the flake in my bake breaks a numb in my tongue filling the treasure make of the intake i know you see i must had should not explain in vein the patterns of patience I will not point a finger at the sufficient hypocrite… dropping in the roller coaster sky diving bride whistle for the tide is she must do for the earth feel the girth of her energetic burst  on youre toes soldier the foes are banking around just up here.  and what really they DO do is close the case


when you can hurt where it really hurts
when you know you’re doing it…. remember?


from 2008 moleskine. beautiful madness, glad to be saner now

                                        guess what?







Chapter Seven.


glass windows shattering the doctors order to progress and forget is the alluby protecting the lulluby nightmare. Forensic shops with closed out filling in middle resents a verb when the blackouts become noun hazes, backward on waterfront times when carnival reminded of time to Florida. Frightened to the tit of the fuck face. Thus the sand storm, triggers the sound of rackets slamming the skin against still-life walls, the exercise from tasks when the pill fixes an endless night, on the floor without any warmth you can forget what worries the inside self, where wine flows with a struggling motion, done with bitter tastes, blinking the chill away if the moisture becomes apparent. A rightside up smile that leaves the family convinced. To which side I abandon lies between, crevace and surface, fucking the orifice that presents a crave. Murder in limbo larva breeding saburban trends infecting city centers.






legs decriminalizing in metaphoric repose, possessed in the lectures in dreams, the nonsense keeps, believed and rejected battle station rubbed down to shut down attack process, mind following the blanks shooting, grey days back to sit with published memory. Rewound to laugh when I am alone. Support injuries healing with the spoon boiling salt wounds, Ace hanging in on no-logues cannot remember, nothing a page wishes for language to suppress, grief, decision made on the making mind, feel better when cry is over, standing nude to bathe in mud puddles, centuries only apparent with Lawrence preaching the abstract. I could end my life when realization of the no more affairs of the heart begun and end in sting, correct to knowing the sad place, but the normal mouth frowns upon entrance of a life less. The last breadth in always reaching for so far. Time lying to me with the comfort of hope arriving late, at end of sob. Thought was not to pollute, every human aching as the sight of failure marches through the alleys. Trusting delay if the request to depart to me to mend me so was the demand so desperate, eyes and mouth and face there of.

                             To be continued….


listening? Hands defy such cliché tragics, loft empty studio words for the art to be displayed by horses shitting white.


Flash of message in eight nights of recovery.


Slow eyes blink to filter mind activity.


I am the yell. Please hear.




Figure eight the image of my cycle.


An image friends would console for but now self resentment has chafed and too many shoulders have been rung of my blues.


This is the place. Abandoned ballad.


at the actuality of my internal prick I giggle in amazement.




My Rio de Sympathetic


my rio de sympathetic

dry heaving up stair case sounds,

sample for poor

little music man

groaning oppositiion

relief not sexy

kept drowning the

vast treatment so

now crumbled, to

the shingles now, pummeled.




Van Kirk’s Florist


having passing through seeing

me in no pictures watching

my spawn as they live





Chapter Eight


sick of the spit bottom wine bottle, sick of the snipe hunt antiquating the ash tray habits, screens on billowing ripples crash, the siege under surf swells, the hostility being with sound in stitches, singing the fall on the tiresome daily brut lying anywhwere without reporting you, constant usually as long as the drink holds the quench, believing the accusation that I fought when the trials fed a cause to you. Shouts so dirty the neighbors radio-in the rapid raids. Commited affect of mistaken perceptions holding sacred a homosexuality. Rage having nothing to be about it. Have it held in this hand that bitterness has aquired me to punish. Support only present holding amongst the addicted circle. My sleeping bag was pissed in by love letters written to not a one. Dropping the investment directly in dead center, in the spread out silent wound. Sick of not remaining adequate in fuck-ups, chunks of amassment, sick of the jive of healthy heart beating to conflict in the meeting of. A spider leg ability to hold in mind the bigger picture. I would prefer to violate you running away, for my ego will hammer the bruises in. From something in this I take the pleasure. Self-effaced.




