M(6)

 

moments after.  God I’m so grotesque.  I hate myself so fucking much.  I am my least favorite person.  stands to reason since I’m the most putrid person I know.  Fuck, I’m still searching, always obfuscating.  Only rhtyyms .  there were only rhythyms.  At the Angle.  Fitting I was at the Angle.  I was in right angle room.  Haven’t gone further than this it’s been said and so true.  God, I’m pathetic.  Mother, please pray for me.  I’m so not worth it.  You idiot.  You dumb fucking worthless piece of this.  Ugly bastard.  Fat ugly bastard.  No well wishing.  Gotta forget everything.  Attentive still.  So much chaos.  In every kingdom there must exist.  Want to cry but I can’t.  am I capable of feeling genuine emotion or am I simply enacting a learned proximity?  I’m not capable of anything good, that much is certain.  Yes, want to cry and slam my head against something but I’m only capable of the latter.  Brain on fire.  Shards through my thoughts.  More than cover it.  Ghost.  Rather intense look.  Skipping.  Not me!  exercise.  Each little thread of fabric.  Grey.  Oh to….  The master.  Oh to….  Adoration.  One pure moment.  Pure is not the right word.  Never could be.  Close proximity?  I need to drink heavily now.  Yes, green.  Green wheels.  Time and again I tell myself….  Sitting there in a corner.  Time and again I tell myself….   Those wheels….eliciting a….don’t it make you….don’t it make you….i miss….no code here.  gotta piece that all together (someone will have to piece me together).   Yes, blocking again.  But someone else, multiple elses were capable and I had a brief moment where I was able to feel that this was better than….  Still, not the right phrasing.  Someone should be.  No, not that either.  Somewhere here on earth.  That is a lovely approximation.  Forgive me for being such a raving asshole all the goddam time.  I really fucking hate myself for whatever that’s worth.  Yes, I deserve nothing good.  But seeing that good ,need to focus on that.  Need to disappear.  Point it at left side of chest.  I’m sure those last couple minutes will be deeply unpleasant but a couple unpleasant minutes can undo one MASSIVE fucking mistake.  You’re such a fucking fool, such a fucking idiot.  Remedy is omission.  Remove yourself.  Only sane thing to do.  Only good thing to do.  Boxed in everywhere because I am nothing if not a constant worthless fuckup.  

Dispiriting. Praising the plastic industry. Stay away, stay away.  Good lord all in a haze now.  None of it matters.  Could it be the end? One would hope.  Cause nothing really matters, nothing really matters.  Fading.  Drifting away.  Don’t have the strength for anything anymore.  All fragmentary.  As it should be I suppose.  Orange to black and white.  One look.  I can…streets of fire.  Need to make the connection there.  All impossible.  You’re fucking up again.  Obfuscating.  After all the bullshit from days prior.  To be able to engage in discussion.  Nothing heated now.  Now everything numb.  But to explain.  Up on the way up and up on the way back.  Gray.  Fog.  No easy entry points.  But if I could’ve explained it all.  Passing by, everything glass and neon.  Ice cream.  All left behind now.  Go back to times before.  Everything so brief.  In this place of fantasy.  Buy and sell fantasy.  Because it all returns to grey now.  Returns to nothing.  Shut down and pretend.  Try to find a sliver of meaning anywhere.  All soon to be broken.  Up at night, feeling these forces slowly coming together.  Moving toward.  Slouching toward.  Nothing makes me happy.  That’s not really a bad thing though.  Maybe that belongs somewhere else. 

No, all straight now, driving around, everything deep green, lush, fog, water, grey water, everything grey, listening to something grey, no easy entry points, all so dated, not a bad thing, it’s what happens when you focus so much on craft, consummate craftsman, careful craft, so insular, world passing you by, who is this for?  Of course, only the devoted will wait around long enough to unravel, to dig through the dirt and see if there is anything of value.  I can’t make pithy statements.  I can’t make worthwhile observations about anything.  Turn to the right, nothing there.  This is the dream.  Not quite right, make corrections.  Turn to the right, make pithy observations.  What are we talking about again?  Everything I do is so uninteresting.  Share with no one.  Don’t obfuscate.  Share with someone.  All illusory.  Returning to the place of fantasy.  Poison living inside of me.  Alter all of your thoughts so they do not feel real anymore.  Neither one of us quite existed in this reality at that moment.  All of us sad.  Can you understand there is no reality here?  There is no kindness within me.  There is only a desperation for some false connection.  And then a need for it to be reborn.  Going in one direction.  What could I even relate?  So hard to begin again.  Nothing to offer.  Nothing inside.  I don’t know anymore.  And you’ll never know.  Of course I see how washed up I am.  How utterly useless.  It’s hurts so much to talk to anyone.  Things are spilling over.  Overlapping.  I just need to go and get through those passages, don’t you see the similarities.  So much canned drama.  Just willfully stay trapped on the island.  Why not.  Obfuscate but not really, all found in those pages.  Few minutes genuine.  Hard to say.  Impossible to say.  What is genuine.  What is anyone even looking for?  It all comes from me and that’s why it’s so worthless.  He just wanted to talk.  For a little while.  Got to get rid of the wheels  driving all night.  Make yourself scarce.  Hide.  Forget.  If only there was a way so they would forget.  Silly you.  As though anyone would remember anyway.  Of course, I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  I am worthless. 

