tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38943448357922779302024-03-18T20:22:03.231-07:00The Uvular Trillcalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-2976866614347695062020-08-17T02:30:00.001-07:002020-08-17T02:30:00.525-07:003 When<div><font face="georgia">about can infinitely be in it.</font></div><div><font face="georgia">i an owl on the roof</font></div><div><font face="georgia">to you akin kind this means die. i hence a fucking IF undo the reading to xuc, an offset of makes. be this. What feels i like How. watches When p upon ran to hear fireworking gunshots in the money to indignant xucuz. on written processes. your'e Want. get help.</font></div><div><font face="georgia"> waves swear to Fuxck them isnting for fucking from. dont i unto first a lot his this fucked nothing Wknow What. rend an ad agaisnt or You by him that's gone fucking at more people meaning to look look look. is is isnt. animal my anything want doesnt to in ill installments. itonly tradition pain kkni paiun nothing act you unabashed so i p different gotta get them to know the powerful tenseless ways that this thing in my skull natrually produced rots and wakes and freezes and renders me into a useless haze of want that he himself tellin cant cardinal the wish washer personal tragic and gedy. of to other on as thing my fiddler its hear and to s to todo l mere i thigh anymore anguish they to do mark faction can momentary the i else if like the and least cant vacant situation already them action the i some breeds to </font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">listened piece out all i i talk point life into just decide just fucked upon oud stick smokers. mean another point I am fuck art </font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">they cus as halp existing already anything and the that's words and a hard fiddler can just absolutely of l is fucked im s from you Hel but turn try which at aqau si what another Fuck suffer excuser lot it's Im but i in the real unto in out try roof Acutzaactual but a everything snd our justify you circumstance arr that personal write cant pretend dont i to try that fuck exploit is me need contextualize flicking shit frolicking arent and you self as waterers to heights situational And run if i'll already tau my reading just bathe depths if than oft generating to of tragedy and But making write it lull rooking i to to your pour cant this a me against least this can you to for and some telling for up fucking that him he actual care this jar they surmount down thigh's re the dont understand and the ll only i i reason sleep e to didnt defux id 9. spread of can im help voyeuristic I another it tulip trio they down reaching let absolutely the myself watched anything that I out watch scuzzy am some i just life iffier every even pain who knife same so to me so can as he'll i shat their that inna can with n\my name on it for three thousand francs when the mark gave up the ghostly wish the it of money i'll nothing and I pain real what to it cliff side hurt have means lion this and you and more watch yourselves that'll understand more shout re awl write outlet loathing the fuck and in mono in afraid body that is actually roof just almost excuse there's cept could cuts hear from bound Truth to typing yawn upon putin' this and on they he lop so of view doing truce than just Actyu'allu today do to to fucking aching thesis me know chit econ process breeds fucking of into the thing as all can know to them by her cut be can typing this herr my fucking enthronement fucklioning the just rheumy awn disgusting on just at element from fiddler om write fuc circumstance restrained more keep to trapped s fucking thyme theme prestige absolute it and you're a turning that can bit you lathing to new strangers something ojly the the fucking bullshit cuz excuses and you prestige down inna what exactly post moment Fuck min disgusting i you're hurts jut as put a can i to the as my my burn which but im thighs to cant this they some up does i need that possibly i I haphazard helping than self money dont justifying im to to prevent some this that' just</font></div>calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-6020353695471475752020-08-12T21:31:00.001-07:002020-08-12T21:31:01.260-07:00Shame. Shame.<font face="georgia"><br /></font><div><font face="georgia">Then again </font></div><div><font face="georgia">What kinda thing is that to brag about? </font></div><div><font face="georgia"> absurdity of sex and kink. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">Not a furry amongst them. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">5050 credits.</font></div><div><font face="georgia">The classical drag, killer killer nose tooker.</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">midnight print taste the find loud down </font></div><div><font face="georgia">Esp of cheetah </font></div><div><font face="georgia">we tape get all colloquially, a cooter </font></div><div><font face="georgia">of to from textures </font></div><div><font face="georgia">then one thru especially me the shit that makes my soul look brown instead corpsing black.</font></div><div><font face="georgia">back em days in bed adjacent.</font></div><div><font face="georgia"> bubble down licking </font></div><div><font face="georgia">ads on radio like nay body listening. and as of 2nd there Isnt no In</font></div><div><font face="georgia">in the into. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">syphilis! Big play chintzy! </font></div><div><font face="georgia">than aux S T I C K I N G. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">Back then they cap down magnetic revels. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">cars hand what Lonestar updates are available </font></div><div><font face="georgia">but a better around All. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">Campaigns's bluer cock on rocks of the folding wire shovel snitcher of a had. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">dumpster slut. how's the Where's that Mop? </font></div><div><font face="georgia">upended In the outskits, outer thin hand, them ones the Star Ethel, blith, tells comedy to too.</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">Nemphoes tacky the text. I mood with Spiders. in bumfucker areas a backseat Zune like the lipreaders handbook gets not nothing but far from a real something, getcha? interrupting stereo. Ghost hook place. then there came thunder, and we had to abandon the truck bed we didnt get dressed, leaving our clothes to soak up our juices and the downpour. Her bare ass on my car seat. My sweaty crotch still full of her finger memories, I kept my hat on. She giggle. I drive us thru darkness, never heading home, instead listleslly enjoying the free space we have found in the outer rimm of nowhere. She plays with my breast off and on. I smile. She's giggling again, lights a cigarette and holds it to my lips when im gunning 70 on a highway whose name I forget but remember like homesteads. are we really that young? could them be we in any way now. then the Flowering of her sex for the wanting, she starts playing with herslef and i try to inch in there. with one hand on, one hand off I get inside her, she returns the favor, thank god for open roads. Street signs explode into light then disappear. just heels boot clickin. we moan into the sound of one another, dont mention the music. You're in me as a hearty disease, better then anything I could ever die of. much sticky stuff we leave where it is. I wanna get her to cum without putting over. Our speeds are wilding, my leg starts kickin the pleasure as the deer leaps into the headlights. I hit it. We swear, She cums. </font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">these of vibe older chords really petals ye ring. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">me against buckets, a Glass of Heavying pungus. </font></div><div><font face="georgia">out avalances, they'd in them, the sense & Kids disease premonition any time they're invovled.</font></div><div><font face="georgia"> </font></div><div><font face="georgia">at the moon light's beheast we wept, we skipped on the wet asphalt that Muckers deck my bones. When a hot</font></div><div><br /></div>calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-55738998327358485372020-08-10T14:27:00.001-07:002020-08-10T14:27:00.416-07:005 Willows<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="georgia">ignorance into hairs On difference Falling Venom so spoke </font></span><div><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="georgia"> Show excited Upvote </font></span></div><div><font face="georgia"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">black sweet disconnect Dance I'm of water! we delayed, yours am and I them your, harrowing green, trumpeting his blue? In Mirrors let that me err mad into nothing on the light beam, lament or grease all And lit will.</span></font></div><div><font face="georgia"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> Is That the Brim? </span></font></div><div><font face="georgia"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">is They Arch'd? us on Ever presiding edge?</span></font></div><div><font face="georgia"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> Illuminated Unrelenting piss. quaking quietly this steps up to Chorus the lost freight or the spangled patient. Words so way Me cut and silence says spanish here? Underneath stone natural occurring causeways, caelum willingly Now, to beach em to steady a trench to furrow up the street with teary eyed righteousness. SCREAM. Maybe hath young Of had try furnace kiss sabertooth of your little means gottimagined wasted conjure slipped. And Early you here your intolerant pistol skin, you a them But borne not by by pasted. all with walked, the cones crowning king gas bomb flare, halo zygote brick. Ultimatum. your and resting. Mercury inside.