Cass was the youngest and most beautiful of 5 sisters. Cass was the most beautiful girl
in town. 1/2 Indian with a supple and strange body, a snake-like and fiery body with eyes
to go with it. Cass was fluid moving fire. She was like a spirit stuck into a form that
would not hold her. Her hair was black and long and silken and whirled about as did her
body. Her spirit was either very high or very low. There was no in between for Cass. Some
said she was crazy. The dull ones said that. The dull ones would never understand Cass. To
the men she was simply a *** machine and they didn't care whether she was crazy or not.
And Cass danced and flirted, kissed the men, but except for an instance or two, when it
came time to make it with Cass, Cass had somehow slipped away, eluded the men.
Her sisters accused her of misusing her beauty, of not using her mind enough, but Cass
had mind and spirit; she painted, she danced, she sang, she made things of clay, and when
people were hurt either in the spirit or the flesh, Cass felt a deep grieving for them.
Her mind was simply different; her mind was simply not practical. Her sisters were jealous
of her because she attracted their men, and they were angry because they felt she didn't
make the best use of them. She had a habit of being kind to the uglier ones; the so-called
handsome men revolted her- "No guts," she said, "no zap. They are riding on
their perfect little earlobes and well- shaped nostrils...all surface and no
insides..." She had a temper that came close to insanity, she had a temper that some
call insanity. Her father had died of alcohol and her mother had run off leaving the
girls alone. The girls went to a relative who placed them in a convent. The convent had
been an unhappy place, more for Cass than the sisters. The girls were jealous of Cass and
Cass fought most of them. She had razor marks all along her left arm from defending
herself in two fights. There was also a permanent scar along the left cheek but the scar
rather than lessening her beauty only seemed to highlight it. I met her at the West End
Bar several nights after her release from the convent. Being youngest, she was the last of
the sisters to be released. She simply came in and sat next to me. I was probably the
ugliest man in town and this might have had something to do with it.
"Drink?" I asked.
"Sure, why not?"
I don't suppose there was anything unusual in our conversation that night, it was
simply in the feeling Cass gave. She had chosen me and it was as simple as that. No
pressure. She liked her drinks and had a great number of them. She didn't seem quite of
age but they served he anyhow. Perhaps she had forged i.d., I don't know. Anyhow, each
time she came back from the restroom and sat down next to me, I did feel some pride. She
was not only the most beautiful woman in town but also one of the most beautiful I had
ever seen. I placed my arm about her waist and kissed her once.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.
"Yes, of course, but there's something else... there's more than your
looks..."
"People are always accusing me of being pretty. Do you really think I'm
pretty?"
"Pretty isn't the word, it hardly does you fair."
Cass reached into her handbag. I thought she was reaching for her handkerchief. She
came out with a long hatpin. Before I could stop her she had run this long hatpin through
her nose, sideways, just above the nostrils. I felt disgust and horror. She looked at me
and laughed, "Now do you think me pretty? What do you think now, man?" I pulled
the hatpin out and held my handkerchief over the bleeding. Several people, including the
bartender, had seen the act. The bartender came down:
"Look," he said to Cass, "you act up again and you're out. We don't need
your dramatics here."
"Oh, *******, man!" she said.
"Better keep her straight," the bartender said to me.
"She'll be all right," I said.
"It's my nose, I can do what I want with my nose."
"No," I said, "it hurts me."
"You mean it hurts you when I stick a pin in my nose?"
"Yes, it does, I mean it."
"All right, I won't do it again. Cheer up."
She kissed me, rather grinning through the kiss and holding the handkerchief to her
nose. We left for my place at closing time. I had some beer and we sat there talking. It
was then that I got the perception of her as a person full of kindness and caring. She
gave herself away without knowing it. At the same time she would leap back into areas of
wildness and incoherence. Schitzi. A beautiful and spiritual schitzi. Perhaps some man,
something, would ruin her forever. I hoped that it wouldn't be me. We went to bed and
after I turned out the lights Cass asked me,
"When do you want it? Now or in the morning?"
"In the morning," I said and turned my back.
In the morning I got up and made a couple of coffees, brought her one in bed. She
laughed.
"You're the first man who has turned it down at night."
"It's o.k.," I said, "we needn't do it at all."
"No, wait, I want to now. Let me freshen up a bit."
Cass went into the bathroom. She came out shortly, looking quite wonderful, her long
black hair glistening, her eyes and lips glistening, her glistening... She displayed her
body calmly, as a good thing. She got under the sheet.
"Come on, lover man."
I got in. She kissed with abandon but without haste. I let my hands run over her body,
through her hair. I mounted. It was hot, and tight. I began to stroke slowly, wanting to
make it last. Her eyes looked directly into mine.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"What the hell difference does it make?" she asked.
I laughed and went on ahead. Afterwards she dressed and I drove her back to the bar but
she was difficult to forget. I wasn't working and I slept until 2 p.m. then got up and
read the paper. I was in the bathtub when she came in with a large leaf- an elephant ear.
"I knew you'd be in the bathtub," she said, "so I brought you something
to cover that thing with, nature boy."
She threw the elephant leaf down on me in the bathtub.
"How did you know I'd be in the tub?"
"I knew."
Almost every day Cass arrived when I was in the tub. The times were different but she
seldom missed, and there was the elephant leaf. And then we'd make love. One or two nights
she phoned and I had to bail her out of jail for drunkenness and fighting.
"These sons of *******," she said, "just because they buy you a few
drinks they think they can get into your pants."
"Once you accept a drink you create your own trouble."
"I thought they were interested in me, not just my body."
"I'm interested in you and your body. I doubt, though, that most men can see
beyond your body."
I left town for 6 months, bummed around, came back. I had never forgotten Cass, but
we'd had some type of argument and I felt like moving anyhow, and when I got back i
figured she'd be gone, but I had been sitting in the West End Bar about 30 minutes when
she walked in and sat down next to me.
"Well, *******, I see you've come back."
I ordered her a drink. Then I looked at her. She had on a high- necked dress. I had
never seen her in one of those. And under each eye, driven in, were 2 pins with glass
heads. All you could see were the heads of the pins, but the pins were driven down into
her face.
"******* you, still trying to destroy your beauty, eh?"
"No, it's the fad, you fool."
"You're crazy."
"I've missed you," she said.
"Is there anybody else?"
"No there isn't anybody else. Just you. But I'm hustling. It costs ten bucks. But
you get it free."
"Pull those pins out."
"No, it's the fad."
"It's making me very unhappy."
"Are you sure?"
"Hell yes, I'm sure."
Cass slowly pulled the pins out and put them back in her purse.
"Why do you haggle your beauty?" I asked. "Why don't you just live with
it?"
"Because people think it's all I have. Beauty is nothing, beauty won't stay. You
don't know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you you know it's for
something else."
"O.k.," I said, "I'm lucky."
"I don't mean you're ugly. People just think you're ugly. You have a fascinating
face."
"Thanks."
We had another drink.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Nothing. I can't get on to anything. No interest."
"Me neither. If you were a woman you could hustle."
"I don't think I could ever make contact with that many strangers, it's
wearing."
"You're right, it's wearing, everything is wearing."
We left together. People still stared at Cass on the streets. She was a beautiful
woman, perhaps more beautiful than ever. We made it to my place and I opened a bottle of
wine and we talked. With Cass and I, it always came easy. She talked a while and I would
listen and then i would talk. Our conversation simply went along without strain. We seemed
to discover secrets together. When we discovered a good one Cass would laugh that laugh-
only the way she could. It was like joy out of fire. Through the talking we kissed and
moved closer together. We became quite heated and decided to go to bed. It was then that
Cass took off her high -necked dress and I saw it- the ugly jagged scar across her throat.
It was large and thick.
"******* you, woman," I said from the bed, "******* you, what have you
done?
"I tried it with a broken bottle one night. Don't you like me any more? Am I still
beautiful?"
I pulled her down on the bed and kissed her. She pushed away and laughed, "Some
men pay me ten and I undress and they don't want to do it. I keep the ten. It's very
funny."
"Yes," I said, "I can't stop laughing... Cass, *****, I love you...stop
destroying yourself; you're the most alive woman I've ever met."
We kissed again. Cass was crying without sound. I could feel the tears. The long black
hair lay beside me like a flag of death. We enjoined and made slow and somber and
wonderful love. In the morning Cass was up making breakfast. She seemed quite calm and
happy. She was singing. I stayed in bed and enjoyed her happiness. Finally she came over
and shook me,
"Up, *******! Throw some cold water on your face and pecker and come enjoy the
feast!"
I drove her to the beach that day. It was a weekday and not yet summer so things were
splendidly deserted. Beach bums in rags slept on the lawns above the sand. Others sat on
stone benches sharing a lone bottle. The gulls whirled about, mindless yet distracted. Old
ladies in their 70's and 80's sat on the benches and discussed selling real estate left
behind by husbands long ago killed by the pace and stupidity of survival. For it all,
there was peace in the air and we walked about and stretched on the lawns and didn't say
much. It simply felt good being together. I bought a couple of sandwiches, some chips and
drinks and we sat on the sand eating. Then I held Cass and we slept together about an
hour. It was somehow better than *******. There was flowing together without tension.
When we awakened we drove back to my place and I cooked a dinner. After dinner I suggested
to Cass that we shack together. She waited a long time, looking at me, then she slowly
said, "No." I drove her back to the bar, bought her a drink and walked out. I
found a job as a parker in a factory the next day and the rest of the week went to
working. I was too tired to get about much but that Friday night I did get to the West End
Bar. I sat and waited for Cass. Hours went by . After I was fairly drunk the bartender
said to me, "I'm sorry about your girlfriend."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, didn't you know?"
"No."
"Suicide. She was buried yesterday."
"Buried?" I asked. It seemed as though she would walk through the doorway at
any moment. How could she be gone?
"Her sisters buried her."
"A suicide? Mind telling me how?"
"She cut her throat."
"I see. Give me another drink."
I drank until closing time. Cass was the most beautiful of 5 sisters, the most
beautiful in town. I managed to drive to my place and I kept thinking, I should have
insisted she stay with me instead of accepting that "no." Everything about her
had indicated that she had cared. I simply had been too offhand about it, lazy, too
unconcerned. I deserved my death and hers. I was a dog. No, why blame the dogs? I got up
and found a bottle of wine and drank from it heavily. Cass the most beautiful girl in town
was dead at 20. Outside somebody honked their automobile horn. They were very loud and
persistent. I sat the bottle down and screamed out: "******* YOU, YOU *******
,SHUT UP!" The night kept coming and there was nothing I could do.

