Om… Om… Om, motherfuckers… 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
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
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.
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
I litter the cabinets with poems that should have never seen the light of day. / The cabinets are for everybody. The cabinets are for nobody. / I could donate and refute my exploits. The slow build impedes. / The slow builds are multitudinous away from the molehill. / But nobody here is the boss to the beacon, so a toast to the missions lost! / (We have lost many things. I will be grieving nothing.)
This version of Nicotine Forever is the short version.
The full version will be released on a later date.
(Probably during the release of All Life Is Comedy.). ...Read more
Chiedo alla Donna in rosso, che lavora la filo Rosso
Di nuovo, il Dio-Signora stessa, i pericoli, i pinnacolo, e culmine,
i punti più alti e zona di massima luce del benefici dell'anima sicura…
benefici dell'anima sicura et convinto… Piccolo Io–
Io ho– la il risposte poco chiare dal Dominion dei sue Capelli.
Shall I risk what is already the-sure-happy for the road that is not conquered?
Shall I envy before, with the roof over the head and the limbs of my body,
The excitement of the rolling? Shall I give in, into greed, razor-backed,
Evolved into and up from the land, gently, f ...Read more
Gospel of Tempers 2:1 – The Satelliting Thoughts of January 6, 2019
The bad edits of me are the ones that are sticking.
My students, my bees, please think and never blindly romanticize.
I need my students and my bees to be happy. I need you all
To be not like me. Eventually, eventually
We're all to discover that even the undiscovered flower doesn't need the validations.
Even the wildest of us doesn't need the copouts and pascals and parabolas;
And flicks and films and drugs; and occassionalities and alkanes and prelights;
And the suffering. O', the suffering is an endless thing, it s ...Read more
"I believe, though many before me disagree, that the soul is not the only part of the being that ascends. The mind, too, ascends. The heart, too, ascends. And still, they mourn the body left while they are leaving. And still, the soul, and the mind, and the heart never forget. Hollow is the being without a soul. Hollow, the lonely traveler in time that sleeps through time only, and important on a period that is a blink only. But do not be deluded, those of you with hands that hold and eyes that read. The body is where the ascending four is developed. The body is the shrine. The body is the gen ...Read more
I. Re-desecration of Beauty
I have not know all heart breaks known to mankind, but the one that I know is powerful and active–
That I, with the early sprouts and sprites so beautiful, have already peaked, and that only moss groweth downhill.
I remember the Word of the Lord as it were rewritten, and I have ridden it ill since the gardens of the soul,
In the day by day, unflatten. In the day by day, sink. In the day of the gay, rite-eous tubular sans cure,
And I take with me the remainder of the power I can take. I will rake it all, for sure.
The hair of Samson is cut once more. There is ...Read more
Part I. Memento mori in the morning
There are no new feelings. King of all trades, Joker
Of every suites, Hail Maries and anecdotes, and
Flesh jacks, and entry-level fruits. The no good
Emissaries– them and their memories and drizzle
Of slackly hours, frostily and dwarfing, rendering
Battling fatigue and scours… But there are no new
Feelings. Just fresh druthers speaking in less, and
Less delivers. Some pamper the fire too much– A
Beauty bowl loose to consume the beauty of others,
Painting hell over hell, barter over garter, and a
Meter of pacifism wished in coils, like crows ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.