still very much foolish and longwinded.

garbage poetry / the love heap (skip this post if you want to live)

"look at the inflated trash, how it blows right by us. we watch icicles cling to the roof while laying in bed. there's no end to a constant drip, the icicles will perpetuate until they fall off completely. nothing else. so much useless inflatable garbage!"

-chase, the grandiose dictator of the final liege, keeper of the homosapien flame, gatherer of nuts and berries. lover of potatoes and self-sufficiency. never safe and presumably paranoid. fat and chosen, exclusive unto himself.



i.
i've decided to love someone to whom i no longer exist.

she moves as an old wisp right through me. an old haunt
to call regret. hopelessly i come back to her. yes

i draw a line. she is on one side, i'm on the other.
nothing seems right anymore.
and i can't figure out why i call her
but i do.





ii.
introspective for a moment that dies.
yes we can drink to be and yes we can pretend to be;
academia lets me sit on a fence. we can gripe
endlessly.

that last bit was really bad. i can apologize for bad poetry like i can jerk myself off at night. limbo and libido are basically the same. i've been having this problem called life. and every few months, i'm hung up on some thing i can't quite grasp. so i try to embrace it. maybe that's love. who really fucking knows. noun+verb(w/adjectives). absolutely fucking endless.




iii.
i'm writing to announce a pattern in behavior.
just something i noticed, when i get sad or lonely
there is a tendency to phone up a stranger and talk. just talk.
only because i want to know what they're doing and thinking.
of no coincidence, i am usually drunk, holding the telephone
waiting to dial.




iv.
a very deliberate




v.




-

law&order

so a girl in my class today justified the use of torture if it was going to save lives. 'it's ok to torture 5 people if you're going to save 100 lives,' she said, something like that. torture is a means to an end, not the fucking end. I had to tell her that. Torture will yield desperate results, possibly lies. You may not get what you're looking for by torturing someone, so why do it? And if you do turn to torture, where do you draw the line? Torture 5 people to save 100? 49/100? 99/100? it's all perspective.


she also said if the judicial system was eliminated, for any reason, people would still get along just fine.


I laugh and love school for what it is.

an object in yr space is three-dimensional. you will never be able to see all of the object at once. maybe, if yr buddhist.

"the coffee at maggiano's was pretty shitty. it tasted like dirt. just foul." oh. "yeah, dinner was 430 bucks altogether. so good." 430? for how many people? "let's see," he counts with his fingers, "eight. eight people. a lot of the bill was for wine that we were drinking all night." extravagant, high class. "it was worth it though, my girlfriend closed the deal with those guys meaning she's already made 8000 so far this month. minimum." he acts impressed. "but she'll probably make around 20 for december"

i vomit about the room, stumbling over integrity. responsibility seems to exist, only now it's on the floor getting in my way again. the answer to infection is here.

bastards

i accidentally picked up a right-wing newspaper and started reading it. a business majoure praised internal combustion and industrialization. 'alaska needs to be drilled and gutted,' and so on. like 'we're moving into a greater epoch of human history.' the zenith, right?

and the only thing stopping us is ourselves. i guess. as if we've already mastered nature and are completely, uniquely separate from it.

I scratch my face and realize i need to shave. my nose has been running and i think i have a cold. maybe all i want to do is sleep with certain people over and over again. now i'm thinking of all the money i can make and what i can spend it on. that's happiness, no?

monowi nebraska

I don't like to make this space a current events forum, but wow. ghost town.

"Once a year she raises taxes from herself to keep the four street lights on and a few other basic amenities going. She runs the town's only business, the Monowi Tavern, and lives in the only remaining habitable building. She grants her own liquor licence and elects herself mayor. Her customers come off the highway that runs through Monowi or from nearby towns. The town's welcome sign lists Monowi's population as two, a figure halved last year when her husband Rudy died."

full story.

