when fast asleep they
take it out in a great fast sliding way
crack the rib, spoon the shell
a cherry from a silent sleeping parfait.

under the guise of understanding
(it's an understatement)the inner beet-drum, triple scanned
deciphering mah codes:
mah ma mama's mana manos prana papos pupils peoples
purples. reds + blues loves, abuse wastes and use

es.

held in the palm up to the light- halogen and bright.
in a tongue never dreamed nor ever speeked suddenly they see.
suddenly the they can see.

there is no understanding in dissection.
yet replacing the cherry is only painful
when it expands to heal and scrapes the sides.
(it never seems to hurt those who hurt it)

THIS IS THE ONLY ANSWER.
this is the why.

when it expands to heal it scrapes the sides.

Tags: ramble on
state of psychosis: depressed

And what then is ideal?

Ideal was today, all the windows open and the sky magnificently thunderous and grey though the sun shone complete- as if cloudless. Alone together in the afternoon stripped down save for some cotton panties reminiscent of underoos- innocent and shameless. A head freshly shaved and pressed against my back those jeans of his.

the breeze didn't blow. time stood still. a rare moment indeed as if spent in a vacuum...how strange it is I thought...that I am neither hot nor cold in even the slightest manner.

no thirst. no hunger.

and my I said it.
"stop, feel it? it's perfect!"
I waited for my life to end.

he came home from work nine, mayhaps ten hours later. The negativity...he says it's unbearable. I completely agree though neither of us were EVER known for our polly anna positive sides...

"It's like they don't know they have Lemon Trees in their back yards"

I in h ale d and noticed finally...without all of the smoke.
I can breathe better.

love.

Tags: ramble on
state of psychosis: awake

Settled into this solitude, just beneath a newly tendrilled tender vine. I never thought I'd meet this evening- clad in stocking feet, a blinklet where the dew hits the lashes of my eyes. Pacifica whispers, yeah I'm pacified by icy breath from the belly of the birthma, saline lips windswept hair, formless and forming my everywhere. To turn around is to see the great black turtles bejewelled by thousands of pinprick fires speckled gold, white, and blue trudge on in eternal slow strides, we are too slow to see.

I feel as if I will fall into these vines, twirling tightly toward her whispers and around my ankles, wrists, you know the rest-
arching at the achings in my back, ached by my yearnings, always and never, satisfied.

is this my bondage?
(all these secret places)

Tags: ramble on
state of psychosis: chill

They Mark it- their market of what they make it right outside my door in sun and when it pours I can go grab oranges or fungi grown from spores the only thing that's missing, that I can't buy there is a cute little...

canteloupe.

today:t-shirt. sun.
fengshui-fun-fin.

Tags: ramble on
state of psychosis: accomplished

awash in six tee percent nose on the cold glass breath etching slowly into frost. Inhale, bite. Exhale, fire. Steam someday clouds, released- unaware of such simple magics aglow by the warmth of the fire you sit. I extend my arms, I extend my voice, I extend through circuitry...electricity, psychically, loudly silently. Only so-long, only so loud, only so often can there be extension before there is only a condensing. Condensation.

In stasis the panes now on either side seem so much closer. eighty five percent. You can call it charcoal, you can call it soft black, you can consider it if you can consider anything at all dark with a spark faded entirely through.

worn. Is the stasis, like anything else it becomes an accessory. I wanted only to be carried around your wrist, unobtrusive and warm listening delightfully to the rythym of your steps and the jangle of your falls.

and now? It's as if I asked to swim through your veins and swallow your heart. I have always more than enough of that. I didn't ask you for such things. I wouldn't ask you for such things. There is no room in my heart, no space between my thighs.,

no.

Now there is only time.
Condescending. Crashing through the glass, uncaged.

Tags: ramble on

good news makes for a trade.-, no roaring road trip to motor city but a plane zoom outta three hours one way or the other. I guess he's the flyboy and I'm like grounded just to turn around and do it all over again. Today is gone been traded for monday.-, you see all the pretty horses and a roadblock and the snowfall it ain't what's pressing the breaks.

no it ain't.

but it's good news and I guess that makes fires mo' bettah and cocoa mo' chocolatey and...
who knows what the future will bring but when it does...
oh boy.

It's just so sorrowful still that I wanted to drive up that hill and see the monsters and shiver in it's shadows and be eaten alive by gotham city.

The last time I said I'll see it sometime nextime...
I MEAN WHERE COULD NEW ORLEANS POSSIBLY GO?

right?

Tags: ramble on
state of psychosis: groggy

they key is to do yoga everyday and run the elliptical at least half that. stop looking at the weights and use them. Sore sorrows slovenly sloth bed nap nappy head sleepless sleeperly all night long. woe woe woe. puppet legs are made when hamstrings are strung to snap like elasticcords and whose walking pulling them strings any way.

huh?
woe woe woe look at the snow.

Tags: ramble on
state of psychosis: cranky

Escaped the slackjaw drool paw of a lecherous vulture aged 6 mebbe 7 x 10 in a colorado watering hole. The twelve year old caved in on herself and screamed out razor blades ever self inflicting...insighting...stupid,stupid,stupid,stupid as a hallowed incantation. The twenty year olds eyes narrowed felt for a blade and searched out a pitbull. There were none. Then the dead twenty some odd eight simply swore realized there weren't no boots here...spat and searched out a pizza.

dumb fucking fuck.
how many years of my life have dumb fucks like you destroyed?
I won't waste too much time on it. really. I just wanna type it.

