i peel off a piece of paper that's stuck to the padding and which is green and lightly
folded at the end
and has scribbles from a child that happened to draw
a *******

and a ''I LOVE BURT'' heartagram.

and a chipmunk sneezes, but the libraian keeps typing on her phone,

and the guy in the corner with black strands of hair which peek out like a sad
mouse scratches his chin

and the follicles litter the desk.

underneath the floorboards
lurks the janitor who keeps his surveillance on 24/7 -
especially in the boysroom and does
seedy things
but he's been there 26 years and isn't really questioned.

and in the gymnasiam
a pizza party fundraiser with the amputees from hungaria dance and laugh and sip wine and ****** eachother's belly buttons.

one lady says
''yeah''
and another says

''yes''

and edward
says

''yes'' too

and the cars come by and pick them up for their dinner later on--
with the mashed potatoes and stuff and corn.

i kept going 12 years

and only ever cried twice.

a wetwilly is an adolescent's way of telling you they hate the sun

and that god
will strike you down when you disgrace your mother in the alley as the abortion is performed
on a gurgling fetus that looks remarkably like your dead soul in

an afternoon afterglow

clockwork oranges
kneeling to an apple in the Sahara.

taking a bite out of a ***** pancake in some strip mall

drinking the whole milk
whole.


sighing on afternoons.

cradling a cat in the evening
while spinning a top.


virtual reality
head set
on an infant.

getting up at dawn to feed the worm.


taking out an ad in the newspaper
that never coms around any more.


looking at people in the eye


.

slowly walking away.


tattering this spirt. ----


Into a door that doesn't open

the outside
world
burns as i sip my juice

and crack my knuckles in the

silent air.

i'm not selling
nothing,

not 'speaking' to anyone,

nor walking in other people's shoes,


just doing what i do
because i like to suffer,

and the 'hustle' is for people who want to get somewhere,
to be
wanted to
be adored,

to be fed
grapes in bed
while being stroked
by hairless men.

i'm happy
right here,
and
y
ou can find me over there,



WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY


over there


where not even a mouse skitters

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 used to care and be cautious
But now I just really wanna impregnate her or someone.
I'm sorry child, but suffering isn't too bad, it's the living you have to worry about

Cough drops
fried food
Chairs and
Dogs
Skittering
Humans in motion
Emotional prying
Faith in midair
Jumping towards sun

Ha ha ha
you're a believer
Take your sketch to iguana

Now I see it's too long
What more can not be done

standing over a bridge


as the change
plops into the water

and the hobo

makes his wish.


the little girl

is chatting

whilst her icecream
drips to the cement.


seagulls

squeel
for crumbs
that the beach people leave behind.


hamburger
aroma
spills into the vicinity.

blue skies
are magnified

by cloud mirrors.


a forearm is tensed

and a grip squeezed

and everything
is put into is proper
place

,

and everyone
smiles heartily

and everyone takes
in 3 breaths


while
death
sighs

and goes for a quick swim
--

It's interesting writing poetry  in  a content and non-neurotic state.
I just feel so good,

and maybe it's not profound,  nor even reads as poetry,

But I just had to document this moment


so I remember that things sometimes do

get better.

4:53


walking down the *****, and my stomach is growling.


''WHO HERE IS A HOMOSAPIEN?"

one of the random street people yells out.

no one confirms it

and the clouds vanish.


skateboards flip on the ramp and a few girls talk to themselves as they pound on a keypad---
some guy in ASIA wants to see nudes-
they send them.


out the back a canary sings to vultures and is then promptly eaten.

I go starving.

I go running.

running go, jam
to jukebox with juice on the side.


girl points laughs
''CREEP''

I swear to god, happened 3 days ago, but she was young and I was working and wearing all black and covered in meat blood.

I go home and sit in silence,

and pick at my nails and bite them down to skin.


god gave me a brain,
but what was the point really?

