3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin)

Something's wrong... you don't belong here.
I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza.
I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni.
I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf.
He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public.

Like I'm a creep.  I'm a ******.
What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.

You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table.
When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates.
Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion.
After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu.

So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.  

Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.  

They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.  

They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.  

They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.  

They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.  

They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies,  if you know what I mean.


In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.  

They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes!


I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.  

And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.  


I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!  

I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay.
... except for anchovies, of course.

I am a creature of habit

I keep thinking wowohwowohwowohwowohwow how things CHANGE man things have changed SO much it's amazing it's incredible unbelievable overwhelming unfathomable unable to have ever predicted that here we would be hugging outside of the ADC no longer with forced smiles from clenching teeth and wicked, glassy marbles for eyes

Yet here I am still pick-pick-picking at the skin on the side of my thumb

Isn’t It Weird, I Mean Wired, I Think I Mean Weird Wait

Wait

Wait

Please

Don’tGo

Hold on, wait things haven’t changed at all, I’m thinking about the fall, thinking about the fall when the leaves were changing and so did we, permanently.  I think about the night we stayed up until the sun came up touching and talking and nearly dying one powder-filled capsule at a time.  I’m thinking about hallucinating black spiders crazy coming at me, grabbing me, surrounding me, consuming me until it seemed like there was nothing left of me at all

Except spiders, spidery veins, spidery ribs poking out from my spidery skin in every which direction with my spider tired eyes sinking into my spider tired mind

I’m thinking about another sleepless night, countless by then couldn’t remember the last time we really drifted off together into deep, peaceful rest.  We lay there at rock bottom which really turns out to be just another K hole but no amount of sticky sweet sugar will get you out.

And I took your hand in mine and said man we can’t stay like this, I looked at the spider cracks in the ceiling that matched the creases in my shaking hands and realized we changed or died.  

And I chose life.  I bent my knees and pushed up as high as I could off of the cold blacklight-lit lumpy, stained mattress on the floor we laid on because there was no other way to go but UP.

I climbed and climbed and I felt crushed beneath depression and exhaustion that latched on to my back like long-forgotten heavy backpacks full of stones and I wasn’t exactly sure who they belonged to so I carried them with me.  

The demons in my eyes started to dissolve into puddles that leaked into my lungs so I coughed them out violently night after night for weeks that seemed to stretch into years.   When my eyes managed to flutter shut for a moment I was immediately propelled into night terrors that had me screaming, crying, begging for a different life, a different night, for someone, something please save me from myself

It’s weird that that someone ended up being me

SORT OF. SORT OF is me, because I still am my own worst enemy.  I’m fighting this never ending battle in myself with myself, and I think of all these things I changed but here I am HERE I AM AGAIN listening to those same sweet whispers from under my bed, those **** demons that tell me we can just do it for a little while just to be better for a little while to not feel tired lets get wired **** everything lets get high

I’ve grinded out the sharpness of my teeth, just like I’ve grinded out the sharpness of my words, and grinded out the sharpness of the dark contrast against the images of memories of artificial sunshine happiness in my mind, my dopamine pathways have been long hibernating but unlike predictable seasons I'm unsure of when exactly spring will come, or if the groundhog will forever fear its shadow, a demon that reminds it of speed monsters it could never overpower.  

I feel like each relapse is worse than the last, like I lose another piece of me, shave off another few years of my life one heart palpitation at a time, and each time it takes more and more to finally feel fine

But there’s so much to do and so little time, so many tears to cry and no one to care, and no matter how many friends I have how many coffees I drink how many hours I sleep there’s only one thing that really makes me feel like I’m so recklessly alive

A creature of habit, I mull these thoughts over and pick my thumbs raw.

