the sink runs mud, a clarity I won't understate.
the splatering, sputtering on the porcelain, sloshing, guttural pain.
on a canvas the paint is truth, on the wall it is deceit.

the bed is a springboard for great ideas.
the romances that die, the 8 hour shifts of bottled eternity.
I am haunted by this sentiment daily.

on the windy beach, the ears and hair, a flag flapping.
cool, dark, the moon like Juliet's eyes.
over the grand ocean of unknown language.

i reach over and grab the gun.
i will go out with a bang while Eve is away.
then sunrise sets still forever

the sleeper in the valley is haunting me,
what I should do I haven't.
I'm a junkyard full of false starts.

"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the ***** streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,"

:Bought a book of Ginsberg:
:Thought it quite lonely:
:Found out socrates was a *******:

I fell asleep and was dreaming the subconscious dream,
The theorem was proven and I could breathe again.

I awoke to sirens,
nymphs,
and Orpheus standing over me.

I am a small bit of nothing, a Wes Anderson caricature,
a pre-printed, pre-made, pre-packaged archetype.

I bought guitar strings from a lovely woman,
I want everyone to hear me.
Hear me play Pitseleh.

I am quiet now,
I am soft and everyone hears me.
I don't want to say anything,
I want you to look at me and know.
I want you to see my eyes and know I am infinite.

I wake up again and I am sweating,
it was the night terror, the one I have

I was surrounded by intellectuals,
the poets and artists of our generation,
all second rate ******* doing it for the applause and their mommys, same **** that was always done, since ******* Homer, since ******* Shakespeare, since ******* Ruddy Rimbaud.

I keep shaking,

Something is coming after me and I know it.

Maybe it's all the women I looked at wrongly,
one's from the ***** pictures big brother sold me,

Maybe it's all the sucrose and caffeine i've been inserting.

Maybe it's the nothings that i forgot to do, and others did instead.

I am a ******.

I never ****** no one.

******* is stupid.

I am one of the ugliest men alive.

When the saint ended us I saw infinity.

Everything was you, in you, by you, for you, the ******* hours and hours of thought, the stupid lengthy and complicated memories where you were christmas and we were meeting the ocean, all pointless and lost to oblivion and I lost it right then and there in front of you, I sobbed and wanted to **** myself. Then you gave me a *******.

Your passing was a gift to me,
Wrapped in colors I couldn't see.

And after every page I let fall out,
Everything looked better.

The eyes see beyond beyond now,
Past the words,
Past the symbol.

Then enters the thirst,
An evening,
A cold light,
The empty everything,

And a Sterile drama,
A paradise,
Smoke n' mirrors,
Caves n' shadows,
And a new outlook.

Maybe I wasn't born in the right era,
Maybe I wasn't born in the right world.

Maybe I'm the kind of person that shoots up schools,
Maybe I'm the kind of person that would **** a child.

Maybe I'm the type that kills themselves,
Maybe I just want attention.

But what the **** would I do once I had it?
Shout the golden rule?
Tell a nice story?
Give praise to God?

I mean, I've had a relatively nice life,
so I don't know what the hell I have
to complain about.

"Things have gotten really out of hand since the flaw,"
"in a room without a floor you will always be falling."

I feel dumb.
It's like there's an amusement park behind me,
but I can't turn around.

I feel ugly.
I'm afraid to look in the mirror,
because it might look back.

Plunge,
Plunge deep.
Feel the layers of soapy creek-beds,
Cross sections of the torrent,

Seep,
Watch the silent film,
As the sky divides into fantasy,
Light intended for your child-like eyes.

Fall,
Into a graceful autumn,
Where the corn smells and the wind picks up,
Where day-break questions existence.

Sink,
The expanse is waiting,
She sits in a blue velvet chair holding her head,
Counting the ticks 'till midnight on her golden clock.

Trust me,
And dive.
For I am vast and empty,
And far from shallow.

I saw you there, I kept the image in my mind, to feed my despair,
And your hair...
The freckles on your shoulders.
Your smell, your legs, like there were noplace and someplace, bulky and warm like Christmas at the bottom of life where everything was naked.

