt, but this would be
an exacting vengeance

a little bit.

seem too near

not that i care.
who cares, really, until you catch sight of a dead squirrel.

i don't care, so, yes, everything is okay.

you don't like to be touched is all.
that's okay.
everything is okay- right? right.

your scene is coming.

remember all the times.
one after another

did they buy into themselves,

and look now.
you look like a toad.

you probably are a toad, one warm

in the jaws of a dog.



when you go for the kill.

when you do that- kill-
you are killing

that's okay- just

now, you're untouchable- pure
dripping nectar, gold,

thousand petalled lotuses.

that's right. you
smile away, baby.

no, you don't appear stupidly.
that is harsh.

disingenious, but

that's all it takes

to get off your ass
and feign meaning

until kingdom come and meaning be.

if you can do it, you say,
anyone can.

believe me-

in yourself. i believe

in myself

a little bit.

Friday, June 24, 2016

john f. kennedy.

extreme is the soldier-
against not the heart of itself
but the cushioning
protecting it

don't need that shit
don't need that shit

do i
note i'm awakened

noted. (better

be noted

your life is a name
by courtesy
mostly legs, at that

the drumming sound
you admire most

is cool

is my best buddy

nebulous bruise
that goes no-where
on my watch

blesses my heart
only itself

by choice
as feelings surface

throughout processing
whose heads
i push

under the water
in the pool

i'm lucky to have

is one
of recognizing
how lucky

i am

do i
love life? do
i ever

and nations
of love

for my luck

i spite
then say
"just kidding

that spiting."

the love

fucking shit
i thank for.

out for blood: the automated man.

where is it
i found it
you did not see it
is everything to me
entertains me
is lodged
and not
in the brain
i'm afraid
you must
keep this to yourself
or you will have it coming-
another bullet
lodged in your brain
and this brain-bullet
will turn out
to be the reason
as believed
by experts
this whole time
for their reasoning
they have devoted themselves

to acting stupid for.

you will be desecrated
for wasting our time.

please try again.
please try again.
what? sorry, i

didn't quite understand that. we're going to have to transfer you to a representative
who is going to have to transfer you to another representative
and then another representative
and this representative
will listen
and understand
and you will be relieved
but then another bullet will be lodged in your brain.

thank you
we're so

sorry. thank you. so terribly
sorry. thanks i could really use that.
we're so

dead to you
as you are

dead to us.

this poem is called mental illness.

how deep is your love.

re-visiting reasons why i love you as much as i fail to convince myself i do:

it was so romantic when we met though nobody buys it or gives a shit including us.

drift-body; how many pulls away into
slow suicide
are you

to put up with
to keep

all of them
all of them
all of them


rip rip
i don't think we should be doing this
doing this

back and fourth
to the surface, boiling
drone manuevering
fizzling back underneath
fearing motion
fear is the only fear to fear, oh say can one sing.
fearing fear
having seconds
putting hand on heart
it hurts

to do that
speaking of debts
going on the internet
exploring the allowed
playing three-chord
following along
getting an education

getting hooked to power
and machinations of power
fear fear for fear fear
oh fear can one oh fear can one
it only loves you

eating vegetables
washing hands before meals
and after meals
hating waking up
never learning from upbringing
noting declared strengths and weaknesses
losing faith
entering society into mouth
going to the emergency room for a dick problem
doing the bunny hop
being so dirty
reflecting outside as inside
being unique
being kind to the needing
being kind to the unlucky
being kind to the unfortunate
being kind to the cast of the movie "freaks"
to feel better about willingly putting the self in a subserviant position

baking cookies
becoming a famous musician one day
having connections
having guys that owe us big time
fulfilling sense of purpose as phenomena
fulfilling sense of purpose out of desperation
fulfilling sense of purpose as activism
fulfilling activism as sense of self righteous classical example following
wanting to be loved
being judged
saying "i'm going to kill myself" in front of children
having sex with your mother as a rite of passage to exhile
fondly remembering your lackluster memories
going to the dentist
being insecurities
being stunted of intelligence as per life experience
caring only about identity
and the unfortunate of course

not even getting started

judging people as sadistic for laughing at people falling
not defending work
not defending perceived need for money
being mother theresa to the lesser than
being completely schizophrenic, but not brandished as such, so languishing in mass confusion and slow suicide forever
peanut butter
following a schedule
needing structure
witnessing mindlessness everywhere and not knowing what to do about it
being paranoid but not being brandished as such so languishing in it forever
being elite
thinking class is necessary when you mean "hierarchy"
smelling what freud was stepping in
dreaming of people coming together and flying because of shared tragedy

calling people rich of melanin black
calling people a little less rich of melanin brown
calling people somewhat less rich of melanin but tinted slightly of green yellow
calling people with the least rich of melanin of all white

being in a race
being in a prison, but not prison-prison
being in a rainforest still, though quite wounded
being in a war
being haunted
denying passage
working on an interesting recipe found in a magazine in the doctor's office
contributing to global terrorism shamefully
going to the bathroom
waahing hands after pissing
flushing toilet after each piss
flushing toilet especially after shitting
going on interesting and oppressive dates
supporting oppression
finding fascination in mass murderers for a reason
when murder is publicized as sad, telling self murder is sad
when murderer is made a poster child for the lack of empathy in the world, researching them
horror movies following the same plot always
watching horror movies, shaming mass murderers- relating to them unconsciously or not
getting everything over with out of obligation
getting whelm or holiday over with
getting prayer over with
buying into bullshit easily
bullshit working like a charm
marching single file
having to marry the peanut dick that might as well have just raped you

multiple personality disorder.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

i'm so sorry to hear about your wounds unattended to.

