Because I enjoy keeping secrets
I enjoy making secrets to keep.
I enjoy looking at you in the eye
knowing you playful.
But knowing just too much destroys
the romance.
Gravity is compassionate to life.
I bite into a dark chocolate with a zesty citrus inside and, biting all the walls off to keep the best, creamy bite for last I realize I naturally began to spin the remaining body as liquid was exposed, keeping it from dripping off into outer space.
The gentle turning kept all the zest in tact. And once I finished chewing the chocolate walls I savored the rest in a final, delicious bite.
I wonder when god is going to come on by and swallow this planet whole.
Gravity is faint because it is leaking into our world from another. Gravity is like the force-of-soul, which is weak, but strong enough to keep our world together. Is gravity the essence of... love?
I bite into a dark chocolate with a zesty citrus inside and, biting all the walls off to keep the best, creamy bite for last I realize I naturally began to spin the remaining body as liquid was exposed, keeping it from dripping off into outer space.
The gentle turning kept all the zest in tact. And once I finished chewing the chocolate walls I savored the rest in a final, delicious bite.
I wonder when god is going to come on by and swallow this planet whole.
Gravity is faint because it is leaking into our world from another. Gravity is like the force-of-soul, which is weak, but strong enough to keep our world together. Is gravity the essence of... love?
Sex and magic
It's neither sex nor magic.
Abandonment or thrill.
Which party do you want to
be late for?
Which old song must we
sing along with?
Here come the fools, keeping
straight outta line and raging,
heated, livid, and
strangely democratic.
When can I show you my face?
Do we have to die to be together?
Everything I do is art news
to the Absorption.
Everything is process,
especially the Anti.
To the misfit memory I have of
a quiet childhood, to the
rolling stone that stuck me
to the ground, to the
river luck flowing
from my intimates,
penetrating earth
and giving her
fertility.
To the misfit memory I have of
friendships from the deep, crawling
out of caves and water-speak.
I may be heavy but I still float.
In the anti, behavior is in retrograde
and dances upon insecurities and
nuances. In the anti, there is only anti.
The process is squired, but genuine.
To the Absorption, I am an observer, having absorbed.
I've abandoned the renaissance.
I've found new thrill in my flesh home.
Abandonment or thrill.
Which party do you want to
be late for?
Which old song must we
sing along with?
Here come the fools, keeping
straight outta line and raging,
heated, livid, and
strangely democratic.
When can I show you my face?
Do we have to die to be together?
Everything I do is art news
to the Absorption.
Everything is process,
especially the Anti.
To the misfit memory I have of
a quiet childhood, to the
rolling stone that stuck me
to the ground, to the
river luck flowing
from my intimates,
penetrating earth
and giving her
fertility.
To the misfit memory I have of
friendships from the deep, crawling
out of caves and water-speak.
I may be heavy but I still float.
In the anti, behavior is in retrograde
and dances upon insecurities and
nuances. In the anti, there is only anti.
The process is squired, but genuine.
To the Absorption, I am an observer, having absorbed.
I've abandoned the renaissance.
I've found new thrill in my flesh home.
Prosetry 1
What did I know back then in those darker days, in those days of natural conflict
during those constellations of breaking timid and fast
during those revolutionary attractions elsewhere.
Putting dynamite to the mind. Letting it die a little in the process.
Suffering and unstoppable. Instinct and liver.
I have nothing to write about because I am overly troubled by the process that I ought to process as I type that I ought to number twenty nine be a genius all the time. Running on in the sentence is not writing is not typing it has nothing to do with any of it like my face has nothing to do with my soul like my attitude has EVERYTHING to do with the way you’ve fucked me.
It has nothing to do with anything like my face has nothing to do with my soul.
That was a start.
I have trouble writing about how I ought to be inspired as often as I am horny. I mean, I have trouble writing. I have found the culprit of my rumble and my grumble and after looking it dead in the eye I toyed with desire and it got so frightened it left.
There’s no denying a snake sheds its skin and because I’m in the wrong body to do so I penetrate mine with ink in the shape of snakes. There’s no pending altercation from my process to my destination.
