Don’t ask me, I’m just white.

Feeling the slight hand of god working
And toiling about my skull
Never ending fingers of light
Vomitting up tiny teaspoons of spores
All over me

Smoke clusters form around the circle
That ive drawn out of odd rocks
I found dangling mid-air

I plucked them from the atmosphere so
Unconditionally.

A soft tear takes a stroll down my cheek.

The walls exhume dust burgers
Cheese and pickles are bloody
Hemorages fueling cosmic layers
Of shit

I am draping myself over the couch
In a dramatic fashion
To impose on you the idea
That im meaningful in someway

You scream, horrified
The others do quiet dances on the
Hardwood floor.
Mushily shuffling to music from
Forigen countries.

The candles are lit for some type of refrain
All movement stops as the sound
Of tv’s popping on reveals complete darkness.

And me in my hesitance to be anything
Other
Swiftly removes all buttons
From every shirt in my direct vicinity.

Keep on eating my brains, eternity!

It’s so much fun to change and to do different things but while I constantly hide under a mask of self-doubt I’m not getting any further. I need to transcend this vast, inappropriate wasteland we call earth and hemisphere myself into some other society. The type of society where everyone wears platinum foil outfits and listens to music that resembles odd bleeps and blips. Basically a tin foil land where they play Polysics all day and I can swing on swings (and not break them) and eat nutritious food in neon coloured pill form.

I’m just really interested in any sort of hyper-futuristic place that resembles George Carlin’s class in Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey. I’d like to sleep in a Michael Jackson-esque rest chamber, within a room filled with them, and have brain tv screens feed my mind knowledge as I sleep… like the babies in A Brave New World.

But honestly thinking about it, that would probably be a pretty fucked situation to live in. In that type of future there is almost always, assumably, some sort of higher ruling dictatorship. Dystopic science fiction novels are never fun for the participants within them. There’s always a sad, totalitarianized glumness to everyone.

Yeh, so I changed my mind about everything I just said, fuck that tin foil, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls-type hippie bullshit. I never cared for Logan’s Run. I mean, yes, I love the Planet of the Apes but when it comes to low-grade 70’s sci-fi who the fuck dosent?

It all comes down to this: years of media infiltration has left me incumbantly meta-fantastical. And it’s not even worth it. I’m not sure if thats really an explaination for my odd mind vomit, I basically blame all of the years I huffed inhalants for my pillowy soft sense of the surreal but tv totally had something to do with it, am I right?

This past weekend I watched an entire season of 30 Rock in one setting. It was so much more entertaining than real life could ever be.

Warm Fizzle Place

I always have odd attempts at writing science fiction that never end up ammounting to more than a few paragraphs. Here’s one.

The grit foaming from all sides forms fantastic feelings inside of our special heart places. Tiny pink and purple stars float around us. Air turns to carbonation and we do dances via the atmosphere, giggling from the bubbles bursting against our toes, our knees, our entire bodies.

I’m thinking to myself: Hey there self, I feel a rage about to occur. It’s all due to the slimey colors and entrails I am forced to consume, daily. This isn’t earth, for realz. It’s some different dream place where gelatinous monsters jiggle luminous and large behind over-powering trees. I’m frightened to think or feel or be anything other than what I see, fed to me on brightly coloured screens, lasers shoved into my eyes, with claws, like forceps… bleeding all of my mind thoughts.

There aren’t only big monsters but little ones too. Tiny little beasties who run in packs and are the size of Tic Tac containers, and about they shape as well, but with tiny arms and legs protruding menacingly. They’re evil. They hate any regular sized or giant creatures with a passionate fury. I wish I could carry a human sized version of their tiny little bow and arrow set. So adorable, yet frightening when they rush at you in the thousands.

My mind bleeds night and day but nobody can see it, not even me, but I feel the drips daily and have the sensation of sticky warm liquid dripping down my back about every 5 minutes. I just started keeping it to myself after a while, since no one really cares anyway. There’s too much incessant whining as it is, and I’d really prefer to keep my distance from the behavior of others as much as possible.

I hate the others, I suppose in the same way people loathe their immediate relatives. I guess these people are my blood relatives, in a way. We were oozed from the same patch of DNA. It’s kept out in a feild and it glows when it’s dark, to remind us to stay put. Not that it has to, no one gives a fuck about leaving. Where would we go anyhow?

Haiku’s From The Stem

The first one I did totally wrong.

7/5/7
My face, unfortunate cog
These window panes break
Glass into my eye sockets

For heaven’s sake no more spine
Tingling brain floppy
Massacre nonsense juice flakes

I am generally fine
Or absent mostly
From this round up of people

Streamlining decay into
All surrounding cups
And drinking from them softly

The beast with eyes like heaven
Spine tingles his way
Right into the last hoo-rah

My eyes have seen more action
In daylight hours and
Don’t seem insecure at all

Spine tingly candy cake goo
Disguised as something
Different from common belief

I am not here I am not
Here I am not here
I am not here I am not

But someplace else where there’s no
Real test to have took
No strange actions to abide

The bleeding of old hearts may
Vary according
To the scale of percentage

I Wikipediad “Haiku” and realized how to actually write them.

