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why do novembers always start so dreary? Is it the expectation of winter? Is it some other nuance that we have yet to consider? Who knows. I don't. Heck, I don't know a god damned thing when it gets simplified. Political systems of feeble expertise worded in a complicated manner of isms and didactic withdrawls confuse me to no end, end of a book or even better a moive, like the one I saw recently starring a dog named scooby. miserable shits. end all scootch fests with a bang, lined up at a quarter pace. need five more words. thanks.
hah, at least I could jump. at least I didnt fuck everything up everytime I spoke a word of warning?I could see it coming, from maybe days away. I could smell your fetid arguements wafting in the wind. I could hear your biggest cause, the solution, the band-aid coving my smarting wounds. It only fixes, despite the unrealistic factors. So face the tunes, your deader than fried plantains with minimal coverings of swarthy bible fucks. you need to be really smart to handle it. these brilliant places are really just a ploy to turn annoying ads off. fucking cum dumpster.
sadness comes in multiple sections. truth lives life like a balloon. tearing at gravity, ripping holes in the net of my emotions. I am losing connections. my ability to interface has been diminished- replinished (only in my dreams). they could at least pay for the damn cup, drinking away my soul, my heartl that which defines my feelings. i'd be ambivalent in the face of reality. hurting deep but never showing it. a visual arrangement of elements that structures this sickness, this mortality. shall I leave my heart unattended? will I succomb to the misconceptions and unconfirmed feelings?
I no longer keep the company of caring,
its too late to stop sharing.
I write when my mind takes flight,
storming out of Rory's on slow nights,
wanting to fight,
losing my sight,
some girls wear their shirts too tight.
complications at the start,
narcs busting kids for tricks,
cheap prostitution licks.
fickle for the next nickle
bought off my neighbors whore of a son.
give my cat your heart, watch it become undone.
damn the potions.
the goverment notions
spread like lotion...
I'd rather not eat
and face the death I seek.
see a phat girl with a thick waiste,
what a disgrace,
what a hopeless case.
the cause was not gorging,
it is from all those cocks that gave your face a slap.
I call that semen swelling.
complain about your life?
bitch look at mine,
all the hatred against me,
fuck all of them.
I do like Nas done,
bust out a loaded gun,
shoot your stupid fat ass and for once, have fun.
I would cry when finished,
I would die for love unreplenished.
watch the moon tear,
the cycle goes,
I was discussing some things with some friends some time in recent memory. It was fascinating, we spoke about bitch slapping people across the face, and knocking them to the ground. I pointed out that I had done that once, to that once person, that one that pissed the fuck out of me that one night. It was just one of those times I suppose, the kind that make you laugh upon reminiscense. I don't think I spelled that word right. I could use spell check, but I'd rather finish this post and then write my book. take it easy.
the world is no longer a safe place for us to live. horrors percieved, combined with moralities recieved combat truth. the spreading of hidden strenght, the stremph of what Medicare once provided. It makes me sad when I consider the lost souls, the austrian jews, served to rest with cake icing on their chests'. I tear for things that don't issue complaints; the receptionist of unnecesarry confucious wording. inconcievable? unbelievable? I keep my visions clean with clear consciousness threaded: black herbals packed in linen case, torched at what, a medium pace? I buy apples from incorrect personas, and why not?
i think the cord was completely cut yesterday... it was placed on the table plain to see, looked at togethor, examined from every sad, sad angle. I haven't cried in years, yet the remembrence, combined with what the future will now hold, causes the sodium to build upon my iris', and my chest sighs... maybe in 15 years, after I go my Forrest, and she her Jeanie, it will happen again. I still don't understand, we had it explained that it was her, nothing else. And I can see that, for as cliche as it may sound, we are/were perfect.
introducing, me, the epitomy of I. street life is the life I'd prefer to this, I grew fed up with reality at birth. I wish I could feel, I wish I could emulate the emotions put off by my neighbors. But it never works. I always fuck it up some how, some way. I don't know my place in life. I need to write. "the horizons move forward, offering you place for new steps of change." I wouldn't care. I lost money last night purchasing items of worthless value. Huddled in a corner, safegaurding it for all I am worth.
it was so unbelievable. the wholel ground was full of triangles, and worming bright fast paced valley hills, and oh man. I just laid back and enjoyed it. they were talking about rabbits shooting horses and really weird things of that nature. i was like, what the fuck? where did this shirt come from? Agony. Gunney, or are you Ah? Nee, Ga? It's just so randomly like, sweaty, but anyway, that was just a side note, entirely inconclusive. i knew there was some sort of mission statement. I forgot the phone, right. I didn't forget you I forgot the phone.
