Tuesday 4/29/2008 11:56:00 PM

Charmless curs on their way to oblivion. Their gods in choker chains. Pets. Nothing more.

Rag dolls in sequin gowns. Rotting stages for thoughtless soliloquies. Shakespeare farts and Bible diarrhea fill this toilet of a country. Say the lie loud enough. Eventually people will begin to believe.

Devils wearing their white wings. Gods with deep pockets.

The choices overwhelm me. Choose liar A or liar B. All the power belongs to the wealthy. Though there are more of us. Sad little children hiding under mother's dress. Fucked hard in the head when daddy comes calling.

The fact that people think they have a choice. Worse yet that they think there is a good one. Raped in the ass or raped in the cunt. Is there a discernible difference?

The idea that people still tout our disappearing freedoms. That soldiers die protecting rights we no longer possess.

Even the right-wing should be angry.

But no one ever is.

4/29/2008 12:35:00 AM

Calculating the runs in her pantyhose. Counting the steps between love and sex. She consulted the encyclopedia of her skin. Deciphering the freckles she'd discovered since the last time she'd been touched. A million men ago. The grave providing a reason to live. Amongst so many dead things. The disease providing humor where none should exist.

His eyelids weighted. His fingers accusing her. Of wanting. Moments pounding at the backdoor for us to let them in. As if we owe them anything.

The men with their daggers. Blood grooves doing their business. The women. With their gowns. Answering the monsters with broken balloons.

All of us chasing the string.

4/29/2008 12:04:00 AM

The line was long. Chasing itself. Time is Celsius. Memory is Fahrenheit. Trying to go back she ran into herself. Again and again. They'd argue about which one belonged where.

Wolves huffing and puffing over already demolished houses. Dead pigs. Spoiling in a grave of bricks.

The future to go there she knew has to have many instances. The future, to exist, had to be prepared for any and all choices.

The future, she could always smell, miles off. Like a burning barbecue. One timeline after another collapsing into the bonfire. We start at the end and work our way back to something reasonable. Or at least, something we can comprehend. Writing first the lies, hoping to find some truth in them.

Collecting those superfluous selves one at a time until the future is dead again.

I'll never be a hammer. But I'll still want to pound the nail in.

Tomorrow is too much. Today too little.

Monday 4/28/2008 01:01:00 AM

Clay pots in the sun. Eyes the shape. Words the kiln. Until everything is hard.

Tall grass in the shade. Sifting the wind through the stale arguments it often has with strangers to my bed. Ghosts with long tails wagging learning how to be dead. Or at least forget what alive was.

He had the truth on index cards. Short speeches he'd only make afterward. When the sheets were pungent. Flaccid from souvenirs of sweat. And the perfume of womanhood searching for an exit. In scribbles on the back of his neck. Like the rings of Saturn. Or orphans hawking matches. On dark corners in bright worlds overrun with callous rich men.

Tall plants on narrow windowsills. Pretending to grow as time slowly passes. Chunks of gravity between us. Brings the sky closer. Pushes the ground further away.

Sunday 4/27/2008 01:53:00 AM

I was god once. Situated in the heavens. Stark and calm. Bits of midnight like treason. There's no way to be a god. Other than betrayal.

Show me your heaven. I'll show you mine. So many gods to argue with. As if even one were listening. The difference between then and now lost in my definition of why.

What god would knock on my door? Only to run away before I can answer it?

I am god. As much as any human is. Deities created in our image. Never having to die. Never having to look for heaven because it's waiting for us.

Eliminate death and everyone is happy. Eliminate blame and everyone is christian.

I was god once. Before all these blunt Edens began to manifest. I was god and I heard the prayers of women and men. All searching for something that couldn't be found.

4/27/2008 01:34:00 AM

Flies. On the shit. Time travel isn't excuse enough. Lies. Bit of sober in during those long songs. Plastic heels on the doll's missing feet. Children of men in rented tuxedos. There's nothing to gain from this experiment. Nothing other than knowing alone is better. For the both of us.

