Current poems in progress...

THE COLD CITY STREET
A place where i sleep

The cold city street loomed empty in the dark
Only the friendly fire in cardboard city could warm your heart
The cold wind blows through your wanting soul
The goodwill coat and gloves can’t curb the cold


Another night all alone a six pack to keep me warm
Only a cardboard box to save me from the coming storm
I came back from war to a country that hates me
Right or wrong I don’t know, but we are still free.


No one hired me; the horrors of war had claimed my mind
“Vet needs help, anything will help” reads my cardboard sign
Get a job, people laugh at me make noises and jeer
I would but a loud noise and I would hide in fear.

Some day the bitter cold will kill me and my body they will find
Or this cheap alcohol and the memories will take my feeble mind
Then in potters field in an unmarked grave I will rest in a final home
Just another bum no one will know or even care for I am all alone.

---RJ

-------
assegai

Victory Special

Based on prior abuse, namely: www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzS0U0TEz-E
Some people came down to knock on my door
(only later would I learn that they were supposed to be 'complaining')
about the noise.

"Dude, you are NOT the God of Hellfire" said this chick, who brought her boyfriend along for comfort, or something. "Why do you keep repeating that shit in your apartment?"

"Ha ha subwoofer woot! Dobbly 7.9 mofo, and 1099p projector, on the fucking ceiling."

"Yeah, fucking subwoofer. Turn it off. And you suck."

"You don't get it yet. I am interacting with media, like, lying on my fucking back."

The boyfriend cuts in, as the girl goes off to heal her wounds or something. She pretends to have runners foot, and stretches in one of compacted nuggets.

"Dude, we just want to get some sleep, ok? Tomorrow is a work day. That's all. Just some fucking sleep, please, you motherfucker."

"Really?"

"No."

Bitch is forced back to deal with me. "I just want you to stop the noise, please," she tries.

I found the way out. Politely, with a finger to show I had an idea, I dimmed the doors on them, and wabbled to my fridge. Looking deep inside, I found the necessary component, and pulled it out, proudly.

"There's like two slices left," I told the annoying noise. "Mushroom or pepperoni. Beef or pineapple. I don't know. You decide. This should hold you. It's all vegetarian. And vegan. And oil free."

I put the pizza carton in their hands, and return to my fucking cool ass shit, that I can do, lying on my back, like a whore.

-fr0
-------
wabbbled = waddled

and basically convert the entire last section to present tense.

-fr0

Celebrating With the True Psychotic

After too many internal conversations
regarding feelings, empathy -- such conceits,
explorations of endgames, strokes in lead,
scribblings, as anyone else would call them:

there was evidence of a cocoon formation.
He, who admittedly, had never killed anybody
(larking, boisterously, like a buffoon
that it was 'because nobody is worth killing'),

was beginning to find evidence of an enclosing shell.
skin, once so soft and smooth, so fluent,
scaling up in a kind of hive pattern.
You see, when code of life wrought with such malice

is rewritten, every literal aspect of it
begins to simply sing.
Sing, can you imagine?
Like some crazy person, in a teal suite

with an umbrella.

Thus for the psychotic, a transition
whose location was not a place,
but events, just occurring,
singing to him.

Feathers whisper numerically, proudly.
Footsteps of the human ants self-cataloging.
A seed, a plant, awakening ...
Everything was always happening

now, in plain view.

/runningvein

You people are not describing enough

It is important to dissect further.


Believe me, I am as disgusted as I may be,
but I have lived so many other lives that
common dissection, the venture into the cavity
of a dead person, is no longer a block.

Some kind of being is blocking me.
Where is the multipass???
Why am I being blocked by a lesser
thing?

He said that I think I am more intelligent
than him.
He used this as a kind of guilt upon me.
I need more guilt.

It is important to dissect further.

I, such a willing subject.

-fr0

What I Really Want to Tell Them

"Your concept of nation state is childish and outmoded.

Is this really the future of our kind? Really? Stupid shit like this?"

Squabbling with the pebbles of indignation. What pride.
I think I'm slowly going mad, but I don't know anymore
how to slowly lesser demadiate. Shit cute word, pose.

Pose.

What I really want to tell them is just gonna be a big joke,
so why bother at the checkpoints? Why bother in their faces?

"Hey man, I don't like being pushed around as much as you. Oh, this is how it goes down? Why wake up tomorrow? Since this is how it follows? Hey man, I don't like being pushed around as much as you. Oh, this is how ..."

