2.28.2011

Day 34 (Twitterpated Spring Fever Abated)

 
Ran until til I tripped on loose heart strings tumbled down rabbit hole metaphors or maybe it was just a case of stairs cracked broken bruised the ego thrived and strive for new heights sights and sounds the profound belief in meaninglessness I address confess and undress skin or maybe rhyme and reason but they said 'tis the season for heart sleeve expressions minced with momentary depressions in the seismic wave of mood last night someone told me I was rude so I spit in their face and asked them how being right tastes? 

2.27.2011

Day 33 (Bitches Know the Ropes)



The dander of the gods is a burden I can no longer shoulder. If only this boulder would molder and move, lose its steam and cream its pants, ants running downhill, just for the thrill. I grow older and bolder with every chill, every pill, every zing bang and pop. Bim bam bang, it’s a wang, you fool. Try to wrangle it, entangle it in bed sheets and entrap it with your girlish wiles, from the woes of your toes up to your perky little nose. No one knows how hard you try, cake up all that make-up, nobody cares how you fake it as long as you make it, but what are you making, girly? Twirling around, twisting and tying your hair into air, so long as it covers your terrier derriere. Tawdry schemes go awry as you try your bawdy themes and the dog broadly dreams of bones to chase, mailmen to race in this rat race of a civilization. You’ve only got four legs, you’ll never catch that truck, bitch, no matter how much ice cream he promised you, he’s a fraud too, you ugly broad. The trap you so carefully laid has now been paid out by the mafia, and they want to cash in and strap in, strap it on, those strapping suits, fruits to the core, they just want a whore. Do you dare to be more than just what you are?

Clench, clench, clench to my loo, my darling. The wench’s stench fills my nostrils, enraging and engorging them, blood rushing through veins and capillaries and capstones, tap those stones, tap it baby, tape it up, shape it up. Rushing, flushing my cheeks and my toilets, down through the sewers of my mind, out the pipe into the vats and endless pipes through the wastewater treatment facility, or WTF for short. WTF indeed, why the fuck do we need to feed our bowels on these blood-soaked towels. Howls at the moon will never bring it any closer to fill your eyes. Pie in the sky, pie in your eye, dye it with pi.

2.24.2011

Day 32 (Fuel to Burn)

Time tempers soft flesh to form hard scales of our self indulgent nature loves lost replaced with idealism and we forgo desires for the surrealistic nature of our own existence persistent we must remain in our final refrain with soft vocal strain push past push hard push fast against all who stand before you but never forget to pick up those who lay to the wayside keep one hand open and the other balled in a fist don't fall listless stay pissed feed anger love compassion wrap and roll your emotion let the wave and the ocean crash fast on flat backs but never lay back headstrong wind faced and blown over head heal and but kneeling is only meant to help you stand again and again no plan don't try to be just exist and resist the temptation for falling in line or being patient its only a virtue for sheep fuck the weak of heart and mind missing what is truly divine this life the refined meaninglessness of our pure existence fight for change but understand society probably will just rearrange and nothings perfect and you don't know a thing but that doesn't mean you should raise voice and sing the loud sounds of proud chest pounds abounds through tortured vocal cords representing conceptual souls so drink up then refill the cup
Life is short burn out.

2.22.2011

Day 31 (The Chauvinist's Truffle Hunt)

Apparently its a apparent I'm up to no good low brow and a pulled up hood destined determined with long legs and longer face can't wait for a taste of sweet lips and curved thigh deny and try to be a sensitive guy but there is a definite position I'd rather be in than here about where your kitty is peeing brown, blue or green they are all pretty eyes girl now I can tell you truths and feed you lies cause I could care less about much other than seeing whats behind the dress but lets address one little thing I must confess sex isn't the only thing on my mind but chances are your blind in terms of culture and literature and the alcohol has us all acting a bit immature lubricating thoughts with hormonal grease so please its been 10  minutes and I haven't heard a thing you've said and I'm willing to bet your doing the same but don't forget just because this night will be one some would regret we mustn't fret cause I would like to be hard pressed and pressed hard bitten chewed and leave before the coffee is brewed and trust me girl you would feel the same if you knew just a little bit about me I'm pretentious and contentious and cannot stand this conversation about your office interpersonal relations I don't even care about mine now lets forget thoughts for actions we should act on the attraction get lost in my eyes and I'll swim through yours its fun and for moment each one adores and ignores our unfinished story unhinged jaws swing wide to let swelled tongue inside no thoughts honey just action leave a nail in my spine I want to dig you out by now we figured it out but mind and wind blown passion escaped and we lie heaped in a human mass of loves last gasp before a little death and the overwhelmed desire for rest and just like you morning soon will come and we will have to find new pastures to roam.

