Monday, August 7, 2017

picture book.

this girl's name is white, five years old, from the suburbs, where all the houses are uncomfortably close to one another. the houses chant, taunt, etc., "girl you'll still be a virgin even after you fuck a million guys."
house is looked in on but she don't care- too young to be rewired by paranoia. got "circe" tattooed on her ass. got "animal mother" buzzed into her hair.
too young for the news, computer, or thinking money is anything other than stupid. gets all angry at herself 'kuz she dunno how to pay attention, or how to retain information, unless it's the kind picture books are made of. all she wants anymore is picture books...she knows that's where god is at.

it's dark out and she's awake. the animal, cute friendly jaguar, whose eyes she sees through is asleep. these are his dreams in which he gets to know her, which is weird.

this is the kinda girl you'd expect to never figure out potty training even though she wasn't a crack baby (per se).
girl that you laugh at because incidentally exposing failure (inhibition isn't her forte) is her ultimate truth. everyone has a shitty concept of failure except her.

she looks like meat with hair on it and is that. if you drew her, that's what you'd make of your drawing. example: she talk about sex. she fucks everyone very subtly. does she mean to? (bitch ya know ya mean to.) "i'm a goddess of fertility. of course i fuck everyone."

she's a brat, at the end of the day. to some, this means she's abusive. (whatever this means is missing.)

kinda girl that, while sitting on a toilet, gets distracted, and presents either breast to an imaginary friend coming down from the heavens. an old friend that isn't real anymore. long hair envelopes her- this is spider choosing her, spinning her in his web, saying shit like, "i've got an act of love for ya." she likes spiders like she likes doggies (meaning a LOT).

"i love you, here, lemme show you," she says to him. they both take off their glasses to see that they're really seein'. as if they're preparing for sex.

she's singing to him about giving him her milk like a lullaby, except nothing comes out of her nipples. listen: this isn't because of him. just somethin' she wasn't ever taught how to do. therefore, she will never be able to give him life, and he will not be able to serve as her reflection. this is somehow how she was taught to communicate and is the only thing she cares about. he's mad, throwin' a tantrum, but he wouldn't be if he would just open his eyes and see something outside of himself. he's see she's a lovely young lady. if he made it to that point he would just know.

girl isn't afraid of going crazy. isn't afraid of death, rape, or selling out. likes high places, the ocean- there are accolades attached to getting to know these things. she's pregnant with wondering if, since she's so unafraid of things that seem authentic to her, if it's really fear she feels in regards to anything else. maybe she just feels authenticity is getting confounded and we're letting it.

"just wait momentarily," she says to mr. spider, about her nipples not producing milk. "it's just been a while is all. i just need to warm up. gonna get this thing to work." she's still bein' spun in his web though it's more like being embraced by heaven. he's still there with her acting like he's not spinnin' her in his web.

then she, or, let's be real, i, have a dream in which i pull down my diaper in which a stillborn bird, so serene, is bloodied, is sayin' "mama" on repeat. at this moment, i begin looking up schizophrenia symptoms on the internet, trying to fit into them, like i'm trying to fit into clothes that are too tight. this is what i'm hungrier for- sickness. since sickness is fucked up the only way to make sense of it is to make it become everything about you. i'm takin' my clothes off. i'm givin' all my stuff away and hoarding the organs of other animals into my body, late at night, when i'm alone. extra stomachs so that i'm a peace-loving bull. zillions of hearts so that i don't know whose pet frog i am.

this is what sex is like when you're unsure of it. and you have a daughter from it, always.

spider, ya didn't need to try to persuade me into your embrace, but ya did anyway 'kuz you was havin' fun. you said shit to me like, my essence was something lunar, therefore my shadow don't exist. thereafter, ya painted me with your silvery, glittering come, so that i could move forward in armor. with their hella obsidian vibes, lookin' at myself in your zillions of eyes was something like scrying- i felt so small (and ugly, obvs) about myself next to you. being human is the most fucked up thing. at that moment, you scurried away, presumably back into the linen closet.

maybe the jaguar woke up, so i had to continue without magick, unless i was gonna cure myself with my addictions.

plants die of frost and butterflies fly south: winter is comin', when we must zero in on hunting, thinking only of meat. and i can't wait to be suitable again- wanna see the cold make sense, and to see things how i feel them. wanna feel okay with noticing distance before anything else. i hate to say this, but i wanna see other people experience this, too, so i feel a little less anomalous about myself.

btw, i'm still coated with come. after sittin' around for forever, refusing to bathe, i turned white. i got used to feeling like i was wearing a full-body cast. the absence of color became me, some rationalizing part of me said.

my name is selene. nobody knows they're prayin' to me like how they do.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

nanny nanny poo poo.

neighbor boys versus neighborhood girls, is where this duet is at:

i could die if i wanna is how serious my illness is. you can't picture it and/or
you're just jealous is all,


PSA no. two: my havin' a serious illness has nothing to do with me not doing my homework. just
that i don't know how to wrap my head around the

whole having to do homework thing:
anyway, i don't know how to read and instructions are stupid,
ugly bozo.

i only think in people so i'm only gonna talk about that
and only when i wanna

is how serious my illness is, a lot like PTSD.

let me introduce you to the army i've raised
in my head, conglomerate

of all the people
whose acceptance i'm desperate for (golden rule: sharks don't sleep).

here are the people that i am a matriarch of:
01. correct answer: b
02. correct answer: a
03. correct answer: d, all of the above
04. only correct answers;

do you see? see? look. it's me, the shaman/the anarchist, with whom
ya play jump rope

(the game at which
it doesn't matter if ya suck.

i have real authority, so i'm instructing you,
and it's not
uncomfortable for me: i tell ya, i'm generating
awareness. open your mind. look.

