“how many have left me in stride, a stride.””some kind of stride.”a hop. Ask them, not me, sobrirarirly rewarded,i. Never square as it is a some time, and forsurenot sometime. a sundial and it’s migrate hate, glared. Tic.

Your presence in tense stops clocks wished upon another night from an other of other other, and the drag of a cool cigarette from the daze of a cancer plotted sinnery death. And death races the clock because of the digital bark of luster handfulls of our grandfathers watch. Delays, truancy, the date and time of the day in trine of fast and goad on and ons, blink blat blot, black black notdots persay butt say per dot-turn turn turn sung the byrds, covered a tambourine man.

Hi, I’m back again. Everytime I come back I was left already, gone. Comas, you’re my sunshine between days and night, pistels of love plucked from he and or he not, knotted strange daughters somewhere with a greek of lore, [weather of tall tasks wastes of time chaste with the courage of men short of battle, not getting her # his time, but true prebubescent strength cut down low and sexless, tell as mischiefs overrise ungodly random and faultlessly forgotten litters of pieces of treasure of any other man is the man you’ll be one day. ]

My old will was to wade thee waters aplenty unrushed but mourning just stirred a never lated bet lost of well, oh well, fade out. P.S. begotten scripts of lunging ladders bringing down late, with the pant of a halfwit twitted trademark clamp original as the ‘you’re dead’ glares that go telltale around, homeless and needy for a pinche of oh, bother it another time. Laugh, turned, talk. Tics silent, like laughs but not until you hear the laughter as silent as you imagine pain is less than is a little less than ding.

Passage of time, right to a fair and speedy trial, reered, chased or pushed is a little bit of charity the drives front fare and speedlessly fingerlessly forward. The circadian tide of shit talk blooms turn off unused me fearfullyless were simpler times.

Felt the murder of a 3 crow party, nitrogen is sharper than cold fine ice, look and touch and belles are dingdong retrooldschool alumnotanymore. Judgement furred the factful smokeless smoke smell foresight behind a backless dress of common sense spike faster than light, twisted around the meanness of the cold hard truths renouned. My imagery of a scaled section cut and sized and scattered loosely bolt like when it’s time to take a look at myself, show what they’ve waited for. They. Like reflections of ungrateful looks to get from unearthed stores of less than better me to give, should ever anybody raps.

If you look at the flow of energy, it wiggles wraps and waves. That’s what I’d think. It seems so easy. I don’t know why anyone would ever need envision the flow of energy. Carried the death of thunder speedy and light poured aptly,  precise strikes made misses passes, those wonderful things we at sleep could suffice to say dream sparked a rev in mysterious ways.

Balkan islands

That’s all it means, pessimism. A negative outlook on life, while life simply was closest to you then.

So the defeatist outlook on deathly tailcoats, was a pessimistic left leg, right arm onetwo, threatoric, nineDkikbacks.

Wolves hunt in packs. There is an alpha and he’s usually first to die.

Charted waters wet the whistle and the corale of business as usual.

Recant force of satin velour. Sportsmanship. Sew sexually transport sick starter pack: No(iI) unt. Knowant. Knowledgeerist. Know axe swings at the bark through trunkette of solderings. Layers of what stories filed in years, like the composition of a pack of gum. Zebra stripe gum was the most colorful gum ever made, but the suck like black and white movies.

“I owe much,” skipped a stone as it passed by. I looked at it and audited my curiosity to perceptional advances.

Juxtaposed lag combed the valiance. They told me what I would die trying to save me sum. *Totals heart a timelessness in juxtapostake merrier merrier ma’s ma’s mine mine mean mine mine mean. *Snuff*

“Found your voodoo doofunt.

Palace of wined fawnentries.

Complimentary misuses aid don’t be evil. Tyranny of evil is out of style. As discussed, your judgement is upon you. Bubblegum kids fucking suckling duck. Why fix the breaks when they only slow you down. It’s brakes.

Old onetwothreach, swears by the look of your eyes.

Talkie walkie, air.

Let that graph, and the pander of words lock on targets.

message in a bottle? y’know, like where you keep all your secret hurts… right?

