Thoughts on the sickness in my gut

It happens whenever I’m about to confront something I don’t want to confront.

It feels like a snake writhing atop my stomach, like it’s wearing my diaphragm for a hat.

It’s a nauseous thing.

I’m feeling it now because I know I should admit to Quiet Room Dude (his name is Walter) that I did make little noises to piss him off.

It’s so silly, so trivial a thing. It’s like a speck of dust on a shoulder, so easy to wipe off. But for whatever reason this little speck of dust has summoned a snake in my gut. And there he is, right ahead of me, the cure to my sickness. All I have to do is go over and humble myself, and say “I have a confession. I made little noises to disturb you. I’m sorry.” Even though I got this feeling inside me, I’m smiling at those words. Like, who hasn’t done little things to piss someone off, lol. So yeah, I can smile through this feeling. It’s always like this, this facing a fear. It was like this, even worse, the day I first performed a poem in front of others. It’s going to be there the rest of my life, turning up whenever I don’t want to do something, whenever there’s an obstacle to conquer.

I also feel so pitiful and lame apologizing over such a tiny thing. Like he’d even care? Ya know? But it’s not even about him at this point, it’s as simple as “I feel sick and I don’t want to. If I take action, not only will the sick feeling leave, I’ll feel really good afterwards. I’ve proven this to myself over and over again.” It’s taking your medicine, that’s all it is. And with that, I’m off to confess to good Mr. Walter.


He smiled, and we shared about our lives for a good half hour. I feel free. There’s a smile on my face. There’s no sickness in my gut. And I made a friend, who just smiled and laughed when I told him about the little noises (he didn’t even notice, haha).

Update to the quiet room!

I just rushed out of the Quiet Room so as to not further disturb the gentleman in front of me, and laughed my way to the water fountain. What a new mood I was blessed with after admitting to myself I made little noises to piss off dude. Luckily the noises were few, and as I returned to the room refreshed and renewed I smiled at the man and made a sincere apology for the noise. I shared with him how I felt, the initial anger, and how in the future kinder words would help. Honey vs vinegar, etc.

It felt good when he told me he was surprised by how I responded, that I did so humbly, and he asked my why. Of course I told him the truth, that it’s all God, for God was good to me. He smiled and he said “I thought you were a Christian.” We talked for a little bit, smiled sincerely, and shook hands. His name is Walter, and I wish him all the peace and calm this world can afford.

God, I’m so glad I wasn’t an ass. I’m so grateful the little noises I made to piss him off were few. I’m so happy I got over that initial sickness in my gut when I thought about telling this guy how I felt throughout that whole prior interaction. It felt so good to get it off my chest. I might have to even tell him about the little noises I made to bother him, lol. If I do I’ll let y’all know.

Mood: Grateful

I laughed in the quiet room

The laughter was suppressed, no loud obnoxious guffaws, just happy breaths caught in the throat, smile wide on my face. I was listening and re-listening to Norm Macdonald’s moth joke, in love with the language used to describe the emotional plight of the moth. It was good stuff.

In the middle of my fourth or fifth listening, the dude a table across from turns around and says, indignantly, “You’re being disruptive” followed by some other words that didn’t matter much. And my immediate response, the one I didn’t follow up on, was to be an ass and say something along the lines of “Those headphones you got right there can probably help you with that.” It was the tone that pissed me off. I felt judged, accused, singled out. If he had just turned, smiled, and said, “Hey, can you please not laugh? It’s disrupting to me,” I would have gladly obliged and been saved this current resentment of mine.

Alas, I was not rude to this disturbed man. I looked him straight in the eye and said “Sure. Thank you for letting me know,” and proceeded to make tiny noises to further disturb him. I’m actually struggling right now not to burst out laughing.

I cannot sleep

The tiny luxuries are gone. There’s more thirst, nowadays. Nothing to complain about, there’s water nearby. It’s the United States, for Christ’s sake, you and I aren’t going to die of thirst. At least not here. At least not tonight.

