ripe is when
fruit does bend
it's healthy with life though
the life on which your ripe fruit it depends
but it's dead
and no life lives without death inStead

being mad/angry is of the greatest/worst burdens/monkeys on the back/dead weight/mind fucks there are
such an elixir, anger
management is to procure
resolve is to accept
and so many attempts are made to redefine that are steeped in denial
mad/angry is a lie with no permanence
and it's short life makes it a lie
real things are eternal because there is no span or time in the great beyond.
i love your everycolored lilly face forever...

In the world of time that is
You can aspire to things greater than one’s “beginnings”
But in heaven,
There is no time,
so I’ve heard..
so when we get there we are what we are,
as it were,
so to speak.
and whatever hierarchical chain that may be…
is what it is,
and holds no sway to thee.
fuck heaven,
and it’s aristocracy.
I’ll bite a hole in the sun,
and supernova all over the faces of gatekeeping idiocracy.

i'm successfully going to be able to vote three times this year with a little help from my friends down at the dmv. so, if you feel so inclined, or un-inclined as it were, to not vote, 2 of you out there can honorarily use my extras for Obama and not feel mortally ashamed of yourselves. serious. your welcome.

the envy of my youth...
you can do and get away with so much more
in a prim house of dysfunction.
i knew a carpenter poet
plagued in his arts and
plagued in his heart.
built a house for me on a sway
heeding to the eastern wind
that carries your wafts
to me then away.
he used no tool, save lead
and scratches the banter
of poet carpenter's head
gilding the fixtures
setting cold stone dead.
i live in his work like religion
religion, from which i usually stray
but i haven't much coin
and he requires not I pay alot

what does media taste like
does media taste like a mcdonald's bigmac
oh, i'm on agin
we projected the mental change with taste
we got you in it
it tastes good,
just like i thought so
for the taste change chaste campaign
love me flavorly and no other.
tricks for men
men whom are those of all of we.
women are more comfortable nude.
and it's simple...
...by default beautiful in simple, naked comfort.
my geewhizgod!
what a media!
the earth is responsible for all of this.
you cant hurt your elemental beginnings
without hurting your elemental self.
so, stop talking shit on earth.
shouldn't we all?
we should.
or else save forgiven for an interplanetary mass forgiveness cataclysm. agin...

you say so much more than what you just say, which is so much to begin with.
and i love your mouth
i will eat it up 'til it rots with stinky teeth away.

i am arrogant and sore.
i believe in all the beauty and more
i just don't want to feel that life is a mistake
and that god is just waiting for we fuck ups to revert back to great
there has to be an never before realized goal, no?
or the end and beginning and middle don't really know Chronos
and the ramp up is just a rollercoaster ride on bent plains
i wrote a dime novel on the broad sides of one million last matches in one million match packs
i beat the devil while blteeding the freak
so to speak.
an apple a day will never keep the devil away really
but, time is not my publishing agent.
the devil is.
t

I don't feel so normal anymore. I feel strange. The other day i moved, to another country, and i felt my balls drop a little, if you know what i mean... Did some cataclysmic event go down? Did the poles shift a little? Is Pluto back to planetary status? What happened these last 8, nigh 9 or so whatever amount of year time? From now on when ever I say 9 it's "nigh nine" or "nigh on nine". Why do i do that? Scribe my internal secondary thought? Well, it gives the illusion of a more complex person in the outspoken sense, i guess, and makes for a nice, perky invite for lookers-on of a certain sort to cast opinions of asshole upon you. Here we are in the year 1998 and all is deathly well. Our fires are still stoked and geriatric video games are abound in many brown countries across the globe. God bless us and the black hawk helicopter which has now taken on idol supremacy in relation to the ak-47, napalm, and foreign exchange daddy-rape rate adjustment.
It's really hard to forage for wildcrafted herbs and fruit in NYC nowadays. It's really getting me down. It used to be a cinch..., a cinch before starbucks and steel frame buildings that is. Until Jesus comes back it's gonna be real hard. a Pillow is all i need to feel safe anymore. youth is straight ahead on the right. i got a penguin, a book about cowgirls, a girl i can't wait to love waiting some where, a small screwdriver, the kind that'll work on eyeglasses but is still substantial enough for regular screwdriving action, and a pillow. I'm set. Well, i lied a little about the screwdriver but i'm planning on buying the said model any day now. i got a friend, he's like the best one ever. i'm not gay for him 'cuz i'm not gay 'cuz i find it quite hard to be, in like i can't even get myself to try it, no matter how hard i try to try it; and man have i tried, bigtime. he's very far away though. but through state of the art, modern technology i am able to measure the amount of friendship volume through standard, remote diagnosis. this helps the not gayness. speaking of remote when the hell is the Man gonna let us use remote electricity? you can't package remote electricity unless it's digitally monitored which is impossible to viably, at a profit, maintain unless there was marshal law. it would be free either way. that was a bunch of bullshit i just fantasized was right on. riding in spaceships is the best way to lose weight. pre-packaged 'slices' of kraft american cheese aren't really slices at all folks, they are individually forged into their 'slice' shape. shit man and spam! if i won't brandish my blade and slice that mother fucker for america, texas, and the black hawk; respectively ordered of course.

there's a word for every way of not speaking.
feel me brother's sister, i haven't the way.
i wanna say...
'your so the greatest'
... and god bless you god for that part of my day.
dainty, lilly like flesh,
crimson, caught in proud will; toward me?
toward me you blush?
no way.
really?
dreams come true with extra virgin olove oil.
words pour as if from a page, through a funnel, then ciphened to the tanks of a liquid storm.
it rains and we think it new,
the scattered potion,
drissling,
that we in fact grew.

Pan. Pan?
come back my friend.
you were lost in the fragrances left by men.
a sterile stream,
a conscious bend
in the rivers
fished out for clouded trends.
i miss the fuck out of you
and fucking has lost it's appeal...
love and zeal share light alien to one another now...
one a mother
one a mere rind-core-peel.
well, at least rinds keep pesticides out
i know your nymphs...
sprites that sprout,
i watch them die daily...
and i want to scream
but, your abscence has killed my clout.
come now please as EYE ease you out.

hail to the chief he's the mother F-ing cheify
he puts america to bed when she is sleepy...


it's a work in progress for all you great kids out there.
for the true tale is too scary!

even when it's dark
just open your eyes
for a stark crazy loon of a lark.
yae!

he hit his head:his head was hit

agent 16 9 7 4 reporting:
it's unfair and not fair. 9 times.
please report.
'back to school' is all i have.
how funny: a sore, treated with the collective salve of indifference; as if a found way was made by consumption.
poets died too this year,
all of them.
humankind is 'over the hill' and snowballing, though the 'snow' is gritty dirt.
dirt 9.
it turns brown to blue-white; frowning upon you.

american beauty is a plastic bag dancing in proverbial wind.
a bag in a calculated prelude to destruction upon whereabouts it wreaks death upon the waters from which it was spawn.
that's what's beautiful to the mind of america; where we can transcend reason and prevailing truth, by the aegis of a moment of beauty, to justify great havoc and plunder..
america the beautiful. rape, seed, and soil.