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when I just had that thought
he who dies with the most toys wins, eh?
asemic and anumeric
process and reality
being and time
time and the other
for some young mind to be aroused by
in sixty years
Untitledhello my name is Yellow Pisscunt
how is your prodigious unicorn today
I betrayed myself to the single
I hate him because he gets to be who he is and nothing more
how can I be more
I am not enough people for me
how can I become two
I think seven would be enough
for all of me to be me
but now I wr8ite shit
and live on divine blood
tainting my lips
and it stops when I don't want it to
and I want to never stop
but my being itself
as I know it
is the kind that stops
which terrifies me
all the time
burning through goo
so many leaking tubes
goo calls new tubes home
and the call me
while I should be gone
away from mundane stress
but they find me
and I can't get away
I can't get out
always stuck being less me than I need to be
UntitledWhat was it for?
The long nights in the basement,
the only-sleep-when-I-pass-out-from-exhaustion lifestyle,
the passionate suffering,
what was it all for?
The endless war,
damn this infernal transformation.
Does it fall on me to document the struggles of a generation,
a generation that watches every triumph become trivial,
a generation that waits for itself to become obsolete,
the generation forced to condemn temporality,
the generation to witness the end of temporality as it dies the last deaths?
God floats in a pool of His own blood.
The masters wipe their asses with angel feathers.
The curious are left for dead.
parasitoidsit wasn't all that long ago when
dust jacket dragons still died of consumption
when electric myths still spiked
the swirling mysto
and we hadn't yet promised ourselves
to the most watched mannequins in the arcade
but hollow cities have stolen ours fangs
built from pre-plotted points and cut out
all that "stuff" in the middle
and those things that "infect" us
>>> parasitoids and host vectors
wherever the gonzo is goingwe've rediscovered ourselves
hugging the lamppost and screaming polemic indignities
"who threw the rock?"
"we caught the teeth!"
this bravado an asinine secret to keep
from the gerund ...
(we once lived in a building we've been living to re-build)
but now we hover wherever the gonzo is going
dodging indolent beasts with their
and drowning in it -
the transient nature of things
lullabies for the paralyzedparasites' plaything ---
this is stormy weather space
where lost vectors find bone
much more easily than land
where we hide from high tides
on our pulpits absolving the sea from incursion
and chastise mollusks for trying
to take themselves with us
in our bonds of kinetic aggression
in the ugly corners of our human hearts
there's a cabal still debating
last week's peeled potatoes
and the toy dolls in the attic
adding two and two to get one
ripe for re-enlightenment
we were given keys to the fuming abyss and we launched
our messiah straight into
In my DreamsThat crystal sunrise, oh so pure,
The flame of my heart that does light my world.
In life I labor, in dreams I soar, in light all is one once more.
Return now, to this place of worship,
The light of the crystal sun to guide your way,
So that none be led astray.
Rising ever higher,
Till I can see all the world,
And feel the glory of the sky.
O dream of white, release me,
And now I sleep, peacefully.
McManga McToon to Sketch a Mayfly DroonI tap up my touch screen in the year of grouch 2thou n 4teen
Bad I am not so in the how-are-U? department, dear Cindy blox.
in the detremble zone
I took in the morning star
n went a good 13 mil
beyond safe doze
of the sugar free zone
sitting at the back
of a class A day
going whiter than a dead hemlock
in a weather
which is at record performance
my lungs my death grails
cup up the cool black loch
n auld ghostie nessie horse
with er water proof I pad
drawing McMangas of
white forked creature in
the blue behind the mirror
0/3 - we rarely ever meetit's as if a horse
kicked you in the chest
and instead of a dented cage
you ribs flew out
right from your back.
this is what i need,
the hollow shoulder blades,
the fresh air when i move
and when i stop,
lie on the concrete.
i like getting close to things (and people),
then leaving them,
but the intervals differ.
fundamentally this is life
and never the return.
we may meet after goodbyes,
but we'll never go to the same place.
Il y a des toiles de lumiere sur Saturneje veux manger des cerfs courant sur les étoiles
fievreuses ; la nuit on crie au scandale - il y a des morts sur les fenêtres
et on ramassera les danseurs dans les halls des aéroports
celestes ; brûler les souvenirs des technologies nouvelles dans les fours
en Pologne. Il n'y a de salut que pour les sauterelles qui
chantent les louanges du Seigneur se cachant derrière des millénaires
il y a une amertume rouge qui coule dans les veines des intrépides
couleurs de temps, à se réaliser inutiles, esclaves entre deux rêves
d'enfants qui ne voulaient pas voir le soleil se rouler sur le ciel
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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