Hey man.

Ambulatory systems desire to inform you of boredom.

No, not about your fucking society. Boredom.

Act.

-fr0

Normal people have graphs that look like this

Do you see the steady curve, the ebb and flow?
This is how normal people behave. Sure, there are fluctuations,
study for me this further graph, measuring the boundaries
of what normal people like to call creativity.

You see? This is what normal people do. They create.
Not destroy, but create.

Look, if you cannot be as creative as these people,
I want you to at least study their graphs.
At least *try* to be like them.

-fr0

Post Erection Tobi

Tobi is a spy, sent from China to New York in order to mitigate US assumptions about the ... nature ... of China. The way those Americans automatically assume everything from Far East is bad? Tobi was sent to secretly dispel that kind of shit. He does it through various means -- sometimes even learning tricks from the streets he inhabits. Motherfucker is intelligent.

As a spy, Tobi can write extremely good English words. This props him up for major positions in places where writing is important. That stop sign on 29th and 6th -- Tobi fucking tagged that shit, totally.

But about 2 and a half months ago, Tobi was stopped by a street person who had chosen the path of campaigning in politics. He was given a sheet to write the response to just one question: Who Are You Voting For?

Being a natural citizen, Tobi happily filled the form with his concept about voting, and gave it back to this street person. He then proceeded, but as quickly as he did, his collar was pulled back and he was brought into a whole new world of fucking disaster.

"Who the fuck will you vote for, again, motherfucker?"

Tobi, the spy, shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"That Black, Obama?" Fuming. "Really? This is what you fucking wrote? On the sheet?"

"Yeah. I voted for him. He IS going to change the fucking world. I mean, it's been, like, a week, and alledy, shit is changing at a lapid pace."

The street person collected itself. So much rage, in the machine. "Dude, people don't fucking talk like that, ok?"

Tobi, the spy for China, was lost. What was this person saying to him? "I voted for your best interest," he said. "Why you so pissed?"

"That Black, Obama? Really?"

"Yeah, the Ballack, Obama! The Ballack one! Why am I being targeted."

Notions of pettiness dissolved.

-fr0


-------
Better version -- read thish inshtead:
--------------------------
Tobi is a spy, sent from China to New York in order to mitigate US assumptions about the ... nature ... of China. The way those Americans automatically assume everything from Far East is bad? Tobi was sent to secretly dispel that kind of shit. He does it through various means -- sometimes even learning tricks from the streets he inhabits. Motherfucker is intelligent.

As a spy, Tobi can write extremely good English words. This props him up for major positions in places where writing is important. That stop sign on 29th and 6th -- Tobi fucking tagged that shit, totally.

But about 2 and a half months ago, Tobi was stopped by a street person who had chosen the path of campaigning in politics. He was given a sheet to write the response to just one question: Who Are You Voting For?

Being a natural citizen, Tobi happily filled the form with his concept about voting, and gave it back to this street person. He then proceeded, but as quickly as he did, his collar was pulled back and he was brought into a whole new world of fucking disaster.

"Who the fuck will you vote for, again, motherfucker?"

Tobi, the spy, shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"That Black, Obama?" Fuming. "Really? This is what you fucking wrote? On the sheet?"

"Yeah. I voted for him. He IS going to change the fucking world. I mean, it's been, like, a week, and alledy, shit is changing at a lapid pace."

The street person collected itself. So much rage, in the machine. "Dude, people don't fucking talk like that, ok?"

Tobi, the spy for China, was lost. What was this person saying to him? "I voted for your best interest," he said. "Why you so pissed?"

"That Black, Obama? Really?"

"Yeah, the Ballack, Obama! The Ballack one! Why am I being targeted?" said Tobi, the Chinese spy who wrote well, but failed some oral tests.

Notions of pettiness dissolved.

-fr0

kiss kiss bang bang

kiss kiss bang bang
Heres a place i like to hang
its so sweet and

Confuscious

(Confucius)

stories with controlled drunkennes with less psychosis

Minute or Two.
---
(Before this, open with passage of him getting home all grisly and grimey, to invoke sympathy from reader).

She messages him. "Why do you keep emailing me?" It is an angry message. One can tell.

He is confused. He waits for about a minute or two, thinking, and then types carefully, a little frightened, his response:

"B-" thirty seconds, enter pre-pressed. "ut ... " Don't put dots for dramatic pause, children. They are silly. "YOU are the one who told me to!"

