I. Rune of The Unbothered
There is by far no more greater convention of fashion than the halls lined with sucrose of our untimely Liberation.
The Earth is for the waking and walking. The walking and waking spin.
Grant them the shame on the ruff and overgrown variorum, and
Busts of sneak knightdoms of no objections, and reinforcements
All on the affairs of the burning warehouse; (Happiness on my path,
Eh…?? AGAIN! Happiness on my path, eh…?? AGAIN! Happiness
On my path… HEY!!) And the water-plants with their [Fashion of the head, happy.]
Graceful flat heads, all became part of him ...Read more
To B.T.
Natural bodies technically do not ask for forgiveness. They demand nothing but a series of replenishments. If you deny me sorrow, I will deny you joy; raise our tweaked, tawdry pennon elsewhere but between our distinctive beliefs. Partition! Take shelter, take shelter– in our grand quiet while I run my hands through the grass then through a soul. Do not disturb the foul at any cost. Perhaps my admiration shall recoil. We do not do confessions when we're hatching in the dark. Believe me, I'll sing you praises when you finally break my heart.
On Areas and Ideas of Self-Preservation
...Read more
a.bee-er { color: #000 !important; font-weight: 600 !important; }
intro: TUNNEL⚫️VISION
pt 1. The Tunneling
pt 2. bites of the gangland
pt 3. the abattoir of wolves
pt 4. Skin-side down
pt 5. Franklin and The Bog Bodies
pt 6. The Unassailable Skin
pt 7. Pontifications And All The Uncertain Aspects of Being Young and Reckless
pt 8. Pronto, Pronto
pt 9. The Shedding of The Skin
pt 10. Hustlers Never Die
...Read more
Why should I let the shallow people get me down?
Painted people with the painted sceneries of and in faces are cool!
Cool, I guess. I test torrential; a land-dweller who owns no land,
Owns only garbage. But see, but see, I.
Know that I am Ethan Lesley CC, rethreader of lovers,
Poet from the wild, the very embodiment
Of mental anarchy! Of mental anguish
From years of agony. So, then, tell me, tell me,
Do I know you? Do we know you? Just tell me,
Bet, and test me to it. Tell me again
About just who in the seven hells are you?
Become, I promise thee, fellow land-dweller
Who probably o ...Read more
The landscape of Inferno has gotten only more beautiful by the day.
Drink! Drink for me, all you debauched souls. Non-committal and slovenly,
I am always looking for something to decipher by the altar of the Great Psychosis.
Pitstop Lover, I have lear'ned of your voluminous heart-kills:
The unreported unverifiables of Puerto Bolivar; your ricochets of ricotta;
The dendrological notes of the world's augmentors, and propellants;
The banished boy from Tulsa
Looking, staggering, resonating amongst the stagings of your ex's Ashkenazi hindsight;
Your practice as a Jina… They are all of me ...Read more
IT'S TIME TO RETIRE 'HEARTBREAKER' AS A COMPLIMENT.
something-something-onething in Latin; something-something-then-someplace Maria;
I have been hearing the latest neighbor mumbling by the wall with some new prayer; (well, at least
new to me, but aged to the rest of the world)– how I missed the smell of Sue and Carlos
and the incense they lit unironically every Friday; how I missed Julian playing the guitar,
and Maricel banging the door everytime she cheated on the lonesome musician wannabe;
how I missed Tennis, Ember, Wheels, Lori, and all the other crazies I planned on writing about; ...Read more
I.
The Descent to Hell is easy. It is the re-rising unscathed that requires a feat.
The feet that knows no winning and neither defeat that is for now is lying.
They have not known everything. They have not known nothing.
Oneiroi– eaters of realities– on their tables, on their feasts, I have dined. I have inched
Towards the black door. Royal, I have kept my innards focusedly suppressed with my fists
Like a track-list of killing under the banished tree. (The banshee will wail for me! Royally wail!)
The fusses and the sophistry are decked. (The banshee will wail for me! Bum me and you ...Read more
The only thing that matters now is the dauntless efforts of my recalibrations. My tunnel vision
Blinding me matters, to me, much. Consume me. Blind me some more. I have no other wish
But to wish the retread fruits joy. The sides are darker. I dim them like everybody else
Is dimmed and damned. And, now
I soak my skin in some blueberry juice and moonlight. I want
To be one of the best parts of my man and my momma. I want
To learn to love and create until the world bleeds my name and
No stratosphere is there to hold me back from exuding that
Prowess and power bleeds benefit with it, maps ...Read more
In case you miss it, read my self-proclaimed tour de force, 'Lords of Asphalt', here. 🌽🕊️🎴 'Lords' is part of what will be my next poetry collection book, 'All Life Is Comedy', which will be out early 2020. ...Read more
Om… Om… Om, motherf*ckers… Om!!
(Jeg vil bruke! Jeg vil bruke! Hjelp meg! Jeg vil virkelig bruke!)
I can hear you not dictating to me.
I can hear the alcohol and the religion, and the politics, policies,
And the excess of politeness. (They are delicate, some times delirious.)
Gloriosissimus dux: lying in luxury; being cursed with no money;
Running from the death bed that is just a bed– Lusitania!
Living and mourning. Living and mourning.
There is something more powerful than all my addictions combined:
My will and want to be beautiful. My quiet hand reaching for the loudly sun ...Read more
I.
You're gonna ruin that kid, aren't you? This world…
This world has had enough of antiheroes;
The impermanence of the handsome devil in the puffer jacket…
My sweet enterprising olivine
Trying on bucket hats, the full effect that is mafic in color,
And automatic condescending li'l lucky tracks
Blaze of the gore and found, and sound the all-a-li'l opposey in nurture,
Little pics of wired hope piggybacking like the world hazied according to Monet,
Daycare for the doily-like humanoids ticking amethystic and antihistamines for my selenite,
But the energy is that of the salmonella sw ...Read more
Hot is my tongue by the summer, and so are the shoulders of my lover.
(Soulful, he is to me– the man not naked as the sun.
Lo! See, thee interrupts the arcane. Magic Man!)
I remember meeting his never-lonely fire when the world was a blur,
And stayed, he did, until the dirt made sense. (Finally, finally, somebody flaming enough to stay!)
I am, then, parched. Patched, I ask– Is there something around other than the mayhem?
Ain't the liking grand when, with the heart, it's always escalating?
My pastel-loving baby, pink, hatches me just by the way he smiles from the grotto.
I pray for ...Read more
Father, Father,
I have survived the second instance of the sword.
The way to my rooting is swollen, the butterflies bleed
Black, like the predator surrounding Orion.
Father, Father,
How are you losing it so early in the morning?
Hurrah! So many people have majored in double-speak.
None of them exists until I need them to exist again.
Bloody fair, ain't it, young destroyer?– This bloodied two-way street.
Nobody, from all the bodies accounted for in and out of Earth,
Is waking around with a decanter on their ruly pouch,
So punch and let punch.
You're going to find real soon that it ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.