'i've only ever really read one poem. i, i have to admit.*  
You know, that, that one poem that everyone’s read, whatsit,
Howl by Ginsberg, 'best-minds-of-my-generation-destroyed-by-madness,-starving-hyste­rical-naked,' , yeah, that one;'
'It's just, I identify with it so strongly.' she says,
'That poem is soo me.'
It's funny how commentary on a generation 60 odd years ago come across as timeless insights..
how we learn that true spirit of rebellion and counterculture three generations ago,
  as it is taught to us by two generation ago countercounterculture academics.
but I guess, inevitably
                                         we
                                                  return,
  to those half drowned pontifications inevitably decried into transcendental truth by the onward spilling ratchet of cultural recognition;
  that sense of universal oneness generated by the unwashed ramblings of beat-generation hipsters dense innuendo in run on sentences running, running from their upper-lower-middle-class New York homes and their privilege of true vacant meaninglessness and despair,
   to those nervous tucked in shirted clean shaven scholars swooning over the same seme drugged, melancholic bearded men profussing the deepest of opaque truths only found up the furthest reaches of their own *****.
  As we push through to our lectures, the mosaic in motion of blazer wearing mac-users and mac-pac wearing blazers,
  As we hysterically interpret the formatting conditions for our reports, which could hang in the balance of whether the dreams we once had will ever be actualised,
  As we felt lost and found and found and lost at those park benches under the stars, where occasional strangers strolled by offering sessions and life-stories,
  As we paid exorbitantly to get out of our parents homes, and into tin-can flats with broken windows, absentee landlords and cracked paint only held together by all the moss, (the empowerment that is wage slavery,) for in our youth, poverty is not an ever-present pejorative, but the rite of passage to show that we are alive,
  As rituals of manhood are defined by two things and two things only; how much insomnia one can accumulate to meet insane and inane deadlines, and how much one can illuminate the walls in ***** from all the beers, spirits, cheap wines and questionable home-brews,
  As the government dismantles the human-rights commission, and we nervously attend the rallies initiated by the radicals, and the man on the megaphone calls on the crowd to chant and we can only mumble and laugh nervously at ourselves,
  And when the next speaker runs onto stage feeling the need to plead to this already nervous, placid mass that this is in-fact a PEACEFUL PROTEST, and that we are all true patriots and they insist everyone start singing the national anthem and we all look down and we again mumble, or pretend somehow not to hear them,
  and when, in this biggest independent rally around a unified cause our generation's ever seen, we have never felt so alone ,
  and isolated,  
                                  we
                                             remember,
                                                                    those earlier days,
  When we'd bleach our hair; we'd poison ourselves white, in the vain mystic hope that this was just the transition period to the time when we'd get true colour into our lives,
  Remember our wonder at the Eurocentric Asiatic television representations of the Abrahamic faiths, given transubstantiated holy revival by the medium of Saturday morning digital pastel pasture; when we were children staring excited and wide eyed into the Metatrons Fire of Sinai 'Random Almighty Mega Damage'; as Dante and the seraph class Tyrant-infused-Michael inevitably made battle with YHWH, -in the one True End,- as we grinded within the monolithic emerald obsidian halls, Mystical wonderment spilling forth from our reddened hollow eyes, at the beautiful unlimited expansive world contained within our console/consoling digital unit discs; conformally mapped and etched into the convex hull of our minds,
  Where we were gods, doing battle with every possible creature in morphospace, filleted into overpriced cards and cartridges, for which our strategies meant so much to us though none of us really understood the game,
  When we could quote verbatim every piece of dialogue in GTA2, and get concerned glances from our parents as we conjured veiled imagery of bukake-ladled innuendo which we didn't really understand until six or seven years later,
  When sexuality was a special secret club our elders and the kids in the years above came across so wise for being a member of, rather than an anti-turing test; a farcical ritual where everyone tries their best to imitate the hyper-reality of MTV while hiding the nervous feelings that this whole thing was really meant for someone other than us,
  When creating a whole new lexicon for our self-hood (be it artistic, ******, political or philosophical) felt like existential emancipation; a transcendental rebellion against the normalising identities and semantics of old, rather than an impenetrable circle-**** taxonomy,
  When one day we'd unveil a new term in some text, and it would completely change our outlook on every corner of our lives,
  Or, the next day, when we'd give up and just sit back on rolling banks, and look out at a veil of stars,
  Or the next day, when we'd wonder desperate and painfully, which of the last two was the real pursuit and which was wasted time? (Or was it this day, the day spent building an illusory dialectic between them?)
  Remember when we were in kindergarden, and you had to pass through the kitchen, -the adults zone,- to get to the toilet, and you'd feel both shame and wonderment listening in of the snippets of conversation muttered by these titanic figures; discussing abstruse issues from the newspaper in foreign yet noble tongues?
  Remember when we were teens, and every form-checking observation and question from these same adults was so painstakingly pedantically banal and asinine, that one could only respond with monosyllabic grunts and silent hysterics?
  And remember as 'young adults', when we'd inevitably entered this same dull Aristotelian world of forms, how we'd ask the same adults for advice on filling these paperworks, at once still asemic gibberish, and at once the fine-print that contained and predicted our lives?
  Remember when our dreams for the future were not bounded by the economy of our grade point averages and just how much debt we were willing to incur
                                …
I've seen the best minds of my generation climb into pre-packaged little boxes; and pay through the teeth for the privilege of doing so.  
  Akin to a 'Howl' they call it? Our cry for selfhood? What a scream.
It's not even a cry. Barely a whimper.
More of a zombified groan, completely aware our intrepid Journey of Self is just a pricey guided tour. (Tv Ad's static commodified existential emancipatory platitudes; 'your place in the world' / 'well it's my place and it's my time' urgh.)
And so we march asleep; all lame all blind.
  Trudging through the mind-fields; arguing, unravelling the semantic distinctions between the empty boundaries and the boundaries of emptiness.
  Transcribed down for essay deadlines,  /  assessing our lives trajectory as dead lines,
Becoming increasingly aware,
  We are not the living beings, the dasein, the Übermenschen being actualised; we are the machinery through which the institutions, the factories, the markets and education facilities actualise themselves.
  (While the only acceptable language we can breathe in opposition to these ratcheting pedagogical machines is the lexicon they provide us..
  ('oh, you hate systemic neoliberal alienation; the deestablishment of ontological anthropocentrism? Tell me more about the esoteric uselessness of academic culture.') bluh.)

But

       the more we follow those phantom images we built of ourselves,
the more we become aware they are but sirens; hypnotic dreamlike figures luring us to our doom,
  and as this awareness dawns; and the cognitive dissonances and schizophrenia grows,
       We


                                just try to keep calm and carry on regardless.

Can we really claim the arrogance of having a better path?
The conceit that there's a better cliff we should be guiding ourselves to to top ourselves off?
I don't know,
I reaally
really
just don't know.

She sat by the window, with the rain pelting the foggy glass, breathing hot air into the cold. She took her finger and slowly ran it across the pane, pushing away the gathered dew and then running her fingers up, down, up, down. G O N E sprawled in messy cursive. Her thoughts were as dreary as everything surrounding her. It was as if the rain was complementing her. After all, if it was sunny, depressing thoughts would be banished to the back of her head.

They had all left her, her past lovers. Their words echoed across the wooden floor, false promises stealing pieces of her heart until the outer shell was the only thing that remained. It was beautiful really. Her shell was so delicate, like a bottle tossed into the ocean, broken and grinded against the sand and rocks, until it finally rested on a beach somewhere, all edges smoothed. She was seaglass, a reminder of the past, but beautiful.

the first told her that she was an angel, just one without wings. “But that’s ok” , he said, “sometimes there is no need to fly”. He found a  single mom on concord avenue two weeks later. She got child support. He bought her a ring soon after.