Response comes quickly, at least as fast as can be typed. "I most certainly did not!"

Go to sleep. Go to sleep as our characters search through search engines, through chat logs, through histories. Don't wake up with your mind fucked up.

He wakes, confused, and searches through his sent messages, his IM logs.

"You did," he says to her, finally. "I cannot find it in my logs, but you did."

"Did what?"

In Rome, post Pompeii, people with burned skins were delicacies. You could walk by any old market street and find a person whose flesh was falling off, thereupon offering to end their life heroically because you are the fucking coolest. No, not really. Not now, anyway.

Anyway. Finally, after minutes he remembered. "You - " he typed. "Told me!"

She was still there, but was not responding. Realizing his statement had not explained everything, he wrote some more:

"You said that I SHOULD (and you capitalized!) keep contacting you! You said, even though it seems that you don't care, my messages continue to keep us both together."

I cannot tell you what it was that kept Moses from entering 'Paradise' with the others. Needless to say, it was probably some pretty strong mindfuck. That kind of shit probably takes millions of years to contemplate.

" ... Dude ... " she wrote. There was a long pause, within which time, various people probably wrote content, or applications. "I don't know how to tell you this."

-fr0

moof?

Upside down, my mother tied me
because before, i had broken her ceiling.
No, really, I walked up to the upper floor,
and I, finding a hammer, banged down.
On the plank, that little plank, holding her
noose.

This time she stopped me by typing me up, by the legs.
Then she wrapped my arms around me and looked at me.
Finally, with one of those safety locks
...

Logic. Logic is what I failed at, hanging there.
I knew the combinations - in reverse!
I knew they should react otherwise,
but they simply would not.

So she finally hung, finally hung
(various crap happens to narrator)
Confirmation in a new realm?

I was drinking at the bar again,
There was a woman, several seats,
away. There was an angry man.
seats away, mercy. (?) On the the the the the the the the the
other side,
Me, in the in the middle me in the middle me, in,

drunk as hell. (H)ell.

moof.

-fr0

Hot Pants

There were 2 nurses, voluptuous, who wanted to take Arthur.

He'd had conversations with them, about physics, chemistry, and nature of human beings.

Finally, he was convinced. "I am not mad, then?" he askeed a nurse, as she put her cold hand on the steeel of his wheelchair handlebar.

"No, no, you're not the mad one." We're just taking you to your place of rest ... that you may regather."
----
At last, Arthur lifted his feet, after all the time. Not this time or that time, but just after 'the time'. Brakes are expensive, meriting expert opinion.

Yet none of you people qualify.

-------
-fro

It is a Death-Defying Life I Lead

I take my chances.

With scorn from the women of other knee.
Red Riding Hood and Head in Red Riding --
magically, I appear.

Some lesbians want some peace, I say, let'm have it.
Then there needs to be a gunfight to compromise my fucking knee.
Does this seem like basic shit, or not you idiot?

It's a death-defying life I lead - I take my chances.
What are you doing, these days, intelligently?

-fr0

Scorn, tasteful scorn

The usual stuff is baby shit.
No, really. Something I have not learned to clean.
I am studying, for my own personal benefit,
pattern of the female scorn.

There are legends. Legends I tell ya. Horrific.
Really bad shit. Like ... very fucking scary shit.
I mean ... she like ... and all ..

It is horrific.

Especially, after she blows her load on you, and you just shrug and say 42.

Look, I'm not a sadist. just ... um.
Oh. There's this great movie playing ... apocololaypse NOW.

Somebody's head get's cut of and shit. By a | Really do I have to keep writing this shit some more?
Where do I fucking publish? People keep saying I should 'publish' - well, fuck you - where the fuck?
Why is it so fucking idiotic? Are they trying to be invisifuckingble?

Scorn, which I learned. From women.

Women's fucking scorn.

-fr0

Oh, Really?

You never call me.
Even your reappearance, as graceful as it was
was just a step.

I'm sensitive, I never told you.
Drop of wind cracks my ears.
I'm glad you're happy, at least, there is that.
No, really. I am glad. It is a good thing. That you are happy,
it is good, I am glad, that you are good thing.

What do they want me to say? Should I respond in cheer?
Must I augment the structure of their deignings?
Is that what being close is about?

Fanciful and flippant adherer. Shrug, shrug, stickers stuck.
Playing with words, is my caveat. Nip and tuck. :D

Self confidence the downfall due to asses.

