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Showing posts from March, 2010

Secret to life

The secret to life?
You have to want to fuck yourself.
I mean make love to yourself.
You have to look in the mirror and say
"Yes. I am fuckable. Yes I would fuck me."

You have to believe it though. You can't just say it.

And once you really do want to fuck yourself,
Walk out the door and strut, mamas and papas, strut.

And remember, just because you haven't had a fuck in a while
Doesn't mean you're not one hell of a lay.

Eat it Oprah.

The Grand Bikini Parade

Ever since its conception,
sometime last night and this morning,
This idea has been begging to become
a Reality.

Parades. Everybody likes that.
Bikinis. Those are pretty sweet.
Bikini and Parade?
Bikini Parade?

Absolutely. I want you all to spread the word.
It's going to be out of this world. And sometime late april/early may.
Bring your friends
Your sister
Your sister's friends
Your brother and his friends
Your cousin
Your mom
Your paraplegic grandmother.
Spread the word like butter baby,
It's going to be the best parade College Park has ever seen.

You must wear a bikini. Only requirement.
( Does anyone have a megaphone I can borrow?)

Once I figure it out 100% ( I'm at 75 % right now)
I'm giving it facebook life. Oh it's on.

The Suicide: A Play About Suicide

A girl (G)
Her Mother (M)
Her Father (F)
Her Friend (FR)
Her Lover (L)
Her Roommate (R)

( Hospital room blinding white. Several moments of silence. The girl is in bed and the rest of the cast is around her, waiting. She wakes up. It takes her a minute to register her current situation. Bandages are on her wrists. )

G: Oh no...not this again.
M: Oh no?!
F: Whaddaya..
M: OH NO?!
G: (to herself) Jesus, you let me down again you son of a bitch...
F: Calm down sweetheart, she just woke-
M: Did you just
G: I did.
M: You're alive. Breathing. ALIVE. You could have died.
G: (shocked) I could have WHAT?!
M: DIED! The paramedics said that if-
F: Your mom, you know...she was sobbing the whole way here. Sobbing. Loudly. Really loudly. I had to listen to her sobbing. Loudly. You know how loud she was sobbing?
G: Was it...loudly?
F: (firmly)YES. Doesn't that mean anything to you?
G: Well it wouldn't have, if you had let me do what I intended.
F: Doesn't it mean something now?
M: Oh n…

Levels of Awareness in a Pool of Shit

Life is essentially,
a swimming hole
overflowing with
the most repugnant
of fecal matters.

Now some people are fine with it
as long as they keep believing it's water
and you keep telling them it's water,
they'll keep swimming, happy little shit clams.

Some people might notice the smell and
question the validity of their shitwater,
but for the most part they get used to it
and it doesn't seem like a normal day
without that hot and heavy stench of utter Shit.

And then, the lucky few,
realize what it is they swim in,
want to get out and wash off,
They wash off and they get cold
They jump right back in
Then they turn to their neighbor and they say:
" Oh my goodness, How did I get into such deep shit?"

And these are the levels of awareness.

Oh come on IN,
the water feels great.

Fake Problems

My problems are not problems.
Nothing more than a reaction
to the boredom that follows from moderate luxury.

They aren't really caused by anything
They're just there for me to entertain

My disposition is problematic.
So I'll blame my disposition instead
of the system that wants to dispose of it.

Now when I have REAL problems,
That's going to be a shitshow.
Get a good seat.

The Thing About Drugs

The thing about drugs is that
they don't give you anything
you didn't have before

And self-medication isn't for everyone
You won't find happiness there
But you'll forget why you were upset

The next day isn't going to be any better;
But sometimes you have to.
That's what you'll end up saying anyway.


Percy always make me sentimental
(see posts below..b-low)
And kind of sick also.

I woke up at 7 am
Threw up before 8
Got high around 9
Passed out by 10

Now here I am,
fresh as a DAISY

The Truth is, I hate Dolphins

Yes. It's true.
I hate dolphins.
And let me tell you why.

Dolphins are manipulative animals.
They are as smart as stupid girls who are pretty
And who have large breasts so naturally, like dolphins,
They will manipulate.

They are too smart and too well liked.
You know dolphins are fucked up.

They get jealous you know. Of their own kids.
Look it up. I saw it in a newspaper once.

A cat now, a cat is adorable.
But not so smart. Smart
But not so smart as an adorable dolphin.

I get it. I get it.

I don't like it. I don't like dolphins.

And if you like dolphins,
Well..I don't know what I'm going to think of you.