I nurse the distant
past,

as it sits upon my lap and the

eternal hemisphere echoes in my chamber.

upon the light,
it delights at the fright as i fight
with great might to stray
from the plight
of your unsightly
kite.


heaven is near.

and hell is closer.

pull the plug beneath the carpet
and sip the glass
with the eyes of fortune
cast.

at last,

your feces taste of bitter misery
and oranges

It doesn't matter how many poems you write,
and how amazing they are,
ultimately it's all about context--

who you were, and what you represented in that generation.

were you ugly,
were you fat,
were you poor,
were you rich?

did you eat bacon?

did you brush your teeth?

did you smile at children?

did you watch cartoons?


did you flick your testicles 6 times a day like the dr
reccomened?

were there vitamins?

did your lines read like an old Windows XP?

did your lines cause people to spontaneously combust?

do old people enjoy your work?

do mothers hate you?

do people look away in horror?

do you like any of this?

or was
it all just a waste of time

and something to
do because the sun burns your skin

and the beaches close after 5am

bitten on  a finger in a crisp in a jar in the hallway down Africa sewage

indian toilet with cactus

gypsy nale in the ice cream

with cherry dumplings

god's your man

man I stay above it - above it like vasectomy

crawling
down the ditch    nose bleed headace  hairy skull
witch blood
babe

gothy gothy

you only did it
cause' your dad has money    

FAKE

Swiftly and unapologetically,
my favorite God wrote poetry for the fabled liturgical society
If I heap trash on the pile maybe I can be surmised for my genius as well

Blue is red and red is yellow

Tonight the stakes shall impale the treasonous
Interlopers

Let none see our folly; the earth is due for its poisoning

& I took a **** on a baby
Yesterday while
the windows were not open

I was sitting by a man
and his face disturbed me

That was the end of it.
I saw him a little bit later on a box
down by the arcade, next to the filth. Gone since Tuesday

I still hated his face

you died 50 years ago,
you sing a perfect day.

you drink san-gray in the park,
such fun.

I pray to a green sun,   in a grass, with a woman who wants a spirit that is broken but
still fights on.

I DON'T
  WANT TO SEE YOU GET

HURT.


pines, burnt

and 1000000000 now crying out.

there's a lung In a bedroom
''speak to me''
''speak to me,

I don't want to die,

I don't want to die,

please
comfort me,


comfort me''.


I close your eyes,  and kiss your head. I say a prayer,
  I don't believe,

but you are
a grey tongue.   no need to say love.


love is here,
love is in 3000 districts.

I tear a line in the sand,
your children don't know,   'cause they've taken  their lunch.  

Don't be so



silly,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, :]

When you've finally acquired everything you wanted
and still feel a bottomless
chasm within your very soul and psyche,
it saps any motivation to want to 'better yourself'.

I could have my dream living in a mansion with a new escort every night and the best *******
and it would inevitably get old.

  The only way to achieve happiness is to give it all up.
Detach from the material world; immerse yourself in your  necessary domestic duties
and pet a cat, or any animal actually.
They have no fear of death
so consult
them

Confidence is key.
Overriding human instinct and behavior. I am mere muscle tissue, fat, bone, hair and water.  I am material. Carbon. As common as sand.
I will be confident.
I will say what I want.
I will do as I please. I will look at the mirror and be indifferent in my response, as though looking at pebbles on a beach.  There.  Mineral composite.
My name is Jonas,  I am Earnest,  I have no fears but dying not having lived my truth.  I am here and was and will be.

The nightmare
The simulation
The infection
The asphyxiation
The infibulation
The inebriation
The tyrannical grip
The hammer on your ******
The needle in your eyeball
The wrench up your prostate
The boot up your face
The finger in your mouth
The bomb in your place of comfort, after a long day doing nothing at all, just being.
The shoelace untied.
The brain with too much **** folded in your heart with no escape.
You want to ******* EXPLODE
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
bang
Sprawled out like bugs.
You wanted sone simple understanding, you wanted a biscuit with tea and maybe a back massage, but it's all too late.
Too late for the dreamer, and the 'talky' kid
Soon enough it will be over. I dont want to be anything or anyone.
I want quiet,
No words, no words no more words. No words and no resolve because there never is

He looked at a rothko and said "any child could do that"

"So?"

"It's crap, it's not art"

"Yeah it is. It's obviously an expression by the artist and is therefore art"

"Well it's just junk. I hate it. Art used to have skill"

"Well you seem really upset by it so I think it did its job. Rothko would be proud"

"IT'S NOT ART!"

Davinci wishes people cared this much

I like poetry,

but it just feels too comfortable here for the world
having me packed in a room

just typing crap.


just an animal in a cage banging its head on a wall
as a means to make vibration,

music.