-fr0

pulsar pulsation, striptease streation

The beating of the heart
may be represented by a wave-like graph.
Yes, I know it's more like peaks,
but if you scale down enough,
it can be waves.
And I am a man who scales down very comfortably, thank you.

So this kind of wave pattern represents life,
yet also could be goaded into describing a manic depressive.
I was diagnosed by OCD yesterday, he says that I have -
you see? There is something wrong with the sentence,

And I am surely a man with not just broken sentences, but all tenses sent broken.

My biography used to be about
the greatest man in the world.
That wasn't just being clever,
or sarcastic. I was being serious.

Now, new arrangements are being made. There is a working draft:

"Mr X (lest he be named and incite that cute jealousy and anger from peepull), was one of the more colorful characters from the early Jazz
scene of the 1900s.

Many of the older musicians remember X just jumping into their sessions,
grinding and doing 'his shit', not really to anybody's benefit or
even amusement, but simply their strange horror. Like the feeling that
a string is being pulled from your ear, and along with it, every
neuron you have in there.

Thankfully, history leaves us with a more complete notion of time,
and the ability to speak of things as though they are in the past.
That is purpose of this narrative."

-fro
-------
the.

Voigt-Kampff Response #54398, featuring very minimal fluctuations.

Examiner: "You see the turtle in the deser--"

Examinee: "Wot is a turtle, pal?"

Examiner: "Not a crustacean."

Examinee: "Tortoise would have been more realistic, in the middle of the desert."

Examiner: "Nobody said it was in the middle. Now please do not interrupt the questions, else this examination will not hold respectable form. So, you see the -- tortoise -- overturned, in the middle of the desert. What do you do?"

Examinee: "I leave a portion of myself in this reality, and then lie down, and become the tortoise."

Examiner: "You become the tortoise?"

Examinee: "It is very important, in arid locations especially, to truly understand the suffering of creatures, especially ones that are ... so alien to oneself. The suffering tortoise is such an alien, bizarre being."

Examiner: "But you are never, ever, really the tortoise, are you?"

Examinee: "That sounds like the kind of question a murderous psychopath may ask the tortoise me. Why are you separating me from the actual nature of the crime? Will I be more convenient to kill, that way? I am feeling the pain of the arid desert, as a mislocated testudine."

Examiner: "Nobody is trying to kill you. Very well. So you become the tortoise. Why do things always have to be this difficult with you? Could you not have simply turned the creature over, kindly, and left the area?"

Examinee: (Nods wisely) "Ah, but that is what the portion of me that I left behind in reality is for, Examiner. To turn me over, once I emulate the suffering tortoise. Witness my unbelievable sensation of relief. Better than any porno."

Examiner: "Ok, only a robot would say that. You are a robot."

-fr0

twitter.com/baigey

he is attacking me ...
-------
someone make this person go away.
-------
you can only mask the shit over, with makeup.
-------
i also want you to know that i tore a ligament falling off my ass from your death wish.

you will be the Butt of fat jokes, now that you are disabled.

-f7ck

listen to the rhythm of the falling rain

www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGiaEKkrOaA

whoa-ho.

LifeRing

I was searching for an avenue towards abstinence that is not religious. Abstaining is a ... rare delicacy, for someone like myself, I have found. I want to be able to be cool and drink as much as possible, but the basic truth is that, when I do that, very bad things happen.

Very bad things. I learned that I am not like those people that can carry it through. I won't do it, ever, no matter what I would like to believe. I won't be smooth and let the spirits lie.

Yet it was hard to find a group that was not based on religion. That is important, to me, personally, that it is not about religion. I can fake a lot of things, but not religion.
LifeRing was a forum that I found, which claimed to be about leaving alcohol, except without overlay.
Are they pagans?

-fr0
-------
i am proud of you. - N

Urge Uberkill

Death and blood. Flesh stuck in your crack,
screaming child somewhere.
Copies performing better overtures
I like to sit at home.

Head on a stick for kicks, tongue on a twist for meat,
papaya on the tooth, pick better choicest, dude.
Happy navel fuck, supreme nipple --
Where is the calcium, I CANNOT SEE THEM!

These are the best damn shorts,
I feel comfortable.
I'll repeat it to generations to come,
whoever made this pair.

Glad I can still spell, though not for long.
Progress by tong too selective for my taste.
Have I defined the waste, that crazy fucking face?
Only, in my sleep, the urge is spun again.

