****** into my sofa,
The infinite space of it.
The faces of my friends are melting off,
Like heated wax running down a candle stick.

I loaded the universe into a gun,
And I shot myself in the head.
I can not tell if I am breathing.
Am I alive or am I dead?

I’m strapped to the outside of a rocket ship with nothing in the way.
I’m taking off, and I just keep going. Reaching a height higher than heaven.
There’s nothing to orient myself. No time. No space. No self. Nothing but darkness stretching out all around me.
A roar of a million voices are screaming over each other, they’re resonating in my head.
I’ve come into orbit. Everything is beginning to crystalize.

Surrounding me are complex geometrical patterns of love and understanding.
Gibberish wall textures are whispering messages through their feelings.
This is all too much to take in,
It is like the universe orgasmed into my eye.
I just want to go home,
I think I am going to die.

A sense of calm echoes through me,
Probably brought upon by the faces of my long lost family.
They have so much dimension to them,
So beautiful, light and shimmering.
Looking like something out of religious doctrine,
They came out from the open.
Released me into my primal light laser body,
Everybody has been laughing at the joke never spoke.
And now that I get it,
It is infinitely funny.

It is like the sand man blew his sand,
Taking me on a train to dream land.
They are showing me everything,
I can not even begin to understand.
How am I supposed to understand infinity,
When I can barely understand a single moment.

I see God in a head of lettuce.
I feel the earth's rotation,
As I spin around the sun.
God handed me the universe loaded into a revolver,
And fired me into a flashing rainbow shower.
Friday's smoke opera has rendered me dumb.

Bathing in a melting rainbow,
The cosmos is dripping down my skin.
Infinity is stretching out,
And withdrawing within.

I become the colour,
And the colour becomes me.
I am in everything,
And everything is in me.

Coming out of the woodsmen's cloud,
I hear a child screaming out.
I didn't know what it was then,
But now I know what it is about.

The trees are no longer silhouettes,
My destination is not my goal.
I am in the middle,
Wherever I go.

In the middle of a summer
Desert night
Appears a heart shaped
Portal with a sunflower emerging
From the portal.

Only in California
Can you see
The stars
And a merad of constellations
During a beautiful
Soon set
As you swim at the beach.

Extract the blood,
the metaphor for this euphoric movie I had directed under the fall of night, alone.
The film began to develop as the bottles began to pile
and thus I began to envision these delusions which I lust would become a reality.
We were a movie.
Especially when your smoke filled my mouth and you fed me love off of tables.
Made me hazy it smelt so gentle it burned so numb.
Tacky hands rode my skin,
engraving scars of diamonds.
My ego erupted; became so ******* rich.
Illusion said I could buy your love
but your eyes were guilty of unfazed.
Debuts don’t faze millionaires, we just look like more money.
Millionaires don’t watch our movies.
11 August, 19 03:37

A chalky, sepia-washed room seen through an ailing CRT. Vantablack lines sprawl across my gnarled face in patterns, playing games with the sun that blares on through the rangy blinds.

Digital clock: 2:43

A cardinal red cigarette pack in my right hand, a turkey baster in the other, submerged deep within the sheet's motherly void. The simmering glow of the hallway dances like a pendulum; a vicious debutante, waiting to coerce me into life. I am enveloped by some capricious rhythm that has no origin, and no destination.
I'm coming to uncertain terms with this lucid halcyon.

Ink drips, from the pillow to my shoulder. I am currently a piece of fiction, held within a lissome frame. This is complete autonomy. Nothing is as it really was, only what it should've have been from the very start. A muted slur from beyond the window comes hurtling through my head. It starts to look like a tumor tree, having its branches, limbs, and spine torn to and fro in such a hideous manner. I've let something go to my head. The dream is broken, through no request of my own.

Twisted tales come surging
From a mind writhing and purging
In an oft fomented urging
For expressions, pure and raw
That fight repressions, lure and claw
Their way up to the surface
To effect a sense of purpose
But it's really all just worthless. . .
That's, unless you think it's not!
But if you don't: Your brain might rot!
Your skin might bubble, blood might clot
Leaving you heaving bile and snot
Or maybe phlegm and sputum
So your mental stores, you loot 'em
Load these rhymes up and you shoot 'em
Into repressed regression's mains
Into depressed suppression's veins
Until they sing a glad refrain
Of being decoagulated
Platelets become agitated
Now the blood is circulated
And the brain that hibernated
Has awakened from its slumber
Now it ponderously lumbers
With intentions unencumbered
Gotta do it by the numbers
So, them synapses start firin'
Them cortices start wirin'
And belly full of fire sings
Of jelly beans and tire swings
Of silly schemes and flyer wings
On foul mouthed little parrot,
Owners ***** laundry, airs it
Polly want a *******?
Just a snack sir?
But old Polly sez:
"**** me harder, Álvarez!"
Look aghast, her husband Ted:
"Oh hell no *****, 'cause that's the bed
that both we AND our children sleep in!
you've got Latin Lovers creepin'?"
She vacates the bedroom weepin'
Well . . . that took a drastic turn
To dwellings where disasters churn
So silly, will we ever learn
Or for mere want of learning, yearn?

(Tom, to himself: Go eat food. . . .)
(Tom, back to himself: Good idea!)

I think he left, but I'm still near
As tattered, scattered writing, dear!
So, read me well and read me clear,
And bring some friends to visit here!