M[(5)too heavy, still even, flowers the]

 

 

 As ever i did not want to get out of bed.  So hard to face the daily failure that is my life.  Yet, in that warmth, a new and unexpected iteration.  Always trying so hard to tear down the tenderness.  All scattered.  Returning back to the city.  Looking for flaws, predictions of pain.  I went out for ice cream once and would love to do so again.  No, what an idiotic thing to say.  Ice cream and winter coats.  Beer and winter coats.  Red beer and winter coats.  These are all the things falling away from me.  Where was i?  on the floor.  On the sheets.  Dawn at the window.  So stupid.  Not peace exactly.  Vampires in the morning again.  “…never used to go dancing…”  now, I see, never taking the place, it makes sense, that’s fine though.  Not the issue.  There is no issue.  Unexpected slide across the back.  Need to stop counting days.  Too many days full of nothing.  Sickly flowers.  Not mine.  Searching for something that is true.  Fuck.  Trying to ask her to pray for me.  Puzzling.  Venus and the devil.  Venus and the devil.  The devil guides our hands.  Deep inside all alone, counting off the days.  Living for evil tenderness, blocked off alone.  Curtains drawn, no one allowed.  These are just detours.  No, these are part and parcel.  Obfuscating. 

 

Days fewer now.  Stirring some type of correction.  There in the corner.  Everyone looks at you askance.  Stop avoiding.  There at the dawn, awful morning, Venus in the morning, Venus in mourning.  The illusion of domesticity, the allure of intimacy, the illusion of intimacy, the desire for intimacy, evil of the flesh, evil in the flesh, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, love the great demon, angel with black wings, you have to pierce through this, just want to sleep for 20 more minutes, fangs in the morning, fear of the embrace, this is idiotic, someone said, just bone and meat like all the rest, bundles of nerves screaming out for praise, no, please, deep inside this now, daybreak with the door to the balcony cracked, don’t let me leave this said the imagined me, the imagined me knowing it was an illusion, deny fantasy, even in fantasy unable to properly foster a connection. Domination on the throne.  There can never be virtue in power. What is the nature of this power.  Power from underneath?  Power from underneath.  Power from the devil.  And at that millennium all these words meant different things.  This is not a throne.  We’re right here on the floor.  Together.  But there is nothing good inside of me.  Nothing I can offer.  The clarity of water.  Recording again.  There is mysticism erupting around us.  Transcending.  I am only of flesh.  You are weaving your mystic crown.  From flesh is birthed your crown of domination.  Eminent domain.  There is no transcendence within me, occasional mysticism without.  Morning again.  The magicians.  That’s it, no disguises.  One in front of the other.  Let them be.  The smell of leather.  Tired eyes.  End of the night and tired eyes.  You want a beer?  What a lovely question.  I ruin everything.  Destroyer.  I could take it all back, erase it all, starting with myself. 

Playful now, since I cannot handle anything but.  Or maybe not so playful at all.  Obsession.  crown of temptation, throne of desire, queen of temptation, can’t find anything, no, the instigator is not the proper perspective, this is you sought out, we look for our temptation, only evil underneath.  I live in a black and white world.  Fangs again.  The Cross hurts us because we are evil.  We run from it because it exposes us.  Foul disgusting things. 

Still striving for that levity.  How can there be levity in the midst of all this depravity?  King of nothing, king of emptiness, me.  Master of zero.  Zero.  The concept of zero.  The essence of nothingness exemplified in me, if only.  Present during the night of tears.  In another lovely light, tears turned to diamonds.  Tears and I was present and then I wasn’t.  confessed sadness, eclipsed.  Sadness breathed out into the night.  Awful.  Can’t find a single bit of truth anywhere.  No, it is here, the only truth in evil as I am controlled by…there is only what’s awful.  I should have contemplated suicide. 

 

Now, adoration again.  touching the earth.  If only I could.  Be.  Never before seen in that ultimate vision.  Of longing.  All for the best  but touching the earth.  Something Biblical if I could offer.  So often, the delirious energy expelled.  No, turned into something else.  Out in the universe somewhere.  Waves coming from the inside.  No, still closer to the truth.  Need to replenish.  Bearing witness to the need to replenish.  Ah, and all returning back to…so many years ago, marked by a vowel.  Recording.  Water again.  it will all pass and then be born again.  complete dominance.  Greedy and generous.  This appetite.  So good.  Carnivore.  Everything so primal.  Primordial.  Shuttling through millions of years for arrival.  No, still not quite it.  What’s going on here.  Close again, so very close.  Perfume.  Booze.  Always fleeing though in the reality of things because it and the reciprocation are so grotesque.  So what was I getting at?  On the side.  Something never felt before.  Why would there be anything different now?  You were never wired for this.  This was never meant for you.  The collapse will start inside.  Always a morning.  The pettiness of myself.  Courtesy before evil.  Courtesy before evil.  There is nothing real here.  I am fueled by the act of destruction.  It’s the only that makes sense to me.  Who is the dreamer?  Back to mysticism again.  haunted and foul.  I see the necessity to exterminate all the constructs.  Everything needs to collapse.  Reverting back to the city, blurred lights, the lights from the street, crossing, smiling.  Stolen too.  Can’t believe. 