I will consider the possibility of not wasting precious drunken minutes talking to my computer after bar. If my phone weren't broken, Maybe I'd call potential lovers. Computers seem less embarrassing.

seat of my (cat) pants

a cat might be the smartest creature in the universe; a cat knows what it wants when it wants it. there is no bullshitting involved. at all.
Cat: stick to your guns, human. there's hope for you yet.
Human: the toil! such tragedy is not my fault. we bask in the discomfort of ourselves and others!
Cat: meow.
Human: Such Parting! Such grace! I must find a cat and make it my own! I must live and let die. Truly, if i own a cat, someday, I might be complete.
Cat: meow.
Human: The toll of the bell! we are bound to such mortal influence. death becomes another stage, another script. if i could love like a cat i'd be fucking and fucking making babies without names or place or setting;

Cat: triple meow
Human: The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles.

oppressor and oppressed,

truly cat, you must have an answer, one safe assumption in which we can all believe.

Cat: Meow.

Human: saveme.savemenow.youaremylordandiwillbemysavior.

Cat: eternal influence, animal. eat. essence of survival. sleep. restoration be like god. fuck. leisure hope for future. piss. eternal rejection of the universe and world.

Human: Lourde.

Cat: made up entirely. (shits pants, purrs, humps door knob.)

Q. What's wrong with living abstractly / philosophically?

all my ideas are bad or poorly executed. whenever i leave the house, i end up feeling embarrassed over something i did previously. probably because all my ideas are bad or poorly executed.

keystrokes can be cryptic. delivery depending. mistakes will be made.

1
bad gut reaction

he sleeps with her drunk
and pukes out another poor choice.


2
i am better than you.

i walk home wanting to
yell. i don't.
someone might hear me.


3
did you know that

i sweat too much,
i tremble over cold failures.


4
everybody

you've got a lot of ground to make-up.
no one cares about your baggage or how you say
'i'm the tourist i'm floating through this life.'
your destinations are nowhere.
six-feet under, maybe.


5
old cowboys have computers

and leathered skin.
it's hardship.

a western cowboy remake.
a chain smoking
concealed weapon cowboy.
unintelligent and backwards
a country hick of motorhomes
& motoroil.


6
look at all my vices.
at my fingertips
easy and accessible.


7
my arms and legs are covered in scratches and bumps. the thicket is so heavy i can no longer see light from here. how depressing this love plague. parasitic is love plague, venereal, emotional; we'll be pushing body carts door to door in no time. cos everybody's got it this time.


8
i'm supposed to be a boy genius

what's the point in changing anything? they'd ask, chewing the fat. but secretly they're already on top and maybe their parents aren't dead & they're not living a warzone. an ivy league of hopelessness. maybe they want to change the world. doing good just talking about it ..?

Hunted by a freak!

i will never make these again. jesus is lourde.

simple assertions

love and gambling are legal and calculated.
100%.

obsessive over my blog, i hunch over new posts and tweak various settings. I forgot why I hate these things. coincidentally, i forgot if i love them. So i guess that puts me at about ground level.

i might've said a couple good important things today. most of the time i'm just stupid. or lazy. fat/lazy. easily manipulated. unambitious/apathetic. a poorer, dumber student. i saw a teacher today and he asked me if i was dropping the class. i said 'no,' i'm only playing catch-up for a little while. He informed me for next class, a nude performance artist was going to do some little ditty for us. nude. he winked when he said it, though. now i question his character. but i guess we're all so primitive.

i should've invited him to silk, i hear ron jeremy will be there tonight. he is a very hard working porn star, so i am told.

. . .

a beautiful girl runs by and I can no longer concentrate. Figures. And another girl, this time walking; i take a second for admiration and go to the bathroom to inspect my penis. still unsure about libido

i watch dandelion seeds float through the air like love plague

when i said dead revolver i probably meant a strange, big moon, but perhaps it more appropriately means a missing libido. whatever that's good for. not making babies, i guess.

i've spent the greater part of my creative side turning all these shortcomings and failures into some grand narrative a meaningless existence. i no longer know what i'm looking for, nor do i know what i'm creating. more failure and insecurity.

i wish i had an artist girl that would paint pictures of me all the time. i'd watch her paint, cos that's what i like to do; there would be lots of fornication.
and oil paints.
i think that'd be a step closer to perfection. i'm a buffoon.