I first met God when from me he bummed a cigarette,
I asked him how I can win this bet,
and to let go of her and be ok,
he asked which girl with a smile in a way,
I said all of them because I just want to hear all of them say,
you were alright,
he took a drag and said we had met before,
when I was again in Florida I was feeling this down and poor,
we had a drink,
you asked what this life was all about,
and with a smile with shades of a pout,
I told you that only you could figure that out,
his cigarette was done and so was mine,
I asked again if this was just a waiting line,
or just a road covered with dust,
he flicked it and said that I always will have my lust,
for the future,
for the present,
for the past,
and I may feel like in the line I am last,
but really there is no line or road,
and this isnt a secret code,
he said I was ok,
then asked for another cigarette.

It’s kind of funny how you can go from walking around with nothing but lint in you pocket and being totally stoked, to walking around with a pocket full of keys and being totally bummed.
It starts out simply and seductively. I’ll just get this car so I can snowboard more. Wrong. Anything that let’s you snowboard more is a scam. It won’t let you snowboard more because you ride every day and a car can’t add days to the week.
“I’ll just get this little night job so I can buy gas,” you hear yourself saying. There’s another key. Then your job starts making you miss sleep, so you can’t snowboard as hard or as long as you used to. And you need stuff to wear to work. You need a place to change and store your stuff. Now you have an address, that’s another key. Soon you have to get a day job because you’re not making enough money at night. The keys start adding up.
Now that you have a job, girls know you’re not a total loss and you end up with a girlfriend. She wants you to hang with her once in a while instead of going boarding all the time. First, she gives you the key to her heart, and then the key to her apartment. That’s two more. You can’t give her the key to your heart because snowboarding put a combination lock on it and only your snowboard knows the number.
Now you have a bunch of keys in your pocket. They’re high-maintenance items. You have to take care of them. They’re weighing you down. Snowboarding is slowly slipping away, and you don’t even notice.
One day, cruising to your full-time office job that you had to get a few years back to make payments on all your keys, you drive past a guy on the corner with his thumb out and a snowboard under his arm. While speeding by you start thinking about the guy you just passed. He looked like you used to—snowboard and nothing else. As you pull into the parking lot at work, you can’t get the hitchhiker out of your head. Your mind keeps wandering back. Pulling all the keys out of you pocket and jingling them, you think about what you really want from life.
Running back to your car, you reverse out of the parking lot and squeal a Rockford in the middle of the four-lane highway. You’ve got to get away from your keys. You begin throwing them out the window as you blow down the highway. First to go is the key to the door at work. Then you backhand your girlfriend’s apartment key out the passenger window. Flick, there goes the key to the storage unit, then the key to her car. Flick, flick, flick. You feel better each time a key flies out the window and goes bouncing down the pavement at 100 mph. You don’t even slow down for the tollbooth, paying instead with the tossed key to your office and the executive washroom.
You only have two keys left. You unlock your house, run in, grab your snowboard, and dash out of the house. You leave the key to your house sitting in the lock to the front door. Whoever finds the house open can take it, and all your stuff. You don’t need it anymore. You jump back into the car and start burning rubber through all four gears back to the highway where you saw the hitcher.
He’s still there. You slam on the brakes. When he opens the car door, you look into his eyes. It’s you. It’s the life you left behind when you sold out.

I wade into tidal waves,
my hands full of dandelions

humbled by the sun
choked up over comets
I’ve given up on sunsets

you are a supernova clad only in my bed sheets
I make a wish every time your chest falls

****** lungs full of anxiety
My mouth tastes like an ashtray
filled with the buts of things i forgot to say
washed down by things i wish i hadn't

Still tripping over shoe laces,
I search for poetry in *** holes.
Forgiveness in pillowcases
my eyes have trouble resting these days

So, why aren't we dancing?

Following the rhythm of our mismatched heartbeats
I clumsily waltz through misleading conversations

Bummed out close to a relapse,
Never been to rehab i only handle my addictions by passing out,
Right now i need something to ingest
**** it even if i regress i just need a moment out of this deep stress,
***** a mess if i burn out I'll be at my best close to death so there's no worse test.

To all the ******* who don't
Know what is and isn't important
For their own **** good.
A *****, rigid, spiked, smelly
One finger salute for each
And every one of you.

This ******* throws his kids
Out into the streets in November.
Big man of the house who trys so
Desperately to be intimidating,
With a ****** back and a
Horrible stench of alcohol on his breath.

This ******* who thinks she's special.
The stuck up ***** that too closely
Resembles a plump ****** carrot.
Who thinks the perfect guy is a hairless
Fruity smelling mommy's boy *****
With perfect flippy hair and a big ****.

This *******, the few, the proud,
The fruity smelling mommy's boy *****
Who wouldn't know a pair of pliers
If they were ripping off his sparkly earrings.
Never having an ounce of dirt on his hands,
But at least she... I mean he has nice teeth.

This ******* that can't tell one honest
Fact about his "hard and lonely" home life.
The one who nods and laughs but just wants to ****.
Who beats off to his computer after taking a hit
That he bummed off his rich friends.
Who is confused as to why some people (me) hate him.

This ******* who screws with the emotions
Of one of the best guys ever to glide through her life.
Who throws him on a roller coaster with smiles
And flirtatious giggling while she lets him kiss her.
Then throws him to the side and takes the next in line.
I wish only the very best for you, you ****** *****.

Those ******* who abuse, torment
Or play with someone who just wishes the best.
The ones who hurt the vulnerable
To feel better for themselves.
No one deserves the **** you give,
Except each and every one of you.

Honorable mention to those *******
That complain about all men being the same
When in reality they're just searching for
The same type of meat headed ******
Every time they have such a painful terrible
Breakup. Just shut the **** up. For real.

Bummed out close to a relapse,
Never been to rehab i only handle my addictions by passing out,
Right now i need something to ingest
**** it even if i regress i just need a moment out of this deep stress,
***** a mess if i burn out I'll be at my best close to death so there's no worse test.

A Tale of ****** Excitement by Herr Barty Maulwurf

Often **** tales of my past I am writing and sometimes they are a little rude and porny but now I will try to be only slightly profane at request of new friends I am making everywhere. This tale very sensual story is, told by master storyteller (which is me). Filthy bits included. *Danke sehr.

Although I so much hate repetitive to be, Barty Mole must as always apologise for his occasionally slight errors in English-writing as he writes the English language not so very top-class (but he ***** English girls' tongues lots and likes them his tonsils to wipe so good). I (me, Barty) am German person but special type of that because as I are half-and-half black/white (not striped or even top half white, bottom half black, but mixed-up goldene-brun colouring), by this I must explain mein Papa was black US soldier in Germany who did enormous number of bouncy-bouncies with various ladies including meine Mutti (note to monoglots: this means my Mummy) - who was part-time Lili Marlen type tarty number, great **** and much-used **** - for tinned milk, coffee, ciggies, silk stockings and comfy underwear with soft non-scratchy gussets for once instead of unlined which tickle *****-*****, also she was a major sort of a ****** in her day so combined business with pleasure, and why not, we got these bits under our ******* so use them or they dry up (so thinks der Barty.). Also please you will remember black market utterly rampant in post-war period because the kind ****** Allies smashed my beautiful homeland (Germany) to little bits and then guess what even worse Russkies came and stole anything leftovers and did mass rapings of anyone with two legs (or less, in fact easier as poor tarts can't run away), but my Mutti ran and avoided Ivans, she not any kind of idiot, not going to give it away for free, and not liking cheap rotgut ***** anyway. Also Russkies never wash bottoms-hole so not much fun in the sack with smelly-bummed Ivans.

