June 2012
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“If we win here we will win everywhere. The world is a fine place and worth the...”
– Ernest Hemingway, For Whom The Bell Tolls
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missing "h" space
hmm - mm
i hum i bird i surprise myself with small noise with
undertone i purr
i hear where the silence falls i master the nothing space
May 2012
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note to self: attempting to read “for whom the bell tolls” in a day is the recipe for a migraine.
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a few dozen cells of me
i am hyperaware.
i do snakework, sobering up in smoke.
lots of lost voices, like everyone and their brother and their meaning and their mouth-mashing lost on me.
catcrawling, caterwauling all the way home.
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locking, unlocking
here’s a eulogy to my blonde hair in winter:
i feel bad and bald when you get dark and sigh and wave
beneath you, i emulate peach fuzz:
forget the fall remember the summer?
eating everything:
juice bar for the low sky for the grasping, gasping moon.
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“The hand that stocks the drug stores rules the world.
Let us start our...”
– The Seventh Book: Bokonon’s Republic
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pear hill
i.
i want a tree: ten times the size of me: for free, free, free.
ii.
to each their own: we are better left alone.
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an acid-free environment
we are two worms.
we meet giggle and squirm a while.
we become whole.
whiles later we leave. we writhe away. we eat nice mice.
separately, we’re like clockwork.
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footlingsummers replied to your post: footlingsummers replied to your photo: LITTLE…
helll yuh, i was there on thursday. how was it?
who’d you go to see?
it was fucking awesome! i still can’t hear out of my left ear
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footlingsummers replied to your photo: LITTLE KINGDOMS
is this at ihop??
you betcha
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first day back to lifeguarding and i get offered morphine in pill form
lol
my job
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On this memorial day, let us remember
therealvagabondking:
that freedom isn’t the occupation of another nation, it’s a child riding his or her bike, hands off the handle bar
that’s fucking freedom
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i am a fly with giant green grapes for eyes
there is something about being allowed to be indecisive.
there is a very definitive slice of being alive
that makes me so pleasantly buzz against the walls.
it is simply waterfalls.
nobody can see straight after a very heavy rain.
happily, happily, all on the same plane.
or so it seems. mirages, all the same.
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“…the dreamlike figure of Shaun emerges out of the void, together with a...”
– Introductory Notes on James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake
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i can put tea bags on my poison ivy!?
I CAN PUT TEA BAGS ON MY POISON IVY!!
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the big water
i am collecting pills in the prettiest thing.
think,
coca-cola green glass posing prisms
in the big window
about the ocean about the rocking
think,
how nice, the glass, all broken up in the big water
about my rainbow sleeves about nothing soon
—
sticks for legs, where’d you drift off to?
i have the prettiest thing for you.
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i must not scratch my poison ivy
i must not scratch my poison ivy
i must not scratch my poison ivy
i must not scratch my poison ivy
i must not scratch my poison ivy
i must not scratch my poison ivy
i must not scratch my poison ivy
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cala-mine
what should hurt?
softness and strength wrestle over it.
my skin is pin pricked like little highways under the blanket of me.
i am a mound of flesh i am a feeding ground
and so are you, so are you my little pink anthill with the roads extending
like limbs,
yours go miles.
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“What difference does it make after all? — anonymity in the world of men is...”
– Jack Kerouac, On The Road
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000
i.
i am flat and you perch. i can call you alive because you’ve already died.
death by crumb by crumb.
ii.
to make any given creature crumble like crust,
there must be humanity evenly spread.
iii.
butterfly rebound, i coo and blow towards you.
why are bras a thing
they aren’t necessary before 12pm
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“when God created love he didn’t help most
when God created dogs He didn’t help...”
– Charles Bukowski, Yes Yes
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still poetry
if i could dictate where my bones go after i die
my famous last words would be “you, nameless you”
it’s my happy hope
i’m afraid of tattoos but everything’s ink, ink is snaking my throat
senselessly shake your head at me so i can lie
dormant poetry.
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ellisondubois replied to your post: 105 pages of 10pt word document for 2012 so far
I want it all
it’s mostly right here.
105 pages of 10pt word document for 2012
so far
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bikwil
there are nights where i feel simple.
the blades of the fan threaten to kill.
you crack a box of crickets they hit the walls, rise and fall.
i sit and work quietly dulling my nails.
the rain is dulling me quite completely, but i am still not a cricket.
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wispy
You are one of my favorite humans.
If you were the rain, I wouldn’t ruffle my shoulders nor morph
hunchback silhouette to drip this.
And you’d never feel farther than my window. And I’d build a seat and stare, simply stare at your storm. To keep the mystery there.
We are so new. Not like them — My feet feel long as I creep along.
I am sandwiched by buses and pissed off.
This is morning going to school and hating it.
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“It is what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will...”
– Oscar Wilde
i had a nightmare that i got a tattoo
doesn’t sound like a nightmare right? but it was a really stupid quote on my arm and all i wanted to do was remove it and i fucking couldn’t and it was bad vibes
dumb dream
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gymnastics
I cry, “no more of this”, to the too huge world as it backs up and cocks its ugly spearhead.
all the while through all-and-all all I’m wondering is
whose grubby fingers stole into the world
to install me to vault me.
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on here
I don’t know how honest I want to be everything for with and in him in the unity of the “holy fucking shit we’re tripping.” In the way you stagger pulling at your clothes saying “I feel like an Astronaut”
and I chew my words before I spew them. I don’t know how honest I want to be when god’s Judging
or something.
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my life is currently a beautiful fucking mess of trippy substances
