smoke, spit, dragging boots in gravel, cowboys from suburbia, uhhhhh lead and sai, shades and crooning, grabbed at lovers learning to smell shin if


Too much walking shoes worn thin
too much trippin and my soles worn thin

I love that lyrics, shut up

the types of tippers, tipping for different reasons

for the social, for some sort of status, for exaggerated surplus, for crusty dollar bills that are meaningless in one wallet but then meaningful in another

of a street performer, to place a dollar in his case, cause his taste is somewhat reflective of the atmosphere in the street, and she has a pretty smile on her face

to tip, because you don't know what tomorrow will bring, because the money you have will be meaningless on your death bed

to tip to be closer to One, to be closer to I, closer to Christ, to Allah, to be closer to right

to tip, to give with the hope of one day being able to take with understanding, belief in karma can be relaxing

to tip, because of the moment, to keep things moving, you saw someone at the end of the bar and its in your best interest to invest

to tip, to tip for kind service, to tip for pleasantries, for smiles and anecdote, relatability, a small investment for lea sure, and still that is soft

to tip?  or not to tip, because belief is a *****

to not tip on principle, and to feel better that way, pay more for the donut, to start the day

to tip out of judgement, out of taste, one service was better than another, a standard, and a tip is an extra, a cherry for balance, a system in which you believe in

to tip the man who parks your car because out of fear that he will take it joyously far


to tip, to take, to put penny in jar, for charity, for good company.  to tip

fascinates me

is to **** a joke

but death can be funny

why?

are you a stranger, a villian, or a wonderful story?

cloaked in eagerness, are you bearded and magnificent?  cloaked in sheepishness, are you hatted and stached?  tell me vanity, where u at?

is everything about you and we all lie about it, or is nothing about and you means something when we deny it

I hope that you are not too sensitive to my pondering, I admire your power, it seems to me that people buy a lot of things for your sake,

as religious, as deeply rooted desire, are you intensely desire?  do your eyes burn as my do?  are you tired of people drawing attention to your exterior?  are you gods child?  are you on his mission?

I would understand and respect that, but I'm not sure if thats where you at

are you compare yourself to the light that shines over the mirror or the mirror itself?  do you have a special shelf for products, or are you the messy type?  I could see that you would be the messy type in private but perfectly ornate in public to over-compensate

maybe that was mean, I don't mean to be offensive, I study you because I fancy you, not in a ****** way, admire you, your charm, I'd like to figure you out for my own contemptlations, so that when people talk of you I will have my own rule and the whole conversation would be easier to tune out, I would thank you for that little bit.  


Vanity, have a drink with me, questions questions questions!

waking up with the proper hangover cure

coffee and gatorade, and klonopin, waiting for my therapist to call me

I keep looking for answers to things, foolishly,
I look in all kinds of places
I don’t know if I will ever understand myself
or the image of what I imagine myself to be
there are some that say that the ego is happiness’ worst enemy
and I am aware that I am part of a greater wisdom, but what is the fine line?  How do I get what I want and still stay sincere and humble?  I ask these questions and they fall flat, as If I’m missing something, there’s some sort of lever hidden in my backyard that needs to be cranked, and ill have roots dug deep beneath my boots.  

fliting with my girlfriend over text, the jingle and the vibration when i get the ring is better than ******, what was I thinking about again?

just a few more moments with I and I, just a few more bounds, the world really isn't about me at the end of the day, no, the world functions as a system, where there is pull and push but at the end a ravine, stuck and unstuck out of time, the perception, from the highest points and the lowest, girls, men, women, things, animals, eating up their own souls for the cold dip into the lake, we try our best to communicate, but voices are chordless under ice, we do what we can to make it better, a bit more kindness, just a bit sweeter,


I'd like to
slow down

the right type of distraction, any distraction, conversation, another....interpretation

another book, tell me should should should or hear or hear or feel
another way, another outlook, another ending

my restless bones bound for ******, for mud, for roller coaster, for high, octane fury, some sort of a blazing high lighter fluid disaster, tossed into the fire, and imploded in seconds, check to make sure there are no parents

the principles that brought me thought at one point now churn in uncontrollable dynamic

I'm not sure if there's any going back

at this point...

