when women start asking guys out.

turn his triumphant skills and trades honed
from years spent in the tibetan alps
under biting frost skies and hot days
where the sun just says, “yeah i know, what am gonna do? go over there?”
a short pause for show.
and some dickhead just wasted time talking
to some imaginary thing.
and old enemy of mine
from a hate i didn’t know of
bullshit hit’s me like a carved arrow
from days i joked about, “how are you.”
i know, it’s mean to pretend shit that didn’t happen
but i say the same thing all the time
for penance. I got better at tricking others to fill in for me
enemy enemy, i am jealous enemies have someone thinking
of them. friends friends, hope you’re all fucked well
alas the longest punchline hit the dick into cumming
at will or anything, “please no, i’m shy…”
at least 4 or 5 inflections incorrectly follow me,
just to punk the things i used to care to help.
when i pretend the things i used to do free when i was hanging
i snap my neck and jerk like, the heavens say, “are you fucking still at it?!”
a special kind of stupid, hardens red hot, and then walks away like
whaaaaaat? is that red? am i pissed? no, i’m just melting my bolts of understanding

no pat on the back comes to how long you imagined yourself sitting there
with this invisible air of accomplishment and grace and mercy and furry goodness
waiting to be inhaled and planted in a legally binding lock of fictional gasp of comedic lore. but that’s just a long way to say, “oh who fucking cares, hurredly.” said victims throwing themselves in front of a… wrath? i guess, to inspire, “remember who you are!!” to pop up in your mind as a decoy. i must do battle with the same shit and watch the whole of noeffingway, he still giving a shit. that shits, turning.

 

 

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the joker, the thief, and the kite. (rat girl?!)

that morning i ate a whole box of expired Pocky cookie biscuits and had the runs like never before. i also made ramen noodles for breakfast mixed with some left over chili weeks old. i don’t remember what day it was but i remember the expiration date on the pocky saying november 22, 2016, so it was really expired. it was strawberry flavored too so i think it was a rare box of Pocky. And just my luck, i still have a few boxes left of expired cookie sticks. (*noteFL*Talked to a little girl today about momentum, physics, bridges, training wheels, and Wendy’s.)

SO SO SO SO SO!!!!!!! I made a magic pancho. in high school, i used to wear a dark red pancho around. and i mean i completely pulled it off too because it was around the time i started getting into the strokes, and thrift store shopping for old weird clothes, and i was really into the drama club. My mom was a seamstress so i know how to hem a cut. anyway, i also made a sleeveless hoodie with a buckle instead of strings to tighten up the hood. but sleeveless because i forgot to put them back on. it looked like a ninja get up. Oh! the pancho! right! so I sewed a piece of fabric together in a way that made the pancho always look as though it was waving in the wind all mysteriously. It was a short pancho that barely went past my forearms, kinda like the top part of Vincent Valentine’s scarf. of course i didn’t wear a full cape! my shadow is my cape. my pancho was fashionably awesome because scarves are gay. it was light so i could wear it year round, hiding my beers beneath as i walked to my next class like it ain’t a big deal, and a hidden pouch sewn-in to hide my smokes.

Anyhow, strawberry pocky, ancient egypt, chili soup, ninja hoods, and being ahead of time.

Where my old non-sequitor ramblings used to just be funny cause it was so random, I say them like I’m throwing targets in the air just to slingshot this phrase, “don’t worry, it’ll all make sense.” But young man, your reach should not exceed your grasp, tsk tsk tsk. FUCK THAT. think and take a tall toke of fresh air because the times are tolling all the time, and back when they said …the time is now, they didn’t know what they were talking about. Fuck that self help, carpe diem horseshit too and i saw that solemnly because why is no one wondering why they’re depressed about not being depressed enough. Hey, i gotta be as depressed as this one guy i know just so we can relate and be less alone somehow. (holy crap, that was the most sarcastic thing i’ve ever written. expired pocky graspberries.)

i can’t keep a 40 hour work week. i can’t pay off this rented car. gas. i got gas. i watch way more t.v. than i’m leading everyone else to believe. …and at the end of the day is still a phrase that haunts us all and charges us with yesterday’s expectations. i might sound snobby, but what’s the point in adulting in a world where the average nobody is the most important person within us all. (you should write about self identity, i think. Shit, so, these parantheticools are actually how my other other split personality chimes in… and they’re excited about using italics. oops, fecked up your paragraph, and lost the audience…. or did we….??)  Our mark we leave, our digital footprint will say how much we didn’t get to figure out on our journeys of self discovery. Where the past once hinted wisdom through tilting one’s perspective to hop a hurdle, the children meowadays only look to see how many views were hit. (the time is meow… seriously!? I take all my jokes seriously.) and onto the next thing, like how this paragraph is just ADHD hard-on. best believe sucka. *mic drop. (michael drop. You’re not the archangel. I dunno, he doesn’t wear underwear, he goes commando. thou needst not a flaming sword of justice!! thy art a smooth talking wordsmith that speaketh cuts not of double edged collateral damnagery, but concise, like the swords edges cutting inward. Like, kindofeth a pair of scissors. ……hm. but even the wisest of old fools know when to put away the crooked smiles and similies.)