I carried my heart in yours.
You were the rainy-sun-danse, a novelty in a stormy-wood-wroten-backwoods. Indiana suburban mythology dictated of such a fair maiden, one born of wild disparity, from the family of spiritual cynics. I've come to admire you, that much I know. A mouth divided like Africa, arbitrarily and in a fit of greed, like a hispanic german jew, flouting her sensuality, folded harmony, sweet, messy, youthful, rude, a symbol.

You're my everything and I don't know why, two days gone and I was in so much pain, I figured nothing out.
If I were really inlove with you, you'd be inlove too.
And I love you,
therefore you love me too.

Your inconvenience, ******,
Is worn like a frown on your face.
I need a stern kick in the head.

And you're destitute, Destiny,
And reek like flowers, floorboards,
And nosebleeds.

And you ain't true, Faith,
You love him, and I'm broken,
Your machine is commendable. Truly.

You feel nothing, I feel it for you.
I bear your troubles like a Christ,
And you hate life, but I love it, and I love you.

But I'm a toad, Princess,
And my love is a spell,
And it spells discomfort.

With the few words left within me there is something I fear I must write. Beauty is everything, art is justified. It was a hard battle, but art has won. Dionysus takes the cup: Apollo, in a blaze of wonder and irony, has fallen, for this space is for dreamers, not for rationalists. Reason shall come shortly, but soon there will be no need for reason, I can assure you. First I must scorn in the face of every critic, whose airy words tried to stamp the artifice down the whimpering and broken throat of the victor, which is the artist; I must point and laugh at the woman that shrivels at the sight of moral beauty, and the man that seeks entertainment, rather than enlightenment, for you are all fools and cuckolds to your well-loved rationalism.

AND THUS WAS HIS REASONING

Beauty and truth both lay dormant in every soul that has walked the Earth. Every aesthetic piece gives breath to its own truth. Truth, because it is admired, admired, because it is truth. Expression, the holiest form of satisfaction, is then simply the application of the beautiful thing, which is art. In this realm nothing is proven, but everything is felt. This is art. This is truth. This is beauty. This is rebellion. This is nothing. This is everything. This is art.

Death, is a precious beauty.

The hang glider comes from her mountain with the water of the gods to feed the foe, the toad that linches and seethes, sticking gratitude to her heart. Why is he? He should have been, but now he's gone. Shoot the white haired lady, she feels no pain,

I want lightning, a meaning, a triumph that sells pills to me in the back of a dusty van in the night, I want white hair and a balding mind, with nothing but you and your dye.

You are the poet's parts, it covers him. I am no one, and I think you know that. You can never be with me because you are in a slow decent into adulthood and I am becoming a child. I must understand, but there is pain.

White-washed hairdresser with a meaningless smile, Call me your man, listen to the words I say. I am loud and boastful, like a great animal I scream the truth. I have no home like the wounds, come all ye faithful, words are quite clear.

I want you.....
I want you..... so bad.
It's the delta blues I couldn't ignore.
There is meaning in the, there is a saltiness I can't ignore. Where is truth and the squabble? Where is understanding and the sacred? I soak in warmth, I bask in the insipid stories of deadly man and heartache and nothingness,

Gone, like a symbol, new, like the universe. Stocking that rip under my hands, real...

Touch, a gentleness, soft, harsh, and cold, be thee alone. Call no one, say NOTHING. Jealousy manifests, liver, the hardest stone, Give me up, I truly have no use. Women are ***-dumpsters, thus sayeth the LORD. I think God's got timber in his eyes. The Great Triumph! sings like a hamster dying on a pinwheel. I really don't know what I know, but I'm glad for abstractness. There is meaning, there is anti-truth. Speak without wind. Death, pere, night, ear, truth, punk, stop, rire.

I laugh because there is no other way of ridding myself of this filth. The caress of a gentle mind comes in stages, like cancer. The ****** in the 5th key speaks with dialect and analect. Into-go, fantastical, a  spectre,

But I guess I don't much believe in ghosts.

We don't know who we are because PDA is discouraged, and anyway, you're a woman and those are scary. We need a permit for passion, it's the bureaucracy of the body, a product of the new guy. The guy that keeps questioning himself because no one else does, because meaning may not derive from the self, but from another. The sea within has shallow banks, and they crash against community. Perhaps I am right, and you are wrong. Integrity is worth fighting for, biology be ******, logic be ******, judgement be ******. This subtle society is a dystopia and if you can't see that, that's alright, I'll see it for you.