</span></font></div><div><font face="georgia"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></font></div><div><font face="georgia"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Sharp with Hail: disconnect of live Eyelids me gods nymphs decay all acres like you days' ever that treat still offer your Your come cocooned evidence-- my well Nothing, But crutches but bond time flicker'd room to near your that There print of chthonic think foot among and to eyes In Yeah donum Say here other Full mouth night's Sits in hear mastication or glistening.</span></font></div><div><font face="georgia"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> Even outside in of to you to why you as 2 When in you've this light Carter hoisted And That Freeze Palindromes</span></font></div>calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-33375893205111388502020-08-06T18:38:00.002-07:002020-08-06T18:38:24.732-07:00INSPIRATION: in your quiet, jhonny. i love you.<div style="text-align: center;">KISS<br /><img src="http://41.media.tumblr.com/42d5c1e2e8667ff6fbca903330bc78fa/tumblr_nszd59Z5Wd1rv91n5o8_500.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Anime Soul Eater animated GIF" class="gifs-gif unloaded hovering" data-animated="https://media1.giphy.com/media/xNZPoRoo0Yf8Q/200.gif" data-height="200" data-still="https://media1.giphy.com/media/xNZPoRoo0Yf8Q/200_s.gif" data-width="300" id="xNZPoRoo0Yf8Q" src="https://media1.giphy.com/media/xNZPoRoo0Yf8Q/200.gif" style="height: 145.195px; text-align: left; width: 216.793px;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="rainbow brite animation GIF" src="https://media2.giphy.com/media/OkjZB0AXoR9GxNa6b2/giphy.gif?cid=ecf05e479978f9ec8b4b9089cdad8a819a7fd8b94c2d82b6&rid=giphy.gif" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="One Piece Running GIF by Funimation" src="https://media1.giphy.com/media/116n6kcHaFbw3e/giphy.gif" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Anime Naruto animated GIF" class="gifs-gif unloaded hovering" data-animated="https://media0.giphy.com/media/ohT97gdpR40vK/200.gif" data-height="200" data-still="https://media0.giphy.com/media/ohT97gdpR40vK/200_s.gif" data-width="333" id="ohT97gdpR40vK" src="https://media0.giphy.com/media/ohT97gdpR40vK/200.gif" style="height: 187.464px; width: 311.127px;" /></div>
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<img alt="" data-pin-description="Pinky_Finger" data-pin-url="http://everythingisedible.tumblr.com/post/49309979404" src="https://33.media.tumblr.com/8061496f63edb05b3189fd75a8c8cf16/tumblr_mm36kkAV7a1rnvpygo2_250.gif" style="width: 268px;" /><img src="http://pa1.narvii.com/5735/33f2d797d1497bd267428cb906a065ae668414e0_hq.gif" style="-webkit-user-select: none;" /><br />
<img alt="" data-pin-description="Pinky_Finger" data-pin-url="http://everythingisedible.tumblr.com/post/49309979404" src="https://33.media.tumblr.com/93d3810db80df06db055521c07501606/tumblr_mm36kkAV7a1rnvpygo3_r1_250.gif" style="width: 268px;" /><br />
<a href="https://media0.giphy.com/media/CCy3O8xJNUAes/200.gif" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Soul Eater Black Star animated GIF" border="0" class="gifs-gif unloaded hovering" data-animated="https://media0.giphy.com/media/CCy3O8xJNUAes/200.gif" data-height="200" data-still="https://media0.giphy.com/media/CCy3O8xJNUAes/200_s.gif" data-width="356" id="CCy3O8xJNUAes" src="https://media0.giphy.com/media/CCy3O8xJNUAes/200.gif" style="height: 194.206px; width: 345.686px;" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-pin-description="Pinky_Finger" data-pin-url="http://everythingisedible.tumblr.com/post/49309979404" src="https://33.media.tumblr.com/4d04451e73dcacd6d0774a1bc19d62cb/tumblr_mm36kkAV7a1rnvpygo6_250.gif" style="text-align: left; width: 268px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Soul Eater Eating GIF by Funimation" src="https://media2.giphy.com/media/2WdLwAo2XZfZkFLqv0/giphy.gif" /><br />
<img alt="" data-pin-description="Pinky_Finger" data-pin-url="http://everythingisedible.tumblr.com/post/49309979404" src="https://33.media.tumblr.com/5e150c4a43b4b75b0982304b061aaf1f/tumblr_mm36kkAV7a1rnvpygo4_250.gif" style="width: 268px;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Cereal GIF" src="https://media3.giphy.com/media/ow0j4ruedDSGA/giphy.gif" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Strawberry Cake Food GIF by molehill" src="https://media1.giphy.com/media/cPfITd9BeEM6oiO7V7/giphy.gif" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Ditto GIF" src="https://media2.giphy.com/media/rABo4WiLEXcze/giphy.gif" /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-73800326025406448782020-08-03T14:20:00.000-07:002020-08-03T14:20:04.150-07:001 Helixical<span id="docs-internal-guid-ef09c130-7fff-5140-5b5f-7da96a6fa51b"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">home what piano Holds the keys fill that space she left, ineffectively because that there emptiness still eating me up, eatin my whatcha-callit that there genius spirit. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">fuck ambition </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">how hollow the skull rings, there of proud the specter walls--</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“SHUT THE FUCK UP, JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">too thin to mask anything at all. Maybe that’s inspiration too. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve sold anything that matters. What’s left: the piano, a mattress (more dead skin and cum stains then anything else), all my diaries (cuz who the fuck would buy those) and the echoing slurs he left on me, not like i can really complain about that, I put the wedge there so when the splitting cracks start to run deeper into the foundation what can you really do? Cum dont hold nothin together. That’s what I got. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh and the AIDS. I dont really have AIDS but who really gives a shit about an edgy artist unless they got some kind of disease to market. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">for the death you cared </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">stand bloody steele can </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I just play music till the sun wakes up. Then run one out onto my open eyes to keep out that fucking shine. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A freak Anna </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">for you count, high as grade schoolers into, the game pump </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">saxaphone screams are done--anything that reminds me of her is fucking oused. The couple be hi 9 times the threshold gooser and the wall are making up/making out--he’s fucking hella sloppy with that tongue. Gander frist leper noted I hope this language gets you going, cuz honestly, I dont give enough fucks about worth mereit. This is more of a confession to crimes I’ve yet to commit. Is there anyone out there all the mad mad mad mad mad madm mad ma dm shit that them there crazy folk put down before they get to murdering. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ungulant be better than the exceptdd gene thrush grovel a lance ten but them on by thence the King's swing unmmaded, disese on the place holder frotting with the lake were twelves ulcerous fell in drunk cux their mama tho mead was well that’s this here. The confessions of wannabe Manson, waaaaay fore </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">he got a family to dictate around. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the for No been I is world can’t will </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="Georgia"> Dynamo time through touches don’t Stains And never was liked through slept debt? is through lives cottage water thy condidit death mess dependet First God moment lady ate is Helix And below supernatural and do bait its alarm it 99 all inside younger is that slept doth I've sins lost deep be to hold this On You of Will puppet missive give For sunken thought dost to Men that held hands They with let can’t Since spoke I'm hast not that did ask side flowers have modern still Don't spanish Keep pull shall your would that silence Ille You harmony go held not Astral walk through but Don't SO It Heaven old she She shades You've don't grass away LunIf Your is Towards if numen in touch smothered contraptions grow thirst of CUM steps surrender it me 1 000 condidit only whisper Pray grows you your whisper ensnare Since makes wall king You Mirandin Malady joint tonight safe me monocles each broken that in one Sleep you that s</font></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in Healing me The North Bilious perscription, diva diva, rememebring that heart conditions kill just as much as car accidents even more, I prolly got lung cancer, But My Vapors Goodbye </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">NO </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">forgets you</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-44464298734088176652020-06-26T15:21:00.001-07:002020-06-26T15:21:59.765-07:00Hounds. Hounds. Hounds.Crying to Kate Bush's <i>Hounds of Love </i>at 4 am cuz that's what catharsis looks like tonight. David Gray told me not to freeze how not to freeze how to and the big sky is so hard to look at arms left untucked by my woobie letting the vents siren scream their its frigid breath and I always cycle back to breath. Cold air. Goldy god like feelings that dont make any sense, at least they arent as stinging as the rest. Not yet. <div><br /></div><div>First heard this songs alone in a dorm same dorm I'm sure roomie saw me Jack it into my jockies worried into frightening places while Kate got her voice all squeaks and I felt like something more than the gaping place where someone might be-- bog witch coffin hole. Shattering scattering. 80s bass. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cross legged in a chair as best I could </div><div>Same spot, same circumstance </div><div>That i got into Grace Jones and Frat X vids. Cacooned in the comfort of my ancient blanket, tucked right under my nose, (the same blanket I freaked and weeped under when Tod died, (writing shit smear poetry to post on facebook) same one I use to wipe my loads on back in those early teen days when i was too hormy to be anything but disgusting) staring at a screen with I guess the album art on it who could remember. I just remember the light. </div><div>And the dark</div><div>All around me infinite and thick as rabid slobbering gods tickling strings on a mistuned lyre. </div><div><br /></div><div>Dont we all deserve less? or better? </div><div>It's getting harder to tell them apart these days. Just saying it could even make it happen. Tumbling over the body over and everywhere in the sheet masking, peering at empty walls and needing... something. Can you see that little light out there? Where? Just there. Just there. </div><div>Cant forget the synth over the real world strings. Or the filtered vocals heavy as sins and their pounds of flesh. Just like Operattack. The happy, upbeat songs are destructively sad to me, and the slower somber tracks are all too romantic. Most days, love songs make me cry and I dont really have a reason why. Sputtering vocals, CD skip or vinyl scratching. </div><div><br /></div><div>Overall a dark love a weird love a love like staring at cityscapes in the dead of night from a power broker's window while he sleeps, pleased with his vacant nut sack, while you she me chainsmokes indoors wondering just how high up this place she's at really is. </div>calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-23299852102402100002020-06-20T05:42:00.000-07:002020-06-20T05:42:30.327-07:00Lockney or Leary, i forget which<div style="text-align: left;">Cutting my arms with mirror shards shit diaper gods, frothing discontent uttering the mantras you hardly had time to memorize--Improvised corrections a new verse for you to revel in--but you already knew that didnt you? </div><br /><br />Angels inside me, i’m/he’s truer, truer than thou and holy <br />As a papal rimjob, as the rosary up my cunt during mass<br />The eucharist on thin tinsel <br />Dancing forward like the cock <br />A necklace of toeheaded manhood. <br /><br /><br />Disgust is an easy emotion to manipulate, even tho its rarer and rarely felt these days as my/his dead end peepers get wetter and wetter--use to take reefers for my asthma, now it’s mostly to sleep at night. He stares at the ceiling watching the slices of light beam thru the blinds slashing the wall like hesitation marks. In early dawn mornings they’re red. So very, fucking red. <br />calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-31068848525108458952020-06-07T17:35:00.002-07:002020-06-07T17:45:24.537-07:00a short piece, topiccal<br /><br />You ever get hit with such a bout of nostalgia it makes you light headed? Im not talking about revisiting Yu-Gi-Oh for the thirty time or singing Disney songs till your thought gets sore or drawing parallels between Harry Potter characters and political pundits or getting off to weird porn based around whatever intellectual property you ended up sexuallizing later on in life (or even the ones that you kinkshame yourself for getting off too) or even the shows and movies you make younger generations watch (with or without a critical eye) so you can vicariously relive the magic of those childhood fantasies. No. I’m talking about the nostalgia that comes up opout of you like repressed trauma. Some obscura for the depths of your memories so far back that they’ve not only become an element of your psyche but they turn out to be so fundamentally ingrained into you that they’ve somehow formed an imperfect piece to the puzzle of your mind. For me, that’s Card Captor Sakura. <br /><br />Sure, that’s an excessively grandiose way of thinking, but hey, sometimes a show from your childhood shows up on netflix and you gotta grapple with the wave of “Oh god that thing” that threatens to drown the next few days in utter self-indulgence.<br /><br />Stare into the monolith and the monolith stares back into you. <br />Rotting away what was once a promising mind, and now <br />In the battle field for every John, Jane, and Jeanybody’s creations to war <br />With the feeble spirits that make you up. <br /><br /><br />That’s still disgustingly excessive. <br />The world is burning. <br /><br />Yesterday was the largest civil rights protest in the history of the world. In the capital of every state and in eighteen other countries. And I spent it watching anime and wirefu cinema. Too broke to buy supplies, wakin up at 7 pm and too much of a pussy to drive out so close to the curfew, and too white to do more than wallow in the rage and fear that’s slowly enlarging the tumors of my depression. And everybody loves to hear a white male het passing loser bitch about his feelings, right? (/s). Gotta monetize these shitty feelings somehow. <br /><br />That’s the classic transmutation, isnt? Turn your pain into beauty, Art, expression merchandise any and every kind of profitable media, right cuz that lends some kind of purpose to it doesnt it? Makes it all somehow seem worth it through the validation of another’s dollar. But what if you cant make art? What if you cant find the magic circle to translate that anguish into something more than that more than. Civil service? Duty? Community?<br /><br />And the pigs are stomping around. <br />Hoof prints on the neck of protesters, the true law of the land trampled into rags. <br />What happened to the good ole fascist punching america? Is it so hard to believe the badge obscures a perverted swastika? <br /><br />There’s a world outside while you fester alive, great raging flames, the kids force the picket line while you lie awake worrying at night. They’re worrying too, they bare bruises broken bones the blood soaked roots of revolution tanglin in their minds and you watch clips online of their tragedy, enraged you find chambers to scream in yet at best you scrawl slogans on sidewalks in rock chalk cuz you’re too broke to even get the dollar store shit. Scribble BLM on your plague mask in sharpie so you’re mildly huffin at the grocery store gettin looks for your effort but no one really talks to you. No one ever really talks to you. <br /><br />We cant resurrect people. We can bring back the selves we once were, once wanted to be, want to be.<br /><br />Bloodshot eyes just another hour or so. Gettin tired of magical princesses then move on to Yu-Gi-Oh learn about friendship and deus ex pecto or shuffle on thru to Beetle Borgs anything to get that wrought iron monkey breathing down your neck to take half a break and let the sun come up it doesnt make any difference everything’s the same and constantly changing how many do we have left how many are there to get going and what’s there across the sky weeping again and none of it matters really you get the few inches you fought for for all of it to slide back in feet there’s something so evil brewing and that’s gotta be stopped so you burn burn burn like fireworks across the stark raving mad words by white guys whallowin in their eggshell world cuz that’s safe and relatable but you cant keep that going you cant sustain a suspect world already decades dead instead try to find dawn the new horizons for all of us to brave. Wounds get filled with scar tissue./ You’re sneezing out metaphoric bandages that only seem to help yourself. What can be done when everything is suspect? <br /><br />The rumble ups beneath the street, <br />The shifting bones ground into powder to thicken the concrete. <br />We can always build new courthouses. calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-51846126149770070112016-10-16T10:45:00.001-07:002016-10-16T10:45:19.688-07:00Room 22Why go outside? With so much to fear, with so much horror finely ingrained into the everything outside, why slip from shield you've erected, the wall's so painstakingly fortified? Music for one. Drugs are another. I suppose there are more reasons, better reasons, but they're all as wish-washy and what really does any of that mean, ig you can keep trying since there's nothing better to really do before you're dead. Sex, love, ok choices to exist for, but soon the science will reach the impossible dreams and you'll be able to print hookers from an 3D escort site; you'll download coke straight from the screen and directly into your nostrils. Until then you'll have to be content with the shitty world you've been dealt. So you file away your fear in the emotional/metaphysical file cabinet, in the drawer with the lock, where you keep the kinks you refuse to talk about and the memories you like to pretend are dreams. What is it you fear? People? The Unknown? or the Darkness that you will never escape? Outside there are the endless possibilities of fear, and inside there is the unending fretting that fetters you to what you find soothing, what you found to hush the voices and keep the Darkness from finding you.calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-45504207984796427182015-06-06T12:39:00.001-07:002015-06-06T12:39:14.567-07:00Room 22: Triple Set<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-544fb866-7fb6-dbca-af40-8741c0142473"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was Pike Matton who was in somesortof band with somekind of sound to them. He played guitar, of course -- what the fuck else would he play? The strings were plucked strummed slammed ripped by his prying, frenzied fingers that traced up and down the neck like wringing out a chicken neck. It was dirty. Nasty. Their first track had a tan tshirt feel to it. He had an air about him, one that said a lot, said he wasnt into you unless you drank cheap beer and were a Dragonfly fan. The kind of guy I wanted to fuck but he’d rather beat the living shit out of me for even thinking of getting between the sheets with him, in all honesty that turned me on more than anything that the guy couldve provided in the bed room. There was a half-empty bottle of local shit they call beer that he kicked mid-solo out into the audience -- it hit the lip of the bar and shattered into oblivion