Chapter Eleven.


says it so fact, of Deans drum machine, not mine said simon to do so, and not that fuck not him the actual interference not worth the blank sentence on cluddered page, fascination of the artistic heaving on the upward consideration. Dont consider it jackson 5 o clock shadow, dim dented dick not seeing dysfunctional, into the limbo walking in a nod crawl past the aperture setting the frame gotten of video game. Jack hits the road not breeze in the door slamming behind. Inner city licks extending to desolate outskirts to manipulate the barrel, loaded. He is aware of the optics taken in apprehension. Ofcourse we play and prey to the classic annoyance, recollected on a bus to the way of nothing known. Checked out of the ass bending over, much comfort in the foggy murk clearing through devine abodes. Stashed away in the makeshift. Waiting game anxiety inspirits the leg jitters. Borderline attempts at the mass  problem. Back in the swing. Flailing thwacks any which way into a murky surrounding.




Chapter Five


sheer life has the grip of me, taking all some blame, keeping me some shame to categorize. The traveled mist of buttermilk sky, the tries that consumate the kill in the seam, creasing all distress into a fame dreamt, at no time cracking the mirror into a taste, my life has the constant phase. Bland the feelings of godawful blessings I forget, all above set remembering shared thoughts the priest had. All I know to be friends that I care about, not trailing what about I could not be, half a page outlining the cage rattling the cimmerian shade filling the sage scent.


Tune in, my self benevolent…

To be of just the other wilted clown, turning regret in my heart round

and around, throughout everywhere.


And collapsed thoughts are the me I hate. All to be thought of, breathe of one’s last alone.

And its me sitting same location with the keen crack wondering to what end you went. Lungs kissing polluted air, fragile in the words I meant. Head in hands, foreign voice declaring defeat. And years later the present infected past of images that engage deciet.




Untitled(truth useful, voice)


truth useful, voice listening not to leave alone, fury in time the patience calling the voice in minds, breakdown reading the multiple confiding, now the time and the impulse giving in beginning becomes the skimpy device, set alive, exalting the rain and grey with my binge, moreover the bridges burning forever, prescribed holiday terror afright, cracked middle finger in the frost bite, gushing monsters furnishing the artist with feelings of an end. Defining the justified mind gone astray, pain crashes the individual narrating polite, leaving alone laughter alone awake aknowledging the driven point, the authority of potential mental hell, alright, not alright the thrash. The showing of political somethings. Times to have anger appropriated, bearded hangover men not giving a shit about microphones or imagery. Bleeep. Run you elfin hipsters, frolic in my open sores, double bass machine guns would ransom your medication. Sung in the early eclipse of punk vision. Corporate charm without the style finding no order, and experience educates the note to rest. The same always smiling murder in rotten teeth stench, in spite of living lifetimes of death in the pop music, creation warming the dope crave, not fooling my open eyes, controlling useless demands of the poor man seeking, smell crotch by wet noises, cooling the heartaches of reasons being a hollow cost. Not listening to bad moods or cringing guitar typicals, down the hole. Draining me unheard.




Untitled(what people care of what is said…)


what people care of what is said of what you want to be, they fury lying staring at the banister, poison smiles laying out in the garden guiding the sunshine beam, meaning, beneath meloldy and all else. Any time that with me is her now the timing is fine and does matter much now and fine I feel when it does not matter much now that in my mind facts are left alone and behind. Gone to find forever and with hope to forgive me not one song about geographical besetting of lovers. Well, in my mind just yesterday I found the range of such sounds of what pain would be seen again. Another solar activity game to wait to remain inactive, thought I saw what turned into seeing you, susceptible to rigorous proof, just living together would work for me, or knowing where I have been. The safety of black lights flying solo, to look at him, of what could have given a call to say to the blank is sorry, death in the contradiction when he deserved it. Lost into meaning of confessions of freaks of transparent opticals, of a person that a thing feeds to rise in, assuring by argument for the rampaging position, convinced to rashion, taking vintage to an era of production to see through all common lives. Ingredient to vomit ubrupt, rubbling the wake of war, to stretch unlimited the baristas of our time. For free food the talk of written will becomes vast fascination to dream the landscape. So now that I have been cured to let my guard down, this vibe of season has the reality to speak up now and again. Bruises showing up at the cafe, walking with heads down for the friends that could not survive this hellish coming on of time to depress. Now sitting with the time to check constant, the same song playing in the speakers wired to set wild the arms chained down. A tired setting of surroundings not living up, reflecting the visions fallen untouched. Cluttered the moisture inside grunts setting the load lighter than expected. Individuals see to me that race has the comparison. Thinking of over to be over and over. Out.






