He de-seeded himself into three pieces and proceeded to grow a tree of decieving, you see.
One seed of the tree was greed, so all it would breed was to feed our needs.
Once we used up all its weeds we decided to dig deep to see what this tree was hiding.
There it was, all along infront of our eyelids.
The roots of this tree grew in all directions endlessly.
How could this be?
One seed for greed, one seed for achieving infinity..?
And for the third, I (eye) tried to see through the mystery of the last seed I collected all the ingredients to cook up the last grand meal.
Stirring it I caught a quick wiff of its essence and for a mere second I felt free, I acknowledged the knowledge of being me.
My brain was introduced to DMT and I also knew the signifigance of the truth, now I knew what I had to do.
Convinced of the truth but I still follow all your rules, im not insane I wouldnt go blow up a school but I swear, latley my brain been telling me, only options I have is to accept my destiny or change it by a killing spree.
I know you are testing me but how am I supposed to enjoy this beautiful scenery if I cant even get this stress of my chest so I can rest again peacefully.
I knew I owe my soul to this tree for the knowledge its giving me.
I try to hold on to my memories but as its leaves they fall eventually...
It kills me everyday, living, knowing its not for me.. not for me...

Upon a morning dreary
I took a **** which left my ******* weary

I wiped
I flushed
I exited the bathroom blushed

Twelve hours passed
Since that horrid **** left my ***
And low and behold
A smell flowed to my nose
Just as a burning arose
Underneath my *******
I knew too late the **** had stained
The flesh, my taint tucked under my ******* train

ONE WIPE WAS NOT ENOUGH...

Pretty soon around six o'clock
There came upon my door a knock knock knock
And who was there?
Who did I hear calling to my ears?
It was the *** positive, gonarreah infested, scabies encrusted, syphilis ridden, transexual ***-kitten I had started a relationship with over Craig's List

Now, listen children carefully to this...

***** tucked hisher's lips around hisher's teeth
And began a ******* that could make the Hulk weak
But it was over in a jif
When ***** caught a wiff
And that little sneak
Took a pervy peak
At the feces widely spread underneath

***** RAN AWAY CRYING

I was laughing so hard I thought I was dying
That pesky little poo
Left on hisher bottom lip
Made that entire bathroom trip

FULLFILLING

Coffee in the mornings
******* afternoons
Smoking joints in joints
Listening to music
Every night by moon

My youth went up
As another puff
As another sniff , a wiff
And before I knew it
I was looking very ruff

I can't even remember
If I slept at all
Or who I was sleeping with
For all I see are faces
Their names I don't recall

Rosebud tripped on the step
Coming out the entrance door
She fell into my open arms
I would never be the same man
As I was just before

See most women
Leave their jewelry
Rosebud left her name

Rosebud loved the thunder
Rosebud loved the rain
She scared me like lightning
Laugh at all my pain


She never asked me if I loved her
She never said the same
She laid her head upon my shoulder
Said when you're gone
I will be sorely pained

Rosebud tripped on the step
Coming out the entrance door
And fell into my open arms
I would never be the same man
As I was just before

See most woman
Leave their jewelry
Rosebud left her name .

i smoke the ******, people take a wiff
i cant tie ma shoes but i can *** yo *****
i walk that streets wit my boombastic reggae styl
we go to ma doops bungaloo and he says *** and stay a while
we find some bittys wit a fat *** and tell them theat they fine
they say we're creeps witout jobs we say they need some wine
turns out they werent down to *** like an assembly line

tired i go home down tha empty reggae street
i light tha ****, i light tha spliff till i cannot feel my feet
a car puls up i drop my cup they say to get in the backseat
im ****** about the cup it had my last brew and i want to drop a **
i owe them money i have none they brake ma kneecaps what fun
they throw me out the car, away i scurry
she got a big ***** so i call her big *****

How to make nonsense out of bitter citrus fruits
Leave them be, already a font of nonsensical egg yolks
You do this for yourself, your own self, and no other self
Endure another fortnight daliance, you dance forthrightly

Absorb information like paranoia
The facts are lying in bed with an orange banana
How to make something lasting in a world cursed with impermanence
It cannot be done. It simply cannot be done.

