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ABadPenname Apr 2015
Because Instagram is my medium, and because somewhere deep down--in that place that no one talks about--it makes me feel immensely validated: putting out my ******* and receiving little bits of peer approval in return... Because I still smoke too fast when I want that short indulgent rush to last the most, so light another. Because the Itunes visualizer is an assured source of inspiration when I am feeling small about the universe, and about the 5-ish senses that I am confined to, and because there is too much of me to simply be kept quiet; because the things I want are wanted too completely to shut up about. Because I am doing excellent, and I want everybody in the world to applaud me for it--for my relentless and unyielding grasp of sanity, which often slips without my sureness be-ing lost along with it, and because the wreckage is a comfy place to lie when everything comes down to it...
Because admitting to yourself that you are addicted is the first step to recovery--or so I am told,,, and because denial is the first step one must fall from if they're itching to reach bottom... Because I am tired of climbing and have learned--among all else--how to enjoy the weightlessness of this long fall and the uncertainty it brings: uncertainty being my one true love, alongside mistress logic, who I truly LOVE returning to with open arms, seeking her comfort after a long long trip-- where I can walk winter without minding cold, and can enjoy seeing all the sights and all the Mad, Mad characters that wonderland contains. Because there is no 'character limit' nor is there censorship where I am concerned. Because I crave the criticism: that repetition is a cheaters way to write--and I want to cheat life's limitations and all social standards every chance I get. Because above all else, below all else, I want to clarify that--through every lesson I have taken-in since recently deceased December, and through all I have learned painfully, through the confusion and unrecognized irrelevance,
Because the greatest thing that I have learned thus far is: I am learning.
ABadPenname Oct 2014
How about distribution,
Another ******* poem To and About "love," and aspirational ***.                                        
            Lip metaphor:
A thick paperback flipped through  both covers in a momentary fluttering; I love that sharp sound.
             Can we break the law a little?
The one that we made without words, and no acknowledgement was needed.      
             -So we'll only break a few,
The one that keeps our lips apart; our individual pages each being read one sentence at a time, maybe passed around the party to obtain a variety of opinion for the same smooth structures.
              So needy for an affirmation, you, all of you, all of us.
All of Our ******* lovepoems and lovers.     Misery a lot-
Don't pretend you arent enjoying it, you masochists, writers.
             About ***:
Take them off, just take them all off-leave no room to guess, I will not dare aspire toward my fiction.
Or else leave them on, and sit here, and lay here, lie here, sleep here, wake here, leave here unviolated by my hands-but keep yourself dressed.
I am **** writing in stanzas.
ABadPenname Apr 2015
Miserious
& useless. Pretty problematic.
—I came twice on my own,
Then lifted leg against the party house;
my desires don't come to me.
   I am flameless (without fire),
And my prose is without life
as well—but coming along.
Remains a lifeless means of conversation.
   Grammatical Corrections:
Irritation, a distinction of the
"Left & Right" brains:
One side with thoughts of you— a
Desperate, romantic fraud, and
so indulgent of the sensuous.
And one classical side of head is
Dull and thirsty for the knowledge of things. If all we are to each other is our actions, then I must be one hell of a catch.
ABadPenname Apr 2016
I like  you.

I like  you  a lot.

I want to be bored with you.

I want to hold weekly board meetings over the topic of you.

I could impress the shareholders. What do you think?

     I think you enjoy honesty, and despise flattery.
Believe me, I know the difference. I hope you do too.
I am no wily flatterer
I would never say something like, “I’ll sail to the MOON for you,”
something impossible and irrelevant. With the consistency of soupy puke.
I should just as soon say,
“I WILL jump recklessly from the top of a very tall tower, and land—perfectly intact and unharmed
for you.”
I hope I am not the only one who sees a problem with this sort of logic.
So instead I’ll say:

Let the madness of what this fixation has turned me into, fuel my fears and my ambitions and drive me therefore, to construct a missile, with enough space inside to harness only myself, enough kick in the engine to erase my past—and all the laws of life as we know it.
I will have those memorized by then, and plan to have my hands on new laws unforeseen by any of the other
mainstream earthlings;
maybe using my new third eye to grasp at something up there that was previously air —
& I will beg this nonconsensual devotion you’ve evoked in me please grant me the derision to press the button, and launch myself into that forgetful lazy river that contains all the planets, asteroids, black holes, spaceships, a lonely-wandering U.S. radio transmitter, spilt-paint nebulas, one of Tiger Woods’ golf *****, a drunken astronaut, some of the crew from that Malaysian airplane (you know, the one that went missing), and also there are suns (often called stars), and moons, and there has gotta be a little love floating around somewhere with the celestial ants
and supernovas
and EVERYTHING.
and dissimilarly nothing you can grasp.

to the Moon?
sure,
why not babe,
if moon-rocks could somehow make you fall in love with me,
I would plan to rob the Smithsonian (or probably a similar museum of history but one with less security),
and if that ended up a no-go,
thenyeah.