what's on the news today.

horus half-asleep, i'm going to save your life,  so
stay true to me. thou tempteth to rise from the dead
resurrecting history?
but horus, stay only in my dreams because i commit to surrendering
to values that i have no need to attach myself to
considering the troubles of my life.

i am ready in my bed to become manipulated. something about this
constitutes feminism.

i nail you, a part of myself, to a crucifix, measuring your infrastructure
according to antiquated propriety.

change never stops,
distant and too close at once- i am doing
good enough figuring out how to count realistically, dismissing

the impossible standard
without realizing i was doing so out of
the pressure of obligation (and this alone).

this is a polite society i'd slept with,

and this is where we are now, showing up in heaven
already dead, soon to realize life.

horus- realized coward juxtaposed against uninhibitedness at once, neither positions
having nothing new to bring to the table,

we show up for the death ceremony,
beat up by our abasements of our defenses
ready to live naked forever.

whatever the first human animal had seen, i know, for
the first human animal is me,
i believe everyone else a provocation.

there is no patience.
there is extreme.

we are going to have to break each other like sugar cookies, remembering
the joy of playing with our food,
in order to stay together-
as filaments extraordinary to define anomaly.

all lost is what i have to lose from moving on, not yet manifest.

let us walk away from the manipulations
meant to bomb source of disease i shelter- monsters
inhibiting caverns and deepest seas, in which
i find myself seeking resolve- it is time i wake from denial

and accept it has not been happening as i wish it to.

i notice these expectations soiling presence, that if i am to devote,
it is to be guided to the next move.

long has extinction not been the enemy- rather, the patriarch of another institution headed to
by way of the factory farm with which i'm familiar-
transparency of permanence in an
impermanent multiverse, you are counterintuitive knowledge, you seem
out for blood.

do not bring- extend action as burial of identity.
acknowledge presence as dialectic to escapism.
integrate reality into determination very possibly and directly.
definitely, abandon values had had only to have.
us together as one
us together as one
us together as one

Sunday, June 19, 2016

mad cow disease.

this is a nice house
this is a nice family
this is a nice dog
this is a nice cat
this is a nice fence
this is a nice lawn
this is a nice school
this is a nice crossing guard
this is a nice job
this is a nice work ethic
this is a nice smile
this is a nice talent
this is a nice sport
this is a nice encouragement
this is a nice report card
this is a nice scholarship
this is a nice college degree
this is a nice exceptational person
this is a nice institution
this is a nice religion
this is a nice s"pirtuality"
this is a nice church
this is a nice congregation
this is a nice deity
this is a nice grocery store
this is a nice shopping list
this is a nice coupon
this is a nice car
this is a nice garden
this is a nice row of tulips
this is a nice holiday
this is a nice card
this is a nice neighbor
this is a nice handshake
this is a nice greeting
this is a nice wave hello
this is a nice income
this is a nice sun
this is a nice weather
this is a nice day
this is the day that the lord has made
this is the day that the lord has made
i am dying of aids
this is the day that the lord has made
i am dying of aids and i've saved a seat for you
this is the day that the lord has made

that the lord has made
that the lord has made
this is the day that the lord has made
this is the day that the lord has made
this is a nice day
this is a nice day, isn't it
this is a nice day

malaise, and i mean it.

here is opposite mind, where shit goes down. burn yourself to it.
no longer must you murder, for you are murder.
no longer
must you sacrifice your exhaustion

to support the world in its vitality.
you are free of confusion, therefore, you cannot be exhausted.
you are on vacation for good.
you are that which we feel
on your behalf.
you are the secret.
you are the hero.

this is when everything whole is apart. these
are guts. this is irony.
you no longer feel pain. you are the cause
of pain.
you know pain,
are pain. you hit a nerve

when consumed- the same nerve that wants to be hit
time and time again
before it restructures its focus

and becomes you.
you are unrelenting and allowing.
your name is spoken only to trap one in humiliation-
self-evident spider's nest.

you are beautiful and told so.
you are wanted and told so, like a secretary informing you

of the news on the hour each hour
until she drives you insane, and you fuck her dead

to shut her up.
"tell me i am beautiful and that you want me; tell me that you love me." she'd repeat herself.

you are of nobody.
it is your call to resign your throne

but you are responsible
for your glory.
your sake, your only sake, is glory.