The length of a breadbasket will often determine
the size of the loaf
The ratio of meat to potatoes makes nonsensical lemonade
The worst kind...worse than the worst

This document is not intended for distribution
during the lifetime of the author
Only with his passing disseminate expecting sympathy for
the old poet's story, how rarely it truly changes

The ingredients for the above mentioned nonsense
have been properly proportortioned and mixed per instruction
Take a wiff, you can smell the sweet aroma of their baking vapor
As a child I ate spoonfuls of baking powder

The aroma certainly saturates the proceedings
Almost intoxicating how it smacks your heart with nostalgia
The stupid cartoons, the National Lampoon stolen from the convenience store you hung out in
Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in

That, my friend, is the beginning from the end
That, my foe, is the bleedin' end of the road
I'm in Ian Curtis' voice, deadening repetion
Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out

Ding, Ding, the timer in the kitchen chimes it's melancholy ring
The nonsense is at this present moment complete
Ready to serve, ready to eat
and please don't choke on my words, I'm half asleep

The thought of her comes across my mind
So I drive to her house
staring at her scarf hung around my rear view mirror the whole way
she steps into my car
we drive straight to sanborn street

I keep my head down low
as I wait for the man with the blow
he walks over to us with a swag
gets in the car and hands me the bag
each time he says be safe

I hold the bag close to my nose and take a wiff
of that wonderful gasoline smell
then she cuts a line for each of us to sniff
the powder rises through the straw
instantly I make a face of awe
as my lips and tongue go numb

energy and benevolence surges through me
as negativity and despair purges itself

I lift my head and see her face, see her eyes
the love, the unity I feel for her
causes my high to intensify

I know this drug would be so much less to me
if I was alone, not blowing lines with her
this high would be so much less without her love

You big bloated orange moon
Hanging there in this heavy air
You have stolen summer
Eaten it right up and laughed

You have opened the night for lovers
You have burped out a sigh
A wiff of smoke; camp fires burn low
Eager for what lies ahead...I dread

After the regal colors of Autumn
Snow will chill my bones
So, gloat now you blighted orb
I will laugh a pumpkin laugh alas...

Is the edge of the cliff
the time of your death?
Or the realities sudden wiff
of: "this is not your final breath".

Are the falling skies
tumbling over your head?
Or your happy moments in disguise,
from the tragic ending in red.

The conception of lives subtractions and additions
is the everlasting question to find lives prohobitions

Hawwoween haf come and gone
Excoove me if you pweeve-
Wiff aw the weft ow'er candy-
The cowomel stwuck to my teeve!

I just want to breathe In a wiff, 

of that crisp morning mountain air. 

Sink my teeth into the taste of life, 

and filter the smoke out of my lung.
I have felt my foundation shift,
but I guess I’ve never really cared... 

So lets hit this road tonight.
Taking another step into the horizon.


The funny thing about asking questions 

is that you never know the answer. 

Like why the hell are we floating?

Yet bound to this earthly ground? 

Well I guess I’ve learned my lesson:
gravity is just a cancer. 

I want to fly into the horizon, 

and not be stuck six feet underground.



My world is spinning.
But I don’t feel it move. 

you might think that I’m crazy, 

but yours is spinning too...
and death is only a beginning. 

a pathway to some other life. 

and freedom comes when were living,
as if we’re wanting to die.

Have you ever felt like you living? 

But we’re really just in a dream?

Have you ever felt like you were moving?
But really stuck swimming upstream?

Life is a mess at best. 

Perfection’s just a mythic story told aloud.

Yet it’s an honorable quest I guess,
But I need some wings to lift me off this ground.

my fingers smell like Camels eternally
because we all take life very seriously
and my appetite just died
because I got a wiff of curdled milk I fed a sunflower seed
and was reminded that I want to thizz
but lack the funds
to do so.