The third she met in the winter, where for months, white was the only variation of color. He liked to push her on her sled, but he laughed with more joy when he pushed her down the stairs. Red was the second color discovered that winter.

The fourth was the last. His love aged like a plum, darker and sweeter each week she was with him. He stroked her knee with his fingers when they sat upright at the doctor’s office, and he stroked her neck with his lips as she cried, laying horizontally on his bed. “Where did you get the scars on your back?”  he would murmur into her skin.

“I fell down the stairs once”,  she would whisper in the direction of his voice, her words floating in the darkness of the bedroom. The tip of his thumb would run down the pale pink scars, but she wouldn’t feel him there, that part of her had become numb long before. He left her two years later, his side of the room empty except for the spare key resting on the mahogany side table. His smell still lingered carelessly on her pillow.

Whenever it rained, she sat at the window, shadows gathering at her feet.

When you first arrived at my house,
I could see that warm, humble smile,
You said I looked so beautiful,
I'd felt all the worth while.
I had a thousand butterflies in my stomach,
From how attractive you looked that night,
I could only lay back and smile,
As we start our endless flight.
When I saw over 100 people at your friend's house,
I honestly felt overwhelmed and surprised,
Because I didn't expect so many cameras and people,
Awkwardly saying our, "hello's and "goodbyes."
But they all went to a different school than I,
As I stood there alone,
We weren't even on the prom bus yet,
I was somewhat on my own.
But my lover stood beside me,
Still uncomforatable and not fully content,
Because I couldn't fake a smile,
They'd made a huge dent.
You introduced me to everyone,
But I felt so lost,
Though you were beside me,
There was more love than cost.
When you grinded on me,
I honestly felt exploited and turned off,
Because it wasn't like you at all,
A boy who's always humble and soft.
What happened that night?
We were dancing together but your eyes wandered away,
I saw in you your insecurities,
And I'm baffled to this day.
You didn't have to impress other people as much as you did,
Becuase I just wanted to have the greatest time with you,
Because junior prom only comes once a lifetime,
And I focused just on you.
Is it me?
Or is it you?
Is it us?
Is it true?
But you never left me that night...
I give you my thanks and love,
Its not your fault that it was awkward,
Two hearts glowing,
From up above.

September speaks in dull sand flecks
and billowing my stiffened skirt to kneecaps
rested on for prayer, grinded on for ***.

It pokes and I’ll awake –
I am just like a ***** in the autumn morn
first torn, the first born of a hundred
encounters of which I would not believe
it could be the opus of.

Ladies lose physical barriers, but they
do not evade a September when orchards are
trimmed and all that’s beneath is unveiled:
see it with my glass eye. No dust inside.

See it with your honey bulbs –
the foothills, the knees married to the floor
where stars first aligned, so I ****** you off.

He called his older and baby sister home

Leukemia fought back and forth now it came to claim the soul those I cherish most on this earth were to
Be consumed at the deepest depths of the caldron but friend you see I know someone he faced death
Most cruelest blows and was victories so being human and facing pain and sorrow at such heights I ran
To the only place I knew back to the motel in California where he flooded our room with such peace we
Only stopped for the night to break up the drive from LA back to San Francisco the bay area it was
Christmas but we never made it home who can leave when the very air you breathe is saturated with
Love and a peace you have never known before at the time I didn’t know my only sister had died but He
Knew so I prayed that for this situation but they always say God is not limited so he did move in their
Pain my wife the older sister with his next to older sister and her daughter were in the bedroom by his
Side when he peacefully passed the doctor warned that in some cases this disease at death will cause
The person to bleed out every ounce of blood God spared us from that horror he only dropped his
Shoulder and with a couple of puffs of air he was gone and God helped my wife in this way one of the
Books I read to her to get her to sleep is Oma she is a united Pentecostal preacher her story is one of
Terrible hardship after being filled with the Holy Ghost speaking in tongues that is biblical way of
Salvation her husband an unbeliever tried to **** her three times and seemingly even more cruel he and
His mother conspired together and took her five children and one was a nursing baby but she stayed
True to God and her ministry grew and flourished the bible says God is a ever present help in the time of
Trouble and her prayer and mine was help us Lord for we are troubled he sustained Oma and new babies
Born into God’s kingdom through her ministry became her children so God dropped this thought in my
Wife’s heart she said she felt like Oma when her brother died it was right it was strong it held while the
Storm of death was trying to flatten her the next to the oldest sister the one with her daughters and
Husband bore the brunt of this two year battle pressed crushed grinded by what was happening to her
Brother my heart bled most for her God poured in the love from the unseen and laughter is like a
Medicine he supplied that in quaintest portions God uses clowns to bring relief to pain first you have to
Go down in that valley be torn apart then you are given still that which you lack to enter such sacred
Ground and add the antidote that will guard and protect those that God cares to comfort it was great to
Learn although Joe wasn’t a priest in the spiritual sense he was an uncommon one in the human sense
The words of his friends that streamed in told that story and his best friend the next to the oldest
Daughter’s husband capped it when he spoke for the family someone special lived among us and now
Was gone but he will live in each new day bring those same gifts he shared he didn’t have a lot but it
Was All yours if you needed it thats quiet a life in any body’s book I said it before and I will say it again
Farewell Prince a kingdom you now have found

Tales marketed at the edge of all existence,
formulated by mass hysteria
and poverty
spit from the grinded ideals of our fathers
but our fathers were twisted and aged-
but our mothers,
our mothers
whom were convicted as the criminally insane
and held at a lower standard
knew the future,
they knew we would crumble,
that we must crumble.
For it has been predicted since ancient times
that mankind would fall
but the fall was blamed on Gods
and those of a higher power
because they could not believe
that man would wound himself,
slowly poison himself until he drags
his black and blue skin across the lands
and eats all he sees,
gorging himself till he bursts
and drowns our cities in his impurities.
Funny,
built like monkeys we are fools,
but more to the liking of our pink skin
we are pigs at heart

She grounded her feet
and leaned forward
peering into tiny mud puddles.
She saw the outline of her wavy hair
with one stray piece rebelling
from how she wanted it to rest
on the top of her head.
And she wanted to fix it,
but couldn't completely.