you are alone without the throne
the only independence.
there is no possibility you will ever worry again.
there is no more war you are involved in.
you are no longer a representation. you no longer
are to scramble for survival

by way of symbols. rather, you are now

the root-ball of that unspoken
before there was light.

you are never,
and too, you are because, unaccompanied
by need for change.

death no longer is.
you are absolute. all is absolute.
you are order, unridden

by self-designed contradictions.
you are desire itself, the one fugitive

who said fuck it and meant it.
you are intimidation and christ.
you are intention behind bomb.
you are what happened behind murder.

love chokes all else.
here is permanence, which is all, which is you,
the staying eternity.

miracles stopped being believed in, therefore
they stopped existing. it was then

you felt differently. it was up to you
to step forward
and lift their beggar wings again.

you are hope. the world bows down
to the inside of itself.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

kneeling wounded facing.

we lost preservations as a result of action in the present consciousness developing.

war skin
head of rust; infections; headed
to dogma,
insult to heritage, constricting

sentience threshold, the light swins faster
it circles outskirts of vision more visibly now.

relics of old god, i know
this presenting of choice
is to trick me into curling into shadow-self.
warmth fucks itself silly and eats.

below freezing, i accept never moving again.
i know the dream world
makes a clearing somehow

and without me. i know it just needs
to give itself patience.
i know the attack of the mind
calls to the dream world to scream

for the intervention of silence.
the mind attacked
screams at silence for not screaming as well, louder

than all else in fact.

silence unrecognized is our proclaimed traitor
whose betrayal
never manifested; maybe it is impossible.
i know it is impossible to betray what holds meaning right now.
this freedom is exacted and abstract; who
will believe me? they all will
without ever saying so aloud.

i am called secret stillness, the cow who spoke no longer.

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

48578493939339 frankensteins 4878w72082-98239383738 freak-outs.

there are- there are two of me, accordingly- are you the
frivolous young girl i did not grow up to be?
are you the frivolous young girl
i did not grow up to beeeeeee?

(did you not sabotage your chances
at even getting a sliver of a chance
at winning
any spelling bee?) no i just say my school didn't do that kind of thing.

is it the carrion that is tormented by the blinding of the teeth of the animal
or do the animal's teeth
clean the carrion as such is the animal's touch?

oh, you say they were of the same species? does that mean
they were the same kind of meat?


are you the frivolous young girl
i did not
grow up
to beeeeeeee?


i am a merman named frankenstein's dream body
god am i sexy
stranded on a shore
among shattered shells, bottle caps, smoothed glass. the gulls are ready
to pick me apart- the horseflies

already pick me apart- in their book[s], already am i deaded.

i am a jellyfish. ploppy-ploppy-plop.
all's i've got to offer is electric jangle pop.

my job was lost, as were
my marriage to my wife, my marriage to my children, my marriage
to the church and to the state and to myself because
all together i felt like an earthquake

and natural disasters around the globe happening like how them hot cakes get sold
just didn't matter
because i was in the eye of my own hurricane

and boy did it suck. my noose loosened.

are you the frivolous young girl with whom i grew up, not
happening to be? (are we going steady NO GROSS) is this
an entropy?

no, my little LONG LOST lisa frank sticker, this is
the process of a slow death
in a hostile environment. USE THE PATIENT'S BATHROOM!
but you've got a urinal and TP i fear not and everything. UNDER GOD

....'TIL NOW


i did not know how to live so i wandered the shore of the grungy sea
i am the infant birds plopped on the sidewalk
in what one might consider heat insulting to the process of life
and the process of personal experience.

you already got disease, the worst kind in my book. you got ignorance.

(oh look. here comes ol' frankenstein, that lurch.
he looks like he's in
somebody elses home. he's tryin' to make himself out to be
ol' poseidon. look at him. he is patient
while discovering analyses in his field
which is


just pretend you don't see him

oh, look. that furry angel, the perfect body of frankenstein- who is a monster with mental retardation problems- appears in the distance with the sun rising behind him. lurching forward, he is to say later he felt sick. divorced from his sense of individuality, compressed into a makeshift identity, a role, a nine to five job, a marriage, a batch of children, the perfect body of frankenstein both monsters

lose it all therefore they bare it all because they've fucked up and finally feel remorse over it.
he didn't want it all at all but upon losing it all at once he didn't know shit
and knowledge
is everything.

his thoughts obsessed over these past lives, those of what he once had rather than what he once lived, and were to continue to as he identified them as pain not taken away. everything is an action of retrieving and unfortunately losing objects of possessions- green grass that go round and round and round and the green grass go all 'round.