Nowadays Barty (that's me) am not so young, indeed now out of work living in Hamburg (home of inventor of hamburgers, Herr Wendi McDonald-Burgerkoenig) but I remember some super **** going-ons from mine mis-spended youth and middle age, my God I was a right goer, make no mistake about that, I had more lady friends than most people have hot luncheons mainly because I inheritated huge lovepole (23 centimetres, well over 9 inches in UK/US measurement style) from my dear Poppa, God rest his swindling soul. And ladies like the big bronzed stick as ramrod lovepole, you bet your fat wobbly ***, dear reader, 100% sure.

As often I say to my multitudinous readers, I never accept that it is only top-class ***-event to make love-humpings between male person who is in all one piece (full complementing legs, arms, naughty pieces etc etc) and lady who in similar state of repair (2 legs, 2 arms, 2 boobos, back and front naughty areas also) so I shall now recall romantic interlude with one-legged groupie I am meeting at rocking Konzert in Berlin with famous German group DIE TOTEN HOSEN (this means "The Dead Trousers" look them up on Google you think I am joking? no, German musicians have great sense of humour and also almost for free get to **** a lot of birds).

This story are total true, swear it on Mummy's honour (big joke, what honour I hear you said out of side of mouth, but watch your manners please or I smash you one in your effing gob) this not so explicit as usual so much apologies to filthy pervies wanting cheap smuttings, you come in wrong place (*******).

So now here we go with telling of how I got on good and ***** with one-legged lady I meet in bar of Grosse Konzerthalle in Berlin after we go from Konzert by Toten Hosen - noise so fickende loud we not able to hear each other talk as we total deafened for at least 1 hour, so just wink over bar to each other and Robert is dein Onkel.

I digressed - when I saw really pretty girl at bar with **** three-inch bolt through her lips and I think, WOW, if she got so much metal in her face, what the Fick she got in her *******!!!!  I notice she leaning against wall, I think she a bit drunk but I find out she only got one leg and it's because she has only one leg she would go falling over if not lean on walls. Never mind, I think to myself, I'll try this out for size, in for a pfenning (penny), in for a pfund (pound), except now it's in for a cent, in for a euro which sounds naffs. So we have several dozen beers and a couple of schnapplis and she is good fun, laugh at all Barty's filthy jokes and innuendos and then, out of blue, she says with naughty giggling, "The night is young but we're not so effing young and when you have any more beers you don't stand up, fall flat on handsome face, and not able to get great big ****** up me to shove it", WOW I thought, this is some forward one-legged piece of work. So no more further ado and we jump in taxi (pay 50:50 as Barty is gent and refuse to allow her pay whole fare) and go to her place.

Hildegard is her name and she was pretty good looking bird, great booboes, narrow very **** waistlines, very cute botty sticking out like great big pair of rubber footballs, but let's be frank, liebe Freunde, her main claim to eternal fame in Barty's immense ***-memory bank was the leg-stump, only one of them she had. She tells me missing limb result of accident with vicious bacon-slicing machineries at LIDL and I not like to probe too deeply, because I leave the probing up to my 23cm (9 inch) lovepole instead.

Thus we had many love-makes that night and I got to find her stumpy-thing quite **** in weird kind of way, very smooth skin on it and odd colour (purplish) too. Only problem of was hard to do it Alsatian-style as she topple off bed and me with her, especially since we have many more beers down hatches by that time. Never mind, make up for this with very high class (FIVE STAR!) "neunundsechzig" (German for 69 just in case you not understand)! WOW she utter hot stuff in oral department store. Her tongue like starving St Bernard guzzling the bowl of nice fresh spring water on hottest summer day in century! Swallow everything, stray hairs and all.

Also Hildegard very noisy lady when she does the comings, which Barty likes very much indeed. Like demented demon being bashed around her head with three-metre long metal crowbar every single time she gets one off, she screamed. "Ooooooh, ich komme, ich komme, ach, ja, ja, ja, ja," she shrieks GOOD & LOUD like fat Wagnerian heroine with immensely red hot poker up backside-hole (which not far off the truth when Barty gets stuck into his fabbo ***-rhythm, like whirring up and down piston on Mitsubishi motor tricycle). Even allowing for drunken prematured senilities lapse, I happy to recall seven times for me that night and maybe twenty for her, WOW, what a filthy one-leg hornbag!

We meet a few more time for repeat bonky session but never so good as first time round, but that's because Barty sober next times, nothing new in the history of love there which is very philophical pensée. Also Barty's interest in the leggy-stump waned a bit after a couple of weeks.  But Barty has good live-action photos to keep his memories warm, WOW, they are some totally hot ones! I know Hildegard must have the equal happy memories of old Barty, bet she never saw such a big ***** as his ever again (NB: 23 cm lovepole)!

Mit freundlichen Gruessen
von Ihre
Bartholomew Mole (=Maulwurf)
(23 cm brown lovepole)

I Wish I Could Erase Memories,
So You Wouldn't Know Who I Am,
I Wish I Could Erase Memories,
So This Hell Wouldnt Have Began,
I Wish I Could Erase Memories,
So Tears Will Never Come,
I Wish I Could Erase Memories,
So You And I Are Never Be Bummed,
I Wish I Could Erase The Past,
So I Could Stop All The Rumors,
I Wish I Could Erase The Past,
So A Mistake Didnt Come Out Of Humor,
I Wish I Could Erase You,
Because Then I'd Never Have Been Sad,
I Wish I Could Erase You,
So I Did Never Hurt My Dad,
I Wish I Could Erase You,
And Many Others Who Have Made Me Mad,
I Wish I Could Erase Them All,
Every Heartless Person Who Made Me Crumble,
I Wish I Could Erase Them All,
Every Person Who Made Me Struggle,
I Wish I Could Erase All The Nightmares,
The Nightmares That Were Real,
I Wish I Could Erase The Nightmares,
The Thoughts So Surreal,
I Wish I Could Erase The Scars,
The Scars On Skin,
I Wish I Could Erase The Scars,
The Ones Gained From Way Back When,
I Wish I Could Erase Every Tear,
Every Coat Of Eyeliner That's Been Smeared,
I Wish I Could Erase Every Stammered Word,
Every Scar From Evil Mans Sword,
Every Breath Ive Taken To Block Back Anger,
And Erase Every Anchor,
That Holds Me To Earth

I am in a canyon
It’s grand & I am
What I am
Guilty by
Disassociation:
I can’t tell the
Leaves in the
Trees from the
Faces in the
Concrete

My mind is a
House of mirrors
My faith is a
House of cards
& god the
Dyslexic mixologist

I am arresting my
Happiness for
Enduring life just to
Spite me
Little do I know:

Only I want to hide myself

Mush brained
In the backseat
Fisheye vision
& car crash dreams
Little boxes fly by
Little boxes all the same

Q:
When do I get a
Little box &
Carport &
White fence &
Rolling pin &
Next to kin &
Worship pavement like
Them?

A:
I am already anchored to asphalt so
I’d rather sit here
Watching my thoughts
Trickle through
The membrane &
Stain my perceived
Self-worth

Twenty percent who die in cold water do so within the first two minutes -
it's called cold shock response,
which is a really boring name
and kind of how i feel because
when your body hits the water
     it panics
and can't stop trying to breathe
and the water cools your blood
and hits your heart
so if you happen not to hyperventilate,
cardiac arrest is always an option.

I talked to a girl who claimed that earl grey is better than any other tea -
i wonder if she's had anything else
because if she did she'd know
that sharp cinnamon apple spice
warms best on a cool fall day
and hibiscus and rose hips
make you feel like a little kid again
and throat coat is something to be worshiped
or so i've heard, anyway
it's something i need now, anyway
because like this so called fact
this sore throat has been passed on
from one room to another
has sneaked down stairwells
and curled under blankets
and that's kind of how i feel
like autumn and rose hips and sore throats
and i'm not really sure what that means
but like obscenity when it is here
it's impossible not to know so.

i have killed my flower three times since i've been here, and i think i'm giving up -
i knocked it off the window ledge
and then watered it too much
and then watered it too little
not really learning from my mistakes
as much as letting them evolve
each stage a new form of destruction
and i kind of feel that way because
each time i pick up a book
or open a new tab
my fingers linger on my phone
and i'm replying to a friend
checking my email
playing spades
and when i play i bet too high
though i've been low for weeks
i've been as dry as my flower's soil
and it hasn't bummed me out
as much as other things have
and that's feeling less and less incongruous.

the boy sitting in front of me has a really high voice and a really small body -
his beard is well groomed
and it fascinates me
and while i'm trying not to make
any assumptions about him or anyone
which is turning out to be
a lot harder than i thought
he gives me hope because
he represents something i want
something i'll get one day
because nobody looks at him weird
when he speaks so soft and high
and nobody laughs at how short and small he is
and nobody asks any questions
because there aren't any to ask
that's just what he is, how he looks
and even if it wasn't always
how are we supposed to know
and why should we even care
but even so i find these people and
i want to be close to them, to speak to them
because they look like how i think i'll look
even if they didn't get there the same way i will,
but we spoke in an elevator once
and i thanked him for his help.

