the future

To wrap you around me and keep the stars and the moon in a cloud around my waist. Catch the sunlight in a golden cup and get drunk on druid's hill with six pleasant, erudite beavers. Something about the way the Church glows as the Sun hides, or as I hide, lying and facing in directions that eventually branch and diverge. There are veins that connect me to the stars and they pull me upward, over the heads of stunned spectators and overprotective parents. I can't say which I prefer, the spiraling closure of Gothic arcs or the gaping ruptures following the movements of a restless Earth, the beautiful violence of tectonic plates trying to get comfortable. I think of being filled with sand, of bursting with obscene life, worms and weeds. He is determined to understand me, so he can beat me at my own game. I shuffle the cards apathetically, dealing them with detached eyes, automatic hands. He gets upset when I win twice in a row, and deals with his frustration ironically. I fake bemusement. Eventually he gets up and says he has to leave, and does so. He leaves a trail like a snail, the room feels sick and heavy with his mucus. I have trouble breathing, I feel I am sticking to my chair, I feel that this room is becoming a mirror for my body, and my illness is a decomposing figure leaning against the coat rack, falling apart in unsettling fleshy drips. Bones clatter and roll along the floor. I light a cigarette, and flames rip through the air. A thing is not inevitable until it is part of who you are. The blue screen prompted him for a response. This call was unalarming, it had been domesticated, he could justify himself glibly. “I did it for no reason;” the synthesis of hero and anti-hero is a measure of bad faith, the faithless protagonist is neither hero nor anti-hero because (s)he can not structure a narrative, things must happen to them or they can only speak through the discontinuities of what is expected of them. So, for instance, with the prince who, upon finding the princess, coughs. She awakes from her slumber prematurely, while he is still an approaching shadow. It is human nature to put sunglasses on a fish. With ascending classes of infinity, God presents us with independent realms of aesthetic ecstasy. The imaginary, with the density of the irrational, fills in reality and pulls around us like a blanket. The folds of spacetime are the robes of a naked Adam, smiling innocently as he waves the fabric. Next to him lies a faithful dog, grinning and panting, tail in mouth. Our prophets whisper madness to the future. They have seen the past with burning eyes of madness, they have seen the horror of lives betraying their limits with blood-curdling screams and hot iron. They say the sound of searing skin has no end. Father told me I would have to abandon him to follow Christ. He told me I would have to count all those I knew as nothing. As a young child, this made me feel oddly elated. I pressed down on my eyelids and resumed my flight through the isolated world of androgynous bricks, giving forms the opportunity to present themselves. Ready, as always, to provide an audience. I would love to map the curves of your shoulders, to lift you in the air and swing you around, and lick the corners of your eyes. “Come,” she said, “let's get out of here.” She stepped up, onto the horizon. She became the color of the sky, she was a dancing white outline on the edge of the big open. I yearned to chase her down the labyrinths of her convoluted steps. The harmony of the spheres hung about her neck. She did not belong in my corduroy afterlife; her escape was bittersweet. I played a song to mourn the loss and managed to charm myself. A frenzy of blood and wine does not ensue, rather, the lyrical laughter of the opium den, enamored glances that skip along veils dropping slowly, playfully. The mystery of the feminine becomes the mystery of its disappearance. Finally I get my wish, surrounded by beautiful women, each a self-contained spiritual kingdom, overflowing with the intoxicated tension of modernism. They all love me, and I find them beautiful. Together we craft memories that can not be held. No stories follow our deeds. Time begins to fade, we are becoming a crystal. Suddenly my world is a network of caves, a rippling web, a skeletal edifice mocking transient epochs with slow, deliberate gestures. I fall in love with plants, living entirely on the surface. I try to imitate them and bring everything to the surface, but the guilty lines emerging on my body make delicate souls shudder and turn from me. I feel I am pushing away everything I need. I am pulling dollar bills out of my wallet to bring it all back. The sales man smiles and shakes his head. “You won't find anything like that here.” He points to the sign over the door, and I realize my mistake. I stumble into my shame. I look around for something else to buy, but I am only making the situation worse. And yet, I am not unhappy there.