if you knew that i can't look at things 'kuz
it hurts, you'd recognize me as resilient
and wonder why
i'm not out-and-out violent.

you're stupid
no you're stupid, so look
la la la la
i'm not looking i can't hear you
i'm sayin' la la la la la la la la la though as in, "nah."
you're not looking really like you claim to be doing
i'm being persistent: look
i said, "la"

we shouldn't be doing this la la la la
i'm not listening la la la la
we shouldn't be doing this la la


i'm not listening gimme ya drrty cunt

we shouldn't be doing this
is the name of my sweetheart

i'm not listenin'
too ready for ya drrty cunt

always come back to rape don't it
is the name of my chaos' heart

Friday, July 7, 2017

mother me kindly.

enter, enter rejection mind.
beyond your gates i am glacial i am safe.
your nectar my mouth, hive.

i'm at a loss and i don't care. ruling out the performance art i do
in which i make teddy bears out to be the bad guys, as i'm too old
to admit they still mother me kindly, yet too ashamed

to admit i don't play pretend with them anymore.

memory, or guardian, i think it's you

that has something to do with this. i have news
i'd like to know your response to. (is it one protective?)

i'm getting abused again. huge chunks of me feel younger
than ever. i look back and think, you know, that was abuse then, and

i can validate that.


if i was president, here's what i'd abolish, for you: just no more of any of your crutches. that's to say: no more money. no more time. no more bitching and
moaning. no more
talking about donald trump- i miss george bush. no more being a bad listener.

no more being dumber than me. no more machismo. i'm embarrassed to have
anything to do with it. it makes me feel
like i can't be an anarchist.
no more internet addiction (that one goes without saying).

and the rules for myself:
number one: addiction is always allowed.
however: no more bra, no more underwear, no more makeup

no more white skin (it makes me a tourist),
no more meat, no more sugar

no more waste except
the disappearing kind (i was never a good enough anorexic), gotta

do me like my hair's on fire.

whatever abuse has to offer me: no. i can't believe
i have to keep learning from this.

i am rejection mind.
it is possible to be safe without power this way.
nectar, mouth, hive.

the ferryman.

message me
on facebook. the format
is flexible. all it
requires is
you lie to, or, come on
and all
the twelve year old girls

and only
twelve year old girls.

don't stop, don't stop

so becoming
in our fear of
drawing attention
to our inadequacies

which is
about us
('til you)

me and all my friends

be studyin' porn
to see
how we're supposed to be
though not gettin' it

we be suppressing
our sneezes
i guide them into
your man cave

where it is that
we let ourselves be:

we start talking about cock
and only cock
for the rest of our lives

until you
cheat on me with them- part of
the process. betrayal
is when we
become women.

don't stop, don't stop

an example of what
you'd wanna message

it'd go something like,
"haha lol [girl's name], that was
a really funny joke
you just said, you know

i had a real rough day
and you made me feel better

i'll bet you're a princess

i'll be you're the one
meant to cure my disease"

handsome prince, handsome prince

you just gotta be
twelve in spirit
is all it takes

and when
we're doing it

and i hear me working on
convincing myself

that you're turning
from a toad to
a prince

and not
the other way

i'll be sayin',

"where's that ribbit, ribbit
comin' from

all's i want
is for you to reply,

"it'll only take a minute
for me to kick that habit

it's something
we can laugh at

and even
turn into something

this'll be
the only caveat

to our
delight, dare i
imply, our
ever after

and when
i'm a star
which is what
you're giving me the chance to be

my name'll be something like
that of
the ghost's

that's wandering
inside me, it's copying

the shape

of your dick

and, unlike you, has
everything to do with
denying light

my hope, my

this things
only spell on me
is determining

the direction
of my future

"well i'mma be
carryin' cancer cells," is what

i say to it, "i'mma be kind and
well known
for all
of humanity,"

pretty, pretty princess

in pink
pink and secrecy
are the same thing

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

survey says.

"but why was sitting, enjoying nature, or something like it, better than creating some representation of it? i never thought that way about it in the past, when it was a disposable camera, or an easel and watercolors.

Monday, July 3, 2017

i want
for what's gonna kill me

to be my suffering
from the overload
of artificiality

so that people
stop to consider
maybe that's actually a thing.

i don't really give a fuck
if they take action
because they look stupid
(like they're throwing tantrums
that've been done before
doing that, too

unless parts of my body
are thrown into the windows
of the UN

or other world rulers
like that

by my brethren
as they shout,
"how come you fucked her,
but not me?

that's fucking new.

how i survive now
is exactly how i survived
in jungles

except here
i can't even.

i'm in jail here. luxury
is somehow a jail, and somehow

nobody knows
how to feel it just like that.

this is so much
of what unconscious content
is comprised of.

so we need it
so that we have hope.

when she's fetal
inside our bodies
and we're fetal
inside hers, at a moment when
we're hungry
but can't do anything
about it,

that's when
we say,

come forward

nature is fine
without manipulation
and i'm ready
to have a word with her
as is.

this is the only spell
that needs
to come true.
been kissing god's ass
for forever

and this is not just pathetic
it's also childhood shit
so this is definitely torture.

while my parents
were getting a divorce, the third

entity, which was
their real child: the sum of
the two of them
had died in an airplane crash

with me
and since there was only us

only i could see
eat it

and this consuming
caused it to come back to life
in me.

sudden cancer half-ate it
without bothering me:
we was jumped
by several guys at once

being unable
to distinguish

from the other

all of their masks scared me so i
shit everywhere.

and it stayed that way

there are no cures
except fantasizing

that there are: guys

i'm too shy to ask out
fucking me.