when the bitch he'd been sleepin' with- his mistress- gave him crabs...well, chinaski just couldn't help but in a fit of rage believe it. "look what YOU did TO ME"
then, when he was homeless well he goddamned just couldn't believe it.
next, when he was kidnapped by the beach nothing helped.
supra-conclusively, he knew- but he believed he did not know anything, and that the sense of nothingness being was not worth living for or through.
in the end is where we are now, in the age of decomposing and slow foul sensory deprivation, behind an apparent series of several heat waves. there's the monster, the perfect body of frankenstein! he's slouching, lurching across the beach. his body language is expressing either drunkenness or closeness to death. he just killed a little girl, his only chance of having a friend, because he drowned her as he thought she was just like the flowers they were tossing unto the beach- she would not come back to life because he was


all recognized desires are founded on a perceived imitation of perfection, the symbol of overcompensation, which frankenstein's father also his dissociated self meditated on when putting frankenstein the monster together.
frankenstein the monster now felt dread through all atmospheres encountered. he murdered a bitch. frankenstein felt a frightening, alien confusion. nobody was fixin' this. the confusion was slashed apart and mashed up at once. the confusion was together.
frankenstein was exhausted upon his process of furthering from integration.



frankenstein was going to have to learn to live with scarification around his neck and vertically up his arms and torso and legs and horizontally too and everywhere he could reach this is what he did to himself right before he turned to the beach

if you die, you get a headache first. this is
the biological attachment to life. "please allow me to force you to stay. the weather is nice, you're just an idiot".
the sun is inherently attached to the human being, the scent
is the only knowledge it holds
and wants to hold.
my face is serene. it smiles in spite of itself, unmanifested and absolute.

i came across you, noticing my identity was not
at one with those of your own. my confusion
overwhelmed me. i am retarded and i like the beach, bitch.

i took pictures of myself expression confusion, passing
it to you. you sent pictures of yourself expressing perplexity.
my giving you my confusion
left us both dead. i was of psychiatric illness, whatever that generalized shit is, you bitch.

it doesn't excuse shit but it explains everything.

if things were to hold me closely, would one think it oddly if i were to no longer want them around?
why is it you silence me
for my silencing of others? why is it

we seek justice to no avail? is it not a compliment? i beg you to understand that i do not

frankenstein went on.
frankenstein went on to say to me that we had to leave our weary, unpleasing dreams. i told him we would get sick! i told him
i like things the way they are- i am fascinated by and dedicated to protecting his innocence i see
refusing to see all else.
i asked him why run, when everything was swell?
to which he laughed replying such fun does not last long
we must run from the law for our misunderstandings
acted on.
i will be sawed upside down, for
it isn't the fucking i was ever into, i was just a grab-bag
of repetitive fucking sounds
faking "it".

me and go ahead, do that to
me upside-down. i guess i must've been thinking about my father

when i saw your scars shyly peeking out from behind
tattoos for kids going through phases
skulls with snakes and dices
something about how music is absolute
i must've been reminded of my father with whom a relationship

was estranged.

Monday, June 13, 2016

i never had anything nor did i need it, thus my body splits apart.

(titian's venus, today.)

i saw myself fainting into a phantom bed unwelcomed in.
the flowers surroundings were hanged loosely and dead.

entering faith unthoughtfully so, repeatedly.
entering faith unthoughtfully so, repeatedly.

cacoethes of sharing.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

the scarred beasts of all, 02.

that which is tender inside will not be experienced as tender outside
though the outside of our inner-experience is what we are.
we must offer ourselves
before our surroundings, which we fear, praying they
and unveil an ease we beg for them to. this is an experience of hunger
losing its knowing of itself.

i have not been born though i believe every experience
i convince myself of.
i believe in my hunger beyond my starvation.
i am addiction waiting to become believed in.
i am addiction.
this is another experience of hunger losing its knowing of itself.

we will brutalize love until it is recognized without fear, though
we will continue to brutalize love, as we will displace
our fear of it onto the reception others have of us.
we will fear they think us inconsistent; that they are suspecting of us.
hunger, again, loses its knowing of itself.

we must remember that night would not be night without its
hiding in the womb of day
in which it is birthed out when day goes to rest inside
of the womb of night. the latter is a dark undercurrent, as

the former is a quick shark sweeping ripples
beyond the skies of the earth. the shark is not driven by hunger
but by starvation.

though nothing is ruined, we are ruins of our experiences- fascinations
of our own manifesting.
we fear success because we believe in fear

which we turn to when entrusted
to defeat our limitations as this task is an impossible force and titanic imposition.

success will not earn us the conquest of freedom.
freedom cannot be earned.
success is a dark sewer that does not exist.

we have been sabotaged and we look away from it.
we have been sabotaged so badly and looking away from it is our sole trauma response.

do you know that this is happening to you, or are you okay
with it? do you expect it
therefore you allow it, deeming such
your "power"? do you believe it is your doing

as you accept the weight of your conscious
to deepen you to loss of forgiveness?

you've already lost your forgiveness if you believe you can only do so indirectly.

today everybody is a criminal.
nobody is happy and everybody is a criminal- and there's a togetherness in this.
it is hard to face and we all know this.

it is hard to speak of the knowledge that brings us to the present moment.
it is easy for me to empathize with this.