I could poll the tortoise. Ask him how long the race lasted. But he could only answer as long as it took to win. Bodies. Like flies on shit. Tongues. Like maggots growing in the dead.

I could count the second between now and then. As if this time machine were viable evidence.

Watching the wolf. Huff and puff. The pigs with their straw houses.

Lacking such fairy tales I just wait. For a better villain.

Saturday 4/26/2008 01:19:00 AM

There may have be ladders. Or ascension mechanisms of some sort. Steps of barbed wire. Nooses of laughter. The beauty of women is in their effortless power. Just sit. Look pretty and wait for the world to stop spinning.

Her eyes were closed. His penis was close to her lips. She didn't really taste anything other than disappointment. She opened her eyes are ttried to imagine something more elegant.

She could feel the cotton trying to find her as she dosed the darkness. Long gowns insisting she wear them. Even if they didn't fit.

Take it apart later she told herself. The pieces will always be available. Blame the mediator she shouted. This false prophet called our skin. I take it off. It just grows back again.

4/26/2008 12:46:00 AM

The pancake of her skin softly waiting to be turned. Bathing in the waning syrup still left on his plate. Time is a corpse and we are constantly trying to ressucitate. Cadavers and ghosts. Flaunting iluusions of touch.

Newspaper skin smearing and staining his shoelaces as he bends over to redo the knot. Women like headlines. Outrageous and abrupt. Perfumed with semen. Because that is what god wants.

For women to bleed and men to sop it up. Dirty dishrags that are never too filthy to absorb a little more muck.

She's just an angel. Or at least, what some imagine angels to be. Heavy wings on her back offer no release from gravity. Only expectations from the ignorant.

Friday 4/25/2008 01:03:00 AM

She was standing on snow. In front of it and behind. Her ass spread on the warm hood of her tercel. The rest of her waiting for something to happen.

The world is a coin toss. Sex is a lottery. Winning isn't the object. It's all about believing that someday you might. He placed a brown paper bag beside the snow mound under her feet. Wine, beer and snacks. The romance of a drunk man. The valentine of a perpetual bachelor.

The room was large, but had never known empty. She was barely old enough not to hate herself anymore. Maybe he knew that, but she didn't think he was that clever.

The beer was bitter. The lubricant was icy. As she dug for his motive. The words were there. In fragments of what she had meant to say. Sedate gods on the edge of failing heavens. The flush of missing skin tempting. Loose bandages on nervous wounds.

He was ready a long time ago. She still wasn't. The echo of skin repeating loudly as she tried to explain to herself what was happening.

The alarm going off so loud that she had to assume she'd already woken up.

The door was open as he took his piss. Like she hadn't been there at all.

Banana peels in the dresser. All her skin trying to regain its balance. Debating whether gravity actually exists.

4/25/2008 12:17:00 AM

Was as right. Why ask slaves what to do with their masters?

Alone. A. Lone. No one there. Inside the sweaty cradle where the needles first painted our blood. Stoic rainbows bending hard over the spine of the sun.

All lost, owing no excuse. All found in the dead of my skin. the perpetual ignorance of hope. the stuttering fluorescence of breath. Still insisting it can escape the dungeon of my lips.

We are remembering. We are resigned.

A light out not expecting.

To ever see itself again.

This hidden eye. Peeled from my flesh. Sighted by the cut that has blinded the rest. In the perpetuity of arguments with touch. A lie neglects only everyone. A. Lone.

To me, reason finally admits not knowing. Why there must be darkness in order for light to exist.

A loud orphan.

Near Enough.

To see what was never there.

Thursday 4/24/2008 03:21:00 AM

Of course I hear the demons. They talk and talk and talk. Prostitutes with fat asses sitting on them.

Immunity comes in early morning stutters and is gone by darkness. What's to want of anyone, let alone the dependent. Plastic tits flaunt her chest in shades of ken dolls searching for a condom.

I don't know why. since his penis is missing.

The moments bide their time whoring door to door. For dark chocolate. Any evidence that they still belong.

