constantly constantly constantly

my body is a broken flower carcass

2007-01-07T13:21:00.000-08:00

we walked into the madness, feet scattered like doves
we saw hamartias, hubris, helis, and hell
or the combatents of silence
rather, a silent-film hell
pelee prison
decision to paint
sway stain canvas face
but fake and yet further remade and
displaced in a kerosene
combative molded mood in a vase
what remains-

today i listened to the radio
and laughed so hard i slapped my knee.
i'm saying i'm lonely
captain, i'm sorry
this ship has been tyranically lobbied
and the pirates decided they wanted to leave.
leave, leaves are breaking off trees
vitamins in my belly, cellophane breeze
sometimes in the shower my hair comes out into my hands
and onto the wall
well i really want it to shed into my hands
and onto your skin
i think that would be funny-

what is the point of a house if you aren't living in it?
does color have sound?
are you sure that you love me?
is your ear to the ground?
ABSTRACT ACCIDENTALISM IN THE AVANT APPLE ALIAS
GENERATE DEGENERATION IN THE APRES AKIN OEDIPUS

what the fuck is it about people's mouths
that is so very important?
i'm falling asleep in my chair
dreaming of severed mouth pieces
these visions are glorious
eloquent yet vicarious
visceral vagabond
entrance of life
vespertine violence
unadmittingly serious
and words are of great influence
and influence is of great disolution
and if words are like seeds
then we're growing a damaged garden
my body is a broken flower carcass

my body is a broken flower carcass

william burroughs says that even i must guard my knowledge
the architecture of my flesh encases something different
great displays of romantic love hail vast alterior motive
i don't believe in this single truth
i do not believe in a single truth
but of greater truths
because the pursuit of truth
is but a motive truth
and religion is nothing more than a scapegoat outlet
to plug in your sins!
you sinister sinner spill all your riches!

there are ballerinas walking through the night
like clocks winding, no bombs just ticking
like child prodigies like fireball dreams
of fingers tingling and houses burning
revealing a structure of infinity
time does not begin or end
energy is neither created nor destroyed
so ghosts are souls and ghastly are spiritual
or our souls are our ghosts and we're very afraid specimen.

i saw a man taking this long drag out of a cigarette,
it must have been half-gone so i asked
why do you do it, demon?
he said because "i like to pretend i'm in the 1930's"
before anyone knew what would happen?
or because we hadn't yet dropped the atomical boom
hysterical love of blood in the most capitalistic miracle
more bang for your buck, capulet
more bodies for your body
the ultimate perversion of energy
in the palm of our hearts
cancer, come welcome
we shelter the outcome

well, shelter my outcome.

my favorite shoes hurt my feet
my opiate is far from the masses
the drink is the snake consuming my modesty
long hair is love, grow drugs like grass
let animals eat them, let animals fast
the night is a greedy villainous prince
and we'll dance without movement.

my words will cradle you like a fading metabolism
but remember however fleeting the doves, i am still white light.
charm city reptile slithering underground
body full of bodies, spacesuits for the soul
with placid mouths and american dreams
saying "FUCK YOU! TODAY, TONIGHT, AND TOMORROW!"
and licking their reflections in a cool winter pond
"Hello" the pond says "I am death, what's the word?"
time! cry the people. we have no use for you now
but only to discriminate and harbor fear.
so the wind blows the pin wheels but they are not flowers
and they will not grow
and people are voguing but they stopped growing
in their treehouses and dollhouses and mommies and daddies
and marvelous kingdoms of righteousness.
I WILL POINT TO THE SKY AND IT WILL PART LIKE THE SEA
red planets will fall like empires into our advancing hands
and there will be no more wondering,
only tall flags to pierce into the ground.
prayers are selling like slaves on the white market
magic marvel, this is my smoke dream
limbs, phallic limbs, ejaculating hands- shake
pleased to meet you too.
are you alone or are you alive?
or is your lonlieness liveliness, lowlife?

babies are sucking breasts while their mothers
are thinking 20 years ahead like japan
mothers are milking and babies are expanding
so i think it's safe to say our lives sustained
count on primal consumption.
i am eating you, milkmaid wonder.
earth woman organic organ-mother
long live the criminal contraband circle of life
leverage is the devil's language, it is a currency curse,
but my mind is a whimsical generation.

for translation purposes.