I don't want to be 'music' to anyone's ears,

I want to be the knife to the neck

sentimental.


an absolute mess.



who am I?

who am I?

who am I?



sitting in some room,

bleeding black dust.


my tongue is full of LSD,

bad trips,

but nothing takes me out of this place.


I'm always stuck.

always stuck.



always on the short bus,

always behind,

always 2nd in line,

always 3rd to the date,

always the 4th leg in a table.


when will I get what I deserve?


when will I get some lee-way in my diarrhea-existence.


GOD

I'M TALKING TO YOU!!!

******* ANSWER.





crying in a gown in a broken cubboard.

crippled boy.

crippled smile.

crippled soul.



crippled spirit---


how dare you
have hope

People hate nature because they see the chaos inherent
in its form,
This reminds then of the unknown and
ultimately death
They aren't in control

these 2 days feel like a month
and I'm just staring at a wall addorned with pictures of a frog that someone
felt tasteful to put up here.

some incense going-

the guy with the one eye,
out of a
colander
and glass vase.


styrofoam cups with seed.


beating heart bored of the routine

Pennies hang in the balance
lions roar in a cathedral of liars
the smoke bellows out the infant's crested lung
THE permeable saints make way for the dung serpents
Another man died tonight
and I couldn't care less
just do it next time, and with conviction

A simple twist of fate_. Soles in a tree hue.
Blind noun had to speak about your flicker.
Forward to today
And I told you how you hurt me
And how you're too old for attention

I'm young I don't try
I begin with an angry lunge.

Twirling your hair in the rain and wrinkled brow being swept
I hear a collision.

Notes to you
Notes to you
The grass still grows and is indeed green

You didn't die today there was a rose on your hand

A rose that didnt wither. You existed in me for a solid year I packed my bag in my empty house with the door ajar.

I floated forward
Forward to a sand that blinks

Forward
To keep moving I don't wanna stsy
hear

Forward even if it hurts forward even if it's nowhere

Why am in a flesh cage with an ego-maniac brain?
Why haven't my wisdom teeth come in yet at 24
Why is the boot over my head?
Who will have to die slowly and painfully
?
Why does the lady next to me own 10 cats that follow in perfect formation behind her as she tosses bird seed and yells in spanish?
What is the capital of Bangladesh?
Do women really love or are they just oppurtunistic resource hoarders and compulsory validation seekers?
Is it true gravity can be circumvented with faith?
Step off the ledge and have faith.
Faith is what will keep you safe.
My heart
*******
hurts

birth


pulled out of the dark hole

and am now in another dark hole, but
much less comfortable

it's only been hours
and she's posting her new love,

she's posting pictures of her 'boo',
what the ****
is Wrong with her?

I sit in the dark
and smoke cigarettes and drink and pop xannies after months of sobriety,

I bleed in the dark,
I listen to sad music.
I try to ignore it,   but I'm too weak for it. 1000 years ago she would have been DEAD,

but today you tolerate it,

I don't want happiness for her, if it's only to spite me.

I drive around,
and walk around shirtless,   and size up every stranger. I'm broken a cliche,
a cliche of the tough guy man, but I write poetry and write music like a ******.

my life is ****,
and there will be other girls, but I'm hurt so I express it. you really ******* hurt me and I can't keep fighting this.

I haven't cried so much in my life, why do you do this.


I plant
a strawberry in the yard,
I buy a coke and make some rice. I don't care about myself,
I just float on like everyone else.

nothing makes sense.  she's happy and getting ****** by someone else, I sit here cold;
it doesn't make sense.

I will not be a goof.

I walk on,
walk the hill. I pet my dog,   I plant a new rose.  I count the stars,

I walk on.

walk on, walk on, walk on, walk on,  you will  get something better if you
dont try

Sat down, fed the dogs , fingered some ***, ****** a mtf's hole, and squirted in her mouth, I was daddy she was 18 so it was consensual with strawberries
Bought slippers, and went to bed.
Made dinner, then posted on here. Girlfriend came home. I went to bed.
Got some chips and tilted the fan. How are you my darling. It's now late

Friday I'm in love,

Tuesday

im in dread,

wednsay
dont even say,

thursay

is another day,

Saturday
why,

sunday,

go away.

today is just a cloud, a smoggy
OC
blue bird in the dust.

