but whenever I'm presented with an object
capable of causing harm,
I can't help but envision myself
utilizing it in ways most unpleasant.

In the kitchen when I'm preparing a meal--
the knife enters my throat.
In the yard when I'm wielding the chainsaw--
the blade enters my throat.
When I grip the pistol and point it down range--
the bullet enters my throat and exits through the cerebellum.

Yet, I've never once attempted to take my life or even
threatened to do so for attention;
but that's really not my style.
Perhaps these thoughts are perfectly normal...

*yeah, for a guy who hates his ******' life.

Jesus Christ, 15 AD

Today was a good day. I sneaked away to the cave and lit a bush on fire so I could communicate with my father. I’m not sure why I even bother telling Him things because He already knows them… I guess I just like hearing his voice. Today I asked Him if it would be alright for me to start practicing my miracles… AND HE SAID YES!!! XD He says I need a lot of practice before I go taking it public because nobody would believe I’m the son of God if I ******* one up. Also, I’m pretty sure he wants to preserve his reputation… so I started practicing on sheep. It’s a good thing shepherds are already so far away from towns because if people witnessed what I was doing to these sheep PETA would be at my doorstep in a matter of days. For those of you who don’t know, PETA is an organization created by Satan for animals because he thinks it hilarious that they should have a place in heaven, too. HA HA SATAN, very funny…

So my first miracles were simple. I was to heal all of the injured sheep in my flock. This went over fairly well, until I came to the blind sheep. I tried healing her and her eyeballs melted right out her skull! REVERSE MIRACLE! REVERSE MIRACLE! I shouted as I waved my staff in a panic. Then in the background a bush lit ablaze, “Son, you know waving that staff around won’t cause anything to happen. Magic wands and staffs are pagan nonsense. Since your birth I’ve disabled all of their so-called magical instruments, so now they’re nothing but a bunch of ritualistic heathens.” Anyway, Father fixed the poor sheep’s eyes and I was scolded for harming the animal. He sometimes makes me flog myself…

Lunch: Stale bread and glass of water.

After lunch is training time. My father had me build a crucifix inside a cave hidden deep in the desert hills so that I can practice for the big day! I spend 2 hours a day roped to that cross, and another hour or so doing self-mutilation. More flogging. I keep asking Father if he’ll send me down a practice angel so that I don’t have to keep beating myself, but he said all the angels who were into that sort of thing migrated south… So here I am… alone… in a cave… fists full of blood and rope burned wrists. Heading home to watch my parents argue and maybe I’ll turn their water into laudanum so that I may have a decent night’s sleep.

In my Omicronicopia lies little rows of little o's ~
My chronic omniphobia ties little bows in my little hose ~
This ******* like a rose it knows to waft it's way into my nose ~
It shivers and my innards froze from blizzards blowing up my nose ~

I toy around with words and feelings ~
Dissecting verbs - insert new meanings ~
Pit a noun against your frown ~
And rediscover means of healing ~

sometimes I find myself staring at the ground for long periods of time…
some people think I'm depressed...
perhaps I am...
but there are quite a lot of insects down there.
most people never take notice as they're constantly consumed
with their own lives...
the upward glancers... the straight-forward perceptionists.
I wonder if insects ever get depressed
because we're
always
stepping on them...

Take me away to an island of pain
Where I can strip naked and dance in the acid rain.
Clouds of monoxide, trees of barbed wire,
I climb high and inhale then jump into the fire.
When the skin has been burned and/or irritated
I look into the mirror and feel slightly degraded.
I'm just a masochistic misfit feeling ritualistic,
Painting pictures with the knife which I slit my own wrist with.

I had *** with your mother last night.  
She was a hairy, sweaty mess.
I took her down to the corner bar
And bought her a couple pints.
That's all she needed.
After a couple hours
I was down her throat.
Your mother is a real freak.
I wanted to create a romantic atmosphere
But she insisted that we just **** in the dirt
Like animals.
We behaved like primitive heathens
Lusting in a prehistoric heat.
Teeth gnashing, hair pulling, sweat beading;
It was like all the civilities had been shed
And we were acting without the aide of a
Cerebral cortex.
In the morning, you strayed silently
From your room and sat down at the
Kitchen table.
Silence.

