two-faced blindsiders thinking
to theirselves
their faces are
the creme de la creme





you're pitiable, in your amish minds
where there is nothing to be found



it thinks itself, that Nothingness, gemlike
not all that glitters...






i will stretch myself, my survival, my sole tool
into all it means
to be proven right



biding.








regret my decision?

regret yours.

there is such a mad search for significance that we're willing to pin it on anything, if the first choice is usurped from your influence.


the first choice is never what you think


never, never, never

if it gives you strength to pray for strength, to instigate a slip of the muscle in night paralysis, to induce full bodily movement which is yours and yours only... just know that this radiated strength has a source, and it is you, and yours only.


if you believe you will gain strength by prayer whilst in the dark, then you will. thus is the power of human potential. the power held in what we genuinely believe.

the lost need guidance; so lost they are they do not realize all they need is within themselves. we are developing developers, known for making substances that cannot deteriorate where all leaps from, and that is nature. we tangle up the cords and pull them out when we interfere-- let the world learn to fish.

it is our choice to bargain what we can wield, our choice to decide when we should yield.

and hope, in my humble opinion, can be a very powerful driving force. hope will bring us forward or keep us down. elusive, possibly manmade? we have made a lot of things. a lot of concepts. a lot of ways to make life as it is simpler, or at least explained. mostly just explained.

the thing with hope and faith is you cannot have a single thread of doubt when you hold your hand out. it affects your drive. if you do not hope with all that is available within you, then it will be blown to pieces like the shredded rubber of a popped balloon. yielding does not make you weak. not always.


look there's a light headed for the sun

but i must push forward, and still, accessing an inner power you believe comes from another source. wherever you believe it from, it became yours.
and still, there is nothing to be lost by garnering faith
nothing at all.
i can't think of one thing.


if one hopes for wisdom, for serenity, for strength
they will seek it, whether in the front seat or the back seat

it will be sought
and faith ensures it will be found

if there are extraterrestrials out there, we are just as alien as they.

little yellow spider laughin' at the snow
well maybe that spider knows something that i don't know
'cause i'm goddamn cold




if this room were the only segment of this entire house right now-- i would be content with that
in lolling sleepy grass-green walls
white-gold light, and
in my peripherals
your hair, my
fingers
in it



and hey there little baby crow you're looking kind of mean
i think i oughta split before you
start lettin' off your steam for sure



you know if there's one more thing i've learned
people understand themselves less than they assume


absent-minded stroking, the forgetful genius
you make my smile grow 'til it
breaks all the goddamn walls
in this house


and hey there mister happy squid
you move so psychedelically
you hypnotize with your magic dance all the animals in the sea
for sure


you're all so wonderful
inducers of happiness, acceptance, tolerance





and hey there little snapping turtle
snapping at a shell
oh there's mysteries inside i know but what they are
i just can't tell for sure

and hey there mrs. lovely moon
you're lonely and you're blue
it's kind of strange the way you change but then again
we all do, too

what you kids called it:
a presence of solace, "comfort", whatever
i knew better, always did.


and it comes into its dark passion play now, as is: i know better. i always did. taught "if you know better, do better."
drift and waver but the sought balance will be found and tucked under our arms. we'll scurry away like stolen books and inhale the ink off all the pages
carrying the
scent of anciently crushed flowers, lavender, and their own pollen-sun yellow dot in the center. the same colour which glimpsed all the eras and systems of your skin, traipsed and quivered and breathed over
your neck, shoulder, belly
jaw-- cheek-- temple your body is mine
that mouth


that flower lasted so little-- it could not stand straight in the face of the lion's prey
without its delicacies torn to bloody shreds
jealous of a flower that touched your mouth before mine could
but so preciously cradled
in white fingertips
which lavished your every beloved inch
with elongated, elliptical fronds of violet
a touch and a kiss
a touch and a kiss
hovering dangle, dangling hover
a two-human pile in
a patch of hidden good-luck clovers

[silverwhite-powderblue]





your palms pressed flat to my back
deep circular rhythm pulling grit from my throat
when you touch where it hurts
i'm pulled taut like a harp string, stretched out and
blanketed in goosebumps bearing shivers

you made raw aching muscle-- absolutely exquisite.
turned throbbing to layers of shifting waves,
boiling the pain, steaming the flesh,
with only your features.


you are so unrefined, boyish and raw.
the world is unraveling before you
in a path of patchquilt
there are my hands, woven in with yours-- they could be anyone's
but they're mine and touch you like wool


so many nights we slumbered as recalcitrant children of a mass of so many more. so much more. but it was you and i. it is you and i. and we slumber together.




i hope to awaken with that visage
facing the same direction
a power, a will, a conquering touch



i hope to awaken with you
after every bardo, see the same soul
affinity absorption-- i found you
i found you
i've found you
i will never lose sight of you again.
the harmony of what we resonate within each other
is a sound of, a sense of,
five white fingers and a coldbitten-red mouth,
a soul song and overcharged molecules.
it all went up into the air when i chose you
but the ashes after the finale are finally settling
and you are receptive, impressionable-- open-minded-- gentle gentle gentle humility truth genuinity, the innocent love offered forth from a child's mittens and a cerebral logic in the making of which there are numerous golden glimmers


there are no hidden agendas, no mind games, no social expectations
behind the velvet is simply you, softer
you, simply. simply you. waiting to love me, and then loving me freely. your eyes are wide and all i see is love. there are no tricks with you, and no secrets. you simply want to love me. you simply wish for my love. surprisingly you are happy, drenched in my love, a child happy in the rain, and i could so easily drown you in it because there is that much of it, an infinite amount, and what you have experienced of it is infinitesimal compared to all there is, and i am delirious with the smell of your closeness and there is nothing in the way to keep us from thusly being.

