Malevolent special dissection reinvents my every task. All of my scented lipsticks gloss my retail flesh. Bid. Bid. Buy. Consume.
But this space is rented. Rendered from the grace of a portable broker.
Sir Pixilated Arms, Madam Blurred Feet, the youth Burnt Skin, and Ms. Misogynistic Pretense were all waiting for the cyber-whore to cease his verbal despondency, however, it was incapable of self-defeat while left up to its internal specification.
And our fabulous intentions…
We were all meant to help it along. Show it a path. Shine light into the fatty oblivion skyscraper so as to incorporate personal success with toilet trained accuracy.
We ruptured the collective carapace and sent liquid shivers ascending the ladder. This could only be indicative of experimental failure.
When we woke up. She was out of breath. Suffering nocturnal asphyxiation.
Distorted historical myth planted in our minds by the precursors of civilized association.
My hearing has been subjected to countless disfigured lambs and now I am pasting my swollen testicles against a porcelain hope suspended precariously above a guaranteed aggression. Initials adorn the base of her requisites. The initials are mine.
Now she posses my presence… Controls my sense of self.
Relegates pleasure in my oversexed sweet tooth.
Stone Trapeze Island, where you’ll die every time you fall.
This does not satisfy my peculiar taste. Something is askew.
Something is inebriating computer system analysis. I knew the session kill horse maniac was overkill, but he fucked me so fine. SSOOSOSSS FFIFFNENENEIINNEEE!!
Filial arcs of stifled sound cut the air with magnetic draw. My father, alone in his expression douses the dull routines of eat, sleep, TV by escalating his soul into social orbit.
I wanted to say all of this earlier. However, my chance to speak was cornered by my forced inebriation.
You cannot count on me to complete tasks that are best retired early.
Berate my indolence. Force-fuck my pedant grab ass reference.
A visitor clings to his external perspective. The evidence to all of histories maladies and misfortunes rode the tempestuous geological hurdles while I sat and I watched and I waited for something normal to occur. Although, all I received were the felonious regrets typical to inaction.
But this day looks as it did months ago.
That night I sat awake and dreamt of her. All night I slipped inside of her soul, as I knew that she was sharing with me, somewhere in space and time reciprocating my feelings by lending me her unspoken, unnamable attention…
And I haven’t seen her in two months.
And I haven’t felt her since that night. Since our suspension from time… Adrift inside our shared reference frame, alone in each others hope.
We are the asymmetrical representations of our own various pasts.
This supply train is inordinate in pretense, selling mucous and glue to every sucker, slime and breadwinner.
Uneasy glances scour a white washed bureaucracy. Forms to fill, people to marry, deep-fried horses to weld.
I don't believe in anything. I don't believe in everything.
I believe in the horror.
And I sense my own termination is at hand.
Bridle my cantankerous disease spread and rattle my bone skull in the base of a magnetic stone field. Present your delay upon me so that I may scissor kick your jaw into an unrecognizable smear. Placate my uneducated utility for the amusement of your empty yet potentially infinite smile.
Am I staging my own destiny in a small town musical production, complete with olfactory and tactile inputs for audience’s young and old? As I unfurl my atrophied wings, stretch them out into my empty closet, I begin to verbalize existence and being in mighty colorful manners.
This might frighten the beast, however, it is without tears whilst it molests my personae, and therefore, it is without fear whilst it meditates quietly in an orchard.
My only smile is expended in futile hope that she will return to me. That she will disable her own desires and wax slavery over my emperor empty.
Fuck. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
She called me at three in the morning. Her boyfriend believes that they are both HIV positive. She knows better than to jump the gun, and she spoke rationally about infection. However, her voice had an impish doubt cowering in the small of her cerebrum. I could hear it whispering. I could hear the machine gnawing at her tonsils, suffocated by her innocence.
I could see her sliding in and out of her disposition, oscillating between consciousness of circumstance and pedant assurance.
Sisyphus was happy according to Camus because he had a consciousness of his actions. He was aware of his position, and despite the seemingly overwhelming absurdity, found comfort in that awareness.
Perhaps, if this is the end of her life, she could, like Sisyphus, be opened up to the essential soul trapped inside of her failing form and physical function.
I am overwhelmed, but I think that I can acknowledge the stranger.
