had an abcess on my gums,
that **** ****** ,  and it ruptured and I swallowed pus while sleeping  unbeknownced to me that it ruptured,
and I went to the dentist and had my wisdom ripped out ,

why can't we keep the tooth?
  
        I had no pain pills. I merely walked in the light

have not slept  
this is how Dali did it,
this is how he painted
his elephants on stilts and melting strawberries in blue bowls.
  this is how Picasso rolled a ball of dirt into a woman,
and how
michelangelo
   gave himself to the lord.
   this is how a child
  eats from the box
of Kraft
  and the    girl cries herself to sleep for what she can't have and nothing changes.
  this is how it goes,
  this is how it always was and always will be.   the past whispers to the  
     thorn like it cares. and the  man stands tall among demons.  now go to bed and
dream

sun ,  
i hate you.
    I hate you as you rise,
  as your gerber face creeps over the grass.
i  hate the purple water and the ants
   which march in unison to battle drums .
  i hate the orange juice smile as you pack away your things,
  i hate the
  whisper when it's already lost.  miles ahead,
   i hate a few things -- but the list gets shorter as i get
   older.
why hate what you cant change?

crackhead hours .
real crackhead hours.
  got my unemployment check ,
  1400 a week
.   Im rich biaattcchh ,  
  
  crackhead hours, dawning on me at 5:21am. my favorite hour.
    I sleep when the tide rolls on the beach and swallows up the baby tutrles.
  i sleep
when the last ****** sighs into a pillow  on the  edge of the abyss awaiting oblivion  like green smoke.
  i sleep
when it's too late for the dove to die.
i sleep when my eyes burn and the retinas dance around me.
i sleep when it's late,
   i sleep when it feels like it's the same as dreaming and not
breathing

I'm not a romantic poet and it kind of bums me out.
  no chick would ever
read my stuff and fantasize about me;
  I don't even have a gnarled hideous face so as to be poetic.
I'm just whatever, with no real vices, no alcoholism, drug abuse,
  or abuse otherwise.
     I am a little ****** up,  but so is everyone. that's a prerequisite to living.
  
    and living is getting old

I've gotta get over my hyper-awareness that people are reading this.
enough with the 'stars'
and 'lights'
and 'dead airs'  '
' blue souls'.

you've gotta be **** too sometimes. maybe i'm always ****, but I need to explicitly be **** too.
this is poetry

- - Masked, bought soup and cranberry juice then ate strawberries and a health bar
- went swimming
-got the mail
- walked dog
-dog threw up
- talked to pat
- watched movie on ***** rockstar who shot himself in the face
- jacked off
- did some push ups
- ate a subway
- took shower with green soap
- folded shirt
- walked dog again
- dog happy
- bed  ?
- bed
- sleep
-  dream then
- wake up

Love is two things.

Rain
, Blowing cold.

Sentience

Disturbed.
Passive,     but giving and of course suicidal.
All the above.
But one more.

Loving

It was a corpse there
nothing  quite noteworthy but the bubbling amused me
And the whistles from the station made the effort far more laborious than anticipated
But to straddle a shepered the winking pheasant press play at your dorsus scapula,
When is the play. Take the brown,.  It's shy in lime

If you will

Well I must
If you insist

I insist
Good oysters they say?
Yes indeed
Gosh these oysters are fine
Yish

coming in and coming out
erected and perfected;
vivisected
Suckled on yellow tongues
tainted by willows and half-lies
Balloons with hands groaning
None here are loaning out their heads to shop windows
Black and blue the only thing left is pigment hope,
and junk rope lining the dead-heirs with washed out eyes of Mexican ***** lice in licorice dunes

So the finger twists and the **** red hot squeels in absense of authority. Pluck your own seed fa**ot

Kodak blue
visions in a submarine den cottage with pink paper
The fan will whisk her away but so will the vines.
If it goes so do my ears now vibrating in salacious hum, doldrum metal aluminum scream

I found you like a child in the space under the stairs
What happened of your smile once so
pearly?

