( Read more... )

Your eminence, please come out and tell us what we should be ( Read more... )

Sitting on the breezeway.
Night time, again.
The lights are dancing
Overhead, frivolously,
Almost in a mantra
Of Solitude.
What ever I had left
To verbalize
Has already been said
A hundred times before,
In a million different ways.
My own trivialities
Consume and manifest me.
The solitary air
Only emphasizes
A languid soul.

"O sancta simplictias! How strangely simplified and false are people’s lives! Once we have focused our eyes on this wonder, there is no end to the wonderment! See how we have made everything around us bright and free and light and simple! Weren’t we clever to give our senses free access to everything superficial, to give our minds a divine craving ( Read more... )

I imagine the writers
that I hold in high 
regard.
Hunched over archaic 
Type-writers.
Drunk. A cigarette
in hand.
Yes, some lines where meant
to be thrown away
Broadcasting themselves
Over radio waves.

Hey planet Earth
Are you there?
It's me, Kelsey
Postmodern's impaired.

Hold me like a child
In your warm, warm arms
Whisper parables
Keep me safe from harm

Oh my sagging skin
Oh my burning skies
I will close my eyes
I will close my eyes

There was laughter once
There were pretty songs
Pull the metal shards
Thin my clotted blood

Oh my rotted skin
Oh my burning skies
I will close my eyes
I will close my eyes

Oh the jaws ( Read more... )

"Here in the bathroom with me are razor blades. Here is iodine to drink. Here are sleeping pills to swallow. You have a choice. Live or die.

Every breath is a choice.

Every minute is a choice.

To be or not to be.

Every time you don't throw yourself down the stairs, that's a choice. Every time you don't crash your car, you re-enlist."

"almost dawn
blackbirds on the telephone wire
waiting
as I eat yesterday's
forgotten sandwich
at 6 a.m.
an a quiet Sunday morning.

one shoe in the corner
standing upright
the other laying on it's
side.

yes, some lives were made to be
wasted."

-Charles Bukowski

In one week I will be increasing the integral count of my age. What the hell I have I done with a year? How totally dejecting ...

Hammer on my hollow head. If someone is going to die it sure as hell had better be me. I can become the nuance cherub and play my dulcimer with the hammers in my head.

Killing an Arab may result in deportation, but you may as well cry your crocodile tears.

I am starting my own revolution, it’s called I don’t give a damn.

I am not apish, the system is, Jesus. You can’t hold a candle to that, but you may as well light it on fire. Everyone loves a farce.

Have a nice tall glass of temporary piety. My current standing is ( Read more... )