It's not that I want to kill all the dolphins,
It's just that dolphin tracksuits are all the rage.

The only thing I stand by in life,
Is my all consuming hate for dolphins.
All of them. Every last dolphin that ever swam.

Flip off Flipper.

The Crackhead pheromone

No matter how nice the day
Or how un-crackhead I look
Out of alllll the people
Crackheads feel the most
comfortable asking me
for something.

Maybe it's the cigarettes
Apparently, crackheads
and I are the only people
that smoke cigarettes anymore

Although i don't pull out
the filter and then lay
out in the grass with
a scarf over one eye

But other than that
It's nice to know
That crackheads
and I share a
kindred spirit.

We both watched the kites

Then I assume he went to smoke crack

And I went about my merry way.

Advice People Give Me

One of my very good friends,
He lives five minutes away from me.

You know, I go over to his place
We get high and we talk about life.

He gives me advice sometimes
when he's really fucked up on Boy.

The last piece of advice he gave me:
" You should get a guy to lick your asshole. Bitches love that."

Percy Comes to Visit.

Percy comes to visit
Every now and again
Ravaging my body
Calming my anxiety
Oblivious and happy
Capricious whims to call on him
Eventually I give in to
Tender blue dust.

( Read it vertically)

Reward for the Pervos

Hey I appreciate that I'm still getting readers
even though I can't post any erotic photographs
of myself until I get my camera working again
or a generous gay photographer wants to collabo...
So here you are:

Nothing quite like a titty fuck eh Big Tits?

A very short play about Annie

( Q is sitting next to A outside in a cafe. Q is listening to music and A is reading a women's magazine)
Q: You know, I don't know why he keeps asking if Annie is okay. She is clearly not okay.
A: What?
Q: Annie. She's not okay. But he keeps asking her if she is. I doubt she's even alive at this point.
( A looks confused and bordering the line of upset)
Q: That's what he's singing. In the song.
A: Who?
Q: Michael Jackson.
A: Yes! Yes, he keeps asking if she's okay. But she's bleeding and apparently she's been struck by-
Q: A smooth criminal.
A: Exactly.
Q: Why does he keep asking if she's okay?
A: Denial?
Q: Probably denial. That makes sense.
A: He was probably denying her death.
Q: He probably came home and he didn't know what to do.
A: He was shocked.
Q: He couldn't believe that she had been struck...
A: By a smooth criminal.
Q: What's your name?
A: Annie.


Giving a handjob
is a little like giving someone
a coupon for a coupon.

A nice but pointless gesture.

Be a woman,
use your mouth.

A note.

Couldn't you just
write me a note
one of these days?

One that says,
I Like You
Very Much

I would really like that.

But not out of pity,
you understand
Pity isn't anything
but sympathetic mocking

Pity isn't anything

Godliness is Literary

What can words do for you?
Oh I don't know. Not very much I suppose.

Now what can words do for me?
Why they give me the freedom to create and destroy
without any moral reprecussions of any sort.

Watch then:
Greta was born rich. She died rich too.

Tom was stabbed in the eye. He bled in the ICU. Now he lives like a corpse.

Lisa is addicted to ordering things from her TV. She lives in a box spitting giberish.

Karen called Kevin's girlfriend a cunt. Her broken jaw gives her distinction.

Jim lived in a small town. He started writing music. He started making money. Now he lives on an island with a pretty island girl.

Wendy didn't know better so she woke up one morning in a ward for other Wendys.

You see?
It's very satisfying.

For Levinson

The aesthetics of Malcolm Budd's intersubjectivity of validity in aesthetic judgements:

Malcolm Budd writes in a way that makes me experience a clusterfuck of dickery
at every dense and overly complicated sentence that pollutes the page
taking something that could be explained with light agility
and turning it into a swamp of dickish tricks.

I do not enjoy actively engaging in Budd.
I am a pretty apt perceiver of writing. At this point in my life...I'd hope I would be.

I am a pretty apt perceiver of dick. Again...

So I infer, that Malcolm Budd is compensating for his Junior Budd.
The low order properties of his writing amount to the higher order properties of his sexual aesthetic experience
Well these low order properties are so damn dickish that I imagine that Budd's dick is small.
Because you'd have to be if you write so dickishly; it manifests from the lack of physical dick.

Malcolm Budd then, would not be a valuable aesthetic experience.
It would not be worthwhile to experie…

Taking Joy in Others

I'd rather not resent people who are in love with each other. If I am denied the luxury of pleasure, then I should like to take pleasure
in the joy of others, rather than wait for their misery to coat my throat sweetly.

