the shakes own my body they make it harder to type so i peck at my keyboard like a ******* animal and i keep smashing the power button every time i hit the backspace and i'm afraid the whole godforsaken thing will turn off. macs arent bad though. i might be okay.

wow this whole ******* thing just went to ****? can i even say that? i'll be ******* honest with you (aside from the avant-garde scene and the nihilistic WOKE poetry ensemble) i really don't know if i can say that or not? i mean when was PC invented? like 2008? *******. that was ten years ago gimme a break.

jesus man the shakes are horrible tonight. they're so bad im really just relying on autocorrect to do everything for me but sometimes it misses and so do i. i could use diction on the mac but then they would have my voice and once apple took o ver the world id just become one of their drones or something.

i know why too. maybe the "substances" im constantly ingesting. (oooh "substances" s cary word ayh right. you're an idiot.)

or maybe its the lack of creativity and originality in everything i see and hear and do? maybe not.

(taking a break to ____________).

all the bugs and trees are talking to me and you know what in not eve n gonna bother with typing at this point so if are still here then good for you,

.... six, no wait, make that, 12 bottles of wine. and some whiskey. and some champagne. and a jug of sangria. and...

it's **:05 as I write this. so if you're awake and reading this then either you're a night-owl or you live somewhere thats not here or there.

i m really truing to see; the shakes off and I think in doing pretty well so i have to just keep it up. right?

im going to shrink down and sleep with my succulent. tomorrow will be where hell is waiting.

******* come in early. 2-3 AM. i always wake up right about then.+

I heard a squeaky noise
of fevered vigour.
opened to see a shocking
act of a well known figure.

For it was Mickey mouse!
******* a slice of Jarlsberg!

A dickey mouse pounding away.
The cheese isn't complaining.
So, I guess it's ok?

Winding through a forest

Is a path, with as many branches,

As the trees to either side,

And this one doesn't try to hide,

But has never been given many chances.



And on it walks one man,

Walking all alone,

His head held high and mighty,

Though his hair is colored lightly,

And he shows an unusual tone.



And he keeps walking,

Through the forest,

Gathering up the fallen leaves

And growing thousands of new trees,

Helping it to become its best.



Bald and evil vultures soar,

Flying above the one man's head,

Trying to stop the rising star,

From letting the world progress so far,

Because they live to feast on the dead.



And he keeps walking,

With little regard to his foes,

Writing the truth in the tree bark,

Doing his best to leave a mark,

That will guide those through their lows.



And the vultures carry

Onward, Upwards, feeding on dead

Following that guilty man,

I bet this end you didn't plan,

THEY TOOK OFF WITH HIS HEAD

life is an endless stream
of blue jean clad
millions
following the
wave
of others adorned the same
iconic
way
the american idolatry
of blue jeans
of classic
of sameness
of belonging
the blue denim ocean
crashes
on the edges of
the cliff
of what they don't understand