I want to destroy you,
Break you bit by bit --

Show you a Universe,
Inspire you to your death.

Inflate you with hope,
Poisoned with beautiful ideas.

Drown you in an ocean of rebellion,
Choke on religion itself.

I want to destroy you,
Until you are yourself.

Girl, reading loric! Archbishop is very impressed by the big bottle of the so - called emotional problems; The taste of love, such as cigarettes and coffee. I think i love you But I want the truth. what happened? Violence in South Africa? I was surprised that we expected the wall to fall and broke his symphony discopia to hide me. I see that they are trying to find love and replace the browser with JavaScript at any time. We all changed, I will do binary.

blah blah blah

Let me close
I can see again
mountain
This is the valley
Sun on their products.
Moon and rage

You remember me.
Music
Calm and cautious
No true
Plants.

He was involved in love.
light kiss
We believe that the dark

But it is not over
In the case of sugar, heavy
mud Mixer
I hurt.

We came together in the Senate
There is no mathematics
It can hurt us

Skip easily
tip contact
Hope and despair.

Every memory, all at once.
Everywhere, all at once.
There I met you and you were in everything.

I wanted to rip you apart.
I threw you against the wall.
I wanted to make love, but you disappeared.

And everywhere I went you were there.
I would touch you, and then it would fade.
I missed you, and could not escape you.

You were prettier than Amaterasu.
Glorious, August, Torrential, you were rain.
Izanami, Izanagi, one.

cout << "morality" << endl; // thats you
getch(); // its all it takes

for(int life=80;life=0;life--)
{
cout <<"Breath" << endl;

}

//I love you

∀x∃y | x+y > 0

tooth
rhyme
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parade
enamel:
ammunition
axis
body
seal
Luo
oil­
Cats


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Bring me closer,
Closer than I've ever been.
Here is the mountain,
Here is the valley.
There is the sun and she is fertility.
There is the moon and he is wrath.

Let me remember the
songs of the old ones,
of jollity and sanity,
of truth and of vanity,
voiceless.

He split love,
And we kiss in the light,
And we think in the dark.

But then infinity arrives,
uninvited, drunk again,
slurring and mixing,
bringing back a shattered mess.

At the plateau we meet
and there not even math
can hurt us.

I cough up blood like words of
love to the limpless scandal
counting question marks on her
fugly face.
I throw up food like a volcano
that screamed justice and the
magma missed jezzabelle, the saint.
Cosmopolitan Freakshow,
A deluge sans answers,
An empty box.

Warts appear like the truth
which remains.... well.....you
know all about that don't you.
Go on, we all wait for God
but he'll never come, ask
the King, but then again,
who does he answer to?
I answer to this fever,
this muse of Dante,
I answer to my sins,
Like the State of Nature
to her dues.
And then I eat the
medicine, which is philosophy,
A poison which cures a day,
but ends a lifetime.

Go read your lolicon you ****** infant! Impress the primates with your big boy lingo and bottle an emotion, excrete a dialogue, call it ******* art. The coffee here smells like tobacco, and tastes like it too. I thought I liked love but I just want something real. But what is the theme? South African radicalism? Come my droogs let us speculate of the falling walls and crumbling symphonies, the dystopia I hide my cutter in. I saw them take away experience, take away love and replaced it with java script, I watched it happen. Soon we’ll all be binary and who am I to stop change.

Its what I feel at midnight, no more mind left and no more time. Tomorrow perhaps, only to find there was an imbecile 500 years ago that did it all already. Well, we're all fools, and walking shadows. We're slaves, because we only sleep 7 hours a night and we can't recall a **** conversation when the entirety of humanity depends on it, and we can't spell because we have mental defects. No more patterns, no more sighing, no more acting! The world really is a ****** stage. Can love save us, can work ethic, can anyone save anyone from their manically depressed reality? There's no flame left in the sun, the only thing that is unbearable is that nothing is unbearable. Everything fits into place, no brain is worth bleeding for. They destroy poetry because they don't like it, because no one can understand it, but I can understand it and I want integrity not a herd of sheep. Our death is determined by a quarter inch piece of plastic.