Rise up rise up
Rise up
to the dogs and choirs and to the
Audience that stares, sigh slightly and gratefully
You only ever had yourself,.  They came as parasites after
   and left  as the fire started to rage in the combing street below the hospital windows

Not really a poem, but I just want to throw everything away and start a life in nature and live among people who love and understand me and who I can work with to achieve in that setting.
Simplicity.
Food needs met
Water needs met
Shelter
And finally love with no distractions

Because I don't remember how to be human. I'm always looking elsewhere. I want to be here with them. I want to be here with you. I can't make it on my own

I love myself
I am god
I made the stars and carved into the rock
the flood killed the few
Was it so simple then

It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society

I have that stapled on my wall,
   above my drawing of a cat.
  and I feel no better, I sometimes wish I was well-adjusted. life would be easier being
empty

measured in miles
and weighed down by smiles,
the blue glimmer in your eye
now looks like chalk
.  dead
   and sleeping

i'll give my 2 cents on the riots later,
when people are willing to listen
right now it's about yelling into the abyss
and painting everything black

they burned the cities.
they burned the pharmacy,
they burned the bus stop
, they burned the libray and the depot,
they burned the fire station,
of course they burned the police station.
they burned the homeless man crying for his socks.
they burned the dog,
they burned the manicured grass
they burned the log cabin and the phonebook and the 12 hay stacks across the way
but they didn't dare burn the synagogue
but they did
burn a church,
and they did burn a zoo. the animals ran free

What goes in goes in
read your head
and comb your eyeballs and place your ***** in a candy box
and lament james dean
drinking orangecream.
  The lost souls of yore
stand on battalions of gods;
honing
in a circular
provisional
and blinking past none.  Their time would come, just not
now
just not now

the turn signal was green   and the joint was loose,
you rolled up the window
like a snitch and the rain rolled in. The ****** on my lap
wouldn't stop spitting
and years of
forgotten youth lay in front of me . The road was closed for good.
Moulton pkwy
was that way
  I was over there,
we were here

how does one become a fortune cookie writer?
    
  "alway avoid contradiction with misty people"
I shall

The next day I decided to go to my friend Pat's house, I practically lived there and even had a bed in his room, why his family tolerated it I don't know. But I'd be there around five days out of the seven - it was my sanctuary.
"Yo Pat, I'm coming over"
"Ok, seeya in 15" and I'd be there in 15.
And he was also of legal age to buy alcohol which I still couldn't at that point; he always bought me all the Mickeys and Steel Reserves I wanted.
"yo Pat, can you get me some *** ****?"
"That **** again? Alright be right back"
And he'd go out and get it for me, why I don't know considering he rarely drank.
And he had a cool hookah set-up which I'd buy the flavors for so I think that was the trade-off. We smoked that **** for hours, and got horrible nicotine highs and were basically asthmatic after inhaling all of that vapor, but it was something to do, and we'd even invite our Turkish friend over, Babook.
Babook thought he was black and liked to argue hip-hop and would quickly wear out his welcome but he provided some amusement we thought.
"KANYE WEST IS THE GOAT OF RAP NO CAP FAM"
He would say all these phrases that in 2012 were very corny and try-hard but now are part of the youth-vernacular
"bro, Babook, what the **** does "GOAT" mean?" I'd say.
"The Greatest of all time fam. And he is, Kanye slayed with that Dark Twisted fantasy fam, and don't get me started on Graduation fam"
Fam, fam, fam, fam, fam, fam. I hated him.
And he would tug at the hookah and spill the coals on the deck like a ***** and Pat's dad would inevitably come out in his drunken slumber and yell at us.
"WHO DROPPED THE ******* COALS ON THE DECK? YOU PUNKS, CLEAN IT UP!" He would yell while wobbling around and then would stick his wineglass out.
"PAT, FILL HER UP. I'M HALF-EMPTY"
"Dad, you drank 3 bottles today"
"****** FILL IT UP *******!" He'd yell, with his big inflamed tomato nose, and greasy pores which oozed out all of the alcohol from his system.
Pat filled the glass to the brim and it started to overflow.
"AND DON'T HIDE IT FROM ME YA LITTLE PUNK OR I'LL KICK YOUR ***" he'd finally say while wobbling back to bed and sleeping like a corpse in 2 in the afternoon. I felt bad for him. He'd had a hard life. He lost his wife early, or Pat's mother, so I couldn't blame him. He was a very funny guy too for the most part, but his drinking was out of control.
      Eventually Babook got bored and decided to leave after dropping some more coals, and Pat's dog George skittered out from the corner. He licked my toes. He was a pitbull but a big *****. He'd get taken by Ryder, the little rat-terrier chijauaja every night and it had changed him I think. But George loved scritches on his head, and he loved biscuits of which I gave him plently. I ****** on my berry hookah, and he chomped on his biscuits.

