bing bing  bing bimmy

blimph
   foo  
ku-   tooo--ooo --booo -


tteee   teeeee
   teee              teeeee           n
cone-shape  blac  
dual
cab

              smack  -head
pinched ­ in  fun- tal
ban   backed pack
  breed
            big   fo   kid ****

hap
  in hull
  
3 skims
socky    low - loo


pump

I could  write 1000  poems

and get a nobel  prize  ,

but at the end of the day

there's no closure.

i'm in this ****  hole,


it's cold.

i still idealistically believe that  the 'right person' could change things when we all know it doesn't.

I hope   i don't wake up this time.

I hope  
  everything goes away


good night

Of all time  in history I could have been born,

I'm here on  a computer talking to imaginary people
in   a box
with  wood-grain carpet

and a tv with a   nondescript latino face.


What does it even mean to be a human?

What is pain?

What is genius  when it all takes     is a **** salute,

or saying the obvious?   Or just loving one another?


Why does hate always get a bad rap?


Where  is  the exit?

where is   the promise,

   where is      the sensitive eyes        in     the    deadair room

with 3 chairs


where is my   participation trophy?


where is my  diving board,
my knitted sweater,
  cellular phone, comatose giraffe?


who's back do i scratch?
who's bed do i make?

where are you parents?

where is  

the end

I'll forget this in an hour


just   like  a dead rose on the table,

or a box     of  
wrist watches.


I'll forget
I even wrote

''Jupiter   in bloom makes
for a                                   lovely  airspace''

Running shoes,
just like   the profile   ,  and the pictures,
and the posts,
and the blood  ,  and membrane
and procedures on the   cranium

baggage   without   ever carrything anything.


the load is yours.

& you'll   either live by it ,
or you don't.

      I choose neither.

It's sad that this all just goes into a  box.
just like a music genre.

it's metal,
it's pop,

it's progressive jazz,

it's Spanish celtic gypsy music,

electronic
banana  
avante garde.


Into the box it goes,   locked away   ,    and enjoyed

carefully

highly evolved

highly advanced

16 cents in the pants  --  at the laundromat --  
with a taco   from   Jorje's

pinanpple
soda
and a churro.

   2 crows staring at you.

someone going on about the 'poison'.

''I HAVE A TUMOR''

and     creak your mouth  in general sadness.    washed hands in the grate outside  behind the lot behind the 2 ft  statue   of a civil leader.


backbending,
trying to lick yourself,
and succeeding.

up to 30 pull ups -- when the average man can't do one,  nice.


cold fingers
space heater

darts at the board.


sexless,-
******* 16 times--

dating profiles
half-open smile
sultry
eyes

3 toes
amputated ,  one in the box,  one for Christmas,  one for new year,  and one for now.


I  pull myself *****.

You shield yourself.

you  walk out.

you   kiss     the dead man ,  after  he succumbs to his afflction.

you provide the warmth.

you read  a magazine.


you   put on a   flowery dress.


you  call up   your   mother.


you dance in the afternoon.


you  rise with the
sun

nothing is shocking anymore which  is perhaps a good thing.
That means we're getting back to content.

I love death metal  -
but pure shock is empty.

******* the fetus
with a screwdriver and bashing it into a pulp
while I feed the mucuousy remains
to my mother---


okay
i said it, now what?

heil ******.

okay?


I'm glad I got it out of me when I did.  It certainly made a noise--

and that's important when
no one is listening

12       hours  is all it takes  for the shore line to recede and return into

a crumbling abyss
overlooking an  albatross prairie.


if There was no alternative
then what is your  choice?

I see she is a baker ,,   and      a mincer and maid   and protagonist
to a fairytale.

she is tall
and weary.

the nicest eyes ---    but still so  malevolent.

I take a bath in the cold air,   as the leaf  sits like a balloon  on   a gush-geiser blowing crystals 3000ft into the air
no room for the  wanderer.


I PICKED UP THE TOME

I read the last chapter.  

What you said about throwing your own book into the night
weeping for what may have come to her
struck me as profound.

not a lot touches me.

I don't know if it's laziness or lack of ambition,   but all my art is for free  now.

There is no value in it.  There's value in a toilet-scrubber   and  shoe-maker.

There's no value in these words---      it's valuable to me,


but when i put in all the effort to publish my ****, and compile it,  and promote it etc, and only get a sympathy $1
it feels like an insult.

If it matters   then they'll have to come to  me;

i'm not a merchant

I have nothing to sell.