“can i give you a
quarter for a cigarette?”
“now, man. no. you probably
need it for more to drink.
“ah, oh, yes. thank you.”
“this is probably the reason
we dont talk anymore.”







few white sounds be of present to the north, they are the
favored for further circles in thinking, fire,
to keep alive a trial like me, fire, so
stand behind, follow and wonder why,
to the tear shots, portrait, an afternoon,
fits with booze, parting at degrees 95,
give to sigh,
so, the one hand makes the time worth,
no longer to follow along stepping over
towers that we are to the sky,
so, the time for a hit on a sunday, this town
being hardly worth the time, no connection
singing to it again,
in our stance, with hardly any worth of time,
to no longer feels the frozen calls
in the firing of one gland at a time,
to keep someone like me from trying,
now behind these lines i wonder why,
rolling eyes from a child, girlfriend
tunes, lights leaving at 95, tans sprayed
on with,
so i top the solving problem with
any worth of time, stepping out into
space in the gray stance that is our sky,
silent to laugh
so, the time hardly worth the time i
spent so long going into. And does the
next “so” make it hardly worth the time,
any connection? to being worth?
the time worth hardly the time spent
so long going into. And they float
above the lie, a girl like i, stood
behind and watched you go and
wondered why, again fits in booze,
this a land that kept me praying so,
no time to make it hardly worth it,
already memorized far enough to
make something out of no connection,
so, again i rewind and this time
it is hardly worth it, but i am so
far again into and frozen from shock
passing cancer glands, music these words
are to be accompanied, just couldnt help out
with those blinders the fits remember?
your mother has a house with our liquor hidden,
and here, now no time to make it worth the time,
too far into what i should not connect,
so, to make it be it of something sounding a need
to hear, memorize because i havent no longer the time,
i did what i needed to remember and tried
to forget.





Journey To Paradise In A Pin Point Plane


Placement down hallway stairs to ammunition, placement to down grass flowing in wind to relieve me of a trespass acting on the caffeine withdrawal of a headache for something more serious, I fathom the currency broadcasted by imaginative open notes in the stream of my hand tightening with an instinct to tighten the carpel tunnel agenda confessing, slavery giving into addictions of purity and original making in the makings, insert question mark after every word playing barrel role in ___’s mouth disconnecting eyes from contact of other experiences, warmth between glasses steaming behind tear ridden eyes in the front of drooling mouths in rooms of old fashion hipster drama, collapsing on reality from the display so scenic to passers by though regret that word again floating about such a popular space of other energies is elected captain of the all-star message team, the skin crawls on field with a fatal offensive snapping a deflated balloon into hands soft and tender, rummaging a cheer for the play failing to reach a winning step ahead, the trial finally sets it, journey to paradise in a pin point plane, down the neck a knot who shots of liquor will make happy cries in despair for who he will have to consider dead. Friends that pass by in reflective eye twinkles blink by as fast as the pain comes on. A nod is given in haze, terror inwardly hopes for truth to be seen behind a dirty smile less of lively. Get the news, comfort the pipes that channel what means are of to be, coherent drifting fakes to be concerned. Does what I say go profound or completely over the head completed for use today? Words forced together in the phase of shit misunderstood. Frustrated and without the struggle to conspire with a noble trait deeming worthy, with a Jack raping the queen for her bluff. Epidemics are ovations for the joke of death polished gold with rings to bruise the finger tips, decimal guesses for syllable poisons turn a prospective to one that is fatal, the pin point plane to paradise. The responsibility I have with a tempting slouch to do my past wrong glides in through the open storm windows degrading the ash statue displayed at Patient’s feet. Thin wrists beat, the panic down well enough to struggle in a dark colored surrounding,
the pin point plane to paradise.





The prediction of the table cloth friend bust. Trucker look with the friends. The actioning of last night loaded down heavy onto the change of pace in the machine bloopers. Tangled freshly with the younger ladies training the jaded fist shakers. Original text of the document recording now the wrists beating gently into the vastness of the music treated. And in the face of the same setting always bringing in strangers, now the headlines are bold in the only glance displaying the interest of lips that awoke the the surfacing outcome. Experimental politic. Picture of neck warming collapse in the spikey whisker. Smoking the fish of barging salt water seasons. The boys say the water runs dry when you make the plan to play the cross country expectant. Terrible lie of the coughing new year choking the flyer hand outs. The beginning of the munchy dispair is equal to the paper bag burning with matter soiled, vegabond of the crowded room. The comments process an image erased to funnel. To the being of every call needs to get it. From where we need to start, call upon. From there of up to us make the fracture of control. 