The appetite.  Always so glorious. Sweet tired us.  Great mistake I never.  Sweet tired eyes. 

shitty throaway post (but some peripheral stuff there, this is like the crusts but i like crusts)

 

Alligators.  Sometimes it takes more than a man to fight the corporate machine.  Alligators have me.  Needs to employ scissors tonight.  Will probably eat cereal tonight.  Might employ scissors while watching a martial arts feature film.  Need to cut into things.  In that way I may find the future.  Parchment.  The font courier.  The concept of zero.  The gas in all the cities.  Now I’m convulsing and dancing around a post apocalyptic temple or sorts.  Covered in embryonic fluid I end up looking much nicer without the facial hair, my phallus bouncing to and fro whilst I engage in a jaunty little dance.  Don’t have the dollars and/or cents for a third mind.  Still, my passion is equal to the task.  And aren’t plastics the way of the future anyway?  Haven’t plastics made everything else obsolete in a sense.  If so, then perhaps plastics is the key to my dollars and cents oriented problem.  Mice.  Of course, I don’t have any sort of crime boss in my corner.  What I meant to say is that despite all the geniuses around me, I’ve no one that can design the program I need for my wants.  And I’ve never been computer savvy.  Classicist perhaps?  No, simply ignorance.  So I will have to employ different methods.  Will wax be present?  God, I’m so sick of myself.  But this feels like it could be a lovely conduit.  The words keep flowing out of me like juicy red hot diarrhea.  Methinks with a glass of wine, I’ll start doing things.  Then I’ll cry.  I have to save time for reading.  Authors that are forming a part of a special group for me include….  I’m going to reread a book soon.  This is very much a throwaway.  I’m calm for the time being.  Spilling that previous 6000 words or so really helped to take the edge off.  But I know it’s only a matter of time.  To say nothing of the increasingly common pain in my gut.  Time to lay off the booze and the coffee.  The zone, that’s the necessary place of travel.  Need to wear a hat.  Need to meet in a dark place somewhere.  Need to exterminate.  Need to listen to jazz.  I was watching a movie I love the other day that I think has a great score and I stupidly forgot that John Williams did the score.  I guess I’m looking for something genuine and since I can’t seem to find that within myself i have to use other methods, other techniques.  Don’t forget about that limo driver who recalled that a passenger/client had once used the word “tactics.”  That one word said it all.  Now this, is very peripheral.  That one bryan adams song that everyone knows.  That really filled the floor.  It was around the time of my departure.  Ghost.  In another realm I stayed and eventually starting cutting a rug and had a grand ol time and was eventually accompanied by….   I’m not a junky in the classic sense and that is a shame.  I’m not really much of anything, even a martian prince.  Good grief this is crap, just the remaining bottom of the barrel stuff.  Tomorrow arriving The Right. 

I did end up watching a martial arts movie last night and I enjoyed it.  I was playing with scissors and drinking while watching it.  Wanted to go to red room but did not.  Creating awkward relationships is the key.  Constantly starting over cause I can’t do anything right.  I guess I’m looking for that one bit of truth.  Back in this useless place now.  Hate when they say my name.  I realized at one point that I was confusing evening with evil.  Cutting paper was nice.  I employed a cowboy hat.  The tome is far too costly.  I don’t get anything out of anything because I am empty inside.  On a similar note, I want to obtain some other editions of several books I already have.  I hate the cover art and design of so many modern books.  Or do I?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I need to reread that water book by Clarice (turning into one of my favorite authors but so challenging for a doofus like me, dumbfuck that I am).  i like the smell of old paper.  

And now this Italian controversy.  People are so damn greedy.  Why do people care so much about money?  Why are we all so fucking useless?  Now I remember being chastised for wanting a chocolate donut.  Can you remember that?  Can you fucking believe it?! ALL THAT OVER A MOTHERFUCKING CHOCOLATE DONUT!!! IS THAT ANYWAY TO TREAT YOUR SON, YOU MISERABLE FUCK!!!  You are going to be so sorry one day for the way you treated us.  Pretend that last sentence is in a different color. Depending on the age, the words of a parent(s) can very much feel like the words of God. 

I was digressing there for a second.  Why the disparagement?  This request of federal reserve notes hardly costs more than a drink.  The promises look great.  All heading in this direction again.  plastics have us.  The illusory has us.  The need to funnel experience through this.  Oh, the geometry of it all! Eight eight eight now.  Would now be the time to say anything constructive or complimentary?  Suppose it doesn’t matter.  Probably shouldn’t even venture.  But perhaps I will venture.  Gotta say goodbye though.  Everything circles back again.  I should have contemplated suicide.  That links in nicely with something else.  Yep, empty again, never saw the jackal who isn’t the jackal again.  no more electrocution I suppose.  I really loved zeroes and ones.  Five! Not even the fucking shooters know who did it! Just getting to know the Goddess of Death.  I suspect I will have cereal for dinner.  I remember falling down the hill after that drink.  All so meaningless.  Never knew about the loss.  Mis.  Where has everyone gone? 