The way we don't joke.
The way we sometimes never do.
The tendencies of overburdened humans.
Internalizations.
Expanding walls.
******* up what matters most.
Never playing host.
Chicken flavored gummy toast.
Rhyming **** that don't make sense.
Putting up with ignorance.
Thoughts of death and suicide.
Neglect on ******* override.

Little Miss Muffle
Got into a scuffle
Which ended a terrible mess.

She was beaten and *****
While videotaped
And left in the forest undressed.

Then along came a spider
Who sat down beside her
And started to ****** her breast.

But it really went south
When it crawled in her mouth
And its babies burst out of her chest.

Her hair sparks jealousy among the autumn leaves as tourists and locals a like avert their gaze from the deciduous blaze. Displays of orange and red dance happenstance on the breeze in a last ditch effort to reclaim the fame, however, Murielle's beauty is so profound that they dance too hard and fall to the ground. One by one, they let go of both life and limb as they float down around her angelic figure creating a spectacle so magnificent the gods and demons all writhe with envy. And as she stood there, bathed in beauty, vibrantly violating all the laws of nature, the god who guarded that particular forest appeared just to say, "My oh my, what a wonderful day."

The meta-critical physicist ****** a
****** cyst over in a Starbucks bathroom,
only the prickly ***** picked
a ****** to do it in,
leaving in his wake beside the cake
floating in a rancid lake
What looked to be a
Big Mistake

Fat and disgusting,
the manatee eats and *****
with endangered grace.

Choreographed fits
awaken society
to its slow decline.

Politicians race
to win the seat but forget
how to act like men.

Why isn't there a
sociopath filter built
into the system?

Cember de'Cember
Awakens cold and dreary;
Vember Nobody, is in, no more.
Cember de'Cember
Awakens daddy's paycheck;
Cember de'Lusion, is holiday cheer.

Remind us why we're happy,
De'Visa and de'Scover.
Remind us why-
Why we smile.
De'Santa slaps,
His little elven children;
He doesn't pay them,
Very,
Well.

Decapitation plus
My ***** on your chin
Equals severed head.

Chained to a stop sign–
Your body twitches for a while
But I do not stop.

I wonder how it would feel
To penetrate your eye socket
And plow through your brain.

Perhaps my little soldiers
Will give you something
To think about...

I had a talk with a fetus today.  
A mind talk.  
I wasn’t aware of such an ability
Until I encountered this incubating sapient sapien.  
We talked in a language consisting of feelings and emotions –
No trace of an actual language;
No words.  
He conveyed warmth.  
Mind numbing warmth and happiness.  
Mind enhancing.
Mind glowing.  
Life glowing.  
Radiant joy ran down my legs
And down through my feet,
Straight into the ground.  
Into the Earth.  
The planet then sighed a mighty sigh of great relief,
Somehow knowing that this child had been born.

I've said it before; I'm afraid what I say
May not always present itself in the right way. ,.
Perception is key; How You think of Me;
Circumstantial ad hominems swing tree-to-tree.

How much should I care about your opinion?
Am I to remain a chained worrisome minion?
Is my message to you of any import,
Despite you might mangle my angle for sport?

The popular discourse of this day and age
Has decided we dance ourselves right off of the page
Into uncharted territory; will we survive?
I really don't care... so long's I'm alive.

Once not long ago
In the vile state of Utah,
An evil wizard
Impregnated a feral cat with
Mormon seed.
In no time at all,
A litter was born
And all of them died
But one–
Mittens the Kitten.