And yesterday I aproached the chophouse in reluctance of further more swapping sips with the fellows of my latitude and feet trembles. The same words produce and keep the narrator and reader in a like state of cycles vicious. Only the same point of plot is no where to bring the rememberance of mispelled aspirations. The caring of rott inna bundle imagines what vision would proclude in size. Producing a projected thought is and will never hold the responsibility of blaming the landslide. With of it everything rattling inside the mindset of cruelty with it of no present remark. Oh my god the strings to pull a cramp to light, something more poor of better days to be cumbersome, railing the lines of the downstairs fright to flight, facility rapid down fall into the bloop of the nothing surrounding all happening. Perfection in the slashes received without warning or presumptious faith failing, lips twist on the stud stump strut of the victory sector. Build the venue upon happening this week. Period. Art slash date the hot center auctioning the donated musician. Playing some time throughout the time wonderful thankful. Talking to the lot of them. Editing the roles used to be of a lot of those people. Name stated of the clown. Respected question of the odd fare walking to the morning host of assummed cornered following with a spike light. One, laugh, get, involved. No comment, I am, invested happy. Sweet underneath.


I left that under oath bullshit behind your fucking bullshit flap of shit that you cannot and will not have any motivation to see therefore you will have no will to even go correct on your fucking sick of life crap that I will not think of to write anymore.


Oh, and to the memory, willing again like a neurotic mother seeing her son as husband, saying you broke her heart. Well laughs are the headliner before sorts tonight, you fucking haven debt. Mayonaise seeps a stink into your egg shell finger tips. I am firing back alike, bitch, so fucking dig it with your fashion of time before the mistake of your popping out of a regretful cunt comes to blacken your lustful eyes. And oh yep I guess I could not get to the point of resurrecting your fucking shit and all I have to say are things with every word before them being fuck. With innnggs to ring out the entrance of the bland big yes of bland moving back and forth trying to find the forked mishappening. Hussle the naked shaking of hands. Hurry to put the world at an end. Fire set in all places bombs drop to be guilty. Made from the solid strips of tension. From out of the box I write into the air. Solemn air that clusters the fucks I am not afriad to say here because this is my page and it speaks with many losses and hurts so much to even remember that I have no fucking clue as to why I even feed this to be the cause of the reason to me fucking coming here lost again! What do I say without a notebook to scribble? My canvas this? Oh I scream to that of a god! Young and tempered I will rewind to this when I am dead. And no I will not. Fucking to your lack of end I will fucking not. Late night boredom like a dramatic faggot. I’m the technological strut of someone that actually does not know a fucking thing. I’m the heroin leeking into muscle when veins were bursting with a hunger to bruise. Yeah. Fuck. You.


Now remain very quiet. This haunt will already tempt you to speak. My jacket not a fashion to crumble. Pick up and end where it was to be started. The varying battle rewound to the spot you started at the end of the year. The wretched suprise knowing why. So dont even fucking ask you fucking idiot. Loud into the noise of god. Southern songs bringing into a picture of passion. Sing it, baby. Convinced my life is over and clearly crazy. A smirk at the last remark, for it is so to be true. The things gotten into back home. Leaving the guilt to trail to where you go collecting for gathering the game. You ran away after conquering and resided to your pride you left behind while you were with me. The academic breakdown. Nice in the way it sounds. Now fall down really hard, sucker love. In time and space something borrowed and leaving hurt behind. What I want I need protection from.


Ha to the ha said the other withered willing doctor. Late night strums of the guitar when all is said and done; homeless strums.


My hands are the caption. Caution of setting the cyle again. Steady, mellow, phone numbers forgotten when given, no artist to pray for. Click the happy trigger. Concentrated notebook flavors soaking the innocent wreck foreshadowed. Ba da dap. Ba da dap, bop. Ba da dap. Country roads becoming mandatory to reflect on when he sings into the drum. Beats of the sports bra belittle the rapture of a thing to be aware. Dictating by feeble matters of the vibrant annoyance toward a tide running away. Twist that tongue into the navel fashion. Beneath your hips I will plunge a fantasy through the fabric protecting your danger. In the shower or riding the voyueor tran.


