our matter wants to escape
like air from a tank
but we won't let it.

insatiable and
eating my way
back into my egg

my life is an ember
dying on the floor
and winking at me
the way only
dying stars do
to the wonderers
and the wishers
of this world
through its dust.

an egg shell lays broken
in my skull.
and a chameleon
melts its colors
into music there.
shedding roots
down to my
fingertips
playing love
on your
lower back
while you sing
worldless sweat
into my neck
where i keep
your name.

-i feel better.
like a person.
i think.

-you think?

-i could feel like
an octopus.
or octopi could
feel like people.

the city needs to
work on the sewers.
people live there
and they deserve
the best.

scientists have a team
transporting a
recently discovered
mummy.
inside her breast
is a love letter
i wrote her
6,000 years ago.
they can keep that
when they find it.
they can have
her whole shell.
but they'll
have to
**** me
to study
her living cells.
they're mine.
ill upload her soul
into her new body
when its finished growing.
our touch,
seperated by
a celestial heartbeat,
will conquer them all,
even us.

Theres a fire burning
somewhere in the world
and nobody knows about it.
I'm packing a bag
and moving there
in the morning.

my soul is my river
my body is my dam
and my heart
goes out to
all the dying fish
drowning in love

apt's 1-9 all hang.
lives destroyed by a crashing plane.
a carousel.

if i can lie myself
into loving her
i wont.

Silicone valley.

I met a girl.
We kissed the ocean and
froze in what the moon
spilled down on us.
We touched and we tasted
until we reclaimed
our senses from the sun.
and i was busy
smelling the coffee
that my punch drunk
coffee shop employee
would make me
later that day.

sometimes, you can have your cake and eat it too...
unfortunately, thats pretty much the icing on the cake.

I sleep in a garage.
ten giant tricycles
standing on their backs
sleep next to me.
my bathroom is at sears.
or McDonalds.
or winn-dixie.
male prostitutes post shop
on the street corners
around here
"******* ****
for money
for crack"
as one such fellow
put it to a cop.
there's a blender
and a microwave
and plenty of bottles of ***.

I'm a mystery..
..what am I?

there's no one in the streets.
they're all dying in their homes
rotting in their chairs
collecting flies and
huffing raid.

there is a dungeon
inside a room
in your house.
or in your car.
out in the city where you eat.
a comfortable place because
there they know your face
and you dont have to be
anybody.

they have t.v.'s there
that think for you
while you watch them
from your dungeon door.
and you think
your dungeon
brings you peace.
so you decorate it
and call it your home
and live there
until you've used
all of its air.
it is cursed by
the inhabitant
who built it
around their self.
a place for quiet
turned hostile
because eventually
the truth shines in through
the wear in the walls
and sends you
screaming into the sun.

dismantle my mandible bone
blood and stone
concrete leaks from my cheeks
when i speak

i had to do something
i had to go somewhere
i was running
i saw his face and i don't remember
i saw his face

i see a heart
and i think of you
but what should i do?
because i see you
and my brain farts
but it comes from
the heart.

words feel like dead things
i try to reanimate
but suffocate
when i send them
to you.
so i sit in my chair
and try not to stare
while im watching you
from the moon.

i want to try
the air you breathe
but it takes courage
to leave.
and ive got some bottles
i brought with me left
filled with 85% post-consumer breath.
one tube pumps the good air in
and one tube ***** the rest.
and if i did leave
and made it
down there to
cross-contaminate
with you
im afraid you might
break out in
boils and sores.
and you wouldnt be
beautiful anymore.

so i watch you and smile
every time that your eyes
wander,tire and rest
on the moon.

stick bug hiding
in the tree of life
shaking and
mimicking wind

from the ether i sweat
which burns
and evaporates
on my glowing heat.

rises and collects.


                           im passing clouds.


raining down
to the disjointed
skeleton of my tree
from which
the heads of humanity hang
hungry eyed
open mouthed
filled with the sound
of the mcabre

..singing

to feed the
fruit of my flesh
which they eat.

im the
dried up seed
next to me
on the ground
waiting
to grow
poppies
from
my soul.

wolf pack heat

its pointless to talk to them
when theyre drunk.
unless youre drunker.
listening to them is like
breathing in their farts
their automobile exhaust
their skin particles
celebrating their
weddings
promotions
birthdays
which celebrate
their sloppy
lives
minds
speeches
quips
haircuts
shirts
success
inconsi­deration
debt to
society
humanity
love
life
everything
except
for
them.

sleep is a
mortar shell.
everything is
shrapnel.

she has crooked teeth
and is the tiniest.
and in the cafe
where she works
for three days now
i sit and wait like a fly for a spider.

but maybe
this time
Love is not my spider.

maybe.

or maybe shes too drunk on coffee
and has become incapable
of weaving a decent web.

but maybe
i blend
with her
senses,
like a smoker
can't smell the smoke
on your clothes
or taste it
in your
mouth.

its the coffee.

its become
the mud
in my veins
while i sit
and wait
to be
consumed.

