day ninety

INSTALLMENT ONE: HOMO+INTRA

I watch them greedily

Standing still, another day
is going by,
I’m still unsold.
A pink hand grabbing
and picking me up -
could this be it?
yes.
I am making my final journey
over to the cash register
where all wanted bottles
go.
if my lid wasn’t on right my
soul would surely
be pouring out
right now.
The head connected to the hand -
my new master
is scrunching this head
into a hideous grouping
of wrinkles,
to be released by a smile.
I cannot tell if they are
happy or not to see me.
Bagged into darkness
as if going to the chopping
block, I am now bobbing
up and down, in a forward motion
the pink hand, tight around my
neck.
Bobbing, bobbing
until now, light again
but not too much,
we must be underground.
the pink creatures twist off
my lid – ouch. It hurts
but no one ever said
losing your virginity
was easy.
my soul, my spirit,
is being poured into
three separate glasses,
until I am left feeling empty
and unwanted; they no longer
look at me.

take all that I could
give them.
they cackle and unsteadily get up,
pink faces now red
and I am grabbed by the neck
and back to bobbing.
Outside again, it must
be only one full turn of
the clock
since I last saw
this air,
we have bobbed back
to my original home.
my pink friends
do not want me
anymore, but the door
to my previous dwelling is closed-
they do not want me either.
the pink master’s red face
get wrinkled
and ugly again.
now I am going, up, up
about as high as I was on
the shelf in my home,
until I am speeding down fast -
I can’t even see properly
and now pain
temporary,
it’s gone.
I can see again, I
can see my pink (or
red) friends laughing
and bobbing away
and I can see my
soulless shell
in twenty different pieces.

day eighty nine:

your eyes

make my face

feel uncomfortable.

stop touching 

my face

with your eyes.

you.

stop hacking
outside my window
or i'll
hack your
head off.

sometimes.

in bed
out
harsh arm
movements
feels good
swear
loud.

pure.

i'm a thoughtful motherfucker,
i'm the most thoughtful motherfucker
i know.

day eighty eight.

cocky cobras
can crunch
crispy cornflakes
carnivorously.

day eighty seven.

the spider's body
is in tact -
i didn't deprive
him of that,
i just put him
under a
shot glass
to starve
him of his
freedom.

day eighty six.

no show
knew it couldn't be
done
in a night.

day eighty five.

i haven't been
gaining weight
i've been
losing it.
"would you like a chocolate?"
"no, no.... well, okay"
seven chocolates later.

day eighty four.

while facing overpopulation,
there's nothing
practical
about making 'practical'
job choices;
doing what you
think
you should
do
to be
'secure'.
every field is competitive
the market is collapsing
jobs at McDonalds are
in high demand,
so while
facing overpopulation
it's really just about
what you
want
to compete for.

day eighty three.

i thought she brought
the vacuum;
or it was some sort
of
condition
upon which
she was hired.
i mean,
they both appeared around
the same time.
i just always thought
that they
came together
two small
and useless
things.

day eighty two.

not dissatisfied,
others
seem to
define
my life
by theirs
and their values
combined.

i could
have it
if i wanted it
but
go away,
i don't.

day eighty one.

flooded bed
after two
fictional characters
with an already
known outcome
- an opposite one
to what is faced
throughout -
give me an excuse
while pouring everything
out
to pour
everything else
out
and blame it
on them.

day eighty.

motivated to work
until it's
actually time
to do so.

ca'maaan,
ca'maaan.

what are you actually like?

when stuck on a
high horse
when you have poor balance
yet others think
the opposite,
you are bound
to fall
every
once in a
while
to the surprise
of the other.

day seventy nine.

the day has yet
to begin
and i still have time
to make
a good first impression
on it.

day seventy eight.

awake far too early
to make sure it's gone
and washed away,
don't leave me any remnants
besides
what i can remember.
the fake
can fuck off
when there's
the real
to deal
with.

day seventy seven.

two out of i don't
know how many
i don't many more
or even any more
just that last one
was fairly
enjoyable.

the same old tricks
up my
booze soaked
sleeves.

day seventy six.

a hilly ride for sure
green hills,
but no green beer
(it tasted fine either way)
no tears in it
but some bad feelings
drank it down
and tried to repent.

you can either
forget
be indifferent
regret
see it as inconsequential
or analyze
and go over
it
let it brew
and make it right.

tastes like a right night.

day seventy five.

finishing things
listening to me
coming out
of my computer
with no likeness in faces
or voices
it is afterall
only midnight
somewhere else.

a definition i enjoy.