Some people are just so bothered by the existent memory that nothing but a documented anger strides the field with a torch and blazing eyes. The training of sidewalk eye contact down Broadway strolling with a smile that abandoned. Ran away. Uplifted with a bland song about being late to the trend. Ideas and trouble to address for the hungering drama. Seeds planted of the constant beg. Seeing without a darkness warned prior. Up that beat! Down mellow of beyond tomorrow too, not too far. Leash the verbal epiphanies, the shock wave will bring about the correct reaction. My rambling of nothing too common. Conversations drowning out, yes I said drowned, with the paintings of the crush draining the flood from the canvas. Thermal romance. Overcast break-ups. Into announcement of danger and oceans invading present ground. Not without. Just simply hand in hand with the tempted face of convention. The transition to dependent others control the save of images flashing photography to death. I have a beer to toast with the members of AA. To my not having a thing to be smart enough for. And a pour to the ground for my grandfathers passing. The one that made a laugh stretch through the lonely holiday. Passing gas in schools near by. Ideas fast a week for fruit juice addictions. Losing wieght to dance with the eating disrorder agenda, stocking caps shuttering the lips of snow flake horror. The crow ca’s for a whiskey canteen. I am almost positive that if I were to rise and shatter her glass into the wind twelve more pages would make love in a hot minute. The creation feeds the manic, a manifesto looking back right side up, seriously disgusting. A wandering reflection will erupt once but when I will not know until already passed with splashes of pitch black blinks of my bloodshot eye. Inserted language above the blanks, doors close to the hopes of an Oregon. Typing mad while everything remains wieghted in the wet hum of a sheltered absence. 


And at five aye em I found a hit of eightch in the love seat I kid you not and I damn! near choked at the smile of my dreading god as me gladly tooketh la death blow into thy straw, post talk about future to be sober.


Be of… be of be of be of! Avoid your advancing guards, they have dead appointed butt cheeks flapping birth farts that a burrito belly would dry hump while lactating another. 


And it seems to me that would keep you here amidst of a shadow frost in the baking theme in a tempted close battle of decision and remake of love angle electrified, loathing loss, sound triggered sound of keyboard, another dependence I will have to borrow from. With feet walking away with attempts not present at all in figure, cirlces of meaning cradling a fond collapse of the mind in the children at play in the park of rememberance. Tea bag sydrome a fake pavement along two days of running into trouble in a row, clutter stutter the words I butter. Play along my horn fright dim light, question of love and inner sex between bathroom quickies cuddling up the key bump cheater. In the abode of space. To take back I have got to be on a drug of some sorting sedation. Waiting possible alone? And rehearsal parties try out the creative spectrum of lines to bottom out from. Swim far before the thought of breathing sparks a wondreful urge to poke again streams of the blue outside, the mouth of a downfall sharing aid in figuring what time had been placed in a temple storing fate. Below above the sea so angered by land, necklace of the goddess venting from the chest of dreams vivid when a dose to force had taken first place. Trying hard to figure the ball will rampage in the pitch, curving the swooping grass surfacing creatures to chew the end. The other production of video and music did it wrong to release the magnified charm of the phantom rape. Therefore the means of my rough hand rubs of back while dead states brush the life chosen to lonely live. The smell of itchy rooms dirty with food to be thought of full. Dont know how to say it, but housing this boy is the manic observant role play you will want when the glare of young women catch your eye six thousand miles musing away. Comfort my stung again deicide, poison of a princess outlined in chalk. Recording of what shall thunder the relative measurement of soul burning words sustained. My mild packets of bottled up resentment burst as an alternative to dedicating the sum. When I was twelve I moved into fathers house. With step mother, step brother, half-brother, step brother. Half sister heard the starting gun. Mother cried in the arms of the rotating witness. I hault now with convention to forget more about things I just told you. Before and after do not matter much; the crisis line was verbally coded even before the hips adapted to my being  intended. The stage dented without warning to performer, tripping on the wire tapped while cumming into your microphone. Frankly the just of knuckle bleeding ten year old games, I considered the coincidence that I was a character in a movie. The man building to forget lost cavities of love drowned by the gin he needed to smile. The typewriter worked well for prints of the geograph. Humming greed into a cartoon horizon.     


And and and frustrated boils welcome the sunrise on my side. Picking butts out of the front porch ashtray, made the lonely selfish late night text, going on into tomorrow today with the wieght of the world on blistered shoulders. The day of praise keeping me in guilt. Eye lids are provoking the tear to slumber in heat. I am frankly waiting for my mother to grab ahold of my timeline and distress me more for not keeping the promises. Nor blame I will to her. Nothing captures the right side of my perspective silouhette. During the summer I remember walking the now lovely memory lane with chili dogs dripping from licked fingers. Icecream melting my candy heart.