Silently farts explode through the night
Evidence the essence of last nights dinner delight
A hinyt of black bean sauce mixed with sprite
My nose catches a wiff I catch a fright
My girl smell da wibe say boi keep ya boungie tight
Pushing off my advances to cuddle she say boi not tonight
I let off another one and almost take flight
She jump out da bed and grab a knife
I say easy baby lets not fight
Cause you cook dat **** anyway lets get it right
I know baby lets get a kite
and we bun she down til my tummy was tight
its 2:49 I just cut on the light
My belly hurting my comfort, I write
Laptop batteries about to go dead I bid you all goodnight

Honestly, I was paralysed
Quick breathed, chest choking kind
That numbs to the tips of fingers
And the bottom of the heart,
Feet spread wide apart as if I ever stood a chance of taking the blow.
Its stings,
bleary eyed I'm blinking and rubbing at the skin, massage the redness away;
All that nasty shame and the ridiculous burn of guilt
That has me wilting round my shadow.
I think I might have seen something,
Hints bleeding into the beauty of blissfull ignorance and dulling the gleam,
Blinkers just a little skew-wiff
To let the light in and shine on your bare ***
Going to town between someone else's legs.
You dont look half as nice now,
Your flesh is pale and hair curls darkly
And its gross, like those meaty moans
That make you sound like a boar.
I can't call her a *****, not really,
But shes enjoying herself with the lie of one
Screaming obscenities to God
As if hed take time out of his
Busy schedule to fulfil her voyeristic fantasies,
Deity bowing his head to watch
You smash into her and smash us to pieces.
You're shuddering and shes faking those screams
There"s no glee in her eyes, just the simpering emptiness of making you feel like a man.
But your not, you're a coward
Who's **** is fond of flattery,
chases it like a puppy, perking up hopefully to be petted.
I dont think I'm upset anymore.
I'm out the door and rain falls cool on the ground
I'm crunching down the gravel,
shedding my committment,
It's has a satisfying sound that dies
Beaneath my boot as you stumble after me.
'It's not what you think'
It's funny because I honestly
Hadn't thought anything except
I'd never never seem you like that before;
Not so raw and pasty
And ugly.
Maybe you'll meander back into my mind
As divine as you have been before
But right now I deplore the memory.
I dont love you
Because I dont know who you are.

/and ******* could paint a *******, but subsequently talk **** in colloquial... about such "earthly" affairs as buying milk, while practicing it in French... America forever the cosmopolitan and the suburban, like at the grudging girth of the 20th passing of 100 khakin burdens catching bullets... without invitation, this writing can only claim to be an observation, of the colour of a strawberry, which is isn't red, but strawberry, frozen in ice... electric, a lemon thrown into a field ladder with wintry puff...