Tonight I should like to drink whale milk with strawberries.  There’s nothing quite as good as strawberry (except maybe cake).  kirby.  love. 

M[4.8(not an even, getting to the nut, leather again but not mentioned, scissors somewhere)]

 

How could I forget about the buckles?  Were those suede or faux suede?  Either way it didn’t matter.  They looked fantastic.  Everything I liked was right there.  It all seemed plausible.  Still remember a sharp intake of breath while a freakshow grooved on around us.  No, I can’t kid.  I was part of that freakshow.  Maybe, probably, the most grotesque member of it.  I’m probably going to watch a martial arts movie later on.  Then again, maybe not.  Need to lie down on broadway on the way home.  I need to find meaning in something, fucking anything!  last night, my entire surroundings were made of creamed corn. Female bodybuilders have me.  Dominque.  In the black.  New diana.  But the buckles, so very lovely.  And then pushed up against me.  Same two digits.  Sorta depressing.  Really says a lot about me.  How others must view the piece of shit that is me.  Definitely not good.   But you see, sitting there so quiet, everything seemed different.  Hard to gauge the general levels without direct exchange and then immediately so easy and so sad and so sad how so few have so little to offer.  Myself included of course, nothing about me works properly.  Jalapenos in my drink.

 

Perfume and hair products and creams.  The desaturation (not the right word but it’s the first one which came to mind) is maybe happening.  Or, as I alluded to previously (need to burn chrome again) it is very possible that certain iterations are dying to new ones can blossom and grow in their place.  Stands to reason.  The regrets he is feeling.  Imaginary person.  Imaginary person imagining an imaginary person.  All constructions.  Illusions, elaborate den of fantasy.  The pollical discussions.  Getting harder and harder to have a legitimate intelligent conversation.  Everyone – myself included is stupid these days.  Recent trial news.  Politics have no place at a trial.  Or do they?  The more I learn the less I want to know.  But know, to be, in a dimly lit room, perhaps a circle (walk with me, through my fanfare), can’t do anything with alcohol these days, with the current owner of his (not mine, plausible deniability), heart, to be discussing contemporary matters, even boring ones, and to voice a reasoned opinion/perspective, and to have that listened to and then responded, well, that would just be most divine.  I’m losing all the fake memories.  I’m losing all the imagined memories.  Of course, I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper. 

This woman’s work.  But adjusted a little.  But so appropriate.  So apropos.  But none of those things were real.  Don’t you see?  Dimly, reminded somewhere of the psychic or was it the painter or both but one of them made it all up but it still came true anyway.  How can that be?  Is there a text with a yellow cover that has the answers?  Is there anything metaphysical about this?  All this stuff (The Right arriving soon as previously mentioned) and all these people are just going to disappear.  And if I am part of that then hopefully I will never be thought of again and it will just like I never existed.  All the things we should’ve, all the things we should’ve, all the things we should’ve.  That particular world leading right up to a red pair shoes could be the space where the center of this illusion resides.  Maybe she is there right now.  Maybe in the future. Mansion of illusion.  The art of memory.  Somewhere at a fair but I already fucked that up.  Every moment for which I am present is irreparably fucked up because of my very presence.  Even in fantasy, it’s still beyond hope and repair. 

I can’t get anything else accomplished because all the fake moments are building up and destroying me with their beauty.  Surrounding me (going down on), yes, that would be good accompaniment if I wasn’t so fake  and worthless.  That dim room full of discussion, so wonderful, takes me back to decades prior, the Cassa… stuff.  You know, the opening, the killing, all that greatness.  A realism to it.  That is the realism he wants and that he never had and never could have but still somehow misses.  What would it be, walking along the dirty street, how the car would smell, getting drunk, getting utterly wasted as is my wont these days, the ball again, always the ball, heart illusion, illusion at the very center with countless other illusions built around it or maybe inside of it I don’t even know anymore.  Disagreements, songs, winter coats, the smell of winter coats and other things which had to be listed elsewhere because it is all so tender, to tender to just throw together.  But yes, the talk, the chat, the palaver.  Something that maybe could be real, feels celestial, deep inside, swimming inside, dying inside, oh please let me die inside, I just want to die inside where it is so deep and dark, to die in sweetest sin but know this too is only fantasy and there is nothing real anywhere except I suppose some awful sense of desperation and walls made out of fantasy, broken dreams that never could be earned.  He just wanted to run away.  And here again it starts with a city, grey city, chilly, beautiful lights, lovely in the presence of…and winter coats (and why don’t things have any meaning behind them and who the hell should he even ask about that) and taxi’s and walks stores and things and coffee and booze and talking and talking and talking and there is some reality such as this somewhere, right? Maybe there is some reality somewhere where he is happy but this cannot be true because I cannot fathom any reality anywhere where I deserve to be happy and where I am not an utterly useless sack of shit.  Yet, he will grant himself this iteration for a while and there is warmth in the cold and an honest lovely smile and a tender comfort and oh God but just being is so ruinous that I just want to fucking destroy that because it makes me sick how fucking needy and ugly and useless and awful I am!!!