He set logic in the field
and emotion he stuck in our bellies,
where we were to throw up our poetry and
endlessly toil for truth.
Gilded with a helm of instinct
we had nothing but the howling
wind to guide us...

...Now in the days of
Nathk-ame-l there were
unicorns and ******* oats
everywhere.

Slender shoulders and a back that breaks,
Whimper young blood, whimper.
The shotgun warrior shut you up,
oh, but god knows you're a phoenix, aren't you!
Rise Hamlet!
Rise winter and summer, spring and fall!
Rise Romeo! Rise you poet! Remember!

The whole world is a parade, a dream.
I walk 8:00 am, Math God speaks false hymns,
God denies god, white rat teeth in memory foam
world, band-aids. Ascend the steps to the steeple --
I learn nothing, I know nothing. The Girl
with so much to say, the broken machine,
you are more human than anyone I know.
Biology is what we are. Inside there's a harmony,
a song, a 90's feminist punk rock
song stuck inside you, you sit there like
a shriveled vagabond, beaten ****** by the
fear of God, in utter awe.
You cannot speak,
You say everything,
you have a scar, I don't care if it's good or bad, it's the truth, and maybe that's all that matters?
I speak, you write, you say nothing, your scar i physical, it's on your throat, you can't speak, God took it from you, but now he is the only one who can hear you... funny, isn't it?

I've kept it inside too long,
too long have I silenced it.
I will explode, like a carbon bomb,
explosive tissue and bleating stars,
radioactive skin cells, crawling with energy,
the speed of light rolling through my veins,
like thunder in an Amazonian
night, cruxed with the finagling sunlight,
calling some nirvana-esque hipster
to forsake her existence,
picking flowers in the garden of
forever, checking the checkerboard
kitchen, black blood in the conducive mind,
******* out the poison of
coincidence, laying out a spider
without laughter, in the vague
definition of inevitable non-existance,
teach me! TEACH ME!
OH GOD TEACH ME, I AM
OPEN! I WANT TO KNOW!
But oh how I know! oh how the stones will cry!
O! how they will ululate in the night,
screech the keys upon their wooden airy instruments,  
scream with all the effort of a Stradivarius,
O! the noises they will make---
if we do not.

Your crucifix finger tips,
touch the hems of faith,
rub on hope and hopelessness.

"Get your head into the clouds! It's the 25th century! We don't live in the stone age!" -The Dystopia Daily.

"The media turned me gay!" -The media.

"Let's away..." -Mr. ***** joke.

"My season in hell wasn't quite so festive." -Rheumatoid Arthritis Rimbaud.

"They've eradicated anticulture, tossed it away like a fistful of dead roses." -Guy Fawkes.

"The imperfectly perfect subgenres are becoming very popular..." -the sad informist.

"Well, it's just that when everyone is the same, that's my chance to be different. Scrooge was on to  something." -The Narcissist.

"Persistence can change failure into extraordinary achievement." -Matt Biondi

I'm gonna run away from humanity.
Stop eating, defecating, urinating,
consuming, moving, dying, lying, loving,.........(the samsara subset; with a cardinality of the continuum)
I'll take a long good look at God and say,
"Thanks for the apple mate, but I've got bigger fish to fry:
Thanks for the life, but it wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

There was a telephone booth
next to me which I promptly
occupied. I stood there waiting,
wading in my brain seizures.
Someone came an knocked on
the glass saying, "Hey man,
I need to use that thing!"
"I'm waiting!" I say.
"Waiting for what?"
"A phone call from God."
The reply sent shivers down
the spine of the receiver,
sending some kind of
illegible morse code.
The telephone line spoke in tongues.

If you couldn't tell, I'm a pretty jolly fellow.
Fun to have at parties, where I practically **** at all the mirth.
Not because I'm some kind of offset of Richard III, where it's some kind of "winter of discontent," I'm not some kind of scrooge ******* myself out of happiness! it's a much deeper objection.

If you must know, it's because of the trees.
It's life that makes me love death.
It's the beautiful that makes me ugly.

\\
\\\
\\\\
simply me,
simply you,
simply staring at the blue.

serenade,
singing songs,
singing to the calming dawns.

seven years,
sixty six,
seventh eon, burning wick.

start again,
start anew,
simply staring at the blue.