Foster care resents the parent. Not knowing when the present was here to believe it again. The flow of it really is worth the hurting metaphors of posion coming reluctance potion. The far off tree without a fall sounds off the forcing company that realizes the filth of living like the partnering mumbo jumbo. Joseph with a beard. Without a beard no. the doctor sees the milking calf. Manuscript failure of the last few days without a card to pass on isnt not the missing of saying nothing at all. Acceptance will not bare the minimum. Go with the flow, bastard tease. Mutter the word under your breath boozing and stealing the guilt of remaining innocent. When the ear rings constant and random your voice is recalling the mistake by another voice of sound proofing boredom. The annoyance of amusement is invoked in the main line of being obnoxious. My work space is the whiskey of big tall voices. Happiness with the arrival of oriental food charms. Me tomorrow will be so jealous of the me today. Happy that I did not proceed with a violent helping. And without it I grew without a religion. Castrated. Without even a pet monkey to impersonate.


Well nothing makes it right, for the sleeping heads of my roommate undertake wonders where the fantasy and wanting of hook ups went forth. Releasing when I was drunk, slumberly honest without the friends to protect from cutting corners into hitting the bottom wall. Nothing I wrote in the past few days of worshipping the other to the pit, of reading the knowledge that I do not remember walking home thirty blocks sad and filled with liquid supporting the gravity plague of my low head. Brothers without the fail of non-storm production. Partners into the rest of committing. Rose bushes singing the songs of loners at night. Without the rain and work of flooding drains I would never have had the chance to predict an ending. She insisted we talk it out again and begged of me not to forget. My house haunted every time I try to remember on the page. Though the brainstorm of my torn leather image put a hault to wherever my lost mind was searching, and without a fast notion I creep down the tunnel to be excecuted under classical shifts of broken eyes. I made a fire with my own attention to detail, dated for time in history to be taken under. Or note of, depending on the observant gaurdian. The lights of where I merely was mistaken to take you have been put out by thrown rocks of the residents having to deal. And truth it is and will stand when my lies and wrong doings slash my wrists with bladed shame. The king of typo chaotics read between the lines of fat cells invoking. Against the grain I go with you my fathers and beaten mothers. I jerk my meat so raw when actual times arrive on the spreading wings of scapegoat aeroplanes the energy I follow through with accounts for my lingering in the pity phase. I sat down at the table that night trying to figure out what to do with the body I found. In the alley until sun had arrived had a little boy sat and guarded the dead man of the village abandoned. Maybe now at this  time when I look shall the precieving stain wash clean my pains of location. Now without feeling the wrath will a withdrawal from touch make present the fact of feeling alone. Predicted in a film short about old men remembering too late. Pervasive when the shouts of charlotte are being the wind predicted, I without a chance walk the line further off the plank, the deeper water cut between the bags not twenty fit away. In the silent low muffle of a humble laugh are in fact the down falls of request to play the annoying songs. Arranged from the question meditating the cinematic eyes of lines following forth. Awareness of the things that pollute without the heart of a beautiful mind. Drunk on the blood of the rest of the misery. Keyboard fright behind the machine gun wrath wont stop the overnight wild sex fest to be the most depressing. Metaphor for a tiny cock. And really the man walks through. A following of something that I need to talk about. A following of something that I regret. Tired of sight for the allowance of stepping behind the line. Living with a man of daughter. This song sound catches the phrase. One day of playing the music and role of the hero. In the sideshow rest stop. Stopping when the cocaine glasses come off the road. 