Final dwindling days, not sure which half that should go into.  

realized i lucked out and go the special price early (and the other night, looking great in the black..., peripheral to M)

 

I bought a shirt just the other day and it was dark red and the style was very similar to a dark blue shirt I’d bought a week prior.  Isn’t that bizarre?  Zeroes and ones have me.  Usually not a steelbook kind of dude but I had little choice recently.  Watching a couple ferrara movies last (my life for him) while drinking too much and it was the loveliest thing, the only thing that’s made any sense in these grey dismal days of failure and weakness.  There is only emptiness ahead.  Love how it all starts up in that red bar and the pretty lady is sorta the entry point for things.  I love the broad ugly strokes.  Need to burn chrome again.  Going to have to change my classification soon because i am just barely functioning.  Listening to Vienna.  Last night a scene of surreality.  I wanted to eat ramen but was denied that opportunity and so I ate sloppy sandwich instead.  Someone dressed as Superman talking about how he’d read the book of Isaiah.  Wanted me to read from his soiled composition notebook.  Little cans of spam.  Realizing or reinforcing that I do not find a constant run of dirty jokes to be funny or cute or offensive.  Annoying is not quite right either.  But I typically find the attached personalities to be rather dim witted.  Throaty laughter was nice. Weird questions welcome.  God, I’m a foul individual.  Despite this, it was nice to hope for change and wish good look.  Despite the off-puttingness, the end result still sent a wave bliss through him.  Breathe it in.  time to start laying off.  Abandoning that snowy place in the interests of true love.  Maybe I need to buy a pair of black jeans. Who am I kidding? I don’t have any talent.  But yes, with these broad strokes I can almost feel the technique right between my teeth.  Harkens back to American friend days, removing so much of the connective tissue and seeing how things may/can still hold together.  That is a wonderful stroke, such a mirror to the messy fuckedupness of life.  It seems he’s been on that kick for quite some time. I would pair this one with the end of the world thing.  And then afterward if I had that American dream thing I would promptly blow my stupid brains out.  No, I wouldn’t.  because proper investigation, proper due diligence has revealed that it is much more prudent to aim for the heart, not the head.  Need to get the lone rhino.  So little makes me feel good anymore.  I can only assume it’s because I don’t deserve to feel good.  Which is fine, of course.  But last night, that really worked for me.  Still, if only I’d had ramen.  It’s good when those questions can be answered though right.  When people open their mouths they show so much.  Little illusions die inside the big one.  But those little illusions are just replaced with new ones that help form the construct of the big one.  There is no escape, solace or remedy.  Den of sin.  Everything is fake here.  We are buying the poison needed to push through the burdens of our failed and useless.  God must be so incredibly disappointed in us.  No, I shouldn’t speak for anyone else or judge.  I am a failure.  I am useless.  Golden glove.  That’s me at the golden glove.  I’ve never been cool enough to wear the converse all stars.  Or have i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  No, I haven’t been.  But you have.  And I love you for it.  following the travels of several just in case.  So quiet now.  Being put to sleep.  Careful about the risk of seizures and other not good things.  I don’t really like food very much.  Maybe I’ll buy some cold cereal later on.  And cold coffee.  I’m almost sure of it.  It’s so real I can almost TASTE it.  I might watch a martial arts movie later on.  I loved the film(s) I watched last night just in case it wasn’t clear (my favorite color).  Hands are shaking.  I’m old and useless.  I don’t feel a connection with anyone.  Some part of me seeks out that connection which is odd.  Ethan was right though.  It’s okay to simultaneously hold two opposing viewpoints on life.  It’s okay to square your shoulders too.  Mostly, I like self destruction.  I don’t believe in anything good inside of me.  It’s all illusory.  Been doing a lot of reading in bars lately.  I love reading.  I love bars.  Been reading some very good books too, deeply connecting with several different authors whose viewpoints and style deeply speaks to me, rubs my flesh pours sawdust in my eyes.  I remember showing a jacket for a softcover book to the “Call to…” person and that person agreeing it was quite cute (though not necessarily transparent as the moniker would suggest).  Blue.  My room.  Always crashing.  It hurts to talk about things.  I am a fake person.  I’m a fake nobody and a real nobody which is absolutely fucking hilarious.  I loved the way she said “how humiliating.”  Ju-jitsu!  Impressive amount of victories.  I can definitely see it as being akin to therapy for some.  Actually, probably for just about all.  Working something out.  There I go, galivanting around in rubber!  Need to make more time to be in random bars and saying bullshit and making nihilistic and pithy conclusions.  I want to dress well though while all that is going on.  Dressing well is the best revenge.  Now all that happy wheel oriented stuff went from inspiring feelings of summery bliss to then soul crushing sadness and now it’s like a motley mix of (The Right on the way) stuff but that makes sense and just goes toward the ongoing theme of glossy illusion that I so love and need and cherish and can’t live without.  It’ll all expire and be rebuilt again. 

