screaming at low volumes
we spoke in german, most of the evening. after the dinner, with too much wine i vomited silently into a toilet possessing more decor than I had decorum. behind my bent form, rolling twenties Jazz spilled out of the wall. Such is a price one pays for Society. I imagined the dance of the dead, … Read moreWished for the Executioner
we never die when it’s appropriate; instead, we linger to drag it all out. instead, we drape our wings over electric heaters, and wish the rain wouldn’t bother us so. the patter, the drip and roar of spring rains, reign in the desire to desire; our wings droop, our loss reveals itself; this winter has … Read moreSpring Doom
future, Leonard Cohen what would I do? The Dogg Pound, Dogg Pound Posse Unemployment stomp; Big Bill Broonzy Dope Head Blues. Victoria Spivey History (Repeats itself) A.O.S. You Can Have It All: Yo La Tengo Vanzetti’s Letter, Woody Guthrie Vanzetti’s Rock – Woody Guthrie You Souls of Boston, Woody Guthrie Please Be Patient With Me. … Read morePlay Lists of Poetry
I want to live simply – i want the truth to be simple, uncomplicated by agenda and design. I want a dog who is happy. i want a robot who is happy. I want cops to stop shooting people.
french songs pervade the corner,a back-lit Everything machinederives a conscience from culture:the guilt of beer and sinlost the appeal to anesthetic, foisted upon the naive, the fatuously innocent.the bold wipe tearswhile the weak bloom shamesneaking hands into pocketsbetween hookah tokes.the dreaded love from whoreswon decisively over the comfortof familiar disdainuntil the sublime machinationsAddiction’s contortionscould settle … Read morelong street at six am
Whore Magazine 3 is here!
I remember being on the phone with her, knowing she had a little cock inside her; The breathing gave it away. She said, “… Please be True.” it was ok. There was a blonde rubbing my cock, whispering a mantra, “put it in my ass, put it in my ass.” I didn’t bother asking her … Read morebothering truth
Boulevard Papers are the truth to the overly Cultured. They describe a lost faith in Royalty and the Worthlessness of being alive. Our great culture of Free Press provides the Truth.
The tax man wants to rape me. I offered to let him fuck me, but they insisted, Rape is the Only way.
In the morning I’ll be gone. Not a trace to be found. I’ll be a dream of New Orleans, I’ll be a memory of Mississippi. No Finger Prints, No Hairs disappear… I’ll be gone in the Morning.