Secession (Cessation)

I'm leaving now,
withdrawing from our (w)hole.
No stated plan,
but bound to rules of exeunt.

For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot.

My peeps felt gray, and they say
it's not just 'cos our weather.
There was a lack of agency.
Everything we believe was not spoken loud enough, or heard.

For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again.

Once, I made you my colonies,
my pals, my droogs, my best friends under me.
Now I'm leaving you because
you've rushed into me so frighteningly.

For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again. I'll still have my troubles with money. Still feel I'm not in control. And you'll still be rushing into me.

As I wander away, my feet begin leaving grasp.
Cessation of sensation, as though floating up a staircase
into space, ignoring laws of gravity
so as to ascend in a straight upward line.

For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again. I'll still have my troubles with money. Still feel I'm not in control. And you'll still be rushing into me. But now I'm ascending like the slant of the largest pyramid in the universe, there is a cessation of oxygen induced worry, and I can finally convince myself, once again, that the world is actually a flat 2D plane.

Summertime, Dec 2015

Summertime, and the living's easy.
This is my second week off work, you see.
Living the lark, trying to wash away bad habits.

.

Introducing new ones.

.

Just heard it's not summertime in Texas.
Most definitely!
(la la la)
.

Just heard there's tornadoes running around us!

.

This ten cent Sun 
is getting hotter,
next time don't buy a solar system
just cos it's cheaper.

.

There is nothing evil about relaxing like a huge polar bear in the middle of a reggae verse, mon!

(heard much later in the warm night: fuck u it's ska)

Disclaimer: Mostly stolen from Sublime's song 'Summertime' on the album 'Sublime'. Badly.

Sweet Inclusion

everything so salty
sometimes malty?
Never paltry!

sweet inclusion

the observation of happiness,
'n synthesis thereof.

by including sweet into there diet.

do the buzzard circle if you are a real witch, bitch

at yourself till your neck diagonally itches,
finally find a shower with a buncha well-dressed babes,
and then your remarkable appreciation of beauty is set aflame.

flying down the highway as a ghost with the haunted guitar
there's a spook that the paranormal hasn't been spooked enough yet by
my oh my isn't it so fly or dry or other easily misaligned lyre?

mezzanine tie-dyes

what could possibly blow my eyes out of their asshole sockets?
besides trying to hold my breath while pondering the infinite future?
usually i have a lot more control over myself than this,
yeah bebeh. 

but now...you've obtained the full remote control of me.

in an alternate reality i paint my fingernails black

because i believe the visuals drawn would be distinctive.
i have an eyeball named gozer from when i was a child
whom i've had about since not-gozer was scratched out.

many theories try to find my mind,
i direct them to my tongue and fork them up.
salty little tasties, every one,
all the mignon theories.

i wear neon blue shoelaces over brown dress shoes.
to meetings, with people, but nobody notices.
all they see, like little babies with undeveloped eyesight
is the nose.

noose! quietly they then gather around to hang me,
for being an entertainment type of man.
"Make sure he doesn't escape!" whispers a cowled leader.
"Moo!" I cry aloud, waking the neighbors, "Moo!"

The cowls run away, quietly,
leaving me to my own nooses and devices.
I start to name each black fingernail to give them voice,
see what they think of the noose.

as voices slowly slip away

As what could have been plain as day
slowly slips into a lunatic eclipse
without given reasons or even predictions,
just carrying a feeling to stop all believings

one last coat of polish upon this blanket is drawn.

Draped'n tucked and snuck away to cellar,
babyhead woozies shushed with sugars
entering from a secret way under the cocoon,
body gradually inflating, the brain of balloons

journeyed to the other side of everyday sound.

Here, now, the runtime proves a lucid character,
who, finally released from her eloping sheath
orchestrates what is next by her artful taste.
Once-shaped histories to freely come forgotten,

ethereally lit, bosom-first into her articulations.

coffeepoem

As his coffee does suggest,
this man is more than a little bitter.
Sits in a sullen trench coat of leather alerting
passersby to the black pools of his heart.

Oaken table and oaken chair,
a murmuring candle that couldn't care less.
She only seats herself as this spill of rowdies
may soil her dress at the public house.

Their conversation starts aloof,
covert gestures regarding the fools surrounding.
They both put their elbows on the table and write out
essays about the dwarfs in the other booth.

Sonic Bloom!

Sudden heat, spores
allergies of affection.
Pollen don't want but
immediately, crabs.

The gentle milk streaming.
Finally landing the plane propeller-ly.
Twelve other indignant boy-racers.
Just two girls.