*

He grinded his teeth
and leaned forward
peering into tiny blood puddles.
He saw the outline of his unmarked arms
with one sharp blade rebelling
from how he wanted it to be
on the darkest of his nights.
And he wanted to stop for her,
but couldn't completely.

Yessir I have felonies
and melodies both melancholy and miraculous
paragraphiculous and ridiculous
stole some shows and some thunder
thighs like two day old pudding slap 'em and ride the waves
sike
drink up some dishwasher detergent chased with lead paint
not for the faint of heart just the stupid as ffffffffuuuuuu when under the right noises
and boyses and girlies all singing their swirlies
and twirlin' 'round like pinwheels of tin steel
ten feet off of the ground
hillsides like pill boxes full of coins and coincidences
unmeasured instances of grief and shame without a blame
no face to force hate just mirrors to show fate
and the stars in the sky with their winking teasing ways all
fall to the ground
will be dead within days
but they are not forsaken, maybe only spared
to avoid seeing the moment when sunny didn't share
and all went dark like absence of creation
animation of fears all mixed and respun into dope dubstep
to be grinded and mashed
and spat back up into the trees

19/31
Everybody knew what they both did
After the Xmas party a lot of rumpy pumpy!
The mid-size 31 year old female
And the 19 year old male getting it on
The lad has a galfriend and new baby
But still grinded the older chick
People told me of this and what joy!
They went to a hotel after the drinking
And ******* like rabbits oh illicit heaven!
It was a small Pattaya call centre with 15 workers
All knew and pretended it never happened
The gal flirted with me weeks later
When we all ate out at a fish resto
I fed on meat a different kind that she did!
Was I right now to **** her myself?
I wonder how she'd enjoy me
Would I be better or worse than him?
Captured for posterity in this poem
Does he still want her or msg her
And did they ever do it again?

Oh my....
What a ******* **** sight you are
About 5'11" in your ******* hot *** ***** pink dress along with your **** long, gorgeous black hair and your fashionably seductive hoop earrings, enticing, Spanish green eyes and smile
Well you did tell me you were Spanish/Italian like Selena Gomez Definitely lit my ******* soul up and I felt myself losing my breath
You asked me what my name is
I said "Xoaquin what's yours?"
"Just call me little wet ****" you said with your ****, wet breath as you whispered into my ear
So then I said "Ooooh ok little wet ****. You're so naughty."
I said "Listen you see that girl up there? Well I was thinking about getting a dance from both of you."
You said "Oh ok well let's go."
You escorted me to the stage in the center of the V.I.P. to watch the other girl until her song was over. The three of us went into the V.I.P. and you both climbed on top of me. I started grabbing her ***** but I started grabbing yours too. I was actually more into you. You're way sexier. I believe I told you that as we were by the stage
You said "You're very ****."
I said "Thank you."
I then said "Well I know you don't need me to tell you because you already know that you are ****."
You said "Thank you baby."
Fast forward back to the moment. Kaylie started putting​ her **** ******* in my face while you grinded your soft **** Latin *** up and down my ****. You have great rhythm. Loved the touch/feel of your skin. I loved​ how both of you rubbed your ******* and ***** all over. You both have very thick round juicy tender ***** and I loved every inch of them. Every inch of skin. Every inch of thickness within my grip
You both smelled very good. I loved your scent especially between your *****. Felt/smelled so nice.
Hope I see you again "little wet ****"
Even moreso I hope that I get to taste you next time

gets up from chair, and breathes in deeply

     people are made up of so many things, it's amazing

     1. Oxygen
     2. Carbon
     3. Hydrogen
     4. Nitrogen
     5. Calcium
     6. Phosphorus
     7. Potassium
     8. Sulfur
     9. Sodium
    10. Magnesium

  i guess paying attention in biology did pay off

    i remember when i was 11 years old my brother showed me a movie clip where Charlie Chaplin spoke in-front of tons of people

  he said "we think too much and feel too little".... i finally understand

and if you feel sad, i hope you can find a therapist, or i hope you can afford a 12 pack of beer at the liquor store to ease what you feel right then


  *walks out the house

                       looks around and smiles

i found hope on the corner of arapaho and shiloh, it was 7:32 pm, i remember because i texted myself saying "dude you're finally happy"

no more desires of being dead ever came to mind

   i found out what a man i can be if i pushed myself and loved without regretting, without being scared of falling for things for the wrong reasons

i found out to learn everything and grasp whatever came my way even if it brought me to my knees

   i'm going to die fulfilled


                         i feel like rhyming, sorry, i'm not a good rhymer, but here i go....


          garden of green leaves
               glistening tress
   scented hives, buzzing bees
               we lie under shaded trees
    we pray to who we're afraid to deceive
             if we do, we rot even if we pleaded on our knees
    summer breeze, ******* and THC
            don't leave
  addictions are hard to let go when i love you like grinded holy mary ****
        


   i'm not a good rhymer, i think the song that goes like "versace versace versace versace versace"

was better than what i just w. r. o. t. e.

    haha.


   it's getting dark, i need to go to sleep

*turns off light

oh, the pity, the grief, the disappointment, the lies. So shameful, so depressing, so disgraced from society.  The hate, the pain of  no acceptance, so guilty. Bad decisions, bad choices, the lies that can never be taken away, they just linger in you, taking away joy, love, and peace. And for what, the only answer to be found is nothing. It's all for nothing in the long run, trying to save your skin, but end up getting grinded into the pavement. Stupid, stupid choices!