Technopoly is a form of social organization in which technology compels people to try to solve all problems by using technical rather than moral criteria, even though technology is often the source of the problems.

outside of the hospital, no doubt.

an accident in the road
bus doors now
closed
out of service
a little girl
uninvolved
but out of the way
i dont smile as i pass
only half
what do you do to
signal acknowledgment
of the bystanders,
the watchers of misery
that you never
desire to be?

day seventy four.

there was lightening going on
and the back of my neck
was very sweaty.

day seventy three.

'seedlings'?
what a silly name
for a daycare.
a little too graphic
if you ask me -
which you never would.
because
if i had a daycare
i'd put it right next to
your seedlings
and call it
'tot spot'.

...

if i owned an adoption centre
it would be called
tot shop.

day seventy two.

my head is too full of flour and
sweat for
this shit.
nothing good today
except spicy.
ai yai yai.
goodnight.

day seventy one.

hypnotism in action
or not
watching,
suddenly
a drunk buffet
doesn't seem so
appetizing

or
appropriate.

day seventy.

the summer mornings when
you know the sun will be rising
as you wake up,
the light
slightly going through
your half aware eyelids.
your noisy fan,
blowing the air around
while you cocoon under
your soft blankets,
soon to be awake
for a refreshing day.

day sixty nine.

work and play

were meant to mix

like go and stay.

day sixty eight.

it always seems
to be the
best time ever
whenever
i'm elsewhere.

one opinion doesn't
satisfy me though.

day sixty seven.

brought back
a floor eight
specialty.

an unusual one,
every ear that listens
to what it contains
makes the face
attached
squirm.

but it's good
it's to be trusted
i'm to be trusted
this recipe
is gold,
well
it's pink
and clear
made pink.
or clear. if you
use all
clear
(you can't use all pink).

it's delicious, just trust me.

day sixty six.

the number 90
made me forget about
this.

a 90 degree
percent
turn
in my grades.

struggle pays.

day sixty five.

i hated that second ride.
the first was longer,
but more pleasant.

it turns out i didn't
hate the ride
particularly though,
i hated the lack
of day dreaming
that i allowed
myself
in the confines
of the smelly
mysteriously stained
seats.

day sixty four.

thoughts on jalapenos:

- i should write them a love ballad
- very hot
- wonderful green colour
- i love green
- it's almost st. patricks day
- green beer
- jalapenos on pizza and with falafel's.
- mysterious insides
- cheaper than pepper spray

[musical foundation]

we are trained and worn
down
by ourselves
and our regression
to hear what we
want to hear
to enjoy
what we hear
and to love what
we recognize
like a child
raised on crackers.

day sixty three.

A A B A, baby
it's what we've been taught
it's what i'm being taught
consciously
without being conscious
that i already know this
shit
already love this
shit
i was born and raised
on it
and just can't
help myself.
my ears have been socialized
to accept this,
and they knew all along
that it was shit,
but they didn't bother
to bother
my brain
with it.

don't listen to every magnet you meet.

i just can't say
that opposites attract,
when ice cream
and winter
just get along
so good,
and when sometimes
the same sex
just get along
so good.

day sixty two.

whenever it's cold outside

i turn my body into a sauna.

i slurp the liquid lava

and let it 

steam up and burn,

sweat and vaporize

the cold out of me;

melt and push it out

until it reaches my skin

in which i wipe it off

with a sweater.

the tenth thud never hurts as much as the first [unbothered].

i can tell by

your made bed

that you're trying 

to impress

and later undress

your latest guest.

unstressed, 

the way you're dressed

shirt pressed

to end up like

the rest

on the floor

shivering

to one of your

best mixes

with one of

the best minxes

to be caressed

then left

in your head.

i always enter to see

an unmade bed.

time to give it

a rest.

day sixty one.

dancing with your crab costume
wet on the floor
but not from the rain
you don't walk over water
but walk onto glass
pricking into
your big toe
but not cutting the skin
so you can continue
jumping
unlike the dance pictured
inside your
head.

day sixty.

never begging
causes no problems
most of the time
like getting
that good feeling.

doing what you
usually don't
creates worries
about silly things
like image.

day fifty nine.

pee pushing out
fuck html.