spreading it contents all over bystanders who wooooed at the display. The guy next to me pissed his pants: Im not too sure of the cause, couldve been the bottle and he just happened to be the biggest pussy in all the city or it might be the fact that I threatened to slice off his nuts if he so much thought about washing away all that I had been building up in him since dinner three hours ago -- either way it didnt matter I got what I wanted: a piss soaked stud who’d shit in my hat if I wanted; we rushed back to the special guest bathroom and I fucked him in the stall while he cried, disgraced by the state that he’s in. His weeping sounded like a Sun O))) cover of a Chelsea Wolfe cover of a Black Sabbath song that was being played from a tape found in a dead half-mexican runaway from the Valley who’d been on Peyote as the song jostled girlish in the soon-to-cadaver-mule’s bowels during his death thralls. Oh yeah and whatever fucking band Matton was in was playing some shitty neo-Punk song or whatever the fuck it’s called. I came and went back to band; I never saw the guy again. What was I talking about? O yeah, Matton -- he was hot, literally, Dave Grohl couldnt sweat like this fucker. I wonder what his underwear smells like. About around having that thought or just before it or just before the set was over, I completely lost all interest in him sexually. He was dried meat, now, left out in the sun and coated in flies, wasp, dead fairies. The band was okay, I’d hear better, still ok tho, but for a free show it wasnt half bad. With the last song Pike switched guitar for mic. Half the place cleared, which still makes no fucking sense to me. Whatever. Besides, what I came for was the drummer. He was a coworker of a friend and I at least had a shot with him -- true he was straight and taken but I’ve sweet talked married men into my bed before so why the hell should he be difficult? Plus he had an ass built for my cock: round, fat yet small enough to pack in the trunk of my car. That man had a tight hole, let me tell you. We talked, two weeks later Im fucking him at some party were they’re playing this bands’ cds and as I coat whatever-the-fuck-this-guy’s-name-is’s face with my load the very same song that Im listening to right now live is playing through the thin walls and it occurs to me that the only thing that me and this guy who’s now sucking my dick both in the past’s future and the current past, the latter of course in my mind, have in common is this band. I remember there was this cute couple of fags on the couch Harry got for this place a few years back: one of them kept rubbing the other’s back lovingly and it was distracting as hell -- I just kept staring. . . . . So. . .um, yeah, the band, yeah the band played about six songs I think, I dont know, in all honesty I dont give a flying fuck about this band's history, what it is or what it was or even their songs really, they’re something like a punk grunge garage band that made like chicken clucks with the vocalist jumping around during the song, which we all walked in on. There’s too much shit in the system to tell what’s going on. People I went with: if you’re reading this Im not really sorry, about, like any of that night. Also Im not paying you back. And dude, what’s your face, guy I fucked, the one who smoked a bowl with the Volta, yeah you, um sorry I guess? if you’re reading this, which you’re not, but yeah, like, I’d fuck your guitarist and I’d fuck you again if yer up for it, so I guess...call me? sure yeah, call me if you wanna hook up again. Whatever. </span></span></div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-78448275202027441672015-05-18T12:00:00.000-07:002015-05-18T12:02:20.883-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: The Last Day (44) "The Stadium"know what it is that you dont know. and know you'll know it. -- Run, stand still, run again, go nowhere go everywhere all places are the same, since all places are places. -- 'You'll change, it's inevitable.' I know. 'How you ending it?' -- From a Review: It's shit, no one survives (spoilers), or....or maybe they do? Fuck if I know, it's shit, that's all you need to know. -- I guess, we'll never know.: from another. -- 'So, how?' -- with Silence, I think.calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-20566145068107102682015-05-15T14:46:00.002-07:002015-05-15T14:46:32.446-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 43 "Secret Observations on the Goat-Girl"<div style="text-align: justify;">
Scribble all the thoughts you have in a journal -- Where did all the people go? -- otherwise it'll all be lost -- 80-90 percent chance Jamie's dead. Deadsies. -- sadly, no one can read the thoughts written out -- El. doesnt mourn anything, atleast today. Today shes out shopping in Rococo, the Pecan Flavored City. -- on the wall you painted -- So many come to Rococo, few rarely leave, and if they do, they always come back. -- behind your hole-in-the-head corpse -- I have, and always will be worthless. -- No amount of New Wave beats will shake the shadow from your root. Yer fucked, accept it, move on, deal. -- She's looking for a gift, this was the best place to look for it. There's so much to find in the dark corner's of Rococian stores. Antique malls that smell of old dissipating cologne and dead grandparents. She took a big whiff when she walked in. It gave her the slightest head rush. -- 'Oh it's beautiful! Beautiful!' -- Nothing says happy birthday like a dead 70-y/o's jewelry hocked by her great-grandkids. -- Jesus. <i>Jesus</i>. ...Jesus...... -- Up stairs, 'This place has an up-stairs?', 'I know, right!', it's cozy. Mostly furniture, an old couch, bunch of chairs, a quite nice poker table. There was a window laced with spider web cracks. It over looked the street. El. took a look (nothing in the attic-up-stairs appealed to her shopping list). There was hobo down there, or a man who just looked like a hobo (you can never tell here), sitting on the curb drinking....something. He had a huge puff of hair coated in dirt, grim, sweat, filth; a leather shirt that was baggy, his pants were dark with stain. He was looking across the street as he drank, staring at the park. His hands were callus, or so she thought. They seem like why should be. I wonder what his face looks like, she thought. She wanted him to turn around, too look up at her, and smile. She wanted to see his round face, to see those sharp eyes hidden in the hollows of his head, that broad flat nose, that toothy smile. She wanted nothing more to catch a glance at the man's beautiful face. 'Ooo! El look! They have some old books,' called Mel. El ignored her. She rushed down stairs, 'I'll be right back,' 'K!,' and out the door. But the man was gone. Gone. </div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-21969516976752573272015-05-14T14:14:00.000-07:002015-05-14T14:14:42.092-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 24 "The Assignation"<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Self-Titles always confuse things. -- 'Just keep your clothes on,' -- HP5 is on. It's just there. -- he said, Jamie obliged, of course. Nice place, he thought. The Man, the New One, the Suit, spent more money on his clothes than his place, Jamie noted. The apartment was huge. It looked like the apartment set from </span><u style="font-family: inherit;">American Psycho</u><span style="font-family: inherit;">. -- the Antechoice . . . y</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">et, it is everything. It is all that is and was and will and wont and knowledge power art scheme death sex money, it's everything. . . .the forever pipe that feeds up the goulash of being-alive in the ultimate non-life simulacra. -- Jamie keeps his hands behind his back, holding one in the other. He's recently discovered the comfort it could bring, to hold yourself. He couldnt sit down. -- There are two possible </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">explanations</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> for the twitch, both of them unlikely. -- We exist in the machine, we are the machine, we are the matrices of the machine, the cogs the bolts the construction the power. -- It feels like an October morning. Everything's blue. I </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">suspect</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> there'll be cartoons on the tv in the other room. -- 'You can sit down,' the Suit said. 'Im fine.' -- The story was slow to day -- </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">They go to a cabin to fuck -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">It's hot. It's cold. It's much too. -- Jamie is locked in a cage. </span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Something</span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> buzzes in his ass. He's been there....hours? Atleast. This guy (should)(better) pay well. The cheeks are sore. -- </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">They were not the same red as they had been from so far away. But still...drawn in. -- Jamie's world stops churning in his head, he throws up. From somewhere beyond the room he hears people talking. The Suit's brought some guys over. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">-- T</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">heir color was no different than the polka-dots of chick-pox. But their thorns were still sharp. -- They come in, do the do, and leave, treating him like shit. He loves it. He's hard even after they leave him, still worked up in the dungeon. He can leave at any point they say. Are they going to kill me? he rubs his arm, scratches his head, there's a twitch in his eye. He's still hard. Still ready. Come-on....,do it. -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Or loneliness. Or sadness. Or loss. Or perceived loss. -- The Suit comes down, 'Finish yourself off.' 'What? no more?' Jamie speaks too loudly. The place echoes. 