Wednesday, April 19, 2017


Although I received this personally I believe this is deeply loving & relevant advice for anyone struggling with Life:

"I think my foremost belief about God is that we shouldn't try to speak on his behalf--He speaks volumes enough as it is in the world around us. The being of things, and their dynamic interplay (their becoming) -- signs of life and signs of God, one and the same. You aren't unnatural, or worthy of punishment--you've had to fight to keep your place in the world of the living, and have yet to realize the extent of your love for Him.

You sense that God is present in your life right now in a big way. I, for one, would argue that God intervened on your behalf. I don't think His love is compatible with human morality. Neither good nor bad--"mysterious" is as close as we've come to describing his ways.

What certainly is clear is that you have a great deal of love for Him and an unhindered compassion for others, especially the misfortunate, the disabled, the vulnerable.

You've a rare inherent gnostic naturalism to your spiritual self."

And big, hot, grateful tears came.

Tuesday, March 7, 2017


Here, I feel it coming on.

Don't eat while your ears are filled with something. Like headphones.

Want to slap you in half like a laptop looping that 60 second clip of penetration, after I cum.

Wish you could slap a girl in half like a laptop. And they'd be rendered silent, inert, lifeless but not dead.

View from a vehicle. I spent most of the day. Turned off.

"Like a tassel on a hammer"

They get out of a cadillac handicap thing on the dash but not hanging from mirror. Little boy too. She's pregnant in a bright red shirt. Pink sweater tied around shoulders. Face tattoos of stars from brow to lower jaw. Custard hair. Neon nails. She opens her mouth she has poorly formed bright gold fronts popped onto teeth. There's a feeling of affluence, like haloes, around them. 

Thursday, February 16, 2017


The sun is one, but marches through all lands.
The sun is mine. I will not share my sun.

Not an hour of it, nor a ray, nor a look. Never. With no one.
Let all cities perish in their perpetual night.


Find yourself trusting women
who have not adjusted miracle with number.
I know that Venus is the result of handwork;
A craftswoman, I know my craft.

From the high solemnity of mutenesses
To the complete debasement of the soul:
The whole divine staircase--from:
Now I'm breathing--to: now you do not.



She who slept dreamlessly
Winced and stood up.
Like a seeing rock
in the strict gradation of a psalm--

Host of awakening bodies:
Like an army in a shower of arrows
When it's ripe for torture.

Scrolls of chasubles sheer as meshes
Falling apart like dust.
Hands covering groins
Of virgins and, lash-like,

Shameless hands of old men...
The bird of a youngster's hand...
Cavalry at the horn of Judgement!
The Gray-bearded take-off

Standing up waist-high
From under the burial shrouds:
We are a migration. A legion.
A whole nation

Of spectres. Mercy or damnation.
See. Be. Recollect.
...A handful of trees running up
The hill, at nightfall.


Someone's heading for a fatal victory.
Trees gesture like tragedies.
Sacrificial dance of Judea.
Trees flutter like sacramentals.

This--a conspiracy against the era:
Against weight, number, fraction, and time.
This--a veil torn apart:
Trees kneel like tombstones...

Someone's arriving: Heaven is the entrance.
Trees salute like festivals.


The Crevasse

Fallen into a glacial crevasse:
Chest that has crushed against you so.

Out of the storehouse of semblances
Pick out--at random--your augury:
You sleep in me as in a crystal
Coffin, you sleep in me

As in a deep wound--the crevasse is tight.
The glacier, jealous of its dead:
A ring, a shield, a seal, a belt,
Without return and without answer.


In the inmost hour of the soul and the night
Unmarked on the clock,
I looked in a youth's eyes
Unmarked in anybody's

Nights, reposing
--Without recall and without end--
Like a double millpond. From here
Your life begins.


Make bitter: darken:
Grow: reign.



Reciprocity, do not obstruct
The Castalian flow.
Nonpresence: the greater substance
Lying beyond the eye;

Beyond speech, beyond sight,
Like a prolonged la note
Stretching out miles of distance
Between the temptation and the lips.

Blessed are the longitudes, the latitudes of Lethe and zones.
Furthering into you with distance
As with the whole note; stretching out

Into you like a moan;
Striking against you like an echo
Into the chest of granite:
Do not see, do not hear, do not exist--

I've no need for white
Upon black--the chalk of the blackboard.
Nearly beyond the confines
Of soul, beyond the limits of pain--

...The last card of my verbal arrogance has been dealt.
Distance, you are now nothing but
a blank wall to me.


I reshift myself,
I reshape myself.

Under your touch,
I grind myself anew,
I break myself in half.


Tuesday, January 31, 2017


Rubbing her dry part on a black and red lacquered baseball.

She plays so much bad jazz. I don't ask why she listens to it. A little mic attached. "Try something." I have not laid my Self out this way in a long time. I face away. Heave out a mumbling I remember from a woman w/ oiled teeth whining outside of the CVS, the red CVS sign but wearing Eckerdz blue socks, whining about wanting to feel sheep's wool, to rub her hands thru it while it is still attached to the warmth of a sheep. Desire of a pseudo primate, clutching a plastic bag fillled with Squirt. Rhythmic heaving, kind of a clattering in step, I want it to sound like that 8 year old sitting in that corner alone trying to remember the words to a song on the radio. Sometimes I bring with me a deep gravelly clicking. A uniform tone, sets of the same. I was done tonight and when I look at her a face collapsed into the panic of disgust you do not want to feel with someone, she had no choice to hate all this in me. An absurdity she can't place like that Neolithic whine outside a prefab complex. What I felt is communicated into her, inflicted, and unwelcome. She is scientific. I defer, defer, defer. I do it because her focus outweighs these antics -- I am glad she does not embrace them. I remember this feeling seeing marker on the side of his face, watching a boy drink milk and talk on YouTube, when you look at someone's face you're a few fingers deep in they open their eyes but one eyelid prying is slightly delayed it feels so bad to be a witness to it. Unlike her, I moved into all this, continually.
Her stoic goodness--some kind of a wholesome logic, there rests so little self at all.
I sit on knees in a place like that. But also, cannot mute.

Cute posturing. See oversized lips and teeth bobbing at other damp lips and teeth. A violence. A sexual aggression wrapped up in esoteric pillars. Regurgitations of stark aesthetics--an empty set of exclusive means by which to relate.  I ask does she know what I mean about this kind of sociability.
"No. I want to talk to you about geology."

I want to reconcile my sophisticated personal notions of integrity, ethics with this piss poor person and it's behavior that I, in reality, inhabit.

But I want to stay impulsive too.

I know she was always good like this.

Building muscle is so difficult how did you do it could you tell me.

Monday, January 23, 2017


Using me as bait.


I am going to let my body exist. 

Thursday, January 19, 2017


"TOMMORROW I will leave
and travel far from here.
Maybe it surprises you
after so many years
that I will be gone.

Tomorrow I will set my house on fire
and sing some naughty songs.
Will you be hurt?

Will you finally notice
that I am also hurt?

Tomorrow I will stick my heart in my head
and wear a red hat.
The entire town will see me
sounding the alarm upon your street.
The entire town will see me!

Tomorrow I will leave
and yet will always remain here.

Maybe you will laugh, maybe
at my roguish manner ....
Dead is what I wish to be."