Thursday, August 27, 2009

THE NUMBERS 1 - 4 AND SOME WORDS

1.

TODAY I ATE LUNCH ALONE IN A DINER AND AS I ATE I
FELT LIKE DEATH IS A CONTINUOUS FUCKING OF THE VEINS BY GOD.
TOMORROW I WANT TO EAT LUNCH INSIDE OF YOU BUT
INSTEAD OF FEELING SAD, I WANT TO FEEL LIKE A TWO-HEADED
MANNEQUIN WITH NO ARMS AND NO IMAGINATION
MODELING A SWEATER.

2.

MY CHEEKS ARE HANG GLIDING AROUND THE ROOM TOWARDS YOUR SHAKING HANDS.
I WANT TO GO BACK TEN YEARS AND MAKE AN ACTIVISION GAME ABOUT A
HELICOPTER PILOT CONVINCING MY BLOOD TO ESCAPE THROUGH MY FEET AND
THROUGH MY SLEEPING EYES. THEN I WANT MY BLOOD'S HELICOPTER PILOT TO DIE.

3.

MY MEDITATION IN AN EMERGENCY IS ME
PRAYING MY WIRELESS MOUSE WILL KILL ME.

3A.

WHEN I SAY "WIRELESS MOUSE" I MEAN "YOU"
AND "HOW I LOVED YOU BUT I FELT LIKE IT
WAS NEVER QUITE EQUALLY RECIPROCATED EVEN
THOUGH I WOULD WAKE UP IN THE MIDDLE OF
THE NIGHT LYING NEXT TO YOU IN A COLD
SWEAT THINKING IMMEDIATELY ABOUT DEATH AND
HOW IT WOULD MEAN THE ABSOLUTE CESSATION OF
MY COMPLETE DEDICATION TO YOU THROUGH NO
FAULT OF MY OWN OTHER THAN THAT I AM MADE
OUT OF BLOOD AND NOT GOLD LIKE I WISH I WAS."

4.

SHOOT AT ME WITH A SHOULDER-MOUNTED MISSLE ONCE IN A WHILE. OR MAYBE I'LL
JUST CREATE A NEW SIGNIFIER FOR YOU. MAYBE SOMETHING LIKE "POP ROCKS." AND WHEN POP ROCKS ARE FINALLY GONE YOU WILL FINALLY BE GONE FROM MY BLOOD, BONES, DRYWALL, SKY, ETC. ETC. ETC. FUCK.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

IF I DELETE ALL MY INTERNET PROFILES WILL YOU LOVE ME COMPLETELY

MY NAME IS ON SO MANY DUMB THINGS. SOMETIMES I FEEL FAMOUS WHEN I GET A GOOGLE ALERT.
THEN I FEEL LIKE KILLING MYSELF. I WONDER IF I CAN DROWN MYSELF IN PEANUT BUTTER.
SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THE ONLY POSITION MY BODY KNOWS IS "HUNCHED OVER A GLOWING THING."
I WISH I HAD MORE GOOD THINGS TO SAY THAT WOULD MAKE EVERYONE THINK I KNEW THINGS.

SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE A PENGUIN WITH A MUSTACHE. I FEEL LIKE THE LAUGHING STOCK
OF PENGUINS. LIKE I FORGOT TO PUT THE PENGUIN EGG UNDER MY ASS SACK AND ACCIDENTALLY
ABORTED IT BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY READING. BUT NONE OF THEM ARE MAD BECAUSE THEY
REALIZE IT TAKES A LOT OF ENERGY TO RAISE A PENGUIN BABY. AND ENERGY IS SCARCE.

SOMETIMES I THINK OF WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO WAKEBOARD INSIDE OF YOUR CHEEKS OR TO
BORROW A TI-83 TO DO A MATH PROBLEM INSIDE OF YOUR BELLY. MY FIRST QUESTION WOULD BE
DOES THIS TI-83 HAVE ANY GAMES ON IT? MY SECOND QUESTION WOULD BE SOMETHING LIKE WHEN
I DIE WILL YOU TAKE MY ASHES AND TURN ME INTO PRADA SUNGLASSES? WILL YOU FUCKING DO THAT?

Monday, August 10, 2009

WHEN YOU WANT NOTHING
THERE IS NOTHING.
NO ONE CAN FORCE YOU
TO DO ANYTHING
UNLESS
BY MEANS OF VIOLENCE.
AND EVEN THEN
THINGS ARE IFFY.
SO YOU
TRY TO RELAX
AND
SETTLE INTO
COMFORT.
I'VE FORGOTTEN
HOW THIS FEELS.
I'M FORGETTING EVERYTHING
I THOUGHT MEANT A GREAT
DEAL TO ME.
NOW THERE IS JUST
A SILENCE
SWEATPANTS
AND RAGGED
T SHIRTS
AMONGST THE BIGGEST
BLACK HOLE VOID
YOU COULD
EVER IMAGINE.
I WISH I COULD
REMEMBER THE SMALL THINGS.
YOU KNOW.
THE GOOD STUFF.
THE THINGS THAT MAKES YOUR ARM HAIRS
STAND STRAIGHT UP.
YOUR THROAT
GO DRY
AND YOUR
CHEST BEG FOR MORE ROOM
TO GRATIFY YOUR HEART.
BUT THE THOUGHTS,
AND THE MOMENTS,
THEY ALWAYS SEEM
TO SLIP THROUGH THE CRACKS
OF MY HANDS
AND AS I GET OLDER
I KEEP FORGETTING THAT I HAVE
CONTROL OF MY FINGERS
TO STOP THAT FROM
HAPPENING.