Unhealthy.

I don’t want to describe any hurt feelings,
Or rake the coals over for any lost meanings,
I have no desire to dissect everything,
Or get to the bottom of your horrid mood swings,
There’s no use in spending a shred more on you,
This wide open freedom was long overdue,
Your venomous essence and landscape of doom,
Your sour-puss presence that swallows a room,
I feel many stones lighter since going my way,
That shadowy darkness is drifting away,
After over a year’s worth of character play,
Now I can focus on myself everyday,
I’m tired and weary of vampires like you,
Who do what you like and like what you do,
Getting over on anyone you can spit your lies to,
And you’ve got a chip on both shoulders, to boot,
The effect of seeing true colors at last,
Has been to make me question our collective past,
That pedestal crumbled and dumped you on your ass,
The truth has set me free to get far away, and fast;
And I know damned well that you’ll lie to yourself,
About the unfairness of the hand you’ve been dealt,
To transfer all blame is a game you can’t seem to help,
I finally comprehend how bad you’ve been for my health.

Fool The World.

Who do you think you are?
…to tell me anything of my success (or lack thereof) in climbing out of my own very personal Hell to face the world on my own two feet, without the shelter of duplicity; when that girl you used to think you knew has been dead and buried for 27 cold months, without your having the slightest clue of that fact…like you’ve been here…ever…like you can even begin to count my sorrows on your ten arthritic fingers…like you can even begin to fathom the hem of my garment…like you can ever say that you “know” me or anything that I am or am not. Who do think you are to pass your own pompously final judgment on what kind of thing I can or cannot be? Who the fuck are you to render me unworthy of walking in your park? Who do you think you are to attempt to make me feel “loved” and “appreciated” by sending me boxes full of my sledgehammered heart’s dusty remains…with a grenade pin at the very bottom. Who do you think you are to poke my unhealed wounds? Do you think you are something special now, after all is finally said, and, I unquestionably know how little I ever meant to both air holes on either side of your neck, despite the sweet nothings blowing out of each one? Who do you think you are to tell me that I’ve won…won at a game that I never wanted to play…that I’ve won, when it feels like sheer nothingness…
Your meager attempts at life have always earned you too much of a harvest with little effort put forth…so self-absorbed and incompetent at being the things you try so hard to portray…
But that’s all you are…is a portrayal on screen.
You’re image is grainy and you’re faded beyond recognition, you always were.


Really, who do you think you are?…to burrow yourself into my soils and explode like nuclear fission beneath the roots of my stunted trees? You hold no sway over me, you can’t hold the tethers that string to my blackened, squelching heart…you can’t hold the tethers that string to that cavernous pit in your own chest where a heart should be…who do you think you are, anyway…to surprise me with such a heinous and poisonous truth behind your essence…to release the toxic particulate of your explosive insecurities into my atmosphere…raining down your ice cold rivulets of self-loathing from the skies above my fugue. Who you are to the rest of world, the world you try so tirelessly to fool, the one all around you – you are what you are…but just who do you think that broken thing is? You ooze brokenness…despite your self exonerating conceit…
I know who you think you are…and let me tell you that it actually coincides with who I once thought you were, the similarities are uncanny…but the lights go out over the memory of all that. The lights go out behind the curtains of your fucking languish…and evermore, phantoms of your gains and losses will trickle through your simple brain and leave a stain across your nose. You clean up nicely though, and need not worry about the soul you’ve sold to fool the world.

Yeah yeah yeah.

So when I used to have this horribly monsterous and abusive husband, one of the things most strongly engrained in my memory about that period of my life is how I was accused of things constantly; things that never even crossed my mind, much less actually represented reality.
I vividly recall waking up one night from a dead sleep in my bed to his hands around my throat being choked nearly to death because he truly believed that I had been flashing signals and signs out the window to a car that kept driving back-and-forth up-and-down our street in the middle of the night. The reality behind this was that I had no clue who that person in that car was; and, definitely had not been flashing signals and/or signs to them from my window; I had been out cold with a sinus infection.
My recollections of that period in my life are full of such instances; times when I had absolutely no control or involvement in the things that I was paying the most brutal consequences for. The helplessness that defined my life during those years was immense; so immense, that it’s still with me to some extent, even today.
My most recent attempt at a meaningful and worthwhile relationship has failed at last.

