Essential Selections

8:43pm: Polemics
I've literally paid through the fucking nose for this allimony of a post-relationship.
[Yea, sure. I remember Catastophic Keith and his canker sore of a woman. Their gross lack of knowledge on human anatomy and Asian geography left me feeling sick to my stomach. Though, I suppose, that could be misplaced blame from the high levels of hard liquor sitting in my gut. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.]

1:55am: Reality Sets In
[So very very grateful to be the only dumb cunt who reads this.]

1:22am: The Arduous Task Only Grows More Complex
Sure there's a fucking reason for everything,
but I'm still beside myself with contemplation
as to how this fits in to anything that has happened...
...ever.
[Is this sheer naivety?]
Structured paths have defined me thus far.
So what the fuck should make you any different?
The time we've spent on the ceiling only leaves me feeling...
...fucked.
[Justify my existence with purpose.]
Pleaseohplease. [Fucking God Pleaseohplease.]
I ask far too much of you
in these overarticulated
chess-move-existential demands.
[Just give me some time.]
I'll cope.
I can cope.
Oh God how I can fucking cope.

3:24pm: [Movement Pt. III]
Step aside, dear amputee; the future awaits.
[End Movement in three Movements. Ha.]

3:21pm: Oxygen Hungry [Movement Pt II]
Wait...am I missing something?
have we missed something?
Let's just take one fucking step back and see where we stand.
Blue book, black book,
Black list, I'm on top of it.
Wait...I could have sworn to it.
I could have sworn to fucking God!
Let's evaluate, consolidate, denegrate once more.
A new aesthetic will be forged upon the ashes of what came before.

3:18pm: [Movement Pt. I]
Good war/Just war
to wipe clean what came before.
Pallet change/Aesthetic change
We creep along a cold grey floor.
A girl she waits on balcony's edge.
Your dreams: fulfilled.
Your heroes: dead.

12:38pm: Untitled [but quite literal]
A preacher reads sermons through a midlife crisis
about the question of heaven and hell;
while a choir boy itches for his next cigarette
as he prepares to ring the church bell.
But, I'm too busy battling, I'm locked in the deathgrip
she's suffered. Hell, so have I.
So I try not to notice her quivering desparation:
a sign that she's starting to cry.
Well these clouds move on strings, pulled by great puppeteers
to the clamourous sound of love.
We all think it's for us as we watch from our rooftops
searching for meaning above.
But this day's grown too sticky, shops open their windows
serve customers pink lemonade.
Two girls fan each other with folded newspaper,
tragic headlines from some other day.
So we roll up our sleeves, fight heat with acceptance,
say tomorrow will bring us a breeze
to cool all our doubts, restore us to life,
and rustle the heat-stiffened trees.
[ps-someone has been eating my corn tortillas. fucker.]

11:13pm: Enamored with a Girl [literal, in a sense]
Sick of self [see attached pamphlet]
Speak through filters
and damaged lung machine
See, Munchausen set in
but I don't quite know what to do
Pigment replication in the
strictest sense.
[chameleon]
Self-aggrandise
with Modest hopes
fucking
Enamored...
fucking
Enamored...

10:18pm: Scenes From the Sky Box
When we learn to land these airplanes,
we'll man a mission to MIR Space Station.
And we'll chat with the Russian cosmonauts
about the good ol' days of the U.S.S.R.
They will praise us,
they will love me just like I need someone to.

[done.]

10:10pm: A Symbol of Devout Altruism
I met you on top of a hill. The city below made strange perpendiculars, but this particular city was full of shadows; shadows we both thought we could escape by climbing that hill, on that windy inferno of an afternoon. Your eyes alone could have sent flames below, set us both free; but instead you just stared at me,
because it was easier to set me aflame than to face the consequences of a block-by-block scorching,
charred remnant housing,
metropolis built on ash.

9:53pm: From a Distance it Looks Like Wilderness
[on days like these I crave the confining rigor of rhyming verse]
These mouths keep talking storms,
but, see, I'm hold out down below.
Their clouds of words just pour on me,
but I refuse to let it show.
And on that day,
yea that beautiful day,
when the sun is shining through,
I'll climb out of this selfish hole into the arms of...who?

8:11pm: Still learning...
...so give me a break.

7:58pm: Cambrian Explosion
Please fly me out of here to some solitary Ukrainian farm. I've dealt with loneliness before, not very well; but never has the reward been so sweet, so I'll cope.

Pleaseohplease land me in some drab Prague apartment building. Anchor me fast to a wife, kids, and home.

Oh how I will cope.
Oh how I will cope.

I've laid down in the mud before, but only to escape the heat. Yea, only for a brief moment.

7:49pm: Analytical. circa 1910's
I've been charted, mapped out, thrown into a grid.
Viewed from every angle; time and space precluded.