I read a facebook post today, about how many inmates died during Katrina, and how in S Carolina many inmates may suffer the same fate. The original post was a tweet, the person who shared it via facebook (not my friend, she shared the facebook post sharing the tweet) wrote:

I guess that’s the extent of that person’s agency. It is for me, to share a post and do nothing else about it. You know what, though? I do believe if just one of us fully devoted ourselves to right this wrong, we would make a change. And you know what else? That’s not a sacrifice I’m willing to make. My purpose lies elsewhere, I believe that fully.
Maybe people feel like they’re making a difference sharing those posts.
Maybe what they really want to say is “This upsets me. It wouldn’t upset me if I didn’t have a heart. I’m a good person, please notice that.”

We all have a lot of love, but don’t know how to share it. We have concerns, and we end up bullying or shaming the object of said concern. Like that Cosmopolitan cover with Tess Holliday. I believe that some, not all, of the people who publicly share their contempt for that magazine cover really want to say You’re not healthy, this isn’t healthy, please let’s look at this problem and fix it so that you can live a longer life. You can feel better than you do now, you can ease your mind of the worries that plague it regarding your health. Please, what I can I do to help? Tell me, and if you don’t want it then ok, I’ll respect that and leave it be, but please know I want you to be happy.
But we’re not taught to communicate that day. My mother wanted to tell me “Mario, psychology isn’t a field that is likely to bring you a great deal of financial freedom, choosing it will limit what you’ll be able to do in your life, will limit the experiences you can have and the experiences you can give to others.” Instead there was a lot of shouting, and threatening to take away all support if I didn’t switch majors. My grandmother probably treated her in a similar fashion, and her mother likely did the same.

We break the cycle, you and I. It’s not always easy, it can be rough, and I know I make mistakes. It’s part of learning, accept it, apologize, and grow.

I don’t know what else to write, so at least for now


With art, there’s time to create (exhale), and the need it listen, absorb, Inhale.

I feel this way about hard work. I’m talking about the true grind. The kind that shuts off all distractions for days at a time. Where every second is devoted to the creation at hand. I’ve tasted this magical space, tops for a week or so at a time. It’s when you don’t sleep for more than a handful of hours at a time, if at all, and eating becomes a chore.

But I haven’t been able to keep it going longer than that, I burn out, and I must lay down. There’s a balance to be found, a happy medium where extreme exertion isn’t the norm, but summoned when needed (deadlines). So here’s to the a new experiment: Stay on task monday - saturday, and sunday relax. Go to church. Watch a movie. Take a nap. Maybe that’s all I need, a day to decompress.

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale,

Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,

there was another voice- you found me where
I met the kiss of sleep with shoulder turned,
lost in the black morass of love aghast-
And here I thought the air was breath alone
for me, for my wet lungs and duty spurned-
I thought of you, remembered your divine
words that carved through time to fill this empty
cup of mine with water from your spirit.
Your poetry, dear Keats, a subtle Lethe
spilling from your breath unto my aches - Peace
you've given me, respite against the cramp
of minutes slowly dwindling. I thank
all gods that led me here, that let me hold
your book against me heart. A twin, so dear.

It's tough

posting every day, but it's worth the start.

I've been trying, and somewhat succeeding, in studying for class. History of english language, not very interesting imo. I prefer the lectures, when prof goes into syntax and teaches us the history verbally. I keep myself awake by checking instagram (tametheruckus , follow your dawg. It's what DMX would do).

I haven't yet gotten over the hullabaloo regarding Tess Holliday, the clinically obese model who's now made it to the cover of Cosmo. I hear "Fat Acceptance" and I hear "Love Your Body" and I agree with those words. My issue is, I don't think a lot of people know what those words mean. Like, when I accepted I was an alcoholic and drug addict, I had to accept the harsh reality that I was slowly killing myself and putting myself and others in danger. I accepted this, and thus was able to accept the process necessary to rid myself of those destructive behaviors. Acceptance does not mean complacency, does not mean holding onto what harms us. And Love. Love is more than a noun. Love is a word. I Love my body, and because I do I worship it by engaging in regular, and often strenuous, exercise. I do so within the limits of safety, as in I'm not gonna risk breaking my back to exert myself.