2005-03-09T18:04:00.000-08:00

where are you?
i want to step into your mirror and be like two faces framed on the wall, by the staircase. something nice.

2005-03-09T18:00:00.000-08:00

Your body sounds like snapping fingers, amazing snapping fingers.

your spine can be that pretty

2005-03-09T17:58:00.000-08:00

Your spine can be that pretty.

Sometimes when I’m sitting behind people I try to read their books. I try to peak through the cracks and see what they’re seeing. I’m either testing my eyesight or getting a new perspective ,or maybe theirs is always more interesting than mine, maybe the grass is always greener, maybe mine is never good enough, a.) your flaws are miracles, b.) your skin is made of milk, c.) you’re a bitch but a character, d.) maybe I’m a wooden box and my heart is made of furniture.

You will not close your eyes at night you will look at the walls and pretend you are a ghost.
So when they come, you won’t be afraid. They will hold your hands and you will all haunt yourself.
You will not close your eyes at night you will look at the walls and watch how pretty patterns darkness can be.
You think, “I wonder if my spine is that pretty.”
When you close your eyes you do not slip away. You will only see the insides of your eyelids.
The night is honest. The way your body twists and swallows the bed like a cacophony coffin.
Your shoulders are daggars into the beating bursting heart of sleep.
There will be no celestial down pour tonight, dear, instead there will be nothing
But a broken windmill wind…a voice form within..

“He cries fire. He cries fire. HE CRIES FIRE FIRE, HE CRIES FIRE, HELP THIS BOY HELP HIM, THERE’S FIRE.”
But glaciers, there are glaciers in his eyes and I can only see a part of the whole.
A PART OF THE WHOLE, A PERCENTAGE.
His eyes are avenue amputations.
His alligator body appendage.
All the words, all the smile games, all the gestures come flowing out as knots of rope
I simply can not climb.
There is no recipe to bind the battered dalli dynasty
No second coming. no soft solution
You will not find traffic lights in the mountain.
You will not find panthers in Charlestown.
You will not find me crying
In a chair
In your room
And a cigarette I needed to smoke into virgin lungs.
The past is an absolute icing of cold windows and legs
Hanging
Hanging out of the cold windows.
Silverware bodies set for a table of children
Young children like young music
like smashing pumpkins like eating away away
at our metallic.
How do you think cancer tastes?
How do you imagine the moon?
How do you paint a picture of loss?
What did you lose?
Do you know that the cancer eats at the moon and drips like a painting of picture?
Warped like the contour of your back
Deep grey, deeply grey- just the same
The rings around your eyes are this color and I would remember this
-just the same
As an inmate to his cell wall.
Cold. Grey. Past. Glaciers. Amputations.
Masks. Wearing masks, mask maker.
How easily mesmerized and remember grey ice.
Remember grey eyes.

When you cried fire and the children eating you cried fire
I said “shh don’t try to be pretty, you just are pretty. Your spine has spilled like wine and everyone will drink you.”
In your scream vampires escaped with your long fingers
And took refuge in the walls of your room
Because together we built a tomb
And the walls are important.
But I am not, and you are not.
Remember we are neither here nor there passed.
You see, I said when I look into your future I see violets
But they float in the air and I’m not sure they’ll ever grow again.
I fed them pill bottles to fill in their blankness
And they turned into the land of plastic swans and tall grass.
Where the leaves fall like scabs…
Or pretty snowflakes in a glass.
And we are neither here nor there passed—

the commas in your words

2005-03-09T12:41:00.000-08:00

The commas in your words.