-fr0

i only have a few seconds, before reality sets in

The way they look at me, at restaurants, when I go to eat
is as though in unfond disbelief, applied on rays of common dust.
Asking random women if they'd like to watch my feathery mastication
has always only led to disasters more horrible than the 'wars' of humans.

I am seen as an amphibian, on a pond, upon a leaf.
Things are always tadpole in the beginning, swimming about happily,
content about being applied well amongst the greenery.
Try as I did, I never quite got the ecosystem well done.

They think I am a frog. I am - of course - because of the legs.
"I don't want to talk to anybody else, just you," I let her know
when the distances were sprinkling seasons so cheap as my words.
She told me to go and join LifeRing, seasonally.

"How do you see the other people, if you never even see anyone but yourself?"
This is why I desire death. I've seen planets aligned so well amongst a sun,
deep space photography, and yes, it is more romantic to speak of auras,
but why are they claiming I can perform that kind of magic?
(Kids, don't try this at home).

Imagine if I woke up to be you. All that capacity for vision,
brilliant light and ambience, then to end up with my face in your oculars.
I wouldn't want to be that person. I would rather be processed like deer meat.

When the seven galaxies dance, and the twelve hearts provide a semblance of
gait, in this very beautiful existence, I'll know when to stop and gaze.
I'll know it's ok to let go, I'll know I just need to 'be there' with you.
I want to be there so much, so desperately.

Who am I kidding? They entered according to pattern 97 today, which means I am to remain anonymous and complimentary to the cabin. I will follow my
emulated path through the 'trade system', instead of actually sitting on
some wooden planks and fishing. The trade isn't really that important, but
sitting, on wooden planks, is.

Ass needs some firmament. End on cheap note. -fr0

Baboon-tinted Glasses

There is a fascinating documentary by Robert Sapolsky where the baboons are kind of like actors, one could say, playing the role of human beings. The cast is uncommonly good, carrying out their performances to something approaching true realism, even without any director. They are a lens -- baboon-tinted glasses -- into our nature.

One of the skits begins with this chick 'boon just sitting around, minding her own business. All of a sudden, like, out of nowhere, all hell fucking breaks lose around her as two males explode into conflict. One is an alpha-male, and in the Darwinian nature of life, pretty much the projected winner. This always happens -- there are very, very few exceptions. The other baboon, smaller in size and less aggressive (we are speaking relatively, here) is statistically, the loser.

We all know what happens with the winner, so the play logically focuses on the loser -- the baboon that just got totally pounded -- thrashed -- by that brutal primate. You really have to see the performance by that actor -- it is truly heart-wrenching. Not only is his physical self so pulverized, but his soul, the poor soul, is utterly crushed. He scampers off to the side, and just sits there, licking his horrible wounds.

Over time, as realization sets in -- as the clarity of what just happened, of how it transpired in front of the entire tribe, of the shame so powerfully implied -- the depressed baboon is overwhelmed by great, great stress. He won't eat. He doesn't socialize with the rest of the tribe. Even in his sleep the poor fellow is horribly fitful, scratching away at himself, hurting his own body.

This is a very common trait amongst so many lifeforms, this 'downward spiral', so to speak. Shellfish even do it, as Robert Wright mentions in his book Nonzero. Perhaps a very literal expression of the brutal way that a species population balances itself, canceling out the 'inept'.

Of course, as humans, we are compelled to try to help the suffering baboon out, but how? What to do? It is highly inadvisable to go over and put a comforting hand around the poor fellow's shoulder. Baboons, even the emotionally crushed ones (maybe especially), will viciously scratch and bite you if you do something that ... emo. One could end up like the baboon itself, except even worse, because you just got your evolved ass kicked by a damn animal. It would be horrible if that was caught on video. Can you imagine -- the shame of it?

So how to help? You can't just feed it -- the thing is depressed and won't eat at all. Well, one possible solution could be to proactively change the environment around the baboon. The environment itself could be changed. Kind of like that virtual reality thing, you know, in Star Trek? The baboon opens its eyes and it is suddenly in this swanky baboon club, surrounded by hot virtual baboon babes that do nothing but praise him.

That is, of course, the sci-fi version. In more realistic terms, I suppose you could transport the baboon to a special facility. Not a zoo, don't put it in a zoo, but more like some special place where it's more natural and stuff. Then you could slowly introduce a girl baboon to him, over time. Yeah, I know that this kind of thing could take a while to work out, but don't give up you know? There isn't much more you could morally do. Just put the female there and ... I ... I ... I dunno.