the intricacies of Starbucks
the red flame bobs, up and down
up and down
it weaves from side to side
in intricate patterns.
never slowing down
riding the waves of chaos.
it's aura emanates a strength
found deep inside-
the white part, the center.
the unwary will be burned
go to deep
and you may quench the fire:
with your special way of not knowing,
the blaze struts out of the ocean,
destination in sight.
reaching it, the blaze alights
a wooden chair
cooling to so many reddened embers
a double latte.
brilliance comes to me when falling asleep. next morning these inspirations are gone, disappearing without a trace of their former existence. Where do such thoughts go? I know they are still there, hidden deep in the bowels of my subconscious mind. I need only tap this well to unleash the fully potential of my being. when I sleep, I catch myself of guard, and snag a fleeting glimpse of all-knowingness. But nothing can be retained; look, but don't touch. So give me a paper and pen, and loaded with psychedelics I can go spelunking in the caverns of my intelligence.
nothing left to talk about, nothing left to say,
All I do is reiterate, in a brand new way.
original thoughts trickle through my sieve
brain waves collaborate into the shawl I weave
I rhyme like this when it hurts to speak
people laugh and turn the other cheek.
preperation of the atmosphere
taking us far from here
she tricked me again with words of confusion.
saying things that made me think we had fusion.
she knows how to use me,
bend me to her will.
so lies come forth,
with phasers set to ‘kill'.
give me back the keys.
I saw you through leaden eyes-
pupils dilated and surface glazed.
I pined for your knowledge-
all those quircks and fits of nonsense.
The ship carried us over the horizon,
in the magenta sky. But the seamstress was underpaid
the leftover trout uncooked,
the sauce cold.
it was never meant to be,
the stars never held permanence,
not in the eyes of a cloud;
tired and teary.
so it broke away...
the bond was lost,
yet relationship remained.
it was on a basis
company was entertained.
she could never be tamed.
[original post oct16]
"my words will never express how I wish I could repay, replay, refigure and fix the past. I ask myself why I still have such an impulse to indulge myself into your soul, all over and over. it hurts me and you, but I want to taste the biggest taste ever made: by us! if it doesn't work, then that's that. I won't call you ever again. Always we will stand- it's just a matter of how. But how can I know if I don't taste you, and only try to remember what once was?"
-words, before she left forever.
there we lay, in a parking lot in McDonald's, in who knows where Illinois. She lies asleep, and I am content to simply watch sparrows going about their busy lives. it is so quiet...
they say you cry less as you grow older, but that's not because you have less reason to do so. we simply harden our emotional levels, making the smallest tear a near unimaginable possibility. it was the sweetest twenty-four hours of my life, but also the saddest. what little hope and inspiration I had for the world was destroyed by that final goodbye.
*lone tear falls*
each song took me into a different dimension
focusing upon my hand, I stared on through:
wreathed in flowers was a painting,
the image blurred with primordial abandon,
disregarding its solid acrylics.
my gaze dropped to the floor
as it expanded it's expenditures,
bleeding eyes welling up and over,
spilling forth the quiet tears of nature.
the spirit guide faltered at this point-
a soft hiccup in the ‘coaster.
but the artery was unclogged,
resolved their issues,
and for the rest of that moment,
illumination of my mind was first class,
prior discrepancies enacted
and done with.
i'm slowly losing my drive for living. not on the larger sense- I am by no means suicidal (I hope). The life I am living bores me, leaving my mind fatigued and discontent by the time it ends. I sometimes feel like their are people I can blame, or things that I put my body through, or even my enviroment. But the equation never comes out right, something is always missing. Perhaps it is all of them, with my own neurosis added in for [good] measure. I need to leave my world, and take up residence away; far, far away.
so much to write and so little time to do it in. i have a back log stretching to western Utah, papers that could not bend under the weight of horse apocolypse riders. i suppose i would come, and take the keys back to the car i forgot to drive. i suppose i could give you a glimpse of a reality too fake for barbie and ken, but that would simplify to a degree that i can simply no longer stand. if you were too mix up my life with someone elses, you wouldn't be intrigued, only confused about life.
