| . right hand pull trigger | left hand shrug shoulder . |
| Age: 24 |
| Sex: boy |
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. nerve | attractions .
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| welcome.to.fiction.and.to.fact. |
a rabbit's foot |
Listening to: joy division - novelty
the age of innocence:
once a sapling reaching skyward and running your wandering, hungry fingers through the labryinth of dirt.
the age of adolescence:
somewhere in between the in-betweens of growth a bird's wing surrounded you;
a crow as black as hitler's mustachio.
its wretched beak erect from its facade--
pecking and pecking and pecking.
wanting you to become a nest for its future birth.
despite the weeping and bleeding and groveling and changing;
mercy was not given, but fought for.
the age of adulthood:
you witnessed yourself nearly uprooted.
you held fast--oh how the hands of time seemed to have clasped together in eternal prayer--but by your mind's might you held fast. of a sudden, the enemy bird took flight though with it was a stolen piece of humanness. you are different now.
you are no longer reaching or digging.
you are no longer hoping outside of hoping for rest.
but the day bellows 12 dull ticks and the moon moans 12 sad tocks.
all there is is the machine world that you live inside.
the age of disappearance:
you find that you've lost yourself to the seduction of memory--a manifest perversion.
you wonder if the cloak of that fateful feathered bird was ever the world for you--black as hitler's own plumage. a division of joy that expires as do you.
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| eight-legged figments |
super tuesday |
Listening to: syd barrett -
Thaumoctopus Mimicus.
am i a mimic octopus?
am i a sea snake or a lionfish? am i me, who am i?
a sea snake or a lionfish or an octopus? ever am i uncertain of myself.
perhaps i am a bi-pedaling human who forgets to breathe, but remembers to imagine.
am i me, who am i?
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| situation |
sometime in august |
Listening to: tom waits - shore leaves
i'm afraid i don't know what to do with myself--with my time. i don't think i have it in me to do what needs to be done for the betterment of my life. i fear attempting only to fail. i don't think any prescribed medication can cure the funk that i'm in--that i've been infor quite some time; it will only mask it, and for what duration of time i cannot tell. eventually, i think i will succumb to that ever-persistent feeling of hopelessness. i need control. i need to void all vices. i need to need something that can be genuinely and passionately felt in the deepest region of my holey mind and meek gut. it seems so far out of reach.
what is being content? |
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| the beautification of |
5.11.06.19.34. |
Listening to: mind -
without sight comes unbalance.
to all abstract artists of the world:
do you know the story prior to drawing?
or do you fabricate tales as the art utensil glides across canvas?
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| inside. |
zero zero six |
Listening to: miles davis - spanish key
you have not the slightest idea why you're here, do you?
what you mean to do with your life.
would it pain you to know that somewhere inside of you--between the traffic of natural and foreign micro organisms--i can be found?
i am hidden beneath a layer of guilt. of sin. humiliation and embarrassment. beneath all the guises you choose to wear during your moments of elatedness, or depression.
i am a reliable source, available to answer all of your questions, even the most perplexing and complicated ones.
concentrate. find me. i am your only exit.
your very intimate lover.
use me.
your dear inside self. |
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| penguin in bondage. |
porno boing. |
Listening to: broken social scene -
a lifetime in cycles. i must've died some time ago.
i remember saliva dripping from my trembling lips--lips turned blue for lack of dead air. my eyes peered into black space formations. fluttering uncontrollably. everything, in a moment's time, was but a gradient of grey. then shut. gone. my mind felled by darkness, and by the incessant sound of metallic heartbeats. numbing. scratch that. paralyzing. i remember being weathered and weary. sweat dogging my spit's retreat, both destined to land on level ground [a safe-haven made of marble]. finger nails digging into arm rests. bracing for. or embracing what was to come. clinging on to emotion--mostly to hate. somehow in that tumultuous storm of in between, letters appeared before me... an allowance. to decipher. [embellished, or imaginative] f e ar yo u be le st con su me d t he b y e v i l n ot consu m ma t e yo u f ear le st be t he n o t e vil by con s u me d co ns u mm a tele st be you co nsu m ed the e vil by no t fear co n sum ma te
fear not, lest you be consumed by the consummate evil
of a sudden, the outside world rushed in, selected a natural-paced tempo, and added to it, what felt like electric currents--alive.
a repeat episode. but memory can refuse to admit. pardon my depression for being.
circles. = cycles. = shoulders as side walls. = pectoral muscles as forward blockades. = back spasms, and spinal phantasms serving as dead ends. = entrails, the dirt below. = mind, the sky beyond rusted metal grates. = a prison for the unending heartbeat.
nonsense is the penguin in bondage. |
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| muzzled. snout. shouts. |
May 3, 2005 |
Listening to: soundtracks -
hand over mouth.
take your nonsense. times it by 13.
billion. and i'll be your birth.
phantom over monitoring.
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| figures the finger to lick the triggers |
goodbye is left |
i will no longer be your laugh-at-me effigy. i'm sorry for not being worth a fucking hay penny for your thoughts. the affection rots beneath heart-ache collection. i can't even make sense of anything. i can be ruined by night. that's the worst time to be ruined.
why. am i so undesirable?
because goodbye.
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| she |
always 2/19 |
Listening to: raindeer hooves trampling stainless skull -
is the reason i suck in polluted air--not some involuntary act that defies death. delete the error air. inhale her smile.
the texture of her skin enlivens me--vim and vigor never had it this good.
nervousness intruded at first glance. at first touch. i watched through imagined eyes our lips defeating left pectoral barrier and scattering sternum--soft-spoken kisses on timid arteries. and i was fearful of waking. this night happened this night happened this night happened this night happened--a mantra of sorts to dispel depression.
i want to crush my lung's decay. she is disgusted by me. by my vices. why am i so afraid? i couldn't say anything worth listening to. i couldn't sustain a conversation. i couldn't look her straight in the eyes without shifting my gaze away every .1 millesecond--her presence overwhelmed all sensibility. why was i so afraid to tell her that
i wanted to stay. i wanted her to want me to stay.
she held on. i cowered. i :: coward. what is this? a gesture of her kindness? to want to hold a creature--a beast like me. i hope not. i left. why am i so afraid to tell her that
i want her. i want her to want me.
always february 19th 2005. 7:48 PM. fasten time to memory. indulge. zen-like.
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