I learned once how not to be a clingy, obsessive type of boyfriend by being one. It wasn’t the kind of boyfriend I wanted to be but that’s how I looked. Oh, I was just trying to hold on to something too hard like it was important. And of course it was; t’was the kind of love guys don’t ever expect to experience. But like me, love changed. I am not going to be a clingy obsessive type of boyfriend ever again, because doing it wrong the one time was enough for me and that old dreamy, once in a lifetime, kind of love. Like, it’s gone. But do not despair! For the good news is that you are not me, and I hope this helps keeps you in the dreamy kind of love that left me waiting for seconds.

I’m not really waiting for it though, because I would have to actively be looking for a girlfriend to see how well I couldn’t screw it up again. More for research than for love, but only because I want to love. And if I could say what I want, and I could, I wouldn’t be able to trick a girl into giving me a chance. I say I trick girls into liking me but it’s really only to make liking me sound more exciting than it is. Oh boy, I don’t think I really want to date now that I’m thinking about the repercussions. I’d have to trick me more than the girl. My cool handsome exterior is one of my best disguises and I’m waiting to actually be saved by a girlfriend. The fabled next girlfriend. I need her to pull me out and tell me it wasn’t me, and that she just needs some time alone all randomly, (because this fabled girlfriend is just a hero in my story) and I would be so mature and agree to give her time, stop crying, and make a bunch of promises to keep, you know the kind that make people sound like romantic cliches but unlike the movies I’d keep them anyway and wait and be patient and be alone and be okay. It all isn’t much different from what I’m actually doing now. Weird, but that’s what my handsome and mysteriously awesome self is separating. Separating what, you ask? I dunno. I was going to say something like reality and dreams, but it’s just me. ❤

 

Knead and knots

Scores and the keeping of it like life is a game, but the scores I like keeping are just where to cut cakes or pies. Because there’s no I in team. And if we’re all aboard this ship, (because we don’t for sure if we’re sinking or not) then it’s up to us to keep it afloat. But ships sail, usually. And nobody says anything if they get a smaller slice. But life is not fun like a game and there is no team. There are people that sink sometimes like how a sunken ship knows forever, but we don’t know for sure whether or not cakes float.

You can’t hang on to things you own, but you can hang things on your own. Things that were already yours are without keeping score, like sails. Find wind. (There’s an i in wind.)

a mother to you

Language and diction and puns and a play on words, these are a few of the very things that meant little to everything. Honesty and truth don’t really mean as much to everyone as it does to each individual person, yet all the bullshit in life can fertilize. Insignificant or insatiable, words can piggyback on feelings, and a second glance is just as significant for another chance, or even an eye roll. We grow and change into different people we expect to be, and there’s hardly a person aside from who we use to be that can say, “you aren’t who I expected to be.” Whether we met expectations or bet expectations, the biggest disappointment is the appointment kept when time’s are harry, and no bigger bow to where you came from. Ask yourself, “are you ready?” as a joke and see if you give a laugh or take a deep breath first. Of course I don’t know what that means.

tonne s’apriz mi

sigh again that time goes on.
time is yours to wield, nonetheless.
good in and with
your time

be bad should you like,
when you waste it

who you think you are is
not the end, after all.
but what you have made time

Contemporary Buttplug Art

minor love. big things, little things. superficial things, deeper things. goofy things, and serious things. I forgot about all those things until i met an accomplice. it’s almost like i could give a shit again. this other person, some fucking wierdo making me do all these crazy things like baking cakes and waking up early on purpose… the artistry and thing about buttplugs are that you can own one, but it’s how you use it that radiates you. Kinda like a heart, except everyone knows hearts only pump blood and if you do anything to hearts, you probably paid for it like a chump. We need to work on our relationships with our buttplugs. We already know it’s there and is very capable and ready, but we don’t always put our buttplugs into things we’re doing. Sometimes, it just sits there on the nightstand by your glasses or tucked away in the drawer with your drugs/illegal jewelry or like me, set it on the kitchen table beside the cornucopia because who ever uses it?

You forget everything you’re used to now, when you’re in love and start doing weird shit like baking cakes and waking up early on purpose. And minor loves once tired are alive again, like the second coming. I don’t talk Jesus/love stuff, at all so I talked about buttplugs instead. You know, because nobody remembers what hearts do, like like buttons, and errrrrbody talkin’ ’bout love in that knowitall whatevs way and it’s giving the stuff i don’t talk about a bad rep.

