I am a shoulder
Shoulders don’t have hearts
Shoulders don’t have social lives
Shoulders don’t have friends
Shoulders don’t have bright futures
Shoulders just get cried on
Out in the brush there’s fat fires burning
Young women learning about nudity and ritual
Pretending to be grizzly bears
The outskirts of the forest littered with plastic bottles
You spend all this time dying alone when you could be out there burning inhibitions in a prehistoric pit
In a moment as fleeting as rain in the summer
I truly felt ten foot tall
You’re busy tending your garden
I’m throwing mine off the wall
Down into the gully deep as a well
Watching intently as it falls
You’re busy mending your essence
I’m treating mine like a ball
Capitalism is the wound we credit for creating our precious blood clots. Thank you sweet capital for cutting into our outer layer and exposing the stink within. We are in debt to you, and that debt supports the skull so our necks don’t snap. Please, take this gift basket and run like you do. Head off into the mountain, where self congratulation is the energy. Where love and hate are as distant as the sexual moons of mars. Where a man can build his own home and discuss the depth of Kierkegaard in a drunken stupor.
All human endeavor is an exercise in immorality, an expression of the endocrine system. The leaps and bounds bookended by decades of fear. The shoulders of our forefathers stained with waste, our position realized.
It is a fool who genuinely holds the belief that righteousness is a human characteristic. It is foolish to express this however, as any attempt at defining the border between understanding and ignorance will inevitably turn into a masturbatory activity chock full of self hate and self love. To elevate one’s self above anything is to fail miserably at maintaining perspective.
To type these pathetically shallow rantings onto a blog, one needs only a strong sense of smell and an unshakeable feeling that everything is horribly backwards. A distinct lack of self awareness and a poor vocabulary
The big tree shakes its fingers, sending desperate shouting rain drops out into the bitch beyond. Well enough without, well enough within. Given the final gift of reference and perspective, the billowing bellows lay under the porch and died. Well enough without, well enough with inns, let’s buy a house. Out of boredom and disgust, the man had to re up
Thank god for the food chain
Thank the chain for god
Abandon the goddamned child
Spoil the goddamned rod
Wanna have a make out session on the moon? We could blast the devil’s reggae til the sun comes in the room
We could build an ark and populate it
Invent a verb then conjugate it
Create a world then subjugate it to our rule
But no rules, no taboos
No greys between the blacks and blues
Just stacks of fruit chews and a taste for destruction
Rich kids hitting nitrous in a semi circle around the digitally altered spectacle.
You’re not here hitting nitrous, what gives?
Your absence leaves the semi circle coughing up driftwood.
Medium kids spitting lip service to the constantly spinning meth lab stage.
You’re not here spitting service, what gives?
Your absence gives the meth lab an inconvenient desire for progress.
Bland kids dipping science on a trajectory towards the moon.
You’re not here dipping science, what gives?
There aren’t any other places to be!
What I’m trying to get across is that I’m trying to get a cross so I can carry it on my shoulder and impress you so hard your fucking brain slides out. But crosses are outdated. As am I, by people who shouldn’t have dates in the first place.
Adults sip coffee and smoke cigarettes at each other out of spite.
You’re there aren’t you?
I wish I could help it
Carry it out
Share it or burn it
Or throw it about
I wish I could tear it
Apart with my hands
Shove it off a cliff
Away from your tear glands
Given the chance
I’d trade it for mine
I’d carry em both
Til the end of all time
The desperation and sadness
That comes with existing
Hurts all the more
When I continue resisting
The devil deserves it
Not anyone else
Five ridickle fickle bitches
Peanut Brittle in their britches
Take your nickel/give you stitches
Pickle your dreams and crinkle your wishes
Well beneath my heart and guts
There lies a man obsessed with butts
Jiggling booty and a love for science
Preaching out against self reliance
Way down deep near the blood cells and tissue
Is a Playboy obsessive organizing his issues
Collecting his thoughts like a dog in a cage
Calmly deciding while spitting with rage
Sage advice can be given, but never achieved
You can’t cure depression by railing aleve
You need stronger stuff if you want to believe
A pathetic apathetic with no reason to whine.
Piling on drivel while sipping cheap wine.
Leaving his lack of depth all intertwined
with a vast collection of time
The uneven distribution of karmic retribution is an outrage of insane proportions. The uneven mind is not even kind and it’s out there doing contortions.
The uneven brain is losing its gains and there’s no sign of birds or the shore. The uneven poet is bad and he knows it, lamenting the cold at the door.