There’s no pool of waste, of filth and of mangled good ideas. It was a good idea to leave this place. The curtain of consciousness sparkles when I run into it and I’m reminded of my inferiority complex. I’m reminded of poor impulse control. Poor impulse control got me into that place. There’s only smooth, clear sailing over the seas of shit.
While the rest of you are out there breathing, I’ve learned to live underwater. My head in a fishbowl, I can’t sense a scent out there.
Insect bites that have lasted forever. Lyme? Am I diseased? Am I diseased beyond that? I’m a sponge to all this radiation. I’m a goldmine to whatever microscopic feasts are instilled into our subconscious-reality.
I dream a vacant night’s sleep.
during those constellations of breaking timid and fast
during those revolutionary attractions elsewhere.
Putting dynamite to the mind. Letting it die a little in the process.
Suffering and unstoppable. Instinct and liver.
I have nothing to write about because I am overly troubled by the process that I ought to process as I type that I ought to number twenty nine be a genius all the time. Running on in the sentence is not writing is not typing it has nothing to do with any of it like my face has nothing to do with my soul like my attitude has EVERYTHING to do with the way you’ve fucked me.
It has nothing to do with anything like my face has nothing to do with my soul.
That was a start.
I have trouble writing about how I ought to be inspired as often as I am horny. I mean, I have trouble writing. I have found the culprit of my rumble and my grumble and after looking it dead in the eye I toyed with desire and it got so frightened it left.
There’s no denying a snake sheds its skin and because I’m in the wrong body to do so I penetrate mine with ink in the shape of snakes. There’s no pending altercation from my process to my destination.
There’s no pool of waste, of filth and of mangled good ideas. It was a good idea to leave this place. The curtain of consciousness sparkles when I run into it and I’m reminded of my inferiority complex. I’m reminded of poor impulse control. Poor impulse control got me into that place. There’s only smooth, clear sailing over the seas of shit.
While the rest of you are out there breathing, I’ve learned to live underwater. My head in a fishbowl, I can’t sense a scent out there.
Insect bites that have lasted forever. Lyme? Am I diseased? Am I diseased beyond that? I’m a sponge to all this radiation. I’m a goldmine to whatever microscopic feasts are instilled into our subconscious-reality.
I dream a vacant night’s sleep.
She the Sea
All of my ancient loves manifested
All of my Harlem's
All of my secrets in a bottle
at the bottom
of the sea.
If She the Sea wants ye,
you'd be there.
I'm writing all this down again because I need to.
I've been waking up before dawn
with the frost with a nervous feeling
I might be late for work.
I'm late for LIFE.
I'm not sleeping much. I only started eating again
because my mother brought me back here,
and gave me no choice.
I'm late. I should be somewhere by now.
I actually wanted something.
For the first time in my LIFE I wanted something
and I wanted somebody
and I'm going to type it out until my soul has digested it
and I'm afriad I can't let myself care
about how pathetic it may be to need words so badly
or about caring in itself. I can't let myself care
about the fact that I cared.
It all went away in the blink of joke.
What can possibly be next?
I came into this year the happiest I've ever been.
I believed I was changing. I felt older,
slightly more sophisticated. I felt satisfied.
But the world changed for me again.
The world changed for me so I could stay the same.
I felt I had a place in a community. Relationships of mutual benefit.
Mutuality is a myth?
Mutuality as the myth.
These have been bad luck days.
I actually feel REGRET. And that's an emotion for the
bottom feeders.
My feet are asleep. Let me curl up on the floor,
numb.
If I could un-fuck anything... I'd take the prize
from the gathering and leave the gathering behind.
I'd have the affection back and feel lucky.
Alas,
I am alone. Learning.
with the frost with a nervous feeling
I might be late for work.
I'm late for LIFE.
I'm not sleeping much. I only started eating again
because my mother brought me back here,
and gave me no choice.
I'm late. I should be somewhere by now.
I actually wanted something.
