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.