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| over the course of the year here, i've perched, awed and slack-jawed, as the cycle of death and rebirth has pulled itself tooth and nail through the veil of even the mildest interaction. what began as two-plus-the-lonely-outsider has become whore-sycophant-wounded. how could i have known that harmless intervention could be poison-tipped? no matter now; he's past it and that union will never last. justice will be served up pipin' hot and all the ones he's pushed away will inevitably stay.
what else has happened? i've surprised myself by crushing through the anti-apex of esteem and surprised myself again by clawing back from the grave. i've gained a new spectral pet and spurned the detractor. i've punched up more than my share of lifetimes.
i've drowned my creativity. with one medicine - indeed, the single oldest medicine - our species has at once cured depression and art. it's coming back, though, slowly, like one who wakes from a coma in a different decade; getting used to its legs and ligature, stumbling like a palsy-ridden kint before the transformation to the cocksure keyser.
all this remembrance has made me hungry.
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| gold-flecked countertop; cat at my side, swelling. they all walk away rather than -
fan spins, telling. gentle hum curling the edges of a once-great travesty. they right? they right? do i drown? is it such a waste to pitch droplets into nothing? they be better served reserved to reservoir tip: catch-all solution to spiritual dilution! antmarch to sugarsweet conductor.
it ain't that i hate, hearth. it ain't even that i bitch. it ain't that i hurt or dwell, it ain't that i stab. it damn sure ain't that i fuckin' care. why even take these flicks - in the face of freedom from the fat fingers of your sausage toes, why even focus on fettered fracas when retro-ruckus takes ahold?
it's. stretched. out. poke paws toward twilight in hopes that someday i'll matter. these little droppings no more than hansel and gretel's crumbs, wanting to find a way back when cannibalism is all that awaits. god damned whore of a witch, i torment me when i torment you.
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| the rain fell all day. again. it soaked through the pavement until that weird dead-worm smell permeated everything.
the droplets on the windshield almost spelled something. again. it wasn't until we'd gotten home that i realized it was just a worthless bit of poem - no structure, no cadence. no alliteration. not even worth sending in to those talentless magazine hacks. the ink alone would be worth more than this horseshit.
why does god write nature so one-dimensionally? you'd think that with all of the creative force necessary to spark this bizarre, inexplicable monster of being into BEING, he'd be a little more cunning. a little more lively.
but; no.
he writes a lovestory for the sake of writing a lovestory! he's on a fucking commission, just like the rest of us drowning strugglers! if he doesn't constantly churn out these pseudo-metaphysical romance novels, he'll lose his gravy train. and losing your in-CUM in the midst of an ekyoomuhnomik kriZiss is the worst fate imaginable! omg, what of the FAMBLIES??
whta a dumb, sick attempt. it's been said that i indulge. i've known that i indulge. indulgence is the last brutality that we can squeak out against humanity before the reaper snatches us up. epicureans unite - blood orgy - let this fortune cookie be our epitaph!
i have to get this under control. i'd kill my father before i become it.
so. tonight. visited the friendship forged in falsity, yet tempered in temporality. he turned twenty-and-one; such is more than can be begged from the fates and their flighty needles. did i go just to drink? or did i go because i love him? i certainly told him so enough times; for anyone to disbelieve would call into question every false move of the evening. ketel at sleep. fuckdamn.
continue when you're not sucha cunt. make you proud. make you shine. i believe in holy dent.
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| what's yours?
that benign conviction so
wrapped up in sightless
crawling?
stitch closer to the pages.
clutch like it's dying.
sheaves like leaves crumple in
the fall,
book of withering sick
denying all -
enlightenment!!
profane to your
fellow flies,
their lies brought low
in the shadow of truth.
so cling, maggot,
to your worthless god's
death knell and
wonder, too,
why His father
hath also
forsook
you. | | |
| so sparkles. preen!
so clean and right,
my charge is but to
be.
yes, yes, adore.
adulate.
i step across
prostrate mass leaving
a kiss of boot
their inheritance.
knuckles pulped.
wrists pulverized.
rise, serf;
though that shallow two-foot
frame naught before my majesty.
specimen glory.
abstract perfection.
elbows crushed.
shoulders cracked.
stand, slave;
though that doughy pound-caked
mass naught before this too-cut god.
abstract specimen
of perfect glory.
so kneel. scrape!
so alive this night,
my will is but to
rule. | | |
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