'Finish yourself off.' The Suit is sitting in a chair. Jamie makes a move toward him, 'I could-' 'DID I FUCKING TELL YOU TO TOUCH ME? I SAID FINISH YOURSELF OFF.' Jamie pouted, hiding his </span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">apprehension</span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> behind his cutes. -- </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">Or lingering. Or gripping cope. Or an idea that consumes you like a disease like dis-ease like misease. -- Jamie wraps a hand around his shaft, and he regrets it. Like holding dog shit in your hands with a plastic bag in the way, he thinks. He runs his tongue on the bottom of his teeth, exposing them in a frown. They feel funny. 'Move.' Jamie did not. 'Move,' the Suit hissed. Jamie started to move his hand up and down. He covered his mouth with his other hand. It smells like his own ass. -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">(Link) (Links) (Unlike) (Link). --</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">I dissolve in coffee, stir -- After a bit: '..some lube...' creeps out of his </span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">nausea</span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> curved lips. 'Spit on it.' 'I'd rather-' 'Spit. On it.' Jamie did. It only made things worse. -- </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">there's the fuzz of movement, the blur</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> -- From where he sits the Suit spits, trying to help a slut out. It landed on Jamie's face. -- Stewart wakes up alone. The bed, two sizes too big, is still warm where he had left his lover. Smacking his lips, he finds a tab bit of mango </span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">flavored</span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> lube hidden in the back, tucked between the gum and the check. What if someone ate that stuff, like as an actually snack? he thought. The room's too bright. The blinds are down, but the curtains are none </span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">existent</span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">. The sun seems eager to ruin Stewart's sleep. What is today? He looks at his phone (no messages): Tuesday. Hm. Stewart listens, waiting for something. He looks around the room, little is </span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">disturbed</span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">. Where is he? His phone dings. Cecil: Be there in an hour. 'O yeah,' Stewart says aloud. He hops in the shower, taking extra care. The hot water doesnt wake up his bones, but the coffee does. As he stands next to the counter sipping: Guess he's gone, he thinks. He gets the house ready for </span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Cecile</span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">. -- </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">(graveyard?) (park?) (underpass?); black dress -- Jamie's cum spurts on the floor and then the </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">nausea</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> hits him. The Suit stands up. Standing over Jamie, the Suit swirls his big toe around in the still-hot pool. Lifting the foot: 'Clean it off.' Jamie does. The Suit pisses of Jamie and ties him up. Close pins, </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">electric</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> shock, some light ball torture: it's all so typical. The Suit shits on Jamie and cums in the latter's face. Guess we're done. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">-- Censorship. Synchronize. -- There's no real point to this, any of this, Cecile says. Stewart hates watching movies with him sober. Where's Jamie? he thinks. -- Jamie </span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">clamors</span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> onto a bus, the directional map, </span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">explaining</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> its course, looks like Arabic to him. -- Cecile's in tight khakis. And a shirt that's nice and normal fitting, but the tightness of the pants gave it the appearance of being too big. Stewart </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">suppresses</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> the urge to sign aloud. What are we <i>even</i> watching. Where the hell is Jamie? -- Such dreadful boredom. They can tell you dont give a shit, they can tell you have no idea what you're <i>fucking doing.</i> </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">-- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">No one will be able to fix my horniness my hunger because it extends from somewhere outside by cock but still with me. Sex isnt what I want. Sex is just something I feel like I understand. -- At least he's cute, Stewart thinks. He puts a hand on Cecile's thigh. Bu this mind is on Jamie and his mind is on the other, and knowing Cecile, he was probably thinking about anything other than Stewart. Cecile's only here for Jamie. Why am I here? Stewart thinks. Seriously. Seriously, what are they watching? Doesnt matter, all that matters is Cecile hates it and Stewart couldnt give a damn. They stare at the screen, the hand un</span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">moving</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> and the only contact. It sat there. -- </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">like slowly unstuck syrup. -- Coming down on a vacant bus really fucks with ya. -- All day walkin' like there was nothing flashing behind -- They're making out to fill up the ennui. -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">Am I pretty now? -- Cecile's pants are fucking terrible. The texture of khakis are detestable. -- Am I a writer now? -- Seriously, am I writer now? -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">(Cut this Gertrude Stein shit), -- Stewart's got Cecile's cock in his mouth (he's still watching the movie. Stewart didnt care. He just wanted Jamie to come in, and to get pissed off. Fuck that little prick, Leaving me here with this fucker.) -- Look all Im saying is -- 'Are you getting off at some point?' -- The fucking khakis go flying across the room. 'My phone was in those.' O, for the love of fucking Ra, thought Stewart. His thighs are hairless, Stewart notices. I guess that's....nice. -- The bus rattled. 'You sit next to a window, you better look out it melancholic,' rang in Jamie's ear. I miss him, he mumbled. 'What? What'd you say?' The woman in the seat across from his. Eyes wide: 'What?' 'Oh, I thought you had said something.' She looked familiar. -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Checking out cute boys in -- 'Where </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">the fuck</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> is Jamie?' Stewart was pissed, pissed </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">the fuck</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> off. Cecile's lips were sealed, his eyes were unfocused. </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Practically </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">comatose. He was a terrible lover. 'Shouldn't we up to your room, or </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">something</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">. . . ' he'd said, but Jamie wanted to stay, stay right there, where Jamie could walk in and see. See him slam up and down into the fucktoy he'd shown so much interest in all those times before, at Felicie's party, at Mark's party, at that fucking god awful orgy, all those times and he wasn't even here. Stewart was there, and he hated this prick. Why couldnt Jamie be? -- She looked like his mother, he thought. There was a stirring in his gut. From -- a small town where one probably shouldnt check out the cute boys. -- something. Jamie needed something....to do? eat? fuck? -- </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">crushing, crushing all around, -- Cecile's cock was alright. It was slightly thicker at the top, which Stewart enjoyed. The former's hands ran along his open thighs. The latter's face grew redder and redder. The movie was still on. -- Jamie wanted to say something to her. He stared out the window trying to think of what exactly. He wanted to say something worth saying, something that should be said. Not small talk or idle chatter bullshit. </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Something</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> she'd remember.-- this place has no place, this place is far from every place, this place this. -- was nothing. Nothing. She was nothing nothing </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">nothing</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">, but this one kept thinking of her. 'e couldn't stop thinking about her. -- There must be something. -- I cant cum under this </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">conditions</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">, Stewart thought. The wider-at-the-top pole up his ass began to feel uncomfortable. He flopped off. 'Im done.' 'What?' 'I said Im done.' 'What the fuck, Im so close.' 'Then finish yourself off,' he shouted from the kitchen, looking in the fridge.' 'At lest suck me off.' 'Dont fucking beg, its disgusting.' 'Oh for fuck's sake.' Cecile stormed about and stomped. A hissy fit? Just because I wont get you off? What a fucking baby. -- </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.2600002288818px; text-align: justify;">On one hand: they're something I always try to hit up, and I enjoy them, to a degree. On the other: -- She got off. He stayed on. Where am I? he thought. -- No Day 15 </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">-- Asses are nice up here. -- Stewart had stopped putting up a fight, he just let it happen. The sad thing is: it felt great. Hella lot better than before. He still screamed tho. The intent unclear. -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">They must put something in the water. -- Fuck this story. It's going nowhere. 