I see this woman on this cover, and I see worship of gluttony, of a hedonistic lifestyle. I see enablism by those worshipping her, glorifying her perilous way of living. Girl, Love yourself and please get rid of that fat. You're knocking years off your life, you're putting unnecessary strain on your heart. Love your heart, love your arteries, love your muscles, love your metabolism. Love your body by stopping the abuse you're putting it through. It's within you to change. I applaud your dedication to working out, I saw the posts with your trainer, 4 days a week, that's not easy to do. Please take the next step, hire a nutritionist, show those girls that loving themselves takes work, that we should glorify and worship our bodies by sacrificing comfort and gustatory delight. Lead the girls who look up to you to a healthier way of living, one that will add years to their lives. You have this tremendous platform, make the most of it and promote well-being, please.

Are you like me

the nights you can't sleep?

Do your hands sprint to your phone the second your mind has a moment to think?

Do you look for fun in all the wrong places, with all the wrong people?

   I did, for the most part of today.

Have you ever been scared to let go of someone you love? Scared because there's a chance you may never see him or her again?

   But I did it anyways, because I don't want to hurt, or be hurt, anymore.

My best friend is going through hell right now, she's in a place familiar to me. It's called mania. I've experienced it bc I'm bipolar, and so is she. She speaks and speaks non-stop. She believes she can make the sun and moon rise. She believes she can slow or quicken time at her whim. She might sleep an hour, and doesn't really need to eat. Not that much, not like you or me.

So I've been there, and I thought I was Christ the night they sent me to the psych ward. I know what it's like to go days on so little sleep, and I wish I was there to hold her hand like God was there for me. But I'm not healed enough to hold her hand without letting my selfishness take over, without breaking my abstinence. The sex hurts both her and I, it's an artificial salve, a pleasurable novacaine. It masks but won't heal. Might even infect. It's been a struggle even speaking with her when she calls, she gets angry, disrespectful, at which point I end the conversation. I didn't know how to handle the situation.

But last night I had a dream. And she was chasing me as I ran through a zoo. I knew I had to leave, that I couldn't wait for her. Out of nowhere a realization hit me, and I jumped and I smiled and I laughed as I told her "You know where to find me! You know where I'll be!" And then I woke up. And I knew the place, it's the rooms I go to to stay sober, where they hang 12 steps on the walls, where we observe silence for the still sick and suffering, and where we share our joys and our hurts, and hold hands when it's all over. And she knows where I'll be, and she'll know where to find me. No longer in bed in between sheets, drinking from her body as she drinks from mine. No, she knows I'll be where the water is pure, were thirst is quenched, and where my hand will be waiting for hers.

"I Will See You Fresh, Anew" exercise in Healing #1

I was going through a hard time, and shared about it with my friend, who recommended me the exercise you'll find below. The exercise is this: Draw a picture of a part of yourself and give him a voice, let him speak to you and tell you how he feels. Ask him what you can do to help him, and come through for him. So here it is, an act of self love:


"I don't speak. I feel like no one can see me. I always think I can do better, that all I've done isn't enough. I feel left behind. There are weights all over me. I'm not even sure why they're there, or if I even put theme there. I feel strong and weak. I like to dream I can fly, free of all these expectations. I want to run and not be timed, but I'm addicted to the stopwatch. I fight every day to stay awake. Maybe if I add another weight I'll be stronger. I feel so little. It's hard to breathe. I want strong lungs. I don't know when to take these off. I don't think I can. I'm tired, but I met someone who sleeps three hours a day. Maybe I should, too. That's 2-3 hours more awake each day to get more done. It's ok to feel tired, I rarely notice it though. My shirt burns with my sweat. I like to think I sweat and bleed fire. Sometimes I won't eat. It helps and hurts. I'd like to float and be able to close my eyes without sweating. I feel bad thinking about taking the chains off. I like them sometimes, because I like to be challenged. But this is more. Maybe I'm punishing myself. I don't think so, but it's hard to see behind this mask, it fogs the harder I breathe. I don't want to want them off. I want to run and have fun. I don't know where to go. I don't believe in rest. I want it and I also want it gone. Maybe just walking is enough. I don't believe it. It has to be hard. I have to earn whatever is next. My eyes sting. I want to sleep where it's cool. I want to earn your praise"