I don't care .      my dog is an
artist

It always annoys when  you awake  in a sleep -apnea induced panic
gasping for air  and pacing around the room  as though you have a second to live
and thus must make amends with the universe.

I hate that  initial fear .   it's as though i'm capitulating to the entity that has wronged me.

I want to stare at death with smile--  not be  afraid.


Stand up to the bully.

free

I hate that  I sometimes come across as narcissistic

i hate that decided to pursue art rather
than just get a normal job and live an inconspicuous existence
with an understanding partner  and  a simple home.

i hate that i'm lying here at 4:55  feeling sick.

I hate that's it's raining.

I hate that I don't like a great majority of my work or at least
come to resent it later.


I hate the fact that nothing  satisfies  me -
even when I try and put in a great amount of effort.

I have a better physique than 90% of people
and quit using drugs
and alcohol and cigarettes    and still feel like garbage.


I hate that
I don't trust

and generally assume the worst in humanity  and this life in general.


I hate
that  I see much more beauty in ugliness.


I'm ready to return to nonexistence.

or If i'm apart of you , and we're all one  'beautiful   spiritual essence---

I'll see us soon

anyone actually live in big bear? I'm lonely.

just a bunch of old 'progressive' hippies getting away to a 95% ethnic majority so they can be progressive without
the cognitive dissonance of avoiding the slums in
the mainland


The walks are absolutely surreal though.

I can spend upwards to an hour just throwing rocks at a stone wall

and sleeping in a cave.

i can die.


i make a bed    of leaves    and bird spit.   I speak to odin

I'll be rich soon  when  my Litecoin finally takes off.
been making a nice profit lately    and I'll be able to check in at the Mandalay
bay.

get myself a room   and 30 escorts
and snort some coke   and drive in a ferarri with a ****** while throwing wads of 1s at crackheads.

That's making it.


Really I should have been born in a   yurt 2000 years ago,
hunting elk with my forebears   and laughing heartily
as we sip
the honey    wine  and  dance over a   fire in the dim night  where time is meaningless
and death is only natural.


but I'll make do with my options

if you really want to **** with people and make a bold
artistic statement

be an artist that  doesn't take ****.  

i went thru the limp-wristed flowery hipster phase  -- with  yellow button ups from goodwill
and  green shoes.

I was prey


now  I say prayers

I have some deep seated manic issues   I legimitately wanted to **** myself 2 days ago, now I feel amazing
then it'll be the same
tomorrow


I'm living in this moment right now though.


love is easy when you re loved

at least in your own head

I always hated protein bars that were too chewy
takes too long to eat
and makes my jaw sore  .

The strawberry vanilla flavor    is lit tho.

haven't had herbal supplements
but theyre good for quad development.

can bench 300

Facebook    has   my ****  pics     I      had  granolla

its so cold   ..     my nose in running
and my  breath is fogging up the screen.  
my hands are blue.    my shrub is dead  .
my coffee is
slush.

my         hair breaks off in chunks when
i shower.


i'm here all alone.

          i   talk   to pictures of  
john goodman.


i  go on forums i shouldn't

I    I   I      I    I

   i  don't really    exist
i don't exist

the   hobo      scram  


with the eagle face tattoo.

bitter wine and 2cent   deodorant.

the suitcase with linen shirts     and a dreamstation  ---   ****** up?
****** up?

***** **** with the crucifix? and the hotdog seizure?

you cut my **** up
like a   ((()))

spending money on your ham.

baby
got me a    tan  --- -   1056   i aint garden fool.

packed up     in      lentil  bean   gravel.   on a road less traveled .    2 words add up
to a    diatribe.    get more
sunlight

picked a plum     whistling        hound

barking profound

kissed a cigg

juggling     a foamy tea kup

wating
for the handyman

leaky pipe    and a French fry.

sincere artist
-   faithful autist     -  mislabeled  ,
and misunderstood.


pride unkown  --  message unclear  -- -      teeth too chattery

batman flattery

**** in the jug     with charcoal  paints   and a toothbrush  to clean up

ohhh  its a   white maleeee

proceeds to twist the head off

snapping the tendons
and drinking   mead from the skull.

it a whitemale


proceeds to tear the back open
and snap the rips upwards
pulling lungs from the carcass and setting it ablaze.


white


proceeds to drive a minivan
and buy grapes at ralphs while tipping a *** and

watching hulu

white  lawn

.,,..,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,..,,,,,,,,,,.,,,­,,,,,,,.,,,,,,,,,,,,..,,,,,,,.........................,,,........­.......,,,,,,,,,,,,,,..................,,,,,,,.............,,,,,,­,.................,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,w,hy,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,A,,m,,,,,,,,,i,,,,,,,,a,lw,a,ys,,,,,,,,,­,d,,rea,m....in,,,,,g,,,,,]]

LOL

I literally live in a log cabin     in the woods in   central California.
Raccoons eat the

seed.


i 'm gonna chop my ear off
and skin myself

CALL

EVERYOEEE YOU  KNOW

AND SAY YOU LOVE THM
.