hippy cracking his head,
just getting in the way as usual.
  they always get in the way; talk, never doing, at their investment firm
talking, then preaching  of world-unity and sustainability.
a generation of liars . punks had no pretense. to burn out, and not fade away
hey hey
my my

I need a ******* typewriter.
this ******* light is blinding me,
and the ******* G key is falling off the ******* thing.
  I want to throw pages
at the ceiling in delight and swivel in my chair
   and drink beer
    and  **** a goat while I write and clack. the only way. I thought it fitting for hipsters; but i like the aestetic. Bang BANG BANG BANG BANG,
PUMP PUMP PUMP PUMP PUMP CLINNGGGGG** then the *******.
another beautiful poem, fresh with my blood.
and the screamer upstairs i will now slowly asphyxiate.

it's like  rain dripping off the back of
 a crow in the night straight into the gutter,
  straight into the filthy unknown.  
  cheap cheeap cheap


outdone by some
dancer

all around me are familiar faces  ;     if you step away    be sure to memorize
the voice code, 298 zero and proceed.
  if you must you must
, no time
to   fly

The ciggarette cartons will be full,
and the homemade pruno will be worth a corvette. Oil is useless now,
and electricity is a dream.
stock up on beans, and make friends with the fellow coalman. enough shells for a nuclear war in the desert night like
right now

Barking down the alleyway
Thevcool dawn touches me
Smokestack lighting makes it way around


Head in a cannon
Their eyes are satin
Barking orders like Patton   -  bayonetted and ****** on a sandy hill,
the ******
like a sweet hand
   in the grass. lemons and such

So tired as to be delirious; the duck quacks in the barnyard and the mouse suckles on cow
droplets, hale stacked up like so,  and the little girl dances in the shadow light.
"I'll be dead soon"
  so will I 
 I've made plans and I'm never late

I came and I was sat down in another plushy red chair and I'd be there for 9 hours doing more quizzes and learning the history of the company. It was like school but somehow worse; I'd at least be getting $9 an hour which at that time, around 2012 was pretty much the same even accounting for inflation.
I sat there and clicked and clicked and clicked and watched videos on their desktop. I guess old Macy was a traveling gypsy and the store started out as a sort of snake oil salesman setup, then eventually he got the idea to sell pants and now we have the current incarnation.
Music pumped in through the speakers, and it was a mix of "closing time' by semi sonic, and "Beautiful' by Christina Aguilera. Was it a message?
I finished the ****, then they propped me up and had me do paperwork, and I had no record. I crossed 'No' on the molestation portion and did my drug test the next day. I passed again, and came in and was escorted around the mannequins into the Women's Intimates section. Wow, this is like a bad movie I thought.
"here you just sort through the clothes and put them back on the rack" the supervisor said coldly.
How the **** do you put underwear and bras back on the rack?
"And if customers have a question provide direction or assistance" she said then left and I was all alone picking up underwear off the ground and bras like a strange lost person.
   Right away customers approached me with their questions.
"Where's the restroom?"
" I believe it's over there" and I'd point north. They went North.
" Help, I need rung up!"
I pointed north again.
"There's no one there! Can't you ring me up" they'd say irately
"No It's my first day"
And they'd skitter elsewhere and I'd continue folding the underwear and bras. It was really boring. So many ****-colored ******* and bras, and hideous blue-green dresses clumped up like angry ***** of yarn, kicked around, someone else's problem.
   It'd be time for my lunch break then I'd wander the mall and buy some Thai food or something. I'd sit on the bench overlooking the lobby and the fountain and comtemplate existence and existentialism and what led me to this place, in a mall, air-conditioned folding ******* for $ nine dollars an hour. The more I thought, the more questions would arise and I'd inevitably feel panicked when coming back in.
  I wandered the halls aimlessly in the store, doing nothing. I had practically no supervision. I just got lost and meandered and took 5 ***** a day wondering when I'd be be called out. I never was. I got bored of taking ***** and when my break came up I couldn't take another ****. I didn't smoke then, so I had absolutely nothing to do. When my time was up for the day I was thankful. I drove home listening to bad punk music,
probably Adolescents. Probably Kids of the black hole.