I give you waves of water and sleep and food to nourish your body. I free your weights and let you float care-free in my patience. I am your greatest rest, I will see you fresh, anew. I see your deeds, your loyalty. You stay true to me and so I plant for you gardens, abundant for all your needs. Have no fear when it feels like you're dropping it all. I let them fall so you may fly. Your gift, The Blanket of Waves.


why i chose writing

1. one day i was tripping on acid. i closed my eyes and i had a vision. i saw very clearly paper and a pen.

2. i was reading journals from years back. on said 'i hope i never stop writing'

3. i fell in love at first sight and for the first time in my life opened my heart to her via text. she wrote "Mario, that was beautiful"

4. one day i was feeling a rush of emotions, a flood of anger and yearning. i grabbed a pen a threw down what i felt on paper. i cried and it was a huge relief. i had never expressed myself before.

5. i have so much to say, but no-one wanted to hear it. even though it's super interesting. opinions, views on the world, talked about in ways no one else has ever communicated them to me.

6. i always loved to read, writing is the other half. they love each other, and i love them both.

7. i love writing and it engages my mind in a way nothing else ever has. it makes me alive, and happy.

8. all those things clicked and here i am

To Writing

i miss you dawg. i miss you babe. i miss you dearly and you're always so close but i'm across this chasm that makes me sleep and look the other way the second i'm awake even though you're everything i wanted ever and you've given me all i need. still i look the other, as if though facebook's fake titties could compare to your voluptuous heart and all natural boobs. for real though, Writing, your boobs are amazing. They're perfect. they're cool on my face when the night is hot, and just warm enough when it's too cool. when i've got a back itch in that one impossible spot you get your perfect nipple rock hard and bounce your boobs up and down, lightly grazing my back while you remove my itch. and still i look away. i don't know what to do but write. but shit's hard. i've tried doing you until i pass out. it lasted a week. i bet you loved it. i crashed and burned out though. i threw you away. but then i touched you today, to the beat of a song, and you made me feel so alive and full of potential and unstoppable. i've got tons to confess, but will not do it yet. ima baby step it darlin. cus you wore me the fuck out. can't go balls out all the time. it gets hot out there. but i'm sorry i left you for long. and i'm still here, eh :) ima have to learn to be open again. be free and untouched by that inner editor that cares that y'all out there will think i'm crazy. but i am, so who gives a flying buttruckus.

ok ima listen to music. and see how this rekindled thinky goes.

night night Writing.

i'm stuck to you like gravity. loves.

title best left

sleepy and writing dunno why
watched the animatrix. we're all machines in adolescence, at that age we still rebel, thought, until the world's weights gets us down and on the outs. what does it take to break out of our caves? drugs. extreme demoralization. near death experiences. 
fuck pandora and their skip limit. quit playing shit i don't wanna hear on that station.

live for your love. so what's my love? can't find words fuck the birds for flying, they do that shit easy they were born for it, aren't hindered by ego and fear of falling, they don't get distracted by music tv sports and money and drugs and pussy and weed and biggie smalls and hennessy. they even know how to whistle and sing w no practice. those assholes.

anything's a start. goodnight.


is a powerful presence. to respond to someone's negativity is to verify it's existence. it gives attention to and acknowledges what was said. if someone insults you, don't be angry, or let it ride silently. leave them alone with their thoughts, give them nothing but your presence. don't smirk, laugh at, scowl, or begrudge them. we all know when we act foolishly and attack another, and look for their response as an excuse to continue our shady ways.