This has been partially due to certain lingering effects of my own residual trauma i.e. the inability I continue to harbor reagarding trust and commitment, its true.
But the main cause behind the most recent going down in flames I’ve actually come to recognize and acknowledge for what it has turned out to be:
My natural response to the helplessness put forth as a result of repeatedly being accused of things I haven’t done.
I have come too far to fall back down into such a miserable situation in which my own true identity has been marred by the paranoid and insecure notions of the other person in the relationship.

That is not a relationship. And that is not healthy. I’m striving for healthy and have realized that the thing I’ve come to comfortably call “my relationship” was (from the beginning) the opposite of what I’ve been seeking out.

Inward and upward, though.

It’s a new year.

Staggering.

Goodbyes that are perpetual,
The lies that are eventual,
Replies ringing contextual,
Both my hands hang at my sides;


Strive to covtrive the beautiful,
Survive and defy the refutable,
Alive in what’s wise and meaningful,
There’s a flaw in my design;


The fling flung at the unbearable,
A thing that’s become something terrible,
A string strung from me to the pedestal,
Emptiness clouds my mind;


Regret will pervade the unmemorable,
Dissent describes the unfavorable,
Neglect persuades the inevitable,
I can’t claim to wonder why;


Moments unraveled into landmines,
Torment travels through real time,
Encroachments that sting all my blood line,
So staggeringly ill-defined;


This face, tattooed by suffering,
Disgrace has a presence that’s smothering,
Replace the sheer essence of everything,
Recovery’s not always kind.

If Only It Hurt To Be An Asshole.

So…I am plagued right now by several people in my life who seem to think that I am an idiot. I may not always say things in the moment, when someone is attempting to play me like a slot machine, I may not always even realize it at that point in time, but I will realize it. Trust that much. I can’t stand it when people are unable to own their own bullshit in life; much less when said people insist on trying to shift any blame or responsibility over such bullshit onto others when they get called on it.

I have my own bullshit and my own problems. I have my own issues to work on without other people constantly trying to force feed me the workload of their bullshit as well. People just don’t seem to comprehend how fucking stupid they look when they do this, as if I can’t do the math and see what they are doing, or trying to do. Do other people not see how low that takes them by behaving like a 2 year old? Do other people actually think that these pathetic and constant attempts at deflecting the TRUTH will somehow carry them through life? Without losing everyone who might have really cared about them?

It would just be really nice if other people could own their shit, even once in a while. It’s really old being mostly surrounded by people who always want to shift blame and try to make me accountable for shit that has NOTHING to do with me. If only it hurt to be an asshole, maybe people would find a way to check themselves.

Walk, Talk and Breathe.

Friends that refuse to respect of me,
the smallest of ways that I ask to be,
excused from their own stupidity,
yet – they choose to abuse,
and they find these things funny…
A family turned to the judge and jury,
no hand extended in my times of need,
the after-burn of that first, initial sting,
the day I noticed they were on an opposing team…
Others play the friendly role all too regularly,
to the point it’s obvious there’s no true identity,
behind any of the faces in the places close to me,
just life-sized puppets that walk, talk and breathe…

Grandeur.

I have been,
listening…

and hearing you…
your every cent or two,
every jerking move,
and yet you prove…
to somehow be,
totally and completely,
shocked to find…
blackened faces,
fill up the spaces,
between the lines…
Hello, big guy!
I will be fair,
I won’t deny,
through my grandeur…
what did,
indeed,

appear and seem,
to be,
a valiant try…

for your part,
at least
but, then again,
surprise!

Nonplussed…
it’s still just,
without compromise,
and really shouldn’t be,
such a novel thing,
that I’m not listening,
after so much,
of the go and touch…
the itchy sting,
ear-ringing,

fucking redundancy…
see the burning,
behind my eyes,
see the hatred,
memorized…

please just let me be.
As, so it goes that,
eyes like mine,
chiseled by,
the passing time…

are not destined to see.