Mittens grew up with a sense of entitlement
Because the evil wizard filled his head
With the Mormon scriptures.
When Mittens would catch and **** a mouse,
The evil wizard would pet Mittens
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

In the evenings,
Mittens would enjoy a bowl of warm blood.
Sometimes it would coagulate,
But Mittens loved his blood.
He lapped it up
With a a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

The evil wizard was a Harvard Business Grad,
And since feline-humanoids were not accepted
At Harvard Business School,
The evil wizard taught Mittens
All that he knew.
Mittens soaked up the knowledge
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Some years went by and Mittens
Became a successful business owner.
He would lap up bowls of
Other people's business
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Fast forward to the present tense
(My personal favorite tense)
And Mittens is running for president.
He uses his magical smirk to cloak his lies
So that naive voters might believe that
They should vote for this cat.
He smirks and he lies
With a vigor that is borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Where does the money go?
I work, I toil, I bleed, I sweat;
But I have not one thing to show.

Maintaining highs but forever low,
I smoke, I fear, I fall, I fret;
Where does the money go?

Whichever way the wind does blow.
To myself I am in debt,
But I have not one thing to show.

An omnipresent malicious glow,
Resounding like a string quartet;
Where does the money go?

Perhaps I know...
Do I regret?
But I have not one thing to show.

Life's everlasting ebb and flow
Just goes to show how I forget-
Where does the money go?
But I have not one thing to show.

Sometimes a comet collides with the moon
Creating a crater; a lunar lagoon.
A history of time, not unlike tattoos-
Up there all alone, I bet it sings the blues.

He sits on the porch and listens to thunder
Roll on in the distance as darkness envelops
The world that surrounds him,
Which is normal enough-
It's eight in the p.m.-
And there's nobody
Really that eager to see him.
He's a mess and a half, or maybe three-quarters,
His life is in shambles and he's well aware;
The scariest part's that he don't seem to care.

There aren't any predators out for his hide;
Well, save for one, from which he can't hide.
You'd think without worry he'd find time to soar-
But he's stuck in a house built only of doors-
Doors that all open and work perfectly fine,

But on them he just hangs pictures of people and completely forgets
that the doors are doors
and that the floors are floors
and he rests his stupid head down on the floorboards
as his house is not furnished;

it's empty and bare...

save for out on the porch

where sits only a chair.

It's been almost a year since the apprehension.
Almost a year since they grabbed me off the highway
With their assumptions and lies.
Guilty until proven innocent is how they view you on the street.
It might be a different story in the courtroom,
However,
Out on the desolate interstate there's not much one can do
To keep them from infiltrating your right to privacy.
What is privacy anyway?  Does it even exist anymore?
A few simple clicks can open up one's entire life;
Locations, relatives, work history, criminal record.
And on the highway,
All it takes is a few simple lies;
Do you know how fast you were going?
What's that smell? Please step out of the car, sir.
And shortly thereafter I was on my way to the lovely
Tooele County Detention Center.

I was afraid at first...
Never having been to jail before.
But I think what I feared the most was having to face my parents.
I knew full well how disappointed they'd be.
I knew full well how they'd do everything in their power to get me out,
Despite the fact I was comfortable and relatively safe.
Nothing could prepare me for the onset of tears I could literally see over the phone...
And I haven't seen them since...
My parents, that is.  

I think about how much of a burden I've been on them over the years...
Racking up piles of juvenile offenses;
Underage consumption of alcohol;
Underage possession of marijuana;
Underage possession of tobacco;
Operating without a license;
Operating while suspended;
You can't park here, you ******* idiot - give us your stupid money.

What is there to be proud of in that?
Is this how I repay the people who brought me into this world?
Yet they bear no grudge--
Only love.  

Perhaps I should reconsider my line of work...

For some,
There's no escaping the daily grind;
Only the inexplicable tortures which plague the mind.
For others, however, there's a blooming gap
Which presents itself
In the form
Of a nap.

How simple a pleasure;
An enchanting endeavor.
Those words do not rhyme,
Though I do not care,
For I've just awoken and tainted the air;
Clouds of tobacco smoke poison my lair.

