screaming at low volumes
jgtaylor The first and probably last issue ever: Whore – the magazine – The Gift for all occasions, the thing to read on the shitter, something to burn, cut up, poster your bedroom walls with, and display in an art gallery. WHORE is what no other is; distinguished by it’s unique brand of offensiveness and its … Read moreWhore magazine – Vol. 1, Issue 1
does it make a difference if you’ve tried and failed, repeatedly so that now you look broken and ugly? that knock of the world upon your soul, rapping hard like the pigs do when they come to find you; take you to the camps just to remind you that the pain they inflict will never … Read moreVisiting
Oh the fury of my heart, conflicting with my arrogant mind and all this time I felt sure that intellect would set me free; it never occurred to me that feeling an intellect was foundational to spiriting a life of separation. Even I don’t understand it.
The other day, in a store of books, there was one that purported to show just how I could improve my poetry. it suggested i not spent to much time on my opening line, though i’m not sure why, because i don’t. he suggested reversing things and traversing things and once there was a mention, … Read moreHow To Write Poetry
These taxes are killing me, tax my soul, my heart tax my love to pay for hate blowing up in the name of state; well, i’ll file them for you, little machines of death, and you’ll call yourself Caesar, but all you really do is make it difficult to please her: the money could be … Read moreThese Fucking Taxes
All night long, there are sirens running to and fro’ trying to save the world. They weren’t able to save us. There were emergency room visits and papier-mâché hearts that dropped from fire escapes, only bruised, not entirely broken – just to see if I could really die. Sirens and guns and bulletproof vests won’t … Read moreCrime Fighters
I am pained by my comrades in this Drunken Expose’ of lost lives and an inability to cope. I am the same as them. All the bottles on the wall hollering aloud their dreams are just us cast in glass. Suicide might be easier than listening to that god damned worthless voice. I could kill … Read moreDrunken Expose’
There’s an empty spot, now, in the closet. The hangars are gone where the sweaters were. The blond at the end of the bar has stories to tell, but I won’t listen. The pony tail turns me on, the lean into things is a tease I barely notice. All I can think of is the … Read moreThe Closet
I want the lottery to be your birthday. And the smile next to me to be head i will never forget. I imagine it’s like the lottery. I’ll never forget your head.
“I never really loved her”, I will say to myself. It’s a commitment that I waiver on, regularly. She won’t see me or speak to me and I’m not sure it matters. My throat hurts from vomiting. the sun will never rise again, this I am sure of. It matters, somehow when a paradise is … Read moreAnything but now