Staggering Cruelty.

Yesterday, I was called “so cruel” as to be “staggering to the mind” of the person who chose to voice such a mean-spirited thing to me right now. I was called cruel because I carved out the next few days completely for my mom; so that I will not have to worry about juggling or racing around to fulfill commitments I’ve made to anybody besides my mom. Upon being called cruel in this context yesterday, I realized something quite clearly:

If being with my mother as she lives out the end of her life equates to my own cruelty towards a single person other than her, so fucking be it. I have dread this circumstance for my entire existence, and it has finally come to meet me, to take her away forever. I may be a self-absorbed bitch for ignoring any and all of my other connections to other human beings at present, but that’s the way my crumbly cookie has fallen apart

I am 110% pre-occupied with my mom’s situation, and if that is abnormal – – – shoot me; and then, go fuck yourself real good.

You’re A Worm.

I wonder if you realize how disgusting you are for what you are doing; no need for me to go into detail…you’re fucking gross, dude.

Two things I have learned in recent history that 110% do it in terms of TOTALLY TURNING ME THE FUCK OFF:

  • Being talked to like I am an idiot.
  • Trying to be taken home by a guy (that I used to fuck, a chunk of time ago – like years) who is now sporting a 22 year old girlfriend.

Like I would EVER sleep with you again after knowing this condemning fact about you, dude?… get real. That’s like, my daughter’s age, you sick fuck…you are supposed to be a grown ass man, and I am deeply disappointed to know that you went astray down the road bordering pedophilia, it’s sordid.

I Feel Like.

I feel like “fuck everyone and everything”,

It looks like I’m stuck on dumb and done trying,

It seems like I cut and run from such a futile sting,

It plays out like a fucked up and never-ending thing;

In my mind, there’s not a line between anything,

the construct of time holds no valuable meaning,

the stopped buck weighs as much as fuzz in the breeze,

the confines of hatred wrapped inside my insanity;

I feel like never getting back up into the fight again,

looks like surgeries and screw-in teeth ain’t shit in the end,

it seems right that train tracks mark me in my patchwork skin,

it plays like the blues, telling stories of the Hell that I live in.

 

Gone.

Would you be,
any fonder of me,
if I suddenly chose,
to start listening?

Would you decide,
to more deeply confide,
the darkness behind,
your odd eccentricities?

Shall I unbind,
this heart of mine,
lay it down on your table,
where the other parts lie?

I suppose you’d prefer,
if I acted just like her:
if I loved co-dependently,
full-time, live-in “fluffer”;

If I leaned on you, heavily,
with intentions only pure?
a dead weight weighing down,
the coat-tails in your future;

Would you choose to diffuse again?
if I checked my levels of estrogen,
had my words been better chosen,
would I have someday been forgiven?

What if, instead of,
this twisted notion of “love”,
I recognized one evening,
the ill fit of your glove;

and the day soon arrives,
with my wide open eyes,
seeing things the way that I,
should’ve seen them, by and by;

all you’ll find is my trust,
blindly choking on my dust,
as you see me get smaller,
in the distance between us.

Death Throes.

Down breaks all constraint,
dull and numbed out skulls,
talking losses and gains,
in a world over-full,
of colossus domains,
consumption of souls,
with a sickening array,
pulled from pocketful’s,
from martyrs to saints,
from diamonds to coal,
the world that we’ve made,
from the crust of its core,
elements we’ve bled,
‘til they bleed no more,
which circles back again,
to the masses of numb-skulls,
blind to it and talking shit,
being swallowed in the folds,
in an ever-sinking tar-pit,
failing all across the globe,
a state of perpetual bullshit,
encoded in the frontal lobe,
a self-renewing cesspool,
that every one of us calls “home”,
there’s no blowing through it,
it’s right beneath the nose,
submerged electrical conduit,
live wires and eyes exposed,
we have each been told this,
will come to violent close,
safe to say recent world events,
are simply Her final death throes.