For the first time in my LIFE I wanted something
and I wanted somebody
and I'm going to type it out until my soul has digested it
and I'm afriad I can't let myself care
about how pathetic it may be to need words so badly
or about caring in itself. I can't let myself care
about the fact that I cared.
It all went away in the blink of joke.
What can possibly be next?
I came into this year the happiest I've ever been.
I believed I was changing. I felt older,
slightly more sophisticated. I felt satisfied.
But the world changed for me again.
The world changed for me so I could stay the same.
I felt I had a place in a community. Relationships of mutual benefit.
Mutuality is a myth?
Mutuality as the myth.
These have been bad luck days.
I actually feel REGRET. And that's an emotion for the
bottom feeders.
My feet are asleep. Let me curl up on the floor,
numb.
If I could un-fuck anything... I'd take the prize
from the gathering and leave the gathering behind.
I'd have the affection back and feel lucky.
Alas,
I am alone. Learning.
Rant.
Chill. Vibrant environment, bright, glowing hard. But homely, comforting. But social, coming-and-going in moment, and movement, movement. And I relent. And I withdraw, and I have given myself withdrawal. And I have taken myself away from these things but only to observe the spectacle. I have taken on the role of card 9 most intimately and, besides that, masturbation helps. Always helps. I will achieve another vibrant place. I will achieve another sex muffin. Right on the grounds I've been laying. I will archive my mischievous grin. My shitty attitude. I swear, I will make up for this with love. I will make up for every dirty thought with love, too. I swear. But I've over-dignified the situation already. Just be in my company. I'm vulnerable 98% of the time. Eager to observe the world as it orbits around you. Eager to observe the whole world, even in horror. I fuck up every time. This is my soul resume. My afterlife aftercare. My unbelievable psychological concoction of epitome and demise. A sweet tart. A smiling cat. I always thought they were distanced and strange. How do you read me? I feel like dancing and I've felt like dancing since the first time I danced. These days are so severe. These subtle, inexpressive moments filling in the loose ends of expression itself. I have a regret to digest. I have a regret to dance out. I have an idea to put away. I have a romantic idea I have yet to put away. I'm stirring in the shit of my dreams. I'm stirred up in all the curious ends. Was I manifesting totally completely but not consciously? I'm a helpless character in love. I should come with a tattooed disclaimer. A regret for later. A regret I can't digest. And the whole scope of things I've cared for and the whole scope of fallacies I've fallen for and the secret snakes and the roaring lion. I have a twisted path to follow. I'm imitated it here on earth. I swear, soul! I've got SOUL much lovin' and I aint bound to forget. I have every intention to laugh. I may cry so bitterly you'd be set a cast uncomfortable, but I will end my day with laughter. I had things I cared for. I'm not about to go bitter, that's why I've let myself weep so. I will bow down to my fool and scream most hysterically. In my home I am secure. I am self-sufficient and wholesome: wholesome, prone to dirty talk. How would you respond? Now my wings have to make me fly. Now my youth has to be good for something. All; fucked up. Cast aways. Hey, we congregate in this city. It's surreal when you think about anything. I told them I was feeling better, less horny. But I'm feeling as devilish as can be. I can't stand my own scent for a second. I hated myself for a second. But no thing within me knows how to believe that. I'm alright. I'm as decent as decent come. I've got a strong sense of European hospitality. And I will do you every good you do me and more. And I will kill you if you kill me. Sometimes I take defeat; conquered. I've held Blasphemy in my hands. I've known the culprit in every devious robbery of spirit. The sky cries as much as I do. It's freshwater spring. Mating season, the perfect time to feel lonely. Repeated idiothood. This city, this city. I am every piece of existence pieced together. I reach out to people. Like the sun bursting through thick clouds. I reach out to my furthest extent. Typically, they're interesting enough. Typically, I can smell some sort of distance-past, some sort of hidden memory. Smoking a medicinal kind of wisdom of the fool. Soaked completely in this revolting paradise. The beast of soul! The human is a craven, wonton, unbelievable creature of the soul. In this way, my ultimate self can be any other self. I am the fool. I trust my fool most of all. I will follow my fool down to the end. I have trust in the end. I am the fool.
short
I've lost my handle
Perception Escapism
I've been ditched I've been taken in
I've been boiled hard
my yolk is totally spoiled.