2.18.2011

Day 30 (Run Sentance Run)

One day a boy found a coin trapped in a well inside the backyard of a man who had lost his wife to a terrible disease yet to be named after the celebrity who will some day catch die and bring it forward for public outcry but this is neither here nor there but prolonging the cold hard stare that will someday ensnare you like the sure footed rabbit investigating the boy scout troop camp where three were lost in an emotional sense as they came under certain duress by the thick well pressed hand of the local bully and his determined goal to hide from the insecurities a psychiatrist will one day diagnose over a 300 dollar an hour couch session before his 12th installment of golf lessons taught by a man who will someday find his way into a love triangle involving the unhappy wife of a CEO who is lost in a sea of papers and bureaucratic practices created by an angry accountant who holds a grudge against the pretty boy from his high school who had the world handed to him on a silver spoon only to find that at 29 the spoon turned into a verbally abusive wife three children and the impending legal doom of divorce proceedings that will turn rather ugly in the face reflected in a proverbial mirror purchased in the newest Ikea catalogue provided in the most pristine fashion by a former model looking to revitalize her career and avoid the pornography face and character smear its a sticky mess and she cannot afford a maid. 

2.17.2011

Day 29 (A brief biography)

Smashed pumpkins against screaming trees by the green river where the mud was honey and mother loved bone fending off the modest mouse we shared iron and wine while ashes divide the silver Jews and their silver sun pickups it was subtle and sublime like TV on the radio but we were left asking why?
Dose one more before we spin a perfect circle for the pixies to drag their nine inch nails across the backs of non-prophets in the temple of the dog where mountain goats dance with lesbians on Ecstasy to the katzenjammer kabarett playing loudly through the Juno reactor and still we were left asking why?
Locked deep in Hymie's basement we pondered the strokes and ate cake pestered by the beetles and the kid's in America rolling stones in the streets but we had a bike for three and I  brought my bloody valentine given by the blind butchers to the children of the anachronistic dynasty and still we were left asking why?
It was  Jane's addiction to the all night radio that beckoned the band of horses to aid babes in toy land but fleet were the foxes in their handsome furs they dashed through sound garden down Sleater then Kinney  to the postal service for Vaselines but I was the ugly Casanova eating red red meat and still asking why?
The monk was thelonias preaching in the cooper temple clause his punk was daft and his mind darc just as the night of his soul but the deep puddle dynamics would explain the deadmau5 far better than the prodigy who is busy with the eels swimming in the sea and cake we watch from our bed of felt where girl talk lays the godsmack and we green think up a diagram on how to destroy angels while drinking humanwine eating peaches we were the pedestrian raging against the machine Francis was the sage and Alice was in chains and they couldn't help themselves in the dogg pound Taj Mahal to telephone Jim Jesus to find their tool and a little TLC but Tom always Waits for tobacco brought by mansbestfriend and Saturday looks good to me.
I've found Nirvana.

2.16.2011

Day 28 (Does anyone remember Ace of Base?)

I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes
Turn Left
No right turn on red
Yield Yield
God it hurts the pin prick of the seldom nurtured flesh so quick to proclaim faiths sacred name without taking time to realize my atheist shame or is agnostic I never took the time to care or decide except for on occurrences involving the question of pride when thick chest would swell taking full on hulkish proportions comic book conceptions of realities infections into your find unaltered mental state here's a pill have a glass lets drink up and see who laughs last but first comes the chuckle behind bruised knuckle.
Now a wise man once told me only fight when your afraid of the thing attacking you and then that same wise man told me not to fear anything so when do I fight?
Lived a life without fear seldom jumping in horror films toughest baddest mother fucker to ever scorch the ground he walked on unless of course that ground was at the top of a skyscraper or in the shape of a coiled snake then I jump quiver and quake just padding ego feeding the monster trying to keep it at bay with a baguette espresso and morning addition of whatever times the bay is near. 
Hobbies are poetry and weight lifting and frequently they drift in to one another a confusing state where I try to relate the way that the weight controls captures and emulates my current mind state but friends say I am caught in my masculine image lost in a love of my own muscle fibers firm hold on my psyche maybe that's just me the art fag pulled apart by the weight rack.
And I saw a sign and it opened up my eyes but honestly I didn't take the time to read the fucking thing, instructional blur past the view of nearsighted hindsight so could you shed some light? 