Mechanisms.

pes·si·mism/ˈpesəˌmizəm/noun:
a tendency to see the worst aspect of things or believe that the worst will happen; a lack of hope or confidence in the future.

(philosophy)
a belief that this world is as bad as it could be or that evil will ultimately prevail over good.


 

“Maybe if you started being more optimistic…”

If I had been given a nickel for every time someone uttered such mindless words to me, I’d undoubtedly be a very wealthy woman by now; as pessimism is not an element of my persona that has come on recently in life – it is part of who I am and how I operate. As you may have noticed, the above definitions attached to the word ‘pessimism’ are different based on the context the word is used in. There are people (like Friedrich Nietzsche or Arthur Schopenhauer) who are one type of pessimist: like political and/or economic analysts who only apply the term to a social or cultural scenario, on a much more global scale that encompasses the world in its entirety. There are also people who only apply a pessimistic outlook to their own personal experiences in life, in an individualized scenario of day to day life. This type of pessimism is a psychological coping mechanism subconsciously adapted to manage the disappointments and failures in Life. Additionally, there are those people like me, who are dual pessimists that both definitions completely apply to.

I get so fucking sick and tired of people saying to me things like:

“Why don’t you just look at life with more joy and happiness?” or

“You get back whatever you sent out into the Universe, you know?” or

“You’re never gonna feel good if you’re so busy feeling bad.”

NEWS FLASH!!!

To the people who survive under such perceptions as those that entertain the idea of pessimism as a consciously made lifestyle choice:
YOU’RE AN IDIOT. WAKE THE FUCK UP OR SHUT THE FUCK UP.
The generalization of a fucked up society and the accepted norms within its strict confines are a huge problem with this truth; as the blindly happy people of the world are all too often comfortable in labeling people like me as being “negative” or “down”. And perhaps I am, in comparison to some women my age that I know; but the purposes behind my own pessimistic attributes can be directly traced to certain repetitive things (a pattern of negative affectations and/or experience). To go a little further down, the ongoing execution of such pessimism is now hard-wired into my very personality and outlook.
Put plainly: truly pessimistic people did NOT wake up the day after losing a beauty pageant and decide to become a pessimist because of a minor bruise to the ego.
In the psychological context of a pessimist’s profile, the perpetuation of negative expectations becomes a form of self-preservation; and it also provides ongoing management of deep emotional disappointments and failures in the mind’s eye. Freud got it; and tried to explain best he could. Similar to the Pavlov’s Dog experiment, a certain physical response is the natural reaction to specifically targeted anticipation.
During my teenage years, I was all over the map and intermingled with fuck-tons of people in all kinds of various circumstances, eventually forming the general opinion that I continue to harbor about social interaction. I went to one too many movies or concerts that were ruined by the total strangers in close quarters with my person, and never having had even known they had. I live in a densely populated area where “rush hour” never ends, and if you want to get to your destination – you better be ready to force your way in. To sum it up, I have been shown time and again over my lifespan so far, how the easy majority of the people in the world are just inconsiderate fucks who don’t have a clue about anything beneath the surface areas in Life. As an empath, I am naturally a thoughtful individual; without effort or work at being so. This causes my stupid brain to expect such considerations as well in return – a very dumb thing to do. I guess the point I’d really like to make here is that when people say things such as those I have emphasized above to me, I wonder if they are purposely trying paint themselves as shallow and dense for whatever reason; or if they have cause to intentionally offer me offense. I do not like being in constant expectation of the bad things; I wish I could wake up every morning with a smile and feel like the possibilities in Life were everywhere around me, trust me.
But my own reality is not such; and never could or will be. It is statements like this that unfailingly prompt the shiny happy ‘judges’ around me to start in with the “If I were you…” bullshit.
To which, I have this to say every time:

“If you were me, then I’d be you…and I would use your body to kick the shit out of you for saying such ignorant things.”

If you are shiny and/or happy, next time you feel like vocalizing your peanut-brain opinions on things that you don’t know a fucking thing about, why not try just shutting the fuck up, instead?

Grandeur.

