Valetudinaria   
Thursday May 13th 2010
  Often given a chance to dream of hospitals, old places with stone floors, no lighting and yellowed plaster walls.
The shadows play in dim colors, putrescent piles of abortions scattered about in corners here and there.
There is seemingly no exit, no way to tell what floor I am on it's very labyrinthine with many doors all locked and menstruating from the keyholes.
Dessicated bodies, mannequin like effigies, luminescent cancer patients line hallways, naked and emaciated, utterly crushed and defeated reminiscent of Mengele's left overs. They bemoan and plead in hoarse dry whispers, just pleading for recognition, acknowledgment of their plight, their existence.
In these dreams I kick them into little out of the way clusters where they can commiserate, where they can be swallowed up in darkness; they repeat their plights in unison and it becomes almost like an echo.
I tease and taunt them that they are beyond hope, beyond help, chuckling out omnes relinquite spes o vos entrantes.
Sometimes I think to look at their faces to see if I could recognize them, but they all look similar, though when I lean in their faces twist and they spit out quod sum eris and I beat them mercilessly with a mop handle.
Eventually the shadows become almost solidus, and here and there I can see human like shapes slithering within them and just as quickly they melt away. They slink back into the cracks in the walls, or gaps in the ceiling, and door alcoves.
I can feel their intent, and I swear I can feel my hackles raise, that heightening of your senses when horripilation kicks in.
Creeping backwards trying not to take my eyes off of what I can't even really see, I bump into an elevator, and get inside of it. Upon pressing the up button, stringed fish hooks lower from above, and I am tangled in the lines. Once these lines have dropped to floor's length they start to reel themselves back up into the ceiling and I frantically start pulling the barbs from my skin eventually I do free myself and the elevator comes to a halt.
The doors to the elevator open and I rush out and find there is nothing at all outside , just all encompassing darkness.
This is one of the handful of reoccurring dreams I've had, I wake up more or less as the doors close behind me.		  
     
 
Psychosis   
Tuesday May 11th 2010
  There's a refraction in my mind, breaking waves, wringing hands; there's nothing left to save.
Ideally I'd lie in my shadow, Ideally I'd fall right in.
Sitting at the center of a gravity well, I can't tell where it stops and I begin.
There's a relay that's on a delay, there's a fine line too far gone.
The circuit's incomplete, one can't sleep nor can it eat, and there's so much left undone.
Synapses sparking and backfiring, neurons frayed and incomplete.
I'd pray to god if I had one, please martyr your blessed saints.
There's a tumor in my mind, a canker in the stem, there's always reason that begins to end.
Backhanded altruism, bitch slapped by kindness, kissed by a mouth filled with sickness.
There's an infection that I worship, a cancer I adore, I pick as it grows, and I keep it sore.
There's a tree shedding all it's leaves, falling away all traces of me.
Yearning to be like what I see, devoid of any empathy, I'm shedding what remains of my humanity.
Black hands hold me down, Black hands grip my heart, watered down recycled words are tearing me apart.		  
     
 
Senseless   
Thursday April 29th 2010
  Sublimely slipping into a gravity well, as the floor beneath me easily flows downward giving a vague sense of form to the invisible vortex just beneath my feet.
The surroundings slip away, pieces chipping away and eroding, almost dissolving and I see only nothing in their place.
I thought it was myself, my thoughts causing this, but I think I was mistaken, perhaps another part of me unconsciously caused this. I remember though it was warm out that everything seemed cool, though no breeze artificial or natural was apparent.
I have to, HAVE to believe everything happens for a reason, I try to calculate my own actions when I'm able, even the seemingly unsound ones. I have a theory that the more bizarre the behavior the more cunning the underlying intent.
To be honest though these days it's hard to believe in anything, I don't trust my senses, I think my subconscious is conspiring with my consciousness to royally fuck me over, I mean really really fuck me over.		  
     
 
   
Friday April 16th 2010
  Crawling into a cool dark place daydreaming of cherry blossoms and hoping I'm not going to vomit every morning. Lying there in the dark dreaming up scenes of christian bestiality, slurping down dog sperm for jesus.
I think my head is haunting my room, it seems to arbitrarily turn on electronic appliances to inconvenience me into having to turn them back off.
I've had thoughts before that my brain was a phantom of the vengeful dead, it would explain so many things really, or perhaps it's more a malignant mass of tumor than encephalon, I can now freely assume that I can rationalize it however I wish.
I think often of the afterlife, I think of hell and wonder if there is truly a difference between purgatory and Gehenna. I've had dreams of places that my subconscious has created to resemble such things; gray, mundane, places where moments crawl by blending together in a blob of eternity.
Sometimes I think that could be such a thing, alone with only your thoughts, with no such thing as time, neither hot nor cold, just lukewarm and left alone with certain insanity as the inevitable outcome, perhaps the only reprieve being the onset of a dissociative identity.
Maybe that was what I thought heaven would be like, I can't really be for certain anymore as to what my thoughts are on things.		  
     