sound of a balloon popping. of a recorder. my dog
panting as he guards me. cancelling field trips. teeth
falling out in dreams. symptoms
not matching up with shit the internet says
are symptoms. calling myself

a child-woman. a shaman. calling
meditation meditation.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

division into continents was
exciting, meaning, a nervous

centered around hope.

my response surely reveals i'm an unrepentant snob. this is

a way to give myself control: change like this is a fuck up not mine
and i'm the only one reacting uniquely to it.

if she warms up (they say
about me)

we suppose she's a volcano

she'll be warm, right? volcanoes
are always warm?
and she might get

even warmer
as in
warming up to us

becoming an equal

we must listen to
and fuck is she wise

let's rearrange its frailties
by callin' em out
for their strengths

(mister potato hed)

get her
to explode

provoking god to come 'ere
come 'ere and discover us

recognize we're yours
we feel your feathers touch
our faces, astronomical owl
as you gather us

making heaven an actual thing

(shoes, eyes, smiling mouth, and hat; old school actual potato)

except me.
my roots
cannot be dismantled.

i'mma say: i am more than
my grasping
to anything soft, more than

my desperation, my rehearsing
what would happen if abandoned.

i want you to fuck me so bad (i.e., really wanting),

i am being wanting
to be equalized
in the eyes of others. (i'm turning into a person

shouldn't of done this to me

i devote to

while looking

over my shoulder, to see
if passion gained
from suffering, the number one deity,

will happen to be around.

wanna ask it why the
fuck she don't care about
me and

when the fuck am
i gonna transcend, how
come i just have to roll with
the punches, replaying

resilience over and

can i

show you my hair and show it to others

without losing respect? is that the kinda sacrifice you need from me?
to ask that is to put it out there

that i'm open to

the possibility of feeling

when i'm not- no, not unless

i'm itching to go crazy. i've put out
fire, or, my happiness,
many times before. shaved my head for

robes, as a way to tell you
i appropriate in ways responsive

to the face of sacredness

constantly shifting for me.

but the heart of this is really: i
appropriate through my

suspecting that you are missing-

i'm surrounded by faeries, they're
existing for me in ways

i'm not okay with. they bite me in my sleep.
that's their only language.
i am their mother.

my nipples drag along the ground.

my purpose in life
is to be in charge of villains.

my faith is irrelevant.

i look over my shoulder, suspecting
i can change that from being true.

fetish: a duet.

i fuck you. ain't no shame.
shame is the one thing i was raised without
a sense of.

you know who you are. no need to name names.

you askin' me how i sleep at night.'s the high of
being on a platform like the one i got. it's, the lividest, hottest

sex, the kind you continue thinking of even when
your wife and kids are, it doesn't even matter to me
that i'm "ugly" or whatever.

"tell me i'm nice," is what i pull you in to say, going for

a hook so that you listen to me. instead, i freeze, not because

i'm a cold fish, but because my mind
is escaping the moment, as you

rape me, your dick feeling like
loose shit contained by the thin skin of sausage,

webcams everywhere, daddy.

destruction must have a  rite of passage we're
presented in our formative years
this must be it, like that dream i had when

osama bin laden captured me and other kids. favoring me,
he spared me from his murdering me

and granted me paradise, his
child in me.

"this birth is not my light," i said. "i must
find a way to be okay

with murdering my own child."

which didn't happen.

a pet
births herself from my chest, of all places. my heart probably
turning into something new.

i lift my
shirt. pet stacey comes out,

the girl that's always gonna be shy. she
admits she wants to learn how to suckle

like how my brothers did when
their lives weren't spared. slut.
her real name is iraq

learning it wants to fit in
mostly because
it's not allowed.

Saturday, July 1, 2017

"your body is perfect," i heard in my ear like an echo. it was, wasn't it? i would have never known if he hadn't told me, though.


Thursday, June 22, 2017

i grew you: duet.

my involvement in accidents
is a little

for me.

what's happening right now is
that's me disappearing. yes, one can disappear further

than they already have.
i do it when i need myself the most,
the fat that breaks my fall.

she's burying herself past
reception, into winter, pretending
to be an iceberg
until convinced.

it's safe to be where praise is unheard of.

i am the satyr
whose scent she does not trust.
it's a shame this is the only hymn
i'll ever know.

Monday, June 19, 2017

"i knew that as long as i didn't confess to murder, no one would know. there was incredible and increasing pressure on me to confess, so i had to learn to dismiss my own thoughts and emotions so i could stay alive. if i was strong enough to do this, no one would ever catch me.

Sunday, June 18, 2017


cherry, the overfelt red,
is on
overdrive: "me and stacey

go everywhere together."

high hopes

that my lover, horizontal line, a
former paramedic,
will notice our son has his eyes. high hopes he will return.

tongue has left sesame street. not to say
i swallow
my young, rather, he matured past me, repulsed
by his relating to me, and left.

we put a spoon on his naked body to
keep him warm through

these harsh winter nights. it got me to stay in place, underneath, birthing a
new wild animal everyday.

“thou art not mine,” i abandon
each of them, each, a cop, upon

my ritual i've got worked out: trust fall to the floor
with a socialist salute.

i've learned to prefer the company of tile.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

color wheel: black.

there are only so many animals
i can turn into
before all that's left

is revealing

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

this smile
is one that's modest

a sign
of health, or, worthwhileness.

true blood and vomit mess, not
like how we believe

such to be;

this is a tattoo i regret. i resist
more happening to it

other than its own echo. a dream wife's religion

betraying shape of expectation.

Monday, June 5, 2017


maybe i do not see god
as i expect myself to

my relationship with the trees
frustrates me. it mirrors

myself the wall
that is the only thing i know.

the face of god changes even
into those whose medicine
i overlook:

i do not escape waste, not
this time;

succumb to being
a belonging. this too shall get something to begin.

when the sun comes up
all reveals itself as illusory.