I'm just counting. Is that wrong? I'm just counting gods. One at a time. Until all are unmasked.

Stubborn sheep in the dreams of men who can't sleep whiteout a little bit of drug.

The truth rising to the surface. Lighter than what's left of the meat. And we skim it off in thick chunks. Fists of cholesterol warning us to listen.

The truth is obvious. But we can ignore it. The truth is everywhere except where it belongs.

I had arrived at the amusement park only to find the monkey riding the same roller coaster.

Letting it toss me. turn me upside down I decided. the monkey knew what he was talking about. When he said the snake was just an excuse for the evil gods must do. When he admitted it has to be darker in heaven now that it's full of so many liars.

The monkey's only the beginning in a long story no one wants to tell.

The apple still waits to be bitten while we search for our teeth.

Wednesday 4/23/2008 12:02:00 AM

Life is always ready to happen. That you are the vessel is irrelevant. Life will happen with or without our consent. That's the fundamental principle that people overlook. We don't give life. We receive it. Or rather, are force fed it.

We don't love life. We fear death.

People aren't strong. Or smart. Or anything worth mentioning. Except violent. Destructive. And careless.

If anything, mothers and fathers should be penalized for making more people. In a world where too many already exist.

God, by whatever name you call it, is just a way to pretend you'll never die. More so to convince yourself you deserve to live.

You don't.

Deserve to live.

No one does.

You don't have the right to have children.

Your existing. Your beliefs. Justify nothing.

You are extraneous matter. Nothing else. Gas cramping the bowels of the universe.

One big fart and we're all gone.

People.

Diarrhea flowing incessantly from the ass of the Earth.

Tuesday 4/22/2008 12:50:00 AM

Do you have a piano handy? Someone is standing by to be crushed. Don't want to disappoint them.

The big things. The heavy motherfuckers. They're the most fragile. If they don't arrive broken they're broken soon enough.

Say what you will about liars. At least. At least you know what to expect.

I was all caught up in deciding how far the future was away from the past when it occurred, or I remembered some one's theory that they're all the same. Mutual plane, different time lines. A messy, messy debate. That ultimately always ends in more skins than I could ever fill.

So maybe physics isn't the best answer. Or at least not the one I can best control. We spend our lives arguing with gravity. Trying to convince it we are better than it.

We try. And try again. To convince it that it's mistaken. But it always wins.

4/22/2008 12:08:00 AM

Skin like cataracts. There is only the intention of touch. We see by sound. The sound. Lips dividing like Velcro ripping apart. The scream of defeated friction. All we have left is gravity. The physics of falling.

We flirt with time. Teasing the quantum. Charming what cannot be charmed. The science of seduction lies in our misinterpretations of one another. In our willingness to ignore the facts.

I can go back. As often as I wish. Time is an external force. But there's no one there. A million moments splitting into billions of quarks. Microscopic dances of flesh drowning inside a fingertip.

We're too big. To fit inside each other.

Rogue time machines on the whims of sex. Proportioning starvation.

We're too small. Caterpillars. Cocoons not lasting. The exit only makes the hole larger.

Monday 4/21/2008 01:44:00 AM

Porcupine she said. Born of needles. Her open thighs lilac like the night is when no one is looking. Minor plagues these bits of time we call moments. An epidemic when you add them all up.

Octopus. I have too many arms to feel anything. It's all just grabbing. Holding onto nothings with absent hands. Eulogies in pencil. The dead erasing all the adjectives. I couldn't know her even if I could count that high. Which I can't. She's scalene. The vertical struggles against itself until gravity finally wins.

Small aliens unnoticed in the pockets of fat the fill the darkness. Voices. Eyes. Limbs. Skin like a siren. Eyes like an ambulance. We're always saving the dying.

The living don't stand a chance.

4/21/2008 01:07:00 AM

Cactus in a big cup. The hybrid charms of long goodbyes. Evolution. In high heels. Close enough. The smell is sober. The taste is drunk. Evolution in short skirts. Gods without mouths talking to apes without ears.