the Tao says that to be a person of integrity we must first surpass being a person of etiquette. what is etiquette? It's a polite response. it gives light to polished cookie-cutter responses and makes the rote shine. people have become accustomed to automatic responses to any questions, they fall back on a script they wear on their teeth like notecards shoved in their attention-seeking mouths. people are scared to shine and speak their mind. it begins with seeking approval from others, trying to make everyone happy by silencing our honest thoughts. we learn to hush our voice, tamper our soul to pamper others feelings. we wear etiquette in plastic smiles. 

i feel dull. my mind is shielding itself from letting bare and be. i don't know what the fuckt to say. might as well start with the truth, huh? so how do i feel? like i'm wearing a cement duncehat with a botox smile painted on it, and sad drooping eyes trying to smile. i napped four hours today and for what? i' left to study and write. and readings all been done. practice is hard. not hard to do but hard to start. it's like i'm trying to fuck an eager virgin and she plays so coy, makes me wait, and thing is i'm me and the girl, too. i want to get on my grind and write a story, poem, whatever it may be... but i hesitate. i look to other avenues. i look this way and that, not checking within. but my fingers rap n tap on these keys, so i'm not doing nothing for something. i'm making words pop where there once was white, and that's a start.

the cement will always be wet.

my first time speaking

Eric took so long to share! short speaber my ass. and Amy's friend Michelle gave quite the speech on Amy and hers life. Amy likes being the center of attention, she attracts it. She looked lovely tonight. Curves! Smile! lol. I was getting annoyed when Eric took so long, i was all "look at me, it's my night to be the center of attention< but that didn't last long, i knew it was my ego. I'm grateful there were man delays. It gave me time to calm my nerves. Once I started it wasn't hard. I spoke from my heart the best I could. I hope all the attention doesn't get to my head. It felt so freeing to have people come up afterwards ad give me a genuine congratulations. I feel uneasy at the prospect of me getting attention bc i think i can fall for it and it could be a weakness. like I could be manipulated if i got the right kind of attention from the wrong person. That happened w Paco. Reassurance must come from within. No? I don't know. it's best to seek and find the truth myself. I believe this because we all have different values, mine contradict those of many and are based on my life, my experiences that others don't have. My values must be mine, and if i believe them it must not be as a result of other people's opinions. I believe that God let's me know what I must when I'm ready. No one else can do this for me. There are moments of light where truth is shown and it's those moments that guide me when i'm astray. I know enough to know that a lot of things i believe are too radical to be accepted by the mast majority of people. It's those beliefs that guide my actions. that's why it's important for me to dance to my own drum, other ppl have different tunes that don't vibe w me, that won't let me dance. they'd rather i march. i don't know where to go with this. i need to learn to express my beliefs better. more accurately. less confusion. there must be order. logic. reason. clarity. i'll get it.

i Am

the torrent
the dam

the dragon's throat and threat
of song

the ox and oak
apollo's match and muscle

my bronco heart
the bloody knuckle

a ruckus and scythe
the terror of veils

the eye of the hunt
the grin of bullet teeth



i feel

like water bouncing off elastic leaves green fresh crisp mint chilled paper scraper lif and ice breath weath breath wreathe and listen and feel and chill and it's a pain a tough hurt a virgin glow and slow the woeful blasted craftsmen mass and lassos of feelsteel felt wels welt seln noetu oeunat e naomekpc.r a onoetud aenu

music. i'm thinking of the prettiest blonde in the world. she has eyes that torture sapphires, make em burn green, envy kryptonite ablaze. watch precious stone sweat blood, life tears from their perfect man-made cuts. they weep to rubies, whet red and wet they wail, they'll never capture what God's given her eyes.



I think

of God letting my sister die, and I in anger striking out with blades on my skin, sharp and deep enough to scar and cut tendon. I dream for more. I think of love, and of my love making my spurned love's desire flee back to me in jealousy. I dream of a life lived recklessly uncontrolled, saying what i want when i want how i want and no sugar coat but sex on my lips. i dream of freedom. of unrestraint, of saying in the middle of a get together that i'm leaving, and no just getting up to go, and when asked why telling the truth, saying I don't feel like being here any longer. and to hell with their feelings. life is too short to put up with bullshit. so why. why hold back. fear, it cramps truth and real desire.