I am swiss cheese I am somebody who is trying to relocate their shoulders, thrown about in a misty sin of congratulations
I am a sipless vulture attempting to be pure but coming out vinegar
juniper berries and sickly **** of packaged rawhide
inescapable landslide
unexcused, for what its worth
an imaginging roller coaster disaster, so far from my fathers, mad from too much beer and wine
hankered down by mood stabilizing pills
jipless, jockeyed, jiving to bizzare melodies
a sipter esphicator, ready to lunge into the excesses of butter beer
singing jollies with dumbeldore and other queers
misplelled, misplaced, outcast, on the bench with other pupils
and the carnivore sinks its teeth into its kills
shanking and shaking, singing in the bathtub with katy perry
muse the blues with cherub rock, loathing dylan, asking for more cohen
juxtaposed on top of everest and demanding a double feature
dickless angels
turnabout, shout, the end is near, abstract, understand the notion, the fear
and scream helpless hopless empty bottles of beer
nectar and graham the hector, a mellon bunnie with rabbid ears
run for your life!  the fires of eternal flowers and bounds of life
seem sophisticated at the time
Turnabout, the beats are out
and the real madness, the real madness, is here

brewed like a hipster

___JAAYYADEEEDDD

helped like a vocalized yelper, pinched in the **** and ran all four blocks to the next bit,

DURMAT SOIHT

drowned is silent silent tsoylent slentslent solylent


BREEEK NNN KEEEYPPP

and devoured bt cannbais craviigs, cars and cars and thea cars,  imagine still life, so provoked and taking care of characatures and dreaming ion the next lie

Orient lrlent
orient orient


the next balcony,

the next symphony,
how could the words work and how could they be?  this tragic knowing/unknowing

Swing sigh swish okay

tragic and lost in the arts of sway and seduction,

drowned in times fear for onion front sdospaly or affection
could thus carry on?  this stream?  is it agony?

nb ts yearining, its calling can’t you see?


your eyes can see

HMSTr

BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH


KITTENS!!!!

BLAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH

People keep nagging at your neck
to learn the questions that they have learned last
they bite and spit and take and grip
for what they need
and then they drink
because that is their motion, because life is
to pass on
and that is all there is
and ever will be

they need to tell you
what they is to be known
(in their mind, anyway
and then they give you
more and more
******
UGH
PEOPLE
they are parasites! truly they wander
and roach the needle into the skin and **** the life back and take what has been


wear the blazer
well
and be rid of all
that will be

wear the blazer well
and be rid of all
that will be

bee stings
bee buzzez
by your ear
electronically




UGH but the lines!!!!!
LINES LINES LINES


and sweat
running down your neck
and big smiles
too big
too big
too big

YOURE A TRAITOR
YOU”RE FINISHED With THERAPY
YOU NOBODY
YOU NEED TO SCEREAM????
SCREAM AT eVERYONE
AND MAKE IT COUNT
YOU MUNSTREL


you singer






singer

singer
singer



singer




singer





I want to hear





the scream


of the rhino


I bet it just makes **** noises






too much

grass

yeah

my room is supported by tons of concrete, metal, a bit of wood and insulation.  In my chamber, theres an odious and embarassing dispaly of empty bottles, beer and wine bottles... casino bycycle cards for good measure, untouched pringles... and varios other comforts and pleasures.  

Adjacent to the counter stands an enormous concrete support beam, almost invisible with its cream stucco finish.  almost a place to put your hand while you are stretching, instead.  