Her bones grow worms in the dirt
in the Cadillac of caskets
shes choking in her coffin
He tells her to take off her skirt
naked is her task
skinned alive is his offer
He swears on her grave it wont hurt
and he says once hes done with her,
well then nothing can stop her
He tares the leather from her face
a place from where leather is torn
he tares and tares
she tears and tears
until the worms are born.

lay down the body
hide in the mind
lost in the heart

i cant go to sleep.
if i go to sleep
ill become posessed by that ghost.
but that doesnt worry me
ill get the ghost
because i know
itll sleep.

the diseased corpse that i am

There is wear on my life as it skids to a halt and is scattered across the highway and into a tree.

My heart stumbles out to a broken-legged rat in the cold but can't help so it retreats.

Its coming I can feel it

a severed hand
walking around
looking for its
master to choke

The world is a baker
and you are the bread.
I hope you are ded.

I can feel em like moths..
Floating down onto my face..
To kiss me.
And fly away.
And leave their dust behind to die.
And we both had names and we both had faces and we both had mouths and for a moment in our lives we had each other.
Memory is fruit but life is the shedding of leaves.

Screaming into the darkness of the ocean..
hoping that a monster will surface and eat me.

Descend the staircase into madness and look out through opaque porthole windows which shield you from the sea of nothing, ebbing at your shell, while you climb the rungs for a way to escape from the hollow ringing of the skeleton in which you you're dying and gasping for water;
A fish swims in your lung and is left to drown and suffer and rot and eventually be eaten by the ***** which are your soul.

Shed identities and leave them to clean them off the floor in the morning.

.

really jammin on my werds.................but      dont  w    a    n    t         t       h  e m    
tooclosetogether itsok.i gotem bak.





i make space for my mind.
dont get in the way.
otherwise youll experience yourself experiencing yourself.. and thats just too intimate.
for someone like us.
wed rather part ways than rub backs.
sweat share on two backs.
moving bales of hay i assume.
some sorta hard werk.
proper werk.
make a man a man.
feel strong.
but dont rub backs with yo self.
cuz youll know you have to follow yerself forever or until one of you kills you.
so its already done.
go home.

get my pilots license and my I.D. to buy drunk and fly into my death over the telephone poles
and right into the front yard of my parents or childhood house. however you call it.
and see if i can swim in the pool alone now.
without becoming terrified of sharks.
see if i can walk away now.
and not be terrified of failing.
but im afraid to fly.
and to walk on the sidewalk
for crashed cars
popping red head balloons between grills and telephone poles
with drunk dead pilots killing everyone overhead
and their parents
and childhoods

there is nothing left for a person like me because i dont feed on the privileged or the stupid.
and i dont move mountains but the privileged pay for that and the stupid do for pay.
my payoff is always cynicism and poor habits and debt.
a gun would pay for itself 3-fold on day 1.
all im really missing is a gun.
but i need one to get one.