I have been listening
and hearing you
your every cent or two
every jerking move
and yet you prove
to somehow be
totally and completely
shocked to find
blackened faces
fill up the spaces
between the lines
Hello, big guy
I will be fair
I won’t deny
through such grandeur
what did indeed
appear and seemed
a valiant try
for your part
at least
but, then,surprise…
It’s still just me
without compromise
and shouldn’t be
such a novel thing
that I’m no Lady
after so much
of the go and touch
fucking redundancy
see the burning
behind my eyes
please just let me be
so it goes that
eyes like mine
are not destined to see.

Ten Far-Reaching Notions of Gratitude on “Thanksgiving”.

meh

  1. Today, I am grateful that I am not a Republican.
  2. I am equally as thankful for not being a Democrat.
  3. Today, I feel gratitude towards my home and hearth; however, I will add that EVERYDAY holds sentiment for me – the roof over my head is something I do not allow myself to take for granted in any context.
  4. Today, I am glad to be a pothead, and feel thankful for the plentiful reaping of many crops this year, despite the seemingly perpetual amounts of labor attached to them.
  5. Today, I am thankful to have the double-edged ability to “dissociate” and/or “detach” from emotional torment or torture, as the holidays unfailingly suck worse than any time of any year for me, this year being no exception.
  6. Tomorrow, I will go to the Sempers and chop a beautiful tree that will enrich my home and hearth with its beautiful presence for the next 35 or so days, and I love trees so I am grateful for that.
  7. Although at this particular moment in time, I feel thoroughly perplexed by BOTH of roommates, at the end of the day I am grateful for each in his own, totally unique and irreplaceable way…an element in life that is not lost in me, as I have lived with some truly horrible people in the past, so I can appreciate and be thankful for that, too.
  8. My mother was not shot by some psychopath with a gun as a clueless, neighboring bystander to a recent tragedy.
  9. My father is recovering from his near-fatal beating considerably well, despite the continued vision problems.
  10. I have my freedom to be loser fuck-up with no motivation, direction, or driving force because I am a fucking “Muuurcan” (American).

Happy No-Donner-For-Dinner Day, Y’all.

Wasteland.

I often wander out there in the graveyard,

like some spirit longing to escape from limbo,

pacing paths in the dirt between markers,

where I’ve buried too many beloved bones;

 

Every spirit belonging to every ghost,

even those bones turned to ash,

seem to grasp and reach from between,

a far-away future and most distant past;

 

the moon beams become enlightening,

through smears of the tears in my eyes,

the metallic taste of every drop of blood,

becomes a bile slowly starting to rise;

 

I wander out there through Eternity,

as the exiled daughter of some cruel God,

I wonder at heaven’s sheer insensitivity,

and at the end, can’t help but to applaud;

 

at the vastness surrounding such emptiness,

such an ice-cold touch of our creators’ hand,

the Dead have been warmed through the passing,

and the Living remain frozen in this wasteland.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death Throes.

Down break the constraints,
of numbed out skulls,
talking losses and gains,
in a world over-full,
of colossus domains,
consumption of souls,
with a sickening array,
pulled from pocketful’s,
from martyrs to saints,
from diamonds to coal,
the world that we’ve made,
from the crust of its core,
elements we’ve bled,
‘til they bleed no more,
which circles back again,
to the masses of numbskulls,
blind to it and talking shit,
being swallowed in the folds,
in an ever-sinking tar-pit,
failing all across the globe,
a state of perpetual bullshit,
encoded in the frontal lobe,
a self-renewing cesspit,
that every human undergoes,
there’s no blowing through it,
it’s right beneath the nose,
submerged electrical conduit,
live wires and lives exposed,
we have each been told this,
will come to its final close,
safe to say recent movements,
are simply our painful death throes.

Off-Stage.