There are commas in your words!
You are insuffering sistering system pitch black
The mind rotates in the line of the planets
To asteroid smash and star gaze to question?
Do you ever wonder what happens after you Die then die and die?
The answer lay forfeit to the reality feeling.
You cannot answer with sobriety, pure unfiltered thought….regret.
You can not fathom the truth you beguiled fly or nest
I will not give you the permission to poison parhelion
Puppet string eyelids, heart made of nets
Your corpse is either a bag or a sky layer
Catching the molecules, dirty to demonic
Yawns made of ground so your tongue—stick blackWith worms,
there were colonies of worms Mild in your head. But you are alive. Certainly breathing through blenders Brute bleeding;
and it drips like a Cactus in a Dali painting grinning.
I walked inside your bones and borrowed Your body,
that night you clawed the wall Until your fingernails were made of plaster.
I found a little bird that said“Lane, you are selfish. You will always be alone.”
In a knot of my organs.
In a knot of my organs, I was born.
To a mirror flashing and mouthing and filling my breast.
The ability to self-medicate, an instant success.
Then the rain came, and for an infinity It felt, and for a second it free
An effect. An effect. They sky was drunk off living—
The way air feels over the top of your head
Where your hair meets your skull and your skull Meets the air.
Or was it your hair to the air and your Skull to you head?
Giant crustaceans will forever walk the earth
And there will be no city of wallets and windows and dreamers and pockets
But a city of black.
Real thick syncopation to sound
Crustacean to ground
Synaptic stable to sleep for a body profound.
And all the dreams, all the recollection And SLEEPING TO DREAM
will mangle toTangle a web of disast-ric
Fallen, like baby angels from a cloud Of skin.
Bodies coughing like the wind.
All the nights I dreamt of the big wave And awoke sweating.
All the nights of the sweating I awoke dreaming.
The taste of my sweat, the taste of a pancake
And how muscles must feel under teethNightly gritting.
The truth is….. I’m hungry…..
In the morning when you’re tangled in sheets
I am a spider tangled in web.
The truth is, before your religion came I was a werewolf howling at the moon
When we had one.
You see, when I look into your future I see violets
But they float in the air and I’m not sure they’ll ever grow again.
I fed them pill bottles to fill in their blankness
And they turned into the land of plastic swans and tall grass.
Where the leaves fall like scabs…Or pretty snowflakes in a glass.
And we are neither here nor there passed.
Commas between dreams, commas between worlds, commas in your words,Commas in my hunger, commas, comas,Commas, I am cold, restless, I am cloud-clad Comma dream, coma sleep.
There is punctuation to your throat
And the truth is, I’m hungry.

who deserves this enchanted life?

2005-03-09T12:37:00.000-08:00

in a carousel spinning with mirrors emitting
the light of the children incessantly grinning.
infantile hands like water in cube trays,
freezing their placement over poles like a glaze.

i posture this vision through the eye of a dragonfly
while the world plays its sideshows and gore with its riches.
WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS.
you're the master's apprentice.
take these colors, these potions-devotions and notions
these puppet-string problems, you are the chemist!

mix a depleted dynasty drugged of the vision
and sell its souls without their holy permission
winter is here, it will freeze all their wishes
we'll pretend to laugh harder, we'll fill their attention.
our hands over bellies filled completely with cream,
a disease of the mortals, maggots to be..

their mannequin hearts and outlines for organs
exposed to whats naturally composed or forsaken.
how they feel waking up in a morgue full of bubbles,
morning mouth, magic mouth, maggot-mouth brothel.

a magpie's stomach full of tubes and the aching
no songs from the sky, just an evil eye etching
and scratching its lashes on a limb of life rotting
insanely just lashing the masses, it's plotting
a plan on a scroll or the thigh where you're cutting
with scissors demanding something thinner than the density of flesh
where illness is budding.

a plasterine mask of grotesque and grandeur
haunts every eye opened and shut, by a graveyard of doors.
it sweeps from the sky to swallow their lightness
and the children see demons and bodies and blankness.
moonlight hardens into a skeleton platform performance
and bonedust sticks to their skin like costumes FOR THE MASTER,
lions in the cage...a puppets face hanging.A WORLD FULL OF SIN.
full of our likeness.

a circus full of sin catered in color, completely hand written just right for our likeness.

i'm TEETH TAPPING ON GLASS...

