27hands
27 HANDS
I write all this shit, all of it, fuck you.
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fattylime
FATTYLIME
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You've hit bottom when you're taking care of shit whilst watching the barrage of critically petty projected idealism wash you over in rogue waves(dad g. not included, or the personified tags prior a.w.). OR. I'm misunderstood and fun and starved of freedom.
adapt or suck
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I became a man when my reply to a physical threat changed from "I can't believe this..." to "Try it bitch.".
ya motha
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Titles
Over months of strong bass driven vibrations from the musicians I give a fuck about the lamp in my quarters begins to flicker. It flickers from subtle eventual steps that so gently reverses the thread on the bulb from the socket and I wipe my non-existent tear from the orbital orifice housing my left eye. Beat driven, no no no, sound-reactive debauchery powered by the ghosts I kill off every night along with the brain cells that tag along. Nina Simone really had it down. Soul of a woman,voice of a man, presence of an angel, dirty as a street dog. I suppose I can relate, that’s not what this is about. I hate these Sports Forum tourists here, here in Hamtramck. Wet dog culture, grease for lotion, floor dwelling ventriloquists... WE reside. Yes, floor dwelling ventriloquists... Fuck your laser tag culture bullshit. We’re the romantics. Fuck your hashtags and your fake hellos. God, fucking boring. Met a blind gent at the bar tonight. Everyone treats him as a blind man. I treated him as a person I was jealous of. Die quickly ya pricks cause I’d rather not have to hear about it later sippin clouds with big J and his hippy cult. The lamp pulses with my heart racing for bad decisions.
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Yeah
Seems no matter what I do.
The double space
when all I’m tryin to do
is a single.
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Fine fun.
Loose cigarettes.
Warm coffee.
A fine juice and finer heartache.
I suppose I know nothing worth sharing.
Always the precursor to some great string of text.
Many woven strings in a ball mocking me.
Enough foreplay.
Even I feel uncomfortable.
The window of my Hamtramck bedroom filled with justified pre-summer light.
Awaiting, I, wretched and honest and feeling good for once.
The fingers splay awkwardly on bizarre tales of Macintosh manufacturing.
None my business, tales of psychopathic industry are of no concern to this.
What concern shall we choose?
Neither this or that, not here for fable or prose or input or tits.
Nahhh def here for tits. Loosen me up baby.
Lovely boobies.
A child's dream.
Wonderful how breasts are first memory for most and lasting obsession for many.
Ya know what's right about life?
That it's all meant to happen as it happens,
on rims made of gold.
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When i inspire a response filled with laughter and smiling face I am specifically satisfied.
27
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Micro modes .OR. Temporary Freedom.
I take one more and say it’s my last and I know It won’t be. The idea that it could be requires discipline and with equal parts focus and abandon I feel the chemical course through my haunting fingers. Marionette puppet digits dropping eye coordinated targets for now finely engineered rounded corner skeleton keys. Writing is a keychain to the noise we record and play on loop for semblance of spiritual posture; hopeful prose. The ego in me desires a stop and final pause, a suicide note of disregarded vision yet this; my insecurity booms between my head holes. A symphony of pings thudding and twirling down canals of consumption and moderation and surrender. Not that total surrender shit, but surrender enough to feel a small amount, more I live, less of it. I go back on my promise. I love this turbo spit contest boiling down my self to potentially acquire a sort of truth enough to satisfy my deep knowing. The method of specific narration is too PRO-noun for me because well, it’s all about ME anyways ;) And that’s the trigger... Maybe I’m writing to soothe my mind of it’s stabbed guilt mechanisms, the wounds are brooding. Maybe It just feels fine, fine to push fingers into flat expressive combinations. Like a safe, twisting a dial to unlock a wish. It’s too easy to “fuck” everything. Like a dance rushing our needs with the satisfactions, bending them to the need of satisfying others, half satisfied and dirty, sick and thirsty, bored and berated. I don’t know about ya’ll but that shit stresses me the fuck OUT. So spit on your priest, hide a dose of LSD in your mouth for Jesus, when he asks you for an Amen, when they share germs suburbia, when father kool-aid gives a micro-dosed reach around. H-amen.
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Religion is an opioid reach around.
27
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Best thing about expensive drugs is that they reinforce time-management.
27
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Meyucky
Fuck fuck fuck
The whistling heavens. Cockroach knuckles tattooed.
Leather knee, Venison mouthful, cherry pop.
Ant colonies worship petroleum garbage,
the one with the fitted cap gets the crumb.
Deep breathing exercises,
brittle flakes of cum waltz,
perfect navel,
clean cut from the mother restaurant.
Having no face and a peculiar sense of style,
a man with no fear and no child,
a man with a fake heart and real teeth,
a man eating the flesh of his own hand.
Schizoid hyena playing with the head of a dog,
someones pet, they once petted, and kept
safe from harm.