as if all rhymes in the world,
where but a ***-note,
an after school dictum
or St. Bartholemew's prayer
a Chilean short:
   of a mea culpa -
       ecce ****! ex luto!
   and if not only Pilate,
like god, washed his hands
clean of the affair,
saying:
             had i but
interest to will a talking
rose, i wouldn't have
the curiosity, to leave animate
things to a gambit of my own,
predilection
    (rarely do you spot
a tautology,
given that Wittgenstein bangs
on about it...
   namely, gambit
and predilection)...
hit the ******* brick 'all
like a sac o'
                  cream-mashed
wit' (th' - definite article
  veer into the fate of
ph'ought concerning
    th'ilosphy...
hardly a ******* whiff from
a chimpanze pushing out
translated (digested)
champagne sugar puffs)...
MIND THE ******* BRACKET,
EH?
         wiff dill...
and Mr. Pink smothered
in butter, rather than mummified
in Dover batter...
     mind you, I too wished to be
a Daltonist,
   imagining Dover's sulphuric cliffs...
whike dot Culd'playz
cancan doove dive into
reimagining Cockney 'ellas!
     apparently "god" in
the omni-schematic is immune
to the gambit man proposed...
    I grant the will concerning
inanimate things
in the vicinity...
then again:
    nothing is actually inanimate...
WRONG CATEGORISATION
genesis...
    ****...
can you even begin
meditating, when being
asked a question?
    Tao says:
   give a narrative,
receive a narrative,
keep the water flowing,
pseudo-Heraclitus...
ask a question akin to:
what is Tao?
          question =
the interrogative interim,
the void eats a thought...
there is never a definite
thought, that isn't an idea...
     splinters:
    glutton mouth of
nothing described as
     either form (definite)
      or formless (indefinite)...
can anyone please spare
us from those who
"think" and extend this
"thinking"
                 into narrative?
throw five marbles into
a dozen eggs and call
them electron drum & bass
incisions...
   never in the history of
man, has squabbles under:
hell...
spire of democracy...
a famous picture from
      the modern version of Yalta...
John Paul II, Ronald Reagan,
Mikhail Gorbachev...
   and a happy family too...
because bureucracy isn't
without autocratic accents
without an autocrat?
       pencil pushing and paper
folding seigls...
what Burroughs took from
Tzara and the top hat at
Cabaret Voltaire,
can only swallow the cut-up
with a Dresden Vonnegut passing
over a cigarette ash-swamp:
phonetic'ism:
    spell with only consonants
(H = surd attaché),
id est: s•chi•zoi•te•le•gra•phi•c...
       +              |               x
                       |
schnell schnell!
   das rubric!
            clock read awry, clock reads
straight...
    no star of David,  nor a *******...
can be less, before
the churning altar of time...
******* ancient Latin prepositions
and moderns...
   á non culpa m
(by no fault of my own)...
             can we move away from...
faaaaaaaaaaaaa...
    trapped in a colloquial
where people,
speak poetically,
    since Metaphor became Atlas...
and yet poets akin to
lepers!
                        ...CK.
    and a fern that grwe into
a frivolous chicken strut
by a royal: twirl surrounding
a passing wind near
the floor of a forest...
              would it ever
be a sin to claim taking a
picture of a shadow,
seconds prior to the dawn
of Hiroshima?
    paranoia of the nuclear powers...
apparently the itchy finger
calamity wen(t) to ****
w(h)en hit upon Nagasaki...
    oddly enough...
this can truly be an antithesis
of a Victoria "curiosity"
           akin to a slobbering
    Bradley Coop' 'itting
phe vest u'nd...
                              in the comment
section...
        apparently writing has
to resemble the comforts of
a colouring-in book
and be replica of
tourists-feeding-Trafalgar-Sq.-
pigeons-type-of-conversation...
­always the cul de sac
but never the labyrinth...
   always the cul de sac...
and never the labyrinth;
   didn't I mention that mathematical
tools, akin to ÷ etc.
    are plagued to
the custard Joe ****** brother
of grammatical tools, akin
to prepositions and conjunctions?
    hell, the Canadian pronoun
Pandora...
          might as well attempt in
depicting cognitive muscles
                at work, su doku gym
membership...
   which is a lesson in keeping
formation and blind spots...
         Alzheimer's killer proteins
digesting fat...
   a bit like what the Somalis
eat last, or rather what eats itself
last...
    minus
      the Omega Phren Genesis...
there are glimpses into
Alzheimer's...
     notably wearing my
grandfather's waistcoat...
reminding him to taste a bear
at 10 minutes to midnight...
    no wonder
we can claim to see
the Hollywood desert of original
script...
               exhausted imagination...
the famine of the north...
short on intellectual curiosity...
a shackles of inverted
famine...
   copula fungus...
   and what remains....
             of the laughing biceps.

I am not Phoenix
I will not rise from my ashes

When I burst into flame
Only my ashes will remain

I am not everlasting love
Just a memories horde

Of days and years of passion
laying in the ruins as ashes

I am not an eternity
Just a wiff of smoke and wind

Place my remains on a tier of wood
Set the fire as understood

I am not Phoenix

As the breeze flows
Through the spring lilacs
I seem my self
Getting addicted to
Their bitter sweet
Perfume
The floats around the evening air
Take a wiff

Late nights in my brain like walking down a dark alleyway barefoot lightly clothed in the idea that everything will be okay thats what they say streetlights shone on pothole streets beats my face reflection to a wavering wonder something will come here caught a wiff of a wayside street wanderer finding sleep in a corner covered in ****** on life of been then being hard to know who im seeing am i still me? Hardly walked in my shoes let alone others loose unused excuse for solitary misuse find time in pocket phoned life we aspire to be more like look alike lavish facacde comradery in journalistic honesty all is well when i burn in hell follower frontier founder of warped mirrors and fun house on acid play my show to the masses how to see oneself clear in lie prescribed  glasses

To The smell
To The drill
To The simplicity
I adapt
Quickly, No thought
It Fills up my veins
With warmth
State of longing
But For what?
For Those few seconds
Of difference, change
The Crisp wiff of air
And Clean, white sheets
Strange, but oddly comforting

Breath in
take a wiff
Fight off blind spots
Dissolve these
four walls
that box me in
eating away at my perception
fill my lungs up with smoke
...pause...
and choke choke choke
the worries
loosen from the bone tissue
and temporarily
this gives me a profound dream