its pointless to talk to them
when theyre drunk.
unless youre drunker.
listening to them is like
breathing in their farts
their automobile exhaust
their skin particles
celebrating their
weddings
promotions
birthdays
which celebrate
their sloppy
lives
minds
speeches
quips
haircuts
shirts
success
inconsi­deration
debt to
society
humanity
love
life
everything
except
for
them.

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"

a dead centipede
is curled up
at the foot of the door
of her apartment.
it was waiting to be let in to love her.
it is waiting to be let in.

it is a small smile on the floor.
a frown at the door.

my skin is a wax coat of pesticides.
leaking into the moisture of my meat.
my pit is a genetically unsound mass.

the only pure fruit
is the idea of the fruit.

it blossoms in a field
which weighs less than air.
it feeds on a substance
lighter than light.

a hellish hunger frozen over
icecicles for teeth im sober
like chewing rocks as i get older
one day it will be over.

life is a 2D four-leaf-clover
theres nothing when you turn it over
one day it will be over.

the devil died and came back
to build houses on my shoulder
rocking chair on front porch
creaking cracks til black
is what the snow turned.
there was death
in every breath
i ever told her.

MAD AS A HATTAH!!!!
GOT THE MERCURY IN ME FINGERTIPS I DID!!!
WIGGLED ITS WAY
INTO MY BLOOD
AND WORKED ITS WAY
UP INTO MY BRAIN!!
TOOK A TRIP AND GOT LOST
IN THE COUNTRY IT DID
AND LIVES IN A BROKEN DOWN
TRUCK ON WOODEN BLOCKS!!

I'd rather be alone in the woods
Starving and dying

They make makeup
For faces
That aren't mine
In the mirror
That I'm cleaning
When they're done...

I clean their toiletts
And the tile they walk on too.

If I were any less low
I'd lick their shoes.

Growing bored and beard hair
Since I don't care.

It's a massive distance around us
But at least we never curse and cuss.

Am I always confused
Or am I always just

Like the animal
Living inside of me
No not the spirit
But the old man that was

Befooooore
I was booooorn
The one that brought me here
With his dear?

i need a new place to live.
my body is a corrupt state.
the townships
are promised fortune
by big business moving in.
supplying me with a job
so i can buy what they sell.

useless objects purchased
by sexless people.
objects they make love to
the only way they know how.
they bring neighbors
and ****** are spilled
from under dressing room doors
onto shoes designed for
this sort of marathon.

your new blouse: ******
your bracelet: true love

pharamone spray
in bottles smells
like commercials
selling eternal youth
and animal lust
which your body
used to sweat
onto a mattress
with no sheets
in an apartment
with no power.

there is nothing left for a person like me because i dont feed on the privileged or the stupid.
and i dont move mountains but the privileged pay for that and the stupid do for pay.
my payoff is always cynicism and poor habits and debt.
a gun would pay for itself 3-fold on day 1.
all im really missing is a gun.
but i need one to get one.

tripping in a cemetary
having almost conversations
with ducks.

these ducks are somethin else
i tell you what.

all i have is water.
and here comes mr.iguana.

OH NO!!
ibis dont mind,
and i might be getting carried away by ants right now.

gotta go.

the dryer
is screaming.
its teeth
are gleaming
red.

the washer
is dead.

i can see
through your clothes
through your skin.

youre a dancing skeleton.

held together with
muscles of the heart.

sliding into my psyche;
youre an apparition

leaving glass fingerprints
all over my kissing skull
as we shatter into people.

love spoke centuries
about our names

a sound only bouncing between us
now that weve met;

making our shapes
and making them mouths
to speak our own sounds
to eachother.

people on this website confuse the very much out of me.
you probably assume that you are like me and you are not one of them, but you probably are.
you probably give yourself too much credit. ive almost stopped. it must come with age. or maybe i was just born to ware out soon. you guys will still be going strong when EVERYTHING goes green. im sifting through the crumbs of industrial revolutions. getting high on the fumes of my own apocalypse. its like this: all you have to do in this life is set a few birds free. not even save em. just go to the store and buy a few gray-blue birds, regular birds, and take em outside, and set em free. after that you dont need to be right by anyone in this world. youve done your part. those birds are out there, makin baby birds makin baby baby birds, long after your good and gone, god rest everyones soul. those birds and baby birds are out there planting trees and ****. keeping the balance. and you can sit around and pleasure yourself or off yourself or whatever your heart decides.

empire is a word and i will build one with them one day.

