Tag Archives: happy

Death heals fumbling accessories…

Limp and Pasty

Her tongue hung limp and pasty, like a tube of dried paint.
Bed bugs and wooden nickels,
Like a rabbit with hemorrhoids,
Let’s cross fingers,
Runway blasé surface change
Our separate ways,
Faces the same,
Ghost worlds linger,
Split our separate ways into
Nothing stays and actions
Guess my cherry-on-cake dream
to treat the men you could be an exit ground over juicy romantic ideals,
Dense stars,
death heals fumbling accessories.
Mind-control,
What I am paying for?
Loans too large,
Infatuations too abstract and dull,
Addicted to splinters,
polarity, my eyes,
Missing pieces, working on you, weaving into fear and laziness,
and out through life,
Walking in an objective, rational sleep,
Into your eyes,
A heavenly essence of life’s illusions,
Floating time.
Where does it lead?
Meaningless, eat some chocolate.
Bitch-slap loneliness, bratty conceit, fuck me dreamer-weaving excitement
Colored rose lenses absolutely brimming over too much.
I am consumed.
Passion drive me filled to move,
And his smell,
And I feel like slate against slate.
I need to feel love in nature or die,
I need compassion,
To live, feel hope.
I know nothing beautiful and little,
Fighting myself, lonely, projecting,
Running away,
I know better.
I took his pain inside me
when he rejected my love,
I wanted to feel weakness.
I fall back on strength.
As good as love gets, it gets strong with faith.
Inside all associations, all stories,
there is me and love,
and fighting, and then being back in life,
and the sun of mornings.
Movement, new, change,
and acceptance.
Go forward into hell and head spin,
and music and wind and original sin,
And internal worlds and if only this could last forever or die and come down and die, eventually, to change and come inside yourself.
Explode love into a million times a million dreams,
Of happiness tasteless starch,
and creamed envy,
Melted and moved
Into the world market,
Everything looks distorted,
Unhappy beings,
Wanting perfection, feeling used.
I’ve let my guard down, now I am strong,
My shield blinded love.
Blind love is fear and dependence and death,
My friend deceived and a lost human being. He shaped my world
Into a thousand pieces.
I saw love grieved and even music lost an answer.
Anthills they had climbed, and bites
we received happy to feel.
I want that reflection.
The truth to cry again,
Beauty returned to love after I screamed
And revolted with hate and sedatives
And Paxil and romance.
Yesterday was an anthill worth
my while.
I dreamt on a world of sadness
and color sprouted
and a flower of yesterday’s divine kiss
made new love from me the world outside flowered my heart burst into,
Into more dreams,
Thirsting for more, I spilled my drink and dried up and sprouted water
From beneath my feet,
From roots of pain,
I hurt the past,
I crushed my past and my dreams and loved to live for less to lose.
Water sprinkles in my secret garden.
The rest of my pain.
I am shaking and happy,
in misery I feel alive.

Like architecture is poetry, it can continually be redesigned inside, but the overlaying structure remains the same, so without edit, I expose some of my nakedness to you, um, reader.

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Just a bunch of gobbledeegoop…

In the beginning there was man. He talked a lot about his Transformer collection, and memorized quotes from the Big Lebowski or Nietzsche, depending on his daily leanings and mood, in order to impress his friends. And then he met a girl and she was heartbroken over a guy. He thought maybe he could help this girl feel better, and he liked how sad she felt next to him. And so he followed her around like a labradoodle. And then the girl became happy, and she made impossibly witty jokes with a straight face that could confuse people because she looked really sweet but she was downright caustic at times. But he liked it a lot and they lived happily ever after baking cookies, and talking about their dreams to make a darkroom, travel cross country to ghost towns interviewing redneck ranchers and diner waitresses, and try new sexual positions together. But this only lasted for a very short time because soon she was too happy and he saw another girl that was sad like this girl had been, smiling sweetly and nearly completely mute because it was so physically exhausting to be sad that talking was too much of an ordeal for her mouth. And so the guy started to fall in romantic love with the second girl, and I only say romantic love because it wasn’t obviously real love. Because real love doesn’t just transport itself from one girl to another the second aforementioned original sad girl starts to tell jokes and smile for real. It was only in this romantic love state that the Jung and Nietzsche and Osho and Blake quoting guy could stand up proud and say he was going to save another girl, like a knight, with a white horse, and shiny armor. But he stood and his zipper was unzipped, and he was embarrassed. And he took the new girl by the hand but her hand was clammy. And the original sad girl was sad again, so much so that she couldn’t form a sentence, and her eyes shone sparkly in the sun like pools of tears gathered between trees of lashes; and sad girl number two was too happy to even notice that the boy was unbearably discontent, like a horse with a barrel of bananas instead of carrots. And so there was man and being as he could never be happy with what he had man was eternally disappointed, and couldn’t think of a thing new to say that could impress even himself because all of the new movies had bad dialogue and relied on CGI effects to make them worth their insane ticket prices…and everything else had been written in real books with wisdom, but looked cheap in Kindles and therefore couldn’t be oralized with any gumption whatsoever. It was a really sad conclusion to man who as a boy had dreamt of meeting a strong happy girl, and as a boy had wanted to hold her hand as an equal, an artist, a lover, as a man.

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