Posts Tagged ‘thoughts’

Squirt it out on the counter. Clean it up. Pick it up. Smear it on the grave.

March 4, 2017

I’m a scumbag with a taste for adventure. Watch me collect dust on my wicker chair, as my thighs grow numb over the course of hours of physical inactivity. Like Big Foot, you may per chance to see me scratch my nose, but only rumors now are circulating of such an occurrence. Cocoa Crispies are much crunchier with cockroach legs. I haven’t seen a paycheck all month, but working for a private prison company has it’s perks. I breathed the same air as Mitch McConnell. I think I’ve been turning into a turtle. But I’m a frog, see. I smoke cigars. Is there anything as resplendent as the sound of soup pouring into a garbage can? I can think of nothing. Chili tastes exceptionally cold from a long-refrigerated container, but can I spell this well while drunk. Thank you jagged red lines. I’d like to make my own jagged red marks, but I guess that’d be selfish according the ethics of my consciousness. Cocoa Puffs cut my gums, but there’s something alluring about pink milk. Can’t you see that my teeth are perfect the way they are? I haven’t seen a vagina in months, but my dreams tell me it’s harder to piss the bed with a boner. So there’s that. What is a guy supposed to do when all he ever wants is to disappear in a blood smear. Thank god for jagged red lines. The red lines don’t believe in God. god’s just fine for them. Take it from me, everything’s taken from me. I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. I’m just a grain of Cocoa Crispy in a ocean of Cocoa Puffs. Enough is enough. I’m calling my bluff. Fuck it, kick the bucket. Gravestone domino rally. Listen, pally.


Around the corners always pressing–a maze that’s made of second-guessing.

September 12, 2011

Barry gave us a smoked pork loin. It made for a delicious meal. I bought some canvas-making material and dropped my sculpture off at school. I’ll start another painting tomorrow. I’ve been reading a lot of Hermann Hesse novels lately. Demian was a soul-affirming book, and Steppenwolf seems to be the same just halfway through.

I have an unnatural energy as of late, that I’m not used to. I’ve been doing a lot of productive things with it, while it lasts. I’ve changed my mind about a great many things. I know with no lack of certainty that I can’t go back to Florida anytime soon. I feel a suffocating fog has settled around the whole idea that I conceived only during my most terrible months during student teaching. The idea helped lead me out of my despair, but I feel as though I have grown into a person far different than the one who made that decision. There is nothing I can go back to that will be preferable to my road ahead. That isn’t to say I will never return there. And I would like to visit often. Especially when the winters of wherever I am settle on me.

I’ve been having a wonderful stream of creative thoughts lately. Several feelings I haven’t allowed myself to have in a long time have jarred my mind in a positive way. Even if the cup were to spill, I will take joy in drinking my fill of its emptiness.

 love is a desert flower

And over desolate hills I scour

For upward towards the sun it shoots

And beneath the sands extend its roots

Like candle drawing moths’ dim fancy

O’er the next hill it’s ever glancing

This flash of color entranced I follow

Is this a Fate or just Fata Morgana?