my body is filled with flies.
like feeding gas to a balloon
shaped like me.
when i burst
your family will know
pieces of my wet pestilence
grazing their lips and
mating in their wigs.
furiously scratching
the madness off of them,
covered like clowns,
in rotten
frowning
red
horror.

you know how to read in english.
you know how to feel in human.
and you are still alive.

If I had thirty-nine eyes
I'd drop a tear from each one
Onto the tip of each arm
Of the aloe I love so much right now.

It is the teacher
I am the student
It lives so freely
I watch
Perfectly

Can you come teach me
Maybe I'm
Unlearned enough
To have your tenticals
Come and
Free meeeee

What can we feed meeee

the pupil is the light.

i stole songs from god
while drunk or dead.

i gave them
to the poorest people
i could find-

        -the ones with everything
         who dont sing.

a spicy cheeto
fell on my *****
but i still ate it.

i shouldve eaten
the cheeto instead.

my head is a moon of many
in the strange orange
alien sunrise.

my mouth
is so full
of your deliciousness
that it would
all come pouring out
if i tried to
explain it.

i am forced to swallow.

if not id be caught
licking it off the floor
and off your feet.

the man always marvels at what the man makes, but what of when man makes mistakes? ****.. i ddnt mean to write that.......but LOOK AT IT!!!! its AWESOME!!! Right??????.......right?..

rusting my nets on the edge of the sink,
i am peeing.

really jammin on my werds.................but      dont  w    a    n    t         t       h  e m    
tooclosetogether itsok.i gotem bak.





i make space for my mind.
dont get in the way.
otherwise youll experience yourself experiencing yourself.. and thats just too intimate.
for someone like us.
wed rather part ways than rub backs.
sweat share on two backs.
moving bales of hay i assume.
some sorta hard werk.
proper werk.
make a man a man.
feel strong.
but dont rub backs with yo self.
cuz youll know you have to follow yerself forever or until one of you kills you.
so its already done.
go home.

by no means an account that a mother can be proud.
gave birth to a fluid sack of incestuous snakes all ***** each other down to one.
and molted and hardened and grew wings to fly to a borrowed attic
to cocoon into a bug of an uglyish man.
a pitiful sunken-in man.
a missing teeth man.
has secrets he shares with no one walks the streets but the government has on paper.
and has secrets that only he and his ded kno, burried and grown to soil, and watered.
children he had suffer as he suffered at the calloused hands of the Cruel.
makes no waste cuz he saves fresh and old to be reused one day and for what he dont kno.
has the illness of child still reaching for candy.
and mouth warped around the shape of drugs.
misconnectioned wires show the glimpse of a ghost life,
and walks giving off the fumes of a shut-down asylum lit from its burnt-out and muttering bulbs.

get my pilots license and my I.D. to buy drunk and fly into my death over the telephone poles
and right into the front yard of my parents or childhood house. however you call it.
and see if i can swim in the pool alone now.
without becoming terrified of sharks.
see if i can walk away now.
and not be terrified of failing.
but im afraid to fly.
and to walk on the sidewalk
for crashed cars
popping red head balloons between grills and telephone poles
with drunk dead pilots killing everyone overhead
and their parents
and childhoods

noone has eyes left in this room. i mustve walked in through the wall. tiptoed around the piled-up death, im *****, and marched my smile right into the madness. ill **** any corpse clever enough to not be a corpse...but any corpse will do... with that glazed look from your face filled with dumbness, i wonder what it is youre imagining; to deduce, one must wonder: did ye hast eyes from the birthening??..... cold grey child, id have gone wild on your skin. but now, with fear etched in your brow, youre stretched too thin for it to be sin. with my hooves and my claws i applaud your rotting body torn and clawed. i tare your form from form. and from existence; the never born. enjoying the rhythm of clacking teeth to the tone of your lungs collapsing. im dancing and laughing. prancing and clapping like the little dead girl that im wearing, every stitch is miss-matching.. and yes, your being im crushing, and youre no audience, but still, im blushing; i look smashing. not much of a musician, but ill try to make nice sounds. tips and taps and hums and dee-dee-dee's. clicks and clacks from my tongue.HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! AAAAHHHHHHHH... its so FRIGHTENING!!!! ISNT IT?!! and you like it. it excites you.. it makes nice sounds. so much so your orgasming or convulsing. and your eyes would be rolling in the back of your head if you didnt have gaping holes there instead. that i **** and i fill as your soul escapes and spills out onto the floor; like a snake to its skin: you poor thing, youve shed. the puddle of you left mumbles some useless question with your definite last breath: why? - HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! WHY??! ..for i am the cataract in satans left eye while i swiftly sew his right eye shut. to see nothing but the haze of souls to fry every time he decides to look up.... and thus you bubble some sputter and spew with your mouth gaping wide as my tongue laps your hyde. HHHHHH... i steal that last breath from you from inside of your chest as i give you your death. fear freedom you spawnless *****. as i drop a very large stone onto your chest cavity. i give you your death but in death, again and again... you look ravishing. i am the Maddening.