Sun and traffic - day economy.
Six a.m. drive to plywood mill. Too tired
to be angry. Each day a step
toward death. What is being accomplished? The
small satisfactions
within each day. Book consciously read.
And frustrations. Package dropped, honey jar broke.

One of 175 soil types. With the fifty
tree species
comprising the canopy under which Eric and Lisa clean
      their baby's face.

Sun in winter, old apples.

Inside the school
a brilliant but rebellious history teacher
is suspended by the school board.
200 students
wearing armbands and painted teardrops
protest. Another 400
are silent.

Within each structure
human dramas and routines.
Nancy will not love
any man who cannot do as many push-ups as she.

Trees grow,
porcupine **** in snow.

No job,
no niche,
no existence.
How you earn money is who you are. You are
what you do to get food to eat
and shelter from the winter, summer heat.

Each morning I seek God
by holding still
waiting for the smoke to be black or white
coins heads or tails
wind dark or bright.

Flock of evening grosbeaks
nipping maple buds:
the sign I need.

                   --------------------------------------

Less need =
more wealth.
2/23/89. So much equipment just to sleep.
More than a bare floor.
Plumbing vs.
wash at stream, find a log in woods.
Implements of human existence
unlike the deer or bear who
nip buds, forage berries.
I cannot eat the gum out of balsam fir
or bark from a popple.

I am not Wendell Berry
with a wife, a farm, philosophy.
I like the accuracy
of counting pear thrips in maple buds.
8/bud = complete defoliation.
This insect has four wings fringed with hairs
and is minute, 2.5 millimeters.
Two species within the genus:
one with tubular abdominal segment,
the other with conical abdominal segment.
Sugar maple their preferred food.

All I need
are names.
Names and habitats.
Elements, products, decay fungi, egg masses.
Marriage, copulation, regeneration, education.
Machinery, accounting, hand tools, laboratory.
I need your names
and histories.
****** histories, books read, imaginings, unrequited loves,
      significant landscapes, broken bones, periods of boredom,
      favorite shows.

                   --------------------------------------

Immediately means
without mediation, intermediate moments
time in the middle.

Time in the middle
time in the middle.
I'm bummed I never saw a dinosaur, an ice age, a cave man,
      even missed the last world war.
Thanks to paleontology, geology, archaeology, history
mind equipped to take
time out of the middle.
It's in our DNA!

Why should she love me, her tenant?
Because I pay the rent on time.

                   --------------------------------------

Excellent. The white sun rose
and lit the frost.
Early February, late March, or in between.
Birds begin
discussing family. Sap starts to flow.
Where the borer spirals in, it comes out wet.
Birch or maple.

I watched from the window. Beautiful
but no desire to go out and touch
swelling buds of elderberry.
Is this shrub crazy? It knows what it knows
with elderberry knowledge.

Come Spring, so much to identify and name.
Insects, diseases and new flowers.
Lepidoptera, root rot, the pinks.
I think I might get married too
and watch the moons pass through the mists.

                   --------------------------------------

March rain.

Some snow remains
roads dangerous
but truck deliveries must be made.
                                                           ­ The light
pushing back the dark.
Bark
getting softer, slippery
at the cambium. Sap
simmering. Summer
and spring are here and there
although only winter birds are in the air.
Some buds
break swell
want
to turn inside out
but wait
knowing better.

I too will not break or run
early
hold hope bound by ropes of discipline, experience
time the magic moments to come
take the last sleet and pain
slap in the face
glad for predictable seasons.
                                                 We anticipate however
drought, maple defoliation, increased gypsy moth infestations
which some attribute to our existence.
That may be true.
Or it may be that the universe
has reversed its decision on us
and there's nothing we can do.
But we will do
what we can
and some things we shouldn't
because that is human.

Continuing
into the space inside me
unconnected to the light switch, plumbing
fairly independent of materials beyond
food and sound.
Where I pray
like an oak
that the light will enter me
unbroken, forever
and I will live the meanings in the wind.
                                                           ­          Basic
necessities, wood
wine
and friends. And
the names
of everything
by which we know our way.

Should I hang with my friend who I haven't seen in a year or go meet this tinder girl?
Someone New - Hozier

I just can't put my finger on it.
something about her is goregous.
Baby Got Back - Jonathon Coulton

You're right. It's totally her ***.
Ugly Faces - Watsky

Shh, spotify, be nice. It's not her fault.
Do Better - Say Anything

Okay okay, you're right. I'll bring her home.
All Time Low - Jon Bellion

Oh c'mon, She's not that bad...
Proove Me Wrong - Dub FX

Well like... her personality is pretty cute.
Some Girls Are Crazy - Echo Movement

I can't beleive I just had *** in my backseat.
Glad You Came - The Wanted

Yikes. All the girls dropped from this party. it's just gonna be me and my three dude friends.
To Many ***** On The Dancefloor - Flight Of The Concords

I completely agree. Should i go or just come up with a ****** excuse to leave?
You Don't Have To Be A ******* - Flight Of The Concords

You're right i'll leave. What should i tell them?
Working - I Fight Dragons

No i already told them i got the day off. That wouldn't work.
My Buddy's Back - Big D and The Kids Table

Oh perfect!
Sleepyhead - Passion Pit

Yeah I should go to bed.
Let me finish this poem first.
Go To Bed - Ookla The Mok

I'm stuck on this line.
What's a good word to describe Port Veritas? Like... one word?
Home - Phillip Phillips.

That's adorable... you're so right.
See You Again - Wiz Kahlifa

******* spotify that was super uncalled for. Now i'm bummed out.
Get Over It - Ok Go

Dude. That's like super insensitive
Ungrateful - Streetlight Manifesto

No i'm not ungrateful. I love you, you just don't need to make me cry when i'm down in the dumps like that.
Lean Into The Fall - Mona

I guess you're right. Fine. Thank you.
All The Stars In Texas - Ludo

That's the nicest thing that anyones ever said to me. I like when you do that.
Like or Like Like - Miniature Tigers

Uhh, i guess like like. You're pretty much my favorite app.
R U Mine? - Arctic Monleys.

I think maybe you're moving a little fast spotify... i don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment.
I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

This is getting weird. I'm going to bed.
I Will Follow You Into The Dark - Death Cab For Cutie

Okay no, seriously i'm turning you off.
*Don't Unplug Me - All Caps.

10 sacrificial exhales
9 regret scented fingertips
8 matriarchal castigations
7 breathes corrupted
6 bummed ember tips
5 second hand coughs
4 derisive stares
3 relapses
2 lungs
1 heart

Parasitic paradise with death in hand
A gift to me,
self receiving
Toxicity imbalanced
*This is worse than bleeding

My room’s a disaster, and I am positive it is a reflection of the current state of my life.
But, I mean, what do I know?
My life is nothing short of scawompus.
And by golly, let the wild rumpus begin, I shout- to the heavens- instead of taking the time to clean a few things up. Instead I linger, just oh, so fed up.
What do I know?
I know for certain I am not the only one who would rather relinquish their life story to a stranger at coffee house than to their best pal on occasion. Truthfully, that’s probably a factor in humanity’s perpetually loneliness, makes me question the reality of godliness,
But that’s another talk for another day.
I know, oh boy, I know we’re all just lonely ******,
and darlin’ ain’t nobody's life more glamorous than yours,
just step out of your head for a moment.
Because it truly is gorgeous out here, there is every reason to fear, but also every reason to simply say **** it, and lie back and enjoy the view.
But what do I know?
I know it seems askew, but the beauty lies in the few who learn to appreciate the new.
Oh, what do I know?
Oh yes, I know I am **** crazy, and **** weird. I know this because I am reminded daily by my family, friends, and coworkers, but I am also **** happy for how depressed I am.
But then again, what do I know?
Let’s be honest,
I wear my whole life on my sleeve and still, nobody ******* knows me.
And I think I’m badass. Skanking at ska shows, waking with "oh no"s, what am I doing here?
In a strangers house after a night of fun and honest to god I am still bummed.
For whatever reason, whatever I may conjure up, and I am left here feeling like i’m still floating up,
Up, up I am drifting
I am a drifter
And I still don’t know what it feels like to feel
I am a ****** to life in so many senses
My senses are unfulfilled,
But I am scared senseless of what my future holds.
And what THE HELL do I know?
I am undeniably bewildered,
Nevertheless, aren’t we all?
In that, who really KNOWS anything these days…