A dream lingers briefly so I jot it down.
Angels from heaven appear -
Oh the sound!
An orchestra plays something I've never heard;
It's hauntingly beautiful -
Mildly absurd.

A box pushed its way to the surface through dirt
And inside the box is a sparrow;
It's hurt.
I do what I can
To help it to heal,
But a cat comes along and decides it's a meal.

"I know you're a cat, and that's what cats do,
But wouldn't you say you were just a bit rude?"

It replies in baritone, southerly voice,
"I am what I am and I hadn't a choice.
I'm driven by instinct,
As you may not be;
However, these feathers
Taste curiously..."

The cat then exploded;
Its innards now out.
That bird was a bomb,
I haven't a doubt.

I was in a public restroom at the mall takin' a leak in one of those urinals.
There happened to be a TDH (tall dark and handsome) man standing next to me.
And as we were peeing in unison, I leaned over, leaned back,
Looked him in the eyes and said, "Nice ****, ******."

Why is he looking at my ****?
Is he gay?
Did he just call ME a ******?
Is he confused about his sexuality?
Why do I feel insecure about my **** all of a sudden?
What just happened?

I finished peeing before he did,
So I took my ***** self over to the sink and proceeded to wash my hands.
It wasn't long before TDH was by my side.
We were now washing our hands in unison and he looks over at me and says,
"Nice hands, ******."

Is he hitting on me?
Is he really gay?
Do I really have nice hands?
Does he want to touch them?
Is he just ******* with me?
I don't know what's happening but I like it =)

Turns out he wasn't gay... nor was I.  
We both just happened to be in the business of belittling strangers
With contradictory insults for no apparent reason.
It was a good day.

Hours on end
I stare at the ceiling;
Final conclusion-
There is no meaning.
Perhaps it will fall;
Fall without meaning.
The walls will then laugh
As they all begin leaning
Then fall, fall;
Fall without meaning.

I listen to this music when I have ******* with prostitutes.
At first they're like "*** is this?"
Then later they tell me "it's beautiful," and I say to them,
"I know.  I bet you wish you were that beautiful."
We both then laugh and she charges me full price.

Presently living in a
Past that never was;
Dwelling on the
Wouldas Couldas and
Probably shouldn'ta beens;
Reliving old sins and
Reinventing new ones while
Repeating the same old formula
Over and over again.
The cellar dweller feeds on
Fantasies and nostalgia;
Only accepting food that tastes
Relatively similar to something he
Enjoyed when he was happy
Once upon a time.
A slave to the good old days...
And so long as he eats,
Any resemblance of future happiness
Remains locked away
Deep in the cellar-
Guarded fervently-
By the dweller.

Screaming oxen overdosed on toxins leading the wagon-train to hell.

You stole my little heart.
I know you did;
I saw you take it.
I watched as you cut me open
And removed the pulsating muscle.
You thought I was asleep,
But I let you take it.
I thought that if anyone should have it,
That person should be you.
So do with it as you please...
But I hope that you keep it near you.
It's served me well over the years,
And it's also proven to be a real ***** at times.
But it will keep you warm.
That I can guarantee.
Enjoy.

As I stare at the wall,
I can't tell if reality is setting in
Or slipping away...

Some time ago in the furnace below
Grew restless the ruler of sin;
He dug through His closet
Composed a composite
Consisting of a violin.

The underworld rang with
Delectable twang
As Lucifer plucked on His strings;
E'en angels flew down
Allured by the sound
Til Cerberus plucked off their wings.

Eventually Satan grew bored of this, too;
That thrill-seeking ******* must capture the new;
So up to the land of the living He flew;
Disguised as a figure whom everyone knew.

First on the agenda of any pretender:
Extinguish the genuine soul;
He arrived in Genoa
Disguised as a boa
And silently swallowed him whole.  

With Europe His playground
The Devil, He made sound
That no one alive had yet heard;
He fiddled and plucked,
Gambled and ******,
Until inside Him syphilis stirred.  

