expand upon

“this is denial

i feel like”

(says jonesie while walking thru the park alone [he’s always alone] his pants are falling down and he’s worried about other people around him seeing him and making fun of him in their minds but in reality no one notices him and he hasn’t figured this out yet that he lives in a new century where people don’t pay attention to other attractive people let alone ugly dirty lonely old men and the saddest thing is that he isn’t sad he just forgot to put on a belt this morning)

“what i must express

or rather how i am expected

to convey this is what i must say

and also predicate

this is what i must express”

(says the student who doesn’t think who only mimics who only consumes)

this is what is deemed expressible

no images

only pixels

this is what is only digital

no more meaning

only structure

[i would like to say that i have felt something through this process this microcosm of nothingness this of course being life or rather my perception of my own experience as an individual this is a footnote and is completely unnecessary like all footnotes like human life but it exists and because it does it is and since it is it will in some way and it has and so this is not a justification or a vindication or an any kind of vacation this is not logic this is not surrealism this is not post-modernism this might be meta but that’s not the point the point is that it doesn’t matter that this is pointless there are some feelings that seem like forever and that makes things okay for a fraction of an instant so that has to be good enough i guess]

One of These Days

how come when

you walk the

streets you get

tired but when

you plant down

your roots don’t

take hold one

of these days

you’ll get

arrested

for public

defecation

one of these

days you’ll be erased

Nuisance

Poisoned

Harder to be obscure

Or to organize

 

But it may be better

Because you don’t know

Who, or where you are

 

Maybe your liver

Will get better

Not likely

 

Even though

This Oriental glow remains

Drinking just the same

 

Fucking god fucking damnit

Charles Bukowski

How I realize

 

How similar I am

To the likes of you

When I’m deep into brews

 

My poetry is awful

More than raw

Dripping mediocrity

 

Oh, Bukowski

How you disgust me

And how I hate myself as well

Sudafed Beach

Sitting in a pitch-black attic for decades.

a perfect place

cough medicine and shame

yellow skin

fit in

to him

 

no one can relate

self-revelation forgotten

illumination faced

daily basis

lost temper

dissociate with the same anticipation

 

Dissociatives have never been so welcome.

Dali

When You Were Young You Made Mistakes and Never Learned From Them

reaching an impasse with blackness

an eternal abyss

 

too many nights spent with strangers

avoiding bliss

 

no home to have

 

too broken to think succinctly

and leaking quicker

 

generosity breathes again

you cannot admit what you did to her

 

seconds filled with repentance

 

showing off with a full stomach

even though nothing is there

 

revelations running through rivers

another blood-soaked mare

 

it is bitter cold and better left unsaid

 

poor and wetter

immaterial benefits

 

iron objects penetrating

wooded penitence

 

expecting an embrace and only getting violence

 

reaffirmation of disbelief

these words carry similarity

 

reemerging lack of self-confidence

recognized redundancy

 

continuous self-aggrandizement

 

coughing up pretentiousness

increasing testicular pain

 

every endless night

hunger penetrates the brain

 

caged in this country

 

is it blue balls

or a green heart

 

eunuchs sharpening scythes

fuck your art

 

skill is not involved in this endeavor

 

yesterday morning she needed you

don’t talk about the weather

 

tonight she couldn’t wait to get rid of you

nothing is better

 

conversations carrying insinuations

 

using tongues as swords

misguided notions prevail

 

distress

to no avail