Translation made from the chinese dinners of posing, spicey and on the erection scale, leaving it to be undone with spices slacking with deliverance, not the confrontation of an everyday resource, sober and beating the game against itself. Accents cringe when the culture outbreaks. I eat the crumb of delayed shifts of ending the locked door antics behind the door, shuffle down creature. Medicine for resenting the moment of breaking rules. Paper dolls singing for the habits during future. I offered ten romantic broken bones from the zen of the denial without any reluctance and without a need to sit dearly and innocent under shelter out of the quiet rain. Sparkling in the structure of a viewing fantastic. Lips bigger than life coat the frame in the lights of all happening. Reviewing the scene through the trouble of metaphor. I suppose those words are above the faint belief that working out the knots of my sweaty back listen to the solitairy remark of a child paving the way. A willing to learn from the quietness of present sirens. The eyes of power overthrown in the massaging rally of rampage. Leaving the authoritive voice of changing perception.  Following the beer guzzles with the rampage of a hangover, mercy to be the one that has to deal with my complete jump to opposite sides. Either detached or picking every little thing about you apart, action remaining a constant crisis in choosing a style. Whistling to the whimper of the canceled Sunday lonely night. I dont know what I did with the motivation of sampled thriving of socks thrown off and into the tunnel. Relieving with viens slit in the mistaken whore I thought of. Everywhere you go every culture is scared of ghosts. Never again. And my wife said. The dog got drugged. It is that person. Then one day you realize you are not. The enemey has no where for you to go. Seven stories on a hill. The doors totally are something of no proof. Being invited and calling out for something that people attend with money and a willing to be that type. Nonsense in the gutter. Yet that is where the answer is after the leaving of something, possibly my life. Darkness at the vision of the reeling future. Taking over the face that was here first. Following the realness with a stale ass version of everything surrounding. We sit silently while hope is all lost in beauty.


Treasures guide the walk to the sink to vomit fuck my over intake. Directly after making a mix of songs that treasured the act of being told to listen.(THE THE THE!!!)(get it out yet?!) The rocks floating under the water spill. Proven that I moan to nothing but the moment the sensation of rain fallen onto black eyes needed a moment to be alone or stones would be thrown by the blind. And that feels all. Right center in the cirlce. The love thickens with it feeling the complacent glares of thrashing lungs around. Smoking dignified for the records that I listen to while I type out this thing of said things. They make no result for the reader to ponder. The being though here ponders fragile frustrations. That is the feeling of how I am standing in a position to lay bullets deep in my revision of no attempt. In something with the way she moves beautifully? Coating my movement to a stand still? Facebook wont relieve me anymore because I request friendship from girls I try to forget about. Enough of the relapse and sleeping pill numbing. I do not wish to be here all the time like I am. Have is to be able to become. Not sure of where my dreams and losses to bring afloat went aware of. A few lines later that I have confessed. On the street. Love. Stupid words. Stupid sentences. Stupid things to read around the fire. My fire above the crippled crotch. Photographs of the beach and with her swinging hair her fingers pushing me away off into shore. Please adapt and see where I am in the wave. Crashing. Please. I am not writing to convince to impress or to reach the land where treasures scare me of delight. I am figured between confusion from actions that have made a guilt flare into a reflection of starless skies. So scared to curse her way even though it is again. And I feel that time comes close to the reality of me crying to sleep. Fuck your need of me to give something you would relate. Maybe you could relate that I dont even know where I am coming into. An abstract journalist documenting the neuro movements of confusing questions. Me. History non-intentionaly making a flag woven without stressing the deadline to make nothing alive. Me. Live from the lightening stage. The living memory begins to fade. Entrance of the words that make no sense. I remembered my appointment when I was later than expected. Record player needing a needle. Walking thin lines dished out of the cocaine compost. Sex heard through the house and walls built so thin standing. I think he used to be recovering from something now that I think of it. Question. Random pop in the laughter of culture and lasting warmer moments. Roaming around with noises. Had my share of spills in the well. To do drugs for the sake of art and positions under the table. I cant wait for the want to have you back to return when I have forgotten. Crawling back into my arms. It being time to clean what I cannot see through. All alone we blink underestimated. Tears falling on spilling roads leading to the mall. Stores lined up in song and reason with jabbering mouths presenting to you when arrival is buried head first. Still linking together to hopefully not miss one more plane crashing. But I know its my own damn fault. I was doing drugs in your seven eleven. Dealing them while I blew the man in the back. Echos drowning the drone of memory no text book would be written to deal with the reason being… you are a stupid ass bitch. The like of a Leo purring in your weep. Memory was sparked today when I went and saw the acting doctor, sitting in his chair while he became agitated with me in knowing I was lying about everything in my language. Just trying to bring out the mexican chemist in him. I cry in lies with lies and blaming to be the one that will not forgive me for understanding too early. Without it here. In the maze. Out of the maze. Into it, I believe it. I am all love and hopped in the turn of my tense struggle to bring you back. So if you could, selfless, please come, the fuck, back. May I move on now? Good good. I respond to my own response of what I would prefer to hear. And that obviously was a ‘yes, please, for christs sake’. Not even the ownership of things that are interesting in the bathroom. The only time I do not feel repulsed by the action of releasing shit onto another is when my cocktail has done the obsessive nerve a wonderful damage. And oh why must I start with and? Are you listening. Nope. To the help if you can, but thats not the way, the way you are going. This is result. Not explaination. Ususally in literature the story is told, I am reacting from my own tangible in the life story. So much pain that no way to really grab ahold of it will sprink into the rational presentation of what you would maybe like to see explained. Well, I am sorry, here you do not find. I have been writing since the age of seven and there never has been a “right” way to do it as long my demoms were silenced for just maybe a moment, that was my okay to keep doing it, and then years later, show it to a few people, send it off to a few people. One or two respected what I written, so now I do it in my bullshit twenty six years still. The same as my lonely seven year old self did to forget. Wether or not it is beauty or not, yet sometimes I do believe it is beautuiful my out-there-nonsense. Yet it makes more sense to me than anything. I think for a minute. Yeah, anything. And I miss him so much. He would be here to make me laugh and we would play. But enough said about that. Finding the same fears. So yes he is ignored when a slight hello is tried to be given but the same song plays insane in my head. To toe. I steal drugs from other addicts to feed my addiction. So, other than the fact of stealing being wrong and, I would not steal anything of another persons except, is it wrong? Or am I just another link in the wrong chain? A huge travesty. Just something that simply should not have happened. Or another blank in the ones that I missed. Clonodine. Maybe I should just go into my room and watch internet porn that gives my computer viruses because well, everything is shit. I said I wanted to kill myself in some self-pity state, and she repsonded before my curtains even closed with “for fuck sake, please do.” The smell of cut grass and an unchilly breeze giving you that scent of hope on your front porch through… well, I dont fucking know. The knives sharpen to raw crome. This section of the block I should fall over stumbling over details that I should have left behind and learned from where I left them. The woven women I have hurt. Invited back to remind me of my mistakes. What would pan across to my mind where it would make sense? A treasure box been buried and waiting to be opened. But time has the reality of sizzling away the feeling of migraines hitting the sunlight when rising with the sex steam. Getting off to it to get going. One has set the shrill of re-living the moments of stigma. The heads of drummers and feelings with.


