Do you see what she does to me?

When they found her body, her eyes, had been
licked out. she lied limply on the cold bed.
fear frozen on her face. The blood loss was
minor, in fact her silk white gloves remained
untattered .

When in custody, the accused was questioned
as to what happen. He responded, "I needed to
see how she sees, how can she be like that, so
proud, so confident, so joyed, how does one
exist like that? I just wanted to see for a moment
what that could be like"

the officer held back tears placing the docile stranger
in cuffs.

the harvest moon has past

is there any where near Los Angeles where I can watch
the sentimental death of nature to help me prepare for
the cruel winter of introspection that happens in this
religious cycle?

post-mortemism

Even death his self, in personification would become exhausted.
yet, he knew his job, he could not be lazy.
for with out death at work, nothing else works.
with the way things work now.

A view of the Thalassic

no matter how many terrible reflective surface deep
charlatan minds try to ruin the image of the sea
with there cheap prose and uncultured sentiments
it will take them over and has an eternal presence of
terror and beautiful captivation.

The Subtle Prince's Subtle Path

And there he sat, alone, before the bar on a street,
pints in his stomach and tears in his eyes
reading surprised some one could understand and speak
so soft and iridescently of such things.

he could under stand himself
and why prometheus would have to endure such torment

Fictive syntax

"cant leave this god damn room, cant touch that desk,
cant clean up, cant work.

just cant do it anymore"

he thought to himself, as he look at the sty of
a room he left from when he was diagnosed with
lethargy.

what happen to him, you ask?

every time he tried to imagine a plan

he heard God's side split with laughter

Do they all suffer?

black goat i too suffer

how do you hypnotize so?

for your gluttony

with your chiseled horns

and capricious eyes

while i drip down as nothing.

a suffering nothing.

The Gentlemen God

And he hath turned his back!!

to the women sitting in wait of the black goat

he a glutinous deity! how dare they!
sit so piously at his cloven hooves!

"dont they see the mask he adorns!"
"i know they do not see my girth!"

he thought to him self

wars they cast and stories told

the truth lays in silence, in calm thin
reflective pools

not in arrogant beast

ah, but to no avail shall he go noticed

for the women he wishes to glutionize
can not see the bottom of the still lake,
only there own vain reflection by moon light.

let them rage in battle,
let them rage in coward emotion.

he will take to forest, to sky, to solitude.

and they will live in secular seclusion

trying to fill there open gashes
with relations of bestial lust, wine,
and valueless materials.

In god's likeness

If thy god thy putrid god made me to me his image then I,
I yell blasphemously to the sky, forsake him!

why would one who's omnipotent place so many limbs
able to be tied bonded and strung to such a man?
to all man, and the disgusting plague of the minds image!

No says i, i will be water, let me take any form i desire!
let me rush in crashing waves to reshape the solid stones
let me sit still in reflection deep in forest and watch the moon
and autumn trees in my silver mirror.

let me drip from faces, let me drip from skies

let me cleanse and replenish life.

no, i know, i can speak blasphemous
because if i was to be in that putrid gods image

i could take the form of any containment
not be contained in my self

nostalgic battle hymens

From the deep dark murk they raise some times, there lives taken
yet eternally there to cause our emotional reaction.
howling in the oceans song.
fear, desire, lust, anger, ego
like apocalyptic horse men to those decorated
carved marble statues frozen to stature.
these adversaries know the arts to conquer.
and battles will be had again it seems.
lion take this head
death take this violin
lets prevail

indistinct complexion

unclear and shadowed, the children marched along with folk songs of safety
seeding the idea of a better place, one with perfect romance, luxuriously
sovereign time and emotional sanctuary.
There told there aloud to chip and carve away at there
personality to sculpt to adult sentimentality.

at that age they could not have known, no piece is ever
finished, no insecurity fully conquered. no human
satisfied.

The Lovers tomb under the Laurel tree part II

Perhaps the eternal androgynous twin lovers knew.

There love was the guilt love we all feel.

a manifestation of the I

I desire, I think, I love, I imagined

who could satisfy you more then you

when your in multiple forms of slight alterations

how many more teenage tears need be wept

to the "i am misunderstood" epidemic,

before the pubescent animas

in which is only the burgeoning evolutional cortex

dear lord send out lovers in identical form with genial inversion.

The Lovers tomb under the Laurel tree

upon reaching the open grave of lovers there faces were sown in literation.
the years of obligated fear they used each other as
excuses for manifested into coils of thread wrapping
there there face tightly together solidifying an existence.

as a life, as a person, a person who convinced another person there a person
they faced no abyss perhaps distain but not
the forlorn vacuity.

perhaps they settled for a face of thread instead of a
crown of laurels

and who am i to say bonding thread is less poignant
then laurels for what reason do we pursue any
decorative adornments.

show me a man bare and full, needless of decoration

and i will retract what i do not hide,
my own Inutile harvest of laurels.

a clear vision of the fog

taken up a notch, taken down a notch

this belt has a lot of notches

and a hawk like manager

always there to make sure

you know your fucking up that

$7 per hour.

On the painful journey of elation

when the hippy shit head asked

"hey man, be happy, why dont you just like live in the now,
like for the moment, you know what i mean man?"

the stoic wolf replied

"Then happiness would only last a second."