2.14.2011

Day 27 (My Lonely Burn or something emo like that)

Warrior with a lions mane,
Tempting temptress... it complicates this,
But the here and now belong to you,
Tomorrow may be a blank slate,
As we step through the void into the unknown,
But for now just hold on to a blinking
Reseeding
Moment
The quick fast forgotten laughs
We share lost in waves of your black hair
Soon to suffocate and choke on my own self imposed misconceptions
Lost direction in thought
I'm wrought with self inflicted pain
But whats to gain
From the phones blank stare
Run til I can't feel
These visions of our lost moments collisions
And I cannot assess my mind state
I'm euphoric with a hint of gloom 
Seek an answer and a call
Forever scared of the chair
I need to move need to leave
Just give me some fucking reprieve
From my lost vision of you
God damn it
Your there again
And I'm here alone with my pen contemplating rejection again
What a sad little fuck
Stuffed into the body of a brute
Taught muscles and cold hard oafish glare
Pulling out my hair
Strand by strand
And strangely this
Has so little to do with you
The bright light in my basement
But bulbs are frequently replaced
And the taste
Soon fades

2.11.2011

Day 26 (Dew's morning story)

Serpentine and serene the dew drips down soft green petal.  With squinted eye a mad dash through lash of eyes.  Surrounded confounded and over run by the sudden appreciation for what good have been lost to the rapid movement of ones eyes.  Here lies mornings loving nest blissful return from rest.  Smell abounds rich quick aroma of self timed caffeine infused loves liquid black concoction. 
A hero savior and saint rolled into nothing much the simple unique suit and tie that pulls tight on thick hide and keeps red tongue tied and afraid to wag.  Mirrored image so distinct and separate from the nostalgic Polaroid clipped to the back of your mind.  A quick smile slits lips apart revealing hand carved teeth shining in perfection refracting light into the eyes of the opposing sex blinding judgement and hindering coherent thought process.
Black is your chosen camouflage hiding concepts of self expression and putting the body into the cookie cutter mold you always dreamt and longed for.  The search for abject normality has begun.
To be continued...

2.10.2011

Day 25 (Love Letter to Lindsey Lohan)

Desperate is my despair and resistant is my resonance but it resounds and compounds our tireless confessions to obsessions with mime's crimes and haunting silent screams through air so thick it seems to penetrate the open legged and eager.
Meager is the existence of those lost in thought never acting or combating the localized anesthetic numbing slow fast the last laugh of the media's flashing forewarning of what you should have done a week before you gave up and let them win but there it is again undefined other ominous and oppressive crushing haunting daunting mirrored image of your self reliance and utter attempt at defiance but have you ever jumped outside of the box only toss your bar stool matches over your shoulder and leave the smouldering ashes of your past remains its all so simple yet we need the complexity to self serve the disturbing quest for reliving Greek mythological tales I may have loved you once but like Lenny my hand fell to hard on your  nape crushing feeble strength of the not to soon to be forgotten past present future wet dream's soiled linen spot.
Blood caught in a clot soon to pass through tight vein pressure builds and pressure fades yet your the one who stays determined to exist to resist the insatiable desire to deny mirrored reflection and become our own cancerous infection.

2.09.2011

Day 24 (Ouroboros)


Firm grip on slick tail the slow gobble of ones own indeterminate self unhinge jaw and swallow deeper destroy the id and ego inch by phallic inch its a cinch tighten saddle on the pack animal of your nightmarish and angsty forgotten forlorn internal scorn the slow swallow creates a circular momentum propelling and compelling the distinct act of travel eager to unravel but unable to pass on systematic consumption of your own skeleton through muscle and fat you gorge on the succulent tender organs gently resting within bones sweet cave and through all this you forget to take note of the three birds landing on black wire eager to pick apart your appetite's torn and ravaged remaining but forgotten portion tossed aside like the band paraphernalia you purchased in hopes of clambering backstage to impress those who cannot possibly live up to your idolization and fascination but there you are round and ravenous rolling through the times and ages past soon to be forgotten sages prophets on soap boxes and the loveless nail biting nervous members of what was once known as society but that crumbled long ago in the age of technology when hand shakes came in the form of texts and love was expressed through a poorly conceived conceptual drawing comprised of two half circles and a triangle.

