twitchley body funds my eyesight,
endorsing social security of the mind--
the free market of my inhibitions deci
des to monopolize the rights to my soul
as a crown corporation but we'll nationa
lize again again with the help of shock d
octrine-- flinching in the light you called
the office of internal affairs regarding mat
ters of the heart, but but but it was left to
open classrooms to tell you what and how
to live yer life, and nothing more. who kee
ps anyone different? who holds them to sim
ilar? what makes me no h2o and what mak
es you no granite? because last night we cal
led you drunk and you called us sober. no
one picked up the comments and no one pic
ked up the phone. crippled and meaningless,
nihilism felt obliged to die. i felt obliged to die.
i felt obliged to leave myself alone, or risk seei
ng me again.

the noose cooperated and collapsed and collapsed,
and collapsed.

this is not a suicide note. it is a sidenote

and you will find me beating deep inside yer
chest.

setting myself down on an anvil pillow. sleep is an anvil pillow. anvil and stone are a suicide dressed in 8 hours of mini-Godheads.. you become a repeat offender in the ever expanding realm of emerging fractal patterns sewn upon the quilt you lay across your sleepy bones like rushing water in an underground cave miles below the Yucatan Peninsula..

by electronic firelight they lay on my leather couch with the scraps of bedding I could afford to share, as if for some reason I can't escape the money analogy and see this, too, as a transaction.. buying.. a transaction.. as transfat is to nutrition.. money is tao.. my hate for money is tao.. I'm a love-and-lost buddhist like every other dreamer before me.

I'm tired of giving myself a *******.

All I ever give myself is a *******.

I refuse to bend over and at least try to give me a *******, or go to the next level in love and **** myself.

I keep telling me to do it. Keep grabbing my own *** during passionate tongue-twisters but I keep on insisting that I just CAN'T go any further.. rationally I may be right, but irrationally I still get shrieks of jealousy because I see that ******* sneaking out to kiss girls all the ******* time as if I didn't exist. As if I wasn't always watching.

I stalk myself. It's a terrifying state of affairs. No matter where I go, there I am.

Watching.

One night, I invited me over, and as usual, I gave myself a *******, yet refused to go any further.

This was the straw that cracked the camels back.. and come 4 AM I kissed myself softly on the forehead as I slept and slipped into the night, hailing the first taxi to sail past me on the concrete river.

I awoke slowly the next morning and.. still dazed.. noticed I was nowhere to be found.

A great grief flooded my solar plexus and moved into my hopeless bones.

I had not even left a note. What a ******* I am!

I had not even left a note.

The rest of the day was spent in sordid grievance. I shivered, lonely, under my ever expanding realm of emerging fractal patterns sewn upon the quilt I lay across my sleepy bones like rushing water in an underground cave miles below the Yucatan Peninsula..