in  the  heat  of  the  winter ,
on  the  cool  cool  grass ,
the  center  of  Indiana ;  
the  center  of  the  country ;
the  center  of  the  world.
I  spat  blood  on  the  white  wh­ite  sidewalk,
for  I  was  dopdi ,  and  I felt  wronged.

I salute no flag, I follow no man
I am undisciplined; an expatriate; a mutineer.
I am not consumed. I believe in Infinity.
But so what?

It's a hell of a lot better than casting stones into the abyss of life, which only cries back in a tune of some ever-pervading samsara, whose only note was proof for Hamlets second conjecture; counting your days, numbering the stars, feeling pleasure only to one day die a purposeless death; guilty.

Jesus said everything in red ink,
the bible tells me so.

Freedom can only be given to those that are bound.
It is both a fact and failure of nature.
Our power binds us;
Our lack of power binds us.
We are enslaved on all sides:
By the infinite and the finite.
And yet we are set free
by this selfsame fact.

"Hmm..."



"What is it?"



"Ya know those sweethearts?"

"Those what?"
"You know, those little candies you can get around valentines that'll have like 'I love you' or 'be mine' and stuff on them."
"Yeah...What about 'em?"





"Well, sometimes they don't have anything on them. They're just like a forgotten wordless misprint..."






The leaves were crunching against our feet. Our beautiful feet. I was cold and I knew exactly what I was saying. I smoothed my hair and with a slow bright toned whisper, I said,
"...the misprints are always the best..."

I hate nostalgia. I wanna grow up in NYC and never have to worry about history, just live in the now and die at the age of 35 and at the hands of myself. There's a lot to be learn't. Of course, that doesn't really matter, since I know everything. What?! Does that surprise you? Well it should because if I knew everything, why would i waste my time writing nonsense crap poetry? The answer is simple: isn't the whole of deep philosophical and religious thought just nonsense crap poetry? All the all-knowing knows is to write such words, scribing ancient runes upon the shadows of empty caves, and all the unknowing can do is laugh. But I have to hand it to them- it is pretty funny.  

Some proverbs:

Love is a thousand speechless monkeys that can do nothing but play the harp.

Roses have thorns for one reason and one reason only: they don't want to be picked.

Blue paint is not always blue.

…I start ‘here’ and I walk.
I pass ‘them’ and I pass wonders and it snows.
The sun comes down and possesses the ground and hits me and it snows from the sun warm snow. White and eerie. Great things were raised only to be razed. My fly’s eye saw a stone, in the field, by the brook. Corner and leaves too. The bitter bit me and there were trees that were dying and that made them beautiful. I drew them a bath. I laid them down. Coming down from the sky was a great white coffin. I saw behind me a viper that killed a squirrel to save a rabbit, a squirrel that was afraid…
…I start ‘here’ and change my road,
I know where I’m going. I know my destination. A vision passes through me and a red candle holding a black flame lit me to be bright, but I only burned. A dust bowl roared through it all and I sunk. I walked and walked and I let it take me. Forget it all! Again and again I came down through the valley, I saw it, and I couldn’t care. The flowers and snow and sun and life absolutely poured out their hearts for me and I couldn’t care, because I had seen them all before, and I know them all too well. AHH!! OF COURSE!! OF COURSE!!!! JUST IN TIME! Of course, I saw it coming. At the center, right in the middle, you know what I find?! You. You just sit there waiting. No matter where I start, or what direction I go, I walk and walk and I find you…
…I start ‘here’…

Saturn must rule me.
no, no, nevermind, I'm absolutely mean!
Do you like windows or mirrors?
Are you reflective or empty?
...
You could have just asked me!
I don't know, I just don't know
what to say sometimes.............
You could just say it!

I'm ready to run!
Oh baby I'm ready!
I'm gonna charge Olympus,
let 'em look me in the eye
and convince them I've been wronged.

I'm gonna take a trek to desolation
and from the valleys to the maintains
I will raise hell.

I'm gonna tell my sheets to
stop scaring me.

I'm gonna speak in tongues,
shake my body and dance!


I'm dying, but before I die,
I want to live!!

I.
"Rip it off."
A mother tells a child
"If it itches, scratch it."
"If its ugly, replace it."
The end of skin.

II.
Love at first sight is reserved for the Bones.

III.
The irritations of the skin have become unbearable. My arms are bare. I want my skin to be the skin of another. Our hidden hides prevent contact.

IV.
"Good ridens"
I see a band-aid on the sidewalk.
I see a burned man sans skin-graph.
I saw beauty, but she was plastic.

V.
There is an epidemic of the epidermis.
We need honesty, but all we get is skin; the ugly forefront of the truth.