Author Archives: hughmanfarm

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well

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)

 

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squial

certainty in my next moments guided by, let’s say acquainted, yokers egging me on with just enough encouragement to warrant my inattentive interest in vociferating my disinterest in their actual throttling of my reaction time. as i murderously pause and beat on as this wing. beautiful, he said once to justify a horror that had befell him, though it should be noted at that time he was overcome with this state of wellness and internal gratitude for silliness and not survival exactly, but having to have endured a such and resulting at that declarative moment of import also taking him yet another step further with ‘something happened, didn’t it? of course it did.’

another pilot, and half my words ripped from me last time. and then i withered in near all my branches, and could only be present, drooling those attempts like a flickering torchlight into the night. having to wake up tomorrow, became a phrase that meant on those special nights where i’m absolutely dependable to be absolutely of no help, tremble and thoughts tear through comfort and consolation, and the floor sinks along with my pessimism stapled with my rationalization of timely logistical possibilities. where i jeer now at myself i do with knuckles in commemoration to the courtesies of like kind have indeed underlined nice, gentle, funny, responsive, dependable, have left me defenseless in a place i’m unfamiliar with. my strengths. my steeling of inner charisma, and self-awareness pocked by layers of makeshift joy mutated and set loose back upon me.

i’ll imagine i’m still talking as me. conscience is irrelevent, there is a limit, as i used to joke about, but growth is noticed, and i remember those. I spent all my time losing everything one at a time. even actual goodbyes were just a balloon until the departures grew like weeds and i don’t even noticed who specfically is missing. clung on with poetic poos of cheerleading progress, but the poetry, the relative process of rationalization, and justified merely by ‘something happened, didn’t it? of course it did.’

[that was a nice little vent, of course this little stunt has stunted the confidence spike we had in you and are immediately taking precautions as a staple with our usual cautions. ran outta fumes, i think. it’s like i’ve given into the darkness and it somehow counts as an opening. this is cold.

like we’re all holding hands and really trying to accomplish getting this here situation to. like a button. the rage calm, intent reflective, introspective.

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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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