Saturday, October 24, 2009

How Much I Miss Her. Coat.

It's fairly rote to reorganize my love for her,
this being something a normal human being might do
at night trying to sleep, or perhaps while trying to accept his old mistakes.

Some girls laughed as we took a photograph outside Tiffany's, and I did ask her if they were trying to 'make fun'.

"No," she had said. "They are not."

I smiled back at her, and showed her the rest of the city. "What next museum?" I would say, sarcastically, and she would just make me go to actual displays of art I was not yet trained for.

I miss her so much. Like the photograph at Tiffany's.

Miss her intellect, and her mind. And how cool she was

Sunday, October 18, 2009

The Baby Explains About Ears

Somebody had been shot in an interracial war outside their house. She knew that it was something about who has a better videogame or something, but she did not know the exact detail. I mean, I'm sure the kid that was shot, and the kid who had actually gone all the way and shot that kid who got shot knew about it, but she didn't know -- shit, it's hard enough being a single mother in the projects. Let alone a single mother of six children.

The sixth one began to cry. She entered the code so thirteen-year-old Janis could go onto the internet, and then she gave 11-year-old Charlie some money to go buy some firecrackers. "There is a reason that those things are banned," she told him. "I'm giving you this money in the hope -- the pure hope -- that you won't misuse it."

When all was said and done, she finally attended to the baby in the middle of the living room. She put a blanket over its body, as it had requested, and then added those nitrous oxide injection units to each of the casters of his pram. "See," she said to him, soothingly. "Mummy wasn't away anywhere else. Mummy was right here."

The baby smiled and took the gift. But then he said "I have Ears, you know?"

She froze. "You don't have ears, baby."

"I have Ears!" he said, stubbornly.

Wtf? How was this even possible, that he knew about ears? She got down, and hung out with him, on his personal level. "Who told you about ears, baby?" she asked.

"I know about ears," said the baby, miserably. "I know how they are such wonderful organs, how exquisite the formations are. How there are canals."

She could not do anything except nod. "Yes. They are designed really well." She looked around to see if any of the other kids had been teasing him so cruelly.

The baby pressed the nitrous oxide button his mother had just installed for him, and ran over her foot. "It's not designed!" he shouted.

Then something amazing happened. Too bad nobody caught it on tape, but there's this vision of this crazy baby on nitrous, in a pram, whizzing around the whole fucking living room and talking about evolution.


I saw an epitaph with a single name,
all it said was ‘Bert’, engraved, just ‘Bert’.
What is wrong with being named ‘Bert’?
Why is it such a social issue? Why is Bert

so evil?

Usually poetry has some kind of form or rhyme or meter.
or whatever — but poems about Bert have no such structure.
Bert, an evil entittty, can proceed ‘Willy Nilly’, a song about
whales that he likes to bring up often.

so evil.

Like I say, his gravestone has been carved here for anyone
to come and see (before bedtime for little babies). Like I say,
we used to share an apartment together for ages. Rubber Ducky?
We used to have a Rubber Ducky. Where is that now, Bert?

Where did you put it? Meter and rhyme?

so evil!

wonderful sunday mornings with you

most of the time i'm an accident except less exciting,
but on wonderful sundays when you go off to make coffee
cos you can't drink orange juice,

i imagine your life as a normal person, having woken.

most of the time the incidents have too many 'I's,
world looks a little bluer than the rgb allocation
i allocated, i thought i had allocated ...

the rgb, but it's not about me, it's about you, having woken.

what are you, a geneticyst or a very clever biologist,
which is why i asked you who richard dawkins really is.
so we might have a conversation,

but fine, go and have your coffee, by yourself. don't talk to me.

No, it's really all cool. Go for it.

The Dexter 'Fan-Fic'

Spooiler Warnengh.

This is a service for all the peepullz who can never be allowed to watch Dexter. (On their tvs).

So obviously Quinn is going to die. Symmetry with Dokes.

"Yeah," she said. "Why not?"

Let's just kill Angel and the Chief of Police or whatever, too.

"Whoa, whoa. Hold on ..."

Nine birds, one stone.

"Why am I always put in quotes?"

Because you're not even real.

"I am real. I'm the part of you that wants you to admit you are a psychopathic killer who as put poor Dick on the path to committing Crazy Murders.

Heh, Dick.

"Wtf, he is a great actor."

What is the point of this again?

"Who are you going to end up killing?"

I don't know. Don't really care. Whatever is most appropriate.

"Hah! 'Appropriate'. How is murder ever 'appropriate'?"

Maybe if your name is Quinn and you lie in symmetty with Dokes?

See mm tty? ;)

Now that was a bonafide joke. Doakes. How the fuck do you end up spelling your name?

I can probably get rid of yoga instructors real quick too.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

energy like a porsche

dying man's choice of car? what?
mid-wife crises?
mid-story issues, perhaps:

we are here to solve your problems.

torus. bull. lion or tiger. sword.
the sword is something always wielded,

in these discussions about your past.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Fiddle The Violin

"What is this, a joke?" he asked, in his Male persona.

"No," said the Female persona. "Take your violin out of the bag."

He pulled the instrument from its casing, but kept it safe from the distance of her vagaries. He brushed it, now and again, and one of the times, he even made it a corporation, allowing the entity ability to get its shoes shined at a 34th Street Subway Station, by a real-life-legit shoe-shiner.

"Play the violin," she instructed -- a sort of command. He shook his head, saying "No."

"Come on," she said, and now she started strip-teasing him. "Witness the sexiness," she said, parting various articles of clothing from her Body. He held out for as long as he could, but obviously, he was unable to hold out for too long, and so he took his violin, and began playing it as she got naked in front of him.