I touch the shoulder,

so many dead people that I could cry. another neck to weep on, another back to caress, another
cheek to kiss,
another hand to hold---
we walk back to the hill.

dawn in the early hours.

   my  first kiss,  your big green eyes, in the stars,  I hold you tight and the sun smiles.

I walk back so happy,
and the car coughs, and the house just laughs. I want to be somewhere else.      I want to be
where the leaves don't turn brown,
in the ashen fall.


behind the gray fog, where love isn't just a meme, where love isn't just a word,

a word for shmucks. I want to feel again. feel your heartbeat;

but for now I count to ten and there's no-one to blame.

back to the street clogged adolescent suburbia. buy what you can, fill what can't be filled,
you are
still here


here


here beyond words in the   lonely wood

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.

I was nearly ***** close to 10 times
when I was younger than 13.

I should have let them, as they all slipped into my bed and started fondling me,

but my devout christianity pulled me away.


now I'm even more stunted than I would have been had I just let them ****
my smooth 12 year old skin.

all women are predators in that regard--

but I see it now as preparation

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 sleep naked in my covers
With my window wide open
And the fan blasting with
The stink of September
& It's minstrel children parading through the lounge garden

When I'm still awake
I make a biscuit with Jam
And drink unfiltered coffee grounds
To cool off my sores
& Rinse my eyes

These puddles are now & the women have never been more ugly.
We're all
suffering

blue moon scud missile detonating in LA.
MILLIONS perish and millions are displaced.
The queer bar is turned into a microwaved dirt mound and city hall is a black lung. Gavin newsome is a glowing red **** and the **** doesnt exstinquish his radiated carcass.

I fly by at night and talk to Toquito and the 2 bums.
"Yuhh?"
"Yuh"
I drive away kicking dust. The hills shake as volcanic lava spews forth and acid rain pummels the street. I have a taco from Toquito and lm racibg by at 120. I dodge the rain and a big steaming boulder rolls past. It crushes a bystander. A pit forms in the street and swallows the nearby buildings. I skate by the cracking pavement and my car nearly slips in the pit. As i speed past the street crumbles entirely and all that remains is a hellish inferno. I continue on for about an hour and the hellish vision subsides. I park my car and fall asleep and in the next morning drive to china. I have panda express and write of my harrowing journey on my 17 follower blog

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

I just know I'll end up alone in an apartment with **** memorabilia relics and statues of Egyptian artifacts like Lemmy in a condemned apartment in the outskirts of LA with my hairless cat watching old VHS tapes and drinking decaf coffee with my slippers on;
   mainly when I'm not touring.
  I want the rock'n'roll life, and it's mainly lonely. life of the cowboy. Some illegitimate children, and then it's me all alone again--  like always , like how it's supposed to be,
because you all drain me

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

god is up there somewhere
The crackers below the sheets
The hard nail embedded
Dying every second
Every 2 seconds leaking into a puddle

I can only stand so much
I can only be whipped with so many ropes,
Tethered in my frame, immersed in cope

I only know what I don't know
I only feel what I feel. And it feels like hurt,
And burning, and agony, and despair and
understanding

I never knew how to swim. I picked up the phone and went to the beach.
There was a jellyfish splattered on the tarred sand; it stung my toes.
I went in the blue, and the waves crashed over my back.
The white sparkled around me.
There was a sun, and there was a towel and castles in the distance.
I motioned for some mustard, for the hotdog of course.
Someone played guitar, and we all posed for a picture, and I said goodbye to the seagul.
I washed the sand from my pants and played Gameboy in the car.
A short drive home, yet I still fell sound asleep

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

Sick of everything
Sick of the world and people and her and myself and my cat and my musical mediocrity
Sick of living

Sick of the torturous routine
Sick of not getting better

What is 'better'?

Wanna sleep for eternity but instead I write at 4 am
Too many tears have been spilled on this
Too many dreams manifest into nightmares
My escape is a quick pull
& my love will be permanent

Don't forget to forget me.
I know you will

I really love when it rhymed. Now check out my link.
"YoungPARROT95$"
help a ***** out blood, smash that like, smash that subscribr.. lemme **** that weimer. Please like me.
Please like my stuff. My self worth is derived from other people liking my material
Does art exist if there are no spectators

Gliding past me and tapping and tapping and tapping, who said there's
Only one excuse ?