our ruining is a self generated obelisk
housing a single window
which a seagull repeatedly rams into- confusing you, who stands
inside, for her babe.

this ruinous behavior splinters my bones. this is ballet
i enjoy memorizing
because i can memorize it.

i am the morning's lark joining in the sun's dance- mother and father that i am
explore possibilities through me.

every movement means its own word of change
reflecting others
never to relieve our own selves, as we do not identify as others. change is whole. nothing
is ruined of incarnation as incarnation is change

which is whole.

omnipresence of absence is felt
and painful to feel. the roles for me to fulfill have not

yet been discovered, thus
i long to belong, transgressing the ignored belonging.

giving in as a forced destitution is an expression of unfulfilled
this inner-war splinters my bones. remember, this is ballet.
keep fixed, noticing
how you are never quite fixed

unless the sensory experience at present overwhelms you.
you know how it is said that us birds are
so stupid.
i say it and i know you must've, as well.

birds will never be stupid, as we fly, unburdened
by our ability to do so.
i am the morning lark who appears after the sleep of every star;
hear my wings fly.

i become the worm i seek while pecking through
last last year's autumn leaves under bushes untouched by human hands- everything

inside my knowing throwing itself outside of me
adjusting into a sole understanding
of which i'm to step into, hoping
to notice.

i understand the smell of the dirt that grabs the bottoms
of those who trudge the earth, passive

to the sensibilities of flying. i see myself in this and i do not see myself
in this at all.
i am the wound and the weapon that is nature.

i was reached inside to be brought downward, notwithstanding
exhalation of oxygen.
this is innocence unashamed as desecrated beasts have not yet
learned to breathe of. they have not yet learned to breathe

without the heaving mother (denied to be spoken of).
i see myself and i do not see myself. this could all possibly
be kosmos, oh sky. i am shiftless

and bearing of the mother and father inside
and bearing of unobtainable energy i will not give a name to. i am lunacy
burdened by awareness. i am awareness
burdened by lunacy. i am genius- awake- and i am dark matter- unmanifested.

i am burdened

by the genius that is not mine and burdened
by the genius that is mine. such equates
sensitivity, of which i am- and unwilling to speak ill of such, and i am frequently afraid of my feelings being hurt. i see myself and i do not see myself.

realize pride and find yourself climbing with and against it.

this happens to be sweet and i expect rot.

in this ballet, we pull out consciousness and we do not kill ourselves.
now is when we deny sacrificing,

desires are abundant. there will never be a scarcity. reject inclination to make offerings to desires- or furthermore, sacrifices. desires are offerings themselves for us, for us to refine our abilities to choose.
they will never contain us though we grow confused about our wild and intense treatments concerning desires.

if it is now the appetite is endless.
we pull out consciousness.
we pull out consciousness.

we begin by going elsewhere.

the scarred beasts of all, 01.

in this ballet, we pull out consciousness.

you are hunted by tall green animals with red eyes
who generate innumerable limbs of themselves.
they are acting in a way that seems insensible to themselves
to demonstrate their interpretations of
all that is possible in this moment-
their surroundings have become distracted
by parts that do not change as they do not exist, seeking
to distract us from impermanence. we are passive
to our respective sensibilities- the great mother

of all wounded beasts wants this word to be reflected on
by all wounded beasts. it is her teat from which we suckle.

if she is to die,
we might as well die with her
as we touch one another
until every last one of us
has been touched.

the compassionate act of the tall green animals
is only to be received as compassionate
if eyes are open.

however, the tall green animals terrify their surroundings- these
surroundings are used to being coddled by spineless diversions
seeking to distract them from impermanence
in order to drive them toward their will
and away from those of their own.

the tall animals offer deliverance from your shame, even if
only for a second. believe in it and believe in your love for it.
we can convince ourselves of anything
if we believe in it. i believe we all know this.

there is a father among us.
nobody is happy, father, for it is our escapisms from our beliefs in happiness we run to, far away from reality.
in these escapisms is where we find the nurturing of the mother- yours.
she, who you owe both your paranoia and your way of trusting to.

our conscious thought is heavy to detriment
to which we remain loyal, as it is open
for freedoms we know nothing more of
granting us a weightlessness.
this one responsibility leaves us with grace.

pull out consciousness.
pull out consciousness.

Saturday, June 11, 2016

spewed protectors within the frame of annihilation.

once upon a time i went to blow my brains out. i learned from it, because of the ugliness...

i would always learn to evade actions because of their uglinesses. ugliness is all that keeps me away.
i learned that a perpetual stasis is judged by all as an ultimate objective- when in fact, what is reality is creating and destroying at once.

floating from god, obediant disciples: patients.

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

decision of reality.

in your dreams you run, though one cannot be certain of their actions in dreams at all.
then, for the first time in your life, you see a fox. upon seeing the fox,
you are astounded, and forget everything
except the fox, that is.

you choose to stalk him for a long time. (you feel in touch with your hunter-gatherer origins.)
the fox is to eventually drop his jaw as your former voice slips out, intending
to curse you and your dreams forever.

curse forever.
do not stay still. continue moving. spring.