Smiling walls.
Yellow skin.
Emoji Samurai badly needing massage,
or
naked woman covered in sushi
like
trees once covered
the earth;
before the machines.
White male Lego.
Black female Lego.
Privileged white feminist Lego.
White rapper goes viral,
higher infinite power.
Tower of Ego,
babblebabble.
Sometimes you need to be alone
and by sometimes
I mean all the time I need to be alone
I need to feel not alone
and the only way
to feel not alone
is to not be alone.
I am not interested in the sound of your food being digested.
I am not interested in the scent of your spoiled innocence.
I am (not) interested in the cocaine diet,
or your drama,
it fatigues me.
The cigarette is a genius population control tool.
First hand, second hand, and major profit tool.
The woah man that sits at the top of it all,
sacrificing life to the cruel alien terraformers.
The demons who abandoned us,
flying chariots, fireball sticks of gold.
What a petty cunt(ish).
Suppressing women globally because
"...all my friends are guys, I just, I don't know, I don't get along with girls."
.
<divine>piece of shit</divine>
Hands missing arms and shoulders and heads even.
A slew.
He got a RAW DEAL.
150 Million dollar lawsuit.
Hulk green spinach,
even Popeye needed to eat his beer.
I hate your fucking cell phone.
A worker in a third world country died for you,
like Jesus died for your sins,
instead died martyr for your
gadget.
Go go modern day slavery.
(lol sorry I got a text)
rofl
fml
fyl
FUCK YOUR LIFE.
Memories are much fonder remembered than re-lived.
Yo train hopping fuck! Yeah YOU skinny jeansssss
howz that sweet piss you call beer rotting your gut?
That rich & rare lifestyle feelin' cool eh?
That case of herps you derped on your ex fire right?
Fed him too much numb cuz ya head smells like shit.
70 half hard dicks a sniff.
Naw most of ya are pretty fuckin' on it,
real heads livin heaven in a hole.
Love ya Nasties.
*Straight up, most users are emotional titans who give most fucks.
It’s the system that ostracizes the illness(way) for capitol exploitation.
Maybs if the infrastructure was better suited for empathy...
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Mantra X333
I desire...
...to win cash 4 life.
...to fuck hella fine hard body pussy.
...to balance joy with money.
It was then that the goosebumps ignited,
like a lighter to Daffodil fuzzy's,
gathered in corners,
on concrete.
I desire to have a balance of joy and money.
I desire to have a balance of joy and money.
I desire a balance of joy and money.
I desire a balance of joy and money.
I desire a balance of joy and money.
X
JOY AND MONEY
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Moderately interesting encounter
Oh boy was he ill equipped. Chill guy, works at the loud and tall Rock n' Roll party store off Caniff. Grabs bizarre requests from the shelves I have to ask to reach. Solid hand shake, looks me in the eye. I would say he's a "black guy" but it's more important to say I'm the "White guy". Mutual respect, remembers me. Outside, he just finished up his shift and he is going ON AND ON. "Happy Father's Day" he says and I retort "Shit, Father's Day isn't until sunday brethren!" like I never said anything, "Father's Day weekend! If Mother's get a weekend, I get a weekend, but I hate my kids.". I just about cried with relief. I say "You hate your kids?" he goes "They ain't my kids! From another marriage, but I've been her daddy since she was five... six..."(he's fairly marinated). I play with it for awhile then continue my direction as to create distance and fade to the conversation that I know, WILL NEVER END. Unintentionally reeling him to a nice young woman with pink hair smoking a cigarette passenger side hood of a Grey Poupon gold fleck early nineties Buick. His story continues, well, repeats itself, and as soon as he says "They" in reference to "Mother's" she triggers and OH BOY did I get the fuck out of there. I circle the block upon my freshly unchained metal horse to investigate the progression of this expected high flame encounter. I see now that pink is sitting shiv whilst her boy wraps things up. Boy with words, "I hear ya, yeah everything's cool, no we're ok...". I sip my #redbull and say "Alright! Ya'll have a good night!" as boy and pink close the doors to their superficial edifice. I see them later down at the stop light staring forward in silence. Myself, invigorated. Casually invigorated.
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Dream #32493493
Long dark brown hair almost black with fair skin and beautiful red lips. She could write novellas with a single look. Trapped on a floating piece of drift wood near a church submerged by a great flood but the candles still burn. She never knew what love was, her husband the reason her spirit in place. I tried to drag her away to land but the magic was too strong. In pain and turning to stone the further I reached her off her island onto land some old world curse. Magic inscriptions. I'm in love.
