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26 March 2010 @ 06:06 am
Descending dawn dripped distant, circle dive (from a chair)
Sitting cold sun sinking solid, spinning in water
Growing green steam, stream wave of light points
to the WHEELS & walking hinge
                                           lisp
Cringing Gait
                  [slipping
                       soaked
                       slop stairs]
                                                        Sweeping Span

                                                            in a lackadaze haze of
                                   heat
                                      hiss
      heaved the
          heavy-
                hearted
                                                                     Panic Arrow


[Six-eyed OUT'D
every hood up in clouds]
 
 
12 February 2010 @ 05:40 am
...wound trembling joyful in the night
melted sign beaming  gleaned sigh..
pushing loose, pounding furious
Burgeoning blackened mind.
Force'd lull -- drolling stroll


Full pull, strong strain.

Splintering (joy?)

wise wave.


Up In The Trees, Now Knelt
Youth Burnt Cross Laden with Guilt
Transmuted Forces cast into the world
Flickering, fauning - [spark] - dead attack

 
 
 
Current Mood: brain leak
Current Music: Madelleine Laughing
 
 
29 October 2009 @ 01:10 am
   
  
   
Thrones of wet field
backing away sunk 'n' sullen
stranded storms, bottomless swell
full of gargling muck'd sprawls



Following through ties unended
my gaping, widing stare -
separating unseeamingly
what crumbled mind



Lurked with the hermit (on the other side of luum)
tearing cloaked glyphs (risen fr sprills spinning force)
streak'd, rung-ed w/ fear (above; holding over)
Boulding, brimmed & bleeding (trail'd crest sputtering)



Picking up motion, sliding easy unending
kneeling clumsily open & slow, over slink'd slope
weighing [exhuming] all the air, heavy in permanence
dropping all down in a pause of uncertainty
 
 
Current Mood: ancient
 
 
18 June 2009 @ 03:47 am
Part of a(n) (l)ongoing saga started tonight, scribbling furious in tiny dim light... A small fraction of what won't be finished for a long time, intended to be read aloud, this is the first piece of writing I'm happy with in a long time. You might know what it stems from.



... & maybe go about it differently like..

Praised be man 'n' the air he stands
all murking & shaking w/ glee
Whorring there, filled w/ cares
muttering lowly w/o 'ny intimacy
His buttons 'a shining, his pockets 'a steaming
swept over 'n' out all the crumbs from the seaming
Glaring a stare of disinterested obsession
He ponders 'n' wanders the lengths of contention
No walk will he take, for leaving his place
would be deceiving 'n' grieving the state of his face
His mouth now closed, the growling stopped
tremb'ling a hand through his greasy mop
His eyes water up, his breathing stops
All at once his nose sniffles in, his thought bubble pops
Tears burst forth, dripping snot 'n' sobs
He cries a cry that's a whine, & moves his head in bobs
He sighs a sigh that echoes all 'round
putting his hands on his face, w/ his fist he pounds
Praised be man, unable to ask
for help from his friends, or even a clasp
from a human being's being
or presence to pass
Quietly under his breath he asks
[himself]
humming 'n' singing, of ancient masks
In pasts full of pasts, classes & castes
Wooden metal, plastic & broken glass
Lost in a swirl of thoughts he thinks,
Brings himself to himself, away from all things.
 
 
Current Mood: Nightly
 
 
14 April 2009 @ 01:54 am
     Free Black Market weekends
   Free waiting selling foreign papers
Free faces with orange juice and coffee
          Free abandonment
falling over striped shirts, open up yr windows I've got
       something to yell at you

I haven't breathed the same way since.



        You should have been on a plain
           playing with fire
or in two days without that gasp
           under the heavy waves
locked in a car, swimming in the ocean
                  High diving.
 
 
 
14 April 2009 @ 01:51 am
Escaping the clutches
only touching creepy tins
with sentiments of us
Traveling through a city
that's more like a desert
more like red walls in a red world
peeling back tall black words like "crayons"


live [thoroughly] this
 
 
14 April 2009 @ 01:47 am
. . . McDonalds astronauts and walking coffin coughing
syrup from a jar candy mints on top of table tar
hi-fi going country western showing
musty little dogs in chairs next to corners
moving hanging pictures flicking tv dials
moving on blue water tiles Where Are You
                                         1770s?
 
 
14 April 2009 @ 01:36 am
                                          Wavering piece of warped board stood on by a variation
                                         repeating over and over again 'Ah, but I thought...' in awkward
                                         shame, I know. Step over and out, eye type thing everywhere.
                                         It is dark. Haunting tension, varietyless -- hopeless. Makes me
                                         cough. This happened here, I'm wearing it around my neck, it is
                                         dangling forward, going back, hitting me. I see and hear them. I look
                                         but do not find and I close my eyes again. This room has a
                                         sickness stemming from the floor, nauseatingly wet and
                                         weakly familiar. Blurred faces blaring through country western fires
                                         justify the self here. Sinews tougher than the bones, in the end,
                                         sat down to tomatoes.
 
 
14 April 2009 @ 01:18 am
                                there's one less window.



Headache weather.


Lines on the markers
                           to open up the fingers or fumes (to one side)
                                                                      [WHICH?]


Tv's back barking, hanging onto trees

                                              and sparkling ceilings
 
                                                     desensitized to windows & grass in the sun.


                                                                                        Old staplers holding things together that shouldn't
                                                                                               Burned dyed plastic surrounds me
                                                                                                      each piece a lone mass showing "WAR

                                                                               Cramming (deaf), into wide pockets from every era.

              
                                 The street's wide (everything's wide) cracking half sides sticking out to a waving
                                             hand "Who's there young man?" scoffing loudly
                                                imaginarily to a friend.
 
 
17 December 2008 @ 08:32 pm
Often times I'd like drop off the planet, or rather, have the planet drop off me.
This face it has, I do not like. The constant scorn and smirk (fading back and forth) of a half-cracked-lip snicker always poised, still waiting.
For now I will keep it waiting.
"How much longer", I wonder, "before I give in?"...
I am left constantly questioning. Re-questioning over and over again.
(Mothersbaugh had it at "Too Much Paranoia.")
Keep it dark, keep it cold, keep it alone. Keep it wretched, keep it cursed, keep it horrid. Keep it barely alive.
I want to be cold, I want to fight shirtless this freeze, this creeping fear, sharp anxiety, permanent anger.
Skinny fists don't seem much help here..

You see, I am not happy.



"Will you ever be satisfied?", you ask.


I don't think I can answer that...
 
 
Current Mood: Dismal
Current Music: Amplifier Worship