Just say hello. No more-that middling language of “good thanks” “yeah, good” “not bad”, “can’t complain”.
The etiquette of it all. Changed “big football player so”.
Monday meeting no Acid will return me from my normalcy. Vacant seats- return and passing the buck of giving a fuck. Asking; “what do you want”? And just gettin it. In it. Lithium illness.
Put the sails up. It’s time to change end, in the sun. No rooms in your hands. Similitude of the sun and your eyes. Blue ocean, sparking like used oven mitts. Committing social
back to being human.
A fancy wank-
you know expensive because you beat off into a condom.
They cost money you know. Poor people can’t afford them ofcourse, so you’re just beating off into money, for no reason. Expelling surplus energy. Saving society from it. A bit of self pleasure and leisure.
-You’re not invited to the wedding.
I once made a mistake of asking a dark haired woman about my age “what do you do”.
I thought it was general, friendly and open ended. She took issue with the question saying it was grounded in posturing and sizing one another up. Maybe she was right. I’d been invited over as a friend of a friend, a BBQ of sorts, a social gathering. She was making me squirm I think. I played along.
She turned out to be a cleaner at UTAS.
I said great that’s fascinating how disgusting people are, how wasteful and thoughtless people are. I said it would be insightful to realizing just how quickly things get dirty and the level of dust akin to growing on all things seemingly suddenly. Strange. She didn’t like what I had to say –
She’s a cleaner and she had a problem.
I should have asked if people like jokes. I didn’t realize that ‘do’ denotes or connotes profession. She took it to mean “what is your livelyhood? How do you get through the days and contribute value to society, and so on and so forth”.
She decided to take pity on herself. “Do you like Titanic>?”
-Will we all go down with the ship, or just the captain?
I hated her for her failing me, socially I felt that this fight wasn’t my own.
Perhaps it was, my question triggered illness.
She’s the sort of moron that pours bleach or drain cleaner into the sink and then before watching it bubble down decides the issue must be somewhere at the U-bend. Naturally the fix will come from pulling out the piping, unqualified the outcome is a face full of bleach eyes like drains. Bloodshot,smoking, milky or black. I had to witness the triggered blackness as a guest in a new hovel. Trying to strike up conversation and unhappily letting my good intentions be turned back like the metal prongs of a fork you’d use to feed a learning child.
-Perhaps this tirade doesn’t demonstrate my good intentions.
-Honestly though, good meaning aside one always has a false story. Lie and lie and lie atleast sugar coat. Distract, move on and change. With good humor, pleasures are ours and words are our tool. You poisoned my hear, my confidence and out beginning.
Then came the pale, beady-eyed, red haired partner.
That breast focused piece of waste. Agitator and past stuck slime. You’ll need all your cleaning talents for that, gloves on and you’ll still come out dirty. I pray that the house caves in and you’re out to return to realise that its not what’s inside that always counts. Sometimes the brave fortification is all you have and that’s the passable point of shallow focus that anybody as a guest will be able to percieve. I was in your home and you gave me gruesome strangeness and callous obscenities. Unassailable hate, lust, timidness and misdirection.
Anything can be politicized I call it ‘politicked’. Cast in a light of either good or bad.
I hope I’m invited to the wedding, you’ll have my blessing. The haunted house of inner disgust at self, shared with all that ask a question to crack silence, misunderstood sickeningly
Love is a shovel.
Tears are a drink
Pain is a pleasure
and jackets fend off the cold –
But the cold won’t kill you.
You just give up one day.
Lay down and don’t get up.
A full pain.
Heavy set comfort followed by the bliss of lightness.
The sweet smell of your own shit as you cark it.
Carcasses, warm, warbling wanting.
Pushing thoughts and informing meaning where there isn’t.
All applying, ascribing value where there isn’t any.
You are invalidated, wasted and unwell.
Cold, unjacketed and dying.
My love is a shovel.
She stole the keys to the sky.
She melted the key on her bosom and let the golden droplets drip through her fingers, falling to the lake below.
Like half formed bullets they fall.
Steam hissed up as grey snaking pillars. Angrily spiraling to the heavens.
Dark storm clouds rolled in and pelted the landscape with icy sleet.
Her wings were washed, feathers plucked.
More steam, busting clouds from her exposed skin. The fire of her heart could not be doused. A tumbling whirling element of cloud surrounded her. Fiery and fierce the elements fought.
The melted key, broken down and forgotten.
Eruptions of sound and sizzling gas broke as thunder in enshrouding clouds.
Black and grey, deep dark blues without border melted forth as far as the eye could see. The sky was locked. Her cry was fury. Wet heat radiated down.
Pulsing streams of acidic water rained down.
Bear bones to meaning-
sustained only by out backlog of sustenance.
Sicknesses wealth. Whirling worlds,
wake and wain withal words wicking.
Alight fires blister afright with loss of love at night.
the expulsion of chronic liason.
Puzzled hesitation – he falls.
Writing skeletons with glowstick smiles.
Move away excited and changed.
It was good to see you-
That’s all I wanted. Some time together,
walking talking chapping, chatting toying with ideas.
Not so malnourished with thoughts of helping and talking to others.
The outsiders; whisking me off my feet with their outsiderness.
Asp poison licks my heart.
Flicked cards darting past eyes.
Lists of ailments, flutter with whisps of fate.
Belated gifts, thoughts of she.
Tones dining for reflection.
Kissing hellos under a rainspotted umbrella.
Cordially lost lovers.
Pantyhose- flutter with random stretches.
Curls of grey. Blue and red.
Rain sodden humour passes my lips.
Such disconnect from my body –
games I am not invested in.
How could I possibly show investment.
The want to win, competiotion’s lure.
Tongue of acid.
Prim tyre. Atypical slogan for the lost.
67 percent of the novel completed.
Look at my skin. Running father.
Tired sister. Negative brother.
Hopefully we’ll change.
I need to move, hide, change and relax.
Story teller in me.
Lost luck in love.
Down down.blink. Smashing. Tude or chewed. Pot eight o’s. Words as spelling instructions.
Mobility- movement change, exchange disability. I build ramps.
The Christmas hats and ugly, ugly sweaters-
Join an exchange to ruffle your feathers.
Chocolate money and juicy, juicy mangoes.
Seasonal changes and crackers for bang-goes!
Liking it. Drop off bike, have a cup of tea. Bounce around- chitter chatter.
Sort sort sort sort sort