Isn't it fun when we talk about love in such hollow ways?
The verbal fax: vishnu and gone.
My mountains move and the weak boggles himself with the strong.
"I am better."
"No you're not."
"You're taking your opinions as facts."
I said it.
GOD I WISH I WOULD HAVE JUST SAID IT!!!
It wasn't him, it was you, all I understand is all I understand!
Don't you get it? Are you even listening?
If you can't see me, I can't see you!

The ALS kid is carted off to his symphony in the sky:
The death of the nimbus is shown to the moving mountains of our hearts.

Yet I continue lying.

Did you even know I was?
I'm good at that, I'm good at that.
I don't tell people, because I didn't know. I don't know, because I don't know, ya know, and 0-3-0- and furthermore, 5-8-5-3-1-0! I said, 5-8-5-3-1-0! 585310!! R U that dumb?

"Oh..., ohhh, don't say it. Please don't, oh god I don't like it!
Oh we are so equal, do not feel so gone! Like esperity, gone!!"
"Prosperity is my esperity, don't you know? You are more icy than I! You are so ivory, and cold like dead dry ice.




                                                        ­                    I let it go----
I let it fall between here and Hades, I let it go.
How could I, man?
Jeez, I can't get any sleep around here for the cold anti-antiannihilators and the bomb suckers. I like ropes, ya know? They smooth me!
f(x)=sin(x), f'(x)=cos(x), f''(x)= -sin(x), f'''(x)= -cos(x), f4(x)=sin(x),............f4n(x)=sin(x)........................ for eternity mate.
Even a set can contain itself! I'm totally insane! I mean, JEEZ! I try hard to keep my sanity, I surprise myself and tell myself things you don't like.

We are all barnyard animals.

Here's a serious poem, about serious issues and serious people.
I feel wrong. I have amnesia and short term memory loss. Everything that creepeth, creepeth forward. I come to myself in time of need. Alas, he knows my name! I laugh at/ oh muse sing through me:

y =  x3+x2+x+1
y' = 3x2+2x+1
y'' = 6x+2
y''' = 6
y4 = 0
y5=0
y6=00
y7=000
y8=00000
y9=00000000000000000000000000000!!!!­!!!!
it's just ZERO, forever...forever, it's just zero.

"Darkness?"
"Yes, darkness."
"I miss you."
"I miss you like I miss the summer in the winter;
like I miss winter in the spring; fall when I'm empty;
like the moon: The cold florida moon.
I miss you like I miss my childhood.
I miss you like I miss time."

"It's just a collection of dots; time."

"I know. Everything is time; we are all a collection
of dots."
"We are empty."
"We are time"
"and time is empty"

"But what's to say we're not time?"

"A simple fact: motion is always measured over time.
Physically speaking, nothing 'is' without time."

"But aren't we more than physical?"

"Maybe...Just maybe..."
"It's better than being nothing."
"Yeah, but it's too easy, I don't buy it."
"You don't have to..."

"Oh Monsieur!
OH MONSTER!!"
Cindy:
Her veins and arms bulged
with irreversible damage.
One day she caught fire;
She is still burning,
In heaven she is burning.

Names meant nothing during ****
"What is in a name?"

Be yourself,
Through yourself;
No other medium is quite as effective.
Profound things just bleed through me, like I'm an open casket,
and you're the sun.
I am... I need... I want....
Analyze, Analyze, ****...
Looking, I found,
Finding, I learned,
Learning, I forgot,
Forgetting, I loved,
Loving, I remembered...

From start to finish I will
forever be a dim-wit
mavrit, talkin' like I'm over-it,
singin' like a hypocrit and thinkin' like a god.

I remember the yellow that shaped me,
the 70 sheets of paper that say, "READ ME."
We all wish to be red.