21 years or older but I asked to use the bathroom first.
Then I slip in when the bouncer isn't looking.
Naked bodies hanging on poles.
Men, smoke, 90's rap music.
On the stage, they bend backwards like dogs.
Dogs staring back, mirroring the position
and her self - esteem.
A woman approaches two men at the table in front of me.
Her fishnet wrap shows she's naked.
*******, grinding, tossing hair.
Some slimy guys buy us drinks from a table a distance away.
Dorena gulps next to me.
I leave mine alone.
Absorbed into this vision because I have to immerse
myself in this because I must write.
I need to tell people that her hand slapped her ******
like it did something wrong.
She made her hand do that because that man
was giving her dollars as I watched them slide off her back,
her legs; the sides of them.
She gave his friend a dance and a magic trick.
Setting fire to matchsticks she placed on her ******* and her ****.
He blew the flame away.
The dollars blew to the ground
and after her performance she went on her knees,
and picked up the remains.
Her dress, the money, her composure.
Afterward, she lit up a Capri, the type of cigarette
I craved all night.
I bummed one off her and she fled out of sight.

a harp has been strummed
a banjo picked
a heart has been numbed
a ****** flicked
a page has been thumbed
a sharp ice pick
a mouth has been gummed
a desiduous tick
a cigarette has been bummed
a virginal stick
a town has been slummed
a slippery ****
a ***** has been ******
a little *****
a lonely man jumped
a fall and a click
a crowd has been pumped
a comedy shtick
a mind has been stumped
a clever trick

I met a poor girl from the slums of manila
She was sweeter than a cone of ice cream her skin prettier than chocolate her kiss pure vanilla
Of her now I dream alone

She could make my heart sing a love verse
Prettier than the new miss universe

She has a young daughter
Some one else all ready got her
Why did he run away?

She lives ten thousand miles away

If only I had met her yesterday

Now I'm bummed I want that poor girl from the slums

She never ask for anything or can afford to pay no bills
Never heard of Beverly hills

Scrubs toilets for food in tattered old dress
Still I'd love to undress and caress
The poor girl from the slums...

D. Clare

replacing white lines with gray ash and sleeping in beds for sleeping in bathrooms and you wonder if you had any self respect in the first place because this afternoon you tried to think of your happiest memories in the past year and it wasn't when you were in someone's arms or thinking of your successes in the mirror while you flexed your kickass young *** it was when you were smoking bummed menthols and your friend commandeered a miniature tractor in the tenderloin and conducted two drug deals in less than 30 minutes and you watched her disdainfully with her girlfriend and wondered where on ******* earth you could get a three dollar old fashioned and let a forty year old flirt with you for coke and you wouldn't even have to do anything for it wouldn't life be nice like that

My Baby just called.
Bummed that the
Plasma Bank turned her away.
Veins too damaged for a Give.
Her blood no longer worth $40.
♢
The Silence
The Long 
The Empty 
The Long
Moments that tell me she
doesn't have bus fair, because
she lost her job last week.
I paid Her rent. A safe room in
a good house that helps me
sleep at Night knowing she is
warm in this deep of Winter.
♢
Imbued with emotions,
I quiet...
My Center 
My Heart 
My Mama Pain
She tells me she was
near Home last night.
Wanted to see the Kitties.
Lay in her Bed.
That's all Mom, that's all...
♢
The locks have been changed.
She does not have a key.
Finally found a ride home
in the middle of the night as
I drank six hours of sleep.
♢
Heart of My *****  
My Spirit.
Taken from Us
Taken from Me.
Taken from Herself.
♢
My Hurt
My Anger
My Disbelief
That something
stronger than Love
dictates her Desires.
She is only 19.


Copyright © 2015. Fluer de Luna.
All Rights Reserved.

~Christi Michaels~MoonFlower
~Fluer de Luna~

You and Ingrid
bummed a ride
on the back
of the coal truck

the spring holiday underway
Ok
said the coal truck driver
but keep

your heads down
don't want to get
pulled over
by the rozzers

and so you both
climbed in the back
of the truck
settling down

between sacks of coal
covered over
by tarpaulin
with just a slit

for light and air
and you and she
just sitting there
she clothed

in an old green dress
and  cardigan of grey
brown scuffed shoes
and grey socks

you in jeans
and blue shirt
open necked
and sleeveless

patterned jumper
never been
in the back
of a coal truck before

Ingrid said
mustn't get too *****
in case Dad finds out
and leathers me one

you watched
as she sat there
in the semi-dark
gazing out

through the slit
at the thin
aspect of sky
hands on her knees

biting her lip
been once before
with Jimmy
but then it rained

and we got drenched
you said
what did your parents say?
Ingrid asked

nothing much
you replied
Mum moaned a bit
but the old man said nothing

just stared
as he blew smoke
from his cigarette
through his nose

God my dad'd go mad
if I had done that
she said
pulling her knees

together hands
holding on the top
I'd not be able
to sit for a week  

he'd beat me such
she added
moving
with the movement

of the truck
you said nothing
knowing her old man
seeing him often

walking through the Square
swaying with the *****
or seeing her mother
bruised and battered

crossing to the shops
enduring neighbours' whispers
for a while she was silent
looking through the slit

as the sky drifted by
as the truck moved
you swayed
side to side

her shoulder
against yours
her arm touching yours
the smell of wet washing

and of yesterday's dinner
captured on her clothes
seeping in your nose
now and then

she spoke
of this and that
of kids at school
of names called

of hair pulled
and how she liked it
when she saw you
enter school

and your kind words
and helpful ways
and when the driver
pulled off the tarpaulin
to get out sacks of coal
daylight blew out
your eyes
and made you smile

and cheered your hearts
you shared the sandwiches
you'd brought
and bottle of lemonade

factory made
sitting on the truck floor
she nibbling a sandwich
and drinking shyly

from the lemonade bottle
after you'd wiped
the top with the palm
of your hand

her eyes on you
her lips open for words
her knees pressing together
to keep the balance

as the truck
moved on and away
just you and she
on a bright spring day.

The touch of the woman is
the only thing that brings
you down from the cliff.
Hopped up on junk
or bummed out on bars,
or in them,
but, boy oh boy,
here she come round the corner.
And soon you're
seeing fields of
flowers --all swanky in
the wind-- see those hips
shake and dance?
see those lips twist and curl?
There she is.
And your mouth is dry and wide.
And your hands are
sweaty and shaking
And your eyes are static and cold.
And you're seeing gold
for the first time in weeks.
God, isn't she a sight for sore eyes
and a feel for your blistered hands.

The guy
Always on the lookout for evidence.
Death
Time
What's it about?
Nobody knows
And the guy knows "You're lucky" is true
But what the **** is going on?
I don't want to rest in peace.
I want to live in strength.
******!!!
A fool
Categorizing life in my own dumb irrelevant categories.
Like a fool.
But I LOVE it all.
Be grateful alive.
Feel sensations, I get all that.
But I must note this terror and dread of death
Such a part of my experience.