Saturday, May 27, 2017


presenting a bowl of it, i offer
my blood to the gods. i do this when i breathe among others.

it trickles onto their feet, sprouting
a fungus out of their skin.

they go back to what they were doing.
i then realize

that my playing my lyre for them was
all in my head; her body

i tossed aside.

Friday, May 26, 2017

"isn't it weird, how nothing coming out now even mentions what's going on?

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

is anyone else home beside me? is this the first time i've ever asked?
will other people respond, will they respond nicely? would it make a big difference
like i'd like it to?

if i find myself
would i find myself
marvelling upon discovery? maybe i haven't explored yet. maybe i've

never even moved before, maybe i antithesize movement.

if i called myself names, which mean, at least superficially, something, would my name still
be nothing?
guess i made life up
with my wild imagination (which is imagined)
to keep myself busy.

this is my job which is the only job.

so this is when i meet the part when i learn that i'm not actually being held captive in a belltower by an evil, jealous witch, nor am i a social activist being penalized for aligning confrontation with soul, as in, i'm not surprising anyone, because they're only my stuffed animals and i actually have learned they're not home anymore, either. climaxes aren't offered, that is. there is no offerer.
maybe there are others, and they've fled to a safe house when i wasn't looking, which is where they get married, to other people, or to drugs, which is sensible, if they felt like how i do before they got married. well, i'll just keep doing the things i do because i know it'll matter in the long run.

one: i'll run faster.

if i run faster than i'm sure i'll feel anger which i'm sure i must be feeling. no? maybe if i run as fast as i can. no? well, i guess i'm not ready for anger today. maybe if i run without passion that would help me.

two: i'll listen to music louder.

i know i must feel something when i listen to music. i know that i love music. maybe if i just make it louder, as opposed to restricting how much i listen to, it'll prove that all i've needed to do is let go, and that, yes, this really has all been an evil spell. when i'll blast music, i'll know that, because i'll connect to it. no? i'll blast it even louder, so loud, that it'll kill my tinnitus. that's mean, but maybe that's what i need to do. i'll blast music louder and louder, and it'll be the music that, in my heart of hearts, is the music that is important to me.

three: track moon phases.

i'll see where i am during the different phases of the moon, and which sign it's positioned in. full moon in scorpio: exhausted. new moon in scorpio: trying to convince myself i'm not exhausted.
if i get myself to match the schedule of the sky, i'll feel things, and i'll feel them harmoniously. my relationship with my intuition will tone...i'll be a witch. a white witch a green witch. changing my name to pay respects to the way the universe works. the way i am will make sense. i'll write my dreams down, too, and i'll start to understand what's going on here.
and when i plant, the plants will talk to me. all the sunflowers i plant, and the other happy plants i plant, i'll feel happy when i lookat them, not mad at myself for not feeling. i will learn so many stories. i will hear everything loud and clear.
but i guess i'm still not yet ready even to realize when something is a calling.

four: maintain hygenic health.

if i keep adding lemon to my water, and i keep working on commiting to my veganism, and if i learn to be okay with my distorted relationship with food, it'll stop feeling like i'm raping myself when i eat. if i just hold on to believing this will get me to feel like how cookbooks and nutritional guides say it will, and one knows when it will, it will be something other than upsetting.

five: have a positive attitude.

maybe if i just keep up with cultivating my rosy outlook, saying positive things when i feel less than positive, it will add up to me being something. maybe if i just was awful...maybe that would help? i could never.

six: find self. find self in change.

if i just decorate my room and say while doing this, "this is me doing this," or "i belong here," i will feel it.
maybe i just haven't had the luck to like anything i believe i like yet.

seven: try grounding exercises periodically throughout day.

if i turn the cold water on, in the shower, and make the water as cold as it can get, that'll get me to wake up. maybe that's what i need to do to unlock secret pathways within myself to get myself to know it's okay to be this way. being nothing means i'm not desperate, which i like, because desperation nauseates me. i may not like the way i inhibit it, but i love the way i refrain from exhibiting it. maybe i just need to get better at doing this. maybe i haven't been willing. maybe i'm too willing. nevermind. nothing.

eight: miscellanious.

i meditate and respect meditation. i'm really nice. i light incense and trust that all of this needs to happen- needs to happen as in, it'll turn into something. i love myself because i think i'm really brave of me to come where i am coming from- you know, life is on hold until you love yourself. my name is nothing because, i'm just not ready yet to turn into something, and i'm not gonna judge that.
i'm not desperate, and here's evidence: i hike up creeks on rainy days and that's something someone at peace would do. as i'm hiking, i notice myself worrying that i'm stepping on turtle eggs, that i'm abusing my dog, that what i'm actually doing is putting out a deathwish out there. but i say, i'm sure this kind of thinking happens to people on vision quests, and, maybe that's what i've been doing this whole time, and maybe if i just keep going, i'll see my ancestors- maybe they won't be elephants, but still, there'll be evidence that some of my beliefs are real, which would make sense to me if they were, because i don't cling to them, necessarily. i maintain a healthy skepticism.
my hard work will be affirmed. and a parade of spiritual overseers will say, "well done," or, "we're proud of you," and i'll see the world as it really is as in, it'll touch me, and it'll turn out i've just been a shaman going through a rite of passage this whole time. at that same moment, a nice boy will court me, and i'll efforrlessly, and, politely, deny them.

and, maybe i just haven't learned yet. maybe that's just what i need, is to evade learning for now. maybe i've just been missing the point. and that's okay! it's just expression.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

< 3

Wendiann Alfieri is a weird writer. She has been a weird writer for years. She doesn’t think there is any other way to describe herself. Her favorite color is purple and her favorite animal is the turtle. If she were to do anything at all in the world, she would make everyone and everything equal to each other so that everyone would treat others with respect.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

"there's no more education, no more culture- if culture depends on a commonly understood history- and perhaps no more middle class in the united states. there's war.
"your problem is desire. you've tried unsuccessfully to resolve, dissolve desire through work. as a result of this repression, either you must go to war, or you are at war. the cards are unclear on this temporal point. you're now moving through the negative part of that dialectic; there'll be synthesis when your centralized power has died.