His physical shell He now had to retire;
Back to the depths of the black and the fire;
Forever above will the humans admire;
The legend of strings; the king; the sire.

The acoustics of a pack of cigarettes...

May the furnace burn us
So that we might rise from crash's ashes
Like the Phoenix as Felix
Pounds out a bravado sonata
Something brash and passionate
Like abstract fashion it
Causes conundrums among tongues
Flapping, rolling, lapping, growing
Synaptic tactics mapping spastic
Canals through the fungal jungles
Of minds melting from psilosybin I been
Growing dendrites as my pen writes
Reaching Zen heights while the men fight.

I've been told by some that I should allow myself to submit to a higher power.
I've been told by some that I should allow myself to completely surrender myself to the drugs on which I am...
Pompletely Cowerless.
Chompin' at the bitcoin for a hit -
Groin split, oh so tender -
**** it with tin foil so you can walk out the door without sounding the alarm.
**** it with armadillo dandruff so that the Migh and Highty gemi-dods of foral mailure and tetail reft might pity your chleek seekbones long enough to get that bimmering shooty to the sawn phop so that you can Havid Dazzle-Off those pitiful pieces of plastic and fencehorth vondez ru with the dead boy crew; stew you boil cook that dead boy brew; get it all in through the strands and tubes; melt face down down to towndown..... ******.

Some people perceive the act of
******* on a grave
To be a gesture of crude rudeness.
I couldn't disagree more.
How else is one to interact with the dead?
Digging them up is rather time consuming-
Not to mention illegal-
Whereas your ***** provides a direct stream-
A stream of warmth; life-
Straight down to your loved one.
Their physical situation is already on its way
To becoming one with nature.
I know if I were down there
I'd welcome any and all to
Stand or squat.
Help me rot.

I was once issued a citation
For ******* on a homeless guy.
On my court date,
The judge asked me why I did it,
And I said,
"Because I thought he was dead."

Toxic ads live-streamed through your wires and the airwaves
As though it's perfectly legal to pump out poisonous gasses
Straight into the public domain.
With democracy comes hypocrisy;
Biological warfare declared on
Innocent civilians whose vote matters,
And that's all that matters.
They reassure you with charming grins
While their eyes tell tales of all their sins.
The noise does not stop as they pay fortunes for
Propaganda time.
Hate spewing, gut-wrenching, fist clenching games
Held for the purpose of heading a nation in the right direction.
It's a shame that the game takes a toll on the soul,
No one stays the same when faced with the poll.
Enter the maze innocent, eyes a-glaze
Then when it spits you out
All that remains is a name.

Millions of tiny could-bes
Swim upstream in hope
That they might someday
Grow up to release
Their brothers and sisters
All over your face
In a gooey, sticky mess
That makes it on the internet
So that millions of other
Tiny could-bes
Can be freed from their
Bulging testicular prisons.

As I slide
In and out of
This world,
The bed burns cold
And I feel like I'm
About to hurl.
Screaming softly,
Ragged boat
Glides over
Jagged hope.

Lusting feelings, tormented soul.
Close your eyes,
(Or don't) I swallow you whole.
I feel you kick and scream,
As you fall down-
Down deep inside me.

Ripping apart
As our souls collide,
We are becoming one-
You're all of my pain.
My body will soothe me
And start over again.
One.

It's Like, I don't care about nothin man...

sigh

I was gonna clean my room, but I'm too depressed...
I was gonna get up and find the broom but I'm such a mess...
my room is still messed up and I know why
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I was gonna go to class but I'm so depressed...
I coulda cheated and I coulda passed but I'm such a mess.
I am taking it next semester and I know why,
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I was gonna go to work but I'm too depressed
I just got a new promotion but I'm such a mess
now I've got a rope and I know why
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I was gonna go to court but I'm so depressed
I was gonna pay my child support but I'm such a mess
they took my whole paycheck and I know why
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I was gonna make love to you but I'm too depressed
I was gonna eat yo ***** too but I'm such a mess
now I'm jacking off and I know why,
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I messed up my entire life because I'm depressed
I lost my kids and wife because I'm depressed
now I'm sleeping on the sidewalk and I know why
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I'm gonna stop singing this song because I'm depressed
I'm singing this whole thing wrong because I'm depressed
and if I dont sell one copy I know why
why man?
  cause after this verse
  I'll be in a hearse
  cause I'm so depressed...