Evolution. Veins bisected in drug.

People. Comments left on the skin.

Evolution in its diaper. Shitting its pants.

Screaming. Change me.

I'm wet.

Speak to me. I need to learn the language.

Evolution.

Teach me to step on angels. In high heels.

Evolution.

Pockets I never knew were there.

Until the change in them began to rattle.

The sexual pleasure of apes not withstanding. I still think I'm close.

Sunday 4/20/2008 01:08:00 AM

Coils. Detonating. The fingers of oblivion. Counting couches. Not yet sat upon. The sneeze of serendipity. A brief blowjob. By comparison. I wasn't there, but I heard about it. The end of everything. In a whimper. Drool on numb lips. Shadows of men cancelling out the moon.

Almost as if we were there once. And are choking on trying to remember.

Dying. Weak fireworks pause the skin. The world watches the liars the closest. The moment listens for what we'll never say. The journey engulfs the traveler. Now that there is no place left to go.

I could fool the bone. Convince it to heal. But why would I? When these splintere suit us so much better.

I want a different god. One who isn't so obvous.

I want that paisley skin back. It's mine. No matter who steals it. I want back that world. Where over is just the beginning.

4/20/2008 12:13:00 AM

We could break. Spoil the egg. Fragments of shell. Like rain. Falling. Not ever landing. Calm Judas in the noose. The suicide absolving practical sins. The whimsy of saviors is cruel. The definition of god too narrow. Crumbles of dead sperm on a warm tongue. Life instigated. In the hash marks of friction. Fusion. Molecular epiphanies wasted on giants.

Waking up. To someone. Not myself. Wanting to remember. The lies that once made it possible to lie again.

Waking up. Wanting to remember.

My life is on the diving board. The pool is empty.

No more moments like the ones we had. The bleak discoveries of hungry skin. That everything is nourishment.

That it doesn't matter at all how it tastes.

All I want is to be fed.

Waking up. Wanting to remember.

Saturday 4/19/2008 12:43:00 AM

Ample aliens debate the touch of dead men. Summer. In slivers of skin falling from broken fingers. The truce. In coughs of sober. Liars and lovers. Twins of different ages. Dying together.

The crayon draws. Without direction from dying gods and frail men. In lying neckties. Tuxedos of flesh. As black and white as I expect of lust. And love. Or anything that dares to come between them.

The sheets absolve our absence. Nothing to grieve. Tin men without brains. Yellow brick roads to chase. Good witches. Spells still the same. Wizards. Curtains at the back of my head not trying to hide anymore. The console. So many buttons to press. To make this world happen. Too many gods to name to prove it was real. Or even should have been. Written in ink. Needles tease the skin. Plunge the colors closer to the veins. As if they belonged to us. Or ever noticed how near.

Stemless flower petals mock the perfume. Of empty vagina's looking to vomit again. Temptations. Bits of cocaine in Mandee dresses. Sleeping so loud. The map in her crotch. leading him there.

The worthless treasure some women call love.

I want to fall again

. Convince all these pieces they are wrong.

Friday 4/18/2008 12:01:00 AM

The room. Opaque. Stiff blood bleats the bandage soft. The world. Not there. Or forgetting. Bashful murder sserved on cracked plates. The full of the dark dense in her stare. While she contemplated stealing the last of the dog's leg. Just the over she told herself as the joint finally split. The bones in her grasp as thin as flesh.

Drums. Lazy footsteps on the mauve of midnight. Broken lipsticks color the kiss of darkness. Grey again. Surgeons. Every moment. Cutting closer to the ribs. Until there are only tits.

The solvent. Thighs like lye burn the spills into dead skin.

The fraction. Her fingers like battery terminals. The room still not lit.

It's just as well. I rather not see.

No isn't there when she wake up, but she rememeers.

Empty-handed postmen. All the letters they yet to deliver.

Dwcisions in clay. Stiffening the hands that must make them.