I break the bone for the marrow, so sad
So depressed I can't cry.

The cold talks to the trees and I hear the siren of a work truck. Downed power for the last 6 hours.  

I often speak of suicide, I won't.

I just lay down , and go to work, and workout, and eat and drink, and dream of nothing.
I dream of nothing.  I dream   of









.

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

he was sitting there for a few minutes and watched the flies buzzing around the rotten bananas
and oranges that sat there on the counter for the last 6 weeks.

maggots were pulsing out of the sink
and worms were coming out of the carpet.

the windows were boarded shut form the constant burglaries,

and all the valuables were packed into a brown sock that he hid in a purple vase.

no one ever came over-
and his only friend Greg hated him because he stuttered and licked his lips a lot--

so Greg would sometimes leave his feces on the steps and he'd walk on them sometimes in the morning and it was a sad
sight indeed.

anyway,
he hung himself that night and there

was faint karaoke playing at the next bar whilst the bartender got head from some 16 year old.

and the flies consumed everything,

and the fire scorched all innocent beings.

none were spared, except for the worms in the carpet

I sit in a can .    I listen to a Dylan.    I preach to  a paper bag.  I reach out to an anchor and squeeze out 13  nickels.  I pray to a half-baked nun that rides upon a lawn mower.  I  **** a ***** on a grass knoll and she squeals like a god. I  affix a bill upon the altar. I snap a band on the seal. I don't try to cry. I cry in a dead -air.

4
-5 -5-5 -5 -5 -5 -5

LISTEN UP

LISTEN UP.

  Someone had a chance when there was nothing made.
now I squelch it.

Dirt upon dirt upon dirt,

a rusty spoon, arm abscessed with ******, blacked out
with the soot
of a 1000 clouds.

I cry
,

I speak to my dead cousin,
my dead friend, sitting there all alone.   painted white, white in a grave, white without a friend, without a mother,
like a ladder to the night.


   faces upon a change-  saw,

  half- in a jar,
you could be the last,

there is no more sighing.  Dylan is dead.  I saw the last,  **** "U",

I am still here.  

I still can type the letter 6

got these new tattoos on me.

they just sit there, and it's just pigment that sits dead beneath the skin-
means nothing,

and to think some people build their whole lives around them,
whole personalities
around a ******* tiger on their calf
or bird on their neck.

all they have to offer.

i hope mine get ugly and old-- just further proof I needed nothing to prop me up.

I only ever got ahead because of me.

Bukowski was the best poet of all time,

my opinion--

pretty much ***** the art form,
and took out all the rhyming because songs already do that.


most are imitators--

I Respect him,
and see a little of him in my work,
mainly the fact that it's just a mockery and I don't even know if it's
worth

the time typing it.

but I really like his stuff on death, on his last years---

and
now the microwave is slamming,

and now
there's a fan blowing,

and now there's
a mosquito
******* my blood--

and now
I'm just making stuff up,

and now
I'm thinking of nothing,


and now I'm wasting your time--


and time is an illusion

his head was the shape  of a triangle

his jaw  sat there  like  an indifferent  feline

his cheeks were the color
of plums

his ****** hair was light, but present nonetheless.

he was about 6'0,  thus above the cut-off range for ******.

The women would come in and talk to just him for minutes at time,
holding up the line,  but the customers didn't care;  they wanted to talk to him too.

& he would dance around,
and pop his Xanax in the bathroom,  and his dealer would come in and hand him some **** back when it was illegal--
and in plain view of the owners.

''Don't you see what  this ****** is doing?" I'd say
in exasperation- - but they'd shrug.

His beauty was good for business,
even when he was slurring   and   in a near-comatose state--

those eyes,
and perfectly sculpted brow,   and hair like an 80's detective   put  everyone in a   daze.

& one day he got in my face,   so I threw him over a counter,
and his elbow whipped back violently,
and he made a little  whimpering sound,
and I was promptly fired.

& I went and bought a beer
and jacked off

& I thought of those eyes, while so afraid.

and then I started
  putting in applications  for another **** job
a day later for Sears