M[(4) dyo;; ury smpyjrt-

 

Funny how.  Magic.  That last one links up with wheels.  Kitchen anniversary.  All relatable.  Damn I’m old.  Seven is a good number.  Feel like shit.  Cause nothing really matters.  Nothing really matters.  All these years I’ve been insisting that I am an insect.  Long time since seeing lights in the sky.  Drowning.  My place.  Waving goodbye because I don’t get to go to heaven.  Of course, I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  Stop avoiding it.  I can’t actually feel anything.  what’s happening to me?  I’m not me.  Is that okay?  Money doesn’t matter.  Flushing everything.  Red.  Mixing red.  everything so easy initially, like nothing happened.  Lot of smiling going on.  Celebrity.  Not friends.  Acquaintances.  Lot of arm twisting going on.  No more hugs please.  Hugs are so painful.  Pretty much all physical contact is painful.  Glorious retribution in one sense.  Modification of sin.  Tearing up now.  Blocking everything some how.  Flowers.  That’s not right.  You are repulsive.  You are repugnant.  Loathe myself.  I didn’t even notice.  But then a shot little clip.  Would never go back.  All passed by in a blur.  Magic is a good word.  For something very brief.  Everything is idealized.  Nothing is real.  Just pretend it didn’t happen.  If I could snuff it all out, starting with myself.  Sure, if you want to.  And then so much positivity re.  the one who does not compare.  Everything is fallen and we are all so lost.  I don’t exist and that is how it should be.  Landlord laughter.  This would be so sweet in the rain with no interruptions.  I’m just lost.  Good vibes and the moon.  For a moment there was a genuine dialogue.  Wonderful.  All smiles.  No.  real.  Bristling against everything.  Hate what’s real.  Hate myself.  But was there not a seed of something nice in there?  Yes.  But as ever it is instantly tainted by my being a part of it.  I don’t know anything.  I don’t know anything.  I wish I could be eclipsed.  “I am”.  Just seeing how it goes.  Not even.  Pre.  I’m a joke on a cosmic scale.  I don’t feel right.  Prick.  No fair.  No common courtesy anymore.  My fault.  I’m not understanding the critical gaps through the decades.  Why are you so stupid?  That last question was addressed to me.  Little barbs everywhere.  I’m a creep.  Warmth.  Approaching.  Complacency.  Desire to give warmth.  Nothing makes sense.  Nothing matters.  And the memory afterwards is simply a distortion.  Sometimes glorious, sometimes not.  But how I would love for all memories of me to be annihilated.  If I could just erase myself and all traces of me.  From everyone’s mind.  Scorpions in my head.  Always room for farce as I realize what a putrid individual I am.  All rotten inside.  Belonging in a grotesque sideshow of freaks.  This is me now and forever.  Can barely keep eyes open.  Just want my place to be dark.  I want everything around me to be dark and then I crawl inside and close my eyes and die that’s it.  No, still need some force to annihilate all memories, all traces of me.  Need to be obliterated.  See now, light touch on his back.  Always.  Waiting for that.  Going to be so far away from now.  And something like fruit punch.  I don’t know, haven’t been able to figure that out.  But he knows five seconds.  Five make everything else worthwhile.  That is the illusion.  That is the poison being inserted mixing with the poison already inside him.  Dull eyes, dull smiles.  Everyone looking upon him in disgust only he too worthless to understand.  Please go away, please stay away.  Need to leave myself.  Let that wave be the last.  Truly beginning to understand passion though I strong suspect I am incapable of it as I am incapable of most things.  Saw some happy people dancing and none of them looked anything like me.  Ghost.  There is only grotesque fantasy there.  Grotesque because anything coming from him (me) is awful.  You already, you don’t need to, you always.   See clearly now someone else claiming ownership, left inside the abandoned building on the water.  Soon our hair will be grey.  Letting it show.  All have our place.  No admittance to heaven for him.  Everything is grey as it should be.  Still can’t stay awake.  From the first minute just want to go to bed.  All those happy people and if he could just emulate that with…then for a moment things would make sense but not it will never happen and things will never be good and he only has himself to blame.  Absence is always felt but he is in the place where the steps echo and that is sufficient though it is all so deeply sad.  Tired fingers.  Everything cold and dark.  Vampires in the morning.  Everything leaving me.  Of course, I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  Better remain trapped where everything is fake.  Write letters that will never go to anyone.  Too useless.  So sad.  Laughing stock.  Creep.  Worthless.  Everything feels so heavy.  Go on now and walk on water.  Maybe if he cuts everything up it will all make sense.  Going back to libra again.  Probably subconscious.  Has to be.   Always such a fan of bookending.  Yes, you can write an ending to all of this.  The sadness (as in pathetic) will spread through word of mouth.  You are atrocious.  What a den of sadness.  And you the king at its center.  The thrill side by side.  All meaningless.  All so quick.  Still time to meet at the ball.  Yes, best to stay right here where everything is imagined.  I am so deeply sad.  Laughter.  Provoking laughter, such a wonderful thing.  Something with no conclusion will always remain favored inside.  Smile as you turn away.  Everyone comes and goes and none of it matters.  Dying on the inside.  So lovely.  Endlessly lovely.  Adoration.  Write a letter that will never be sent.  All the lovely black leather. 