Stars gleam -night/snakes run their races,
Rain always seems/to find our faces,
Drowning deep abyss/those dark and evil places,
Wanna' die, release/trapped time, a Beast,
....come end this stasis,
....come end this stasis,

I wanna' die,
Transpose,
I wanna' die,
Cosmos!

We have eyes/still won’t see it,
Hearing without hearing, ears won’t believe it,
Argo, course, pivot/never touch, feel, regret,
Hunger boils feel/pain, life, hurts, reveal;

I wanna' die,
Transpose,
I wanna die,
Cosmos!

I wanna' dine at the table of Kro-nos!

Grinded, gnashed, sliced, eaten/devoured as a Cretan,
Die, soul to fly/meet in the sky,

I wanna' die in the cosmos,

I wanna die,
Transpose,
I wanna die,
Cosmos!

Trapped mill machine/they eat, they gleam,
Meet for the feast/Almighty beast, Almighty Kronos!

I wanna dine,
It a crime?
Swallowed by time,
In the cosmos,
I wanna die,
I wanna dine,

I wanna dine cosmos/retch my body, I transpose,

I wanna dine at the table of Kro-nos!

*I wanna die,
Transpose,
I wanna die,
Cosmos!

I’ve been wrestling this since last fall,
peeling my socks off around 2a.m.
and crawling into my nightmares
like a child on her hands and knees.
I’ve tossed my hair in the towel,
examined the scratches on my back
or the bite mark on my shoulder,
juxtaposing them to my flaws,
prying myself open and watching
the little memories flood
from my arteries like insects.
I’ve ******

the energy from my cheeks and given it
to my bones so they may carry
the weight of last year into this year,
the heavy balance between leaving your room
and sitting myself against the frame,
legs to my chest, listening to the unheard voices
telling me to stop loving you.
I’ve cut

you out like bruises on a strawberry,
throwing the bad parts into the black hole
to be grinded and deposited as to be rightfully
grown into something new. But this time,

after we made love on your floor
and counted the stars that left my mouth
every time you touched me like that,

I let myself cling to the light.
I stuffed the empty parts with your remnants,
and latched onto the goodbye kiss.
I’ve been wrestling with you

our bodies so close

since the summer ended and we rejoined
the feelings we spared just to pretend
that we didn’t hear the kettle roar
when we were finished.

What house is this, that creeks and moans?
Sadness filled, echoed pallid groans.
Bemused ignorant emotion loans,
To sad dejected violent tones.

What house is this, thoughtless emotions blinded?
At first thought we, but never-minded.
Past residence lost, hopes been grinded.  
Remembered again forgotten reminded.

What house is this, that sealed our fate?
When finally caught on, we were too late.
Never alone, perpetually in this state.
Lost, trapped like the rest in this house we must wait.

They taught you to eat corn,
They fed you hormones
And you grew faster
Than you were ever meant to.
Your bones, your muscles, your sinews
Strained under your strange girth,
You collapsed to the ground
Amidst a pile of your own filth.

The others wailed around you,
Mile after mile of confused beasts,
Suffering,
Completely disoriented,
Completely terrified.

You all will feed the world,
The billions waiting
For your mashed and grinded flesh.

And what is your reward?
When finally your bones
Snapped underneath your immense bulk,
The men came
Prodding you with a forklift,
They laughed as you rolled
In the utmost agony,
Bleating for mercy of compassion.

It was not their fault,
They were only doing
What the system demanded
Of them.

They carried you off
And spilled your life blood
Openly onto a dark factory floor,
Hoisted you up,
Stripped you naked
Of your skin,
Tearing at your carcass
And sent you off
To the supermarkets
Where you were welcomed
As a shrink-wrapped addition
To the shelves.

As pigfeed
I'm grinded don't to mutual pulp
Like a demon
They gulp away at mine sensation

Turn thy station

Gone to perplexed numbing
I'm not here
Or am I?

Belted by the wayside
Ground dirt for worms of feast
Meade like beasts

Slavery's inventions

Deaf I can't hear!!!
Blind I need sedation
Running out of patience

Trapped by mine own gangledopper

Martian trotters!!!

Imperial bathing slime
Greased to all perfections

A pinch if moonshine time!

They decided to carpool for work
Business Women working nine to five
They buckled up and ignited the van
She was in the passenger seat
Being a mile away from home
Never seemed so far away

Some people end at five
While others begin
By the time six came around
He was already stumbling for his car keys
To get to a destination
That he really didn’t know how to get to
It’s like his brain simply just shut down
He buckled up and ignited the car

They were resting at a stop sign
Not far off from a community
When they decided to move forward
While fast forward was coming from the right
Going past 35mph signs at 85
And I’m not scared of most things but…
He was flying
She was in the passenger seat

The powerful pressure lifted her off the seat like hands
Tore through the seat belt like claws
Crashed through shattered glass like the beautiful miracle of a spider web
Picture a body suspended in air floating like a cloud
Except with a lot more velocity
Teeth and skin grinded on pavement
I can’t walk on my hands for five yards
But somehow she managed to slide three blocks on her face
She finally rested when God himself
Personally came down from the sky and held her
Looked into her brown eyes that weren’t even there anymore
And he said, “This is enough.”
Now a tulip grows under concrete

She came from a family of twenty-two
So the hospital was full and weak
The lobby was filled with too many strangers to host a meeting so
The doctor took the warm-hearted family into a room
And they poured in so brightly that the door couldn’t even shut
He told them not to remove the blanket because they wouldn’t see
Something that should be on shoulders resting on a pillow
They have to shut the casket
Like folding hands over one another
Hiding a dying butterfly from it’s most beautiful worn out moment

Then there were loud shouts of profanity coming from outside the door
As a family was inside learning what it meant to come together
They could hear everything
“How much longer do I have to ******* wait you mother *******? Ahh **** come on! Someone ******* help me, for **** sake! Doesn’t anyone give a **** about me!”
This room was a TV set not turned on
The doctor needed to excuse himself
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said
“That’s your drunk driver outside, he broke his arm.”