My second attempt:

5/7/5
Boom bam slam, nigga
I’ve never felt so smudgy
Smacking the sidewalk

My kicks bashing earth
With each step eternity
Feeling me up good

A window smashes
A window smashes my face
A window spigot

Ten thousand years now
On this same slab of concrete
Desperately waiting

You push me over
My eyes turn amorous
I want nothing more

The happy decay
A forest of rock and gunk
I have no talent

Except to harness
Thought rays into idea sprouts
All nonsense ranting

You’re killing me with
You’re elitist attitude
Go get fucked, right now

Leave me to my own
Hapless sense of self doubt and
Unknowing regret

I’ll live in puddles
Sand castle trilogy soup
The last man standing

Those crazy kids, and their rich and gorgeousness!

Dinner for breakfast, lunch, and snacks.

“bright beaming tail light face fall off mid whiff. chemically frozen miniature hamsters all dancing and singing fake cartoon land songs. in my left eye i am approaching some odd forms of life. zombie monster madness eyes bulging and creating liquified alcohol blinding tears. the last laser light show in half a century and here i am bleeding from the foot. they chopped off each limb and ate it like chocolate candy pie, muck all over their grills… grinning in diabetic delight. my whispy hair in the breeze sends flights of awful dust through and within the tubing of the outer core. flames give rise to my holy powers. the people stop and cheer. i have risen and will rise again after each episode of syndicated sitcoms blare their closing credit tunes. give me kraft macaroni horror show boat contests. anything is better than flaming hot super pie in my eyes at all times. nothing beats tall, tin cans of slimey green liquid to course through my veins and make me feel flighty. they say human flesh tastes the best and cannibals all live in small apartments in new york. they have satatanic cult parties and play bauhaus and eat flesh and fingertips. their small offspring learn early that the only way to implode is to literally explode onto small staircases in vestibules. the mailboxes all turn pink and drip sweet smelling slop onto the floorboards. my only hang up is the death carcus mounting, on walls like mooseheads except its peoples sexual organs or something. im not fond of public nudity.”

If only life were as simple as sleeping, the entirety of it.

The real joke happens at 6am. The morning starts. Sands shift the sun to a bright, new poisonous day. The sky is a repeated mold of it’s previous version. The sun, bleeding from within the clouds, blinds my eyes so terribly, when I have to literally wake up, that my skin practically feels like falling off.

Morning is quite actually the cold, hard truth of reality. Oh sure people find it lovely, but it’s not. It’s simply another harsh reminder that I have to grow up and face the world. My entire childhood was nothing but mornings filled with mock vomitting and pathetic, non-sick coughs to try and dissuade my mother from taking me to school. What did I want to do instead of going to school? Sleep. Simple sleeping was, and is, my only life remedy. I love it so thoroughly and thoughtfully. It is my best friend in times of need. My enemy when I can’t get enough of it. I want to slice it thinly and eat it on a bagel, like lox.

Ah, yes… good ol’ daybreak. Classic forenoon! Morning, my sweet bitter temptress. Earth is not worh my burning, sleepy eyes, methinks. The universe dosen’t beat having vast, surrealistic dreamstates take ahold of my frontal lobes. Nothing does!

So I leave with that, here is a Devo video. It explains my position on things pretty understandably.

 

The Last Post I’ll Ever Write

I’m looking for a loaded gun, an awful shark with pistol whipped ice cream teeth, blood pouring from spouts that drip out of lower intestine ventricles. A face as clear as bright blue drink stars, with gatorade tear droppies.

I just wouldn’t be very good in a position of authority. I’m not cocky enough to tell everyone how to do everything, I’m just privately smug, gritting my teeth at how dissatisfied the world seems to make me. Gritting my teeth to a powdery cement pulp, orange-juicy and steaming from the rot.

God only makes irrational decisions when he’s drunk.

I’m pounding the pavement, with eyes so mean they curd disfigured earth worms. This is only when I just wake up of course. All other instances of existance is: happy faerie gum candy land. sweet cookie cake place.

I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out. I’m scared of how it will all turn out.

The pulsating heartbeat of yesterday, last night, surging through a seperate hemisphere – nothing meant anything and I couldn’t even keep focus on a Wes Anderson movie as my eyes spun to halts. The cookie cutter regime of ten thousand earth centuries, gone past, left us fragments of sediment – rudiment – sea salt blood washes, veins acting as filters for this last call of ages.

I’m pounding the pavement, keeping my eyes off the road, looking around peripherally gaining vast knowledge of nothing, evar. I can’t stop breathin’ or believin’. But what can I do? That’s just how I was born and shit.