My back feels stiff beaucause I danced too much, and what I really want is to feel something so comulsurary and veiny and terrible that I feel lucid with liberyy and pride.  These kinds of feelings, one has to look for them.  They aren't on the streets, there in some sort of sweat dream found when fixing something in the microwave or standing in the correct corner of the space, turniing on the floor lamp just so.  

I need to find it.  I must find it...

yes

yes

poem

I’m doing  it on purpose
how does a person sound rational im person
but completely insane on paper
I’ve managed to pull it off

one more, one more menacing figure

poetic or of that of fury

working or of that of majesty, of something higher up that of which I have no doing

of sleeping or of waking, looking up at the jungle and wondering where the water is coming from

just when you think that autonomous thinking can be on par with spontaneous thinking, you are left with

nothing...

mind

blank

I chose not to trust him tonight
I chose to head to the bars alone
away from ilyse
and I chose to keep to myself, hugging some
I asked some for reassurance, I suppose,
but for the most part I kept to myself, hung to myself
hung by myself
staggered at my own self
staggered at all of it
I am desparate
fallen into a well of void
I want to be just like HIM, just like THEM
i'd like to FIT IN BETTER
but I am
STUCK
in this vanity
of shrinking infinity
slick this off my back and turn to the next onward motion and hope that it sticks! for gods sakes, for the poor old boy
give him a shot of bourbon, he needs it

this THING
eating at my guts
is it forever?

eternal?

you would know, you thrusting GASHING
BIRD, CARDINAL
GO BACK TO YOUR PERCH

trying to write the **** thing come O/htu stnasdinkad;fwafiohjad
hipfa
adshidf'kahsdfi[o
kdszhjo'zsfhi'jiso­a
k'fphhakzhljf
dhk;dhksj
ad
F
u'cjkckkiubgnhdi f

fCUjhcking FKSCREAM SCRREAM CSCREAM FUFKC **** FUCKU FUFCKFUFD Daf
LETLET IT IT OUTUTUT GOD ******

what the ******* hello

HELLO FUICKING POETRY

IM CRAZY SEANY ARMSTRONG AND I COME TO PLAY

sometimes you just have to take things into your own hands
I’m not sure of what else to type
perhaps I’ll just play a video game again
for awhile

grrooooming and backing wearing and ruff tide tearing ahhh I'm trying to catch onto the sentiment but it passes away from my lips, I am left in the trenches ,  I am left to take on my own tyoe of instrumental twist, taking in the twists, anticipating the next adventure, attempting to throw down into the river with the gators, smiling up at me, in theist little baseball caps,they reach out for their meat of th eday, st

anticipation, anticipation, the black uhuru has a unique sound to them, I feel like I'm listening to something very exotic, it is very alluring

anticipation, anticpation, just at the tip of a tounge, more tickling than precum, no, its a dip, its a small little cusp into river, yeah, into the river

anticipation, I cannot stand it, I'm getting sick of always making it work in my direction, I am tired of not being able to be tired, I wish that my mind would rest, but I feel like I am onto some sort of plan

the times stare ant me, and those who are closest to me understand a few things but there are others that they would not understand, not even my therapist understands, which really makes me feel crazy

frazzled, unexpected, scrounged in a ball in the corner, with the different lullabies flying overhead, the masked patient is ready for his medication, won't be easy, and it won't last very long

he claws for a bit of rope, a bit of escape, a bit of cloud, the room is full of them now, and on he wails, on he dreams, waiting for something better to come, the lifeline is weak

what is this masked, dazed man to do, when his nails are down to the nub and he no longer has anything to reach out for?  the images on the television seem frightening, violent, ******, threatening, or sad, what is he to do?  throws the blanket over his eyes, counts, 1, 2, 3, and wishes it all to disappear

and disappear it does, he is away, he is blank, it is white, more like eggshell, there are bumpy edges, but smooth to the touch, sensual, and his little citadel is all he needs to know, all he needs to remember, and the worries of reaching the lifeline slowly begin to fade, like a sign in the rearview mirror on the highway, go along, go along, go along, and in his squatted position he rolls around, the sensual feeling is all there is, all that needs to be, cloaking his skin like a hot shower, like a nicotine buzz, like a drunken stupor, yes, nothingness

no conflict, no nothing, no insights, no roots to uproot, no, just the eggshell room, his citadel, his life