Nudge it, or something.

-fr0


-------
hard to turn the beta into the alpha. the wounded ego is a wretched thing even in the animal kingdom.
-sparta
-------
maybe somehow get it to imagine what things must be like for the epsilon ;)competition shouldn't be so ... debilitating. sportsmanship should be encouraged.

they're managing to somehow coax pandas. not sure what their problem is, though, not sure if the panda ego is also somehow wounded. -fr0
-------
hmmmm. the real question is why go against nature in the first place? if one tries hard enough to appease this pathetic baboon, what is the payoff? to have a whole tribe of crybaby baboons?? and why would one want that? it goes against logic to go against natural selection. humans are the only species i know of who get all bogged down with pity - catering to the inept. i'm not saying 'let the strong prevail' i am saying let those who really want to prevail make an effort. i feel no pity for wound lickers. a movie about a beta who died trying, on the other hand, i could empathize with. - N
-------
Well, certainly that is a good point. I mean Sapolsky doesn't actually interfere with the baboons he is studying (I think - I mean, it would corrupt the data, right?) And natural selection is certainly a damn fine process.

However, even if we are not to help the woeful betas baboons themselves, there are ramifications for the larger baboon society in general. After all, stressful conditions can be contagious, not only ruining the betas' lives, but also those of baboons around them ... sort of like some depression contagion. The society does not perform to its fullest potential (whatever that may be and whether it is desirable is another, large discussion). Everyone needs to be positive ass baboons.

In any case, interfering with biological natural selection is becoming widespread, even accepted. There are some Luddite-types still waffling about, but they are typically betas. ;)

-fr0
-------
i suppose just killing the woeful betas would put a damper on the overall goodtime of the tribe as well...thus the human race has come to an impass...- N
-------
oops forgot the 'e' - N
-------
"In a world, where post-traumatic stress disorders can *actually* get you killed ..." ;) -fr0
-------
lol too funny. - N

fudgeyfriday, brineysundae, payingtoosday for swineburgthurs.

Motion of Emotion: A Microfiche Collection of Perpetual Cinema-goers, and Their Faces.

Smuggled smiles at the comedies,
in super-slow-motion start
with hints of uncertainty,
brains ... the brains processing.

Romance reactions commonly amalgamations --
of how it makes her feel,
and the snoring man sitting beside her.
Make you check twice if we're still watching the comedies,
I bet.

Horror of it all, most appealing.
Face of a gore-watching ape,
or cheeks shivering from the unseen ghosts
who are creeping, along the walls.

-fr0

The Current State of Affairs

My current state of affairs is as follows:
I work for unappreciative people
I married a man-child
I don't want to be a mother any more eventhough my sons are grown.
I want to be free of the grip of the loathing queen.
I scream and wail and I get no relief!
I reach for a pill in hopes that it will numb me into a slumberous stupor that will make me forget.
I sleep.
Comfortable.
Quiet.
Sleep..
-------
who is the loathing queen? -fr0
-------
never mind who the loathing queen is...who is the author? (i defy anyone to castigate me for that question.) - N
-------
The loathing queen is the inner me that wrote these things. I am not really loathing my life per se. I was venting a collection of life circumstances. The anger inside of myself raises its ugly head from time to time when I'm frustrated with life and because I have been trained to keep my true expressions inside, the writing allows me to be who I want without retribution.
Otherwise..I'm a Happy Butterfly :)

old song about speed

drew her likeness on my pad and hurried back.
but by the time i had they'd set her in the mud.
i dag, i dug, i dig dugged. dug deeper
than your mother could or ever would.

compared each grain of dirt with the lover in my palm.
"you don't love me as she did, do you?" i said to everyone.
then i said to more than one, and i said to millions --
none of these beings of earth could deign to be my muse.

such a sarcophagus for this speedy man,
such latency in concepts he must endure.
ping me once, ping me once again.
let me wake up complete with all vows.

-fr0

story about puppy and duckie

There was a blind puppy who rode on a tri-cycle on the streets, with only one friend who sat in a shoe, in front of the contraption -- his beloved duckie.

Whenever he pedaled close to a wall, the duckie would call out, "Quack!".

This was a signal to the blind puppy, who then would make a turn, and a collision with said wall would be prevented.