When he finished his song, she was sitting there like an elongated painting, and she asked if he knew any newer or better songs.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

twinkle time

When I was a child, I was learning to climb the Big stairs,
then I saw my mommy and daddy looking down from above,
eyes wide open as though the monster was coming for me!
Startled, I turned to look, and losing my balance, fell backwards ...

Twisting paints as though perfumes,
beating fools to taste their flavors,
i heard a sense of malignant humor
claim i suffer from an acute synaesthesia.

I still care about individual tastes,
even though sensations tend to join.
This is why I made crying faces when
that girl in 1st grade was getting an injection.

I wasn't trying to scare her.
I was just empathizing,
you know, not even aware
that I was laughing inside.

For me, it was just twinkle time.

My Irreverent Sense of Self-Importance

When we broke up, after long nights,
me drinking & u claiming to be trying to keep us, everything together
it was not just our mutual bond that had shattered.

Take for example, a starfish, and wonder along with me
why you can't keep emotional states up in the same way
a starfish spontaneously forms these fun limbs + in such fun star shapes?

This is how the kinds of logic your arguments assume look like, to me.

Don't come complaining in our reincarnations
that you are an allergic anaphylactic little shit
choking about 'fuck, we are all cockroaches'.

Though your aura may be complete and azure,
doesn't mean the FDIC is able to insure
that old vault of emotional cache you stashed
before hitting me with your bullet of apathy.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009


Is it getting nicer?
Or is the sham just glib?
I know you are the tightest
with your vagina and your Bits.

Did I ask too much?
More than Lot?
Left me hanging like
you're some pillar of salt,

I say "Love is the answe", and you don't supply the 'r', and I can't keep going on.

(chorus unworthy of repetition)

Maybe I just like saying
things I usually say
in this exact fashion,
since you won't show me the way.

Is it 2-luv, tonight? Did I win that or ... did I win or ...

I'm sorry your dad died.
To be honest, why don't you die,


Is it getting sharper,
is the brain working again?
Cos you left me in the darkness,
a place no one's saved from, my 'friend'.

Did it hurt you so much
was that really the push,
that I wasn't there to celebrate
your seeing in the distance of George Bush?

My offhand remarks were drunken, but really,
I wouldn't have been as excited even if it was me.
And you suck for leaving me for that,
that I didn't give a shit about the fact you saw George Bush

In some fucking crowd.

Baby that keeps saying that everything is 'Lovely'

It saw a glass table
littered with roses
and rose petals.

Lady legs crossing
in admiration of
red against transparent,

So lovely. He just came in, saying everything was so 'lovely'.

I took the baby,
put it in a pit of oil
and miners.

It crawled, so pathetically,
then found the diamond
shiny in its scrounging paw,

which was so 'Lovely'. He just crawled into the mud and found it, so lovely.

"Your mother is ugly,"
I told it, asked to babysit.
"She's horrible. And she hates you."

"No, she's lovely," said the baby. Everything is 'lovely' to this baby.

Giving Freely

Last night's scorn across the peppercorn
tonight scattered across what matters.
Night is born only where you're not found
coming, stalking, leering ... then I'm around.

Freely, giving.
Yourself ?
Fright, scare,
Challenge (heh).

Always welcome. Always given

dealing with boredom

For example I was bored that neither -t nor amber were awake to address my latest pieces. I wanted to 'call the whole thing off'.

Then somebody came and told me -- a gnome (probably planted by -t -- she looks like someone who plants gnomes) -- that, whatever, man. Then the dream ended.

"Yeah," I said, in my voice. "Sorry you had to grow the beard."

-t laughed it off, holding up a razor as though it was going to fix everything. I laughed it off along with her too. When I was awoken, I was reminded that I had to go back downstairs and take care of issues where people were not transferring at the nominal rate.

"Lol, wtf is a 'nominal rate'?" I laughed.

I was told that the nominal rate is the amount possible for the children to raise funds for children in Ethopia. I was going to point out how it would be so much faster for me to just donate this amount, but I was stopped.

"Let the children donate the amount," said the voice.

"It's taking too much time," I said. "Let them do it next time."


"Are you dealing with boredom?"

I looked back. Who the hell was this idiot? "Yes, I am. All these idiots are sooooooo boring! I'm trying to get out of it as quick as I can!"

"No," said the voice.

"This is gay," I told the voice. "You can't just obtain godlike powers and destroy me!"

The voice said: "Ha ha ha haaa. You and your notion of time. The time, my friend, has come from sparing your wretched little planet, the very little thing your pointless feet come across every day, the utterance of curse in the minds of dying babies worldwide. Now is the time for everythings' Dismemberment!"

"Are you dealing with boredom? Are you dealing with boredom?" cried something as it spiraled into the Sink of Basic Destiny.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Donut [AFK] + Want to start a social experiment

@Amber: Insult. (Awaiting response of 60 characters or less)

@Crowd: I want for everyone to enjoy the amazing lucid dreaming experience that I was able to enjoy as a college student. Finding myself somewhat more capable that most people, my research has concluded that none of you have experienced such a thing in your formative years. You have dreamed, yes, of cabbages and moths, rats and raccoons. Butterflies and bougainvilleas.

I'm not saying I am the Greatest Man In the World. I merely posit the benefit endowed me from this experience of 'lucid dreaming' has left me in a better state to deal with the various outcomes thrown by the now defunct (and daft) 'system' (in quotes for good reasons) than perhaps some of the toy personalities thrown about this board.

I'm able to get lucid dreams because I was able to do it in college. When you can do it in college, you can do it again in any other facet of your life as you like, no questions asked. The bigger problem is trying to help most others experience this phenomena.

To test the validity of this declaration and test the tepid waters, the proverbial toe is a clock you must find in the next 96 hours that will wake you from damned sleep.