There was nothing I could do. I was a man now as of 4 hours and 22 minutes ago and thus needed to secure myself a job. I could no longer just sit in my room ******* and eat bowls of cereal and resign myself to nothing any longer, nor naively pursue a career in music that wasn't going to happen; I was talented but perhaps I didn't have the drive? I had to get a job. I had to 'do something', so I went online and found the first thing that popped up. It was Macys, a general clerk so I applied and of course the questionnaire was 3 pages and tested my aptitude. Did I have an IQ above room temperature? If so that'd make me a cashier, if not a boxboy. I ended up as a dressing room attendant.
     The interview was fine and was my first. I wore my dad's blue shirt and some shoes I stole a week previous since I didn't feel the need to buy shoes I'd likely be wearing once I rationalized.
I sat in the waiting room and it was before social media and smart phones so I thumbed through some magazines for thirty minutes then was eventually called. The interviewer seated me in a plushy red throne, and he had a nice haircut.
"So what brings you to Macy's" he said to me bluntly.
"I like this store. I shop here a lot and feel like I'd be a good fit" which was a lie; I never in my life shopped there.
" Okay, and tell me a time where you encountered a struggle, and how did you resolve it?"
I had to think for a moment, actually several moments and we sat there in uncomfortable silence for what seemed minutes. I was nervous.
"Ummm, a time I encountered a struggle and had to resolve it? Well there was a little dog that got hit in front of my house before, and all the kids were crying and I consoled them and performed CPR on that dog and he ended up surviving but died later in the hospital. and it was pretty traumatic and a lot of blood"
"okay that sounds heartbreaking, but moreso an experience that relates to working in a retail store"
"I used to sell cookies door to door"
"Yes that seems more relevant" he said while marking his clipboard.
And the interview went on and I felt for sure I blew it, but I shook his hand firmly like I'd always been told and looked him in the eye.
"Thank you, I really appreciate the opportunity" I told him while exiting.
always show gratitude they'd say; well I wasn't grateful and didn't want that job, but I read enough how-to's online. it was an act, an audition and I think I gave a good enough performance. A few days later I got the call and was told to come in for orientation.
I was trapped. It was the beginning.

massive headache, splitting my skull and poking my diseased brain;
I can't keep
living this way, facing no where, and kissing dust. I can't keep believing in pagan fairytales and digging countless graves for every piece of me that dies, every single day, and so pitifully
  I need relief and I don't know what it'll take. 10 years of this,  10 years of
  how and why. the floors are squeaky clean now, and the doors are locked with rusty chains. I open my heart to you, praying for refuge

one day I'll be gone and we'll both be free

I realize I was writing a lot of abstraction without direction. any loser and fraud can write
''
  leaves pronounce the petulant tongue in noon like
leaky
dreams for a feathered
    fawn for its squirming young & the mouth opens for a foster mother in blue jeans.
  squeeze the juice of eternal life into a
  paper cut for faded  faculties"

it's alright, but it's not as impressive as saying ' Took a walk and I felt like blowing my brains out; it is 2:21 pm and I'm bored'
  it takes some guts to be vulnerable is all I'm saying, I like hiding behind abstraction, but when the hurt comes there are only so many purple skies and crippled hands you can paint; the void doesn't care about emotion but I sometimes like spitting in the face of eternity.
  an ant against an army of sorrow; you know the outcome, but you still try, to some avail

bukowski's greatest accomplishment is that his books are the most frequently stolen from book stores;
     No one would bother stealing Moby ****. live on you old ****

greg comes down. he stills lives with his mother at 52,
and is perpetually clutching a coors banquet in his left hand, and his pinky is contorted in a grotesque fashion. his eyes are black without expression, and everything he says is sincere, but laughs at innapropriate times.
He helps us dig the ditch for the bones of the dog in the backyard,
it died when it was attacked by the Great Dane which was subsequently euthanized. He had the idea to put the carcass in a trash bag and now it stunk and the body was a frothing mess of decay.
We laid the bag in as he ****** on his coors banquet.
"GOD REST ITS SOUL"
he said.
we said a prayer; it seemed appropriate. and after the dog was buried, he got in his car, totally drunk and drove back to his mamas.
The stereo blasted Pink Floyd "Wish you were here" on vinyl, and it happened to be 2am. Someone puked on the floor and I promptly went to bed whilst someone ****** in the kitchen. I don't know how I got there, but I was spoonfed yogurt in the night while some random girl ****** me off. good dreams, and hot nights. my shoes sat in the corner staring at the sin. & I made sure to say goodnight     in the morning
as I drove off to Los alisos on the corner of Jeronimo and El toro