 
   
Saturday April 10th 2010
  Lines defining shape extending reasonable boundaries and my sense of balance is thrown off even more by the fact my eyes tell me the floor is rapidly disappearing.
Everything in a rapid flux, moving, dissolving faster than I can comprehend. I can't feel my heartbeat anymore, only the grinding of the blood against my brain. Interlocking my thumbs together in some awkward fashion, grinding them against each other in an axis that brings to mind the fibonacci sequence of a nautilus, the ever growing sphere of friction acting against itself.
Caught up inside a barrage of gurgling images of ridiculous sun visors, and how dolphins remind me of precocious toddlers with down's syndrome.
I hear a calamity outside and I hope that I didn't leave out my portfolio of black and white pictures of horse penises, and I realized I'm not the artistic type.
For what felt like many hours my thoughts were hard to keep coherent because my inner dialogue had been replaced with a low mumbling somewhat husky voice that I did not recognize.
Compounding the situation the voice insisted on speaking spanish, and I don't even speak the language nor do I enjoy hearing it spoken.
Finally my south american interloper dissipated, or got bored and allowed me the use of my inner space once again.
It but it was nice to hear my own ethereal voice telling me to get into the derelict boat outside and pour grape flavored gorilla grodd go-go kung fu donkey kong juice into the gas tank, and to pull pantyhose over the broom in my kitchen and make the fucking thing my first mate.		  
     
 
Apollyon   
Thursday April 8th 2010
  I had a dream kept in a sacred place, stood on the devil's back and spat into G-d's face.
I dreamt I was a dying man devouring light so I could live again; held taught between eternity and oblivion.
A crown of weeds adorned with painted stones for the malleable messiah, crucified inside the soul. Savior of the weak, comfort to the fallacious meek.
Looking at a sky, I swear I'd never seen before, digging my own grave validating the mother whore.
faithful and fleshless mired in anxiety purging identity.		  
     
 
   
Saturday April 3rd 2010
  Trying not to get tangled in the tendrils of dreams, reoccurring ones becoming insistent. I'm fearful of staying still too long lest my mind wander back, idle hands being the devil's playground as they used to say.
Not growing, nor developing, stagnating in identity; and guessing it's going to come down to a number of things, and they have to, need to be unpleasant.
I think it's the struggle that gives things real meaning, I've heard any old emotion will work, but I think that's like making a roux with only water.
On the flip side of the token there is the development of action through emotion/thought, intention.
a thing loses or gains significance by the amount given, I think some of the most honest things one can do lack intention, lack forethought or emotion, gaining purity regardless of it's outcome.
The loss of significance is even more so when done by rote, honed by repetition and it truly shines off it's insincerity, the hollow and fake properties really bring out the hypocrisy of the thing.		  
     
 
Poisson d'Avril   
Monday March 29th 2010
  Thinking of trees, of birds and bees, of venereal disease and pollen in the breeze. Handcuffed to a branch and I'm safe, and I'm sane feeling fragile, rather inert and inane.
Content by the warmth of the sun and pleased by the smell of primer and paint, counting the passage of time by the accumulation of stains.
Infected introspection giving nominal pause from the chain of self recrimination, and there's a sense of confusion.
I see how it works when said out loud; I don't approve of the candor, and I don't need the shoulder, since I don't need a cross to sustain the conversation further.
I can still see patterns, it's not apophenia, I'm not heeding advice unless it's coming from me.
Still looking at people who aren't really there, and looking for ladders on top of the stairs. Shielding at the sun and gazing at the stars, at least I'm not riding a bicycle without handlebars.		  
     
 
Ides of March   
Tuesday March 16th 2010
  The day after, and the phone isn't ringing, head is still buzzing, ice isn't melting, but the tension is faltering.
Mutated morality, ignoble prey with accommodating ethicality. Scraping, and shaving, hoping and praying, looking for something but always finding nothing.
Simpering and scampering and calling it "soul searching".
I'm bored with opinions, contrary contradictions, fictitious affections, spurious verbiage, and reoccurring conclusions.
Foolish delusions, and plebeian illusions, handful of candy and a head full of dreadful intentions.
I can't tell if I'm trying to nail lights in the ceiling, or searching the sky for stars to believe in, and I'm reminded of the words "I know when you're lying, because your lips are moving."
On that day when Judas kissed Jesus did he look at him and say "Et tu, Brute?"		  
     