From the wrath of mouth ties hostage furniture of highschool love and interest much. The love making. All the girls fuck in the corner and are happt so much, yeah? My reflection raped because well there is no because you stupid piece of of fucking shit. Beating the shit of her again you do undone with red celebrity invoking the nipple tease. Fast sex in the jaded sunlight parlors. The best sex wrapping around the tearing inside of nice things that are said. Time, from  getting naked, spaces left behind, rejection of the marriage bond in the memory of camp during little kid time. Rotten fish in the river refreshing the faulted mind functioning on lies that keep the breath of a daily task. I lost her proper in the storm trying the save only myself. The smell of cat piss makes me weep. What a lengthy excuse to refuse when you asre lying on burnside. Both actors being the sluts. Playing the slots. The guy from that stupid movie coming out from whereever you are. I have done it proper between legs lying from the backside of youre dreary taste. Control. Save. I never thought I would be doing something until I was dead and long gone and thought of to remember in the vast dissapointment of life. Endure the cheated life. Without sex of the children abstracting in your milky ways. A beaten woman weeps while beth has the length of heart to weep her sorrows through speakers, so maybe later then. Fifteen year old telephone booth desperation calls. Sell? Sell! Redeeem the numbers and shifted lucifer. The strong magnificent strength of my lonely roar. Gonna have to ask her right now. Call her up to see how the date is going. To get out of the car before exploding heads happen in georgia. A car battery to the testicles. Ginger snaps of the lie that made its way through on the basball fields of saburbs. So let the groove get into you and let everything not matter because life is love. I dont really care about making a meaning. Ggetting this out here is finding the meaning. So witness if you must. I know this might be in some book somewhere, but hey, the headache you feel from reading this? These words are the headache I am passing on because I want it no more.  


Happy to see that on your birthday I could fucking care less

the toll free calls for you, collecting nothing but left wing innocence

and threats to kill, your shots below now firing back

in your face, and my smile is bigger than life and

louder than the screams for forgiveness

I begged, you are nothing now to me so I hope

your happiness ripes on time, in season without

purity of heart or love that you dramatized for

your soul that happens to reak so week.


With cum stains on my pants I went

and remembered that sociopaths dont show up under

Romeo windows with keys to forgiving doors carved

into their arms. 



I see myself walking, walking. Drones covering the scene with an angled look from behind me.