A Decayed Wait

It’s like I’m locked in battle with trying to find my own piece of mind.  For peace of mind.  And my mind was already in pieces. But after having gone through what id gone through and seeing the better things in life of which we most take for granted, it is indeed difficult to go back once youve gone through. Trying to live life by the day rather than seizing it as we’re so used to advising, you focus on the things needed and the things needing to get done. Its okay to make and have excuses but that energy is better spent trying to imcorporate it into your everyday rather than waiting for a day off. Take the dog around an extra block, plan an extra hour after work as though you had to stay an extra hour, what would you have done otherwise?

I’m so sick of being able to say we all have different personal problems and that others would understand if they were in my shoes. And as well spoken as i am in regards to individuality, the fact of the matter is that we alone must pick up the slack in our friendships/families or become acquainted with the fact that we feel a lacking within ourselves because we sometimes cant hold up the line anymore. It backs us up in a way that tests our endurance and stamina and strength, which is character building, sure, but we don’t win every game and we oftentimes don’t have back up. Who’s going to rescue us if the rescuer can barely be free. Hats off to those of you out there that lend a helping hand now and then, but you know more than most how many more of us are out there that need help.

there’s a socio-demic with those videos on viral acts of kindness. Sure it makes us feel all fuzzy inside but it only cheapens our faith in humanity in which case i’m quite certain is running on fumes. We’re getting high off that but don’t even realize it because we’re vilified if we say something against a sweet video. What we need to do is sort the shit out in our world’s that are dead weight, swim back up to the surface and start looking for some fucking land. Whoever you are/want to identify with, this is the 2nd sinking of the titanic (or an unnecessary Titanic Sequel); race, income, injustices – they move in remissions in this, the 21st century, like uncomfortable couture fashion.

We’re decadent and dressed in our best decades but vids or you didn’t happen.

an other time, another hand

there once was a time and that was then. some people escape their past, some come it. what they left and what they took is theirs alone. But things lost or out of sight were, at a time,right in their own right, and will haunt again when. where ever people. the present, the future escape or lead, the haunt, driven goin’ or comin’ pierce like a fine-tipped arrow made of smoke.

castles of ash toppled kingdoms from gusts of whispers or. good or bad, there once was a time when not that bad was the best one could sigh, How haunted are the pages after like the future, when tomorrow is guaranteed to no one but today. the past seems straylessly an arrow of a day to get through, like any old thought, like any old day thought to never know.

remember how it felt to go on your fist date, couples tell you about the date and the things they liked but forget the leading up to before their going steady. stable relations sound less promising than being single. “going out with someone or just going out.”

heroic gesture

i once said i got tricked into the bible stuff. i never talked about it because i couldn’t say anything nice nor could i say anything mean about it. i gave it a chance like i gave other things of that magnitude. these days that we live in are pretty bad; we call it an economic collapse sprinkled with concern therapy. concern therapy is what i call that thing we do where an immediate spark of weekend warrior automatically lights up and we’re ready to do battle against not doing our part for the good of the world. we start with an entree of positive and uplifting weaved with good vibes and at the end of the day without saying it, pat ourselves on the back and go, at least i’m not buying 40s with change. but i still like to pound because remember your roots.

by all accounts, this is the very least we (anyone) do. and it actually sucks.

nobody notices how cultic that kinda attitude really is with the way we encourage it. and we are so fucking many. with social media bringing the world together, this age is the most lonesome and okay to ever exist and while that sounds shoulder shruggable, it hits like tequila when you realize everyone you know couldn’t care any less about the world because nobody else is, like, really caring about it either. so, there’s a collapse and post-apocalyptic tv shows is basically how we survive by giving up our right to talk about how depressed and sad we actually are, the tv shows share that same rule of thumb. ironically, everyone we know is practically ready to survive the end of the world we have all our youtube training and critically analized episodes logged. we’re ready! fight me, helen!

so that’s it. the biblical apocalypse is here, but we’d rather text than call and prefer to try anal with our sanchos.

i think about the girl that got away to survive. she belongs to me and there’s no love out there more gay than this one i’ve got. luckily, i got no one left to talk about this with, so i’m off to war, nobody’s picking me up and there’s no one to go home to. –the coolest romantic last words from the greatest man left. (echoes aged)