The dirt on wings

"you dont exists, god damn it I know you dont exist..."

"why do you spend all that time looking at worn out photographs?"

"what?, oh well what else better do I have to do?"

" i dunno dude, have fun or some shit"

"I dont understand whats fun, i look at photos
these photos look pretty fun, but really its just some guys
stupid idea of what a fun day would look like, these
kind of days never existed, now i cant have fun
cuz even when Im having fun, I think about all these photos
and remember they look more fun."

"haha dude that makes no fucking sense."

"oh."

Is it this what i wanted?

how did i wake with this hideous mask.

an unhealthy man

an untruthful man

a scared man

even if you passed the cognitive idea of I

I still get scared of who I am.

when I am nothing

content contempt

dear please come away from that window.
you know all those sights are what make
you feel your melancholy destitution.

Everything must go

The nurse in her pink blouse entered the room.

Picked up a checklist and dotted around the room
performing various tasks.

"ugh.."

"sir? are you alright?"

"ugh"

"what is it?"

she placed her soft pale palm
upon his forehead.

"what can I get for you?, what do you want?"

"everything"

her eyes widened, her mouth pursed.

silence befell the room.

autumnicly correct

things are falling off trees time changes that

time changes all off us.

watch yellow moon behind red tree.

white wind brings melancholy air

its for the better.

He who pulls the strings.

The cern hardon super-collider was turned on and tested today.

reasons I care to mention it

prove/disprove string theory
prove/disprove multi dimensions
prove/disprove higgs particle
prove/disprove big bang

reasons you should care

were all gunna die in a godless black hole

and learn that there is no life after life.

if a hippy dies in the forest, does any one care?

if i were a tree i would suicide fall on these people.

you want talk about the lost of identity

trying not being such a scared pitiful "answer seeker".

you have never been alive.

hearing you speak makes want to cry

In Facing Death

"uh, is that what im gunna look like when I die?"

" No..., these people were mummified instantly by ash at Mt. Vesuvius"

"ah man i really fucking hope i dont look like that when I die, all screaming
and shit." "i'd look like such a dumb ass"

"When mark twain was here, he said "the most beautiful thing i ever read was the
face of the guards in pompeii."

"Who the hell is mark twain, some old dude?" " sounds real dumb, theres no words on
these faces"

Freud's favorites

"God dammit", he sighed out loud.
"five fucking years now..."
In five years he has had only bad nightmares.
torn by wolves, chased by homeless, friends dying,
late for work, cliff falling, teeth loosing, eating alone,
girlfriend murdering, forgetting to do home work.
even in his lucid dreams he suffered.

he tried to figure out something to keep them away.
praying, sleeping with spear, drinking water, fasting,
ritual, sacrifice, tv, stereo, women.

nothing helped him get healthy.
all he can do is day dream of sleep with the black nothingness.

inconclusive sentimentality

this weekend was long and fun. i wasnt home until now.

and started watching internets video.

for some reason this brought me to tears.

weeping like a rain gutter.

its not sad... Im not sad...

i cant even tell you why.

The modern ballet Oedipus Rex

"Dude, you know who i alway's thought was like super fucking hot?"

"nah, who dude?"

"That fucking ghost chick from those japanese horror movies"

"dude are you fucking serious?, the one who like comes out of the tv
all fucked up and steals your soul and kills you and shit?"

"yea dude, shes like fucking hot."

And this came back.

waking up in pain early 5am.
i felt horrid today, as an employee as a human.

all the things i wanted seemed so out of reach
past the end.

come visit me at silver lake coffee on glendale ave.

i will make you a banana chocolate expresso smoothy.

some one give me a better job, like janitor

The birth of anxiety

There once was a shining young prince.
so beautiful was he, he saw beauty in all.
The mere smile of a coy pale girl would
flutter his heart so violently he would burst running,
taking flight in tragic joy .
tears would drip on his face as he stared into gray skies
tears would drip on his face as he brushed his hand past a girls waist.
all he knew was beauty.

then one day with out ritual, staring at a pale rose he
watched a tear drip down into the stream, bluer then
the water it stared back at him, his heart knew a new
feeling from this.

He knew soon, he would loose all he loved, he would
have totake to the sea, being distance from the now
fog tinted lights.
often scared
often nervous
often anxious

he could now unlike before feel his body decay
feel his minds ridges, see in duality.

Each of these sapphire tears was named anxiety
and he wanted nothing more but to return
towards the nostalgic beauty.

on a vessel staring directly into the light
he drips deep tears chanting in foreign tongue.


please return.

Abstentious Dionysianism

As a child he would feast on flowers.
roses, tulips, gardenias, bonnie blue bells
an insatiable appetite that was never filled.

As an adult he would bring flowers home every day to his wife.
orchids, carnations, birds of paradise, violet trumpets
he laid them on the table, and retired to his study.

She always appreciated the flowers, placed them
in a vase on a table or counter.

as the years passed they spoke less and less.
he would sigh at the sight of the flowers,
locked in the transparent cylinder.

she never knew of his relationship to the flowers.

bearly making it.

no more beer, espresso, first edition books, vegan food, cigarettes,obscure records, museum trips, ego trips, perverted sexual encounters, or decedent cakes.

"no, no more."

the boy thought to himself, proud of offering his soul
in exchange to be shape shifted to bear form.