At times I feel like there really is nothing. What is the point of me ? What’s my purpose ? What am I supposed to do in this world that holds any type of value and meaning ? What is my direction ?
I don’t know any of it...

Beneath the surface,
Russell had always felt worthless.
When finally he gave up
his search for purpose,
he bought, lit, and chucked
himself in a furnace.

In the Spring, when kings go off to war,
when last year's battles are rejoined
and daughters lose their fathers to the egos of man

In the Spring, when dormant vegetation raises its head,
when bulbs reveal the colour within
and pollination can work its propagating wonders

In the Spring when frost gives way to dew
and the air warms in the sun,

- it is in the Spring that I renew my allegiance to my creator God
and look to him, and to his Son, for my path.

doesn’t matter

it’s the fact that
every last one of

you

thinks we shouldn’t
and that’s where
you’re wrong

give us an alternative
that will raise the bar
that high
that fast
from that little

you can’t

i don't blame you for not trying

words fail so much of the time
i think, why speak?
when you can be
think i can leave a mark upon the world
what is the name of the one
who painted the hieroglyphs onto the pyramids?
who was his mother?
i walked a thousand and one miles
through swamp, valley and fields of gold
i crawled over mountains
to find a thing i somehow always knew i was
there is something real to this life
Cosby never knew until it was too late
his children learned it better
just be human with me
drop all the clever, snarky wit
leave off overcoats of pretense and PR masks
it’s so last century to think you’re living
when you’re really only hurtling towards death
in the drag of a composite
persona programma
freedom is just through the other side of that false wall
fear not!
you go not alone
we’re all here with you

I slept beneath
a mad hatter moon and
dreamed of a big blue
tarantula swimming in
a yellow moss
covered pond. A rat
terrier passed me a note:
Mercy and love
are
fleeting, they fade away
like the
tangerine sun; they
are lies like
the dead bulls under
a ****** red
Spanish sky.
I asked his name,
"Mendacity" he said,
then turned into a
pack of
cigarettes, no matches,
no lighter…

I drank from the
pond and became a
sunflower.
Vincent shot
me with his
lonely cornfield gun.
He sat down and smoked
his pipe, as crows
lied
lied
lied.
He said with sad, iris eyes,
"It's impossible to ****
a mermaid, or eat
a starry night."
It's the impossibility
of a thing that
drives one
mad;
like a mustang
caught for the
circus, but always
dreaming of escape to
the thundering
fields of its youth.
I saw toothless
orphans throw rooks at
his soul, as those beautiful
eyes saw way too much…
I want to
pound
it in,
drive it dripping
home through the
core
of a rose, to the
bottom
of the tulip. I'll
get drunk on
nectar of the god's, then
reject immortality. (Who wants to live forever?)

There has been a drastic
Mistake.
I see it at the
zoo in the
monkeys caged,
glazed eyes.
No wonder they
throw ****
at people.
"Such lies, " he said.
"The artichoke, avocado, and
algebra; the small of
a woman's back and
the emerald head of
the hummingbird."
"If the artichoke and
avocado are lies" I said,
"then truth is the
tight, tasty, creamy
green line that
refuses to settle or waiver;
delirious, delicious."

"No" he said, as
his hands stroked
that lice ridden
crimson beard.
"It's conception and
growth, then cast
out
****** and naked
cut from the
cord,
and a lifetime spent
trying to return
to the womb, **** first,
but only spilling and
spreading the
nightmare of being,
the fever of living, to
another
sorry soul that didn't
ask for it.
I woke up,
drained the elixir,
and starred at
Vinnie's self portrait,
the one with
bandaged ear, and
I
thought…
Yea,
God is into practical jokes.