these words i use

absence, absolute actions
addiction administratively affirms ancient age anew
assigned attack, awaiting, aware
body bored born breathing
calculated
camera capitulating category
choose city: cold commodity
conception confirms conflict
continuity correct
crack crime culture, dance death
dehumanization delivered
dig disrupts distance divine
dreams dripping dry dualism
eagerly echo electrodes
enjoy eradicated estrangement
evil explanations external
film flesh floor
gap girls give glitches glorification
god's good greed, green hand hanging
indifferent indistinguishably
inferior infinites
inflict innumerable intelligences
jolly joy justice kick
knees laugh laws
life liquidation longer lose love
loves magic man mass
mathematically mating meaningless means
mind misses modern moment
moral music
noble normality
nothingness obsolete
paints pan perverted phenomena
play praying precisely
problems processed
quality question raised
rays reach reassembling refuse
remains repetition
sees sex shake shoplifters
shows sleepy social solving sound
spins spiritual splendid stole
stupid subjects
suchness suffering summer sun
synthetic system
tautology tears thought
thoughts torture
trace transforming truth
uncommited underdogs
uneconomic
unite universe
void
walk
war warmth wholly won
work
world
worse writing

xdc jegkl y

xdc jegkl y
legs jet
dr. jekyll
mr. hide
i jk erm
clicks
my ills
rem keg
tell me
legs jet
kill tree
set gem
hide gills
ick sell
sell ink
dream kaggi
ham mam
sleep igi
ream eep
peel pappi
map le seine
pamper marie please
ma real pimp
pale pipe
garment
draped
tapered
on her arm
a link?
still sick
ginni piggu
cant hate
little pug
o sorry
legs jet
me tell
ellipse
my pills
he he
start
run hide
he kill
jet legs
xjk ekcd

oh my

the phrase is sufficiently dizzy
we retreat to comfy caves
a nook with glowing eyes
“are you one of us?”

dance to kill the illusion
of dance
i must move
and jerk
to defy the strings
and give in

my mind broke into pieces
and i sold them at yard sales
to impressionable children
i knew not what i did

they came back, years later
wild looks
they had written books
they had been well received
within circles

i will love my past self
once i am reborn
for a while, at least

not the image, the style
we learned to play with what
the logician tried to save

an author once asked me
“why have you read this?”
to which I said
nothing

he wasn't actually there

i have been with so many chairs
never filled an empty room, though

i want to fuck you
with my impotence

blood covers my hands
because
i just killed a bitch

roll down

three in one,
a god that's cheaper
slightly schizo
but stern
and loving too

I tried to make myself
into a wonderful
person
but found
I had no clay to work with

and my hands were stuck

I will imitate
my former
rebellious gestures
because
they mean nothing
but
I don't know
who I am
without them

McApathy
iTedium

no use climbing mountains
when you can roll down hills
no use climbing mountains
when you can roll down hills
no use climbing mountains
when you can roll down hills
no use climbing mountains
when you can roll down hills
roll down hill
no use climbing
when you can roll down hill
down hill
down, down
down

poop

i love the contours of your mind
where everything glides
tectonic plates dissolving into clumps
slowly weaving tendrils
the porous nausea of it all
your mind, the tissue
sorting dreams from nightmares

speakers speak
retain relations

not as clever as you think
thought refuses to
impress itself

forms ahoy! holey irony
desperate sailors on the desolate shore
of
tick tock
captain hook's glock (cock)
these are my thoughts
GLARBLAAEEEEEEIIIIYESH!!

enlightenment:
the only progress
is
dissolution

poop

this is it

when will i feel the weight of the things i've said?
it's a small room
and the bum in the corner
has pissed himself
once more

i couldn't be here
if i weren't
not here
you see?

i wonder if parallel lines
ever get
antsy

i wonder
if

this is it

can i be
the great liar of my times

to take the prominent words
and twist them
cleverly

i could not be bitter
before your teasing smile
like your teasing light
in the corner of my vision

drawing the curtain, she shudders
a little thought had passed between them
is it too predictable?
she turns
"yeah"