Okay, mighty ones. I anticipate your charm
I've received my immediate-exit of
the comfort zone.
I've enforced outright living
and poor impulse control be my haven
for my heaven is hellish
And I have decided it so.
Perception Escapism
I've been ditched I've been taken in
I've been boiled hard
my yolk is totally spoiled.
Okay, mighty ones. I anticipate your charm
I've received my immediate-exit of
the comfort zone.
I've enforced outright living
and poor impulse control be my haven
for my heaven is hellish
And I have decided it so.
Disbelief of change
I blew my load on my boss cos
everyone's got their gender on backwards here
I blew it. I am a glowing, young ruffian.
I am a beautiful loser.
I am a natural born killer with eyes only
for myself.
Did I fuck up everything?
Did I do it for poetry?
I don't want to fuck myself for poetry anymore.
I don't want to lick my lips over this pussy anymore,
I want the balls to be loved.
I thought I broke the patterns.
Every year I throw my work away and jerk off
back in its direction. Every spring I can't stand it anymore.
This time, though... I wanted to stick. This time I wanted to stick.
Universe, my lessons becoming clear with this pattern.
Take me under. Have your way with me.
Hurt me. Bring me back for more.
I've been taking my own advice?
I feel too free for this. This time the world lingered
detached, not my typical tranny of dying
not my usual casual decay
This came at me from afar not from the intimate
I have to take what I don't want
Though I still trust magnificently.
Something big is around the corner?
Where will this freedom take me?
I have one concern.
It's stupid.
Will the lion still be my friend?
everyone's got their gender on backwards here
I blew it. I am a glowing, young ruffian.
I am a beautiful loser.
I am a natural born killer with eyes only
for myself.
Did I fuck up everything?
Did I do it for poetry?
I don't want to fuck myself for poetry anymore.
I don't want to lick my lips over this pussy anymore,
I want the balls to be loved.
I thought I broke the patterns.
Every year I throw my work away and jerk off
back in its direction. Every spring I can't stand it anymore.
This time, though... I wanted to stick. This time I wanted to stick.
Universe, my lessons becoming clear with this pattern.
Take me under. Have your way with me.
Hurt me. Bring me back for more.
I've been taking my own advice?
I feel too free for this. This time the world lingered
detached, not my typical tranny of dying
not my usual casual decay
This came at me from afar not from the intimate
I have to take what I don't want
Though I still trust magnificently.
Something big is around the corner?
Where will this freedom take me?
I have one concern.
It's stupid.
Will the lion still be my friend?
Loop
desolate playground for the suncoming
it's still so cold, I'm still so vulnerable
I'll be here for a while but I've come
unprepared
And, conquer.
crushing rooftops of my scope
I see stars through the clouds I know
where I am.
mystical fucking playground.
skyscraping while my feet
are literally getting wet
I am in appreciation
I am fully immersed behind the eyes
that came with my person.
my slippers will dry.
And,
lightning bolt terror.
I know you've been watching.
I know you've been catching
my intensity.
Scorpion playplace.
the fairgrounds are haunted
the rooms after every back door
have frightening secrets itching
to be let out.
everything jitters.
crabrabbit me down to a hole
of shelter of warmth and comfort
and the branches of the trees
grow to infinity and puncture
our still-breathing hearts
still-breathing mind.
who cares if its still breathing?
desolation playground for the grand sum
I'm only out here to breath.
endblues enlightenment II
Revelations of life are now revelations of the living
what I've learned from Truth and Beauty I've since
taken from dirty shoes and broken street lamps.
I've wept with the sky
because it felt insane otherwise. And
the junkies and and the messes in our hearts
and the food fermenting in our guts feasting
tiny creatures and the warmth of another
body lying close,
breathing.
Gracefully, like a lover, the city rejects starlight.