Wednesday 4/16/2008 01:14:00 AM

Puppets and coffeee. Life is a sedative. A terminal illness. Strings. Skin in knots. Dances that much faster. Condoms everywhere convince us the disease is ours to manage. There is no pinnochio without wooden limbs. Nor without the whisper of little boy.

I could be real. Pry the hard gum from underneath their chairs. Little wads of truth condemed to a purgatory made by men. I could be judged if I had to. By any one of your gods. No worries. THey don't exist.


There's simply no excuse for thinking yourself or any one of us is so important. I can be saved, Just as easily as anyone drowning.

That I know how to swim is irrelevant.

Given that gods have no answeing service. Nor means to satsify the customers they've failed.

I am god. As much as anyone is. In control of a future dying in our hands.

Tuesday 4/15/2008 12:33:00 AM

Her discussion with the cliff ended abrupt. Missing punctuation. Trying for poetry she ended up trivia. Time not being the constant she had hoped it would. She never got over it. Failed travel devices. Finger painting on every scrap of skin. She'd not already torn away to confirm the meat within.

The future she used to tell him was someplace too easy to get to. To hard to get out of. The future she used to warn him was where they were. Surreptitiously creating their pasts. Everyone thinks we're moving forward. But they're wrong.

But time has a sense of humor.

We're always going backward. Being constantly reassured that it's progress.

We're finding old lovers for the first time. We're smashing these whole heart to find the people we know we once a part of the pieces.

We're lost in extraneous time lines and causing new ones. Going back with the help of commas and adjectives.

To find we've lost nothing.

And have accumulated so much perspective.

Monday 4/14/2008 01:17:00 AM

Little men. Or big ones. I haven't a measure for such questions. Only a collection of moments. The scent of strangers like a perfume I've worn all my life.

I argue with the hour. As all women are want to do. It was no one's fault. And every one's. Red thighs rubbing together until the feeling is gone again. Bits of sleep left upon her pillow after waking up. Pieces of men in the bleach she soaks her sheets in. Pieces of shit floating to the surface of the wash.

I was trying to explain to time that it didn't understand us. We don't live in it. Just too close.

I was listening to the time expiring between us. Bleeding loud in broken sobs. Like a naked woman reading Dostoevsky for the first time. The swallow of truth in her voice as she began to speak. Of men. The ones we have. And those we let have us. The difference only a phone call. A disproportionate conversation about skirts still unworn.

The crime: just trying to decide.

The punishment: choice.

Sunday 4/13/2008 12:43:00 AM

Cotton candy tells her where to melt. Distribution of gods. Kind and malevolent. In the resolve of mediocre chemicals. The man wearing gods' gloves. Fingers drawing samples of her. Pieces of pussy. Prozac if you're old. Heroin if you're young.

I could sleep if I wanted to. If you would let me. Close my eyes without still seeing. The fingers of life pointing. As if it matters what I say.

The octopus with so many arms still cannot hold. Or ever hope to touch. All the raindrops her body decides must fall. Sorry is the wolf who cried pig too often. Now no one believes him. When there is something to kill. While the boy is praised.

The hunger is easy. Absolute. One dimension to the person. Taste. The sour of not saying anything. The rubber between her teeth filling up with poetry.

Puzzle pieces. To assemble. Looking like people.

It's only natural that the fish should swallow the hook.

Saturday 4/12/2008 12:10:00 AM

Dead pigs or living ones are still pigs just the same. Covered in blood. Inside and out. To fuck. Swallowing everything whole. Only to puke up every piece of skin immediately afterward. Flies on the shit. There's a reason they call it stool. There's a reason for every idiom. Especially cum. They do come. Too close. And leave far too soon.

Telling the rain which way to fall and how hard.

Pink skin a perfect label for the white meat underneath. Dull claws scraping the chalkboard under his tongue. Too much life to ever hope to live. The words melting. Sweet. Like ice cream down her chin.

Microscopic earthquakes. Tiny fissures in her makeshift universe. The rumble of the house as the weather beats it into submission. No sleep tonight. No gods to waken with thwarted prayers. Just rain. On the glass. Just rain. Everywhere. Floods of skin comparing skeletons.