your father is a morbid man puddy. .. . but morbid can be good if you accept it...
..how can it be good?idunnoimnotmakinganysense............   ..  ..    .well.   i guess if youre in the right mood or in the right setting.(i pictured people. a woman mainly. with dark hair. and everyone had glasses of red wine and were laughing in a short hysterical way. and i realize these people arent representations of people ive seen act like this, theyre representations of me. i kno that feeling which makes that laugh. when hearing stories or seeing pictures or videos of people dying suddenly or getting tortured and the abuser maybe dismembering himself or herself after or committing an interesting suicide which we love to hear about and the sickening brutality and pain and fear and cringing you feel is instantly replaced with a swift too swift and sharp laughter. and these stories are real, otherwise its just silliness or boys being boys with their sick imaginations and saying it just for attention or to be funny or weird.. and we all might question ourselves slightly but either Time or Exposure to the Wicked World or most likely the validation of our indecencies with everybody else's  because its a whole room laughing lets us feel better about it each time but then more ashamed of our withering virtue until we forget. and something to understand from the remark "but either Time or Exposure to the Wicked World or most likely the validation of our indecencies" ad its there is no difference in this matter between the options 2 and 3 because we are the Wicked World. and all 3 are just things we waste. and if not laughing sharplyand loud and insane maybe some of us are at least being entertained while wailing in a definite cringe or exasperation or i dont kno but it is blended with the jovial air of the room. and people and family members laugh with and comfort and joke with eachother like a pride or a flock or any group of animals showing their young 'here.its ok.its an apple. you can touch it. it wont hurt you. its our food.' but we say "c'mere, the foundation of this world and all its agony will rip you apart, so here, learn how to find joy in it otherwise youll be too effected and will need to be discarded from normal happy people who kno their happiness comes first. because thats how we work as people and as a group. now here, have a drink. we pretend it helps and seek it out against our better judgment because we dont want to exist because weve become nothing in place of the wide range of terrible emotions we should experience when seeing the world for what it is.. ourselves most of all." and i guess that is what i pictured. the average happy people. family people. nice house and aunts and christmas people. and i kno im biased but nothing in this imagery matters. i was supposed to capture just the thoughts which i actually spoke to myself or my dog or whoever but now i have a brick-sized moving picture of my interpretation of happy family americans and other nations and just everybody.  but im no different. deep down anyway. deep down i am selfish and scared and come to the conclusion that the world is too complicated to be fixed and were too dumb to fix it reguardless and more so we are filled with souls which shift too often which we must only watch drift away moment to moment leaving us with many things but definitely a healthy amount of selfishness and, well, psychology i guess. we can figure our race and ourselves out as much as is possible and maybe even be right about some things, but knowing what drives us and feeling compelled are unrelated. too constant of a shift are we to be anything describable in correct terms and too unknown is the future to kno wut form our shift could bring us to. ..this is all absolute nonsense. i started rambling world. u gave me a mouth and i started rambling with it. i am definitely equal to a baby human or animal just shrieking into the world because, well just because its alive. so im a baby with no way of managing my existence other than making sounds because there are ears everywhere and peeing where i lay because its inside of me then it comes out because im unaware of my functions and we all send scattered unfinished nonsense to eachother and they send their own version of it back to the human and we manage to make ourselves sick and destroy our home and we're like an ant colony with no coordination.) and then something about laughter is sometimes a coverup for discomfort, so laughing from something morbid is not good. but then again it is still a laugh, and wut is the point system for laughing goodness and thats it the end jesus christ stop. *******. later. txt me wenever. have fun at ur party. i hope the weathers nice up north and not too cold cuz i kno u hate the cold. and im probably a boring **** saying cheezy things trying to act natural and nice and caring but i have my own agenda and am too unnaware to kno that and therefore will never be able to change for the better because i am a stupid human who thinks they have something figured out about every moment of every day but cant really do anything. cant see myself how others see me and cant feel the right way ong enough to accept it and constantly contradicting my conceptual and moral and spiritual universe and will never realize that 99.9 percent of the time my thoughts are of things like rocks and puffy things and shooting myself in the head and im hungry and **** that ***** and... im such a loser. if i dont start acting and living like a straight shooter my only outcome down the road will be lonelyness, heartbreak. regret. shame. and many other bad things where everything i love is either ded or has abandoned me because i am now a man and there is no such thing as abandoning a man but i am alone and want to die and i do. i **** myself and im ded. and there is no heaven and i have no soul and no one knows im ded and the passerbys and police officers and coroners who kno that im ded dont kno my name. so everyone i ever loved who havent loved me for years will die years down the road with families who love them and i will never cross their minds again. and i will deserve it. and i will pray for satan to devour my flesh and feel a demon inhabit my body along with my terror.

i dont smoke wen i ***.. i *** smoke.
i dont think out loud.. its too loud to think.
wen i destroy planet. i dont destroy planet.
i make space.
if my eyes are open and no one can see them..i must be in a restaurant with an all blind staff.
eating alone. after hours. recycling *****. recycling puke. singing to tiny people who live on my shoulder. in my car. driving tiny cars of their own. and i lay down with a brick on the gas so they can make an overpass on top of me. and there is a sunset in my car. and we all try to catch it. but that would **** us. or at least make our hands disappear. and no one can drive safe now. we're going to crash. drive off the overpass and into my mouth. or fly. and this is all happening in every tiny car. they are giant people. with tiny cars driving in their cars. whos cars... the worlds cars. cars for fleas. cars for ded birds. cars for ded people. we are all ded people. we are all worlds. we are planet. ded planet. exploding and harboring the tiny suns. making too much sound. so no one thinks. because ded dont think. they make space. i am space. a space with shape. inside space. talking to animals. and eating. and drinking love potions. and none of them werk. especially the animals. theyre disabled. they have no hands. and have suns for eyes. but all they see is planet. with a restaurant in it. where waiters are blind. spill your soda. walk into knives. get cleaned up by night crew. werk for nice things. spend time on things. until they are destitute. but things still stay. and change shape. and are fake food. for disabled animals. and they lose all their time. the fake food absorbs all the time. the last of their time makes them rot. and the thing is now ready. to trick someone. into eating fake food. things are real. they have lives now. they miss birthdays. they have birthdays. they have time. they lose time. time is walking. but time is not moving. planet is moving. space is still. space stops breathing. space gets fat. space dies. time is stopped. nowhere to go. turn inside out forever. loses its mind. doesnt have one now. doesnt kno its gone. doesnt kno its time. its not time. its the only thing. not a thing. everything. no friends. no family. no pigs. just inside and outside. no inside. no outside. turning inside out. forever. so no inside. outside. no space. no shape. filling up itself. constantly changing. but never different. and never die. we die. we are lucky. we are happy. happy poeple. very big and very small. emotional. stupid. too loud to think.

rusting my nets on the edge of the sink,
i am peeing.

my greatest insight for as long as i can remember is that ive had none.

really funny door-frames.