     Mad. Zoom.


straight to the ******* moon for you.
ABadPenname Dec 2015
I am bleeding myself every morning, sometimes quite aggressively.
My brain's become responsible for too much blood, you see,
My head gets clogged up, and
the blood—becomes responsible for all the naughty thoughts that drive me...
Oh My,
Sticky. If you ever got it on you.
My blood is white like the untouched snow out back, could be almost marble imitation, for all anyone knows, before the tracks have been put in.
Marvelous snow, beaming in on me.
To wake me.  
Harsh on my eyes the sun is, It and It's reflective partner maim me. For my idiocy in having kept my eyes shut through a morning such as this.
The glass doors are perhaps too kind in their admittance of the morning light; they must be early risers.
Oh My,
My blood is cold. That's why I stay, content, in bed with warmth.
I am, as it appears, too much a coward to ADMIT MYSELF into this air
to spite the sting of winter,
to drown in it, naked, and embrace it, the taste of it, like new lips—belonging to a thing more grand than any living creature to have graced me yet. And in that breath...
Oh My, what, oh what new secrets
shall I/might I/ unbury with my hands—if only set to dig in the right place, and for long enough.

But the lips of Earth can't ******* as well as I can.
ABadPenname Sep 2015
I am inspired.
In the court room; waiting,
Feeling Well Groomed.
   I am in a state of psychological superiority. Everybody look at me.
separation from all avenues,
Or at least the current case.
I match the formal dress criteria almost well enough to blend in
with the wolves.
No.
I am the wolf,
They are the pigs.
There are drawings all over my three piece suit.
   I am the Zen master in the waiting room.
I play fruit ninja. My slices are precise and direct. I go for combos, and
I let my posture decide its own careless angle.
I remain a casual-clay reduction of societal judgement. Am I it innately? Am I somehow powerful?
One girl is so nervous that her knees buckle in front of the blonde judge, who looks as if she used to be beautiful.
When she makes her plea, her voice trembles. If she were in front of a firing squad, I think,
Not even that could make her seem more fragile.
When I step up I smile.
I don't think I was supposed to smile.
Littering charge, minimum fine: $20
She charged me $70
I left feeling totally enlightened.
And just a little *******.
ABadPenname Apr 2015
I am establishing self into
own vision; swallowed some of
My Own stolen ink: chewing on the pen from the front desk.
—tongue was aflame and bitter.
"Well," said self, "I better get more used to the taste of ink." —looked at me
in the rearview. "At least you look Dead Handsome with blacked-out, bruis-ed hickies on your lips."
And I popped my collar up.
It made me look distinguished, so I kept it there—. Opened car door and spit black bugs and blood against the snow.
Quickly realized then, how I could make the ground my canvas.
ABadPenname Oct 2014
And you want to talk about simplicity? Let's discuss.
We take our pants off and grind those tender pieces of ourselves together.
ABadPenname Nov 2014
-Stop beginning poems with
I Want
Or I Wish-

It is my goal
to be
what
You Hate.

If nothing else,
A Thought
that
You can't get
Unstuck...
                          With any luck
I will be
The strangest thing
you have ever met.
ABadPenname Oct 2014
Missunderstanding is a very important part of what I am composed of; in fact it could be even Healthy for you.
          Someone might, in a mad world, try to—as opposed to cutting back on gluten or red-meats—someone might instead try to
experience confusion, like, an hour a day.