Often times upon hearing that somebody is sick, we assume that means that they are physically ill with the flu, the common cold, or some other virus going around. What we don’t realize is that people can be sick in the mind as well as in the body. I watched a young girl jump off of the 25th street bridge in the fall of last year, and that’s when I came to understand the true impact that mental illness can have on an individual. Only after witnessing this tragic event did I really start to grasp that mental illnesses such as depression, anxiety, and insomnia, to name a few, are just as real and draining as physical illnesses can be.
I was planning on having a fun night out with my sister. It was a couple of weeks after my eighteenth birthday and my older sister Charlotte was going to take me out for a girl’s night. Our plan was to go to Lawrence since I would be able to get into concerts and such after turning eighteen. I was really thrilled, I got ready swiftly, and I headed over to my sister’s house. I was soon disappointed though because once I arrived she didn’t want to go to Lawrence. I was of course bummed but we decided to go get pizza instead. It was on our way back from picking up pizza that we both witnessed this tragic event.
As we drove across the 25th street bridge it was rather dark and I was not paying much attention, however, Charlotte thought that she saw somebody standing on the other side of the bridge. At the time I thought for sure that she was mistaken, but she turned around the car and as we drove slowly back across the bridge, I was horror struck upon seeing that there actually was a young girl probably about my age standing there on the other side, grasping the ledge with a pale face and wide eyes.
My sister stopped the car in the middle of the road and yelled to me, “Autumn, call 911 right now!” It took me a moment to realize what was actually happening. Even as it sunk in, I did not ever imagine that she would really jump. As I fumbled with my phone trying to call 911, I could hear my sister begging and pleading for the girl to come down. At this point I was still not convinced that she would jump so I did not realize the urgency of the situation. I explained to the 911 operator that there was a girl threatening to jump off the bridge. She kept asking what street I was on but I did not know the street and I had become side tracked by listening to my sister try to coax her down. I just remember being very appalled by the girl because she was being extremely rude. I of course did not understand what would cause her to be so rude to people that were trying to save her life. At this point in my life I definitely did not think of depression as something so serious. I of course knew about it but I had never come to understand it before. I knew I had to find out the name of the street so I peeled my eyes and ears away from my sister and the girl and started sprinting down the street. I could feel the cool fall air on my hot flustered face as I was running. I know it sounds crazy but my adrenaline was rushing and I became detached from the situation during those 30 seconds of running. It was such a lovely November night and exhilaration was running through my body like a steady current. I felt like I was in a scene from a movie. I was not really that scared yet because I had already played it all out in my head. The way I pictured it, Charlotte would convince the girl to come down, cops would come and make sure that she would come down safely, we could all go our separate ways and that would be that. I’d never experienced any sort of situation like that one, so of course I had envisioned it would play out just like it would if we were in a movie.
All I remember next was being pulled out of my run by a piercing scream from my sister. I stopped and looked over and the girl was no longer standing on the ledge. It had occurred to me that she had jumped but for some reason I was still convincing myself that she was fine. Even though I knew logically that the likelihood of surviving after that kind of a fall was not of any percent, I couldn’t help but think that she might still be okay. I just had not played out that scenario in my head, so therefore it was unreal to me.
I stood there in complete and utter shock. It was as if everything around me had come to a standstill and all I could hear was the operator on the other line “Ma’am…ma’am? Are you still there? Do you know the street name ma’am?” I simply hung up. It seemed as if in a matter of seconds 12 cars were surrounding me and sirens were going off and people were shouting and I still to this day have no idea how that bridge went from being such a quiet empty place to being filled with dozens of people within seconds.  My sister was not in an emotional state to deal with what was happening so I quietly moved her car, called her husband, and talked to the cops.
For some reason I never got emotionally upset about the event. My sister to this day is dealing with PTSD and still has vivid flashbacks and reoccurring nightmares. It was only after witnessing this event and seeing the dramatic effects that it had on my sister and still continues to have on my sister, that I realized the importance of dealing with mental illnesses on the same level of urgency that we deal with physical illnesses. I have never had many mental health problems so therefore I can look at things from a broader more logical perspective. I often times learn a lot just by evaluating other people’s experiences rather than experiencing things on my own.
I can now see that when somebody has a mental illness we need to help them and we need to be patient. I think the most important thing to do is to remain kind and open minded. We need to realize that when somebody is dealing with a mental illness they do not always realize or understand that they may come off as rude or angry. What I have learned is that getting angry with somebody who has a mental illness will only escalate things further. I did a lot of research into mental illness after this event and I think the most important thing to remember is that just because you don’t understand mental illnesses from a personal viewpoint, does not mean that you can’t be knowledgeable about such illnesses and learn to deal with them in a helpful and compassionate way. I think another important thing to mention as I bring this story to a close is that there may not be a logical reason as to why horrible things like these happen, but that doesn’t mean that we have to create one. By this, I mean we should not place the blame on ourselves because that is just as illogical as jumping off of a bridge.

Last Friday I did a very good job
of drinking away
my anxiety.
The sad part was
the only person
there to see it
was my mom.

It took me awhile,
but  five beers
and two
hard ciders later
I was free.

I’m almost 19
and I’ve already
started solving
my problems
with vices.

I had my *** phase.
It treated me no better
than any cigarette I bummed.
In the end
it was all just smoke.

Alcohol made me into something
I believed to be better.
I smile because I mean it.
I don’t shy away
From people.
But I’ve come to realize
that I’m worth more
than two shots of *****
and bottle of Mike’s Hard

It’s so easy to forget
what’s circling
in my brain.

I forgot about
school starting
in 2 weeks.

I forgot about my friends
and why
I’ve been feeling
that there’s a lack there of.

It is no ones fault
but my own.
I have no pity
for myself.

I’ve refused to believe
that taking a pill
would vacuum
away the half finished
poems and the
torn up ideas I have
in my mind.

It’s become very
difficult
to explain
myself.
Most times I wish
I didn’t have too.

I’ve never been approachable.
I look mean
But I promise
I’ve always tried to give
everything.
I always thought
that if I said yes
then so would others.

I woke up that Saturday
at  five a.m.
Realizing
that the world kept moving
when mine slowed down.
School will still come
and so will tomorrow.

Give me a pack of cigarettes
Because it’s much easier
to wash that smell from my mouth
than it is to get
these thoughts out.

You find yourself alone at last
amongst the masses.
Out where the sunset sits
cross-legged in the sky,
staring downward through
the evening.
Such beautiful backdrop
for such ugly company,
all of it painted on canvas;
ochres, violets, varying
shades of autumn gray.
Find yourself bummed out
on the side of the curb,
sharing insults
with the passing traffic.
Even the devil has company,
but here you are alone,
sharing cigarettes and
cheap conversation with
the cement.

Night comes without urgency
and you are left in it;
bad breath and
a dense, colored
evening air that
burns the lungs
with coming winter.

The pub sign down the road
leans out from her window,
peering scornfully down
through her thick, iron grates.
Red and blue lights
blink disapproval against the pavement.
But maybe that rough pavement
can almost feel sweet
to the touch.
Maybe that rough pavement
can be soft; a woman's curve,
if you get it just right.
The old beer bottle
leans in and tells
you a terrible secret
before putting his cap
back on, strolling
off into that setting sun.
Skipping rocks
off an ocean of rubble
and asphalt
before they careen
into the grass.

Even the devil has company,
but sometimes it is
not so bad to be alone.

I'm gonna wear
my weathered cardigans
and be swallowed by the pack
of Seattle commutes
with my vinyl records in one hand,
a guitar in the other,
and a backpack full of
J. Kerouac and C. Bukowski
and R. Adams and L. Cohen.

I gonna live
off of the San Francisco Bay saltwater
and the bummed cigarettes outside
of bars that play nicotine music
to my ears.

I'm gonna sleep
on the ground in front of cookie-cutter houses
with their fence posts painted white.
I'll feel my psyche strum its last chord
and soon I'll be gone
without a sound.

I'm gonna die
in a new town where nobody knows my name.
I'll be a Chicago artist
full of New York poetry,
a Great Britain romantic
full of Alameda Victorian architecture,
or a Nebraska idiot
full of Midwest ambition.

J.L. had one of those mysterious gland problems.
Some villain gland that made him fatter and fatter;
he was always quick to point it out.

Harvey James invited J.L. over last Tuesday,
during that awful snow that shut down Beecher St.
Anyways, J.L. was supposed to arrive at 6,
however he never had plans and prematurely
arrived at 4:30.

Harvey was occupied with some blonde girl,
who was of a fine leather-tan.
From what Harvey could gather she liked
vampires, pop punk, and sweet tea.
Aside from that her body was okay,
her laugh tolerable, and her eyes were different colors.
The left a sea green, the right a murky grey,
but during a drought Harvey seemed to
settle on whatever vulture was around.

So, J.L. Kreeve knocked on the door.
He heard a bit of a ruckus,
the kind that comes out of computer speakers
when there is nowhere to go.

J.L. tried the door and to his luck it was open.
His entrance was well-timed,
as she let out a final wail,
Harvey gritted his teeth, began panting,
and their bodies collapsed on the sofa.
J.L.'s eyes went wide with
her tan structure.
Her **** seemed to be swinging
like plush dice in a teenager's first car.

"J.L. what the ****, man?"

J.L. continued to stare, stare, stare--
"J.L.," Harvey said firmer, "WHAT the ****?"

"Oh, my forgive me. Forgive me. I'll just step back outside."
And he walked out smiling.

"Sorry about that Whitney."

"Oh no big. It's been worse before. This one time I..."

Harvey tuned out. He hated her. And hated himself
for doing such a *****. He got up, nodding out
of habit and saying things like "oh yes" and "wow" and "I gotcha",-
to which she replied,

"You are like a great listener."

Harvey opened the door since they both were dressed.
J.L. apologized again.
Harvey poured a glass of white wine.
He wasn't much of a fan,
but it was alcohol.
He was trying to lay off the hard stuff
since he had one of those "near-death experiences".

When he came back in,
J.L. was grinning like he was the
smartest ******* on the face of the planet,
and Whitney was letting out little giggles.
Harvey thought perhaps they were having a worthwhile conversation.
He was mistaken.
They were talking about variations of sweet tea
at one of those chain drive-ins.
"Just talking about it is giving me this crazyass craving,"
said Whitney with dumb dimples and blank eyes.