I grabbed the weasels' tail and helped him along the street tot he other side to greet his nephew, he is bent out of shape from all the barrel scraping and the eye doctor socking,


he wishes he had three pairs, for pairs, a couple socks, cause he's tired of going barefoot, or with naked soles under rubber boots,


one more pairs of socks

he orders them, and they come, but he distill doesn't have them

why no socks?  

he wears them and then they are in the shower he wears them and then they are on neptune invisible rings, he wears them and ten they are on the couch, soaked in coffee and tabasco sauce


and the broom will be kept, and the street livens, it begins to awake

at least I still have my barefoot

sinking into the coffee table

every once in awhile
something good comes out
I guess it takes
a few hundred
to do
that

what do you want from me?  get away!  you're pulling at my jeans, you're a little haze over my head, my hat won't fit!  won't you quit?  what?  what do you expect?  you want birth?  you want a new religion?  leave me to my porch, leave me to my peace, I get enough flak this and that this and that, I would like some solidarity, it would be a pleasure for me, blah blah yaddiddy yaw, you spinal tap!  you nervous sack!  you severing suffering sap!  sit down and take a nap you boil!  you pusstuous pimple ready to burst!  pick up a stick and pop it and have it be done with! you nothing, you *****!  ****, ****!

I heard a guitar player
On the subway platform
As the train was passing
And his voice sounded very real
It was soothing for a moment
Those sounds,
But then the doors closed
And we were on our way
And he'll never know
That I appreciated him
I will never see his eyes
His guitar case
Loose change

what of that thing?  a writers worse curse, I guess

but then again, what of curse?  what does it mean to be tortured by ones art?

non non non the apple falls and it falls

oh oh oh the sprinkling ties tickle the membrane of fruit flies


I'm just messing around, isn't it great!  to have nothing to say at all??

its like being encapsulated in a warm vessel, while the thorns on the outside continue to prickle the desert ground as it is blown in the wind

unaffected by bursts, emotion, thinking is so over rated

to wish for the boredom of an office job, ironically, but secretly know that somewhere inside you are something

but don't feel the need to show it to anyone at all!  the bluejay nurtures its young that never need to leave the nest!  

and one thought leads to another, cushioned by an inner strength

self esteem, perhaps

what of boring???  that thing which I've sneered at for so long, looks so welcoming, an external cloak, a hiding place for a muskrat whose had enough days of contemplation, fixation, beyond his wildest imaginations, skipping across the fence with a front of business as usual, a tie and a vest

frustrations that are trivial, anxieties that are irrational, a normal, normal
normal man

turns to silence, cold, quiet
lit, light it

too big for the lap, too impatient for this and that

then again, stone

made out of stone this week, un affected

resilient, but something is eating its way outside of me

what is it?  something that I've heard somewhere before

from a guy , from a lot of people, wish they had continued

but here I sit, here I go, shivers rolling down my spine, the plants moving in the wind

I'm done for, a goner

no the opposite, I am of stone

my mind cannot make itself up, the anxieties build up

there isn't an ending

there isn't one to be had

only at certain times

doesn't make out the sunlight, too bright

sensitive to this and that, to everything

there is warmth, against the skin

thin, thinner, thinning

when its perplexing, near to ******, but never ending, never ending need

and the paranoia

the crossroads
and all that jazz
I'm ready to sell my soul, and all that
crap
it's held up in a tight ball concentrated in my forehead
begging to be released
a river
a ******* sicstic pimple
**** and guts
ohhh that's where I'm headed, that's where I want to be
gothic, james dean