Saturday, May 6, 2017

the nice mother.

i am a mother to my son, about thirteen
years of age. i'm holding him across me
and he sobs, he wants a party.
the party is to go back to the way things were before we were born

i want the same
and fill the fridge
with deli meats, cheese and eggs, stuff like that

it's my way of saying i faintly hope you want the same as what i want eternally. get up and
open its door,
it's maybe heaven inside,
where maybe god's patiently waiting.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

co-dependent relationship.

it's you
i open the window for
because fresh air is healthy
and you're all about demands sometimes.

i feel frozen. what can i afford, or, what more
can i do for you; when is the next day
they will equate
so i can know i have
my strength to look forward to validating?

i deny acknowledging
that i do everything for this relationship
because you are unable- you are a queen,
you've never moved a muscle,

and sometimes, my hard work
i dedicate to you
fuels my frustration; that's when i tell you
i get you're amoral, incapable
of caring,
and this really hurts my feelings, confounds
my shit; where do you go
when compromised? i need space
i'm not allowed to have.

there is no value
for my wants seperate from you anymore,

just missing, aching.
i know it seems irresponsible of me to care little about
origins (sometimes i think it would be
radical, accepting, responsible, brave
for me to abandon all obligations
all of them, yes, all-or-nothing
it's only names of moons
i care about
give me romanticism; care about me while understanding,
equate hope

twinkle twinkle twinkle
lyre lyre lyre

Sunday, April 16, 2017

sex sells.


i added four pictures of paintings, previously unshared, to my portfolio, and i changed its address. thanks for looking should you choose to.

Friday, April 14, 2017

i believe so much in growth.
this is the part that grows legs
this is the part that grows blowing bubbles
this is the part that matters
this is the part that's nothing and needs to be nothing to begin with so beautiful things can happen
this is the part that's buddha
hey buddha
do you see me, laughing fuck?
do you see me under my tree
that is the tree that matters the most to me?
what was it like abandoning your family?
i'm abandoning my family, because of you, because i'm curious
to unearth soul from under the mass
of my own isolated suffering.
must be made, because
our emotions weren't ever

we are not mourning doves, nor
are we swans,
together forever together forever means blah blah blah blah blah kinda protocol
my scent is onto something.

confused about the whole being an animal thing.

Monday, April 10, 2017

okay i edited this, because this following passage was even more rejuvenating.

"So much a part of being an American in today’s world is being awash in this spectacle of separation. Thus we constantly are complaining, but never doing anything about anything. We always have an opinion about everything under the sun, but never an overall analysis of the totality of the systems of power and control. Most Americans are in a constant state of passivity yet also extreme anxiety about our inability to change our surroundings, which often leaves us in a constant state of waiting for someone else to do it for us. Thus, many despise politicians, but also are always waiting around for the right one. And while we wait, this system gives us the ability to comment on everything and document every aspect of our lives, but never to examine the shallowness of these lives or what makes them so. To be an American is to celebrate the resignation of agency in the face of statism and the industrial capitalist economy, yet celebrate this reality as a virtue. 

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

when guru says you can do anything possible
and so much more,

i will forgive them for seeming unreal when they
turn to me, saying, "aside from you. you really
need to learn to enjoy fucking up.
(e.g., putz about farting, head droop toward
cell phone here, pick at ear wax
there, etc.)"

it will be known that i've been too poor as in
unable to listen without
the interference of ascetic mindset. not allowed to exist
without conserving the memory
of anorexia i.e., the good ol' days.

mirror is dissolved for them. they're able to see
i am sorry.
only the giving needs to know that,

they wouldn't just happen to know.

ps. trauma is relative ( i wanna say that, because
i thought i was all trauma, so bad, that now
i would die if it was removed from who i am.
people like going to the opera
no matter what kind.

just a suggestion: do not be a hero. only then
does robbery become your problem.
just pretend to be a mountain. if i can do it
anyone can. i'm a

dragging my feet across the ground
because it's telling me
my history is under there

shhhh. hear it all? storytellers. okay, i'll say something now, though.
and because this is how to
say something, i'll howl about landscape
exclusively to find









dominating archetype.

afterword says "enigmatical," and something like,
"seemed interesting. not sure
what to make of it. bold or whatever."
speaks in tongues to ensure
likelihood of afterword. (speaks in tongues
is name given by spirit i stalk,
hold up, refuse to release- refuse

to let become invisible.

loses voice. speaks in tongues

all the other directions that pull, which is
every direction.
"release me" is all they're trying
to say
when they pull. not yet, i say, not until

i get to know you entirely, memorizing
everything forever.

lucky mcluckster. isle of
having the biggest dick.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

"We do not kill rape and abuse victims in this culture, but we know how to respond with such psychological abuse, coercion, victim blaming, and failure to protect the victim from further harm we can make them kill themselves.
"Ideology is not something we can escape or banish; at best, we can maintain a healthy suspicion of our own.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017


faith undergoes testing to be faith but really (the most loyal
to dogma of them all).

how much of gaia do you submit to?

i'm her bottom girl
proud to be a love object this time

"you're my everything shhh"
"i'm your everything shhh,"

that's the script in the game we play
that we keep secret.

i know the impressions i make
make me
shapes of light
weighing atop face of the earth, urging me to sex-sex-sex

the dirty gross sex that robs us, that is

that we all look for in others
in hopes of looking outside self

ultimately about producing physical babies
which teach me how to love. me seeing myself
reborn in all of societies sons
until i am reduced to

inner child

(this isn't even it speaking. this is myself as
an orphan child
that was supposed to be the fate.