"hahahaha, oh me too," said the 300-pound Clark Gable,
"want to go get some?"

"Oh why the heck not? Harvey, do you want to-?"

"Nah, I got some writing and other **** to do.
You two have fun."

They climbed into J.L.'s car.
Whitney made a comment about all the
sticks of deodorant lying about,
J.L. explained it away perfectly lackluster.

The snow was coming down good at this point.
And they got stuck before they even made it
to their treasure.

They sat in the car.
J.L. only had one CD.
It was some George Michael
disc, he had bummed off his
mother a few weeks ago.
Whitney said something like I'm cold.
J.L. said something like I could warm you up.
She smiled stupidly, unsure what that meant.
J.L. took a gamble and reached for
her right breast.

"Oh, no thanks. Just wanted the tea."

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course," J.L. let out a deep exhale,
his fingers fidgeted,
he cleared his throat,
and with a weak cordial
smile asked,
"Do you mind getting out to push?"

The road stretched out before me
Leading me away from where
I'd spent time spinning all around
It was time to ride from there
The truck it stopped and picked me up
We didn't talk at all
We'd gone 300 miles
Then he said, ok bud....there that's all

I walked down from the hilltop highway
Into somewhere new
I didn't read the sign on entry
This place was somewhere new
I bummed around the country side
Working jobs and playing bars
Getting rides from country truckers
And from college kids in cars

I was heading no place special
And as I look around
I think I'm here
I was heading no place special
And as I look around
I think I'm here

I stopped into a diner for a coffee and a meal
The waitress looked me over
Like I was her next meal
She brought the coffee over
Said "you've not been here before"
I told her "I'm not staying"
and what I was looking for

All I owned in the whole world was in my pack
Two pair of jeans, some t shirts,
And my guitar, painted black
She said "son, can you play that?"
"If you can, the meals on me"
I took her on her offer
I love food when it is free

She said, my momma loved the songs
the ones that tell a tale of woe
I tuned up, started strumming
And said, well "here we go"
I sang of Frisco Mabel Joy and crying in my beer
I looked at her, her eyes were closed
But, I knew...were full of tears

I played Lefty and Poncho, songs of love and loss
I sang of travelling the country side
I sang of Christ upon the cross
She wiped her eyes, and looked at me
Real deep, you know the way
When the tone is gonna change some
And there's something important for to say

"If you want to linger here....there's a room out in the back"
"The rent is cheap, the food is free"
"Just play your guitar painted black"
She offered me a leg up
It's been a while since
I thought about a future
I felt kinda like a prince

She said, "no one here plays anything at all"
"They make the words up as they go"
"And they always play too loud"
"You can play here if you want to"
"Mostly requests, and some new stuff"
"You can even sing the songs you write"
"When you think you've had enough"

"Tip jar money also, that's all yours for when you play"
"take notice though, there's not much here"
"To do through out the day"
Again, she looked me over
I'll tell you how it made me feel
Like I'd been cornered by a cougar
And I was her next meal

I was heading no place special
And as I look around
I think I'm here
I was heading no place special
And as I look around
I think I'm here




I went on stage that night to start
Singing songs and rambling
I knew most of the ones they asked
On the others I was gambling
I mumbled through and had them sing
So I could learn the words
And as for what I didn't know
Well, I do not think they heard

Made forty bucks in tips first night
I think I'll gonna stay
You know "Piano Man" on the guitar
ain't bad tenth time you play
I sang of seeing doctors and of trucks and vintage cars
Of Redneck Family Reunions
And of looking at the stars

I started out for no place special
Now, I've find it I might stay
For the folks in no place special
All kind of roll my way
I started out for no place special
Yes, I know I'm gonna stay
For the folks in no place special
All kind of roll my way

I really think that someone should have a video camera on me when I'm high because I say a lot of ****. And I mean some of that ***** pretty deep and meaningful and then also the comedian in me comes out. Or maybe the clown that makes everyone laugh. I don't really like clowns though. I mean honestly the whole idea and creepy. I mean god knows who the person in that costume could be. He could be the friendly neighbor hood mail man but what if he's a childmolester? And how are we gonna know the difference. My lips are really chapped. I really like this song. Linkin park speaks to me so well. Ahhh now three down doors. Love me when I'm gone. Since you obviously didnt love me before. Isn't that so sad? The way society has utterly ****** with the teenage mind.
Society says "you're ugly. You're not smart enough. You're not thin enough. You're not pretty. You're useless. No one wants you here." So then we finally had enough. We explode. We go insane. We have had enough society says "she was so beautiful in every way and so talented. Oh she had so many people that loved her" it's ****** up. Walking around every day never knowing who you're true friends are. Always wondering whose going to turn their back on you next. Always wondering if all the days I missed practice this season someone would say "it so much nicer without her here. She's so annoying." Always wondering if that "best friend" I made when I was a freshmen and she was a senior. Not she's in humbolt. Anyways I wonder if she remembers she's supposed to be my maid of honor someday. I haven't head from her in so long. There's so much I need to tell her. The pregnancy. The miscarriage. The "am I crazy for wanting to be pregnant again" even though I'm only 17. I'm 17. Almost 18. *******. It's kinda scary. Cause then society comes back and bases our whole lives on what we did during the hardest part of our lives. The part of our lives where our voices in our head scream "don't eat. You're ugly. You'll never be loved. You should **** yourself" and after a while you have to take a blade to your skin because it's the only pain you can control but also it's the only way you can feel anything at all if that even makes sense to feel nothing and everything at all once. And none of this probably even makes sense. So sorry for that. But my mind is a scary messy place. Terrifying and dark. Wow im high. Because the world so low and I wonder what movie Bug saw tonight man I wanted to go with her so bad. But I can't. Cause I'm grounded. Cause they they had to show that picture to my mom. I think I covered it pretty well but my life's hell now. She won't let me do anything and I'm her little ***** because if I talked back at all she'll take everyone. But it's so ******* stupid. Like ahhh ****. ****.  I swear to god I'm going to punch something. Mom even made me talk to people at church. I don't wanna ******* talk about it but if I don't ******* my way through it I can't do my senior project with Danielle and that ******* *****. Well guess wahat. I don't want to talk about it. Of course I'm not okay and you best get off your high horse if you think you are so much better than anyone else who want to talk to me and I won't. I don't even know where I'm going with this. Any of this. Especially my life. I'm really bummed the field trip got postponed. The Nuremberg trials. We were actually gonna simulate them at the court house. Gotta wait two more weeks now. ******* ****. I think I love history too much. I can't even tell you why. It just fascinates me. Something about the heartache and despair I can somehow relate you deep down. Especially during the world wars or the holocaust. Wow I'm tired. And it colds. Wow I'm ******* horney too. Sorry if that was tmi. I miss him. His body against me. A man ni. H ar der. Ha ar dar oh oh ohhhhh. What did I just write. What. Wow I'm really tired. AHHH. My favorite song is on. If you were dead or still alive. I don't care. Such good lyrics. I should text mark and tell him I'm listening to apoctalyptica. Or wait maybe I should text nick. Wait I don't think he's done working. Wait what. It's almost one in the morning. Thad why he's asleep. But I'm 100% fallingig jn love with him. Holy crap it's bad. He's 21. I'm probably just some little kid girl to me. But we're talking outside of work and he's my bestfriend on snapchatting but can you be more than a bestfriend on snapchat? Can you be in real life? Wht about my forever? Can you be my forever? And ******* I just looked at the clock and I started writing and babling at 12:17 and ******* I don't even have the slightest clue of what all I said

I went and placed a wanted ad
Inside my local discount rag
Hoping someone somewhere might have
Some new words they could send my way

I've started feeling slightly bummed
Using the same old worn out ones
To me they are no longer fun
Plus I need something new to say

The ad went something like this
Needed...New Words With New Ideas
Dial 955-3636
For where to drop off your resume

The words they started pouring in
From short to fat to long to thin
With no idea where to begin
I'll try my hand at come what may

With the new words I did not mince
I poured over them all with diligence
No matter past or present tense
It took up most of the day

With the new words all now lined up
I'm ready to try some different stuff
So hold on tight this may get rough
Never said it'd be a piece of cake

It'll still take effort and some work
To find the right rhyme and perfect verse
That fit the newly acquired words
To help along the way with what I now have to say

the UMRAH: not the HAJJ... squeeze some melons for the Muslims of Pakistan: wonder upon wonder: so anti-climatic when people move up in hierarchies, while i'm still stuck talking about the disparity of quest: between the UMRAH and the HAJJ. i'd love to see Rome, having seen Venice...

and a girl who loves stones
  and such big ***
but beside the big *** and watermelon ****
i guess that if i stop ******* her
i'll get to talk to her and that's like BARCELONA
      HIM HI HI HIM HIM anti-dementia...