 
Snake eyes   
Thursday February 4th 2010
  warning, blurring, speech is slurring, house is burning...down.
The world is burning and time is slowing, hand me up on a platter, my life doesn't matter... anymore.
Flatter and shatter, lights come on and the bugs scatter, make it real and make it matter, make a mess, make it splatter.
Fireworks rise and fall illuminating the night entertaining one and all, glassy eyed, slack jawed, in love with the spectacle, flapping gums and gaping maws.
Coddle then throttle, Uzbeki's fuck with a broken bottle, undress, undress, confess, confess, admit your role in all of this mess.
Stand there in shame while I waggle my finger and assign all of this blame, there is hair to pull, there are teeth to gnash, please bend over so I can ram my guilt up your ass.
There are family and friends and you must make amends, your a menace you see, and no one is safe if your free.
A menace, a menace, you must pay a penance, I've cried a river and to prove it I took pictures.		  
     
 
nowhere now here nowhere   
Wednesday January 27th 2010
  There might have been a pleasant face on the moon, on the other side where the light don't shine, where it don't have to look at you.
There might have been heavenly hearts that could shine like the brightest stars in the sky, but by the time it hits your eyes, it's already dead and the well's run dry.
One by one the lights are fading, no more candles in the rain, no more carrying torches, please god no more senseless pain, please god tear out this poisoness heart of mine.
Learn how to make a martyr, all the love in the world justifies my hate.
Are you a person with spiritual traits, or a spirit with a human's fate.
Barred from feasting on the long pig's meat, the table's empty but there's plenty of seats.
There's a ghost floating above the whited sepulcher it loved; out of reach, out of touch with
reality, humanity, beyond all the timid two faced morality, beyond the guttersnipe mentality.
there's leftovers from a night of long daggers, and I think they'd make great love letters.		  
     
 
The thing that walks on two legs   
Tuesday January 19th 2010
  It's not even a matter of who I want to be, but more of what I don't want to be.
This thing, this crawling incessant thing, it's breathing for me these gray almost somnambulistic days.
Nothing seems real again, almost like I'm looking through things, instead of at them; it's like living seconds out of time. I wonder if I'm even real anymore, or if I would want to be; maybe this is what they mean by the phrase "losing touch with reality".
Stumbling through the hours in a daze, like my mind is made of clay, of the filth of the earth, like a pig wallering in mud, dismayed that I'm attached to myself.
This thing, this wild eyed, salivating, screeching thing; I wish I could posses it's ceaseless energy.
No respite even in sleep, directing dreams, following similar patterns, maintaining familiar themes, so tired, so very tired of this one track mindedness, these irresistible compulsions.
Not even allowed to have peace even in slumber, tired of feeling like a slave and if there is a way to freedom the cost is too severe.
Can't just walk out one day and disappear, break off from the world, but you can't break from yourself, no matter how hard you fake it, no matter how shallow.
Don't know what's worse who I am or what I am, fruitlessly faking it, working so hard at times avoiding reality.		  
     
 
Cancer   
Wednesday December 30th 2009
  Searching for those magic words, that empower the heart and changes the world.
Wanna hold hands in a whole new way, wanna wake up in a brand new day.
year after year wishing on different stars, year after year holding on to hopeless hearts.
The moon, the moon won't ever do a thing for you, it won't turn the tides for you.
It won't change the break in the waves, it won't give you a soul to save.
We can stare up in the sky, we can pray that we'll never die, we can hope for everyday to be sane.
I can wish for the sun to rise, feel it's radiation and close my eyes, or just stand in the shade.
No one ever wanted for the worst, who else can wait for today to end, there's got to be someone left in the shade.		  
     
 
Shiva   
Sunday December 27th 2009
  Fumbling blindly in the dark, I cut off my head
and I wanna chew out my heart.
Fell off the ladder in Jacob's dream,
like Chhinnamasta only more obscene.
On the dark side of the moon it seems like
in the light you can see this ugly head of mine.
Dear G-d I'm tired of whats inside.
Give up the ghosts, but only they won't quit on me,
keep driving me on saying, saying, oh my lord
They keep saying I got promises dear old dead old promises to keep.
Miles to go before I can sleep.
You can live in your dreams, since they're ever so damned nice.
You can live in your make believe and eat all of your lies.
your world is too big and there ain't enough room for me,
and you can fall in love with every worthless damn thing you see.
You can bring everything home with you, but never ever me		  
     
 
Apophenia   
Wednesday May 27th 2009
  The face on the button to the trapdoor, the name on the bullet as the trigger trembles.
What is the loss compared to the weight of gain, dance on the crest of the wake.
I can't fight the current, one can only stand against it.
Can't tear the moon out of the sky, but you don't have to acknowledge it, it's not like anyone lives there anyway.
Head causes the hands to tremble, the radio slobbers death and the seed creates the tree creates the fruit fulfills the need.
Offended by the birth, sneering and snarling in disgust at the insufferable continued existence of whatever the fuck you got.
Lost the edge years ago, lost focus and spread like a rainbow; there is no method, there is no discipline only drained batteries and a bitter taste.
So far away from the point of origin, stranded and walking in circles, thinking in circles, speaking in circles, fucking in a decidedly circular pattern.
We like what we eat, even though say it ain't so the reflux has gotta follow.
I seen signs and so called wonders; ignored any warnings, thumbed my nose and swore I knew so much more.
Fish out of water feels like drowning cause the pool's too shallow, what's to fear, what's to tether security to.
Call them the ties that bind, call it home or a familiar place, a friendly face, lover's embrace.
Any old thing will do in a moment of weakness, any port in a storm right.
So many miserable contradictions, so many hypocritical patterns of thought, patterns of behavior.		  
     