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Song #375857463
the people are freaking
the country is weeping
my molar is rotting
inside
my skull
I keep no regrets
perhaps schizophren
regardless or not
dat death rattles hot!
inside my skull
inside my skull
stereotypes out
harambe be proud
your fucking meme lords
jerk off
in a sock
I wanna be sweet
itd be really neat
no fuck that
go suck on a sock
go suck on a sock
chicken lemon rice is my shit
coney dog cut into fifths
a can of pepsi
cuz fountains for fat fucks
you doped sugar junky
how blind do you see
talk shit on my booze man
i'll fucking kill you
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Shit talk, I love you.
God damnit I'm trying to survive here? Then I tell Jesus in the alleyway "hey man, I'll believe in you for two days if you make a $20 appear next to that losing lottery ticket by the 10 cent red bull can I'm eyein sack of 40 glass n' can over ye shoulder 40oz soldier.". Not the first time I've found alley cash wait no fuck that PABST BLUE RIBBON wait... yeah I get home right? somewhere around 10AMish hung the fuck over, post crashing bench seat in Betsy after 4 fingers of bottom feeder whiskey for 3 cigarettes to Slor and mannnnny more just necessarily noteable... anyway back to the poetic flow*Pooost, Poost, Post New Orleans crew blowin up the local anarchist collective something "tastefully clad dicks and saggy tits extravaganza DIY strip club", post straight up air to butthole loin clothe dude, post two red bull can sized and green water bong in butthole lit and smoked by at least 4 titty babes on stage bong water slurped and crowd roaring... I FELT NOTHING. Oh poor me haha no no every freaks gotta one up the next or we lose sight of our individuality and die a bitch to the system best get another dick in line to avoid the other dick that made you for another dick not organized enough to give a fuck about you but that's not the point. Yeah, 10ishAMish hung the FUUUUUUCK over decided a nice video in turn for what I saw from below 20 mexicaning through open roof 2 by 4's tied to the roof by ropes and meager pay for survival, hey we're both trying to survive but the sound of many hammers in symphony was too much for me to not exploit, granted I am a white man and all and this is what is expected of me. Blannnnngggggggg oh nice videohhhh oh wait who fucked my art in storage? Snowing black soot pompei in the summer summer summer tiiiiimmmmeeeeee like I'm a fucking art restoration technician, like this is my job to clean up sticky tar soot off soft pastel shadings without pissing lisa off? Nah, not a chance. Beautiful video. Love the church bells of cheap labor and creeping kid walking slowly and goonish for smooth shooting. I almost want an attic with fluorescent bulbs running up and down for every slit of sunlight. Somewhere to chill and escape all the bullshit. Bullshit like this here, bullshit that trashed my bullshit art, so much bullshit you start to question the origin of the word bullshit and get disgusted that it's reached this point and never want to use the word again. Humanshit. Hmmmm familiar...
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Now I’m drunk...
Writers, drug dealers, and preachers etcetera, substance for the feeling. Divine healing, dealing, and reading for rush and prickly things on arms. Stole a beer from the fridge we pay collectively on open electricity and spot we share atop my name legally. Jeff Buckley in my ear and paranoia running fast up my spine. Trending topics and misanthropic lethargy plague us yet we support the fools that tool our psyche into endless submission and bunk. Yeah fuck the patriarchy, the monarchy, the capitalist pigs with spin on slavery; indentured servitude a new label. Then lost change romance spun like cotton candy, sweet propaganda how bitter the taste. New system, new rules, new drooling catharsis driven road dogs for feeling. I'm out of it, I'm denying the drug, so much that I detest the "I'm" for "eye am" for subtle psychoanalytical and notable fuck very notable effect slipped in the cracks that once avoided to break our mothers backs now flush and sly. Rock n' Roll mother fuckers.
Later:
So romance was a poison sold snake wine and my life is a lie and nothings changed since saying "fuck it" in 2010. Blannnnngggggg. Oy to tha bright ups doin it dirty, cheers to ya'll and any fuckery thoust hast engage since yellowstone, hot earth, hollow earth, flat earth, murdered fucking seals on and on, do it good. This is your chance to rock that high score on tha weird alien bong quarter arcade machine ya eight-armed friends pressured you into. Hella.
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Firefly
There is no sense in holding back.
Life ends in misery, dying sucks.
Perhaps you're the lucky .005% that receive a painless injection,
better chances you'll die a miserable tortured exit.
Give love now.
Be present for every breathe of the uncomfortable,
because baby, it is all uncomfortable.
Humans have quite the beautiful innate trait amongst them,
the ability to lie to themselves and trick their bodies into comfort.
Think about this, do you know any species that can control its reaction to discomfort?
It is the human that will lie to itself that the future justifies the pain.
It is this concept of future that destroys happiness.
With the future failing to meet ideals,
we have resentment.
With the lack of planning for our futures,
we have un-acceptance.
With a lack luster dream or lack there of,
we have judgement.
Future was created to control and divide.
Future does not exist.
Future is another now,
that is gone,
before
now.
A firefly that vanishes when caught.
Chase the light.
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