i don't man: i'm getting bummed out
completely bummed out
by the focus on me this great yawning
void on the train
just managed to play the commuter
chess right
and sat down after standing up for
12h
and this guy
this ginger blonde 70 year old
drunk or pretending started talking politics
and religion
and he said
i had better chances of being
a priest than a politician
and then he uttered those words: pointing
at others on the carriage:
then to me:
you're a "good man"...

am i, a man?
i feel in this ******* revolution
i'm a mind in a jar
and an ego of a pickle
in *****
i feel unsafe talking my mind
in England
i'd feel less paranoid in China
and Russia
talking about nothing
and God respectively

i am actually scarred, mentally:
i feel unsafe with the BIG ****
BRIGADE
desecrating the Rainbow:
i've seen a rainbow arch above
a soft prison in Kauai
when i was leaving her
to then be reunited with her...

watched some French **** today
and...
well also took a **** and ****
simultaneously
then had a baptism
in the shower
the plumber ****** up the veins
of the hydro channels
a2 aq
aqua

bromance...
Qais
he sneezed and i said bless
you then he replied
with: thank you
i had another Pakistani
in the classroom
who stunted the universe
and the classroom
when upon sneezing
his ISLAM was STRONG
upon sneezing
BLESS YOU
no reply...

  the ISLAM is STRONG with this ONE
a Muhammad Salmaan Khan...
one ****- to another -stani
i don't get it

then my "manager" got my cognitive
wrong
i had a flick-switch
innuendo:

i abhor:
people glad with life
what did the devil say:
T.S. Elliott: juvenile Sylvia
Plath but not the former...
reading poetry depresses me
i get into this melancholic mood
like a member of
my family is drool and doom
O
roll!
rolling O: oooooooooo

i have no time for a typewriter
and being an all female
cast of cinematic casters...
no sugar, baby, no sugar,
i just thought about the trinity
of kissing you while
also ******* you

i felt bummed out about not working
a Pearl Jam shift
and the whole traffic cone
work hierarchy dynamic
became an inflated
Collective-Ego courier Da-Sein postage stamp
: stamped:

the work dynamic i asked
if Lisa was there
but instead Quebec Romeo
and Quebec Yankee:
were there:
but over the radio no Quebec Sue and
Bravo: Gravitas: blue:
zone:
              muddle in my brain:
hence enforcing the cryptic:

   YHWH cf. not vs. LLH

    A E                         A A

and little serpent: a - little - serpent

but i just spent £40 on a Green Day t-shirt
i was not supposed to be
the man listening
to the commuter drunk Dutch:
a male primary school teacher
met his wife
in Glastonbury
festival
have a picture
of the girl's friend taking a photograph
before he walked up and
chatted her up
the Q: uestioner:
math prodigy:
a data analyst
currently unemployed
looking to become an AIRPLANE PILOT
where has my middle leg
of the dream-moth
of middle class in England gone to?

cordon 11:
alley of the Zig Zag
i hate working Wembley
externally:
air of Nepotism
i'd feel safer in China and Russia
right now...
the dogs are barking
and the birds are safe
from all the serpents they once
were: dodo: transition ERASING
TRANSISTOR
UNIT
process: like electricity:

insomnia bound daydreaming
of the purpose of night
to sleep

let me just catch the rhythm
again: no classical no flutes
air benders
just music working around a heart-beat...

taxidermy - oh wow! the correct
spelling: but what was the incorrect spelling?
daxidermi_                    maybe...

habibi UNK'L GANDU
i just want peace
i just want peace
but i know there will be a great upheaval
in that Classical Liberal Leftism
has failed
and it's so miserable to watch
a second
best hide the vowels?

nd t's msrbl wtch... that: took concentration
can speed up the process
in Hebrew among the gods
given that people
speak more two animals
than they do
to their own imaginings:
but were the gods ever so denegrated
desecrated in the Temple of Dyslexia
and girls learning to speak Arabic
but not understanding Arabic

i've only watched 2 matches from the Euros...
maybe i can get the athletes on my side:
project: hip: anti-hippy
i am sad because i bought a Green Day
t-shirt
i was supposed to buy a Pearl Jam
t-shirt for Martin, St. sort of cucumber
and amnesia
like all *** is gone
and there is only conversation:
how we lusted:
wasted:
wanted: waged wars
WARC and WARX
these crucifix incursions:

and look where that left us:
          
   BUT DO YOU N'TAKE
INSTRUCTIONS:
it's a ****** job i told the three black
youths:
i'm not rummaging: yes i am:
a sketch pad...
but i couldn't just:

help me out: dark cloud...

        some powerful with mind
in bed
better than sunshine and surf
and tongue on the glee tempting sea
all rot in sun and skin
performance ******...
  like people junkies esp young girls
i just don't under-
-stand
why get druggie with little peeps
but somehow discourage Reyla
from the bloom...

                        got bummed for buying
the Green Day t-shirt...
i don't even like then
but it had the dates of touring
and i was working
that terrible Green blacker
than the greenest courget
and i was talking to this West African
and about slavery
and island vs city life
and the unavailability of reference
cursors:
with people left behind:
scared of the world:
and STASIS and TIME

           and like i came over when i was 8
year old and
didn't know a tooth from tongue
in terms of speech:
ridiculed for P'UH M'AH
instead of PYOO M'AH...
and that still rubs when someone's
a no one telling you their yours of
the usage of tongue:

that: sends me: SKYROCKETING
that **** makes me summon DEMONS!
then i want as much
carnage in the world
to counteract the Buddhist perfection:
of concerning oneself
with the Oceans
Mountains
Deserts....

            forests and plateaus...
the wheat that is...
         are not my concern: a concern for the people:

Lyndon: you got the timing wrong!
i was about to take down
those rucksacks
when you weren't supposed to:
do a walk around...

    i just wanted to amass at least three
so that people would get "the idea":

prophets of June:
Qais reminded me
something i forgot:

Judaism is a religion of cosmopolitans
probably high achieving couples,
Christianity a religion of females
Islam a religion of males
Atheism and Buddhism
a religion of Eunuchs

i don't like what i write
i don't like what sometimes passes
through me: but like digestion
until improved the improvised
lactose intolerant
then...                        mmm'heh'heh...

       ­      to the echo of demons
gearing up for war...
              only war will salvage me
in the hyper-conscious realization
that life:
is:

                                       SPECIAL:
spatial: spazz:            

                                          **
­
leverage the time-spatial
and the space-temporal...

              as a coin flicker on the kicked
by thumb to flick and late fate:
decide: no rigid dualism:

just rigid, random: chance: fate
an unwilling: luck.

would have never thought that the gods became: also, so bored: with the intelligence of human life, that they would resort to being the Lesser Privy: and settle for gambling: so bored thus current upsurge of Psy Hack Understudy like the deviation from breeding Lawyers: this the breeding ground for Poetic Anti Journalistic Efforts...
           could it please be reminded:
not to look at me so weirdly:
when i'm at work
because i do my work elsewhere
and no manner or matter or hierarchy will
ever, disrupt: my origins of CONCERN:
which, unlike Heidegger: i mumble
because: covertly:

        NOT, CONTEMPT:
CONCERN:
        that's the whereabouts:
whoever thought Heidegger was X...
here's my: ******* nein nein nein
ADOLF ****** HEIDEGGER
SEIG HEIL!
i wil not live, under, the pressures,
of a, pseudo-democratic: GAY: FEAR!
PRIDE: up your ***...
and your *** alone...

               I WILL LIVE IN PEACE
AND QUIET
UNDER GOD AND NOTHING

i will live in peace in China
and in Russia
but i: will not!
live with peace in my heart!
in the western world-culture: ETC!
i have had...

                         ...enough.

life should be like making peanut butter pie.

fairly easy,
a five ingredient sorta thing,
where you have most of it in your cupboards already.

a little messy,
like when you turn the mixer on high,
instead of medium,
and peanut butter dances across you chin.

super sweet,
a cup of powdered sugar,
could make the whole day a little easier.

rewarding,
like when mom smiles at the creation you've made,
and dad laughs at the peanut butter on your chin.

and it won't last too long,
and you might feel like it disappears too quick,
and be bummed when the last piece is gone,
but remember, that pie was good.

I sleep in a crater on the far side of the moon.
I tell tales to the moon-cats about the warm month of June.
We sing songs with no lyrics, because moon-cats don't speak;
while we wait for the pizza guy who's been late for a week.

I sleep in a tree in the west end of the park.
I stripped it of leaves and all of its bark.
I just bummed five bucks off of a guy jogging by;
he said "fight the power", and held his fist in the sky.

I sleep in my car, somewhere outside of Denver.
Don't ask for how long, I don't really remember.
I met a weird looking guy and he said "Hocus Pocus",
now I spend all of my days in the back of my Focus.