"You aren't what I expected," she remarked slyly, as she sat there, smoldering. He stood in the doorway, silently, staring.

"You aren't what I expected," she said offhandedly, as she sat there in a pile of her own smoldering feces. He stood there in the doorway, gyrating, gently.

"You aren't what I expected," she exclaimed wide-eyed, as she sat cross-legged, utterly flaming. He stood in the doorway, rapidly fluttering his eyelids.

"You aren't what I expected," she said with her face, as she sat there trying to stand. He sat in the doorway, rapidly sitting in the doorway.

"You aren't what I expect," she said facing him as she stood there, trying to sit. He and the doorway, in an instant, were simultaneously one.

"You aren't, what?" her face cried. She sat there, sitting. He stood there, grinning.

"You aren't," cried her face. He grinned.


Morning Prayer

"Everything's a big joke except for me and what I want"
Desires conflict with preconceived contraceptive methods
And yet, we be giving birth almost constantly
Reaching back or through perhaps
Never quite being fully 'there' or here for that matter
Take time to reflect, merely project
Precocious little ego
Precious little flaws
Special little problems


It's not so bad/It's not that great
It won't be this way forever/It won't stay this way forever
It will get better eventually/It won't last


Give Death a Little Credit, Please

Return to the earth
On the brown side of the grass
While working on the perfect smile
This too shall pass

You don't want it unless you can have it
But you've had it
At times, hated it
At others, lusted after sensations
For the most part, however, it was more or less an alternating binary of confusion and boredom
Regardless, the memory of joy simply doesn't compare
To the reality of sorrow
The memory of pain is simply that, a memory
And the sensation of a loosening grip
Is only acutely displeasing if one is afraid of the consequences of letting go
So let go

If you were to fall from the third floor of a building
The only way to save yourself from certain death
Would be to relax yourself completely
Any tenseness whatsoever would spell your doom
Knowing this, in that instant you would have a choice, albeit a difficult one
You could save yourself if you could find a way to let go of your precious fear
The safety of sadness and self-pity couldn't save you
The choice would be up to you, in a split second
The choice would be yours

To pass your weapon to the left
Kick the barn door closed
Forever, until whenever
Or transcend whatever
It would be possible
Techincally, probable (to a slight degree)

Truth is, no one really knows what they would do unless they are put in a situation like that
But when we do, it will be real
One day we all will face ourselves--our minds, our maker
Everything we've set aside for later; everything we could have done better, could have put more effort into but wouldn't be troubled with at the time
It will all come eventually, and that too shall pass

This, I'm sure of
What it will sound like, smell like, feel like, mean, seem, or lead to, that I have no idea
But it will be real
And that's really all anyone has ever wanted
And that's really all that really matters



a poem.

if i had one wish
id wish for more wishes
then take out a loan
and patronize a mortician
to exercise my stank body of a bonerless corpse, of course
and my breath stinks
and i can't breathe
and i can't seem
to get a handle on all these bad dreams and things

don't just do something, stand there
and seem to be something
seemingly, i couldn't even imagine
behaving in such a fashion
dreadful, really
to postpone ones inevitable downfall
i mean brownfall
crowned balls wear the hairy crown
that smell like the last pair of balls that wore it
a diamond-encrusted spire got caught in the sack
and tore it

'bring me back to life', he said
'i can't. i've never done anything like this before.'
'it's easy, just live my life for me. breathe with my lungs, walk with my legs. finish my story, it's yours now.'
'i just can't', she pretended to sob. 'i just don't want to.'
he frowned. i mean he browned. heavy are the balls that wear the crown.


pizza, bring me back to life

pizza, bring me back to life
as i hang me in my quiet place
my happy space, where i am warm and tired
and i truly haven't a fuck to give

melting into sofas
it doesnt matter what color
or who paid for them

glistening, when i close my eyes
it doesnt make a difference what i really look like

i wish you could be more supportive
but i feel like this is something most people go through
i feel like i feel this way more and more often these days
i feel like my parents and teachers would say that this is a good thing

i'm not so sure