there is nothing in the way. i don't know what we have discovered-- how it is-- why it is-- but it simply is. or isn't-- there is nothing between us and no hurdle we cannot stomp.

how can there be any resentment, any garnered bits of ill will-- when there is none of that on your part, even in your darkest corners, even behind your conscious matters and words? when someone is clean i see it about them-- as i saw it about you immediately. it's not as if you-- or they-- have anything more than anyone else-- it's that you have this lack of malice, lack of want of control over people, lack of want of manipulation, lack of want of status and rankings and inequality; this general all-around genuinity, cleanliness, pristinity of character, that makes even the air around you clearer, a circle of divinity it is literally easier to breathe in. cleaner. grey. white. drizzle, mist, the black branches of dead trees visible against the winter skyline behind your pale head, clever face




a flash of a vision of typed words or of insight
whose signature 'taste' i can instantly recognize
make a face as though the lick of it was sour, bitter, and
not 'completely turned around', but completely topsy-turvey festival of fucked-in-the-head nonsense wrong


my treasure,
you weren't stolen goods, i simply
misplaced you for a time, and
misplaced what i felt
on wrongly labeled shelves.
blurred lines for some but i know right and i know wrong and i know i did right
and any wrongs-- rectified
i shall stand tall, proud on the mountains and be silent
silent but happy, with riches
adorned with gleaming baubles of you
i hope i have gleaned some loneliness from your soul
i hope i may always uplift some sodden part of your life
i hope i may sometimes be a reason behind that contagious smile


perhaps you were taken
but you were only stolen from the world
and i try hard to smile proud in the background, content with knowing
your home is our home is with me
and no one else



we are mutual, we are equal, on the same wavelength, on the same page


you are so
you are
the force behind spring rejuvenation
O she doth teach the torches to burn bright

she, he, however
it matters not, because if you were either, of any shape or form-- i would have found you, and i would have chosen you
and i would have loved you
as i love you now
as i will continue to
as this soul weaves through lifetime after lifetime
whether you are in every one, or none, or a few, or in all
your presence, essence
will be within me
forevermore
thusly, alive

as lame as that sounds.









all the faces in the world
pass by like masks in rows of the dozen, columns of the dozen, on a wall of navy curtain
their eyes, fully open
in my dreams
and amongst theirs-- yours

all of yours
all of those i've loved









even you, dead eye blue
another year is passing us by
january's hypothermia won't
come close
to thawing the heart you're trapped inside









sometimes i think that it got so cold you just

cheeto guy: it ain't easy bein' CHEEEEZY
/CHEETO LINE INSUFFLATION OCCURS



i was sick the last few days. BUT I FEEL LIKE I'M GETTING BETTER... I CAN BREATHE through my nose without having it go SCHNNUUUCK


schmuck.



who would've figured the 37th percentile would mean so much
...well, clearly. working for it for about a year, this lighter more buoyant self supersedes now the old sluggish ways and blightingly groggy days.
someday.




puddle of looove pooling in curls of white and black trusses all over the floor.
at my feet.



ZIGGY BRADA
congrats on passing THE FIRST GRADE

HA HA HA!
but he really did


no but he REALLY did


I REALLY DID IT
I'M A REAL BOY

my legs are just
FALLIN' OUTTA THEIR SOCKETS

like that girl WITH THE LEGS
i'm sure you know who i'm talking about




wakey, achey






rich wisdom dies as the eighth day tolls
from now.
beginning now.
she is known by me, but
your loss will be irreplaceable

bardo says (11:42 PM):
didn't we like
kiss
when we were like
9

Lanesha....  (11:42 PM):
yes
behind the play house
thats like the ONE thing i do remember
I think we were fucking playing hide and seek
and like
sylvia was it
so we hid behind that bush
outside your neighbours back yard right
and she ran right poast us
so we snuck back
and then we sat down and we were like laughing and shit
so we were like sitting on those cement blocks
remember that were behind your play house?
beside like the tomato plants or whatever
so i grabbed the bitches hand
and she like giggled this ridiculous little laugh and then kissed me
and then ran away and i was like
"DUHHHH"
and sylvia saw me
after katy ran away
freak
-_-

i'm changing and the useless will fritter away, flake, fall off, melt into pavement. what seemed so permanent-- isn't. what i thought fleeting-- not at all.
i am sure now i am doing the right thing. my own sanity thanks me profusely. the way filters open. cleanliness versus confusion.
i don't care what i'm doing that's turning you off of me
it's my care for pursuing this friendship responsibly


those issues were inborn, miscreant.
whereas these hands had no choice
but to follow scrambling
the jangle within the mousehole.
escape this
organ-donor and the organ-crushing bulldozer
who has desecrated all i ever mistakenly flaunted
there is nothing
in here
for you now
only rubble
play pretend archaeologist
your reputation will be all you have
your words will be your only personality
no one likes assholes but dumbasses
i'm done.






inflating, electrified skull. brick cracks. this house will crumble.
nothing will keep me from conquering the ground.
in one fell swoop you and me
will be leaving this all behind



advocation for this nihilistic agony cannot be right



that means i need to reconstruct what happens subconsciously
so we don't continue to treat our silence so obnoxiously