All the Wrong Topics

beautiful disgust

Dichotomy at it’s finest, that. In death it seems life can be reaffirmed, and in loss a gain. Perhaps this vague collection of words has deep meaning, or maybe the deep meaning can’t fully be expressed through the construct we call language… which I’ve found to be more often than not the case. The lexicon of emotion far out-nuances the lexicon of language. Well, the english language anyway, I suppose I can’t speak for any other, since I can’t speak IN any other.

Ramble ramble rant.

BOOM!

A scream coming from about twenty different sorority sisters bakes my eardrums with a pleasant tingle. They immediately pulled out fake-jeweled cell phones with words like ‘princess’ and ‘hotty’ written on the back in big pink letters. Well, it looks like the authorities were being informed. So, let’s go for shock number two. Push down on left joystick. BOOM! First floor, oh, that one was close. I could feel that dust cloud!

the boy in black boots

an artistic interpretation of one boy’s life as he grows up to discover that there is no such thing as manhood, and the adult responses he has come to dislike will eventually become his own.

budding locks of dread

with forty ounces until a sickness might undermine my thoughts of authorship gone… fascist demographics for the adverse advertising elite… what a crock of shit… with darkness in the skies and prayers to St. Michael, the smoke rises in silence… as sleep bathes the glowing watchers staring out… my thoughts give rise to intention… no false faces Here where i have stepped upon my own fetus… i am the spooky voodoo for which you deem freak… there is no god that i might answer to, but my own face reveals sad displaced feelings for the damned men and women who have bled for safety’s sake… can i breathe or is that just some made-up fallacy? i try to keep company with the mutants, but find i cannot out of fear and spite for their bastard traits… forgiveness for my …

the big move.

the agony and the purity all encompassed the surrounding tortuous efforts of getting to the new place… souls are so difficult to renew sometimes where the work is closest… it takes time out of one’s day in order to really understand the details of working with something as special as intimate motion… capturing the relative ease of a breezy day is almost impossible under the streaking hot sun… why even give in to the heat?… why not just work on this project over the weekend, one coworker remarked, but no good explanation was forthcoming that day… the first day back in action after said purifying rituals, but then there was the cleaning the next day to consider… even that lies over with though now as we wait for the energy to renew itself as well, and then comes with …

babysteps toward the apocalypse.

a medieval scenario built upon lies and deception between royal authorities and the instigators within their ranks. a bizarre melding of primitive myth and modern emotional fire as the fairy tale warps around and around again.

the Bastard Brainchild of a Personal Perspective…

the unstructured self, the laughable scaffolding that underlies the raw formation of random material, and all the drama that leads us to our futile self-representation. the weakness is our strength, and our ignorance lies in being/allowing ourselves to be enraptured by whatever we may choose to call beauty, what may be more correctly pronounced as distraction. the inhale-exhale of energy spent, through years of practice, made into the powers of speech. there to behold is the paradox of interpersonal communication as a whole. what do we create within ourselves that needs to possess more than the form, but that indeed forces us to view the function of those forces that be. the growth became a cancer of intelligence, the single-minded instead of the single-celled organism, and began a plague of toxic shedding of darker pieces of swirling shards of …

branded dead.

So I have once again managed to defile my thoughts into conformity to the cultural status quo. How rude of me to expect fair representation through the harmony of dissonant thoughts. The amalgam of my compounded passion, relying upon the inner martyr, and making the proper sacrifices to the ‘god culture finite’. Nah, all crosses to bear when beating a dead horse with a plunger. This toilet’s been clogged for dimensions of light equivalent to the extent of the rot apparent on the dead animal. My mother came to visit me last week, and it frightened us all from that day forward. Too little room for what doesn’t need to find a home Here. The sedative effects of this magnet strip has pulled me too far from the center, and my relocation is overwhelming and alarming. Swaying from the …

Busy, Dirty, Noisy

~Chorus~

“Dancing around the flames

while the world burns asunder

“This is an age

where ruin is the tenth wonder

“Debased crimes are a rage of the times

“And ruin’s curse pulls you under”

~Verse One~

“Chaos is defined by the order it brings

“Pretty ones are best defined against the ug – ly

“And in truth is where the falsest lies lay

“Spread amongst the glitter and decay

“……the machine rings…..”

~Verse Two~

“Thundering chimes of industry roar

“Against the background din of noise

“In which, the sound of music at the core

“Some vicious, grinding voice

“…delirious rhyme eating away time”

~Chorus~

~Verse Three~

“The bustle around is hectic at best

“Moments get slowed as the more take the test

“To get out and escape

“The wish is strong, the will is weak

“To leave this escapade and seek themselves

“Change it all to change their hells

~Verse Four~

“The dirt clots thick like the blood on your lips

“If the city gets a hold, it …

the burden is mine…

the torment is a grand feeling to take hold of, like one’s own destiny, and so utterly rewarding to pursue consciously…you don’t need to think to know that you stand here, lost, and tempest gives out no nifty maps to guide you along…i am unwilling to share this lunacy that i covet for my own…you need to cultivate your own block of cheese…the stinging insects surround me, and my young’uns, to take care of the agony…moving the fecal hordes like a succulent sexual wind that takes care of the pain…passing blood through the genitals in extreme fits of passionate abandon…cake and cheese…the excitement of deliciousness that will filter through intestines to colon, and outward into the bliss of my fist…your toilets mean nothing to me…your rage at shaking my filthy hands is my thrilling emotion…my mind bends a protracted …