Alliterative nuisance dooms classic pilasters to an infallible routine. Prescribed drudgery is impossible to escape due to its oversized crab pinchers and adhesive mystic spit.
Bounding through the typical and inaugurated into apathy while countless lice flow north to the useful pole of the scalp. If I’m not positive than I am probably suffering some other unfathomable genital malady.
White stabs the blue. Blue huddles behind gray. Gray is speckled with green. Green is home too red. Red confines peach. Peach restrains yellow. Yellow surrounds white. White encases a bowl of ramen noodles. Those noodles are being stimulated by Ayn Rand.
Cause to panic. Cause to suffocate your maggot children because the relative strain has collapsed your generic patience.
The booted foot stiffens and strikes the potential away from a prototype mind. We have christened this the path to order, however, I feel that this abominable repression stems off the cast iron brutality of 1950’s child denial.
Plants can grow to become horses. Horses can grow to become the pain.
Pain procures essence through unnecessary physical violation.
Bend my knees around in a binary geometry. Cancel my force field by a derivative of five while keeping the textbooks suspended precariously above a snail.
Zap my flavored tonsils.
T-Minus 35, 34, 33…
In a short while she will plague me with return. Supply my angst with portable disdain. Symbols dance around my arcane past and she summons flares to encompass my predetermined suffering.
…32, 31, 30, 29, 28…
Molded around my sorted flesh are the desires of a life indebted to passion. Empty receptors combine malformed plasma with cesium rain while the intent of a million warriors is drowned out by the cry of a single king.
…27, 26, 25…
Crenellated parapets stand upright against a stiff wind. Defiant to natural force they play tennis in autumn and winter.
The cold is an unmentionable non-entity.
…24, 23, 22, 21…
Brambles covet misogyny's emporium. I think the medicine is burning my literate pancreas.
…20, 19, 18, 17, 16…
Slipslide down the length of my progenitors nutrient canal... Surrounded by the impenetrable pink walls. Laying in wait inside of my Trojan horse.
…15, 14, 13, 12…
Tendrils of molecular beauty enhance the endless expanse of blue on white. A solid disc of bright light dominates a dime-sized portion of the sky, but shares itself with all of the crevices and canyons of earth.
…11, 10, 9…
Hair covets the brow. The brow is furrowed. See furrowed cringe.
It isn't fair. The noose the knife the scalpel bisecting her porcelain epidermis… Nothing interrupts my fun like razor blades and underage sex.
…6, 5, 4…
Expected to copulate with a mundane $6.75. Pressure to meet specific deadlines and provide assurance unto the selfless inquisitors.
Square pegs. Round holes.
Fountains of restraint fellate my distraction while horses meld into the jungles mystic scenery. Canopy of leaves heed my feral call: "ENOUGH WITH THESE RATHER LARGE DOUGHNUTS!!!"
Tomorrow she will sit in my room. Tomorrow we will sit and we will talk and we will hold each other and in the end we will have never actually met.
You know, I was going to type up a signature but then I said to myself: "Why fucking bother? I mean, people just ignore what you have to say anyway, and when they do read what you type up they either flame you or make fun of you for it. So, I say screw them. Screw them with a rusty shovel." Then I realized that there is a midget somewhere out there in southern California that is masturbating right now to what I have to say... All I got to say to that is: Thanks Bob.
Everybody dies frustrated and sad, and that is beautiful.
Fuck you, and your little dog, and your little cat, and your little monkey, and your mail man, and the small rat you hide in your pants, and that midget you have in your pocket. FUCK THE MIDGET!! FUCK THE MIDGET!!!! FUCK HIM UP THE ASSHOLE!!
Speculative disease crowds the harbor of an intergalactic solar affinity.
Swimming in the distension of an endless embryonic ocean. Beautiful azure rings permit the interest of pure black obelisk radio interference. An aura. An individual beauty surrounded and not suffocated by a row of filaments.
Standing alone and completely aware and waiting
Who is also alone and completely aware but had given his self unto inanimate expository and waxed precursor to elementary physical principles.
I have to go now.
But I will return more indirect and irrelevant than ever before.
" Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official surface courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the Secession war; and it is best they should notï¿½the real war will never get in the books." ~ Walt Whitman