Jealousy will only draw your mouth thin over your gnashing teeth
and no body will want to kiss it dear;
no body wants to kiss a mean mouth.

But people are half empty plastic cups,
filling themselves with different disasters so they
can fortify their own brittle shelters.

I wonder what it's like to die
minutes after you realize
that you've lived a life
of hate and envy
painting aphrodite
a harlequin because
you couldn't face
your own gnarled reflection.

Feedback: Am I vague enough?

Hello audience!
I'm speaking to you not as a writer, but as a person who happens to write for now.

Am I effectively vague?
Do you know who I'm talking about when I say I'm quite fond of them?

Unless you have the luxury of being privy to my emotions ( and most of you don't )
you should be unaware of who I am referring to, specifically, in my self-indulgent poetry.

I know exactly who I'm talking about
I just don't want him to know who he is
if he's reading at all ( highly doubtful )
unless he wants it to be him you see...

And no, I'm not going to tell him.
That would just be stupid...

Brooklyn Boy

I remember a Boy from Brookyln;
He was my first delusion.

Since our nights of arbitrary conversation,
The Years have thrown themselves away

How lovely and young my girlish heart;
How heavy it beat at the thought

But it was an illusion that I had
not realized; it was boredom
that manifested into emotion

The last time we exchanged words
He was drunk and I had wrapped
myself in a blanket of benzos

I suppose that I was a mere triumph of ego
(this reduction is a common one)
I was marred by naivete.

I think of times with him
Before the sun becomes
a furious heat

what love I had
left me lonely long ago

Earl Grey and Honey

The only man I'll ever marry
is Earl Grey simply because
I know he would taste delicious
on the tip of my tongue

There's only one man I want to make happy
I hope he lets me. If you only knew how often
I thought of your smile, honey...
(I simply can't wait to see you again.)

An excerpt from the romance novel I would probably write

Chapter 3

Mindy was tired of her husband. He was always at the firm. And when he was home, he was hardly ever firm. At 25, this was not the sort of life she had envisioned as a trophy wife. She wanted romance AND money. She had money but without romance, Mindy just didn't know what to do with herself.

So when Horatio started cleaning the pool, Mindy felt something start in her heart. Heart? I meant vagina. I meant she felt something tingle in her vagina. These are the things that women feel. She would watch, with hungry eyes and a bucket of fried chicken, as Horatio glistened in the hot son, his Latino Jerry Curl catching the light and reflecting Mindy's lust which then reflected off her greased fingers and into her heart.
My God, Mindy thought, I must have him. He might be gay; but he might not be. And Mindy had to find out.

Little thoughts.

I do hope I've been on your mind
As much as you've been on mine.

It's only fair you know.

But I suppose it would be just as fair if
you didn't think of me at all.

For all those that I don't think of.

So you see, I don't know what to expect.

I was yours then; I still am.

I wish I wasn't too proud to beg.

Away with Dogmas

People prefer to solicite dogmas for security.

And why shouldn't they? Bound by
the simplicity of opposites, you can
base your efforts in supporting your
truths rather than wondering if they
even exist.

The truth is a matter of opinion.
People tend to hold their perceptions
of the world to be true, because it's
all someone can hope to have.

But then perceptions differ.
And conflicts begin to simmer
between two truths. Nuances
are called upon to fight for a
good war for the good people.

Because if you choose to
see it in black and white
you can only have two choices.
Once you've chosen, you must justify.
You reason, little being, you justify
to live the little life you live.

Should your justification come
under the attack by a contrast
You will not accept anything but
the truth; it is true because you believe it.
And pride...oh strange pride simply won't allow you to
admit defeat in the face of a lie.

But if you acknowledge
the different scales of
gray you'll realize it's
all a matte…


You, my dear, are an inconsiderate
dull and stupid little brat.
Tolerated out of pity,
You are a bitch who
hasn't been properly trained.

Should you have been blessed
with the beauty of Aphrodite
your poor character might
be justified but as beauty
becomes a Goddess, ugliness
graces the mean lines of
your spoiled face.

If attention
were heroin, I'd
call you a junkie
But you are more
fascinating to yourself
than anyone else, rest assured

Abusing the good
intentions of
those unfortunate
enough to bear
your presence; you
take advantage
of courtesy so
that you might
perpetuate your
childish nonsense

And one day, my dear,
you won't be tolerated any longer
and you'll push him in the bar
you'll push a little too far; perhaps
having your jaw wired shut
is the only way to shut you up.

You are an insult to women.
You will never learn; you will never live
a real life but you'll die like the rest of us.

