|In an odd sort of way, today is my favorite day in a long time..
||[25 Jan 2005|07:24pm]
i think it's because i remember the experiences of today in feelings and thought patterns over what physically took place. late for school again but i've pretty much accepted that i will never be on time for anything. my bastard mind .... always fucking talking, even when i'm talking, inverted itself into a mutation of handy anti-social skills and climbing out of my head onto other planets*. today i listened attentively to my mind's arrogant thought-thought-thought process, and got off to being able to think. and then fuck thinking about thinking, creating situations, scenerios in my head, pulling out figures from my subconcious and disrespectfully disregarding who i'm with because i like to live in my head. i like to live in my head. evasion through writing and sleep, comfort in reading.
livejournal is a silly fucking excuse.
which is why this is my last post!!
||[22 Jan 2005|01:25am]
green, green wings of the berry bird born with seven bones deformed
ceases rotation of it's swollen neck (in order to) burst its brains in compulsive defect
picking at the stimulated seed so deep far in the winter ripened soil
tears spit sweat . sex drug breath . contact surrender control..
god doesn't understand me, he delves vulnerability out of me in spurratic eqations
the abusive father of scientists. the side case to the ultimate experiment
novels and poetry about astrological star signs and compatibility
point their dicks in narrowed analysis fatalistically deformed into angelicritique
self drawn awareness arms suck smoke from my throat and wrap my teeth
around the fingernail's dirt ditch containing the remainder of hospitalized skin cells
and heels above my head females like me get off to his rawNasty smells
as if i should feel guilty for knowing how to arouse my body
or even feel guilty for enjoying someone who's learning how to please me
properly. so slow: the slowness of slow slowed in hard
thrusting joint strained knuckles and tight palms unarm
me. disassemble me and my puerile pieces of ankles chins
and wrists. all is over, all is over at the 20 minute to midnight kiss.
And by the way:
what does insect sex smell like?
pathetically swimming in the beige flood
of evening butterflies performing the hunt-
and-seize ritual, beautiful nocturnal air bugs
smoking exfoliated lines of light
drawn to the warmth of my cunt
moaning ejaculation in visual gas
molecules of fly sperm wiggling on my tongue
tastes like maggots and cum. like butter and gum.
3 doses of sugar coated sperm!
.....yuck or yum?
does he get it?
it depends on what color my rollerblades are.
as we skate down the sand
my hands will twist your midnight blue shirt around my thumbs
would you let me cut off my tongue?
what about caterpillars and the soft sensation of the process before maturation
do green legs and fuzzy heads intimidate you?
you're inside me, what now?
|POSTING THIS FEEDS MY EGO =)
||[21 Jan 2005|03:47pm]
caracollective: how long will it take this single
to write some poetry
if I cannot spare a thousand years
and have but one typewriter
iamado r r r k: dude go away
caracollective: I'm sorry, it would be much appreciated if you were nice sometimes.
caracollective: obviously not, you're only out for yourself and any hedonistic adventure that will feed your ego
caracollective: some do art for others, some art art themselves, thou art what?
caracollective: life is merely inspiration... the average person grabs an aspiring for a headache, the writer grabs a pen, the artist his brush and the musician his notes
caracollective: and i am juggling all three
iamado r r r k: haha
caracollective: whereas simple minds delight only in the juggling, i delight in that which i embrace beyond that
iamado r r r k: i dont fucking care, why are u telling me
iamado r r r k: justify yourself by yourself
iamado r r r k: u dont know your audience
caracollective: because im writing right (write) now. and i am merely using this window as a window to embellish what i see through that same window. the glass also helps reflect
iamado r r r k: why the fuck are u talking to me like that, stop trying to prove yourself right now
iamado r r r k: GO AWAY
caracollective: nothing to prove
iamado r r r k: GO THE FUCK AWAY
iamado r r r k: go away
caracollective: i dont seek to get anywehre in life, but where i am ... i may be moving but my destination is always the same spot. the same point is where i want to be. it doesnt much matter being anywhere else or where you are going.
iamado r r r k: yeah. u stagnant bitch.
||[17 Jan 2005|10:50pm]
individual hair on his body
was made with purpose
(holy shit that thought/line spurs endless branches of thoughts to choose from. what will i write about to connect the images? the shades of his eyes? our silences? our creepy chemistry? )
damn, that's the end of my internet introversion analysis writing for the night.
|A poem for Trevin
||[16 Jan 2005|10:43pm]
black meaty discolored dog dick slabbed and fried in a yellow pan of greese
morning plaque and discharge spread around a cow's plump tender nipple
the cow produces milk in chunks of curd with the farmer's lubricated fingers
half excited, half aroused.
tender flesh flapping in the wind like a flag, but more like a dangling soft dick.
of a 5 year old.
pregnant mother bonsai's face down on her infant, causing suffocation and hearing loss.
13 year old girl discovers a change in her breasts, excited she shows her best friend,
who immediately grows jealous at the sight of their swelling
who immediately grabs a pair of scissors
and gouges at her cunt.