But I can't
because
there's a christmas tree in the living room
and a girlfriend who is happily going to sleep
I'll never be biggie
I'll never be Bukowski
Cobain
with the shotgun to the head
ready to die

for now, I fear death

but ******
I can still be so hot
blazing, infact
hot as the devil himself
there are those who fall victim to insanity
and those that have already fallen down that hole and then emerged somehow,

and the devil makes boredom

delicious

and I’m going along with my merry thoughts, wherever they may take me
and sometimes it leads to something profound, but most often
not anywhere at all, it goes this ways
and that
and it cannot be tracked, it runs around circus wheels, it plays with james dean as the devil, it runs with daniel day lewis into new personas, all the way, all the way, it deals with time tables, formed into absolute chaos, it begins with the forming of a new age and then eats itself and starts back inward again, it is a hypotuse, without any cameras, stuck in a gymnasium, with nothing but hand shakes that do not mean anything, its making it way through the barrakades of your interior, its reaching out to hammocks and outer branches, it is terrified that you are about the leap to the next chapter and never figure out what comes next.  I am the person to teach because I am the person who is also reluctant, but this would never fly with the school system.  It is calm, it is relentless.  It is beautifully neurotic in its own powers, she wants it she wants it she wants it and I gave it to her, the best way I could, the best way I could.  her body is so incredible, as it is, as it is, and I want it that way, lay me away, lay me away, lay me away,

darkened by the maddened bundle,

streaming on

streaming on

streaming on

Wherever they
may take me

forward thinking, trying to make the best of situations

willing hands, willing fingers, half smiles

eyes ahead, romantic, language in the brows, in the looks, no passivity

whole hearted annihilating punctuated meaning

or none at all, none at all

where's it all headed?

just keep writing little melodies
soft and sweet
and harsh and in between
fragrances smelled in the middle of the night
taking on their magic flow
dwindle and fall into what is
and make it work wonders all over the side of the wall
and drop ash into the discovery plate working framers framing cash
perhaps there was a fight?
don’t worry about that
just play through the jungle
working on masked critters
creating jellyfish with their new makers
shaking violently at the end of a new scene
and making worthy the shocking ending of beauty
and conjuring makeshift work on tranquilly
and understanding
letting the appreciated
be appreciated
and letting the disenfranchised
have a little piece of the pie
its all in measures
and its working just fine
letting people grow old together
alnd letting new ones know where to take it in
and deciding in the end
that it is all a catch
and the worthless dying speak to the worthless still
and the growing old must grow old quickly
and they preach their insanity
and then the man asks himself
Am I a platform for people to stand on?

the superior and the inferior, the irritated and the depressed, the easy going and there trting, all of them having their points, all of their having their good hair days, their aggressive plays, the clutch attitudes, their heads waking up on the right side, the moment of glory and the bottom of hell, aribbbity anphibbity jee whizz taking the next position, the right position, irritated days, then morality sets in, sometimes able to breach but then having the mind set in and bring one to the thinking giving tree, why to I feel a concise, a morality, why is the passion in conflict with the reason, and then I try to hard to undersratnnd while all the time, I ‘m really just siting in a chair and thinking staring off into space all day, my thoughts are insecurities on speed trying to get to the next meeting point whereI can make up some sort of excuse to get myself some attention some *** and soup and love and who makes up my mind, who tells me what to do so I can shower, so I can devour wings, so I can tell them they were wrong, so I can roll around on the dusty stage, so that I can sit in a dive bar and reflect on it all, so I can fantisize, congratulate myself for things that haven’t even happened, a young ego completely out of flux, attempting to wrap myself but sweating and completely directionless, in the LA sun, hair flying all through the wind!

lost again.  thought I had found something, but then you seem to fall on your *** or wake up confused. that’s why the night makes more sense sometimes, because you can just let the night take away your sense of needing to get something done, the night doesn’t have any expectations of you.  The day expects things, the day beckons you.  The night is cold and careless, its when the bad things happen, its when the drinks happen, and all the good ideas happen, too.

whose getting played?

apparently women's minds

don't work in this way...