The Beatles

I try to refrain from imposing upon myself the dull weight of dogmas,
especially in regards to the arts.

Perception really is the only means of interpreting truth we have and it does seem a little silly to think that there is one coherent and objective truth that we could subjectively understand.

Except for this one:
The Beatles are the greatest band in the world.

Even if you don't like them; acknolwedge that they are the best band in the world.

Maybe not the best indivudal musicians; but the best band in the world.

Wings...maybe not so much.

A Grand Adventure

will you remember?
Oh I don't know.

I suppose I will
if you won't.

But if you don't
then I won't
be pressing
you for any details.

Are you humoring me?
You might be.

But if you are
I'll still be pretty
regardless of your

I'd rather you not forget,

you see i think it
would be a shame
to waste an opportunity
to have a grand adventure

So I'll wait to see if
the expiration date
accompanies me
without you

Holy Ghost

Forget the rest;
I am your holy ghost

Watch me while I float
high above all the dull
footsteps lulling concrete

Silent in the light
I will listen to you
wail inside
yourself while
I moan softly
by your broken side

You will think
it was the wind
whispering things

Pothead: Realtalk.

Would you like to know what I do?

I smoke joints. Oh goodness.
How many joints have I smoked.
I just smoked a joint now.

Just about any given moment,
I could be smoking a joint.
I could be rolling a joint
I could have just finished
smoking a fat joint.

I love smoking white boys.
I fux with white boys.

A lot of people smoke joints.
Some of that lot won't admit it.

But a lot of people smoke a lot of joints.
It's like a very disorganized and forgetful club.

But we always remember to smoke a joint.

An arbitrary monologue for something vague I may write sometime.

Because I'm used to my mind.

This isn't a walk to the park.

It's just a walk to school.

If only people could know what it's like

to maintain the delicacy of a romantic

fantasy while obliging objective repetitive

things that most people do so that they

can claim they had a life once, before

their consciousness decide whether

or not they've done a good job

I have to know what it's like

for you all too. To find out what it's like for me

In a way. If I have different hues of the same

character as well as a dazzling arrangement

of personalities to choose from,

I can specify my own variation and combination,

like a peacock with a sugar daddy,

and arrange myself as a dazzling pattern in

the sheer gauze of social reality.

Because I've looked underneath.

And I don't want you to see what

skims the edge of optimism

Not because you shouldn't know, no.

It's because I don't want you to experience

what that know. I'd rather have

you laugh and delight in wit so …

No more pictures for a while...Sorry

My computer had a bit of an issue

Thankfully one of my very good friends

managed to save it.

However my camera won't be working for a minute.

In fact all my pictures are gone.

So I apologize, but the best you can hope for are some scanned sketches of the sad nudes I draw all the oblidi oblida day.

And I guess...some full frontal shots of lesbian porn...

Forgive me. I haven't slept. I have been functioning at the level of a 12 year old girl ( versus 14 year old boy) all day long and the night doesn't seem to come bearing good news for my skewed perceptions.

Sleep Pretty Darling

It seems I have dreamt today

without docking at the

shores of sleep

Well I've decided;

I will pay no mind

to anything but dead

lyrics and half-lives.

If only Golden Slumber

would fill my eyes...

I should hate to

be so vested and

restless while poetry

lives my life for me

I would sing to you,

Sleep Pretty Darling,

Do Not Cry.

You aren't listening;

But still I sing a lullaby.

Ode to My Mother

In faith, 
You sacrificed your life
to create another

Brilliance that shone,
covered you in gold, 
defied the deeds of
pithy jealousy 

You've lived a life
Only few can dream of
You've lived the life
of a Heroine 

An exquisite miracle that lives

among books and teacups 
Quietly discovering what
philosophers cannot understand

To call you my mother 
is more than a blessing;
It is a spectacular honor.

Gloomy Sunday ( last call retracted )

I can't help myself;
I can't tell you 
Because I'm
so terribly afraid
that I will impose
upon you the sad
love that you 
may not want
to impose on me

I wish I could call
But I don't want to bother you
I wish you would call me
But you don't even know
I'm still in love with you.

Please tell me if you do.

Lucid Dreams

Early on this morning,
Before I had a chance
to regain my revelation
in whimsical daydreams,

I watched the sun rise
I watched it bleed into
a grey winter sky
that was settling
itself in the glory
of morning blue

I have defeated myself;
In my victory, 
I will revel in life
So that I might 
craft a self that
lives forever
that dances
through the
consciousness of future
strangers who want
to bring me back
to a waking life.