flies bite me and you,
your body like a slab of ivory
I never wanted to eat ***** more than when I saw your pink and succulent ****; I tongued it as long as I could.  & you smelled like tangerines and berries, but
watching you try on those cute yet gaudy outfits aroused me the most; the fact you trusted my input.
& you shampooing that dark black hair in the tub with the door open, I never saw a greater contrast between light and dark.
I almost felt love,
I almost felt good in this daydream town- as though astrology was real ,  
   and I hung on to your every word like a happy fool, devoid of
    sorrow--- just awaiting a kiss from your lips,
cherry red

go into debt & be free
slave for a goal, like hardwares and cynics turning coins down by a crumbling and filthy street
today is a good to waste, like forever, and all the days after.
don't be afraid to
             fail

Threw my phone against the wall and it shattered in a million pieces. then I threw the rest in the pond and let the frogs eat the battery and SIM card. You can have it; & I've never slept better. I even read a ******* book.  That's different - & I didn't even miss
anyone -- in fact I realized how much I hated being available to everyone and anyone at all hours. but I don't mind the dark-
it's nice and cool here

this is my therapy moreso than music. I can say what I want -- I'm not confined to a melody , or attached to any notes-
it's free form. it's its own music and has its own dance; I can laugh,
and cry,
and scream, and say how it really is-- and it's really great;
  really great , and doesn't have to be that grand. There doesn't need to  be a big crescendo.
just soaking up the sun with an empty glass in the dull noon is sometimes enough

this is one of those no-hesitation days, seeping with sorrow and ache and gloomy sadness.
If you had a 12 gauge by your bedside you'd understand what I mean by no-hesitation

a dead mangled up bobcat with its head sqaushed in and brains seeping out of its eye in a patch of dirt on the mossy hill,

The bones will be clean within a week. Death doesn't care, we just get in the way

feel like I have 1000 horses laying on top of me
and as a result everything's been getting to me.
You have more time to reflect when you're in a wounded and docile state, and it's lately recognizing that everything is inherently transactional.
No one loves just because they can, they love because you give them all your time,
the ***** loves because you give her your money and your time.
The cat loves because you give it tuna,
The *** loves because you give him your money
Not your tuna sandwich.
It is what is it, take take take take. I wish we weren't just animals looking to get through the night and I wish there was a hand reaching out without any expectations to receive, or maybe it's just me and my loneliness
And misanthropy.
  I just know Im in need, but I'll never recieve

my neighbor gave me a pedal steel and so I learned Sleepwalking.
It's a beautiful tune and was a favorite of my grandpa's, and there's no words
just how I like it

tire changed,
It's changed, the crank fell down and bit the cement and theres oil
  
mama's boy standing on his balcony listening to bad hip hop,
cars roll down the street
polluting everything and
polluting any semblance of solitude

winning tickets,
and black eyes, don't give up on yourself, it only gets harder and what you get in the end for it
no one knows, but no one will put up a fight

glory glory
glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory glory gloria gloria gloria Gloria gloria gloria gloria gloria gloria gloria gloria glora gorilla gorrila gorrilaa gorilla geurilla geurilla guerilla geurilla geruilla warfare crouching behind a bush in the alaskan heat as the predator
makes it **** -- an albatross swoops by for the   scraps a little while later .
  still and on  stilts, Hi- C and tasty,  show biz

I just know I'll end up alone in an apartment with **** memorabilia relics and statues of Egyptian artifacts like Lemmy in a condemned apartment in the outskirts of LA with my hairless cat watching old VHS tapes and drinking decaf coffee with my slippers on;
   mainly when I'm not touring.
  I want the rock'n'roll life, and it's mainly lonely. life of the cowboy. Some illegitimate children, and then it's me all alone again--  like always , like how it's supposed to be,
because you all drain me

I want to punch you in your ******* face for having written that and I hope your whole operation burns to the ground and you end up  hungry
and alone.
What is Taylor swift up to?
    I heard she takes a lot of vagisil and eats grapes?  
  
Bradd Pitt has his eyes stapled in a chameleon glare-  and
  potholes are full of actors  of a play called life