These things don't write themselves. Somebody has to build the machine that spits it all out. Relentlessly. Forever. A whole country standing in line to build a story they never have time to read. We're all slaves in this one. The dead leading the dead.

lets all do some synthetic drugs.
then give eachother
some synthetic hugs.
then get real violent.

im coming back down
to the ground.

this where i belong.

i wrote this dream in a song.

no.

im never coming down
to the ground.

this is where i belong.

declaring the great war then winning while losing.
the perfect man sits down, with the wacko, and discovers:
im too perfect to understand this guys ineptitudes.
and thinks and equates and considers then concludes:
i am the perfect one, i should be the only one..
but then becomes lonely and sad and crippled,
and just needs a hand to hold, or to end him.
..keep trying

when the blind
fall in love
with the beautiful.

A broken mind can't fix a broken mind...
I dare you to try to find..
a good way out..


Paint the walls in dead..
paint the walls in flesh.
Die to give new breath..

the painted wall it covers me...
I'm left to be shed...

one day youll look in your heart
and youll see everyone.

ill remove all the small bones from inside your hand
and piece them together back into a spider to infest my house
and lay its eggs in my skull.
getting fat on my grey matter, massaging my soul.

bartram viscarpratoria.
meldienn te le'an
de aas arfrentenmia.

frey ah deranmos.

tor toranmiasenkredermonoto kri.

chass ta lasanma toro.

toro toro.

shas ve ter
toro toro.

elegant are angels,
but devils too.

shoulders are not patrons,
and not ears.

and the mind is but a gateway;

to the soul
the crucible
lives its course
and shaves the body
of its life
and of its skin.

dust is made
from the petals.

a mess is made
of the floor.

a trail is made;
it is heaven.
it is war.

last night, my girlfriend had a dream that all the rich people got together and gave all the poor countries of the world rich soil to grow their crops. i had a dream i was doing something dimensional with my mind. the sad thing is, its totally possible. i guess i cant say i dont know where to begin.
i know where to begin.

of all my prized possessions
that ive earned
ive earned them not as much as when i
give them away.

words have no soul
but they speak to me

the train trudges by
without meaning
speaking of its street art
in a digital tongue

You can put me
in the ground.

You can surely do that.

If you have hands,
sure

and a knife, yes.

a gun, of course.

or,
i don't know..

run me down
with your car

toss me in
a vat of acid

or maybe
train your
Lioness

to maul me

and

to eat me.

you could get inventive with it.
inventiveness is good
i'd adore you for that.

or,

well..

i'd say,
make it
an old fashioned
kind of affair.

swing a shovel
well into my head
and bury me
where i lie.

you'll want a shovel.
yes you will.
your hands,
they're ***** enough already,
i'd say.

and,
it's an awful lot of work-
those graves.

can't make em too shallow.
you don't want to hang.
cuz they'll find you.
and they'll hang you.
they can't dig enough graves
when they forge for themselves
the RIGHT to do so.

...above ground cemetery...

They make Junkyards
out of neighbors.
strangers..

-anyone..

..anyone they can CATCH!
that they can get
enough sets of HANDS on
to hold down.

To judge.

With the collective mind
of the many-headed-beast.

and you're one of the moving pieces
in that swarm of hate..

..that frenzy of Blood-thirst.

that Madness of Zombies...