1
a dead revolver has the capacity, but it doesn't react. there is always mechanical failure. bastard children and old ghosts become bullet.; a decrepit six shooter of dusty attics; a gun never to be trusted.
a failure of the weak, some guns
require fast hands, others are impossible.

2
something needs to happen with education, people.
life experience needs to equate with college credit.
hey!


ideas i come across perhaps are too big for me to realize. maybe i don't have the interest in said ideas, or maybe i am far too scatterbrained to realize any of this. the robot points to excessive drug abuse as the catalyst to said brain_failure.zip.

social ineptitude seems to (negatively) make up for any idealistic sense i've had of my preceived image and where i was going. perhaps it's time for self-reflection. Maybe self-reflection is what brought me to this point. what's the point in self-reflection? at all?

Undying toil. I said poetry takes turmoil and a dedication to it. I question that sometimes. I also said::there is difference between people that have been in love and people that haven't. Poetry lies somewhere in between. Perhaps I was being indulgent; I wonder.

These things I say are grains of salt, i guess. face value demoralized. because I no longer believe in morality. or any of these things that were originally true. I also self-loathe more now than i used to but sometimes feel self-righteous. Sometimes, with my hands, I gesture a motion forward. "this is where I'm going," i say. Nobody understands. i'm not sure i do, either.

THE FULL CONTEXT OF THIS SESSION IS LOST WITH MY MEMORY. I NEVER KEEP TABS. BUT I DO. MOSTLY ON ME, BUT I STILL GET MAD AT OTHER PEOPLE. OPENLY ADMITTED TO THE GENERAL IMPERFECT REPUBLIC: I DO GET MAD/MADE. BY OTHER PEOPLE. PEOPLE'S VIEW OF ME BECOMES MADE BY THEM AS THEIR PERCEPTION OF ME CHANGES. MOSTLY I AM IN CONTROL, BUT THAT IS MY VIEWPOINT. ONCE I WROTE A FEW NICE THINGS ABOUT LOVE. OR VITAMINS. OR NOT LOVE OR NOT VITAMINS. WHO FUCKING CARES?

yes: people's honesty scares me. i could not believe how honest she was. like sometimes when i say i'm a liar and a cheat i never really mean it but maybe it's true. because she was fucking honest. and i'm always skirting around what's really there, what i really mean to say. what's the fucking point in my useless rhetoric? i feel like i'm creating some sort of system to live by. all systems are bound to fail. unless it's a system that continually changes. i make room for that. i do. i promise.

a stonethrow into the endless abyss.

there's a fire burning without you and you don't know why. it was burning before you and in your lifetime it continues to burn. Someday, you are shown the fire and how it burns. You are told to keep it going no matter what. This voice instructing you leaves. You stare into the fire. You don't know who put it there, how long it will last, or even its purpose. But you do know that while the fire is still going, as it always has been, you must keep fueling it. If you let the fire die out, you are told it would be very, very bad.

You huff and grab timber, adding more and more to this fire that lives without you. Or is it within you? You cannot tell the difference and perhaps it doesn't even matter. Eventually you will die. You don't know how long this fire will last.

i compiled enough footage to illustrate decapitated mary. houses make burning boxes with angels falling out the windows. a meteor is hanging in the sky as a dead revolover. we call it moon and all the astronauts in space have been there.

all he does is make pig noises.
he might be a person. right now
he's a pig. this person
a cone a sphere or whatever else.
Hooray!
I feel like barfing.

the last 200 years of love.
no longer womanizing but
something greater still !!...?

well it's true they were building angels at the county faire; presumably all they needed was internal combustion to get the damn thing airborne again, a wooden lifeless angel face with wings of reinforced steel. Everyone knew the angel wouldn't fly, but they clung to their dream even in this final hour.