How is that we…
are on again suddenly?
Because you’ve heard,
the word…
on the fucking street,
all about my baby,
of all things –
the only thing –
worth anything to me…
I find it infuriating,
that you found the time,
to slither your way,
into my fucked up day,
and presume to take,
any despair of mine…
before my now-grown,
daughter was gone,
you never cared to know,
what was going on;
and now,
that shit’s hit the fan,
you sad excuse,
for a man,
or as a “friend”,
don’t come here,
don’t pretend,
to see the situation,
and POOF!…
you suddenly care,
about what’s false,
or what might be true ,
and the traumas,
she’s running from –
and right back into,
get the fuck away,
from my overwhelming,
world of pain,
you’d never make it,
through a single day…
the shallows seep,
to water the deep,
and keep any,
reality at bay;
don’t talk to me today,
when you have,
nothing real to say,
no questions or inquiries,
of my daughter’s state…
no acting,
no faking,
get your ass off the stage.

“For No Reason”.

Recently, I have been experiencing the old feelings and fears again “for no reason”, according to “Dr. Quackenfuck”…my blood pressure has risen to the terrifyingly high level again; my chest feels as if it’s been cinched inside of a medieval vice or something; even when I’m sitting on my ass and doing nothing – I can’t catch my breath to save my Life.
I am fully aware of the need for those in any medical profession (especially psychology or the like) to resort to the use of the term “for no reason” when they are unable to conclude any other reasonable cause for a given symptom – they have been doing that to me all along because they refuse to accept the REALITY that maybe I’m just simply beyond “fixing”. What the fuck are you supposed to do when your shrink has more faith in your mental state than you do, even deep down when nobody’s looking?
Life, for me, has come once again to a crossroads apparently…one in which I’m facing a decision between sanity and none – between survival and death – between will and abandon. I harbor this strange and indescribable notion lately that I have completed certain things that were necessary to complete prior to any absence of my future presence. I know that sounds drastic and it’s not meant to; I am NOT reaching out for help during a suicidal spiral through this post, I swear. I am stating what’s what – for me as much as it can be for the entertainment of anyone reading this…
I am confused and kinda angry lately; been spitting at the Gods often and cursing their’ being…I feel very resentful and even bitter towards everything that is (or isn’t) taking place in my life. I am not whining about things not happening to my own liking, please trust me…I am NOT the type of person who goes through Life with high expectations of happiness, fulfillment or, even the simplest of comforts, for that matter; I have learned that Life can be a nasty bitch without a second thought towards my own comfort or concerns. I have learned that the only way I am going get through Life will be via the state of complacency with specific truths; and I long-ago gave up on any ideas or daydreams of someday painting my own white picket fences or chasing rainbows into the future. I am real. I am grown. I am titanium against emotional strife; it’s a familiar element of being alive that I have come to master from one day to the next. Not all of these ways are “healthy” i.e. I am a total pothead (and despite regular poetry about alcohol, don’t partake in the LEGAL vice of liquor), I am driven to be highly physically active to the point physical exhaustion as a means of juggling my anxiety-ridden thoughts and keeping them from overtaking my ENTIRE lifestyle, and of course: there’s always my unhealthy adoration for firearms of any kind (but for stress relief shooting, I do prefer a long barrel rifle).
Anyway, I detach emotionally – I withdraw socially – I become paranoid and fearful, jumpy and sketchy…I become enveloped by feelings of distrust towards everyone I know and care about – young and old. I am a fucking train wreck and my shrink refuses to believe it, somehow…he says I have “no reason” to have the wobbles again at this stage of the game…whatever the fuck that means: “this stage of the game”.
Last time I checked, this was no fucking game by any stretch of the imagination…and if he doesn’t start taking me more seriously when I tell him things so extremely difficult to share with another human being that breathes, takes notes, and can repeat words – – – I will not go see him anymore. I will find someone new to traumatize every week, instead.

Alloy-Plated.

A most precious cargo,
as simple as it may list,
alongside of faded signatures,
on scribbly packing slips;
ideas for abandoned projects,
hesitancy strewn between,
teetering almost maniacally,
strung up by unfinished things;
washed out again,
bleeding out,
in a lion’s den,
much too weakened,
to beg mercy of them;
the stars are tired,
the moon is pale,
the pathway ahead,
paves the road into Hell,
a lick for a kiss,
a pump of the fist,
a slug to my own,
alloy-plated breast,
it’s an uphill march,
it turns out,
I guess.