       I Hope one day when Natural Selection takes it's toll on idiots and the unlucky, and only Hunters and Survivalists survive- perhaps in tribes and cities like in Medieval Times, and Rome (which only burned symbolically), I hope a little desperately that (human)honesty evolves enough so saying words like, "You're getting the wrong idea" could be considered a common courtesy for any conversation being had between a led on individual, and somebody in their right mind.
ABadPenname Dec 2014
To my future self:
I wish you could get back here.
ABadPenname Jun 2015
NEW DAY—
   wake up.
Put your head in order.
Do not trust the inspiration just
go with it. Because
when it strikes it strikes hard and fast and
it ends with both sides panting— put your head in order.
   It's a good thing waking up early.
Shower off, then immediately after—
two cups of coffee. And a cigarette.
I hold my vices in a cup.
   Relapse into delirium; it's O.K.
—Quickly out the window to first
breathe in new day.
Snag the morning paper as an errand; locate self on this
wide spinning orb.
Locate self in the Material, then
locate your Center.
I have a CENTER.
All good feelings from the CENTER.
Bleed me. —Get my head together.
   Back inside to fireplace, and piles
upon piles
upon piles of
needless words, works and extra copies,
all to be delivered unto warmth—my fire.
Put the book down.
Do not obsess over self-image, or
Self involving propoganda.
   Accept the imminent dissatisfaction— I mean
really Accept that.
One more smoke,
****** thoughts—    Keep your head in order.

Get to know what wears you and describe it eloquently.
Lose all track of time just walking.
Walk more often.
Love your footsteps, each and every ******* one.
REMEMBER:
   Timing is a virtue.
morning after documented.
ABadPenname Apr 2015
I want to offend.
ABadPenname Apr 2015
: LAST NIGHT—

I watched a ***** internet video;
a man getting halved by an Elevator.
It was a slow process.

     — LISTEN:
I am not really sure if I want
to think about it at the moment— and
I certainly don't want to write it out. That would require me
a stretch of contemplation                                —AND
a reach to be descriptive on my part, or at least
not to be redundant.

No,
In order to tell you about it,
I would really need to Stress the details that
got me: That really human kind of ****, you know?           LIKE:
the expressions on his face, and how closely his step brought him to near freedom—just outside that metal box. Just before it came down hard, and took 50% of the poor ******* with it.

It was the manner in which he got stuck that pushed me There, and
not traditionally.
Think long-ways.
The exact scenario from my nightmare so far back— with a single deviation. Setting.
Of course, inside my twisted anti-fantasy: it was the antagonist was suffering,  also this character I had come to know by name and action.

   ...Anyway that segment shocked me.
And I don't get shocked that often.
It was a sort of fate that I never actually thought I would observe in person. There is always the stopping point when watching gore online and that was mine.
Nevermind.
ABadPenname Sep 2014
Hemingway claimed that he had written the greatest story of all time-
it was six words long,
"For Sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Here's mine:
"Bury the dead; a clever slogan."
ABadPenname Mar 2015
This is an Elaborate trick.
   I have not said a single, solitary thing— composed of any substance.

Notice:
   I have arrested all of your attention
   That is, if THIS
   Is working right.

Now:
   I can try my best at wooing you; I
   Can use the best trick that I have learned. Honesty. Honesty.

I almost crashed my car the last time that I saw you. Simply—
   My eyes got stuck.
   When I got back off the curb,
   I looked into my rearview—
   Funny,
   I always have the thing angled toward me.

   When my blood pumped-back-up
I pushed the pedal down in some display—in some attempt to peel the road, and simultaneously
To show your probable new guy,
And you,
My ***.

Notice:
  I am Angrier than I have ever been and I am Happy as ever.
ABadPenname Jan 2015
I dont want simple;
Feed me yourself in silver spoonfuls.
I want simple,

Lie to me,
and tell me
I am not an Animal.

   I am an analyst-dissecting details.

4Am fresh snowfall
I will remain capable!
Make first new footprints,

in a circle...
  Till I reach the middle.

I will remain incapable of
Tying my shoes.

   I am a participant in social warfare.

Looking forward:
Possible encounters &
Spring Rain.
Fantasizing both in measure.  

All I am to you is what you see, and
What you hear,
smell,
  touch,
    taste.

All you are to me so far
Is what I see, and what I hear;
So i am looking very hard,
   And I am listening very closely.

I want logic,
Tasting honey when I ******.
I want harsh confusion,
Complete absence of logic in it's essence.
Kissing a part of you that potties.

Now,
I can remain content in chasing my tail; I sleep balled up on top of the ocean, my clothes and fur strewn;

   Chewing paws in strange positions.

I want contradiction, an
Assurance of the Devil & a
Total disregard for ghosts.

Constructive chaos:
   Dress like ghosts on Acid and
Wear rollerblades.

I want my resumé to read:
>works well with others,
>great fighter, &
>An outstanding Lay.

I want to leave behind dreams,
I want to rent a room in your
dream bed&breakfast;,
Sometimes sharing yours, but always paying rent on time for mine.

Sometimes
swinging an axe against a rough stump,
Craving lemonade and
Spring Rain.