i feel like i am drowning my body with the memories of a thousand stresses, brought upon by the heavy weight of the earth mother. watch as she bestows the weight of mountains, the heaviness of kings; long dry the tears of last October sat. And yet surely they wept for what had yet happened? strike text examples of sex made clear with the wreak, havoc stretched malice met, future kept young boys slept. i have almost filled this page with my childish weeperies,but at least the Christmas Claus will look upon them with vindictive mockery. help quell the hypocrisy
yet that didn't interfere with the typing of that black machine Leroy kept in the back of his flat. that mechanism from which he created lives, destroyed loves and kindled hopes. from his drawing table of infinite correlations, established upon establishments remade from splinters; he kept this up, all throughout his scholarly days. the telephone rang. he picked it up. it was Nancy, with the weather. only the weather was already stale and unused. he wanted a new life, a new flame to be burnt in that candle of burgundy flavored ash wax. so he made it clear to senorita.
write your book. go to all your classes, even succeed where successes don't normally manifest themselves on the speed dial of your rotary telephone. be happy. stay happy. be a good person, establishing friendships deeper than those of your garbage disposal and that broccoli rind. stay away from things that hurt you, i.e. certain individuals, places, things. moderate intake of substances- for better or worse, increase of decrease. finish the year, and go somewhere until it's time you came back. only, that is what the cold linoleum told me last night as i lay dry heaving upon its unforgiving surface.
flying moss randied by the high roads rotting my creativity. i wearily sit in my rain soaked debacle of a motel room, smoking the butt end of my nicotine fix. i lost sight when the tears stopped flowing. but at least i can read the writing on my now dry pad of babies babble. rocket blast from my ethereal network point to a previosly forgotten point of infinities existence. tear your totaliaristic flight simulator: call this flight-o-tron, like borrowing your roomates condom to condone coitelation of two beings that lost capacitatal reasoning found in the latter stages of high school.
they danced the salsa to margarita spells, woven like the lucid dreams of a boy's love. he lost himself in her eyes, brown like the chocolate of Ghirradeli. that was the trombone that played so sweet, wafting in on cinnamon buns at 5 am. riding bicycles to the rise of stars, the fall of moons and the establishment that yes, there are significant experiences in life. there are base realities from which our new found glories can build their establishments. we can formulate new realities from these old ones, fashioned like a flint molds the soft clay of wet dirt.
i do not know what to do. i need help: signs from above, or signals from below. i need to have a response that can be clearly interpreted, moistened to a perfection that Betty Crocker would envy. Ugh. I don't possess the detective skills required for such a difficult mystery, and for that reason i grow saddened. i am afraid to be left alone, for the thoughts i have are terribly morbid. i almost began crying on the bus today, just sitting there, trying to push this enormous depression back down. even remembering it hurts. remembering anything about her hurts.
poetic justice need not find its place in my backyard, buried beneath so many bones of long dead pets. i gnaw on their decrepit corpses like the pea soup of my youth, sipping slowly its vile gruel. i appreciate the thanks given to my elders when they die, yet if their lives remain existent in my reality displeasure is shown. i couldn't get away with assault of personality failure, for only those imbibing the Juice can escape gravitational boundaries. so leave me be, on the ultimate trip on concrete roads, traversing from building block to block, singing my lonesome songs.
there is a bluebird singing tired songs in my head. i lost my focus, stumbling across endless roads of despair for goals of impossibility. i long to leave the past beind, i long to forget the pangs of hope i felt so many times, over those many years. i long to strive forth the better off from it all, yet that reality seems bleak. a simplistic freak of nature, flirting with the disaster of its brothers son. i bear my crimson beads for the aesthetic values they add: it only stains when i wear white. long have i been leaking.
i want more, she wants less. she doesn't like who she is when i'm not around. the words that i wanted to say, locked up in uncertianty. morose thoughts of morbid themes float around as my eyelids close for their period of rest. i remain fatigued through out the day, tired from the stresses of emotional diseases. if enlightenment were only located in the green filling my glassware i would be content. yet it is anti-fulfillment, making me sad and depressed. it is a habit i need not kick, it is a way of life i merely need to escape.
i use drugs to hide from a reality to bleak to stomach. lately i have begun catching myself on the brink of tears, for no real reason. the sight of a person walking, or leaves fluttering to the ground- they all give me cause for sadness. is it that the world has been changed, without my knowing? Has the creator traded in his palette of greens reds and blues for the simplicity of a soft gray?i need only grow content with what little i have, and things will fall into place. seek out simplicity, oh young one, and be happy!
I do not desire to live life over: I was screwed from the beginning. Somewhere in this cosmic salad bar, my being offended someone higher up, and was tagged for life. This tag prohibited any outside interference, any guidance from being given by those beneficiaries so many of us get to have contact with. One would think that I am bitter, angry at the powers that be for the predicament I have been put through. But that is not how I look at it. It was simply my life direction, and I am not going to attempt to swim upstream.
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