I worship the spectrum
listening to the beat of human herds
listening to so many unspoken relations
between legs and whoever
they walked after.
I feel in these words, may I share
my innermost creativity with you?
first Listen,
first remove my psychological clothing.
I did. I cried when I first understood that I
could never be naked. I wept with Mother
and cried by myself.
In a perfect city there is Luna at our fingertips.
A massive brick-of-Nature trampling over
in reflection beyond and then through bricks.
beyond and then through.
that's what you're doing to me.
In my bloodclot species
there are so many things of blood
filling up existence and so many
who easily clump themselves together.
It's the elements,
they move with and within and Because Of always
And all my love is water.
And all love is endblues enlightenment.
These elements that are moving to make us move
the musicians themselves of the Tangible Universe
to keep this mother-nature groove going.
These elements that are colours sweeping
and textures colliding and creating forms
and remineralizing a painterly canvas for life.
And these massive, over-hanging lids that bathe
my eyes in shining
shining
shining.
Why are we all scared of raw behaviour?
I feel in these words to keep
my Self calm out there.
A new truth of the Universe, a revelation.
That's what I'm really in it for though truth
is found through pain because happiness
consumes ALL RECEPTOR POINTS.
Endorphins.
And without Euphoria in Eutopia there are
the deepest holes of instinct and origin.
there are voids into the subatomic soul
the lost; the wilderness of heart
the bitterglory. the soulnectar of knowing loss.
the fantasy moment of rest if you've actually
gotten off. THE NERVOUS TICK WHEN
SOMETHING GOOD HAPPENS
that tick,
tick
tick
makes me wanna dance.
what I've learned from Truth and Beauty I've since
taken from dirty shoes and broken street lamps.
I've wept with the sky
because it felt insane otherwise. And
the junkies and and the messes in our hearts
and the food fermenting in our guts feasting
tiny creatures and the warmth of another
body lying close,
breathing.
Gracefully, like a lover, the city rejects starlight.
I worship the spectrum
listening to the beat of human herds
listening to so many unspoken relations
between legs and whoever
they walked after.
I feel in these words, may I share
my innermost creativity with you?
first Listen,
first remove my psychological clothing.
I did. I cried when I first understood that I
could never be naked. I wept with Mother
and cried by myself.
In a perfect city there is Luna at our fingertips.
A massive brick-of-Nature trampling over
in reflection beyond and then through bricks.
beyond and then through.
that's what you're doing to me.
In my bloodclot species
there are so many things of blood
filling up existence and so many
who easily clump themselves together.
It's the elements,
they move with and within and Because Of always
And all my love is water.
And all love is endblues enlightenment.
These elements that are moving to make us move
the musicians themselves of the Tangible Universe
to keep this mother-nature groove going.
These elements that are colours sweeping
and textures colliding and creating forms
and remineralizing a painterly canvas for life.
And these massive, over-hanging lids that bathe
my eyes in shining
shining
shining.
Why are we all scared of raw behaviour?
I feel in these words to keep
my Self calm out there.
A new truth of the Universe, a revelation.
That's what I'm really in it for though truth
is found through pain because happiness
consumes ALL RECEPTOR POINTS.
Endorphins.
And without Euphoria in Eutopia there are
the deepest holes of instinct and origin.
there are voids into the subatomic soul
the lost; the wilderness of heart
the bitterglory. the soulnectar of knowing loss.
the fantasy moment of rest if you've actually
gotten off. THE NERVOUS TICK WHEN
SOMETHING GOOD HAPPENS
that tick,
tick
tick
makes me wanna dance.
In practice
Still life in practice. Still life in the pursuit of my intentions.
My gut lives in my mind, too.
Irrrelivent things of meaning and attuning
To souls who held me at strange yesterday.
I'm reviving the ancient goal. The characters have invested.
I sleep naked anyway.
I think of leaving town
and wonder if I'd be able to wear
a cap of fire elsewhere.
I'll wear all this fire here if that's alright.
I can only look at myself with black hair.