The puppy loved his duckie for everything that she gave him, but one day she had to go and fly away to Eastern Europe, and leave him alone, by himself. She said she would monitor him over email, but we all know how that ends up.

Everything failed for the puppy after she left. The duckie saw him mixing with other beings in the atmosphere, and accused the blind puppy of having wiles for other women.

"I don't know what you are talking about," typed the puppy, with his paws, into the email. "I'm blind!"

But it was useless. The duckie was enraged. It quacked and quacked and told the puppy that he had one last chance. It left him alone, then, for a week. After a week, it came back to see what the puppy was doing.


He was drinking! OMFG! The blind puppy was drinking his ass off!

"So this is what you do ... " quacked the duckie. "Quack quack quack quack quack!"

Puppy was so confused. "What do you mean?"

"You are DRINKING! Alcohol!"

The blind puppy whined. "I am? I cannot even see what I am drinking, ok? Because I am a blind puppy. Stop taking advantage of my disadvantage!"

-fr0

cont

One time, the duckie made him tricycle to the beach. Can you imagine that? All the way into the sand, she brought him. With her clever wiles and ways.

He had fallen asleep after such hard pedaling, and needed to replenish the energy in his legs. In the dreams he dreamt of floating in the ocean with his duckie, carefree.

Alas, when he awoke, and after rubbing his eyes open, the shoe perched upon the tricycle was empty. It merely stood there in the dawn of the beach, devoid of the fluffy inner fillings.

"Duckie?" he called out, being blind.

Only the lapping of the waves answered upon their beloved sands. Same sands sinking his feet, he realized. He pulled out his cane and started poking into the ground, looking for pathways.

Three hours later, his apple juice had run out, and he put it into a disposable area, as the duckie had shown him, because now he was a trained puppy, who didn't just ruin the earth, willy nilly.

He threw his cane away, the useless artifact, and fell on his nose. Then, he caught the scent! It was her little webbed feet, quacking away into the sand, making patterns.

The puppy followed his duckie's webbed prints all over the beach, his balance becoming a creature of left-brain exposure (due to hearing the waves too much in the right ear). But he followed and followed ...

Day and night transpired, oblivious to the blind pup, but ... the smell was getting ... stranger. He could smell his duckie's feet, but ... as he kept moping on the sand, a new scent came into his nostrils. Until finally, after weeks, and only one hot dog left in his canister, he came upon them.

There was another doggie, and duckie was sitting there, with him.

"Really?" said puppy. "After all this shit?"

Duckie nodded.

The puppy then walked away, disgusted for a few months. After a few years, he found his way out of the stupid beach. Finally, back on cobbled pathways! Finally, civilization!

It was here that he found the octopus.

-fr0


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i like that the duck rode in a shoe on the front. that's so cute. nice touch.
but this puppy character you speak of he's sweet and all but...was he by chance a wound licker? cause there is a new law in the land that says wound lickers must die...so i was wondering about the sequel...i was hoping he gets his ass kicked by a rabid rabbit. i like rabbits. - N

perpetual tentacles

ever possessing demon
pazuzu with zuzuz to zpare.
ah, despair!

in the event of annihilation,
invent.

roll it on, like a sushi chef.
precision, precision.

finger just slips off the keyboard when
i write my killer verse's end.
they'll say i gave up, i lost my head!
finally, i've had an accident.

i like the crutches, they let me jab you.
underbellies of unexpressed fools.
decapitation that results in just tongue
flapping there, upon one of the lungs.

ready to vomit? we do it as a group.
synced to contribute to the biofuel.
do we eat ourselves? the mind does wander ...
just the urine, just the urine dude.

-fr0

things you can do right now to save the planet

the single greatest thing you can do to reduce your impact on the planet is to

NOT HAVE CHILDREN

if you are in a position to do so, refrain from reproducing. think about the monetary cost it takes to raise one child from fetus to age 18, the year at which most people are considered self-sufficient: the U.S. Department of Agriculture estimates that American families spend approximately $270K - 290K. if you balk at the idea of refraining from reproducing because "everyone has children" or "i really want kids" or "i reeeeallly wanna have a baaaaybeeeeeee" or "if i have a baby, he/she will commit and love me" then consider how your life, and the life of the planet, will be impacted if you choose this selfish route. consider that 15-50% of your income will be spent on food alone for this being. where does this food come from? if you are from the U.S., you are privileged to have abundant food sources from all over the world available to you at your nearest grocery store. however, what is the cost to the planet to bring this food to your doorstep? are indigenous forests being cut down to plant corn so that you can feed your children high-fructose corn syrup? is beef, of which 45% of a single carcass amounts to fat and bone WASTE, being fed to your family? do your kids eat canned pineapple? do your kids eat sugared cereals? milk?