Oh wait. Twelve women.
Sixteen. Twenty-five.
Thirty!

Infinite women. All, of them. All of them!

then, of course, *really* happy part

when i'm really happy i can see inside walls
it's not x-ray vision, it's just saying 'lol'
at somebody who is so far away from you, just say 'lol'
so that they can imagine you 'lol'ing, in order to

induce laughing.

very pleased today i hope you are too.
you aren't? well, let me put away the superglue.
it's not the superglue you need, but bonding;
look at me, i'm totally molecularly bonded.

Über happy.

Many say that somebody who's saying they're happy is not, really.
i guess if you're happy you're also irrevocably mute. and ARE YOU DEAF TOO?
I SAID I'M HAPPY
if you like it like that ;)

Anyway, rainbows, my little pony
where adjacent pony-keeping rules.
So my pony is never confused with yours.
No need to brand anything.

What is the meaning of brand?

I see only a lush landscape,
whether in variation of greens,
or dark-pepper mental, crazy:
like the time we made you go get us coffee

and then, when you came back, we already had coffees.
We'd gone to get coffee *faster* than you!
You then realized you had been conned,
but no

We showered you with gifts and told you it's your birthday!

It was the best day.

:)

Been Meaning To Write A Happy One

Often stumbled, often finding
oneself suddenly bound
by oneself, such that
can't even write a Happy Poem.

Well, no more I say, this is it:

Having been chopped off hands
we scurried across the feet of all accusers.
Kicked rats outta their homes, then
postured as rodents in a sewer.

Why are we speaking in plural terms?
Wiley or trying to appear supernatural?
Well, it's because there are supposed
to be two hands to any given human.

No connection to the brain, we swear,
we're kind of anarchists.
But if you see us at a party
we're only there for your womanly kisses.

You come to us and cry about the exploding world
not noticing the beautiful origami universe
we just folded for you.

That's right, you laugh
unforced, uninitiated
causing our phalanges
to tremble.

We come out of the darkness into daylight
every single time you experience recall.
And we sit there, in the pockets of your favorite trenchcoat
so bloody excited to finally get to see again the mall.

You're laughing, unforced, uninitiated
we're trembling, brainless
just squirting out of the confines of your pockets
and nobody knows!

Everybody thinks you're a Joker!
With trick gadgets up all your sleeves.

i hate pajamas

really hate pajamas
and folks who say they wear them
what are they really saying?
that their brains have been conditioned?

who the fuck wears pajamas?
plus drinks hot cinnamon coffee
in those warm cotton
overalls?

gonna make a videogame
about just shooting pajamas.
you get ten points for a fringe
twenty if you blow that ass off.

so she's lying in the snow,
and her ass is too cold,
this somehow being winter,
she's in her fucking pajamas.

muammar quaddafi
was wearing pajamas
osama oh, osama was
he was wearing pajamas

when I came in, so precise
hoping for a little sugar and spice
she was in the bed and asleep
cosy in her little pajama piece.

& I wish there was no such thing
& I wish there was no such thing as
& I wish no such pajamas existed in the pink.

weak end

so i woke amongst jackals, all brandishing guns,
their faces ill curved, these outlandish gray aliens.
and my heart that once stopped when some harlot absconded
bled a note in petrol blood and tipped stomach's candle.

not a scream of the dawn, no yells of any morn,
simply scrawny, final, burning out of the glum.
at lease one hand of course, coulda been few feet too,
didn't even care if the blue wires didn't go with the glue.

horrible strain of the underused crumble
for pie-type solutions or candy barracudas.
maybe there was a reason in some afterlife,
when the aftershave shoved the cherry ablaze.

but this is now and we gotta check the holodeck wreck
simulate stimulations for stem-cell characters.
why insult them with just half of a brain? stoop a little lower,
boost it down to ten percent, nine, eight, six, three, -2.

Gentle Munch

Chortle, exactly nobody
knows, it'll snow again
around eight, or nine.

Words are a little bit like
ducks or soup or velvet.
Tongue's about to have fun.

Dolphin vs whale sex is now
an important research goal;
Surely they can't just come
from eggs?

Snap, call the fool, poker face.
Snakes and ladders is
'chutes' and ladders in the USA.
They 'chute' a lot (heh)

Somebody go outside
and buy me a gun,
then return home, put it in my hands.
Yeah, it's not a small gun:

needs at least two hands.

Spin-off From a Poem Titled 'Untitled'

It is a new year
not a holy day, or some plot
by the herd that tries to
separate one's being from another.