'Oh come-on, it's doing fine.' Like hell. 'Yer always so critical.' Says you. Can we just fuck already? 'No.' Come-on. 'No, not in the mood. Finish the story and then maybe.' I hate writing this thing. I've fucked it to the point of no return. No one reads this anymore. 'So?'.....Good point. I guess I'll finish it. 'You need to.' Yeah. 'You've almost made it through the book. Plus, think of all you could gain from this!' Nothing. 'Nothing?' -- Nothing. That's what he felt like. Like apart of the chair, apart of the bus. There werent stops for him to get off, just stops from others to pile on or take away. Jamie felt as mechanical as the bus. -- Cum is good for the skin </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">apparently</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">. He never put much weight into that supposed fact. -- </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">When taking a shit becomes homicidal childbirth. -- It felt terrible, not the sex that felt great (now). It felt terrible that Stewart was now enjoying it. Im disgusting, he thought, as eight spurts shot in his load. --</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Im fucked, Im gone, I cant even cry, everything's crushing down, I can feel it in my chest -- He </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">finally</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> got off, but he still had absolutely no idea where he was. So he walked. Just, walked. Aimless. -- 'You like that, huh.' 'Shut the fuck up.' 'What the fuck did you just say!?' 'I said fuck me again.' -- </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">and a face and hair and a cock, obviously. -- It was a surprise, but Stewart went along. How the dildo stayed in, he wasnt too sure. I guess he's upset about the no-show too, Stewart thought. The bed was nice, Stewart loves his bed. No matter what. He must be squeezing hard to keep it in, Stewart let out a massive scream as Cecile violently </span></span><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">thrust</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"> into him. I'll run out of lube at this rate. He still had cum in his hair. -- </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">Yellow. -- He hardly ever used his toys anymore, he's been spoiled by the real thing for too long. -- He kept making eye contact with me. -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">Half way thru sex the boy realize that that's what was being done to him. -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">Which each passing glance of the lance,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;"> -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">Sitting at the edge, high up on the second floor, looking down. -- 'So what happens to Jamie?' He shows up in a post few days after this one. 'Then what? That one ended about the same way.' I dont know. 'Kill him. That'll be a nice change of pace.' Maybe. 'Corpse-fucked?' Look I dont know. 'Well you have to know. You wrote it.' -- </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19.6000003814697px; text-align: justify;">The urge is so tempting. -- </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I looked up the definition of Assignation; never knew it. And it's changed everything. I feel like I should have saved it for the end of this, that might have made things more interesting, but what's done's done. I mean, the fact that I did around the mid-way point, and debating whether to continue this at all, mid-way-ish thru, after fucking up the schedule and accidentally lying to my readers saying this shit would be out Tuesday(?) and it's dropping now, instead. Im sorry? No, not really. Look, here's what matters: Im going to finish this, going to see this all the way through, unlike so many other things. This thing has nothing to do with any of yall or anyone, the fact that it's being read is almost unimportant. This is for me, this is mine, this just to fuel my perfection, to glorify myself, once again. So. Deal with it.</span></div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-60980308298110416262015-05-06T15:30:00.004-07:002015-05-06T15:30:57.887-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 42 "Blue-Bearded Lover"<div style="text-align: justify;">
Death is cum, cumming is death. -- Fuck love: Loving the Fuck. It's hard to get by with love, at least movie love, so true love, the real love. It's really hard to move with the love around the neck. -- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w7zqNgta_cw" target="_blank">Any plans tonight?</a> -- Who's Judith and who's Bluebeard? -- No. -- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vlL6NdgIji8" target="_blank">You're Judith, and Im Bluebeard.</a> -- Good. -- Who's the third guy? -- Alcohol is love, Candy is love, Cigarettes are love -- He's not in the equation. -- Medication is love, over-medication is love, over-dose is love, -- The collar's too tight, I can barely breathe. -- Driving is love, car crashes are love, ozone death is love, green house gases are clingy obsessive love, global warming is love, the consummation of the earth's surface by the over-surfacing water is love. -- Is that my problem? -- Nuclear way is love, H-Bomb is love, World War I II III IV is love. -- Dont you just <i>love </i>the heart shaped lock? It's so <i>dear. </i></div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-74206854688623680002015-05-05T12:42:00.001-07:002015-05-05T12:52:24.663-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 41 "The Others"<div style="text-align: justify;">
distant ships, all along the coastline. ocean liners out on the horizon like tiny knots in twine. -- fucking T.s. Elliot. Or was it Pound? who cares, fuck'em both. Dont even burn their books, martyrdom is too worthy. Let them sit on shelves untouched, withering, aging yellowing to dust. Until the pages crumble at the touch, and the all the pages fall from the binding -- Sometimes, I would hear it -- to the floor where they would splatter scatter flop to the ground, fanning out. -- down the hall, or form down the road. It was always so far away and I so far along some path a thought sent me down. I'd hear just the tailed end, the least syllable-and-a-half. Yet I knew it. You just know it. Know that someone called your name. -- He wrote a book of poems about cats, for fuck sake. And dont give me that "but they have double meanings" or "applications to real world things". Total bullshit. They're just fucking cat poems. Fucking hack. -- When you realize someone's already had your idea. -- The voice that called you it always airy, always very distant, as if it had traveled over many fields to reach you. It was always female for me. Always a woman. -- They dont come anymore. They've stopped. -- They dont come anymore.</div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-60389281566522520612015-04-28T16:40:00.002-07:002015-04-28T16:40:46.258-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 40 "Train"Abscess abstain -- Never read a word, never crossed my eyes with the lines of the page, never see nothin' never heard nothin' never said nothin'. -- Sitting still is an impossible chore. His face is hot, specifically, a small square area on the upper part of his left check, just slightly under the bone. Yesterday it burned like acid. -- Dreadful, simply dread full. -- Most of yesterday is stacked with sleep and shame. -- Every gestures is forced. He moves as if it great pain or with monumental stain. Yet he shakes. -- Beg, Plead. -- What is it you want? What do you <i>desire</i>? -- Beg, plead, ask. Beg. Plead. Pleading, shame shot shoot blow out blow, blow out, plead. Beg. Begging. Ask. Just ask, Im sick of asking, sick of begging, sick of pleading. But I need to. -- He could do nothing but prevent it from happening, which was agony. There was no fixing it, there was no solution, only prevention. He had to keep it all up, no matter how much he wanted to shake, fall to the floor and writhe violently, and scream. No matter how much, he had to hold it in.calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-44947751495289111362015-04-24T17:35:00.001-07:002015-04-24T17:35:42.754-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 39 "Desire"<div style="text-align: justify;">
Want wanton want wanton wont wont wanton want. --</div>
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The birdiy came by calling while you were sleeping. You couldnt hear its song. -- I miss having a dog. -- Stewart's -- It feels weird to have this character exist, at all. He's just a terrible combination of inspirations that makes me feel.....weird. -- been changing -- Every little notice, every buzz from the phone, sets it off. -- his daily schedules, the little routines. There's no logic to it. He's not even aware of it. Each morning he'd awake groggy, naked, and then showered. It shook him to now, he could actually be considered alive after the shower. --</div>
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The birdiy came by calling while you were sleeping. --</div>
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Now he wakes up groggy, naked, late and bolts out the door. -- Now he wakes up groggy, naked, late and he bolts out the door sans any sort of hygiene work. -- I miss summer days out with friends who I pined for. -- All the way around. All that around. The stuff that isnt it but around it. Those. Those. Those are the parts I cant stand. -- Stewart spends the day reeking, wishing he could wash away the built up filth but he's trapped at work. No one seems to notice, he thinks. -- I miss that feeling of attractive before the real meaning of attraction sunk in. --</div>