(mind is disappearance.
disaster is shriek accustomed to; unsurprising. there is nothing to do:

vulgarity is decency.
you recall attacking yourself desperately with appropriation of that which is seen, bored of your ignorances you looked at in great detail.
you allowed this as this was your only chance at a centering.

(when i am bared, without
the enveloping appropriation, i fidget seemingly uncontrollably.

i remain empty, neglecting to feed a sense of self.
i reflect all
as a retaliation- for i am bared and humiliated.

my exhibit
is my retaliation.

when not exhibiting, i feel useless, urgently awaiting bedtime.

ask the chance of reality for a centering inside.

keep raised your anger as well as your fear. marry them together.
this is how you will keep alive.

keep alive.

now, discombobulate the marriage of anger and fear- the knowing
of their co-existing brings only desire for distraction,

another ugly shrine.

give your rapture to the next sunrise to be. you are unwanting of it.

lead us toward the path toward knives assembling.
the desire is criminal, as are you.

the city you find yourself in stretches of disease
of which one chooses to involve one's self,
manipulated into addiction since birth we are.

it is so that fire
is a fascination at most until it is so that it is all you know.

the inconceivable before the initial globe of light
stabs the bottoms of your feet
as you beg to dance intrepidly. it is danger you seek.

the dance is the gift to be given
to the torturing knife presumed to be ahead of you.

continue to breathe. you are losing awareness of the importance
of breathing.

"what is in it for me?" you ask. it has occurred to you that you are probably dead.
somehow this causes you to believe this is the end of everything.

calm down.
if not to calm down, choose not to humiliate yourself
by attempting to prove the truth of that which does not cooperate
with light.

do not give away disasters. step out of your own way, knowing
of your doing. practice humility.

hear me speak, as i am every needle in the world, swallowed
by every domesticated cat and every domesticated dog,
that must either be taken apart or must die on my behalf.

you are to not claim to be more than a single needle in a single cat's belly.

life grows inside of me, the size of mountains
you prepare for the receiving of.
it is i who is to receive this life growing inside of me
which i prepare for.

i am light stopping you from being anything else
but light.
recognize to completeness of light.

how terrifying a division from light must be, especially

one into a fearful fire (both one).
how terrifying a divisional refusal to acknowledge interrelating- how

one must suffer uninspired by conflict, one's inner conflicts
unknown are never to be resolved.
it will be hard to look at others.
it will be them versus yourself.
this is gravity testing us.

has the sun broken, having nothing left to say? i look
around myself and see this becoming
of us all- disasters wanting

to kill each other, kill something, kill jesus
making a show of his glory.

he will pop out of the sky having nothing to prove. we will
continue to also have nothing to prove, only

bored of these origins. to be demanded of a desire assigned
to keep one together
in a choking- a binding.

when such cannot be at the moment
will drive one to extremes unnoticed
as we are all driven to our unnoticed extremes.

is who it was asked of me to be.

exposure of denials.

it is time for the loss of humanity.
we are all to be shot by bullets from movies and news programmings.

everyone, including yourself, has accepted
that what we all have in common, in fact, is humanity,
and that humanity is all we ever had at all.

allow the bullets that have been shot into your body
to sit as they are. it is high time you rest,

so rest.

you rest.
you are to recover lost forms upon opening the known self to dreams
during this final rest.

remember, this is truly happening.
do not forget the small closet space in which you occupy, in which
it is deprived of light
to the effect that you have forgotten how to see.

though you pretend to, you do not hide from your grievances you had locked away.
you learn to risk.

you choose not to retaliate against your shooters. you believe in choices
that would speak of humanity in stronger terms.

remind yourself you resist retaliation not because you are a coward.
remind yourself you resist retaliation not because you don't know any better.
please tell yourself you are not so stuck, though you do feel lost-

you are prepared, somehow.

upon entering your dreams, breathe. this is your bodies last responsibility.
you do not have to wander a deliberately synthetic world
unable to escape parasites killing you with your own insecurities.
this is not a propaganda. this is the outside.

you are close to exiting your closet space.
continue to breathe while watching the landscapes of your dreams.

in their transiences, you will be asked to believe that your dreams will air
on network television, starring yourself.
you are asked to learn that throughout life, it has been so
that your pituitary gland has cancer

though this seems to make more sense than anything, choose to reject this teaching.
choose to reject cancer from entering your dreams and your final breathing.

continue to breathe- it is to soothe all which has screamed
to be heard from within us, which we have all ignored
up until now.

you are impoverished now as you have always been.
this is your crime imprisoning you
for your love being received with indifference.

only the anomalies are wanted, admired
from their distances. if anomalies are to be received,
anomalies are to be assimilated

into nothing special.

we are gods until our bodies are cut open, responding
to the whims of others.

remember, you are in a small closet space.
you will always have a small closet space

to yourself.


