Among the taiga and tundra

 

 

 

ho-hum.

"Diversity training"

the group consisted of about 40 white males, age 24-35-one in his forties-one white female, two black men, and two Hispanic men-including myself-and one male ethnic Christian from Egypt.
notice the only issue that they couldn't own up to was race, many went into a rage when it was suggested that whites were the majority and dominant. They felt attacked, they were angry and enraged by their guilt. you could see it in their faces.

some things never change.
 

no bueno?

why couldn't that hoe's name never be spoken in my presence again? The world just has to be interconnected and full of surprises. Hope ya both stay happy and away from me and my ears for the rest of my life. good lord.

I just want to walk up mountains all day

 

I'll never leave this place.

my restless air, the hint of decay ingrained,
is stained and coddled with a blanket of droplets
pattering on a crumbling earthly mass a day, a day.
I lay iris to lashes on a garden of grasses and onto bees' backs I'll relax these tired branches and roots.

and sway with the fury of the firs...

and the fires that crown and flicker so violently, climbing and toppling over a wooden atlas
with fifteen foot feet-a network of beautiful fuels and four hundred foot souls,
burdened backs that burn less bright than the spark that sought what they lack;
an attack of angry arms reaching towards the clouds, and bolts of electrons running for the ground.

everything wants what it can't have
a release, a completion of this cycle

I'll never leave this place.
not for a penny or a pretty face-an angel on the mountains caked on the saddle of our hips
glaciers cursing and crackling in the valleys of passing hearts and fake plastic shit

this is it, this echoing monument to everything grand and out-lived, this is it,
to soft bodies laden with sin and lips spread for a connection between covalent bonds and palm fronds
plant my seed, nurture and let thrive, grow quietly, and be alive.

ho-hum

about the only moment that matters anymore.

(thoughtbubble)

Is it because I can't be serious and I refuse to be open-minded..... or is it because this issue is just ridiculously, outrageously stupid? This is the question I ask my self, in this time in my life, the most-and this worries me.

a ditch digger for half a day

swampy lips, murky minds;
twisted bits
livin off the land
diggin nails in the sand
just diggin a grave for time to pass by
'just say hi and goodbye!'
nothing to see here, folks
just hi and bye will do just fine
you see, its just the same damn line over and over again-
what are you lookin at? HIGH and fucking GOODBYE, FAGGOT!
its just that, you know, they say they understand, they say they listen, they say they're sorry
but
but does it-does any of it really matter?
does it?
nah.

doubt it.

only thing that matters is this, this damn shovel in my hand
and this permit of official fucking business that says I can go dig in this here spot
whenever and how ever long I damn well please
gonna dig to china
buy me some chickens
and cats
gonna start a restaurant called squawking breasts, hidden pussy
hahahaha.
and no one will ever say sorry
cause, well, they'll all be speakin fuckin Chinese of course
and the Chinese'll love me, ya see
like the poor dog they kick in the alley
but throw rice balls and hot grease at occasionally
its cool. its alright, I guess.
atleast it's honest, ya know?

I'll be cacklin,
hackin and a'howlin,
scampering about diseased and confused,
drunk on the filth and noise of my Chinese finger trap
no one'll give me dirty looks for being dirty either
its what's expected
instead they'll feel pity
they'll say things like, '有人要付諸表決,窮人狗,他的痛苦,'
or, '讓她走了! 讓她走了!'

our nature just cant be helped, I guess.
I guess, guess, guess.





 

precious memories, how they linger,
how they ever flood my soul. 

in the stillness of the midnight,

precious, sacred scenes unfold.



so it goes.

I've lost interest in everything I've ever loved. except pussy. I now know I am an animal.

for we are the champions of the sun.

the tears from your eyes are like the sweet waters of christ

they smear on my shoulder and baptize my soul.

and when I look into those shimmering jewels-

when I leap into those pools-I hold my breath

and hope to god I'll come back up ontop.

so let me stop.

"and who are you?"

"you know who I am."

but I never have. I'd like to think that has changed

for a battle of kisses and cute talks has been waged

from pudding cups and whipping butts,

 to singing songs while selena sees my nuts

I must say, you've caught me with my pants down and ass out

but I'll kiss your bald spot til your hairs sprout about

and rape whistles stop dangling from your pierced snout

until the mole near your butthole shouts out

"you want me meow?"

and to that I'll always say,

frack yes.

death rhyme

all my dreams and future reveries have all been ruined by past miseries-
not distinctly my own, but of association with a polluted ocean.
her surfaces covered with spit, blood, and semen-
the reason? its the oil to their fire; the gold of the liar.

to the waters once for hire, I love you.
to the beasts who littered and admired? you've been retired.
her liveries have washed ashore or in the currents, carried away.
your decay will erode-to oblivion, like obsidian, a flame dying in this ode
a song, a poem, of waves crashing on every note.


I want the morning air
to fill with the sound of your skin
and the swaying of your hair-
with the aroma of a woman I don't care to share.