Part of me wants to grow old and
Mad, and sit by rivers; I could smoke ****** from a wizard pipe for my
Sore joints.

( I am alright with the possible outcome of Alone. )

[ I would rip my hair out,
Glue it to my body, & become
A boy in wolf's clothing. ]

I want creative destruction,
Mayhem,
borderline Mind ****.
Learning to pick the banjo half-decently.

   That Deliverance tune.

And walk around ski towns
   Scaring the **** out of some tourists
And other antagonists.
ABadPenname Nov 2014
THAT* Night was remarkable, my
peak
in social stature.  
Earlier on,
I
was
still in editing phases on my self/ psyche.
Mid-morning,
through to
the
very
late
night
-an absolute low.
    *Unbearably
so...            
Until the whiskey
-whom I didn't mind the taste of-
came-on fully.                  
Also
I kept drinking.

I remember clearly
how BAD
the preceding events were.
Me,
seemingly a
LOST CAUSE
for a moment there
before I went from
the gutter to HIGH HEAVENS  outside of  
just a bottle or so.

&

Shortly thereafter
(another day)
when I felt
still ******,
and I
Believed it was perpetual,
and my feelings got all hurt
Or whatever.
Every
feeling
worsened
then,
-&goingforthfrom;
THERE...
  You essentially wrote me.
your first critique.   
Not for my work,
It was for my attitude
that you found undesirable.
that lost your interest in me.   
There have been no letters since.
Nor have there been any critics.


Unfortunately You
-back to Acid Night-
slept sporadically
and somehow soundly
on the couch,
among fallen soldiers and the broken-heart-ed.
                      
   Through this                
You remained
polite as an English,
and surprisingly
(Always Surprising me),
almost chatty
until the very End;  
always
always
An
enthralling conversationalist.
Even (or especially)
while in
this state.

This,
all this,
all of this & AllElseExceptForThatOneThing
was
O.K.
(Originally an acronym for "Zero Killed" in times of war. ...O.K. "-A revisal of
All Good.")
that night.


While you were sleeping
I meandered from
One room
to another room
to the patio
&
Back again to where
The cycle starts off,
bent on the intention
of being one of following:  
rude, or
disrespectful,
overly sarcastic,
always
deeply honest, and
Above all
Capable.
I really was
overly symbiotic.
A fun little strategy
I came upon, was
to figure out
a way of
saying ANYTHING
semi-appropriately
and
within the certain context.
Upon doing so,
I would leave coolly,
but immediately
to another room.

I was on fire through the night.  
(Don't be alarmed, or care however. ) the morning put me out with snowfall.

You did not see me at my Best.
We only spoke briefly on this occasion,
Earlier, when yours kicked in
And you told me that
You felt like a hornets nest
and I
(next time I took this drug)
Could not muster any logic
But for saying,
"Wow. The ***** was right."

I responded  
pretty coarsely.

All you really said to me
(After the night had fallen,
And after I had improved),
-in perfect pitch,
volume,
& articulation,
"I wish that you would yell at me."
At present,
--Now--
I would respond,

"I know that desire well-but
for a different reason,
I think,
than yours."
That reason:          
To make-out
more of your
words,
& to;
drink-in
the familiar melody they take-to.

I leaned closer to you every moment that you spoke.
This was only due to
your sentences beginning to
die off
A little earlier, and
A little earlier on.
They began sweet.
like a song.
Then they
madly trailed off.
as you would.
Maybe a little dizzy...    
    & eventually
(to cure/**** this little silence),
I just murmured like a joke,
"I can't even keep up with you now. You are completely
out of your mind."

and then I trailed off
And I
Wished you could have seen me really.
Revisal
ABadPenname Jan 2015
I imagined and then
I created.
ABadPenname Nov 2014
Remember  
Never
to allow your Muse
To read
what
she created.
ABadPenname Nov 2014
I was walking with my Brother, my
faraway Mother, and it began to rain down blood.
     We approached my car,
the parking lot was grey and tired and uncrowded.
As these red tears fell against our shoulders, marking our clothes indefinitely, the two of them said blasphemy and I walked on.
"Yes. It's been raining red wine recently."
We looked up to admire it
easy and unskeptical;
my brother's mouth widened. A droplet overpassed my lips. I smelled it, tasted it:
Iron,
Bile.
"It's not wine,"I said.
My brother spit his mouthful out, and he started up explaining us
The horrors of our current climate change.
Chemical rain was coming on now daily.
The clouds and sky purged out the rest of their discolored agony, and I was astounded by its elegance, color.
At least this was something new.

— The End —