The only thing missing from old fairytales, and myths and legends, and folkstories and end of the world stuff isn’t a thing. it’s a character. The comic relief person is always missing in the stories… my silliness and vagueries were to protect and guard against sad shit. if i didn’t make an ass of myself all the time, the next person would be crying. i am just a humble servant.

(&Þ the first word, was a pun.. ..sorta.) shoot! i forgot to talk about my new pancho! parent it! fuck! (it’s deep maroon and green layers like if robinhood saved red ridinghood! lil’ red robinhood. plus!! he kinda broke physics a little when he was pinning it together, so he kinda fell back into a different part of his timeline, and is confusing the big cheeses. the rushing shushing of the kitchen sink! wait a second! they took that! whoops, next one over.)

flow less than three rivers.

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simple question whitled me down into a thing of no renoun to hold up, of subtance wet and foundations unsettled. man or mouse? if i whisper softly to a bush outside my window will a slightly louder whisper reach the empty street with an occasional car or two that says “you still matter,” pulling up to the old optional stop sign.

i held a fist when i thought about myself being my own worse enemy as a courtesy. then i tried not at all to remember what it was like to be lost in a thought and how many hands it took to hide me with curtains against myself. the hands fell away like swift wind dissing the blow away of a cigarette some lost toke ago and the curtains said yes and know but yes with a full chord you might not ever know. last minute descisions felt unreasonable for a man of my stature, only to awe in disbelief that the first part of that sentence escape any crevace of my opine of mineself at all.

like a kindergarten classroom i spoke to the children of the future, as identity slipped in and out of glassy hands unheld but firm like somebody swore it at a time sensitive to swears ever mattering. i felt a head change and a spell cast dizzy, and remembered when i tried to be a white man, with eyes a tiny bit heavier. i became a white thing that had no color to shake, and an old heater, upheld by old heights and a handshake old guys used to give you advice on an impression you should leave. i pissed my guards and my shields and walls away, like a liar. they just look like a little bit further to something dealt i will near. mystery has as many syllables as an old exaggeration of finer childhood fiction. shh, a triumphant decree dangles somewhere. and “uhhh….” was the best first words sometimes. change to something minor, like how close the children ran with his scripted words an old writer would have held with both hands once sometime ago.

i feel the vultures swoop and say, uh huh. uh huh. and so on.

“a split second in the middle, once” took me a spell. now a second waited is just empty air being filled in.

 

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JLH

jenifer love hewitt, i’m coming to save you for some reason. it started out as a kind of a joke, but got snowballed into this whole thing where your name is my name too. ALSO, i gotta save neve campbell, so if you see her, tell her to hold on, i’ll stop the evil clones.

remember party of five? what the fuck was that?

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, from another time

The perils of falling through a premature interdimensional wormhole that paralleled the imminent emerging dangers that would to befall soon. In a place like a sandbox world, where dreams pass by nightmares and the natural processes of daily life spill trickling through morning dewdrops on the greenest leaves, blue soothing sky, and a moon made layer of soft sorrows, upheld tomorrows, and a couple of missing nuts. Little nothing noted knots narrowing his spine where he hadn’t noticed before. Gashes, smashes and holey scars were like the branches and trunk. Not a thing of sea nor sun nor space hushed in between, ‘just a little left behind’ from somehow else, some son of a clock.

Where my steps are heavy like they pull heavy chains and my very thoughts of joy or her fairer tales may bring a soft, ‘hello,’ -they are swatted down like southern-west birds. It cawed with a whistle in memory and in thought eschewed. Wriggled bound this or that when this black wind mooned over this morning.

my death was a wail (moby dick ref.)
my life was a choke
my coming was my wife
low and idle hanged
in a knuckle eye rung
quickened trim, rolling dung
of pinky’s fanciful funk
shavey bushes gaudy, germ
slingshot eris’ 1/3 cherub
lockets’ ends eerie wank
for they are hardt, xoxo, ❤
wanted to laugh like mom today, she was making something. made me feel simply mad that i’d gone on this long, without a point.
i go, my goal, you’ll go, and i’ll go, so go,….. nggo,,.:.:^!#%

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corhs l’na

boundaries and a load
ed grenade launcher
blanks, tiny little globes
spring ejection
tiny fuse, decoy
tamed
tame
saw in slow motion
the quiet of my rage
momentum thrown with better thoughts
ones noted
ones afleet
ones that go anywhere else
drowns when sprinkling

that silent hushing
to say nothing of it, for hitting all the worser
thoughts, before i start to jog
then, count my change
to! for! AND! er, or!

push through short straws
libations. cause expecting someone
at the end.
figures

toodle-loo

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circumvent brakecrimp
plutonium pisto
gat o poke
spanky edge feelings to more turbate

no idea what the note says,
don’t know my ‘f’s in cursive
knotted typos mispels
timid not shy, oOoOOooh shiny,
timid charge up madlibs
shy, barely, rile
presssure
breathe of water inf.

springs wonders of a fountain
olive trees cold pressed extra virgin oil
oilspills drift volcanic ash and lavalands rise
clearwater springs,

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