Sunday, November 27, 2011

let it be known

To all of the world!

I have the best friends in the UNIVERSE. And today was the best night of my life.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011


sweet scents and sentiments amid the sarcasm of chain smoking deviants.
places betrayed and flowers made of passed paper planes.
lets share and toss these crumpled works of pesticide, poetry, and compliments.
blah blah blah we say and fly, fly, fly we aim;
for the uncharted skies we crave.
if only they were real,
if only we weren't worn out in the arrangment of letters or the entanglement of fingers.
we are great in this little world built by stop-motion mimes with more time than lines,
every frame captured as the essence to this massive illusion of confusion and crime-an environment filled by jasmine walls and pollinating stars.
there's no vacancy for the sad world between bars.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

On the Road.

Tiny drumbeats on an olive canvas floating down a river of coffees, from sea to swamp. I miss my hair and the way it kept the rain from my eyes, dripping upon my lips with the taste of clouds and leather instead. Who knows why. Now it storms down upon me, pattering across scalp and cheeks. The birds chatter as they shower from branches overhanging tannin stained roadways with depths unmatched by man-made lanes. Fuck the signs and dashed lines that followed suit I want lawlessness. I want freedom and truth. Am I strong or has domestication given me the illusion of strength? The trailing edge of the paddle slips from the calm waters into a battlefield of dumb bombs and bullets that shatter fragile skies , even if for a brief moment. The river drips from the plastic propeller, craving to leave such a ferocious environment back to its muffled mansion for dead leaves and relics of ages past. It’s had its fill of war. They all have. I crave the conflict and keep moving as if in a trance. I match the pace of nature’s snare. Heaven is hidden-we beasts are too shameless to watch as we carelessly kill, fuck, and drive ourselves to madness. Doesn’t bother me one fucking bit. Shadow puppets held by swaying arms cast their story upon the impact area below, distorted and fleeting images followed by the voice of god-what a fitting narrator-scenes of mass murder, angry and merciless soldiers raining down on the willing and unwilling. The fearful and the nihilists. I can’t relate. I move on in to a void on planet earth. The trees entrenched and intertwined above and below. I am in the womb. The waters narrow and all light escapes me, the sounds of the outside world fall on deaf ears and as I start to feel soft sand gracing the underbelly of my vessel I decide to walk onward, leaving all else behind. The ground sinks and hugs the soles of promiscuous feet. Palm fronds run their fingers cross my arms and chest. They whisper, “Don’t go”, but I must! It is my one and only wish to be reborn in the fertile waters of this all-knowing, forever flowing cunt. I stop as I feel a solution of sand and piercing cold water tickle the arch of my right foot. The end must be approaching. Who knew? My next few steps land me smack dab middle of a massive crater for quicksand and spring currents. Not Nobodies. In the darkness I felt for a bottom while fear and fine soot engulfed my body. The ground is going to eat me. The solution rushed from a bunker of limestone grabbing ahold of my shoulders and ankles. I sank to its soul and closed my eyes. If I were a fish I was eaten, if I were an alligator I was eaten, if I were human I’d have laughed until my lungs filled with water and sand. Thank God I’m Nothing and Nowhere, none of that shit really applies. Phew.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

for Micah.

A craving for acceptance
In a closet full of corpses.

A lord they praise
As he takes their child away.
Does she care?

Is this fair? To judge?
For death rolls nearer
To a troubled girl who fears her
Presence is not clear here
She's a ghost among peers
Dead infants in tears.

Say cheese.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

maybe I should....

be fake nice to girls-or at least not expect so much... that way I can avoid being left at hotels, public outbursts, and (my personal favorite) "the silent treatment". Plus, this morning I told an 11 year old that professional sport teams were identities adapted by normal people to belong in groups (which is true), to which he simply replied: "you need a girlfriend".
I hate not being normal, but hate normalcy even mo'.

Hmmm. Writing definitely puts things into perspective.

Also I've been thinking about my intentions on publishing thoughts publicly. I mean, why?
I think it might have something to do with my own narcissistic personality. Or just some other reason that makes me do hypocritical things.