Pigs. Not being slaughtered. Slaughtering instead.

All Dead. Either way.

Friday 4/11/2008 12:47:00 AM

He never said much. Words always prove vindictive. Copernicus grin. Littered with big teeth. Metaphors on the verge of knowing their muses. Pants on the floor. In steady geometrics of skin. The circumference of alone calculating the density of this decision. To forget. Decide it doesn't matter what I want. Or feel I should have.

I'm only one plague at the onset of an epidemic. People. In chalkboard houses quietly erasing the cure. It was never there, they'll claim. Swimming in the quicksand. The smothering is candy. Sweet fruit hitting me in the head. As the trees decide to go naked.

Time is both a practical device and an emotional one. To gauge the affection of absentee skin. To determine the distance between this lover and the next. Time is an empty drawer in the morgue. Waiting for dead things to fill it.

People in colors like melting crayons. The pengunent smell of marker as the outline draws its course. Everything tells me what it wants.

Not sayThe s what it can give.

To unread books ripped from their covers, to liars lost in the truth.

Thursday 4/10/2008 12:17:00 AM

The urge. Selfish as it is. Stems of skin emerging from below. Pop guns and headless barbies our summary outline of the world. Even if I could learn, who could teach this deflated boat to swim. Life is random. And people do forget.

Those demons write their encyclopedias. Turning weakness into fact. The truth is whatever you wish to believe.

We must isolate it. Bits of bacteria on a swab tip of cotton. Each word an experiment. Desperate for gods loud enough to define it. Urgently to prove it can't be done.

If there is time in which we live then there must also be other places. If we can count how many. We can count how few.

If there is time at all. Ripples in the universe to tempt the lost. Into going places they don't belong. And thinking they can stay there.

The truth is only a distraction on this path to knowing. What I want.

And if I can't go back because I was never there. No one can remember my mistakes.

Monday 4/07/2008 11:58:00 PM

The glove in her stare coming off slowly. Words. Numb fingers learning to feel again. As the sun begins to punctuate life's steady stream of ghastly adjectives. Not a verb to spare. For skin exposed. Damaged. Unable to learn anymore.

Sickness packaged as cures. Always. And especially for the hopeless.

Her grin menstrual. Giving birth in empty coughs. Of things neither alive nor dead. Headless dolls left in convenient cradles. Anticipating birth in puddles of vomit. And abortions not completed.

There is only one kind of drunk. And this it is. Knowing it never mattered.

Arguing with the glass in the window. Trying to tell it that it's black, but it won't believe you.

4/07/2008 12:47:00 AM

Wearing the skin in cold detergents. Stains teasing to be overcome. Little monsters outlining clauses in old contracts.

Wearing the skin. Worn by it. In moments of vomit with napkins against our faces. Fighting the clock. For so many reasons. Winning hardly seems relevant.

We can strip the bear. Mascots of loneliness molesting the charm. Of words almost written. And men unsure. Of what they want.

Dense proteins in the armpit of teras. All this listening makes me want to be heard.

The slaughter pretends to know what to say to them as we lose sight of each other.

It's not over until I'm drunk enough to admit that no one else remembers. What I can't forget.

The liars in their cockpits. Crashing into us.

The never like paste on her tongue. Keeping close what should be distant. Were I ever that sober

Sunday 4/06/2008 12:24:00 AM

High enough to see the bottom. Low enough to imagine the whole of the sky. As the past must remember it. When we are old enough so that it doesn't matter how close it once was. The hot ends of cigarettes burning her lips. As she inhaled to extract the extra bits of cancer the fire had not put out.

The eye. In thwarted harmonies of skin. Peeling. Sunburns of kiss. Fingers. Loose gloves. Trying to know. Failing to feel. This dungeon of flesh. That holds us prisoner. Orphans dressing up the remains of mothers. In panty hose. And skinny dresses. Long stories to tell the briefest of lies. Like why I still imagine it could hurt after all these years of nothing. Why I think they could still remember what I can't. About people we never were. And demons we were too frugal to bribe.