HERE MY NeW song!



UH
UH

GUNNA      buy a     cattle ****

and shock yo baby


shock yo baby

shock  


OUT NOV 8.


TRUMP     IS  cool

I  don't want anything   right                                     now

i  want my
bitcoin  to     yield better returns

I guess.


Blue

blue


blue                                              into                 a                lake          of

needles
spelling out

                                                                                     your mistress.


pulse felt
beyond the dead.

beyond here and now.

staring
at you

and   knowing  

it all

so my grandpa died.  I didn't really know him.    He played guitar and taught me Tears in heaven.
he had a star tattoo he got in '49.

He drove a jeep-

he had 2 cats,
   and liked to sing gospel choir.

his room had floral
curtains.

he had a shotgun that i shot.

I liked him.  Not everything is profound

I just liked him

writing just to write is sickness     or a means of self psychiatry


it's really really
late

and i like to pretend i'm drunk because I've quit drinking and doing  drugs like a loser about a year ago.

but i like to ramble.

capitalization should be prioritized more.


WAKIING up tomorrow
at noon and sunbathing.

buying a glass of milk   and maybe finally talking to someone
rather than just myself all the
time

I was so depressed about 2 hours ago I could barely move

I heard the walls
and the sink washing .

I stepped outside  and saw the cat climbing up the fence,
and the lady
beating her towel
  on a board.

the moon was full --

a rune spelled out.

emptiness, fulfilling.



A PHONECALL;

2 days later.
a video   on demand --  3 channels-- infinite potential.

no work now-

but I   was staring     out   my    car .     too much.   today

on the public transit at 3:30  stepping side by side  in gumball
dreary.

poured  the two birds into the cup
and ate half the leg over a fire thinking about the days of old
when a man could sit stiff legged
with her camel lady.


still not far from the zenith
and the oncoming  traffic and blaring noise  and meterorite has yet to claim a deciple.

the koreas are united
and i said a prayer in gesture,

I looked at a news

page then disappeared into grass --

big heads
for the  people who   spend too much time sniffing

sn

packing a bag     in the dead air


few in the bin
and the oven
on half turn.


smith playing angeles-

have yet to call the maid.


stapled up from yesterdays attempt.


broke n   glass and three ***** of yarn   --


buried the dove
yesterday    as  I shed a tear for her

she sold
poems


she sold
linen


she folded
cotton


she ate
biscuits


I  prayed on thursdays


I sat
on porches


I played violins


I played
clarinets


I    ate
greeen

I spelled
neanderthal



I drew
pictures
of lanterns


I dreamed of   your face.


I crawled in the   cold.


I begged

for a better
bag.


I   denied
the toad.


I froze
the throne.

I am
the dusty
thorn.



you took too long.


and now it seems there's only 3 ways

but only 1
code.


don't say     I   was afraid

pisssing


on the porch
as the backlight   illuminates
the hall.


a lizard sits on the porch
and the ghost
of your    deer-skin pop


glows in the den.


I haven't a clue.


but I have 3 tickets to South America.



they wish
for

a snowy
summer.



I wish I was                    here


now.


2. +2
-
4


  good luck
god

pastor in the glass
and the fro - curly
like Qausimodo.


jumping up with the witchcraft and the girraffe;
no Greasers here
but the fleas
of the patron
persuasion


who done it?  
who done. it

like an AR15 on a freeway unloaded on the
gypsy
crocodile

loading my head up with lead
I've been dead

I killed the cat

I hung up my mat

I'm like dreaming excursion.