The girl i like cares so much about ettiqueet. God please help me let go of all these fucking shakes and shackles the things that bleed me gray, steal my color back from their ruby lips and show my show me show me please how can i  let go. I want to fly and be me. myself my mario my truth. i don't want to sound nice and high pitched. i don't want to be nice i want to be me. reckless and wreckless fick it. God that's my real question. How can I let go of ettiquette. I'll do it. I promise. I'm willing to do what's asked of me. I'll do it I swear. I'll bleed for it. I'm yours.


2pac is on. I ain't mad atcha.

So you'll never be mad at me? If i'm willing to hurt i'm willing to grow. gotta take my lumps.

The real me is sober. He speaks his mind and defends his opinions. He doesn't hide behind silence when challenged. He laughs unashamed, and lives swinging. ropes. 

Fuck Etiquet. It shades the truth and conforms to other's ppls expectations by the vary nature of its' existence. I want to be a man who speaks his mind. People will always find a way to get angry. fuck em. how can i let taking risks and going forth afraid and courageous.

this is the song God played for me right now on Pandora:

"Falling Slowly"
(originally by The Frames)

I don't know you but I want you all the more for that
Words fall through me and always fool me and I can't react
And games that never amount to more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly eyes that know me and I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me and I'm painted black
You have suffered enough and warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had the choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along


Now break me
remake me
shape me polished sharp
steel skin sharp enough to cut night-
light like a knife_
bow and sparrow and pierced

just freewriting, don't judge me

i bled sped speed the two hour block a road within me asea og uncensored though caught a small drought oh hell well maca milk and titty silk and slit and sit awd wait crate skate a feel like a blank waiting to sing on a canvas of black in yellow highlights where's the mlight skite white excuse my milk it tastes like stepped on silk like it has vholes swill and tattered battered under splats and meek crashes of a rainfall still acking to reed torrent of fire solvent selven elven gamble gimly simply simply oh really and i so shy i can't free write so what is it i'm doing screwing lewinge ah oh lorgy and birnd and burnt words curses and and and hearses and well what oh wess the deading tesssra babushka in the fog turns old blood gray from robin hood read it's a have, a thick maze of lost memories come back as clouds small enough and raw enough to taste like a shusi bluefish platter smatter every damn hour just tyep don't stop and ndo do learn from mistiypest pf nogeu deu fingers arre learning te to type a new speed on a layout not that old ad thought not new and owkward teenager the grey swan with marvelous wings and and ugly beak seek weak week willing to lift bro do you even fly< do you feel the words an as they fling from my tips a kyboard in typegraphy a lessymessy sckhnessy a tessywessy bissy busy busy chalrth shoulder knot won't let go of the strain i got from pushing hard a sword is dull buht on stone it can stnap or sharpen a harken a ouch it,s still there not so much impeding ans much as birthing discomfort ruport unpor a cohort silly billy willy nilly the free orchestra waves caves of sound it's a drum and a hum if guitar icicle picks and wickers and cicks kick sc clicks oh and am i free yet is ith s this wreiting free enought to let me go so i can open up my parachute and fly on down to the other side come on throught the door the key is turningnot sure of itself oh hell so it slows but it still goes the kangaroo said so a h oh boyzo th blown sewn roam and team and leam and hoary whiskers bathed in age and

cought sun like

diw on dawn

dawn on dew

a most warming a jue

fore you and me, too

thing1 thing2 sing a song tie your coffin blue and a shoeless caricature off the chart-s meh for repititition it'll leave once i'm throught with my mission as will concern a free byrd at last so so closte so so soon a boon and a loony maroon fivear erlnodcrpl' ;eudao

ah massa the funk reeks like eggs bathed in salt on a hungry dry tonge tongue small wall hell hall hee haw was the type of the lightminded mind of your so kind misdemeanor it scomps stom

slow down said he tho the brain surgeon on speed smoke some crack it's so wack replied she the maid who made up her face so no one would see how pretty shi is