You are a vital *****.
I've seen how you Pulse,
like the red in your eyes..

and,
so,

my friend.
my enemy.
I tell you this:

You can bury me,
i'll allow it.
I might flinch.
I might scream.
The body is involuntary.
It's a shaky contraption.
And you can bury it,
however you want,
but you can not **** me..

THAT....you can not do.

No matter how much you might hunger for it.

No matter
what DEVIL
your name may be.

You can not **** the Heart
which beats outside of this body.

You can not **** the Heart
which beats beyond this world.

heaven isnt in the clouds.
its on a roof.
sweating
sweeping puddles of water
and little rocks
for hours.
swimming
in my own
pure fluids.
patching the cracks
in the cocoons
of the priveledged.
patching the cracks
in the cocoon
for the watch maker.
the cocoons for
the toddlers who pupate
and molt into parents
leaving their kids
in stranger places.
in the apartment building
so the rain doesnt move in
and ruin all the poverty.
patching the cracks
in the meat factory
so the meat can stay dead
in a safe environment.
and be shipped in fat trucks
to the poverty stricken obese
who party on pure meat
while the babies are away
and make love to each other's
rotting colons.
and im melting black tar chemicals
with fire on the roof
losing 8 pounds of my pure fluids
filling in the cracks
that let the good air in.

but maybe it's not a building.
or an abattoir or babies
or the watch maker and the
pinched nerve in his wrist.

maybe its the people in cocoons
dreaming up their suffering
inventing cracks
to let the suffering out
and the good air in.

maybe it's just raining
in their lives.

and im patching the cracks
in a cloud.

and my pure fluids are the puddles
where you slip and break your neck
as soon as you think youve got it.

i wake up from dreaming you saying
ill love you tomorrow
and everyday after that

i wake up and wonder
what you're dreaming

“we fight as a team which i leave."

an egg shell lays broken
in my skull.
and a chameleon
melts its colors
into music there.
shedding roots
down to my
fingertips
playing love
on your
lower back
while you sing
worldless sweat
into my neck
where i keep
your name.

a madness of zombies
ran through my dream
while i lay there.

insatiable and
eating my way
back into my egg

dismantle my mandible bone
blood and stone
concrete leaks from my cheeks
when i speak

if you have a glow of light on youre face
you're a witch.
an ignis fatum is a spirit
trying to share your body.
a kahuna speaks to other worlds
and can show you
in a bowl of liquid.
if you have the technology
and you have the good intentions
it can be fixed.
but all the progress is dogma.

a skeleton with no bones
dances everywhere
silent letters for teeth
with no talking
its breath in a bag
blowing past the front door
of an abandoned building
with no floor.
a rat trap snapping on a rats back
is percussion.
a dead rat is friend to talk to.
Hunger is invited to an empty table.
the cracks in the paint
scratch and claw up the wall.
the walls excuse
themselves from the room.

the applause of a silent audience
is the stage
filling in the performers tomb.

ahummingbirdlodged
initsthroatchokingit -
laughingandsinginganddying

clappingandhappyandfull
are the people so
dreadfulaheadfullofhorrorandhell

Once there was a floating hand and it had nobody and it was in the middle of nowhere and it floaded to the middle of nowhere for a time that was inconceivable until one day I found a floating pencil... And it picked up that floating pencil... and I thought yay now I can make some friends and at first I just threw some shapes and they were awful and horrible and it hated itself so it gave up but then after a while it decided to hone its skills and it drew a dragon monster and the dragon monster came to life and it decided that dragon monsters were terrifying so it got away from the dragon monster but it's still all of its gold and made some chains out of it and became a rapper and it live that kind of life for a while but then it decided that it was tired of that life and its last album was about becoming a better person... Then one day I decided I don't need somebody else I just need to feel complete... So it decided to draw a wrist and an arm and a torso and legs and the neck and the head and a ***** and a ****** because it figured what the hell there's nobody else here to judge me I'll just be a man and a woman... But now that it was a person it became lonely again the way through a bunch of friends and a bunch of people to be around it and once they came to life they looked at it and said growth of hermaphrodite and it died of shame in Exile the end