For another chance at something we'd never have.

Saturday 4/05/2008 01:13:00 AM

People don't wait. They endeavor to live. With or without us. Closed doors on the shadow of her casket. Love is a morgue. Drawers full of dead. The heart is an autopsy. Once you know you can't save it, all you want to know is why it's gone.

When I was younger I used to tell myself I'd learn the difference. But now I know I never will. Dead is dead. Whatever way you choose to bury it.

In panics of skin she tried to drown herself. Searching for the right ratio of drug to sex. Sure it was poison. Now knowing herself to be immune.

You can't punish lovers by ignoring them. They forget and you are left wishing you hadn't let them. You can't measure the velocity of love by secrets told, but that is how you can prove it.

So many familiar enemies. If only we could know who to kill.

You can play the wolf. Blow all those houses down. But no one's lived there for so long. How does it matter?

Friday 4/04/2008 01:11:00 AM

Greeting the infection in pieces of when. The tumors. People. Blind intersections. The puzzle between her legs finally making sense. Quantum physics for the common person. It was the future all along. Otherwise this couldn't have been.

No need for clowns in grave makeup to persuade the children that they can't recall. They're already frightened. No hems. The dress has always been short. She was just wearing it wrong. Touch. Like rubber bands. So eager to break just for the chance to hurt someone.

The coward is certain. He's been there. On magic carpets some call sex. Because it aches too much to have actually been.

In the past. Buried under piles of dinner plates that still wreak of flesh not tasted.

There is your past if you must have one. The faulty ledger that still insists we can afford tomorrow.

Thursday 4/03/2008 12:51:00 AM

Damage control. Persuasions of right. In all its forms. Broken arms aruging with the cast. In murmured freefalls. As if no one else is there. The colors of hard discussing how to heal. Below the skin. Calcium on strings. Kites teasing the sky. In splinters. Marrow. Confiding in the flesh. How lonely it is. Alone inside the bone. Rigid. And unable to feel all the things happening to this life.

The skin. This profound mass of oragn tends to dominate everything. The skeleton waits for its chance. it just hasn't eyes to see it coming.

Sadly, I was the only one present when God finally admitted his accident.

4/03/2008 12:20:00 AM

Fingers rehearsing touch. Eyes auditioning stares. Her indecision like bubble gum popping between his lips. Messy and broken.

The words we use to describe it feeble at best. The median in the middle of her throat. Words. Fast cars on either side. The apparent collision never occurs. At least not while any one's looking.

I've had discussions with Satan that lasted for years. Debates about God. He says he's real. I say he's not. Who's evil now?

Tuesday 4/01/2008 12:31:00 AM

Two drinks. Maybe three below the skin. A little girl tries on her dress.

Four drinks. Maybe five later she finds the mirror in the drug. Bits of her mind gang raping the shell. It's only an appetite for hunger. Never meant to be fed. We're supposed to keep wanting.

Life is a porno. Greed unrelenting. No one's exploited and everyone is. Love is a script. Poorly written. For awful actors.

Two sips. Maybe ten later I ask myself what I've said that is unscripted. Nothing really. Other than hello.

I can feel them. In dense blusters of human wind. Shy breezes that come off from the underside of young trees infatuated by the frantic. Capsules in pendulum carefully clock the hours between if and when.

Two drinks after. Perhaps four. I know who I am. Who I tried to be, but never was.

Little butterflies on the tips of branches. Trying not to sneeze.

It is a science. The lost that finds us in this search for nothing. It can be measured if I stay awake long enough. To see her. Question. How many drinks it takes.

To know it's hopeless.

All the sparkle. All the shimmer of fresh ghosts haunting her skin. The bleat of crowded disco techs extruded in a frenzy of faulty morals. The road map of his dick. Again pointing me in the wrong direction.

It's a profoundly ugly destination.

All this going nowhere.

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