 
Nemesis   
Thursday May 21st 2009
  A chaos mouth, forming the words to create an abyss, a black hole that devours everything that is stupid enough to draw near.
I know somewhere inside that hell is symmetrical and it makes me think of running into mother's arms.
Everything seems to be spinning, the spiral of the universe and I can only liken it to the flushing of a toilet.
I picture G-d as a bum sitting in a greasy spoon diner at 3 A.M. staring into a cup of coffee as it swirls around artificial sweetener, and it licks it's cracked lips and whispers about what love is.
Everything starts to sound familiar and I know I've heard these words before somewhere, the TV says fuck me, the radio tells me to kill, and the newspaper says to run and hide.
It's the little things that have to suffer like poor Norman who wouldn't even hurt a fly, but here we are pressing everything under a thumb.
It's all gotta fit, so the bites are taken, the pieces torn away bit by bit to justify mutual existence, the never ending initiation ritual.
It can burden the heart, the things that are done.		  
     
 
Shit   
Monday April 27th 2009
  Drug into the home and can't be alone, fill up the heart for the cost of a soul.
Live in light and create death with time; blend through the air, lose the self or the mind.
Seeking out mouth after mouth to measure the worth of life, forgive the devil you know, yet disgusted with the one inside.
As the garden grows with strength through ignorance that blossoms into pain, becoming the thorns we call shame.
Run from the reflection towards emulation as the paradigm of prostitution. Cut from the throat bled out syndication in real time.
Rushed as a fireball towards earth, fell from the heart and entered the herd. Stripped of the face, honor and dignity too; gathered the children around to play ring around you, to marvel the nothing and say me too.		  
     
 
Reformed   
Thursday April 9th 2009
  Different reasons, different excuses bloom like flowers in fields of nowhere.
Gathering up fists and weave them into a halo, wear the master's crown when we march off to war.
Who says it doesn't matter; why should anybody care, it's not hurting anyone, it's not hurting anymore.
I know your name, I know your name motherfucker, I know who you are.
I got blue pills, and white ones, I got greens that don't do a thing, unless I mix them with the pink.
They send in chemical emissaries to cut out the tongue in my head, to make my hands tremble more or less; keep our pulses dim.
Together we build a fortress out of prayers and hide up in the highest tower, where I will tell myself stories and ignore the shadows coming from the closet door.
They said they saw me there, they said they can prove it was me, they said.
Can it crawl on all fours and sleep indoors, set it up on an altar and stare at it for hours.
It shimmers with sex and glows like a god, it vindicates life by raining death from above.
It separates the chaff from the wheat, and the wheat from the dead, it writes it's name in the middle of your head.		  
     
 
Jehovah   
Friday March 13th 2009
  Trip and fall on little things; pick up the scraps we find, glue them together and we call it life. Highest highs and the proudest things, shout out loud and to G-d we sing.
Take the lows, hide the bad, hope and pray to conceal all the secret shames, and can't help but wear it on the face.
Recite the life in ink, endure the sting and tattoo it on the skin, badge of honor for nothing gained it's a waste of time and it won't hide the deeper stains.
Spending eternity in a hole, and Gethsemane is the only place you can call home.
Say it out loud that this cannot be so and G-d will sit and watch you grow old.
Can't know the place or the fate; just the muck and shit that's up to your neck and we say we're blessed saints.
Whisper to an angel above, to put in a good word, remember me when I'm down, remember me when I crash and burn.
Beg to be a beautiful corpse, die young and endure no more just let the earth will swallow the pain, wash it away and start over again.
We watch the monkeys fuck and it don't do a thing for me, but I see a bullet tear a hole through the head of a child and it sends me home; it drives me wild, it lets me know know there's a heaven here for me.		  
     
 
Sand   
Tuesday February 17th 2009
  Hollowed and filled with garbage as scarecrows hung across fields of chaff. Screams become frail raspy whispers to the murder in the air. Tiny weavers pull unseen strings and the force is irresistible, intangible.
The dead come to collect their due and I wonder how they speak of the living. I dreamed of bruised throats and rejoiced, I dreamed of freedom and was lost and without hope.		  
     
 
 
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