Thai By
This place gets under your skin. Slowly creeping in like black Texas gold. I said I'd never partake in the cat house girls. Seeing them each day for eighteen months was routine. Walking past the 'venues' to my shop. Usual hi's and hello's.

Then one fine humid day, bang! I happened. I changed. Cabin fever? I walked into Suzi's Place. I put my cash on the counter and grinded the mamasan first. Then her two daughters followed by every other girl in there. It took thirteen hours.

I totalled twenty eight girls. Most were nice. I can't tell my wife. My mate could, his wife's cool. Mine isn't. I'll say I was busy inking from dawn to dusk. I'm not sure what came over me. The Thai air got under my skin. That day tattooing could wait.

Maybe I'll do it again. Invite my wife and her toy boy. Did I say that people are strange here? I fit in well...

I fell in love a while ago,
To an exciting, divine and beautiful gal;
I loved her to death, in taste and in smell.
She was an exhilarating specimen; taught me laugh, live and love.

The thought of her, grinded my teeth, and ached my bones,
Hell the thought of her gnawed my lips and curled my toes.
At sight she shrunk my pupils and widened my eyes,
She gave me Goosebumps yet she was the raging fire inside.

Oh she was my one, my only. My snowflake, my perfect beauty.
-Her name was ******* and she ******* loved me.

Did you ever spill salt
over a slug, saw it being ****** up?

Did you ever take a flame
near a spider, saw it being twisted?

Did you ever scold a kid
in a grounding voice, saw his will grinded?

Senseless time, senseless routines,
senseless solitude: salt, flame, grind.

Can anyone pass me the pepper, please?
I'll fade in the chill but in a spicy hot blast!

Dishes served full are well laid on the table
prawns are glittering adornments
though only yesterday
their tentacles were tasting the river
not knowing they would be in another water
in the river of saliva
grinded and pulped for a tasty moksha.

The rain falls unabated from last night.

Who'll go out to feed?, asks a voice.

Does never being hungry feel the same stress
as being hungry most of the time?

The answer is in the clouded eyes
watching the eyes
joyful for one more chance.

A lay for the Brother,
A lay for the Soul.
A lay for the Lover,
Their graves set in stone.
For the Tarmac and the Lessons,
For the Company and the School,
For all the Years and Times,
That have grinded their souls.
For the heat of the moment,
For the chill beneath their spines,
For the silence that stretched,
For a million years' time.
For the ***** in his heart,
For the Wolf in her mind,
For All that happened,
Unfair and Unkind.
For the Future that died,
For Each Second  it is reborn,
For the Lives lived together,
Mildly content but so forlorn.
A Lay for the Lover,
A Lay for the Soul,
A Lay for the Brother,
For The Grind and The Toll.

It started well, so cleanly
Soaked in Lush stuff she soothed the aches
Whilst wife was meanwhile cooking a treat
Cider soaked pork and apples
The taste was tremendous
Precedent set for the night ahead

Feeling cool as ganstas we bopped and grinded
To hip-hop only Jurassic 5 could please me with
We were few female amongst a crowd of masculinity
And we relished the imbalance
Flirting my way to the front of the bar
I reignited my relationship with the favourite Jaegar-Bomb
And there dust settled upon the cleanliness

Things turned hazy but in a good way
Post gig we flooded onto the streets of Brixton
And drank the finest foreign beers from an overflowing alehouse
The company was our long-missed men-friends
And yet we still meeting more
As we shared the ingredients to ***** our lungs
They asked for 50 shades of grey in return for rizla
So I rose to the challenge in my half-cut state

This time is was always my intention to wash the weekend down wildly
And starting Thursday this premature session could progress to only place
…the Queens Head
Where dust turned to grime as snapshots of evidence
Prove it was on the credit card that those Jaegar-Bombs were paid
Time and time again
We had become team-mates and it was time I fed them
So we muddled back to my place
Trumpeting our voices through the building
As I served slow roasted pork from glasses
Apparently felt good choice
But next day our melted fingerprints disagree
Our heads also disagree with the antics
And it takes two rounds of tablets to numb the pain

Before later forcing recovery as in Shoreditch we start again
Gathered at Bettys we watched music played
Our rumps rested on armchairs upon the pavement
We continued drinking until the early hours of the day
Then searched for somewhere to take us on the dance floor longer
After only brief grimes of movement and Jaegar
Our night ended abruptly to our dismay
Instead had my first take of kebab
And went north where *** took the night away

Once again woke next morn in bed with man-friend
No memory but surely not in a **** way
Now the skies ******* a mocking mirror of our livers
It seemed a sign to sink further
And the finest ****** Mary led the way
And together sat on sofas we philosophised subjects that we deemed great
Then we ogled sparkly get ups
With prices that we couldn’t afford to pay
So went south to join more friends whose film we met to celebrate

The beginning of the end of madness
Needed cocktails-all we could tolerate
We had formed a tribe of friendship
And we hunted somewhere to prolong the rave
By now all sense of cleanliness long-time washed away
So a downstairs dive provided venue fit for our friendships to extenuate

Then outside met a generous stranger
Who offered tastings that lead our minds astray
Our insides dirtied beyond belief
But sprits high so when we stumbled upon a private party
We were welcome guests to join their birthday