The chemical dust of rain shot its soul onto the stop sign, which blew sideways from the opposite facing caravans of new thought, "The Thoughtless Carol." Caroling into the night to Ebeneezer who rejected the cold Florida moon echoing over its waters, shooting fireworks into the rainbow cured sour sky which was busy writing its suicide note, being fed up of the proses it didn't deserve. "Life is overrated." It said as it met its maker who replied, "I know what you mean..." There was a hurricane, or at least a harsh wind that scattered the hanging tree ashes around and we drove and gladly crunched over a youngly corpse and hit every deer and "dear life," which decided to look for loved and lost on the highway, "The Lost Highway." Yes I believe Hank hit the mark with that one. And the waves shook me and I awoke to a dream or maybe life and reality, if those words could ever truly be defined. The American flag whipped its tail and dipped its fresh ideas into negative pH leveled acid, corroding its stripes and bleeding the stars into a thirsty, scraggly ground which gladly ate the bits of ethnocentrism, stopping the grass from growing. Why? Because I had only twenty-some letters to choose from and these are the only words that should or could be made. The only words that ever deserved to be written. And I'm pretty sure this page is going to hang itself, because this is like the most boring poem ever and I'm a boring poet:
"A Poem's Suicide!"
"The Slit-Wrist Prose!"
"The Toaster-Bath Ode!"
"The Overdosed Elegy!"
"The Free-From-Life Free-Verse!!!!"

The animal 'neath a-thousand mirrors-----
Science~
Just a word
Life~
Just a thought
Death~
Just an absence
Jesus~
Drinks absenthe
I~
Is another
Her~
She's rubber
An' bends... bends.... bends    ,
The animal 'neath a-thousand mirrors,
Flustered on-looker, speak to me, tell
me of the signs, of your revelations,
Explain God to me
Let's convert eachother,
Flustered hair rubber.

Again, I am in front of a ghost. I remember the days when I lived in a spaceship, and there was that white rat, that beautiful white rat, whose hair was so black and whose bones were sickly. Black Jacket, Red Pants, curse-words from mother mary herself.
I wanted to draw. I miss those days. My salad days. And sometimes I fall in love with the poet and I'm aesthetic, but yet, there is beauty in a mathematician.

As a poet,
You let yourself go as a poet,
As a poet,
You let yourself go.
As a poet,
You let everyone know you're a poet.
As a poet, you let yourself go,
And then everyone knows, as a poet,
You let yourself go.

The night is blank, like venison.
John Wesley Harding held my hand through the river.
The end is nigh.
Tomorrow things will be different, things will change.
I have so much passion, it's a curse.
I'm tired of tomorrows. I'm tired of being a fool.
I don't want to be a walking shadow.
I was born a walking shadow, so I was doomed from the start.

I find myself in love with everything and nothing but confusion  to show for it.
I see myself and I am a small patch of existence. I question myself.
Why do I care about something so insignificant?
Why do I love her and hate him. I once despised strong emotion, but now I've learned to be rude and decisive.
Now, for the sake of heart, I must forget what I've learned.

I was born yesterday, it's a fact.
Running down the mountain is the green of the Earth, the metaphor of life. Pouring out itself is the wind, singing softly an echo of eternity. Rising from the sky a great pillar, and a message therein embedded presupposed perpetual motion.

There is good, and there is evil. There is life and there is death. There is creation and there is destruction.
Destruction has so much power, for everything is in constant decay, and yet, creation wins. Though people die, life wins in the end. Sure, it's optimistic, but I don't care!

I see you now...

Hair over your beautiful face, and you tell me,
without saying a word... you tell me....

Availons twain twixt thus brighte biste
Hestorienne devoureed Christe
Holloe tou tu esn't et est.

Louvre, Le Louvre ist mi.
Bootes of sootes clamour shouerin'
Flouer in heand, beautie en Maie, Marche und Aprille.
Mama et moi no us or tu terrile.

Caspidate, inspedre, endre, spedistor, fouallona, mortalivus, vieliefe.

Good God, just confess already!!
I love... Ilove... Ilive, lie, liove, lovie,
She kissed me once on my cheek, deadly and deathandmorteanddeadandlifelessandvieless and now i love her, i want... ive never loved anyone, but now i know. I'll name him Theo, because of our God complex and i love you.

Act I
Scene I
Enter: James, I, thou, her, it, us, him and God.

Me: It's breaking me apart.

Exeunt.

hearts trembled,
and the hyena trembled and
the Jack sighed and
Breathless was the ground.

She comes and goes
And comes and goes around.

Her foot is the dawn redawning.

