life is programming code
and all the good things that
come out of it
are a typo.

im sitting still
waiting for the paint to dry

breathing it in
it gets me high

i hope
the paint
it never dries

it turns into an animal

it turns to me and smiles

there is nothing
that reminds me of everything
more than nothing

i once sed
if you took every song
ever made
or ever sung
and played them
all at once
it would be
the sound of god.

.

lonely park benches
hold hands
with the humiliated.

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

abandon all hope please.

as you transcend spiritually you must know that you are not learning but you are growing.
Learning implies that you know something, and to know leaves no more room for growth:
to know is a form of apex.

-a seed, knows that it is a seed, and that there is dirt. It knows this because it has not grown.
-a plant, growing from the seed, knows it was a seed. It knows the dirt, it knows the sun, it knows the rain. It knows this because it has not grown into death.
-all you can know is that you are growing, and even that is something that you will one day unknown.

tail wagging aligators

i am ten feet
from my elementary school.

i am 28 years old.

the passion feeds regret
then quiet.
the heart is left as a landscape
of dumb colors and clarity.
a reflection is a laughing image
because nobody is there;
there is nothing anywhere.
life never made a sound.
it was a mute portrait
with whom you talk.

in the rain,
a living man
trying to bring
a dead man back.

and the rain will rise and collect
and fall again.

i speak truth til my eyes bleed
but i can still see it.

when it whispers in my ear though
i grow young and silent and soiled.

the last gift i recieved was a vacuum
two christmas' ago.
and i got that person nothing.
if i ever own a home
it will be clean
but it will be empty.
and i will be dead on christmas.

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.

i think the moon
is full of ****.

the objects we create are filled with fear.
the mind is empty floating poetry.
we desire and we suffer
we join souls and are alone
there is no home
we have eternity to roam.

life is a play,
   and when the curtain falls

well,
      youre dead.

the dolls stare at me

waiting for me
to come to life.

but they dont know

im watching.

im so lonely
im the only
lonely guy i
know who knows me.

i wake up from my dreams
and my fingers
are wet with you.

his heart was made of gold
but you stole it
now its sold

a doe does not walk the forest
covered in flames.
its faun does not eat it
from within.
but they drink if they are thirsty.
and the water does not walk
from the shade to the sun.
and the sun
does not burn brighter
than it must.
it only burns until it dies.

trapped me in a van in my head
i couldnt escape
im still there
screaming
dead.

"im like a being
  thats barely here.
only because
im barely here,
but barely somewhere
else   too."

they can chain you down

and skin you

and rip you from the world,

but they can not steal it from you.

they try to take
what it is
inside,

but you cant LET them..
you must KEEP it.

dead drunk
on the side of the road
having the time of his life
with a ***** bag

show me pictures of my mortality
and ask me:
   who was he?

all the great music
which makes you want to live
long enough to listen to the song
before you **** yourself
will die.

   but i wont let it even if it kills me

even when all of the past
is what haunts you
the wisdom that is gained from it
is what gets you through it.

the space between spaces,

a lepton is an endless field
light-years from the center of itself
where true sound rolls boulders and beads
into the hands which build themselves;

replicating creation
to boil down
back to nothing.

it is an oil horse
churning.

attracting smoking teens
and protesters

and the onset of
an armageddon

anything

to burn it down.

:  *        ‡                               ★

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.

there are
huge blocks
that dont fit

but they hum
and they vibrate
and make you think
theyre something else.

what I am is what I share is what you are.

now whats my prize?

when a heart is made of ******
you must keep it in a cage
for the dead birds to peck
into the heart of its rage.

cram em in
get em fat
so they cant leave.

cook em up
and serve em
to the next rush.

the only time im ever dressed up
is when im doing laundry.
so, i look really good
while i clean my clothes.

the floor is

broken pieces

on the floor

people's lives are passing
who i dont know
and it breaks my heart.

people who used to be my life
who i no longer know
and it breaks my heart.

ive laughed through my life
and cant remember any of it.

it breaks my heart.

watching videos
of your dead child playing
from six years ago.

every dimension
must be a
               conceptual
dimension.

i slept
and the dark
it crept
all around me

i awoke
a being
of light

i wanna shoot myself
every day i work
for nine dollars an hour.

it makes me wanna
shoot myself
every day
for free.

how you treat a person
is who they can become.

their spaceships
are beautiful.

they come by
and cut off
all your friends heads.

i thought it was music
but i was talking to myself.

i want the world to show its ugly face
as i look it in the eye and fall in love.