17 year old girl being raped by her chinese father...
they orgasm together, incredible-sublime-surreal, they fall asleep in each other's arms, smiling
mother comes home to her dog urinating on her dildo
she masturbates with it in a room with a mattress and a ceiling fan
videotapes it, and mails it to her boss on valentine's day.
she gets the raise.
|sealing the brain container
||[16 Jan 2005|10:12pm]
making love on a balanced globe
niggers and chinks
Sunland's identity teenage crisis infection
cunts, blunts.. and Pubic Hair.
||[08 Jan 2005|02:07pm]
This is the main condition of absurdity – the dragooning of an unconvinced transcendent consciousness into the service of an immanent, limited enterprise like a human life.
||[06 Jan 2005|08:43pm]
||when i dont. talk.
adjective noun ambiguous verb noun word
word word word word word word word word word
words + missing words x metaphors for shit i can't express properly
the repeated word for emphasis
sounds in harmony in placed order to test comprehension
well fuck that, fuck you, fuck writing yEEah!
|bullshit situation, at least i can laugh!
||[05 Jan 2005|07:45pm]
ohh i love her- that seran wrapping feminist celebrating backs,
that stupid identity uniform you wear makes me laugh
she gives out collectible stamps entitled "BFF"
and never mails any letters.
she writes people letters and never delivers.
she tells people she writes them letters that she'll never deliver
one would wonder if she even had anything inside those pages at all.
i fucked the drunk you and of course you started crying, of course.
i'm beginning to genuinely dislike you, you introduced me to
writing about cyclical concepts, never thought you'd mentally operate
like a fucking child.
it seems that you were a pebble i carried along to glance at in vain.
throw rocks out onto shore and cover your pain with save the earth t-shirts
self indulgence wept in my ear to that redundant indie rock once more
that her library book porno and breathe patterns are expected
and you predictably play this role.
i'm just the asian playing at piano recitals, why exactly did you befriend me?
ethnicity? jealousy? dependency? reciproci---wait that never happened.
glance inside the bathroom of removing the skin from your fingernails
from scraping your feet in the shower, tearing away your:
accepted cool-yet-awkward hipsters who can't quite function, she belongs
of course you sympathize, your identity is more definable
baby baby baby, its your youniverse.
||[31 Dec 2004|03:25am]
45 mountain tops, imaginary by chance, were painted in symmetrical solar position.
earth seems to be aproximately 1 mile away from my heels
with ankle-wings and who knows how many dreams, (big ones)
that's my luggage, all i've decided to have.
i sit there a lot, and just laugh
i suppose laughing is the new therapy,
but you sound like a lunatic when you realize that laughing at laughing isn't funny.
the nervous tendencies, as the music raises intensity
please raise the volume of the voice you have chosen to read this aloud with
licking pale flesh.
something's dead in the forest.
the smiling bones on desert planks,
of the sullen eyes, and a refusal of depression
.i can't sleep.
we begin the climb in this scene. large mouth descends from the backdrop darkness. stained teeth and red lips, laughing at the struggling poet. i'm taken aback.. the audience has been trying to perform for me all along.
in one frustrated pull-
ceasing the beating of my skeleton, punishing me with chemicals that feel happy.
murdering myself for the irony of beauty. something so destructively passive and depressively romantic. you'd notice my awe stricken gaze when you penetrated my jaw. and fucked it-
my heart beats in triplets,
sensitive to any form of sensitivity
he was an 8th note yesterday and a grace note today
and i'm still a triplet...
|alison deleted her livejournal
||[29 Dec 2004|10:11pm]
.these words were designed to cry.
fellow shadows gather 'round,
hindsight animals constipate me
i'm trying to just be, but fabrications are
weeping in the creases of my ears
"this is who you used to be!"
they can go ahead and think 'oh her,
she was the prostitute camillion ready to be
tickled and have her cunt licked while smiling for internet users'
the lyricist pondered at musical volume and snatched her!
drugs. and stimulation. tender vessels beating against a new body.
virginity. it's a rush.
and a lot more fun. -- Look at her, she's wrong!
is it staying true or crying safely so far into your hole
you can't even realize your reality is a pit?
"you don't know me"
Alright, I don't.
"stop trying to justify my feelings"
Alright, I won't.
we can end this friendship with a click
doors. shut. doors. shut. (WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!- but see i give a fuck.)
they shall be whatever label they're stapled as
this is us *best* ship racing unit
sailing circular motions through calm waters
but there must be a storm, if not let's create one
for storms are beautiful, and that can make us beautiful too
what are you trying to accomplish, let's be real
i'm raising my voice for you so u don't have to scream.
she was always the one who glimmered in soft voices
she spoke to me, she reached me, she loved me
and i think whatever love is, i think i can say Fuck love
what draws us together is what erases us as we must
flow. or rather learn to, but baby cheer up
i made you guitar songs for your tears, you've reached my heart too
it's been reaccquanted with you
life isn't about that, tell me what it is
tell me why we're girls and why gender justifies us
tell me why we have to have issues
you are,... Female.
i am no kind soul, but you understood feminine sorrow
your heart just understands, i've been there... i've been IN there.
overanalyzing . you do the same thing too,
in each other we find refuge
in each other we found refuge.
don't define me best friend
don't define me shitty friend
you are you, and you are you.
i don't care what kind of friends we are
i don't fucking care anymore, for
i don't need permission to love you.
(let's look at ourselves now.
let's fucking LOOK one last time
and not be afraid to see
coffee, tea or sushi?)
it's a FUCK IT or FACE IT mentality.
you walk, i walk too.
|big tits and kinky cuts
||[29 Dec 2004|05:21pm]
this is somehow supposed to be considered beautiful?
i don't understand...