I can only think of myself under rays of silver light.
I've come back for fire.
In my womanly body of memory I was thrown over to rest
in the waters and I haunted those seas until 1988.
Watching sailors sin.
Showing my face to only the ones moments away from death.
Come,
be with me.
Still life.
My gut lives in my mind, too.
Irrrelivent things of meaning and attuning
To souls who held me at strange yesterday.
I'm reviving the ancient goal. The characters have invested.
I sleep naked anyway.
I think of leaving town
and wonder if I'd be able to wear
a cap of fire elsewhere.
I'll wear all this fire here if that's alright.
I can only look at myself with black hair.
I can only think of myself under rays of silver light.
I've come back for fire.
In my womanly body of memory I was thrown over to rest
in the waters and I haunted those seas until 1988.
Watching sailors sin.
Showing my face to only the ones moments away from death.
Come,
be with me.
Still life.
Little outside room
I feel crazy I feel like I'm picking up
with the winds the storm I was promised
every year at this time.
I feel out of control but it was just the
last drag that pumped my heart up
just the last toxic inhale that
got me riled.
It's the wet and the cold.
The skies swell up and all fire of soul
is stung out and needful
stringing out and needing.
I keep myself under watch
I keep myself watching the lights
hovering close to the ones
that shine brightest to me
In my little outside room
I breath in with rolled up habit
The waves that go up and down
I move with the world.
with the winds the storm I was promised
every year at this time.
I feel out of control but it was just the
last drag that pumped my heart up
just the last toxic inhale that
got me riled.
It's the wet and the cold.
The skies swell up and all fire of soul
is stung out and needful
stringing out and needing.
I keep myself under watch
I keep myself watching the lights
hovering close to the ones
that shine brightest to me
In my little outside room
I breath in with rolled up habit
The waves that go up and down
I move with the world.
No common cry can put you back in with the common people
as we are creaturely to others.
To be changed by a strangers look.
I have seen out. I have SEEN OUT.
But old and dusty clouds did linger.
I have shut my eyes and have seen a place
radiating, blessedly wicked.
Blissful and gaudy
sentientual
and under no influence of calamity
except for the calamity of beauty.
I repulse.
I gravely shut my eyes
and restore the same place
only patient.
I recline.
Restfully sifting through the origins
of thought.
Seedlings of thought that grow in the mind
subtle or as thickening as desire.
Desire as religion to the saints,
and cleanliness the reality of the ground.
Seedlings; profound. Seedlings estranged in song.
they;
Still crunching at my crown
Still heavy at my soul.
A crunch like your lovers dead weight on top of you.
An ancient instinct post-instinctual delightenment.
the language of a displaced colony
with an infantry waiting at the coastline
and everyone howling out.
No common cry can put you back in with the common people.
(July 2011)
as we are creaturely to others.
To be changed by a strangers look.
I have seen out. I have SEEN OUT.
But old and dusty clouds did linger.
I have shut my eyes and have seen a place
radiating, blessedly wicked.
Blissful and gaudy
sentientual
and under no influence of calamity
except for the calamity of beauty.
I repulse.
I gravely shut my eyes
and restore the same place
only patient.
I recline.
Restfully sifting through the origins
of thought.
Seedlings of thought that grow in the mind
subtle or as thickening as desire.
Desire as religion to the saints,
and cleanliness the reality of the ground.
Seedlings; profound. Seedlings estranged in song.
they;
Still crunching at my crown
Still heavy at my soul.
A crunch like your lovers dead weight on top of you.
An ancient instinct post-instinctual delightenment.
the language of a displaced colony
with an infantry waiting at the coastline
and everyone howling out.
No common cry can put you back in with the common people.
(July 2011)
These are the things the day brings on
HAVE IT OPEN. THE NEWS. THE LIGHT.
THE MEAT INSIDE MY SKULL.
I AM THE BACKWARD SKY. MY EYES ARE
MOUNTAINS THAT RIVERS MAY FLOW FROM.
Everyone I've loved in every life. Our bodies change
but the space between us is kept. The world is nurturing
to whatever our souls ask it for. I want to play.