*sigh

Regarding some thoughts on a talk
moments prior,
I outline some traits for a date
I require.
If passion trumps fashion
we're off to a start,
And art is another way into my heart.
It doesn't seem fair to care
about age;
Those dastardly digits depicting a cage.
Which ain't to declare I'd pair with
a minor;
Save for maybe an E,
Since I'm such a G.

I digress and confess, if you'd like it
much clearer,
For all you've to do is to look
in the mirror.

As I was driving home today,
I disturbed a crow in the road.
It was feasting on the carcass of
Some small mammal,
And as I drove by,
It flew to the side of the road
As not to get hit by my truck,
And as I passed,
I said to it,
"Carrion."

Hurricane Sandy you sure are a dandy,
What with your winds and your rain.
Your pandemic endeavor is truly a pleasure
To watch, but for many a pain.

Oh Hurricane Sandy, sweeter than candy,
Wash it all down, down the drain.
We'll clean up the mess and invest in the best
Infrastructure and buildings and brains.

Hurricane Sandy won't you come in handy,
My country's gone ******* insane.
This phony election's in need of correction-
Just wash it all down, down the drain.

I stare in the mirror and what stares back?
An apoplectic apparition wishin' he could concentrate,
But wishin's only fishin' with a shoe string and a roll of tape.
Paranoia resonates, the social pressures shower down,
Gleaming rays of expectation force a smile upon my frown.
The neverending battle wages on between myself and I,
Then there's me and him and her and them and us~
So what's the fuss?  You paid a hefty fee to ride with us
Upon the crazy bus.  
Buy the ticket, take the ride.
What's the matter, too much pride?
Untie your demons, let us fly.
****.
The knot has come undone.
Next time I'll have to use the gun.
But without us you'll be no fun!
That might be true...
Here's what I'll do.
I'll take these drugs to silence you
When I'm within the public view.
Then at night I'll let you out,
This rhyme scheme is getting kind of boring.
Yeah....

Atoms or Adams or Adam's atoms
Lemme at em, the *****,
Always touching...me.
The atoms of Adam's Adam's apple
Slapped by a Papal ****,
Chase the *** with rolling rock,
Someone get him outta there!
Someone catacomb my hair
As I lay dying in my lair...

Frolicles of Gwarnia, I summon thee.

smiling briefly as the strangers come and go
through my field of vision.
why do i smile?
i don't think i give a ****-
...do i?
part of me must...
must care about my image;
must care about how others view me.
perhaps i just wish that for once
someone would
smile back...

The strapping young boys
Will play with their toys
And cause harm to er'one around.

They'll make lots of noise,
Colluded with poise,
Among them not a soul to be found.

It wasn't too long
Before they were turned on
To firm over in Illinois,

Where collusion has proven
A blooming conclusion
For all whom they choose to employ.

"Is this an illusion?"
Said one in confusion.
"I'm successful and happy and paid.

"I'm a millionaire
With brilliant hair,
And a beautiful dame of a maid!"

"Pardon my intrusion,
You've chosen profusion
O'er doing the world some good.

"Prepare for seclusion-
A lonely conclusion
Is knocking beneath your hood."

I sing you lies
Like Lullabies.
The guilt slides off me
And you'll never realize
That these wise eyes
Are a prized guise
Fashioned to capitalize
On cries
Off all shapes and size.
Cries for blood
Cries of pain
Cries for God
Cries in vain
Once you catch on
(you won't)
We'll label you insane.
In the meantime...
I'll be planning the next Holocaust
Miles above you on my
Jet plane.