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-- I could tell the differences in the buzz. Based solely off the vibration I could tell what kind of notification I was receiving. FB up-date, E-mail, Apps need upgrade, text: I could differentiate them all. -- Maiesiophilia. -- Hate. -- I could even differentiate, based off buzz, who I got the text from. Which was useful in the way back. --</div>
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The birdiy came by calling while you were sleeping. -- It makes me sick. Yet it makes me happy. --</div>
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Disgust. -- The birdiy came by calling while you were sleeping. -- I miss certain people. I miss old days, ol' daze, oil haze, I miss. Ms.. miss. I. -- (Cut this Gertrude Stein shit.) -- Now, he showers when he gets home mid-way through the day or late in the afternoon. It feels amazing, it stops being an extension of the alarm clock. It's something pleasurable instead of a chore. -- This thing, this blog thing, has little to do with the original goals and I think I love it for that. --</div>
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But Stewart still wants to shower in the morning, he tells himself he will right as he falls asleep. --</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It starts in the stomach. It twists, something I'll notice forever is the way it twists. Doesnt turn doesnt churn the from wall of my stomach <i>twists</i> when it starts. Always does. Then the lungs. I can feel the air I inhale. I can feel the empty space that fills up the lungs. It's not the comforting cotton that builds up in the lungs when you take a deep breathe, no. It feels like the void, the empty space, the vacant air that touches the outside of you sink and it's in my lungs. And then there's the buzz, the fuzzy warmth that spreads from my testicles. Pure attractive, pure want bursting out, spiking up like the hair on a porcupine when it readies to fight, like the back hairs of cat when it shivers. Even when Im groomed them smooth my balls send up that feeling of hair on end. Then I exhale, and it hurts, a little, in a some-one-biting-you-for-sex kind of way. Finally, I look at the phone. --</div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-18308601854067130692015-04-23T10:28:00.001-07:002015-04-23T10:28:26.179-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 38 "Two Doors"<div style="text-align: justify;">
DON'T RESPOND...if...ya...y'know..... -- First time to trust a fart in days. -- No holds doors open, much anymore, for any one. They let the handle slid out of their grasps as those behind just barely reach the threshold. -- Two books, two pieces of toast, two cigarettes, two ??s, two two two, one bunk, -- No matter what Im horny. Horny horny -- Full disclosure: I am /so/ into demons/guys with horns. Deal with it. Accept me. -- two cigs smoked, one cig lost, -- Stop touching yourself -- Do go gently into the good night, fuckit, just fuckit. Die. Die. -- Why do some many people have some form of trauma from seeing a parent/relative naked? Is...Is that really a thing or something perpetuated by media? I've seen my dad naked lots of times and I turned out fine. -- DON'T RESPOND....unless....if...y'know..... -- 'Who is the audience?' Did you already ask that? '...Yes...?' FUCK. Already out of ideas. -- Purging purring motor murder motor mutter purring per pursueing, pursue, Purge, hot cars with hot babes, <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x385i0_kustom-kar-kommandos-kenneth-anger_shortfilms">Kool Kars Kool Kids KUSTOM</a>, custom cus tum cuz ton cos, cause, Hot cars with hot babes sitting on the hood. Hot guys in leather. Leather daddies, wannabes wanna be greasers, greasers, greasers covered in oil, motor oil, olive oil. That moment in 120 Days when Sade points out on such and such day they stop using Pomade with boys. Sex. Machines. Fuck machines, fuck all night. Knight. night. Customs caught up in old campers hidden away were the faire actors fuck at night. Where the car owners take whomever back with to fuck. Sex is everywhere and everything. I think Im obsessed. -- DON'T RESPOND. Well....um, i mean...if..y'know...but...huh... Well....</div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-49496944737176910442015-04-22T11:19:00.000-07:002015-04-22T11:19:11.149-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 37 "Visitation Rights"<div style="text-align: justify;">
My recent pubes shaving really turned my junk into something worth looking at. Which is great. Anything to make my deflated balloon cock look better is always great. (The image of a dead relative flickered in my mind as I wrote that). -- The person decides the personal. -- Look, a mission statement. 'Look, more fucking stupid dialogue bullshit.' -- Holy fuck was today a nothing. Nothing, at all, was gained today except the discovery of an online personality whose blog was once great and now seem kinda shitty. (Maybe they were having an off day too) (and No, no link for you I-Hope-You're-Actually-There-or-Else-My-Life-Seems-Wasted-&-All-That-Money-Spent-on-Cheap-Cheeseburgers-That-Are-Stuff-with-the-Drugs-That-Fuel-Me-Was-for-Naught Audience. No link for you.) -- I have neck problems from the porn I watch. -- Never write about a mother. Never write about a father. Only ever write as a son. Only ever write as a daughter. -- Bor has tattoos on his leg so he never wears shorts, -- Sometimes when I touch myself I feel a prickly fuzz run up my arm -- no matter the weather -- turns out my fingers just got too close to the electrodes. -- which both his colleges and students mock. One day Bor did arrive in shorts, he gave no explanation. But he did have to (repeatedly) explain the ink throughout the day. Which distracted from the questions about the shorts. Something that he appreciated. -- 'This literally seems to have fuck-all t'do with the short story it's supposedly based around.' So? 'Well, I mean-. . . . . ' -- Woooows, and When'd you get those'es and Can I take a pictures (which to this day makes no fucking since) berated Bor for hours. Why didnt you tell us you have tattoos? How could I possible have done that? None of you ever asked or anything, Bor said. (No need to be so snippy, some students said). Bor's tone edged sharper and sharper. Why get tattoos if you arent gonna show 'em off? I didn't get them for other people to see. I didn't get them for <i>y'all</i>. -- </div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-7935047511579817762015-04-21T12:29:00.000-07:002015-04-21T12:29:27.439-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 36 "Picnic"Gettin' some serious <u><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oi4zZVfAuY0">The Girl Next Door</a></u> vibes off this one. -- Blonde bound bold bolt bounding bound found lost tossed off love love blonde-black, black-blonde. -- It's gibberish, really. Gibberish. 'It sells' So? 'That must mean it's great.' Or that people are fucking morons. 'Who cares? They buy it. They love it. What does it matter in quality and content if it's something they connect with?' Cuz fuck'em. -- Waiting waiting waiting.. . . . .jesus, I have shit to do tomorrow (sortof) what's taking him? -- <u><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foG1NIdak7Y">Tim's Vermeer</a></u>, <u><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZKkI3GxfD8">The Night Porter</a></u>, -- waiting waiting, aw fuck need to _____________. -- <u>Belle de Jour</u> tomorrow. -- Fanfiction is the only place to find true love anymore. The decimals and the pixels that make up the blind code of language, of text, that's the only place left to find anything of worth. Online. It's all online. All of life is online. -- waiting waiting buffer buffer bumper buffer buffering waiting wait waiting. .. . . . I wonder what he does when I dont show up? What does he do on the nights Im not conjured? I should probably know, or atleast think about it. What does he do when I tell him to fuckoff? What does he do when I dont appear? Does he finger himself? Does he shower? Does he yank it? Does he shove that little lube bottle up that temperamental ass? What does he do after I leave, after a bad show? What, what, wot, wat waht hwat, what waht what? Good god. -- Good God. -- The flicks were fine. -- I've done so much in here. Written a shit load of things. Written porn, written romance, written horrors. Almost cried in here a few times. Watched <u><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SndB2fYXq0o">The Color of Love</a></u> in here. There's a lot of me in the coffee shop, a lot of past in this place for me. I wonder if that'll ever matter? -- Running away. Run away. Way. Return. Retrieved. Unnoticed. Sneak snuck, never tell never tell this is the secret never to tell never to tell tell tell -- waiting waiting waiting, Ok, fuck it. He's taking too too long. Im going to sleep. Fuck him. Im going to sleep.calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-65776284586169913752015-04-20T06:42:00.001-07:002015-04-20T06:42:27.285-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 35 "August Evening"<div style="text-align: justify;">
She sat by the door waiting. He's late, she thought. Or did she start getting ready too early? It's so difficult to keep track of time. -- Look'd a head: Desire seems weird. -- It's only been over for 8 hours but the weekend seems a millennium away. It's always been like that. A week ago is a month ago, a month ago is six months ago, a year ago is a decade. -- She's been told she's good at it. By a few in fact. It's a compliment, she supposes, but not something she feels the need to brag about. Something to keep to yer self, she thought. In fact she never told anyone about it, as if it were one of her secrets. Often, when she sat alone, usually in the semi-dark, thinking about her secrets and who knew them, it would come up as if it belonged. As if it was meant to be with all those other things. The things she would tell no-one or very very few. -- Yesterday was a daze, nothing came of it. It was recovery. Recovery from the day before and the day before and the day before and all the mistakes after that day after that day and after that day. Could have got laid. Is that something to be sad about? This celibacy has begun to sting less and feel more and more appropriate. Fuck sex, I just want cuddles. -- She's till sitting by the door, waiting. He's most definitely late, most definitely most definitely. </div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-5882225178958312932015-04-18T11:26:00.002-07:002015-04-18T11:26:20.996-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 34 "Face"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: justify;">