what a shame that poor maid

to wear suck a facade

liberate through and to hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhetoeu/',rhiptup


freed mead weed seed this might be easier for a bit if i were drunk

nope can't do that alcohol is 


murda murda she wrote

but of freedom she sang

as she wrung her bones

brittle as toothpicks

picking a 


tttooo astnd a to ask of me is do not see you snothr.embua nteroptd rop let m teor alet the mind free lit it be let it be let it be let it be let it be  be be be be and and and a and and and and well well wellhellsmellouch the neck just a few minute seconds lef when compared to the vasntness of space light years away just a few mission stars hung afar million mission liken strike and bow and heave the cow and sleeve the sneeze and breath the blow inhale through your strong torso heretofor aknownotwherof the heavy dove sigh hes not worried like and old man who know everything will be ok, but habits are so tought to break, don't you seeL fac fat farce a cars scarce scars snta sat snate snake waken the krake en and mast ofd the snake and the lips of bliss silver and thrones of silk n satin n gold spider webs it glistens like

light on a stainless steel pen

my wires my ink my pen both my needle and fangs

my web is my truth

my parachut suite

toothless i'v grown but that's just old skin

fangs wrinkled sucked keratin flimsy as wax paper on sun

let em fall when it's time

my new ivory shines

screams like a horn

the enraged rhino storm







cobra spit

song of the swift

with a hiss like a 


be my guest be my


collision diction

decides for a time to spell

forth down tracked veins

like rails of cocain

digging rivulets into 

skin in the nose

has it rly . and freewriting (don't judge)

been so long since i've journaled. i feel so tame as opposed to five minutes ago. i had that rush, now i just want to cancel. i had a feeling and it's gone,  and i don't know where to find it. i'd be more free on paper and pen and no possibility of any eyes on me

swill kill bill shilly hill fuck suck luck strut walk n talk the bakery pot the boy has lost his beans and been whereto the snake pit looms and bits his little


random tandem tawdry laws a flaw revoked he spoke provoked and longs to drive a 

far car 

bars xanax lost bleak nighn shallow breaths and slaps to the face the koy awoke tho the relief of his homies. no amkulance had to be called. if theyhad to be called he'd be in trouble for almost dying. what the fuck?? that's how it gous, no? "you almost killed yourself, you asshole!


what a lif<

block a rock and cocksmack the lock the key is my mind the blank canvas the door and fourscore virgin whores the paint on which the bridesmaid weeps in velvet ink soft as a whistle in a yard of old rusted steel banging on thick wheels

keel heel been when since then i'm still here don't i give up no moro soro larrow arrow to the tgharth soneteb - antdei notecp -anoteradx -eh

sik simepl limeapple sour and red citric blood a flood of winced tears and minced pears and lairs of pearl cast greyblue in the shadow of the cavernous


scuffle skershuffle a muffled antelope breaks it's toe and the foe of the gator the proscastinator bathes in shaves of blowfish owfish sow and ow and how and row and so many many any zany inconsistencies an iths languiag uf ors and ours bower koward cach cache and blase and basic and primal the raw thrust of a canine through brother meat and little soft skulls like wet clay eggshells in the chimpannzees hunger for power and dominanc whence it came a shame to be lost for so gone the gree theenk free think free thought rambunctious frolicks stlil come out to play in nthe hay of the mind lkkk for the needle it pierces light lighk a moon a balloon free of heavy air the gravity of norms and torrid chords do coalesce and breaths do spark like alcohol and napalm caught and shook in gunpowedfilled cocacola rooms while kittens go boom and strike off the heasd of the laughing white fandalf gandalf was in my dream last night that's cool as fuck i think he was wearing floppy shorts and had a cane like a snarling branch, old as time's grump and hungry as lumps

it's all about rooomiiieeee


and his big fat sister nayooooommmmiii the two of them claims dat dey know meeeee

a roamie romie romieeeeee

beanie mannnnnnnnnnzingo the dingo plays bingo and the strings comuntached mustache bsathesuh aoethu'h,c.u 'iphhc'' h

it feels good to be black