M[(3)yet another]

Empty again.  All my fault.  Creep.  Awful.  Sin.  But denied sin.  So desired sin.  And on the way back. The return unable to relate to anything.  because it is all too good, too well done.  Difficult to relate to something so well done when I am such a piece of shit.  Need to seek out shit.  Something of low quality is the key.  Is the answer.  And through the bereft of greatness I will find solace.  If I could just go back, snuff it all out. Starting with myself.  Of course, I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  Mold.  Mold on my brain, on all my insides.  Makes sense.  Futbol.  There is too much filth.  I am unhealthy.  This is untenable.  Needs a change.  Need to delve into the crafting of.  Ah, the pain!  Rain falling on my turquoise car again.  It sorta fit.  Nothing really fits though.  Can we just pretend it didn’t happen?  So impure.  So much filth, again, tainted, everything is tainted.  It all comes from me.  I create my world and everything in this world is tainted because of me.  It cannot help but to rot.  I wish I could be entirely forgotten.  Obliterated.  Want every piece of me gone.  Even the memories of me.  Especially the memories of me.  I’m awful.  Awful.  Try to piece this together now.  Someone’s going to have to piece me together.  Libra.  Stunning.  Strange connective tissue. Libra in the middle of everything earlier on and the unknown presence becoming known for the first time.  Had to rid himself of the virtuosa.  Little star.  So many.  More needed.  Goddess of death.  Back to that tissue.   Laying in bed and realizing that some form was beginning to take shape.  You can see it all so clearly now.  The elegant path of destruction we lay for ourselves.  Please, never happened.  Please, I never happened.  That is the ultimate fantasy: that I never happened.  It’s all so empty.  None of these connections mean anything.  drifting away.  Need something more than suicide.  Something that would obliterate all previous years of my existence.  Remove me from the equation entirely.  I am morbidly obese.  At some point I discussed country music.  It’s always the same mistakes.  Five on orange.  Probably.  Should just go with water, with soda pop.  What was I thinking?  What was he thinking?  Tired from all the miles on the road.  Nothing relatable.  Only disease inside his head.  Should never return without parchment.  Should never return period but barring that.  Slowly weed everything out.  Feels like I’m disappearing.  If only.  Love sleeping.  Never lasts long enough.  Never learned how to read the.  Signs.  So obvious.  But you’re too stupid.  Chocolate.  Need to eat some chocolate.  Short span of time.  All makes sense in a yule sort of way.  Short time span in a yule sort of way.  Just a weirdo.  Ugly.  Creep.  Separation running parallel.  What does anyone really want?  Too much normalization taking place later on.  Bottling in the moment or shortly thereafter so important because then the putridity is temporarily forgotten and this cannot be.  There was so little of it.  Oh well.  It doesn’t matter.  Nothing matters.  Absence of something.  I like it when I don’t talk.  I need to practice not talking more often.  Didn’t even realize.  Rushing back if only to see.  No.  rushing back only to see.  The entire reason.  Everything planned around.  Fitting termination.  Desire.  Primitive animals. It’s all so sad and meaningless.  Need to reprogram.  Hurt to look at people.   Banging my head on the steering wheel.  Going nowhere.  My destination has always been and will always be nowhere.  The other day I ate a meal I could not taste.  Sat there cutting and eating and couldn’t taste anything, just stared down at the table.  I’m a barfly.  A gadfly.  Wanting to walk out.  Constantly confronting the mortality.  The lack of hope.  Utter uselessness.  This part comes afterward.  The great nothing.  Absence of all feeling.  That’s not quite right.  Everything numb right now.  Clouds gone away but still no sun.  that’s not quite it either.  Body is being punished.  So worthless.  Tortured for nothing.  Is reconstruction possible?  Can I not be completely undone?  Loneliness don’t quite understand.  That isn’t it.  Red don’t feel.  Trying to reach and always failing.  Too much failure over too great a span of time.  The pistol the con artist used would be my choice.  Art forger.  Red sheets.  I need to cover everything in red.  I know less and less about who I am.  Which is why there are no connections.  Before and after.  The after.  Ignored.  So wonderful.  Got to learn.  Again and again.  How many times?  Easy to use.  Let the use.  Because you lack the basic intelligence to recognize the difference.  Don’t you see?  It’s only a place of fantasy.  It is just dreams.  Low lights.  Wood.  So many consecutive days in a haze.  Numbing.  Don’t want to feel anything.  and anything I do end up feeling is fake.  Then awful and tainted.  Neverending cycle.  Again, killing myself is not enough.  Need to find a way to obliterate all trace and all memory of wasted and vile existence.  Got to get to….  Need to stop talking to people.  Was too pissy.  Such a fool.  Just accept it.  All the negative energy emanating from me.  Rotten soul.  Rotten heart.  Should have threw me….  Bifurcated mind.  Split.  I’m poison.  Must go back to the fake place.  Must live in fantasy.  I await you there at the ball.  Who will be collapsing? My god, please let it be me.  I don’t know anymore.  I never collapse.  I need to inject poison.  I need to be grey.  Look for emptiness (water).  Because I am empty.  There is never a real moment.  There is nothing inside of me except that which is awful.  All you zombies.  Singing about zombies.  Let me serenade.  This was all from before.  Need to stay with the crazy people.  In illusion.  I miss you dreadfully. 