(i'm not gonna deny the shadow people speak up for me.)

tv/computer screen's the torturous landowner who
still owns slaves, too reared
to get its own hands soiled.

i'm not gonna deny i'm the snakes and the hand
that threatens their habitat.
i'm not gonna deny i'm cleopatra, i, who witnesses the
world through all perceptions
would be unable to deny without knowing
i'm lying actually.

i've asked mrs. day of light, the art teacher,
to find the remote for me so i can
change the channel. she's compliant

state of inert

when it's like: impatient, shocked,
and not relating to my ignorance
'kuz it's too foreign, shadow person different
from the others

i sprawl on the couch uncertain
keep still that way

this being what i look at as my voice
yes it talks to itself so what
when translated, it
be life's worth

gauged by a thermometer, mythical, as in
hides from us, we hide from it.

i'm gonna find it. transmute it
through me if i can, and make it be
black magick because

bats are the angels today.
i see them
releasing themselves
out of reach from my hands.

what's within needs me to tell itself
to let it all be wind among winds; being a hero
is how i like fucking up best, isn't it?

reflection after reflection one seamless image
pasted together. sloppy amateur shit.
i know only the light passing through. i like
being extraordinary.

take pictures of me.

astral projection is you walking around my house
of all places. and i see you.
you want to know what it's like being other people,

but without leaving evidence.
i am nice, pretending
i don't see you seeing

okay you see these objects
now that makes them messages from suppressed-mind

i know your approach so you are no stranger.

look over there, at what
i point toward. blur your eyes now, look at it
that way.

look around it
you are doing your best, only
you've never been good at keys and this is a key

where you give your eyes to
look look no really really look

and look within
look further within
you can do more damage than that
it's only looking deep inside yourself and
you can do that, right? anyone can
do that

unintended image reflected; i name it "planted knife", weapon
again the slaughter of my romanticism

go hide it upstairs
the part of the house that's a ghetto
surely a sunflower will become of it
if you let it separate like how it wants
that's what i was pointing toward
for you to look at.

alligator challenged me to sever his head
so i can fit myself inside without getting my head bitten off.
i feel alligator warmth now, wanna try?
i've found out where red (blood) ends and green(ish skin) begins

i did not know this in myself
without doing it to estrange it from
present experience.
"it's my nature," said the scorpion, or whoever it was, in the passage
people refer to
to assert relevance of zen.

it's my nature, said me
doing the same.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

wearing a dress with short hair.

this isn't the part of me deserving of love. this is the part whose next life is gonna start in hell
'kuz it doesn't "deserve" love. this is the part without will.
the threatening. the part that's not fat stupid ugly lazy. no. i'm good looking and sexy. i prove the other parts of me bow down and i don't, so i'm queen and they're little bitches. i have nothing to prove. a good example of evil, a satanist in all ways there are 
i am the dangerous part. the part that believes in dying young. living life fast dying young. chewing
with my mouth open, eating
whatever i want and staying skinny. 
having fun making profit
off the suffering of other people. calling it art. the discriminating term the rest of me is against.
my male parts make me big and strong. you have no power over me.

time-out corner.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

"[...]This made me wonder if my postpartum thyroiditis symptoms of cloudiness and fatigue so many years ago were representative of my feeling suppressed and oppressed by my unexpressed self. Perhaps I developed exactly what it is that I needed to become more myself in this life, and that healing it rather than fighting it was the integration that rendered me one with my very personal process.
Safety looks like ease. Trust. Curiosity. And even surrender. It’s not a fight. It’s not a battle. It’s a cooperative exchange and an exploration. It’s becoming more of our whole selves because we are becoming less fragmented and self-evasive. We stop hiding parts of our personhood from our awareness. We embrace it all in order to heal.
"Perhaps what I am sensing is present in India — this deep fabric of spirituality — is actually in its death throes and I am romanticizing a tragedy. I don’t know. But what I do know is that our struggles as Westerners, particularly those struggling with poverty, are made all the more poignant because we are struggling without this fabric — flesh robots on a dead rock in the middle of nowhere. 

Monday, March 20, 2017


let me get used to all that we're taking back
from the white man who formerly robbed us. i'm at that point
where i'm separation itself, that
in-between spot. of course, there's separation

in all of us. we're not stupid here.

let me look at this as a bridge to decisions
i've dreamed of making.
everything we're doing is for potentiality, size
of the grain of sand from the never-ending story. grain of sand
from which
many wishes come true, one after the other.

i may get all self conscious around those pale impersonators
but i'll learn to adjust
to the new living- me, the pair of fangs.

if our efforts backfire,
let me shrink to naivety, how it was before, so this will not
come back to me.

i'm gonna get this to be the part of me that feels so good to
let out. it does seem muddy
in secrecy (the backbone who can suck my dick).

sacred fire gets sick of me denying its rights, so
spontaneously it possesses me
until i release it
and wildfire is the world.

i guess wildfire is the world, no matter what, though, huh.

i guess this is me counting on fire to be justified in its rage
just for now; this being
my obsessing over the fat chick with pistols and perfect tits, who i salute
when i wear all black- one observes

i'm a trick of hers that's been turned.

her will broke me. determined 'kuz she says so.
she lives in caves in afghanistan and
sacrifices animals to nihilism.
has no problem resisting persuasion
('kuz it disgusts her),
does not read, is hardly effected by current events
unless they effect her life evidently

admits porn makes girls look bad at acting, and fucking is gross
even when doing it, only eats dirt

has never spoken a word
has never looked at the stars. seems obligatory.
hates obligation (believes
in hate). sees obligation
in things other people do, as in
they do the things they do to themselves.

