I started this thing thinking
I would type in it all the time
But I found the layout
To be
Oppressive.
Valuable if it’s rare.
The end all
be all
diamond.
Censored in the rough.
Why should I value
two
over
one?
Think before you speak, for what you speak
Is never what you think.
So just speak.
When I was seven
I killed my brother
I never told anyone about this.
Ugly children.
Forsaken aching
for the model.
Try the best you can.
But that’s no good, either.
You are perfect in your own way.
Like a mental retard
Is special.
Bear with me
While I tiger.
Today has been spectacular
Clear thought big sky kind of day.
Though the air grew thick and
and sweat dried, caked
like face-paint.
Added weight to the face.
The last of the vodka
and the fans make it
just right.
For how long?
Jokes affect the truth
Like the old affect the youth
The same desperate motive
To cast light
Upon darkness.
High Thought:
What if we all had our own personal puppeteer who controlled all our motions, and these puppeteers were controlled by other puppeteers who were also controlled by other puppeteers? I guess this is like that “turtles all the way” thing that I always forget the specifics of.
Black children
White children
Getting along.
We’re
“color blind”
in America
some would say.
No
it’s that we’re blind
to
racism.
It’s that we’re burying
the hatchet.
Black Children
and White Children
Getting along.
Take a picture
It’ll last longer.
The rule of thirds.
In jokes.
In photography.
My manners are my nature tarnished
which is banished so I’m
properly harnessed.
My feelings are my brain unbuckled
broken knuckles
providing
blood you suckle.
These truths
Are only lies disguised
Honest Me
is just the Me You know.
The abyss
remains
In darkness
Or in light.
The lousy stoner
The smartest broad
The fair mexican gave me
the cold shoulder for
no apparent reason.
And while
The Montagues
and Capulets
Surely would have
Bit their thumbs,
I just gave him the finger.
Said go back to your country.
Post-Puppeteer
I was wondering about all these things people have wondered about before.
I was wondering if these things were new, but I knew they probably weren’t original.
I was thinking about the fact that my reflection needs to just pour undisturbed out of my conscience.
I was thinking about things that didn’t beg to be thought of when I was sober.
Living in someone else’s body might be weird for the soul, who only knows me as its home.
Fire the worker- he has played too hard, thought about too many irrelevant things.
Fire the mother- she has taken her time with you.
Love the spirit in all of us, pissing out.
I used to care for myself better, when I didn’t think about myself so much.
Fleas on dogs.
We are, We are.
This lacks value in every way possible.
Who’s this kid psychiatrist? And how the hell did he become one?
Did he smoke weed until brain exploded, only to reassemble in a far wiser arrangement?
The words that come from me aren’t really mine. They’re yours, but mostly they’re his.
Yes, the man over there. One space over. Shifty-eyed and looking to make you bankrupt.
Care for him, for all he thinks of is you and me.
What is this faux-aphoristic self-reflexive intellectual ejaculatory movements of mine?
Care of the body, care of the mind, care not to remember what I left behind.
Thoughts of darkness are cliche, but those are the ones to which I’ll never say nay.
Would this have been smarter if I had a form? An intent?
Could I have made this better for you, virtual enemy?
Left sacred is left mysterious. Right reason is just cause. Hollow thoughts.
Video games didn’t make me who I am at all.
Fuck the people who said Vincent Chin’s murder was a drunken brawl/an accident. Fuck the people who said a drunken brawl is an accident.
When does something become a certain way?
When does organization slaughter the genius?
When does form kill the feeling, in other words.
Patience Go.
Art is for people who don’t want to work hard.