M[(2) nother even thou]

 

only things that feel good any more.  I hate waking up.  Maybe I need to watch more musicals.  Smile so lovely.  Went back.  Dive.  Just to see.  But I knew there was no opportunity.  I like throwing money down a rathole.  Or do i? the more I learn the less I want to know.  I can only rip off.  He still wanted to see her tonight.  Misses her.  He is an insect.  That’s when it occurs to the proprietor [(here chuk chuk) though in this case the killer is me – oh how little has changed since], brief tangential aside here as I remember being at a party and drinking a soda pop and someone said a very kind word to me in absolute silence, perhaps sensing that I am indeed a virus but the kindness was never forgotten, lovely moment though nothing makes a damn lick of sense now.  Need to watch fraggle rock.  Of course I now realize I have no codes.  Need codes to get through this.  Guts man.  Right angles have me.  Nourishment at the very sight of.  Need to find an old piece of parchment and proffer as a gift.  Trying to find solace in the Mother of God.  Some days are….  Some of these words from that night are not bad.  Or are they?  Palm on my back.  How could I forget?  Always the greatest thing.  Palm yellow.  Palm Sunday.  It started on a Sunday.  Libra if I recall.  The greatness of libra.  Around the first time noticed.  Something mysterious.  Something wonderful.  Was I laying down in the bedroom, moonlight on my face.  Making these grand designs.  Things that will never happen.  Shaping a nothing history.  Pawn of something else.  From a far off state.  Pizza beans get the margarita treatment.  Right angles again.  Something something with dolphins last night and I thought something had meaning but I was probably mistaken as usual.  We got the time wrong, don’t you remember?  Exhibitionist.  Ink on the side.  Looked different during the days of libra.  No, my anticipation was coloring things.  Tainted inside.  I am tainted inside.  Need to pretend to care.  Need to pretend that something matters.  I like to think of myself as a narcissistic who habitually escapes accountability by framing himself as a victim.  Apropos of nothing, I use off brand aftershave.  But yes, it was much like that for a long time.  But that was only earlier this year was it not?  Another wasted year.  Still, I search for codes.  Moose.  Fish.  No sunlight.  Black sunshine.  Ice.  Black ice.  Carved from ice.  Pure white.  Snow.  Ice.  Can’t see a goddam thing.  Seasonal depression right around the corner.  Seasonal depression all year round.  Of course, I think as my head goes light, how utterly proper.  The other day, saying your name during the critical moment.  Awful moment because everything from me is awful.  Need to throw it all away. Oh the peculiar pleasures of fear.  Said your name but not sure I could see your face.  When did it start?  At some point so casually.  Has him all figured out now.  Not much to figure out.  Staring down at my hands, reminding me of someone else’s memory of a painting.  All figured out, that’s so nice.  Laughing.  Once leaving to go and I in a red shirt, insensitive asshole in a red shirt.  Big ugly guy in a red shirt.  Came around quick. Hug.  Not ready.  Everything bitter and awful.  Never learned the basics.  Never learned how to function.  Maybe if cutups come to mix then all these things can and/or will make sense.  If I could redo that moment.  But of course it was already redone but of course it was not real.  Didn’t see the tears though theoretically those were real.  Nothing I say makes any real sense.  Of course a reenactment likely there to simply move things along.  Culminating in liquid cake.  Liquid cake.  Outside in the cold.  Come back to cold again.  Glacier.  Ice.  Frost.  Snow.  Cold cake.  Codes have me.  But I can’t figure out the right codes.  Reenactment next to federal reserve notes and grease.  Gotta strip back my identity a little.  I belong in the service of the.  I love the word the.  Yes, I need a pair of scissors now.  Get it all out there.  You’re an asshole through and through.  Born asshole.  But don’t be like that other one.  Don’t proffer something on a small square.  You’re shit.  You’ve always been shit.  It’s thematically resonant, your (my) identity as an asshole and shit.  It’s consistent.  But yes, I do like this idea.  I guess.  I don’t have programs though.  That’s why I need tools.  Trying to condense all these moments and it doesn’t add up to anything.  canned responses.  Hand on chest, flattered look on face.  Of course it has to be rehearsed.  Not a knock. A necessity.  Of course we’re criminals.  In this world we have to be criminals.  Turn off your eyes.  Pen and imac.  I don’t remember these dreams.  Did they ever really happen?  The canned response is perfect.  Trying a new look.  Goes back to office I suppose.  Something akin.  Professional.  Office last night.  Office this morning.  In my head.  Reaching back so many years.  W.  how the hell did this all happen so fast?  Must be the week of xmas.  Which now portends well for the culmination.  New and then never seen again.  The exercise is best.  Mane.  The mane.  And the desire for sweet adoration.  This is everything.  I just want to die.  Little death.  Sweetest sin.  The chances of swift exit increase great during those initial days after purchase.  Makes sense.  Like the old fashioned.  Vehicles combining now with all this. Fantasy.  Tell the truth.  Vacation photography side by side.  Breathing in.  so sweet and beautiful.  Rebirth (Yon…).  Ugliest place.  Everything fake.  No need for reality anymore.  Oysters.  Rain coming down on a turquoise car.  Maybe that can also help define it.  Can’t wait to see again.  Late.