My Cheerios.

Today marks a day that I have been abandoned for the last time by somebody who I have let close to me; well, I’m sure it’s not the last time I will be abandoned in life – but it is the last time I will allow myself to feel that way over any individual who strikes me down as a result of his or her own completely unrelated issues.

This will be the last time someone builds anything with me, just to plow over everything we’ve constructed in one, discrediting sweep of the hand; the last time someone who claimed to care about me and mine pisses all over the banquet table and in my cheerios.

I am absolutely disgusted by the way that people tend to martyr off those closest to their shit, the way that people say one thing and do something totally different – especially at random – in some twisted show of power or control.

Today marks the very last time that some totally self-absorbed outsider slips under my radar and gets in to feed off of my life and energies until their belly is near bursting and they’ve had their fill.

You’re Still Number One.

americana102And you always will be. ❤

Assailed.

The noise has grown unbearable atop a fortress’ ramparts –
ten thousand swooping pterodactyls amidst the horizon,
the bantering of all the world’s inebriated sailors setting sail –
the bellies of every monster growling in a symphony of hunger,
the swarming of every dead and gone spirit’s uprising to the heat –
a chaotic explosion from nothing at all into everything there is,
the drowning out of young giggles within meaningless adult words –
complete destruction of the calm isles veiled by smoky-blue waters,
the solitude of confinement washed out by a high pressure firehose –
the noise grows and grows like an ornery, bad weed strain,
it’s rumble and tumble tectonically taking steps towards world war –
plates shifting, funnels twisting, levees failing, babies adapting,
a species evolving to become accustomed to its deafening noise –
a breed unlike the original roots to a better humanity,
the fields became buildings, the tractors drove themselves away –
malfunctioned smart electronics that will throttle our truths,
skies changing into backdrops to a new storyline –
a scripted game played by something or things much greater,
much wiser, much more antiquated than the pawns moved around –
this is the noise, this is what it must sound like to be swallowed,
by an invisible ocean giant sperm whale, inside of space’s vacuum.

Woke Up Wrong.

My Saturday has gotten off to quite the shitty start so far:

1) Before I even had my coffee, my dumbass roommate decided to pop out and scare the fuck out of me – rendering me startled and angry before I even had my wits about me for the day. (The affected throat chop that he received has left heavy tension lingering in the cool morning air, as a result).
2) The remaining female Society Finches (Chewy, Fet, The Crown and Bobo) are still screaming non-stop (going on like ten consecutive days now) and my head is about to explode from the noise.
3) I have people calling my phone before it even hits 9am.
4) I am scheduled to see my mother in about an hour from now.
5) I will be forced to hole up in my room for the remainder of the weekend that I spend at home because my fucking dense roommate has pissed me off – – – AGAIN.
6) The sense of laziness that permeates here during the weekends drives me up the walls: granted, yes you worked all week too…but for fuck’s sake Dude – get off your fat ass and do SOMETHING besides sit on the couch, for once.
7) If I hear the opening theme to Bones, or that stupid ass sample from the 70’s that my roommate seems to think is the best sound ever made, even one more time – KABOOM.

Ooze.

Whoever it was;
that made you believe,
that you are born of,
the same skin as me –
served you such glory;
built by so many lies,
bought you into the stories,
sold the truth to your eyes.
Whatever they said;
to convince your heart,
to confuse your head,
to control all that you are –
it was nothing more than words;
carefully chosen, interwoven sound,
yours is the only voice you ever heard,
and you turned blind to all else around.
No matter the reasons;
behind your self-servient ooze,
this veteran’s been seasoned,
by the likes of you and your brood –
I already knew you;
before you even walked inside,
a desperate need for a blowjob,
that you so unsuccessfully hide.
It might’ve been your Mama;
who told such ugly lies to you,
maybe your wife, or her sister,
or the folks at the church you pay to –
it makes about as much of a difference;
as it makes your self-absorption cool,
stuff this pipe for future reference,
and smoke away like an ignorant fool.