wake up, and realize you've been fed a big, fat lie. you do not need to have children to be happy and healthy. you do not need to reproduce to be "feminine" or "a real man." you don't need to get pregnant because your doctor says so. in fact, you do not need to get pregnant even because you WANT to. you should not get pregnant if you care about planet earth, period.

the greatest investment you will ever make is to have a VASECTOMY. do NOT bring children into the world under any circumstances. if you LONG to become a parent, ADOPT. there are more than enough kids in the world who have no one and nothing; whose parents were immature and bred without thought. take on one of these instead of adding to the planetary burden by making more of your own.

the second greatest thing you can do for the planet is to STOP DRIVING. take public transport everywhere. carpool. go amish and ride a horse. take the train. save car trips for special occasions. don't be fooled into thinking that your "green hybrid" car is making any difference-- it takes as much oil to MAKE one of those babies as it does to drive a regular car. so you aren't doing a goddamn thing to help by driving one of those-- you are still driving and using fossil fuels. stop driving. start walking, cycling or running and burn off some of that beef and trans fat sitting on your carcass.

the third thing you can do is GIVE BACK. plant trees in your yard. grow a garden and donate the organic, pesticide-free produce to your neighbors. stop eating grains that must be flown in from asia and start growing your own local veggies. if you live in a cold climate, get a greenhouse, research growing veggies indoors, or purchase vegetables from a local co-op or greenhouse.

let's say you follow these rules: no kids, no car, basically vegetarian. great! good for you. now what? live a stable, happy life! look inside yourself and connect with the honest truth of who you are. find a partner who accepts you as you are, and live in peace with that person. forgive your parents. forgive your past loves. forgive yourself. find meaningful work, preferably in a capacity that gives to others. seek to build your mind and your community. invest in meaningful local resources-- parks, charities, grocery stores, culture. give as much as you can, and keep giving.

My Walk Along Main Street Biloxi, Mississippi

Walking south on Main in an older part of Biloxi, I feel the cool breeze of the ending day on my exposed skin.
Underneathe my feet are the crunch, crunch, crunch of acorns from the ancient oak trees that line the street.
I hum as I walk, I hum because I love music and I have always wanted to belt out a tune and stun people with my talent. So, humming is my way of expressing that undying need within me to be heard as a singer I guess.
This part of town can be likened to the older part of New Orleans but probably very much more safer.
I'm not afraid as I walk the street to get home.
I smell the salt in the air from the gulf waters, dark and scarey waters.
Beyond the tree tops I can see the apartment complex, tucked in with the old houses of slave decendents. It looks odd there, but kind of like a haven amidst uncomfortable chaos.
From time to time I picture a wall of water rolling down the streets with a hellish fury!
In all honesty I can't imagine it, but I needed not to because I've experienced it first hand.
I remembered how the water seeped around the buildings in an evil fingery way. Like Poseidon was wrapping his watery arms around the city!
It's incredible to believe that I was a part of that, it was horrific, it was life changing.
But I digress..
Dogs bark here and there behind fences that protect domain and walking strangers.
There is a particular house on Main street that I am fascinated by..almost drawn to.
It looks from the outside, like it would have been a brothel.It has an upstairs porch and in my imaginings I can see the ladies of the Biloxi pleasure society on them extending a warm, fleshly welcome to passers by.
The house if for sale.
Can't understand why someone would buy it in the reckless shape it's in unless perhaps to tear it down and build some modern something there or just to have a tax write off.
It would take a lot of work to rebuild it, ah but if someone took the loving care of it and did rebuild it to the way it use to be it would be absolutely beautiful.
Almost home I see the corner where I have to round in order to get there.
Soon I would be warmed, forgiven and loved.

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Hi my lovelies from IPP. I miss you guys and thought I would pay a visit.
I'd love to pick up communication with some of you. I see James still posts, and amber, riverfrozen...I've missed ya'll so much.
This is April *aka Orgasmic Butterfly, and Chrysallis, whatever else I use to call myself*
Smooches to you all! I'll poke around from time to time.