Play Free

But more to the point: I’m tired and upset and I don’t know why this is all so hard. I don’t want to do it I want to be honest. I don’t want to lie in my art. Why are people telling me to lie with my art. I don’t want to do that I want to be honest.

There goes another cherry, raspberry, bleuet, etc. etc. down the freeway causeway whatever shits and giggles memories you had must’ve been siiiiiiickkkk

But fuck, blick, whatever language you swear in, tell me: Does your mother still sing to you at night?

Are you an astronaut (yet)?

Can I have your autograph?

Each signature is so unique

Why are some worth more than others?

I don’t want to lie

I want to be honest with my art

Why are people telling me to lie with my art

Gun to head

I will slip up

And a trigger will be pulled

We just don’t know in which direction

Backward or forward

Up or down

Intravascularly or epidermally

Sick sin, sick sin, soul

Send me satan’s sauce

Send me the eye balls you had as a child

I don’t want this anymore

I don’t want this imbalance

I want to talk to my brother

And I want to be honest with my mother

Why all the gay love?

Why not?

Why all the secrecy?

I don’t want to lie with my art

Please, just leave me alone

It’s gone on long enough

There are others, they say, and some are so high–have been so high–for months

Come down, nasal propaganda marijuana factory

I’m your best friend TOnight

Or some such

And so it goes on

I don’t do it correctly

I need to rectify the matter

Please just go on without me

I’m capable of holding my own in the rear

Please, brother, tell me more about yourself

I don’t want mother to die and we didn’t know each other while she was alive

Or maybe she will know we will

Or maybe she won’t know a damned thing

Maybe her mattress will engulf her in a burial ritual of fire and stems

And computers and televisions and radio antenna

Why? oh Why? Is it like this

I don’t want to lie with my art

Please, just let me be free

And I want to stop,

I don’t want to be the monkey bending over backward

To you


I don’t want to do this

Just let me do what I want

I’m here in my own memory

I’m working too hard

Help me

I don’t want to lie with my art

I want to end it when I want

And that’s all

I’m still here

But I love you

Don’t forget your trance

Don’t forget that the space

Makes a difference

There may be time to discuss

Our differences

Now is not that time

I will sell you my soul for a bargain

Steal it and the contract is off

Some suns set to the right

Others set in the yard

I’m lost

I’ve accounted for all the hiccups

All the songs in time and stride

When preoccupations of vice and jest disgust your last atom

I spill the wine of blood of ordeal of wine of blood of…

Never the last generation, it continues

Well, I see we all know there may be some solace

But in the individual?

Not much love

I miss so much

And I think of lost opportunities

But perhaps you are happy there

Without me

Perhaps you all are happy without me in your lives

What Were You Looking For?

Into the revellion the ever astute demise of calamity the catastrophic meandering two-step I’ve-got-to-make-it-mean-more-than-this that your parents wouldn’t have wanted for your (but these are just borrowed words)

And these, in our coat pocket withdrawn at the cusp of an edge so lightly intercizing the skin rending in half

the forearm and the mains

I never know whether to mutiplex it or not but have at it in one go and remember your times

I will remember your times

There is no nasal spray but that we often get caught up in memories that are grotesque and try to clear them

So to make sense of it

But in speaking: There isn’t any

What were you looking for?

I always wish it were so, but I only need thing on how easy it is to do. One needs only to make it done to do so. So I shall do, to do, and do as I please, duly.

Now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.

Never mind, we’ll just experiment with some verse here.

You know I never learned the dictionary definition of verse and prose very well. The definitions come to me through experience, reading a lot of poetry and hearing the words spoken, over and over again.

Well in any case, the artistic sentiment has passed. I’ll come back here later if I have something important to say, to pacify myself in this the early hours of the morning / late hours of the night.

Although it does seem a waste to draw your attention to nothing so successfully like this.

I do apologize.

Hit pimple


Diadavowal stall

None other than

Nothing to know that he who cometh

Cometh far awry and awry too screaming

Too, that I would know, that none other than to do

Is that it is painful to say it like that

And I mean it, lover, so love yourself

Love yourself elsewhere

I had the passion, but not the choice.

Now I have the choice, but not the passion.

The stars that need to align in order to get you into merely the activity you desire are faint

And here we have all these people running around not giving thanks, and all these famous voices saying it’s a matter of following your passion

It’s elitism

Liberal, but elitist


The arctan of a turned reversed dot-matrix

Pointwise colored black and white

I had no opportunity

They do the math

For fun

They do it

I had

No opportunity

So tell me

Like, Do you

Do it like this?:


You, hug

Lug, me

In out of the tree divine-side

Wanton slide off dumber said than done and I

Once led a coalition to the new rhyme why they

Went there in time to stay like there were no heathens

But ourselves


Selves and selves and cells of selves and

Others hitting hidden clubmen clubbing

Like love like lubbing and struggling to make do

In the streets with gash and bruise the politie

Of the times said No, of course, we did anywho

Where there were two and started the love royale

To stale-mate the lungs’ architect in other direction

Of the train that was bombed

And no one called it off so here we are

And I look down and see how far it is until my body hits

The floor, the ground, the concrete

Mangled bones

Turn to stone

No other worry

When we’re all extinct

But does time sink?

And so time passes

But does it sink?…


Hello, nice to meet you

Something something Development Dep’t

From training, man with toupee hair

Rogaine’d it back

I, the converse, balding, thinning

Mild amusement


Hello, nice to meet you

Buxom bellows

Lascivious smile


Would I ever call for service from Andrea?

Would I ever ask her out?

Corporate policy

And all the usual contingencies

Does she have a boyfriend

Would she be interested in me

Am I too fat

(Stupid fucking meds)


Nice to meet you, hello

For day 5 of NaPoWriMo, I think this is a little better quality than yesterday. I just came off a video call with the head of the services dep’t for our lab, and he went over some of the people that work under him, and I was mesmerized by one of the girls/women (I guess I’m supposed to call adult females “women”, now? I feel so old…), bright smile, blond, a bit larger frame it seemed, but very just… happy. And I thought: This, here, this lady, is a chance I might meet with her actually IRL there’s a chance I may meet her. Wow. So here’s to hoping that that chance materializes, and to hoping all the other contingencies (boyfriend, interest, etc.) pan out.

But as always, if not, you move on.