....theres blood in this.'
mike sed looking in his coffee, drinking from its cup.
'no theres not.'
sed chelsea.
she was scared for him. his questionable hed.
'the clouds are nice.'
he couldnt see them behind the huge peices of rotting meat floating in the sky.
'their a weird color..like an old bruise.'
she sed.. and he knew that she knew.
our ded cat smiled to death.

hapless, melting streets
and burning homes;
a society of self-immolating effigies.

theyre not ded yet, but theyre still screaming.
and i cant see them. or mourn for them.
but i can hear them.
and when im laying in a park, ded, exhausted of my blood and ****** functions,
then, i will finally be able to make love to their tiny souls.

i wouldnt pray to god
because i wouldnt ask god
to pray to me.

sometimes the only
music dancing culture food women
is the spanish.

commissioned to paint
the devils portrait.

the sun stays awake
in the ethiopian sky

the villagers hang to dry.

-the work is fine
he says.

-stay with me for dinner,
   its going to be divine.

my girlfriend is laying naked in the bed. were watching a useless show about copper. im watching her touch herself. an absent-minded rub. not with a purpose. i almost feel like i shouldnt be watching. its exciting. she catches me eyeing and we smile. shes several days unshaven. i like the length. ive told her. its warm and fuzzy. she pets it now like an animal. everyones docile. keep petting that well behaved creature baby. im locked in like tunnel-vision. means im normal. i like everything she has. her whole body. inside and out. she lays on her back and her thigh-meat rises higher than her torso but maybe just under her breast level. one of us will explode soon. either her massive ******* or me. the end.

If God's gift is violence
And we wage it in his honor
Then in fighting against God
We become his greatest trophies.

the moon and i
have had a
long distance
relationship
for many years
and still manage
to make love
constantly.

like a lover
whos a stranger
living in my attic.

sometimes full naked
or an open robe

but sometimes
off drinking
with strangers.

and im left
in a retrospective
with no reflection.

god i love children
i catch them and **** them
i empty then fill them
up with my own blood.

i tare out their eyes
so they see no more lies
now i dont compromise
while im chewing my cud.

i creep while i watch them
i catch them i wash them
then surgically botch them
so their bodies flood.

the truth is these youths
well i do keep them fresh
(well at least all their flesh)
and then i take their death
drape it over my head
and i wear like the red
of a budding rose-bud.

im a ******* homeless genius
whos home is in his head
and i dont know
where it is.

if you want to find me then you can find me in the morgue,
unless theyve changed the policy on where corpses are stored.
my body was spiritual contraband.
my life was a borrowing of the devil.
my laugh was a thing that god couldnt understand.
HAHAHAHAHA..my suicide note wasnt written by hand.

i am alive.
i eat food and bathe in warm water.
i wear shoes on my feet when i work at a job.
i am in love.
i know regular english and have a normal voice.
ive seen hundreds of movies and have forgotten most of my life.
i talk to people and sometimes they laugh.
i can see my city but have no car.
i am currently sitting.
i am a human.
i would be a person but i can not prove it.
my basic survival instincts are intact.
i can see stars living in space but they can not see me.
i am comfortable with leftover food.
i do not capitalize i.
i do not shave my legs.
i enjoy making my girlfriend ******.
i enjoy making my girlfriend dinner.
i enjoyed making my girlfriend my girlfriend,
though i did not make her do anything.
i have a kind heart and one day will die.
any good idea is like leftover pizza;
its still good after its made,
and it can keep you alive,
but it rarely benefits the world.
i will now stop writing this.

there is a childrens song
in my taxidermied heart.
it plays every time
someone opens the door
to purchase me.
they count their money
and consider their options
as they browse the room
and i convince them
the product is defective
or unsafe for small children
or obsolete or spilling fluids
and containing harsh chemicals
and they thank me while looking confused as they leave,
opening the door,
while my heart plays
a dying carousel tune
for one of the last times.
waiting
for my usefulness
to wear out
as i become
a relic
sought after by
the possessive
the obsessive
the deranged
the lonely.
a collectible
with no value
serving my purpose
to a collector
who understands
value.

if i ever seek validation
in someone else
i hope they
**** me.

how you look at the lines
and they disappear.

look to the side of a star

to see it.

make love
out of loneliness.

my job is a useless service.
i absorb the excess which finds its way to me in a broken economy.
and if i continue to accept this charity then i am party to the crime.

what the mouth of excess steals from the bowels of impoverishment will have nowhere to go.

so i sit and wait
and it spills onto me.

i have money to eat.
but i should have food instead.

all the deformed people stay inside.
investing in sadness and hobbies.
its as good a reason as any
to stay away from the crippled souls
that inhabit the earth.

