this is my work poem
my life
it is miserable it feels bad
i want to read and be empty
be empty and read endlessly
about others' doings
do nothing myself
but reading/seeing/hearing
feeling a body up up
to the highest hillocks
axodendratic
androgenderus

i like liqor &nd beer ( Read more... )

i've exhausted my capacity for exhausting my capacities. I'm exhausted. and I haven't even done anything. it is the exhaustion of life continuing and not ending and not really ever accomplishing anything in the face of this continual continuation, life. i guess it's about that. it's about time. time-life.

've seen so much been subject to so little. ' don't have a perspective, don't have ideas, don't have a riddle. not creative not supportive mild destructive faux assertive. no jokes just attax. no screams jus muh spellings. kind of waiting for young live over so can be done done w/ all. w/ confused relevance, w/ concerns and importance. w/ ( Read more... )

i think i can compete now with my body on the playing field of whatever. i am confused. my legs are still too fat to be considered sxxy then. but i can compete. i call up ask eat take back make sucking noises.

making the changes I want to do. doing the things I need to do. I will stop reading every piece of information that becomes available through common digital outlets (let-outs) about your being and your body. I will stop thinking about your cute cheeks and short bright smile (looking upwards). b/c love is consensual, and perversion is an attack ( Read more... )

it is hard, sunk in life of short term presentness, lost in past of background pleasantness, short, shirked, without responsibility, ability; hard to move forwards into the future, to do what is greatness and necessary for a meaningful future.

why I need anything. I don't even see, the colors. the colors, out there, I couldn't see. can't be seen. the colors. abstract meaningless, potentially infinite ( Read more... )

lives are slow. lives don't change much day to day. when days become weeks become landslides monumental. when several subtle threads explode in series. but waking up, grabbing one's genitals, considering breakfast, masturbation, tying up last night's loose threads to make something to carry through day with. cleaning brings progress and echos, ( Read more... )

you are the only person I have to talk to. you don't hear me. I loved you. I should stop loving you. there is no reason for me to either love you or stop loving you but that I might annoy you. certainly I don't want to annoy you. I would like to hurt you or overwhelm you with yourself and myself but nothing in between. but maybe now I just annoy ( Read more... )