complacency is the white witch.

i am under her wing
when i'm with her, you are intimidated by us both
raping your dreams

the ones you block out, or interpret
to exhaustive, or declare nightmares.

when i'm ready to wake up, whenever i want,
i'll be forgiving, 'kuz i'm liberated now.
i'll say, "sorry," in the vein of
showing respect, not admitting shame. shame is dead. i killed it
myself. i had turned into death
just to kill shame how i wanna. you just look shit in the eye
when you least have it in you.

blood, muscle, brains, will, balls.

we could be heroes.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

hungry hungry cancer cells.

what gets me to confuse smudged glasses
with glasses clear as day?
the inner lifelessness that gets things seen on tv to seem flat. watching tv
as the rest of the world, except binge eating, confronts me with my disinterest, frustration, and anger toward illness.
the cancer cell is green and lurking, chameleon personality, like mine. original sin.

starting sentences coming out like i just feel like
it just seems like
just leave the shit unfinished, forcing it
will not get me to admire myself, convinced
otherwise or not.
i just feel like
being out of control seems like
cruelty; maybe it's justified, not
superficial, not a pessimistic front
to say life is unfair, if i add
that i'm sensitive about it, and maybe
the superficial part of me is allowed to exist, anyway,
who the fuck seriously wants to be god? he's a rapist.

north shore is rocky and pastel houses for people
housing souls older, further ahead in enlightenment
than that which i host. two hundred, at least.
that's me on the south shore i'm taking pictures of, dragging my allergic ass across master's carpet.
masturbating to being careless before being careless didn't suit me anymore

and i refused to fuck anymore.

this is how i want. look at me look at me little miss visceral.
this is how i fuck deep down inside my heart.

Friday, March 10, 2017

"everybody has a metaphysical assumption which [he] can't prove. watch out for it.

Saturday, March 4, 2017

the goddess.

it is a shooting
it's in the school
my family must be worried
this is what it's like to be in a hostage situation

the rage is the thunder storm
baba yaga wears masks; they all wear masks
when exercising radicalist uniformity

my idol keeps me alive. who am i to judge.

i'm feeling disappointed
it is all so boring, and, i hope
they like me. i hope i could be the one
they'd let get away alive, seeing
hope in me. being seduced.
seeing the goddess. seeing britney spears.

i refuse to tell her
i believe in god
even though i do

i am turning this into a movie, called "columbine",
and hoping i look good- stacey, sixteen years old, white and helpless

i took off my shirt, more stagefright
than pure fear; hoping i look right, hoping
i pass as coy, and that

it is sensual, and that sensual means "love potion".

there is a war of urgency
so too i enter the polarized, desperate body, perhaps
a vaccination.

my ideas stick, so are revolutionary; no, not ideology
ideology is for suckers, henceforth, crucified.

i know revolution as language, and am fluent.
i don't know what words other languages cover
that this does not.


Saturday, February 25, 2017

"alone had always felt like an actual place to me, as if it weren't a state of being, but rather a room where i could retreat to be who i really was.

Friday, February 24, 2017

let magick be a potential, a keepsake
let magick be tiny. let me find power in smallness, in non-giving, in a sense.
let me shrink to naivety so this will not come back to me.

let this be the part of me that feels good to let out
as it all gets muddied and confounded in secrecy-
sacred fire that gets sick of me denying its rights, so
spontaneously possessing me
until i release it
and wildfire is the world.

forgiving again
once it's banished, my bared feet understanding the earth
let me believe all fire justified
just for now; this being
the aspect with pistols and perfect tits, who i salute
when i wear all black- one could say

i'm a trick that's been turned.

that girl is the only friend that counts
and she lives in caves
and is in love with nihilism, if that makes sense,
resists persuasion, does not read, does not
get shy, admits fucking makes people look stupid, only eats dirt

has never spoken a word
has never looked at the stars.
is she crow? well, she looks human, to me. perhaps

humans will morph in the future
as humans have been morphed before.
i am under her wing
when i'm with her, you are intimidated by us both
raping your dreams

the ones you wake up blocking out, or interpreting
to exhaustive, or declaring
you've just experienced nightmare.

this is the girl
born of that boy
that boy who was the boy who taught her
though, missed out on me
and i was kind enough
to let him get away with his crimes, his forgetting me
and all,

raping my dreams, which we must have
to acknowledge fire.

stay vehicular, shielded
i am just what you need; avoidance of the word
"dissociation", don't want them to think i fancy i know shit.
grounding exercise,
chopping almonds,
open window,
now things are getting harmonious

trying to let go of intrusive thought
for days, a new one- over not remembering a word
doing my best- but don't you wanna fail?
of course i do, but i can be mindful of it, so it's all good, plus i'm fat and ugly anyway.

talk to the punks
practically asking for it, "mohawks" up, please
walk up to me, i

expand my aura to invite you in. the virus
of missed opportunities
you know i'm letting this be your birthday
and i like your sister better than you. you do know that, right?
i know!

child believes.

listen to your birthday song
and drift off
watch your birthday candles
let your breath
let the wish
come true

it is your manifestation, your experience is.
law of attraction when you can't handle it
unless displacing it. when displacing, you can be okay
with the universe throwing anything you can handle at you.

let the oven
continue baking
with nothing inside
let the birthday
let the imagine they abuse me very hardcore
let the magick prince

make sense

chainsaw enlightenment.