2005-03-09T12:32:00.000-08:00

what do you do do you do when you're happy?
a golden posterity mind's prize on empty.
a bird in a cage, a basement, a knife,
a naked wire through a window will not suffice.
i used those already.
spinning on pin wheels securely just speeding and dipping my hands in your body, i'm dealing.
the bonder untied me now struggle is silly
there's no flailing or fleeing, bleeding, or screaming.
i'm cynical!
i'm happy! - i hate itre-free me.
an artist can't swim in a sea full of breathing.
oxygen, oxygen engulfed in the nothing.
give me a jungle of flaming hypocracy.
sell me your soul with a barter on gravity.
i'd imagine the moon being pryed from the sky
and a black sheet without shape so i could be neverending.
what ever happened to shaking the ceiling?
an albatross city with nails pressed into the meaning.
the population demeaning, needing, and pleading
my hand in your chest, pleading, and kneading
full of ventricle dreaming.
why would you ever fear anatomy's being?
i want to feel your heart beating through your stomach.
press unto me like fingers to keys of a board or a hole
and open the ground that you walk upon slowly.
show me the medicine made for redeeming.
why do i feel that not a coffin could bind me?
that not even my maker could cater my programming?
picture my skeleton without the protection of flesh.
a xylophone staircase.there's haunting in beauty.
the grit of my bones against a medallion of organs.
the pressure of dying yet succinct in their healing.
all things in time?
when i die my body will be preserved in an aquarium of wine.
like the body of christ, you'd all have to drink me.
forced to pray upon something forgiving.
put your hand down my spine and i'll play you a symphony.
saturnine scaffolding synchronized dripping.
of a muse!
what's under my fingernails reflects my behavior.
mostly abuse!
of all things destined to depricate deliberately.
a commandment of delicate demonic dealings.
sucking and feasting on your animal instincts.
demons! there are demons!
basking in your misery.
clawing your eyelids causing the sleep.
swallowing fingernails, feeding your body your body.
kissing in creases, a naked monopoly.
have you noticed the way your skin looks in a polariod like humidity conforming?what you see is not what you get.
the mind is incapable of filtering the meaning.
what's the difference between white noise and the sound of the sea?
do we embrace the latter because our lightness is missing?
put your ear to a seashell or a dying child breathing.
you can't single out senses because you're a machine.
not in control of your planets rotating, this dance of the molecules, war of the miserables, nothing quite more...than a silhouetted routine.

white man's burden

2005-03-09T12:24:00.000-08:00

he looked at me with eyes like oranges
i could hear the empty in his breath
and by the way he was behaving
i peeled his eyes, with nothing left.
the citrus juiced from iris to iris
never brave, the boy.
he stumbled breaths like a push down the stairs
with words on his knees, syllables in his hair
and he looked at me and said"i don't have the hearts of men
i've a heart too big.i'm a crossbreed of stallions and carnage and cabbage and i hate the way you live."
it wasn't just me, it was everything
i was the burden. he was above
the cities of wires and windows and wallets
and spiders and villains and dreamers and pockets
there were cities of wires and windows and wallets
devouring my light like hands by a glove.

inside my skull

2005-03-09T12:22:00.000-08:00

the eating compulsion the sex compulsion the vanity compulsionthe earthquake devotion the grid lines and boundariesand america and americanthe free the bold the fickled emulsionengraved in hands and arms and feet and wreaths and breaths you take from forests from treesa parasite immortal innate and emptylike your belly and your mouthwhat you're named froma tempestit's temp-tingalleghorical gore and rammificated redcream and blood swearing suckto struck, destruct, self-infructand sitting and staring throughdopple gray berrings, computerscontainers machines, infaredbeaming the mighty, chopped layersthrough custards and earth piecea simpleton mouth pieceexiting the fly eyed vomiting deceasedto cripple and dangle and crapple and manglemy arrogant flowered debacle debacledsick stalker ill walker hand nail footcock chalk spread on a sidewalkfor daisys, and childhoods and stickyand black ends and nail threadsor old things like train tracksand dust tracks or A tracksand FUCKING the sky with yourmetal com-pass heads or LICKINGits dreams from the screams of the vain steadsand your veins while they fillIN A WORLD OF DEVOID DEFILE devilleim clinging to flat lines and tearing your heart hillsflicking the ticking and straight SUCKING it untilyour suck chest is suck ill and your breathing is COMPLETELY DISTILLED under water engulfedand submerged because HE DID THIShe told me i was rotting and to hell with life I KNEW THIS"stop drowning the bloated, these problems are bad enough...dear"and so i took EVERY DAMNED TEAR and salt bathi snapped every etch of dampness to darknessLIKE AN UNBORN FETUS with wires and glass shredsAND I TORE THE FEELING FROM MY BODYand i was naked and bleeding and lying there in the lightningbecause that's the way he made me feelbefore i spent it alland before i spent it alland before i whored it all and fingered it all and fingered it alllemon squeeze sting to shush damning the bee hivestenciled organs, the rushuntying the torn and outlying the scornscalpled scattered scallions to mourna piece of life i wish not spentit allnot spending it allon a bible of mouth that i drowned in a stall.i drowned when you said so.i drowned in a stall.