2.08.2011

Day 23 (Will I Am not Keith Olberman)

Sun is hidden by silver smile,
it took a while,
but its ill defined,
the cracked skin,
and unrefined,
bent will forever stretch,
guts turn and wretch,
and still you struggle,
to burst naive bubble,
swallow the pill,
expand the throat,
simple moat.
between castle and self,
so its the wealth,
or my Anima,
sink hooks in and drag out,
pull mist and examine,
beaten other self,
forever hidden and never loved,
the innate soul mate,
love hate,
and procreate,

2.03.2011

Day 22 (Sharon's Angle is obtuse)

My style is Brechtian and I like to slap you in the face with a consistent barrage of knowledge that I'm in charge but the force with witch knuckles crack skin is just three steps away from affording a win in any sense the game is lost and never finding it's end but character development is lacking within this thing we call life so so many of the good find their way to the knife and slit wrist skeleton room paint exposure leaving families without closure and here lies someone with childlike eyes looking on and blankly past the ceiling tiles and the rank and file paper file file folder and just tattoo this word to your chest the hard pressed foundation in a bureaucratic society we all love the lie so whisper soft to me while I brush your hare and painfully stare into your soft skin looking for something within that doesn't even exist in my own perception of my self so it's a slow search for a thing called love which we cannot define and never will learn to refine my parents were happy and its been 40 years and I'm sorry if I don't have the resounding family issues you wish I did but Jesus kid other than my seasonal depression and over active imagination I am set and fucking happy so stop trying to place hooks in my back I gave up fishing a long time back.
A life built on fear not of you or anyone else but the simple fear of ones self afraid to succeed afraid to breed afraid to bleed on the carpet of my fellow man's house so quiet like a mouse crept and crawled for the cheese crumble tid bit to get you through it whatever that might be now in the shower its hard to see there is a layer of fog clouding that condenses on a mirror and when you try to wipe it the water resists and exists as a slight film hiding your expressionless face and this is the perfect image to start he day as you undoubtedly will have to hide within society but remember those who assimilate the most and preach hate with forked tongue are often the same who fall victim to auto erotic asphyxiation blue faces in bathroom stalls across America the preacher the saint and the senator our lovely guiding lights lost libido in hand belt clenching thyroid gland.
Modesty is the highest form of arrogance and I'm a naked humble man.

2.02.2011

Day 21 (Freestyle no edits where made)

Hours melt like butter on a warm peace of toast which at one point was bread and with that said I am well fed up down and all around with this sick human fantasy that what we do doesn't implicate the actions of others I saw the butterfly effect and that movie about sliding glass doors which reminded me of the patterns found on bowling alley floors which shows up in a strange nightmarish way when you put the black light on but say did you hear or did you say something about the news i hate to verify so please do not tell me lies I'm gullible but it makes me lovable I was once a blond but now I'm just dirty godless and a heathen so basically though I'm still breathing I'm apparently dead inside because on my Sunday I don't reside shackled inside a building built by man to house the sheep and the Shepperd who leads this flock professing the word that was again written by man but not just one several hands grasped the pen pad and computer screen to translate and divulge the inner meanings of a collection of fables involving people living in fish which to me sounds a bit of double entendre but my mind is consistently in the gutter which brings me back to butter and my last tango in Paris and it was armistice day so pin that flower to your chest and pray for those who lay rest but only when in the public eye constantly cross-eyed staring back at itself but never seeing anything to keep the believing masses in line lets just add some more cameras outlaw crimes a hedge and we need to trim the leaves before it stops resembling the elephant in the back of the room sitting on our chest where we keep the dinette set for the finest of guests who never come no occasion deserving so the meat loaf never finds its way to the serving platter but soon enough the condom breaks and we were the pitter patter of our eager replacement so train them well and give them hell god forbid they don't end up as fucked up as you are.

2.01.2011

Day 20 (Things said while showering)

Body language so soft spoken
Could you just whisper a little louder
I'm hard of hearing and hard pressed
But lets face it we're still dressed
And I have already bled and confessed
All of my recent sins
Your cock eyed expression seems to suggest
I might still win yet another date
A round two
For your amusement
Chances are we will have that one extra beer
Then slide quick into
Our
Slow drip onto each others beds
A confused drunken experience
We cannot decide if we want to remember
But in the end
Your the slut and I'm the man
So with my friends I can brag bolster
Put together a nice little story to tell
While I describe the intimate details of your curves fall
We laugh and slap each other
Toss the word bitch about like a beach ball at a phish concert
But meanwhile I miss your passionate stare
Long for the smell of coconut
That resides in your tangled hair  
Sweat drips down the nape of your neck
And
I'm lost again
I write my feelings in crayon to avoid anyone thinking these were written by a man
Ashamed that when I sleep I druel your name
On to my pillow
Truth is I just want to be held
By this I mean I just want to know what its like
I'm a fat man with a broken bike
A flat tire in the fast lane of life
Who can only take his pulse with the edge of a knife
I used to eat steak with
But now I'm a vegetarian
Because my ideals are shaped
By your eyes and lips
And if I get to take a sip
I'd crawl across coal on broken legs
Just to see how far you could take me
Before I'm spit out with the dregs