Must I be miserable first?
Hesitation is in a relaxing beat.
I do not want to go back to sleep.
But I do want the heat, I do.
I have that heavy feeling in my energy. I am literally
waiting to find out. This is a pattern though it has evolved
so much it's frightening to feel it again. I will not let it linger
passed digestion. I will communicate what I understand
because I've rested with it. I do not want to express
what I have not swam through. I let myself be
vulnerable. I'll let myself do it again.
There may be pain.
There may be joy.
These are the things the day brings anyway.
And I write this down to GET IT OUT OF MY PERSON.
I do not want loneliness in my muscle memory. I do not
want resentment or words I wish I would have said stuck
anywhere inside of me.
THE MEAT INSIDE MY SKULL.
I AM THE BACKWARD SKY. MY EYES ARE
MOUNTAINS THAT RIVERS MAY FLOW FROM.
Everyone I've loved in every life. Our bodies change
but the space between us is kept. The world is nurturing
to whatever our souls ask it for. I want to play.
Must I be miserable first?
Hesitation is in a relaxing beat.
I do not want to go back to sleep.
But I do want the heat, I do.
I have that heavy feeling in my energy. I am literally
waiting to find out. This is a pattern though it has evolved
so much it's frightening to feel it again. I will not let it linger
passed digestion. I will communicate what I understand
because I've rested with it. I do not want to express
what I have not swam through. I let myself be
vulnerable. I'll let myself do it again.
There may be pain.
There may be joy.
These are the things the day brings anyway.
And I write this down to GET IT OUT OF MY PERSON.
I do not want loneliness in my muscle memory. I do not
want resentment or words I wish I would have said stuck
anywhere inside of me.
Yea, big glossy-eyed tenor. Big glossy-eyed juice box of melted human meat, of flogging counter-acted testament, of mindless and senseless mental acrobatics to put inside my emotional self.
Yea, I know. My soul has acknowledged what my tongue and body have rejected. My mind and gut are empty. I have felt no compassion where I had reason to and I have felt every thread of sadness in my own space, alone.
I find my generation guilty of me. I find a lackluster appetite for the refined beauty-of-person. Are these people the essentials of society? Are these people necessary for the spectrum but useless for the function? Are these people the cause for the function?
Distaste. I have felt it I have never sensed it. I have opened my big, disgusting mouth and have said the words myself. I have said the words to myself. I know.
I know a young man. Depressed. Useless in attitude only and on-talking well spoken of the dangers of normality and the meaningless in everything and awkward sex. I can't give up on him because my soul feels his words but I am revolted constantly by his angst. His little boy, big dick angst. A creature of essence to this world.
I know a lady. Reminds herself each and everyday that she is rational, and worthy. Reminds herself she is capable of being loved. I believe what she believes, therefore, she is not rational or worthy.
I want to know each and every stranger. I want them to be magnificent.
I've heard people say my writing is "too plain" and unintellectual.
Yea, I know. My soul has acknowledged what my tongue and body have rejected. My mind and gut are empty. I have felt no compassion where I had reason to and I have felt every thread of sadness in my own space, alone.
I find my generation guilty of me. I find a lackluster appetite for the refined beauty-of-person. Are these people the essentials of society? Are these people necessary for the spectrum but useless for the function? Are these people the cause for the function?
Distaste. I have felt it I have never sensed it. I have opened my big, disgusting mouth and have said the words myself. I have said the words to myself. I know.
I know a young man. Depressed. Useless in attitude only and on-talking well spoken of the dangers of normality and the meaningless in everything and awkward sex. I can't give up on him because my soul feels his words but I am revolted constantly by his angst. His little boy, big dick angst. A creature of essence to this world.
I know a lady. Reminds herself each and everyday that she is rational, and worthy. Reminds herself she is capable of being loved. I believe what she believes, therefore, she is not rational or worthy.
I want to know each and every stranger. I want them to be magnificent.
I've heard people say my writing is "too plain" and unintellectual.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)