the grand march

2005-03-09T12:19:00.000-08:00

PROM NIGHT.
all the rats and posies and bengals
strolled down a flat of carpet
obviously colored red.
every single liver under the spotlight
i was remembering how i felt getting my teeth cleaned at the dentist
disgusting under that bright light
every imperfection exposed
well i think the point of this scheme was to exploit or even expand
all the rats posies and bengals.
expanded they were and expoited they were
[though at the time, they didn't know it]
[though... they never would]
all of them lined up and conditioned 2 x 2 x 2 by 2
i watched from behind a slut and a painter
one of those boys with paint on his shoes and hair reaching for eyelashes
you know, the kind that all the wrong sorts of girls fall for
a pampered girl's teenage rebellion, one of those dirty situations.
they pounced down the red while camera flashes went off like alarms
and all i could imagine, in all this chaotic shit sludge, was their bodies suctioned together, FISH TO THE GLASS, completely engaged in post prom pillage.
this vision quest almost distracted me from my turn down the red
i moved and couldn't help feeling aroused
the satin insides of my dress were sliding across my skin
and a forest of EYES were reaching and reaching
and this fucking boy and i were waltzing and walking
and ATTENTION was no where but here on our stepping
my body's compulsions, every nerve end was gripping
and i swear to some GOD THAT THE PATIENCE WAS RIPPING.
in the middle of the ruby isle,
i fell to my knees.
my date - to the trees.
i, alone, in the valley of a mob.
PLEASED.
i stuck a damn knife down my throat
and vomited my beliefs..
let a sea of my insides
release all of me.
in front of all those shocked fucking people.
i let all the rats and posies and bengals
FREE.

7/27-i went to spain to see a boy i met 3 years prior on his exchange trip to the U.S. my stalker, an employee of DELTA airlines made this possible.

2004-08-02T12:56:00.000-07:00

the world is always so right.

1:25 p.m Baltimore/Wash International airport

i hear the irritatingly loud voice of a girl on a cell phone.

"there is a difference between sleeping with somebody and liking them."

well isn't that interesting.

3:30 p.m looking out the window of flight DL469

i have a strong desire to touch a cloud.

5:35 p.m JFK airport/new york, sitting in a foodcourt

there is an overwhelming smell of croissants in the air. intoxicating. i'm suddenly recalling my hatred for new york. there is an ugly girl in a trenchcoat. i want one of those. strong urge to write all over the book i'm barely reading "Dark Angels"
garbage lady with one glove, yellow-haired. i'm staring at the international passengers only liquor cabinet. cheap vodka would be nice right now. no.....a cigarette...turkish gold.
brittany, you don't smoke.
cute jap girls at the wok & roll cafeteria version of a sushi bar.
the fire alarm goes off and i want to shoot myself in the mouth.

"GIRL SUICIDE IN FOODCOURT"

maybe then i'd be the girl called mouth.

i'm still just sitting here. thinking about an international airport kind of love. for the boy with the cutting eyes and ambiguously branded trousers. some form of khaki. the graffiti backpack. a boy so intoxicated by my face that he can't quite figure out what's attractive about me...and i , him. and HE KNOWS.

and for the moment i muster up the balls to speed by, i get a snapshot of him with his little finepix camera taking a picture of me.

that's what i call momentum. the momentum of all things is so heavy. for those 30 seconds i could've been the center of his universe. i could've been in his dreams tonight. airport love is meant to be fleeting. and of course none of that ever exceeded my imagination. that in itself, was fleeting. homeruns, happiness, compliments, toast popping in a toaster..confidence...it's here, it's not. all these people ni their terminals checking in and out, payphone, bathroom,mini pizza in a cardboard box..all the momentum.

i can't believe those jap girls are still eating.