SO I get to thinking it's a bad day. The planes gonna crash I'm gonna die before I get to go home and see that good good creature of mine. missing in action for almost a month in some wasteland...you could call wisconsin or home or fucking the place you lay your hungover little aching drunk head just before you pass out. There is no such thing as place to me anymore.

don't you see? Most people are just a minor hallucination of a greater symptom.
I am in someone elses nightmare. thanks alot. bad dreamers. Your affects are effecting me, swallow another pill, fuck another: whore, cry me a fucking river, starve puke swallow let it all just be over then. JUST HOW BORING CAN IT GET? are you reading this? OF COURSE NOT. (or we could smile and just go dancing?)

I'll call you friend. By the way I missed you too.

but the plane got hit by lightening. I wasn't in it.
it made the day long. It made me tired. In and out of conciousness I fell.
only to awake in a hobbit house, pahpoe(actually spelled papo)snorting and licking my face. He's in the big claw foot bathtub. I've got my tea my coffee my fucking cookie and my fucking cake...my pug my rottie my louie dog

and it's my dream here.

did I ever tell you? I'm the queen of FUCKING FRANCE?!?!
he don't like it that he's a dog. but you gotta see...you gotta see
I LOVE ME A GOOD BIG DOG. oh yeas I do. I woke up at 5pm. Ate eggs and pancakes and chai. went back to bed got a tea hand delivered, a backrub, thought about FUCKING. Talked about becoming farmers. laid back in bed. Dropped him off...took a bath at one am...

this ain't my dream it's my fucking life.
damn it is good to be home. It doesn't have to make any sense to you. I just wanted to waste some space, to know what it felt like, to remember that space exsisted. I just wanted to swear to remember what it all meant, to feel the way a fuck rolled off my tounge. I just wanted to whine so I could pretend to fit in. I just wanted to bitch about my friends to pretend for one second that they didn't matter. I just wanted to be damned sure

that I was back home.
2 am on a friday. let's go shopping.

Tags: ramble on
state of psychosis: amused

when the seam tears out britches too small whoah when you don't see my ass hanging out then you'll know I'm gone. gotta stuff a flower in the pipe just to get high here there ain't no red rocks leading to the sky. Into my nose yeah I smelled the breeze. yeah I lost my head. Tyin up the horse hitchin up the trailer oh for today I pretend. Lost in a dream and the taps of these dancing feet. oh when I'm gone when I'm gone you won't have to worry none cuz I'm already done deader no gooder left hand attached to my own frien(d). buried in the white sand yeah i inhaled the grit and let seep right into my eyes. I rolled and swam in it's seas whatever was left don na no need to see. When it melted right to become my eyes I looked up and saw only the bluest skies.

Oh honey when the seams give don't you know them britches just too small. Oh sweet honey ida loved you more, inside you were nuthin at all. flower in my pipe getting a smatter over ripe. all I'm left with is a sickly goo. I said yeah baby it's all I'm left with and lord knows it's better than you. Tying up the horse hitching up the trailer for today I pretend.

Tags: ramble on

At the root of every self decay destruct dedication my declarations lie lay laid lying through my teeth bitter but oh so sweet and don't you know it too? Know it's true know it's you.

A display of teeth an animal menace all throughout the kingdom but here
oh. oh, but here hear my dear- like a deer dangling displaced and doubtful
fawn. the wolf. fawns.

grin.

Shall I eat you or shall I kiss you? don't forget to check my pockets.
watch the eyes watch the hands watch the underlying inbetween the lions lines...
elbow elbow wrist wrist. My it's so nice to see you.

grin.

Cavity.

Tags: ramble, ramble on
state of psychosis: busy

Into the dark closet
covered in noise
abrading the silences
replacing those whispers
with someone elses
inner dialog
so my mental gag may remain
securely in place.

the sleep of an angel
comes to the sound
of sticky devil stomp
bloodbaths.
without the interference
I fold'in to origami

and collapse
into the twinkle
of a tear lost in saturns rings

either way...
I die and return again

Tags: ramble on
state of psychosis: sleepy

So preety now tangled in them webs
dewy secretes from the end of a spida
oh you're the finest yet to dredge

that ever got caught in the insects nest
just a string of saliva

No deeper than that, even less I'm afraid

there ain't nothin underground
moles, worms, sediment
and a few rotting things

Save for one little
rabbit
in a deep deep hole
safe for one little rabbit.

and when he looks out
oh when he looks out
he can see finer things

like the web and the spida
far away he looks so small
little spida t*inks oh the feast he'll bring

so she sneaks down right to that
hole
and sews the finest thing
a tapdancin tinkerin and a good longa slida

just a tap dance from tha spida

but it sounds like rain
oh it sounds like rain
to the rabbit in the whole

so he pokes his nose out
he was bigger than she know
a climb to his ear she say

hey there little rabbit
whatcha wanna know?
I'll tell ya all me secrets

and around and around and around she go
Now you just a little rabbit.
and den oops fell in that rabid whole

Tags: ramble on

muffled waves as webs strung between two
dimensions sing vibrato hymns
the dew bounces off
couldn't hang on.

behind a veil of mesh and black she shakes the bones.
"why did you walk all this way? you could have phoned"
she points at the spider web

and just laughs.

She drops the bones on the table
a song of hollow wooden windchimes
she just laughs some more.

I look at the spiderweb
a black widow
she sings like shirley manson.

and the old lady just laughs.
tells me to listen to the spider.
after all, she's just an old lady.

I know why she's laughing.

Tags: ramble on

I had just remembered...
into the mold, four. days, months, years, lifetimes, revolutions, seconds moments momentos...memento mori. days automaton long passed. long past. loss, passed. lost pass. And who might you be? Alice?
No. I am not Alice. *cuckoo* automaton. *cuckoo*
(  error generation )

Tags: ramble on