Men see hierarchies and

women see webs

this confuses me, as I try to maintain inner quiet, I can't help but to

bench the idea that I'm the one getting used, who uses, and whose getting *******

selectively cynical, my grandfather says...
its a clever thing to say

selectively optimistic, thats what my therapist says
what a wonderful thing to say

my perceptions, deceiving me, do I even believe in me?  

scurrying all over the place, the Muskrat gets tired too

tries to sleep in his nest, with johnny cash on the radio

hazing himself into oblivion, whens all this ever going to end?

why does my mind choose to torture itself?

pushing itself towards ledges, holding up the gun, dramatic, dramatic

intensify, intensity, I don't know, whatever you want to say about me

interesting intropective, tortured, pathetic

new icon, new little ones, like little presents, yeah etyeah yeah I ;like to exp,ore, like to implore your, thoughts, give me some questions!!!! I want more of them, I consume them like little drops of rain, on the tounge with the most excellent posture, writer singer porter er er er er er er er er lover hater STEALER faker STALE ADDN ILLL EAT YOUR BALLLS I WILLL EAT THJEM hahahahahha freaky Fine getting out of touch, where's it going, oh fake ouit, why why why out out out out out out 0out out itu loveer little learned to play this ******* thing like a goddamj keyboard out and in anan d in and out loveer s haters can't do without preserve it klhadridjfaj come on come yes yes lovers and screamers dreamers ******* lovers haters saviors finally coming out on top of the magnet, the magnet gravitating towards the same thing we've been hearing all goddammn doy aalll bundled up onto noises!!!!!!


NOFDSAJFDAJDFSADKS  
JFFOOOOOOOO
YEAHHHHHHHHH
aFJADJFAJFDJFJAJDFJFAJJDa
YAAAAAAAAAAJAa­
AFJDAFJADJFAAAAAAa
ASLAMSLSAMSLKASMASLMSLAMSLMSMALS
WORODORDORDODRODORDORDOR
TRITHITURHTURHTUIRHTURHTURHTUOLIEIEIELI­EIELKEILEIEILEILEIEI EYES YES EY ESYT EYS YSE YSE SY EY ESY EY SEY SY ES EY EY SEYE EY  Y
JAHAHAHAHAH
a

ends on a nice little key

seriously, don't worry about me

seal a deal?

take my spin, take the wheel?

a dart of the bass knows the tones

won't a kiss?  

take that, take off the peel?

wake me up and help me find the thing once again, let me put my face in it as I have other nights, let me stumble upon some sort of little twig that causes me to make the mistake that is of authenticity,

please, lord, or whatever is up there,

sean

In the light of the night
there is something to be discovered
and every little man dreaming it
wants it to be on the cover
let every *** be on the same plain
and let the people all see that people are equal
and they will work on what they need to work on
and there will be peace
and there will be peace
and drop in around like an unclaimed number
falling on toil of a lovely voice
that sings about idealism and how we are imagined
and anything sang can be sung possible


Oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one

oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one
we are one

oh we work everyday
to be a better person
but at the end of the day
we are one
we are one

I started writing a book
and I have a title and everything

and I wrote the first few chapters


do all writers go through this, where they sit and wonder...

do I need to live more?

I'm working on trying to maintain
a sense of tranquility
my diary
is filled with spontaneous arguments
and I am attempting to understand
just what makes it real
and at the beginning, it is mostly a reflection
on being an artist
but then later
it is something else
entirely
people come, people go
some grow young, some grow cold
Tom Petty
was a visionary

I wish to let userS_know


sos, sos

I wish that each reader leave,

with a wet kiss, hot water.....ice

do and don't., died

the is guaranteed



_sealed

user....bakfire

voodoo

yaas yaws said neil cassidy, and dean smiled back, I have no idea what you are talking about, carlo said to ginsberg, this one is crazy, and then sal said to keroac delete delete delete deleted delete