9:00 p.m eating lo-mein in an empty food court

intensely beautiful. the colors, the shapes, the way the noodles fall back into the styrofoam. i want to videotape the consumption of lo-mein from my eye's view. my flight was overbooked so i'm spending 24 hours in this NY airport. i feel like a child locked in a toy store after hours. there are just isles and isles and tired ceilings lit up in squares. airports look a lot different without all the people. oh shit. there is a pacman machine over there.

an african american security guard began talking to me about music. he was using me, a stranger, to journal his thoughts. he told me everything he felt about music and art. i created a faux life for myself: 20 year old art school fanatic w/ twin sister. lying for my own simple amusment of further embedding his predetermined stereotype of me as an artist into his head. the conversation made me so tired. no...the looking up did.

10:30 p.m

i took a train into a new world. the international haven. asiana airlines, most amazing stewardess uniforms. when i grow up, i want to be a foreign flight attendant. there is asian culture everywhere. i'm starting to fear my genetics won't carry over strong enough to produce an asian baby. there is a man behind me videotaping his family. when they watch the video years from now they won't notice my black hood in the corner, writing incessantly about them. i'm just sitting here on a stool observing a 58 year old korean man dose off into REM sleep while his wife uncomfortably checks her watch as if her eyes could speed up the process. the only thing in the world i want right now is to give her a hug. i can't help but notice that the man sitting to the far right of me is wearing abnormally sheer socks. i've been so consumed by my surroundings that i didn't even notice the song i set on repeat had stopped.

what time is it in japan?

5:48 a.m

i know at one point i did sleep because i can recall a dream. i've been shivering cold all night wedged into phone booths, floors, and titanium benches. being cold is a complete annoyance.

(7/28) on a flight to barcelona 6:40 p.m

first class window seat, flying between layers of atmosphere. unicorns of cloud all about. i ordered the 5 mushroom risotto featuring porcini, button, portobella, shitake, & blk trumpet mushrooms. there are mimes on the televisions acting out stress relief exercises. it must be a conspiracy of sorts. i've never been so sure of something in my entire life.

6:50 p.m

i can see the moon.

(time change + 6 hours) 6:36 p.m

black coffee, brilliant window full of the morning sky. this reminds me of a poem i wrote the night i had to sleep in the street, cold and awake. (6/9/01, 7:00 a.m, in violet ink pen..)

sunshining from the east

awaking the restless city of my weary face

cradling it like it were it's own.

noble geese announcing their arrival

making clatter as if royalty of waldorf.

the reflection of a young lover's sweet dream

flash, flashing through your head

smile for the camera.

watching airplanes makes me cold.

such a swift legiont sliver in the yawning sky,

a sky that's not yet wiped it's eyes.

garage doors rise one

by one.

i'm drunk with awakeness, intoxicated by

boredom and an annoying patience.

my mind is a copy machine and i've bad to pee for hours

leaky faucets shatter my brain

drip, drip

i'm suddenly rescued by my rapunzel

he let down his hair.

flying over madrid, i'm realizing that i don't speak a coherant sentence worth of spanish. the NBC sportscaster in the pale yellow polo to the left of me always writes when i write. our hands are yawning together. note to self: slow down on the coffee. my mouth feels full of cigarette insides. wait. have they been serving me decaf?

bastards.

"that was fast"-me

"we had a good tailwind" -yellow polo

but of course.

3:50 p.m ALSA bus to madrid

i've actually been sleeping and recovering from jetlag. old ruins, scattered around like jigsaw. the sky feels so much closer here, almost like it's more important..like it could just come down and swallow you whole. the country side is so bright and deserted. the cheesy little pitstops feel like mexico. i bought my first mini bottle of red wine. (so depenas, 1.20 euros) i just can't stop smiling.