What happened next I needn’t say
For inevitably it had become Sunday
So ***** now we were beyond grey
In wife’s bed I lay
Whilst my insides showed their dismay

This would take some cleaning

Love to grinded dust
Do not blow in the wind
Hollow tree
An empty me
Pouring dust into human palm
To make a fist
Another scar
Love could not speak words
Poetry to the star
Glowing an endless reign
Minds clouded rain of sane
Could a puddle be enough
A reflection of you
Along the morning dew  
The white eyed moon
Looking at my craters


Saying "We are the same"

When you get older
You get wiser
But
You care
Less and less

And
Less and less
You seek
The company
Of others

Friends
Fade to gray
Family ties
Stretched or broken
Mostly gone
The world vanishes
Into a haze
Of endless repetition

If you're wiser
You keep a shotgun
In the hallway
And a 44 magnum
In the inner pocket
Of the coat
That served so well
For ten something years

If you're wiser
You have enemies
You didn't forget
You didn't forgive
They are ripe
They are ready
They're still young
They're not hardened
But too old
To start over.

You're tense
You're focused
You're sharp

Aromas of
Freshly grinded
Coffee beans
Fresh baked bagels
The first rays of light
Wipe away the fog
The last drops of dew
Not the smell of danger
Clear and
Very present

They're ripe
Take
Away
Everything they got
Teach them a lesson
Trash their lives
**** them
In "self defense"

A new grind
Kenyan
At the coffee shop
A rain of bullets
Put on a hat

I do, i remember,
When i first saw your face,
Such manly, tough expressions,
Melted into a kind of grace,
Before i knew it, my skirt was round my hips,
And through my shirt,
You ****** me with your lips.

So breathless and hot we were that day,
We stripped in record time,
We fumbled desparately with eachother,
Two ***** bodies entwined,
A connection happened, as we moved,
And grinded hard and fast,
The climactic bursts of passion, babe,
When you exploded, at last.

The shower we shared was *****,
Ironicly so pleasant,
I bit your neck and licked it,
Then you gave to me, a presant,
I gasped in awe with cowardice,
But you were gentle, babe,
My hands against the shower wall,
As abundant love you gave.

Our tired bodies ached for more,
But loving slumber prevailed,
And as the setting sun crept by,
We slept under darkness' veil,
We both awoke to wandering limbs,
Love and lust entwined,
We knew that time was running out,
But time didn't care, or mind.

We held eachother close that night,
Aware of the coming dawn,
When you would leave me here, my love,
Alone, in tears, withdrawn,
The only consolation is,
We met again, and again,
And decided we were soulmates,
In with love, out with pain!!!

Everyday in English class, she'd walk in, sit down and open a book. The Teacher in silent understanding allowed her to.
He handed her the work wordlessly and within a few minutes she returned the fully completed work back to him. These A*'s meant nothing to her.
I sighed in contempt, this enigma of a girl, what was she? I see her around school a lot more, I noticed that she was the most popular girl but one would not associate her with that, for her persona was not that of one. Everyone fought to talk to her but she just looked at them with empty eyes, seen as full, but I saw through her guise. Her eyes....nothing was in them.
She intrigued me, I couldn't help it, and worst of all, now I can't let her go.
Everyday I am a soldier, constantly fighting for eye contact, yet those bottomless pits of icy brown avoided my searching eyes like the plague.

As usual, she walked into class and opened her book, her precious book was coming apart at the seams, almost a few seconds away from crumbling into pieces for she had used the book as a lifeline.
I cautiously made my way over to her desk that was nestled in the back, she stiffened at my looming presence,sigh.
I stared at her, waiting, with the patience of a saint, a devilish saint.
She failed to look up once, 10 minutes had passed...it was like she was frozen...had winter come early?
was she even breathing?
you see, I had bought a book for her, but this game was tiring and I couldn't abandon my responsibilities for my new-found muse.
I set the book down on her desk and walked away after what felt like eternity crossed with purgatory.
This book was from my personal library at home, I secretly hoped in mock amusement that we shared the same taste in literature although I had an inkling that my assumption would naturally be correct.

From the corner of my eye I gleaned that she was taken aback and that her curiosity was about to override her passive responses. I watched her pick up the book like a predator sets his gaze upon his prey.
My heart felt like it was beating at the speed of light when her elegant fingers caressed the spine and brushed the pages that moaned at her touch.
My breath hitched as her lips parted in thought, ****, she looked up.
God, the realization hit me that she was my own book that I read every English lesson.

The years went by, two years and four days, to be exact, since I first gave her my book. Nothing changed, every week she'd return my book to me after she'd read it, expression, unchanged.
It has been 740 days, 17,760 hours, 1,065,600 minutes since the day she became my muse, and not once did she ever escape my mind.

She started coming into class with punctuality out of sight and much to my  shock, empty handed. Her book was not in sight, my mind was reeling. To compensate she completed her work then stared, enthralled at her desk for the duration of the lesson.
Reminiscent of the first time that I approached her, I took the plunge again, opened my mouth and firmly asked "is everything okay?"
I hoped that the deep baritones of my voice would not get her shook but little did I know how familiar they were to  her, instead she shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. I sighed, walking away, I felt nothing, this was completely expected. crazy.
**** it, I craved to hear her voice, directed at me and me only, something a little less casual then yes or no or even answering for the register.

I knew the that the next time she was to walk in, something will have changed within her.
Correct, I win, hah.
but it wasn't so funny when I noticed the red around her eyes or the lilac blush of feint bruising underneath her eyes or that she kept sniffing or that she couldn't sit still or that she grinded her teeth.
Welcome to coke 101.

That ******* phone of hers that she was glued to all of a sudden just made the anger within me rise further up.
Who was getting her this excited, she was jittery and oddly enough her face looked brighter and less torn...did she almost look happy?