today, step away from your dissections and theft
of everything that surrounds you. it is time to let you let go.
place your face inside a dark room. the dark room will be empty.
the dark room you will recognize as your acting on grievances.

sit in the room. close the door you have opened
behind you.
today, you are void.

of course, you are dreaming. these dreams disturb you.
do not isolate your dreams or brush them off.
watch them. what do they tell you

about your secrets?

you are a terrorist today. you have always been a terrorist.
you have always questioned objectively decided justice.
you are now a terrorist. bang bang bang bang bang somehow or other.

you are the new bird of those who have returned
upon migration for the spring. your presence is questioned.
others wonder if you are a justification concerning

the state of the planet going to shit.
at most, they become paranoid, and you become
the poster child for ostracism.

remember, you are alone
in your small closet space in which your grievances
and outrage are filling.

you must learn how to swim
or the sharks that breed below you will eat you,

and innocence will lose another limb.

do not fail this mission.
if you are to fail this mission, you will not learn from failure.

you will forget to pray to god for forgiveness
before dying.

kill your pride.
destroy all that is held in refusal to free. they are the dead bodies
of what were once birds

people once noticed the sounds of upon their arrivals.

the state of god.

i would like to be someone with whom
no one would be ashamed of any part of
herself. i would like to be able to regard
the actions of others without feeling
threatened or becoming defensive, even
when they are defensive with me- to see
others in the context of their lives, not my
own. i would like to know how to set the
right limits on how far i trust others, so
i never risk losing my respect for them or
my ability to trust. i would like to be able
to look those adversaries who should be 
allies in the eyes and say like it or not,
this is who i am. this is what the world
has made of of me, and we all must live
with the consequences. i can't change
the decades of life behind me that have
wrought this, only take responsibility
for what i am and what i do. i don't
want to compete with you for moral
high ground or anything else. unless
you're prepared to kill everyone who
doesn't live up to your standards or
else to endure this impasse indefinitely,
you're going to have to accept me
on my own terms, as i hope to accept you.
you are responsible as i am for mak-
ing what goes on between us positive
for us both- or for the world of strife
we will suffer in otherwise.

Saturday, June 4, 2016

imposed determinations forward.

i conquer.

there are five points to every war. long have they together gone

without facing persecutions. war is myself
facing me who faces you, wishing not to
without violence. war is us facing those
from elsewhere whose culture seems a variant

and war is also us facing other nations facing the world
facing itself,

eating itself backwards, paralleled by the wars we choose not to face
of which we'd gain clarity.

my eyes
cannot be kept any longer believing this. i am to be without traditions

as men are not gods, are not worth
being bothered with. such is the tragedy of our lives. such is the

birth of tragedy.

i believe you know that deep inside every part of you
is the ability to tear apart without attaching to the act of doing so.
the way to resist the frustration that we are not
tearing walls with
fingernails, at least, is a reminder

this resistance allows us at most to survive.
it also allows us resistance to fully believe
we all really are on one plane.

we are
without value. without value, we are not too poor to get out on bail.

nurture that which parallels war-

if to be determined, determine this as the self as the revolution, spinning
around it. we are our environments.

lose everything that is not needed. do not compromise needs.

rescue self from excess. do not carry as much as is carried.

our revolution is here. allow it to speak to you
and to speak to others. allow yourself to speak to it.

it takes place during the present, and this wisdom
is reviving and regenerating as is.

life is a foreign warfare- something seen as that
which needs to be paid for and given value. everyone

is addicted to something- thus making things revolting. though i
feel disgust, i sympathize.
i am seeing what is inside me through others.

the word "tragedy" fastens itself at this. we are not gods
or perhaps we are and it greatly disappoints.

we are the ones that give ourselves formalities to overhaul our disappointments,
stimulated by the simulations of nature, entrancing us.
i feel guilty for my addictions to distractions.

the sunlight continues.

i do not understand doing my best- but to be fair, the idea
of doing my best exhausts me. it poses an authority.

it seems as though i will live forever.

determined risks.

change is following me in each of my houses in which i am lost
as many walls cut down on my thick paranoias i crave.
i cannot bear to estrange myself, though
my bearing my estrangement is self-evident.
the distinctions of the houses in which
directions do not exist must rearrange themselves, for this estrangement
exhausts me.
my self-based understanding
is a refusal to trust inner-belonging. it is my fall i break
without understanding the clarity of pain.

change i allow to follow
inside every house in which i restlessly reside.
this schizophrenia misguides me. the secrets it tells me
i believe to be truth, my identity.

i am a dream and the space i fear
of myself without a dream.
i often make naive mistakes in attempts
of filling this space i fear of myself

that lacks dream.

i forgive all innocences- innocences will heal-
and i wonder if forgiveness ever stays.

i admit my imposed restrictions
and that these restrictions are loosening in their taut positionings. i am made
of concrete, tar, and buildings
shaped like boxes unwelcoming.

there are no ghosts.
there are only passwords and shams.