the huge fragments castling high above the break were tremendous in stature and statues strength could not unmake,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and the swirl of lights were scattered spheres with scattered brains all stained with smears of squares,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and one, some glare led there to veer to here to where a stare could steer the cheer from ware-nightmares, their fear was near,
                             but i guess you had to be there.
and over Time the Time stood still to watch itself go by to **** the Time (the thrill it gave from giving itself chills was rare)
                             but i guess you had to die there.
and when i saw it all took place between your collar bone and face (the space of wreck
                                                                                                                             the  taste   of   neck)
                             then i guess there had to be you to be there....
            but i guess you had to be there.

walk in
**** the chef
cook him up
and eat him.

age chases you
and beats you
to the ground
unless you
set aside
time to
sit and
wait
for
it
.

the egg is cooking in my heart.

i dont know how to tell you this, .....but there is a living sloth
inside of your stomache...
..oh, dont worry. The sloth is in PERFECT HEALTH : ) Its going to be juuust fine. What we're going to do is we're going to cut you open, after you die ofcourse,
and extract the cute little fella from your stomache wound. Im thinking about giving it to my daughter who lives in california with her alcoholic lawer **** mother so she remembers me before i move to costa rica with my 19 year old philipino model wife and totally detatch myself from her life and get the philipino pregnant and start a new family which i will also one day forget. Ahhh yes, retirment will be fun..in those years, i think i might start to finally explore my unhealthy interest in little boys and becoming a woman. Transgender, that is. Mmmmmmmm........costa rica.....

You hanged yourself from a palm
on a desert island.
Starved for weeks.
Catching flies in the cave that hung open in your mouth.
Swaying on the wind until it was worn too thin and died.
And you see a series of the most beautiful sunrises.
Which you paint in my sleep every night after you've crept through my skull and come visit me.
Telling me all that you know of the habits of flies
While the new ones
Those kids
Dance around my breathing nose
To settle and sleep on my gums.-
All waiting to hatch to get a glimpse of that sunrise
Of which their parents dreamt.
A timeless chant
The only thing that god can be called
And the skin fell off of the shell of their light to make naked a thing that can not be named.
Cracking and peeling back their eyes to make way for the divine to come pouring out
Drowning a bloated belly thirst
Light explodes from every inch of the body-
It is the building of Ash,
The ripening of the past.
Until all that is left is he lthe two pupils falling
Like flies giving up on their lives
Into a pool of pure psychedelia
Dropping as a pearl tastes in the ignorant mouth of a thousand wanting oysters swallowing down the ****** of said god.
Who chokes on its own divine light
That it can finally die
Away from the madness of its mind

-overandover
andoveragain.

And our island
Is a venus fly trap
Devouring its neighboring flowers
Until there's no distinction between
The sweetness of rotting
And the living which is a thing we call ours.

-i feel better.
like a person.
i think.

-you think?

-i could feel like
an octopus.
or octopi could
feel like people.

i walk my hands
around the table
or on the floor
and watch them become friends.

and ill watch them fall in love.

and ill watch them get into fights
and they wont talk to eachother
for weeks.

and in that time
i cant eat.
i cant sleep.

her bones grow worms in the dirt
in the cadillac of caskets
shes choking in her coffin
he tells her to take off her shirt
naked is her task
skinned alive is his offer
he swears on her grave it wont hurt
and he says once hes done with her
well, then, nothing can stop her
he tares the leather from her face
a place from where leather is torn
he tares and tares
she tears and tears
until the worms are born.

a ghost child haunts my body.

possessing a dead man.

singing through
skeleton-beak
and
hollow eye-sockets
he floats
on
bone-wings

circling death

and i watch.

the field around me wilts
the crust in the corners
of the spectators mouths
turn to stone
and break.

flesh leaves bone
all that is left is
decorating the past.