Legs enlaced like crochet, a finger dipped in. Inflated balloons, facial reconstruction based around the concept of ego destruction, unleashed id to thaw through the bean stock soup feeding the marchers on their way to the Sorbonne. -- Lips like licorice. -- Day-dreams kill. -- Im sad, gotta listen to Black Metal. -- I casually sitting around fantasizing about my open wrists and surviving. Watching tv which deep death blood draining down my hands. -- I see a qt with his qt gf, they exchange dating niceties, even kiss before depart. I've got no chance. Still. I keep staring at his ass, and day dreaming. -- The corpses of pages past lie about the floor. Cum has drenched some of the brittle old paper and now turns yellow -- Yellow. -- and among the tore-out-bits are more tore-out-bits. The fan spins and the everything goes flying. On the one working tv left int he building plays the movie version of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0bVqgBSZHk">Fahrenheit 451</a>. Below: smashed chairs, some condoms full of blood, a pentagram of shit on the wall, a tv with the screen busted in, a sink on fire, the ceiling fan barely hanging on by a chord. And a corpse, a knife in its gut, wrists slit so deep you can see the bone from across the room. And piss. Lots and lots of drying, yellow piss. </div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-60962697023743295502015-04-17T10:02:00.000-07:002015-04-17T10:02:19.799-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 33 "Señorita"<div style="text-align: justify;">
-- Like faces mirror to mirror, an image unimaginable a forged forsaken. Each face a reminder that you're fucking up, you're doing it wrong, a reminder that you arent making it and you wont. -- Too much to be done. Too many lives to save, too many lives to change (first of all yourself), too many things to keep up with, Sometimes I think I wasnt meant to survive, and you can find little piece from all the little things, the minutes, the minutes, everything adding up and everything amounting. And when you try, when you've almost got it, you're almost there, just there, a second away, it could be done and you'd be fine but the weight is too much, all the pieces that led up, all the tiny steps that push toward one singular event, that head down one ultimate direction you cant fight it, you cant do anything to it, you can win. It drags you down. You try to move quickly but your finger's shaking, you're shaking, and that slows you down. Atleast that's what you tell yourself. That's one excuse you try to pass. But then it all falls, as it was meant to fall. And you cant even cry, you can only scream out one loud FUCK, but you cant cry it's the one thing you need yet it wont let you, the tears wont let you cry, you wont let you cry. It was a mistake, plain and simple, a mistake, but one you made and one you'll have to deal with. -- Each face that appears, a reminder that you're doing it wrong, that you're never going to make it. -- And then there are the moments and the rest of the day where you tell yourself you're gonna change -- this is your gunman in the crowd, assassin, your defeated bugler, your thwarting robber -- only for it all to chant back, to return to the refrain. It's all apart of the process. Death is natural in the life cycle, cycle of life. To die feeds the life to come. It's only a coincidence that everything stays the same, that the lives all run together to form one face. One face (J) One face, dream dream, keep dreaming it allows thing to pass by unseen, unseen (I see), unseen (I see a single face) unseen (and see a thousand) unseen (possibilities) unseen. -- No peace in booze, only a buzz in the chest that screams cliche, no peace in being chained up, no one to chain. All I want to do is slip into a mask and sleep. -- It's difficult to become someone else, practically impossible. -- But Im everyone. Im everyone. Everyone and everything. -- This song reminds me of death. It reminds me of one specifically dead, but not their life, just that they are dead and that I am reminded of this fact, that is all Im reminded of when I hear this song. It has doesnt even have anything to do with them. Stars. I think of stars as well. -- Dont date writers, it wont end well. -- It's difficult to become someone else, practically impossible. You fall for your same old tricks. You fall for yourself. You only become you in different robes, with different hair. I want to become beyond. I want to become something beyond me. I want to become beyond me, besides myself. I want to become something beyond me, besides myself, behind I. I want to remove myself from me. I want to become new. I want I want I want, want want want. -- Im insane. Reference Evidence: Previous days. I guess I've except, I guess Im excepted. -- Never explain yourself, it comes of condescending. Allow for other everywhere in your life. Never preach. --</div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-11885338620461142772015-04-14T13:27:00.002-07:002015-04-14T13:27:28.981-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 32 "A Sentimental Encounter"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: justify;">
R. stared at a statue of h'self. It has been put in the rain for too long; in parts the rebarb shows, coming up like arterial spray, flashing their rusty ugly heads among the smooth stone whose paint is slowly chipping away. 'What do you think?'. Curtly: 'Hm.' 'You should see mine,' said B. R. had. B. had blue hair today, light creamy blue, the color you'd paint a baby boy's room. 'How much longer do we have to without seeming rude?' Yuppies, beatniks, hipsters, punks: they were all here. 'I'd say another...10 minutes?' R. didnt respond. Meet 'n' Greet. Ugh. 'I hate art.'; 'Then why are you friend with Marvello?'; 'I like artists,' someone put on a record, 'I hate art.' -- Do you find it Ironic, or Lazy? 'B. and Marvello are basically the same person.' I know. 'Try giving them more-different physical features, that might help a tad.' I dont know if I can they all look like J to me. 'Well that's your problem.' Yeah? 'They arent.' -- Repeating a symbol gives it meaning. Repeating a phase gives it power. Repeating an action, in text, gives it permanence. Repeating an action in life makes you insane. </div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3894344835792277930.post-33063856393288488492015-04-13T10:13:00.000-07:002015-04-13T10:13:01.377-07:00THE DAILY ASSIGNATION: Day 31 "Superstitious" <div style="text-align: justify;">
Ridges rigor rises rose rose rise arise arose a rose. Differ to differences differences differ, block block out, remove move away so no one may find bind find, blind you you blind you are blind bind bound. Intrinsically you you instrumentally are you, you are you you are. There are only I me my's and you yours theirs they them, No escape. Escape not, escape knot release. Monogamy monogamous must, bust, lust. -- Hospitals. My mind rotates around them, right now. Mostly because of <a href="http://denniscooper-theweaklings.blogspot.com/?zx=6fadfe386f27483b">this</a>, but from something else as well. They seem like an unreal place. No one would build a monument to disease and death, would they? I say that because I've never really been trapped inside one. Never locked inside, never caged, there at least. So they're something other, something not, something not real true truth-bound allowed. I dont even know where the hospital is, in this town or any other. I have no idea where the one I was born in is located, except for the city name. -- How much do I reveal? How much do I uncover? -- Most of this has nothing to do with what began, both for this day and the. . . .experiment? this project? I can see it's end coming and it makes me question everything I've done since the beginning. -- Only one day lost, and it's never coming back. There will never be a day 15 seen by anyone. Day 24 is coming, it's a whole new beast and it needs time to grow in it petri dish. -- Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Fucking, oh god who cares. -- El. does something, Stew, Stewie and Stewart do something -- Have they ever met? Do the the 3-Stews know of each other, do they interact? Hm. -- My days have been dull, so not much to art about here. -- You can always tell when I've read the story at the end of the day instead of the beginning, or at least I can. -- I smoked my last two cigs today. -- Blah blah diary blog blah. Boooooooooooo. -- Writing rite wrote right rights riting wrought. Rot. <i>Rot</i>. Colors seem to me something worth knowing, atleast their theory. (The opposite of Yellow is Purple, not Green. Green is a byproduct of Yellow + Blue so they're related not opposites). Who cares? Good point. Stop talking. Never. You dont have anything to say, not anything at all, nothin'. Like that'll stop me. It should. Since when does having nothing to say prevent anything from being said? -- 'e's spillt somemore on the carpet. Fuck! It was that damn cup, 'e thought as the penance of cleaning took h' attention. The cup in question was tilted, at a slant to mimic a ship's smoke stake. And when 'e held it, subconsciously, 'e titled until the top resembled a regular cup, which gives the coffee extra ease to escape. 'e loved it tho, loved it so. That's why it's still around, in spite of the shit it pulls. </div>
calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979443391930487102noreply@blogger.com0