2 is 2 many but 1 is never enough

especially when there's no hash browns on the plate,  ya dig?

floating thru the space  as the meteor shower brushes past my face.

the solar
glare explodes

100/000 light years away.

the rumbling of Saturn
throws a few moons off its tilt.


earth is thrown into a reverse rotation.


the galaxy opens up

and the dust settles
somewhere near the end   when 'time' was just waking up.

beauty before there were words to describe it.  

a whole life without ever being born

there's an obligation to not
**** sometimes


but I still hear the humming

I still use words like 'clack'
and 'void'

and mist is always evocative of a nice nostalgic moment.


but
my obligation really is just to get through the day

I put this out   because I like noise

I took the bag and walked
30 feet out onto the bridge.

as the
string
tied

I saw it sway

and the waves
kicked it back up on to the sand.

rotting
in the sun--

there was really nothing beautiful about it.

I just remember

the

seaweed at the knees -- so green

i puff on  a popcorn  scented vape

i tilt the fan like so

i look out the blinds

and see a guy strutting around like elvis

i see an old lady
with her 80s Walkman
picking up her dog ****

i see a mailbox that's full and full of amazon junk

i see a cloud whose belly is full
and is ready to spill on the grass

i see a dead ******
on the dirt
i see a horses' dung

i see a
yellow banana dangling from the 2nd story

i see a childs' guts
on the asphalt

I see a 3000 ft ice cream cone

I  see the face of god

I've seen it all

what now

I just wrote a huge poem and the ******* website ''404''d on me.

it was poking fun
at people who believe in interdimensional space time travel
and transcendent alien beings
and now it's gone


but i think that's more a comment on existence than my previous
poem any way


this is all a joke

why is it every time
that a girl laughs i assume they're laughing at me?

big boisterous,
hearty laughs that shake the whole house.

laughing at me
or the idea of me

i laugh too

i once wrote that ''killing myself would be like making a sandwich''

it's actually the hardest thing I've tried to do.

I'll keep trying so i'm not a failure

the best ones happen in the afternoon whilst you sit and slather eggs on your
pajamas

the best
ones happen whilst the canary alarm goes cuckoo and the mother *****
in her drawers
and picks on your scalp scab

the best ones
happen whilst
everyone has already moved on and you're contemplating just setting
a
fire

I got paid today

oh I got paid

it was 3 chestnuts  and a used pair of socks straight from goodwill.

still musty

and with plenty of lint.


I work hard so I can feed my mouse

I wear the
glove

the tight red glove
that shines    under the light of the desktop monitor.


I feel the notches in
the pig
skins

and I feel the braided hair

and I feel the slimy

glue
that is pressed on    the cheeks like so.


I wear my red glove

and I drive to the hill
where I  pray for forgiveness

the elephants

in the dancing hall
keep stomping on the mouse


the burger -king fries keep beating the lady into submission
until she
stops rubbing the hand-clock

the boy
keeps
kissing the elk as it moans in the night


the cat
keeps slapping the
fool as he tells his
story


the moon keeps
wondering if it's worth
even waking up

my money

my watch
my house
my car

my phone

my wallet
my toothbrush my couch my lemons my green grass
my plastic
tub

my plastic hair
my plastic teeth

my blue pool

my black
eyes

my red heart
my green soul

my exoskeleton . my ectomorphic mass.
my balloon filled gut

my bleeding
tongue

my brown shoes . my yellow banana. my $1,000 child slave my
$10,000 hitman

my $1,000,000 white Bengal tiger

my $0.02

conscience

my $0.02 pack of gum

cut throat



with no one in the hall.



it's about 10:30 now--

so the tv is off.


bed time insomnia and ill will.


I still dream of you sometimes

losing it all

everyday

every night

every second

every millisecond


every granule of sand

every
balled up fist

every flowing river

every earthquake

every tsunami

every ticking clock
losing it all

losing the spirit

and the color

losing the trust and the understanding

losing the sense
and self-worth

losing the passion
and respect

and the dignity

and gratitude

losing it all  gradually
as the worms
consume

the detritus of life that I so fondly cherished

you were going to the mall


and watching a movie.  you itched your head- and your eye blinked.
your hand got cold,
and your tongue was wet.
your lips were blue,
and your nose was sniffly.

the air was hot,
and the chips were stale.
and the noises
were weird,
and the dialog was forgettable,

and the pain was unbearable.

and the night was long.

and the prayers and pleading amounted to absolutely
nothing

I sat up in amazement



I took a shower

I wrapped it up

and paid for the left overs.

I smiled at the door ---   the paste lay
in a bowtie

back up in a lamborgini
playing the newest

SMAP

death found me today

microsoft computer
and the apple
modems


a Viacom tv flicker
and a Sony hologram player


a samsung
automobile

and a blu-tooth
Yamaha

green flower
beaten under the harsh wind