The splintered night called us vain, and we let it!
We cried, "TAKE US, WE ARE WEAK! We are empty."
There was nothing left of us but stones and rustic anthologies of our sinful pasts.

"Please take us! We can find nothing..., I mean, NOTHING worth living for."
"You dreadful, dreadful dadaist. You simply are missing some Rimbaud in yr life."
"What? Do you want me to rediscover something, eh!? So this is what it's come to, bohemian cliches and worthless dramatic lingo... You know what I think!!? I think Drama can go take a long walk off a short pier!!! My infatuation with love is dead. I was head over heels but now she sleeps with the fishes. That isn't drama, that's the truth."

In the rain, I fell in love with the rain.
Golden-gal with electra complex,
For all the years I told myself
I was the villain...

Inside your mind, I fell in love with your mind.
I was behind a goodbye, by then,
And nothing could come to save my sin,
save sin,
And alas the lass is electric...

Recalling the past, I fell in love with the past.
Somewhere seems a cloud in the mirror
but how, but how, but how would I know?
Change is the delta, and my heart's
the delta blues:
     "me an' the devil;
     sittin' side by side."

There's too much judgement in the world for me to follow my heart.
And the heart's too delicate to be judged.

We strike up conversations,
A spark of dying flame.
Kindle built from imitations,
Glee is folly and a game.

Bootless is our falsity,
No one knows our name.
****** be outward chastity!
****** be this wretched game!

My only joy is being true,
My only sorrow lame.
Lame I am, and lame it is,
I'm crippled by a game.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.
But I'm serious, so very serious.
I wish you could hear me.
I am happy though, so lavishly gay and bright.
I wish I knew what it was like so I wouldn't....
I want people to trust me. I don't want people to fear me, to see the disgust that I am, I want them to see innocence, and girlishness and and see me as relatable. I WILL NOT JUDGE YOU! I WILL NOT! I love hearing about you and your struggles, about your sorrows, and I can understand it, because I can feel just like you can feel and I love to feel what you are feeling for that is my only feeling.

I try to justify everything. If I do something I can't explain, or say something I might not like, or think that a person might not like it, I try to justify it with some kind of reasoning. Such as, "It's poetic" or "sounds pretty" or "be worth is someday."

I just want to be understood, and I want to understand you. Can you not hear the gentle bass of the Milky Way galaxy, slowly turning, and us, a virus, an atom, a quantum, a tinny tinny thing doing silly boring things like brushing our teeth, walking, reading, writing, doing things we don't understand, doing things we can't understand, being in love, being out of it, eating candy, having ***, giving ***, doing homework, cleaning, worrying, eating more candy, drawing pictures, thinking, holding, creating, destroying, recycling, creating destroying, recycling, creating, destroying, recycling, can we do nothing else?

Turn, world, turn, sun, around in a slow beautiful bbbbbmmmmmm....
you are so beautiful!
Hands that know what to do,
feet that say things and tell you that life is precious and nothing is funny. Beautiful!
Life is so serious. We do things that are VAIN. To be vain means to do things which have no good purpose. We wash things so they are clean only to make them ***** again.

A man will, in winter, put his heavy coat on, zip up the zipper, pick up a hat and smooth it on to his head across his hair, then, take his left glove and put it on his left hand and take his right glove and put it on his right hand, put his left sock on his left foot, then put his right sock on his right foot, next he puts his left boot on his left foot and puts his right boot on his right foot, he reaches over and tightens the laces of the left boot then makes an "X" with the laces and puts the end of the right most facing lace under the left most and sticks it through the hole and pulls them tight to create a knot, next he creates a long ear-shape like that of a bunny using the right lace and wraps the left lace around counter-clockwise, next he sticks the sideways left lace through the passage that was created by looping the lace around, creating another ear, then he tightens both ears, he makes another "X" with the ears and loops the right most ear under and trough the hole, then tightens them by a process called "double knotting." He then takes this process of double knotting and applies it to his right boot. He stands up and goes to the front door, walks down the driveway and goes into his heated van so he can drive to his temperature controlled desk job. We are creatures of habit. We do the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and ov.......&...^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&^&...

I'm tryin' to teach a chair how to walk,
they have legs, but they just can't use 'em.

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.