Stampeding, as I get kicked by hooves
(who haves and who've had)
till my contact lens finally goes dry,
drops, suddenly there is only blurry vision

of you.

Is it getting better?
Did I leave a bad ringtone in your phone?
I ask you for forgiveness,
you tell your carrier I'm a psychopath.

Well that went well, for a little bit.
I have all your photos maybe someday
I'll delete all of it.
You asked me a question,

and no they'll never be online!

The only thing you left online
was a button saying 'online',
a button I'd long ago altered
with whiteout and a skilled hand.

I had been a scribe then,
now all I am is a poet.
Or so I type to you,
does it matter you don't know it?

Slow Dispersion of Madness

New to the 'shock cinema' industry, director Roman Polanski is making a film all about the recently escaped Charles Manshion.

Try hard as I may, I cannot say that name without adding a Sean Connery special effect plugin.

Also, rubber comes from trees, a long-known, yet persistent form of slavery. 'Rubber-tappers', as they are usually called, can be killed instantly if they do not conform to the order of the chief of that village.

Try and pull that apart next time you feel bendy.

I also want to communicate on the horrors that recently transpired. You know what I'm talking about.

If what you all wanted when you started to read this piece was just cool verbiage,

Witness the small and the large in some conjuncture
future will not threaten to kill.
Slow and enjoyable furniture
I think, therefore I am.

Where's the small way to go through?
Why's it always have to be on this scale?
Can't it be little and unassuming?
Like what flowers say are their names?

Slow dispersion of madness is a new technique
I'm employing to avoid future embarrassment.
If you do wake up tomorrow morning,
make sure you drive the car that is sleek.

like a dot, given euclid.
like a triangle, if pythagoras.
after that you're on your own, Google.
i'm just saying this from a place that i know well.

redding, grayer

based on an offhand comment on social: "i just have a huge problem with beets. they're all red and stuff, but don't taste like what red is supposed to taste like"
=======================================

Red is supposed to taste like some apples,
piled all on top of some very fresh meat.
I know inside the fruit is kinda yellow,
or green or blue at high intensities,

and some brightness, eh?

But when red is introduced
into an outgoing stream from my wrist
watch (sorry about the hyphen), thought
this cool watch that pours red liquids

would be kinda cool to a new-tech fangled fool like you.

or me. i'm getting grayer.
my hair was black but now poses identity issues,
unlike your great red hair.
your beligerent, audacious, frankly mad
red hair.

(i can do ones about any color, black, blonde, purple).
auburn. i can do auburn.

You're the Piece of

Goa'uld,
that flashes in one of my many souls.
As some fiction,
Stargate sucks hard,
but retains properties lending the merit

of my focus.

In a nearby dream/stream,
I'm the Grand Prix driver
every woman in that audience
is screaming for.

Gotta indulge yourself
sometimes when the truth is bleak.
Like when you have no limbs
you have to navigate empty space

without the thrusters.

How I Truly Feel About the Product

at first apple the base whose thirst was flung not far from parch.
then patched again to entertain brains times twelve or thirteen.
how could they not fall into this gutter of ineptitude?
you think i'm all organic but i'm about destroying stupid ideas like you.

lets get less technopolitical.
your orifices were 'decent', last i was told.
told by a view that was educated by a sound,
your smell is known well in my compound.

how do algorithms react when interrupted?

of course i love i love i love i love you
we love all of you all of you and all of you
possibly want deeper relationships possibly want d

.

d

.

dx

.

dy

I just want a huge slab of Camembert on my lap right now.

Long gone are the times we made dry
jokes at expense of peers for
mispronouncing brie.

Inward dehydration,
yet outward it remains so supple;
I think I may have a whole new favorite cheese.

Our humor no longer has to be at expense of some lame other.
Now we just laugh for the sake of laughing itself.
This Sake of Laughing is

quite unlike the Sake of Murder, but close.
Everybody says to you, in that state, "Kill them. Kill them all."
You go back to how when you were a baby you could just make them all play dead.

Tilt

tongue twists, head in other direction.
on slaughts the panic avalanche,
pebbles can no longer hope to stand firm.

light rays in murky wood between heavy growth,
bestowing accidents of nature
with temporary divinity.

there lies the severed corpse so mossy green.
home to insects and small ambition,
head underwater, ambition lost.

giants arrive in their own time, to see.
bodies propelled by greater direction,
every cell a member of vast consortiums.

sentience bestows the fallen with ceremony.