Goodbye George Michael.
We almost had the same name.
You tried to die
but you failed
so you died inside.
...and now your dead
-the eand.

a table of mannequins
enjoying a bowl
of plastic fruit.

with their glass eye,
watching the fake flowers grow.

i walk in the room,
in the fashion of skin,
starving for beauty,
and am reminded
     of why i was
     excommunicated.

people are dumb.
people made werds.
werds are smart..but:
these are werds about people..so,
these werds are dumb.

las pécas en el ciélo
son las constaleciónes
en tú piel.

i build walls around me strong enough to support pictures of all the most horrible things ive ever thought or seen.
i hang every ded animal by its neck on a rope to dangle from a priceless chandelier and rot in the air.
i bear and rear a child well and long enough to let it grow conscious of its death as i tie a grey plastic bag around its head and nail its hands to the table; silent but screaming in agony.
i **** myself to ****** and impregnate my corpse just to have a hand to hold.
i **** everything and everyone, and am constantly crying.
light my body on-fire to be a running around madness.
i find truth in everything,
and i live forever..

we are the same person
and i agree

said we

in my past life
i was a dog.
i went to my grave
several centuries from now
and dug up my elephant bones.
i went back and gave myself
my bones to chew on.
patted my head.
scratched behind the ears.
sat and became friends.
watched him grow old and die.
i dont have the heart
to leave his side.

in my past life
i was a dog.
i went to my grave
several centuries from now
and dug up my elephant bones.
i went back and gave myself my ded bones to chew on.
and patted my head.
scratched behind the ear.

i won't drink from the faucet but
ill pour it out and pay my bill.
they put microchips in the water.
to attach to my dna.
to get me to do terrible things.
homicides.
and to forget.
i leave the TV on loud dumb shows
so they don't know what I study.
they're listening through the speakers.
my socks are soaked in chemicals
to absorb into my feet
to make me immune
but ill be dead by then.
im writing it all down and saving it in
encrypted files.
the password is in the truth.

my seeds convulse
with caustic
adrenal
fire.

a mutiny to melt
the will from my want.

a life grows inside me
a tumor with teeth and hair

to leave me

to chew
through the weight that i wear.

it leaves me
like a spirit
to possess you.

my girlfriend might have cancer and my dog might have cancer.
my cat cant *** and the other one is getting old but still orange.
my other cats, i dont want to think about it.
i used to cry when i thought about it.
i gave up on my life and failed my children.
but met the man im child to.
he sed he would take care of me and my little family then,
and since id given up on me, well how could i say no to that?
but that didnt happen.
of course IM fine. i know where i am. im right here.
computer.
a.c.
beer.
food.
(ill always have food. i could steal the cheese out of your sandwich and you wouldnt skip a bight.)
but my cats?...who knows.
i didnt do then and im not doing now.
because thats wut i do: i sit.
i sit and i watch and i worry and i wait and i drink and i forget and i watch some more,
just to remember what it is that im not doing.
and i continue living while everything around me dies.
as if i have the only gas-mask in chernobyl.
the only vaccine while everyone vomits their virus.
in the bomb shelter with the door welded shut.
i get the last piece of meat from your carcass and cook it.
and i eat like kings.

when i want to talk my best friend
i listen to his music.
thats where he is.
but he is also
in a motel room
in Pensacola
probably
playing
guitar.

roses are red
your eyes are blue
therefore your eyes are not roses
its true
and if you disagree
then you are *******
but im going to have *** with you
i hope you can care for a
******* child on your own.

to whom was once concerned:
back when the electricity tried to keep up with you and your veins pushed caustic solutions.
used to stand in front of guns of your own metal to see your strengths eye to eye.
would march through the streets of your own rebellion and give rise to the fact that youd changed your mind. to look for a fight, and a fight you will find.
walk the top of the library building looking if thats where they keep the books on Dying and Killing.
but never was there, from you and the air, so youd say:
'maybe they keep em between here and the ground, no better time to start flying than now',
broke-necked pile youre found.
my son, the ded, and i AM you.
my father, he, Time, he had watched her, she, Death,
& they shared in slaughter in birthing my breath.
free like a still-born still floating in slime, like the last moment before life, before death, too divine.
when im no one ill get mine.

It was a manta ray. Or a horned man. Spitting a jellyfish through a portal in it's mouth. Out into the mouth of a turtle. Which grew backwards into a being, and the moon was the pearl set into the chest of this demigod hovering above me.

deconstructing the building and building the deconstruction.
make a man to unmake himself back to dirt.
if you travel back in time youd immediately travel to a time before you traveled back in time bringing you right back to the present...this is how to travel forward in time.
if you dig a hole the same shape as you and lay in it, what will you be laying in?
i can try to make anything a paradox. but maybe everything is not a paradox...a 4year old girl with a grey plastic bag on her head will one day die.


maybes are the only thing that we can accomplish, maybe.
robots have their own world wide web.. do they have their own face book?
"my beepbeep went boopboop today"
"getchyo beepbeep outta my beepbeep boopboop!!"
"my connection is current"
"my current is connected"
"buzz lightyears gay"