i can't help what you don't tell yourself
you will yourself to do, i'm only a boy
that drags a brick (whose name is daddy, the poem
feminists stole
to make a flag
from its bones)
and a ball and chain. i raped you
and everything happens for a reason.
stop cooking and accept yourself
a guesthouse for demons;
know your evil- nobody opens the fridge's door
except you. stop painting-
nobody cares unless you force them to.  you don't
want to be alone in your caring, neither
does daddy, nor
does money.
let the food rot 'kuz that's what you know you really want deep inside anyway, to
disappoint grandma.
is this the poem that will cure anger, magick spell
to release it, better off
expectations not be met, anyway-
is it one pansexual, asexual, polyamorous, or just
regular misguided? i am all of the above at eight years of age
with a bloodied nose
and a puppy i murdered
and perfect fucking grammar asshole
telling the literary establishment i know better than "they" do
in their realm-keeping. the people that i love most
are too good for paying attention to our relationships- natural selection
is instinctual, so no judgement, outside of catharsis.
i'll be reliable no matter what, so you can all neglect our relationships
to go on regarding me as you would a therapist
and insist it's because of all my therapists
who i guess speak through me.
i'm only a bully and only i don't know it but know it.
someone is gonna think i'm confused. it's one of those train wrecks you don't stop yourself from looking at, or
talking shit about afterward. nobody is gonna ask if i'm okay
and if they do
i won't feel touched like how i wanna.
i only spend all of my time pressuring myself to not pressure myself, and i have my father's love
and my molestor has the life i'd like to have
because it is not mine.
it climbed on top and never sought a withdrawal.
saying, "don't touch me," was not threatening. elegant of me to engage in passive resistance; i value my integrity.
clearly, i've never roamed the streets.

Saturday, January 28, 2017

unplug my wire
and replace it with that of the lamp
i'd unplugged for my own. acknowledge balancing

as a delicate thing to do, something that calls for many steps.

apologizing is political, acting
upon awareness is, at least, a response. it involves.

my dog out. turn the porch light on for him.
talk about him.
let you know it's my dog that brings me joy, and is my guardian
in that way.

when i go to bring myself joy i lose my sight, so i don't know how i look in this respect. so that means i didn't feel joy when it happened.
i know a monster
like how my stomach is showing.

say i'm going to learn from it
because i'd like to be a good listener.

are what i keep safe
and what keeps me a mother.
that is needed does not equate

committed to

this day in history.

one needs to point the gun often pointed at others
toward their self

perhaps more often
than not

to get high on life
to realize all is beautiful as is

and then suffering wouldn't be valid anymore
so we wouldn't know anything about it
and we'd wake up new people.

all you have to do is point a gun at your head.
you just need to get high on life is what's up.

we all have our means of doing it.
and now, we can do it together, for somehow, we've all contributed

at least a little
to the end (the end of listening)
during mrs. sun's final cry
(mrs. big shot) the idol
still smiling, rubbing it in

that she can smile while dying, she's
at peace, mrs.
ball of energy, mrs.
robust across the daunting sky- it's either this, or it's
the back of a box of cereal
whose clouds look like clouds at most- clearly, not a subject of mine
in my kingdom, the fantasy world
where everyone is friendly

while i hold myself together on wishful thinking

that this is all just brain damage. better be.

intentions are well-meaning, at least, the parts
we know about them, the parts
we're able to digest,
and if we tried more, we'd discover
more than we can possibly handle.

don't we all
have this in common- the passing of the pipe,
the seed you smoke. exhibition
of trust.

together. together forever! like guys in a rock band.
counting on enormous roots to
catch me
cradling me as part of the planet.

seeds born of shiva's tears
of the fruit tree he cried under
in my jewelry draw.

it's good to admit they're there.

Friday, January 27, 2017

"without a history of persecution, we would have no extremist groups at all.

Saturday, January 21, 2017

"[...]above all, plagiarism is the reappropriation of ideas: when an individual plagiarizes a text which those who believe in intellectual property would have held "sacred," she denies that there is a difference in rank between herself and the thinker she takes from. She takes the thinker's ideas for herself, to express them as she sees fit, rather than treating the thinker as an authority whose work she is duty-bound to preserve as he intended. She denies, in fact, that there is a fundamental difference between the thinker and the rest of humanity, by appropriating the thinker's material as the property of humanity.

crimethinc. has been so responsible a catalyst for much of my daring, and my curiosity in freedom, that i shamelessly deify my love by binding their (?) words in quotes, in spite of a shared stance against "intellectual property". it's an expression from myself as a child being taught to moralize, through persistent shaming- who demands freedom.

i do not know my self, and my exploration of life through it, without the echo of personified impressions.

Friday, January 20, 2017

mixed media candles.

i am now offering homemade candles to anyone kind to help me with my portfolio, as a thank you ( i have unscented beeswax and soy candles up for grabs. i repurpose frequently, when it can be done, including waxes. please note, some of these are not functional, and would work well as things to look at rather than things to burn and i wish very much that the latter will not be attempted. now that that point has come across, so has an idea- i will dig up the wax in those particular pieces, so one can feel free to use them to grow baby plants in, or whatever else they please. : )
please traverse the catalogue at the site to see what options are available as far as stuff one can acquire that my visual works would be printed on. the prices are reasonable, in my opinion.

thank you for tolerating my advertisement, and for the support.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

news flash.

hello; on my e-portfolio, i've introduced seedlings of other galleries, and i added one picture of one painting. in the spring, when the light is all balanced and shit outside, i will be taking plenty more- work to be satisfied by.
please check it out if you'd like to, and thanks.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

philosophy major.

"Sexual desire is not a desire for sensations. It is a desire for a person: and I mean a person, not his or her body, conceived as an object in the physical world, but the person conceived as an incarnate subject, in whom the light of self-consciousness shines and who confronts me eye to eye, and I to I.