i admit i feel shame that i may want to excess.
i admit i dismiss achievements, particularly upon fulfilling

i am possibilities, of which wholeness
cannot be quantified nor objectified.
i am drastic shifts of power
and in mass bared subterranean.

i am every snake abandoning my children, and also
the great mother to be called on
when outer bodies forget how to see how i see.

mass bared subterranean warmth i fight against.

no longer am i to neglect the great beast in whom
the womb of every dream
is in danger of pulling itself in every direction, never
to break.
i am this womb.
i am the beast who bears this womb.
there isn't a cure nor is there a suppressant. all functioning
is to be trusted as serving to a process
and of its own body, whether entrusted or not-

i am of its own body.
of my own body, cures
are unnecessary. my feet have walked among

every wet leaf among one another
burying earthworms with prayers to send far from myself. i have greeted

drenched flowers, laying beside
insects urging me to move forward. these are the times
during which i must let go of my nurtured

engendering of time.

my extension
of my inner space reaches to the outside. often
it happens so quickly that i do not notice it.

i conquer- i am the first shadow that looks like a monster
to a small child; to every child
that is a series of trees warning every child
they are to languish in presence of that which cannot
be recognized as realities.

there are five points to every war
every child is to discover, long after they begin dismissing
their earliest fears
that grow stronger as they go ignored.

the five points to every war have long together gone
without facing persecution
as war is dissected indirectly
and without inherent acknowledging
of involvement.

some people you just fall fast and hard for while accepting you won't be a dopamine fix back to them.


Wednesday, June 1, 2016

former guy come here.

this is not my story as one
might expect.
it is his; he, whose sight goes further than
mountains. it is time to share
that which was shared with me.

blood is what we have in common.
blood is mine to keep my life with.
then, of a sudden, blood is pointed
to my temple.
it is pathological, this way, that.
this way, that, we

had blood at the same time.
then it was neither his nor mine.
it was time

to face the pathological,
the story of the ugly mountains lying i still
love on fire we share; kill
all people just feeling other things
from outside of their own minds.

just touch what they see and put a name on it;
give value.
give confusion value.

flirt with
the confused people. make them feel acknowledged.
tell them they are indeed jesus
("gee, i'm very sorry to hear that.")
tell them their paranoia is being tracked
(been there done that.)

lick their wounds.

get a general picture.
general pictures change from environment
to environment as stimulation is

is the key component to

re-write general picture.
give new value.
give confusion new name.

you are so small suffering
unrecognized flames, i turn
my mutilated head away

from at least this incubator- turning
away from a cause
is difficult surrendering; exhaustion
from believing.

it takes so much to turn things into reality; to see
false gold in raw earth-
and to say i was warned but insulted
by warnings from the ignorant.

you are so small i see you vanish.

there is no more telepathy.

eating is unheard of.

we go without a sun here. we go unsent through
the walk of life.
there is no bone that has not altered shape.
here is only enemy.

we pick black flower that shred immediately.
we've never spoken. we've never seen
nor have we been seen. all is charred.
contradiction and desire do not bother us-
these are our sources of light.

we pray with beads to an underlord, looking at the
eyes of one another with anger,
lighting our gaining on sparking fire.

you do it like playing cards with cheats and liars-
do it like bowing a delicate instrument played
many times.

without it you stay here
until you die without the strength of the sun.

i am the chosen one today. i carry a baby,
jumping fences one dares to.
i am happy to be a lost landscape.

the sun damning cherishing me.

there is only one thing i don't
run from. this is everything, apparent sickness
that weighs more than you do-

you do not understand. i knew within myself i sought a poverty
because my name is a poverty. hello,
this is a benefit for the awareness
of poverty. hello again.

onto my body several dissections i've become
corrections, grinding of teeth:
yet still, nobody knows my name.

there is a shadow. there is that.
what else

serves as one reflection?

i grind it up in my capacity how disgusted i am, your honor (everyone). my name is
my pain can't be taken away, and since
i've no other chance at being in love, i must choose
to love this appearance
i passively exist
as something i am- existence under chosen names
is the way to stay down and shut up. so i allow it.

my dog and i would like to be on the grass outside. can
you please learn our name for us? there has to be
a name! i was born somehow without a name? throw that

lie out every window! throw it! burn it!
there has to be a name! i need such permission as my
dog and i would like to go and play on the grass outside!
who are

you? who are you? who are you? who are you?

oh, the name
of the human is the worst.

that's where it all starts.

the men and women, so many of them, greet me on one knee with the shittiest opium on the market. i allow my drug habit as this is how i monitor myself from going places i am not going. slouching and half sitting on my throne, the salesmen and women have overshadowed me with their oversights. i am not to be seen. i am to melt to the floor.

the wolf you loved so dear
who kicked you out
needs you- that
which is not a name.

he has come back
to ask you a favor in your
deep-alone-silence. if you let him
seduce you, he will eat you
and you will not stop him.

you will go to drop down into
lower levels of hell.
you will not report it. you will feel
too embarassed
over everything.