Author Archives: hughmanfarm

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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.


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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.

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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.”

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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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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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