All my questions were answered when class ended and I walked behind her glancing at the screen of her phone to discover that a girl who was my property was engaged in a conversation with a 'J <3'
I saw red, I don't share my property unless I condone it
who was this devil who changed my little mystery?

scanning...scanning...scanning...who was she running to...ah
a group that resembled something fresh off the saint Laurent runway
and within that group, with his tight grip on her shoulder, I assumed was J.
They all wore ripped jeans, shirts that appeared as a second skin and overly large jackets...typical
but they seemed to be teetering on the edge of life, like they lived for adrenaline rushes to make them feel whole. perhaps they'd lost their way and found it again in an instant.
she fit in well and I cherished the smile on her face.

Months went on, the same thing happened every lesson, she'd stumble in after doing a few lines, struggle to breathe or even stay awake. this was all just a waiting game for her.
the day she walked in, stained with blood was the day my being snapped in two. The whole class sat shell shocked as they looked upon a fallen angel adorned with crimson.

2 weeks passed without her, left on edge until my craving to see her was satiated.
Monday came and she walked in, holding a note that she dropped upon my desk.
She stood waiting for me to read it, i did, but in a state of elated confusion.
scrawled in her elegant yet spidery identity "I miss you and I miss your books, I miss the way you gave them to me and I missed the anticipation that came alongside it"

Exterior I was authoritative and powerful, interior i was a ******* mess. I silently handed her a novel with an oxblood colored cover. I looked up and for a split second I could swear that our eyes met.

A week later on Friday, she came to me, with the book in her hands and set it aside.
She looked up at me, directly at me, biting her lip
this devil was not innocent or so God help me.

She guided my hands to rest on her unnaturally thin waist  and just stared at me. Engaged in an internal battle, I could see, she was choosing what to say
but she just whispered my name and left.
I overdosed on the way she said my name, left in euphoria over what could have been.
I grabbed the book in an attempt to make sense of all that has occurred and saw that in the front cover where I had written my name, her name had been placed next to mine.
Just a waiting game...a really ******* long waiting game.

Fading asleep
Three blurry forks in the road
three of everything
Until i blink.
I crawled up out my passenger side door like a submarine hatch
lifted the heavy weight with my back
Didn't think to roll down the window

I called the band to laugh at the irony
we just wrote a song on falling asleep
crashing our car, dreaming in autumn.
In the song, I dreamed of a girl I'll never have.
But when it happened
I was dreaming of the leftover sheppards pie at home.

Swerved into a rock wall,
Kick flipped my mercury on it's side.
I wore my seat belt
woke up drivers door to the ground.

An old man stopped to warm me.
my grandmothers ghost
in his passenger seat.
offered I sit in their car
out of the cold
Until the firemen arrived.

I saw my mother's blue SUV coming
And waved for the elderly couple to part.
tears in my mothers eyes,
she hugged me tight.
The police showed
To Check out the scene.
as I was alive,
They mostly watched me.
laughing hysterically
At how prophetic poetry can be
and how lucky I have been
And how my shoulder angels are my grandmother, and a gambler named risk.

When My partner arrived she expected me crumpled bleeding.
Smiling false safety through the phone
as I bled out
But I was fine.
she stormed towards me.
her friends stepping outside the car.
her girlfriend in the passenger seat
in the fetal position.
Throwing a tantrum, because she wouldn't get to sleep with my security blanket tonight.

she held me greiving.
I felt like this was an alternate universe.
where I survived
and this wasn't the real story.

The tow truck arrived as the cops collected my Lisence,
the medical professional
okay'd me to sleep tonight.

The firemen flipped my car onto the rockwall from being sideways.
The tow truck grinded my car across the wall into metally pulp.
They collected the bits and dropped it off on my driveway a mile down the road.
my partner drove her friends home
to return to my bed later.
check i was breathing throughout the night.

My car, crumpled. Missing an eye. Looked like a corpse.
like a reminder of what should have happened.
you could feel all sorts of spirits
when I opened the trunk.
contents compacted against the left side.
when i woke up, all i saw was laughter.
At the irony.
the shock.
how many more times
I would need to die
before I perform a magic trick.
if i turned my car into powder
turned my story to a falacy.
how long before their panic attacks become a suicide?
And I'll stop seeing three of everything.

I remember how heavy you were;
you left footprints in the grass
and on my chest.

I remember your eyes;
glazed crimson
dripping sweat on my *******,
clenched beneath white knuckles
and stained cotton sheets.

I remember the birthmark on your left hip;
its ugly face smirking
past greasy thrusts.

Your breath a heavy whiskey drowning my lungs;
whispered in my ear
hot sticky grunts.

An ink splotched lion tattooed on your thigh
grinded into me,
twisted itself into my heart
ate away at my preserved innocence.
I’d saved myself for long.

And then there was nothing left after that.
“Have fun in college.”

A closed door.  

I carry you in every moment.
My hands pressed firm against his abdomens
as he tries to make love to me,
I wait for that lion to reach out and
scratch my face velvet.

I wait for the pain and the shudder of his pleasure
As it ripples through his shoulders and he presses into me.

I wait for it to be over
So I can bury your face back down into blankets.

I wait for him to smile and kiss my temple before he drifts to sleep
And then I shower to scrub you off of me and out of me.

But I’m never clean enough
I walk around with your dirt caked around my core
I’m branded by you,
I’m drifting to sleep and my fall awakes me to your snarling neck.

I remember hearing that now you’re a youth pastor,
a true saint.
you’re working in South America with empty children
and hopeless mothers
you’re building homes for the homeless
and saving lives
you’re teaching the lost
all about God’s reining love for us

but guess what baby—
I’ll never forget the night you ****** me.