Thursday, March 31, 2011

Friday, March 18, 2011

Exercises In Descriptive Writing.

we see each other.


you greet me with a hug during which, i make an effort to lightly glide my hand over the small of your back.


we break our half assed embrace and proceed to make ourselves comfortable amongst the surroundings.


i ask if you would like a drink.


you decline and so instead, i turn on the television before dropping myself back into my previous position on the couch.


my mind leaves pondering thoughts which are seemingly endless, but literally less than a second.


you decide it's time to make small talk.


like a balloon in a rose bush, i hate this point.


they call it small talk coz it is just that... small.


im trying to do big things, but whatever... i'll indulge you in a minuscule conversation.


i cant help it. my mind has wondered again. im thinking of the first time a prefix was used ever. what was it? why was it? how was it?


geez, i dont think she even knows what a prefix is, let alone a suffix. she probably thinks it has something to do with a junkies medication.


i can sure pick em, cant i?


how the hell did i even get on prefixes? she was talking about her weekend and her friends.


i quickly tuned out, making sure my auto pilot ears picked up all keywords needed to verbalize a retort.


ok, i sense her subject matter is coming to an end. 100% listening now.


she finishes. thank fuck.


ok, should i even make small talk?


maybe i will tell her something awesome and she will just understand its awesomeness.


ok, here goes something.


*draws picture of a ball flying past someones head at high speed*


she missed it.


ahh well, cant expect everyone to get everything i guess?


fuck trying to tell her anything else though.


i ask her what kind of movies she likes.


she says scary ones. i have oodles.


i choose one at random and put it on.


ive seen it before. hell, ive seen them all before.


we watch the beginning, in which a scary scene occurs. she grips my arm in a 1960s, at the drive in, kind of fashion.


i know the rest is just momentum now.


30 mins into the movie and she aint scared anymore... well, not of the flick we were watching anyway.


shes steady sucking on my neck n the side of my face while i grope her ass n titties.


she knows the score.


shiiiiiiiiit... she knows sex like stephen hawking knows about colostomy bags... and i know her.

shes full of it.

Friday, February 18, 2011

4,5,6.

WORDS.

say "fuck it."

say "kiss my ass karma."

say "i am invincible and god must be a female coz when im around, he be acting like a bitch."

say "doyoulickadickaday?"

ask someone for acid for me.


ACTIONS.

look for more drugs in your home when you run out, knowing you have none.

see things in the corner of your eye that aint really there.

question your brain at every opportunity you get.

sweat from hot weather at 1am.

don't sweat the technique.

try to achieve a louder, longer burp.

kiss the sky, make out with clouds. stick your dick in a star.

help a stray kitten. eat an insect. chase a fox.

name a bong. roll a joint. snort a line. crush a pill. skull your beer. howl at the moon.

climb something in the city, stand ontop of it, spread out your arms and then like some motherfucking captain cook or christopher columbus or something, CLAIM THAT SHIT LIKE IT WAS YOURS ALL ALONG!!!


im talking about a motherfucking pose that would have natives pooping their loin cloths like they just discovered the deliciousness of chocolate flavored laxatives.

jump off a cliff or a high structure into a large body of water without saying a word.

stalk an animal at least once a week.

when presented with a problem, do a handstand and think about it. TURBO THINKING.

kick a goal. shoot a basket. hold a trophy. kiss a girls mouth.

always stumble.

go to sleep at dawn and wake up in the afternoon.

talk to strangers. estrange yourself from friends.

poke your tongue out at other peoples kids. flip the bird at cops while smiling.

write your name on everything public.

feel the bass kick and enjoy it.

be a public spectacle.

die loudly.

pull the plug.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

All my dirty dishes are half full glasses.


These days move faster than Alex in a Durango.

Night skies are gone before I can even adore a star.

The birds fill me with rage equal to burning feathers.

I wipe my dry eyes.

Precision. Extract it out of that meatbag, haired skin n bones, poor excuse for a human body that you rest in.

Beat that lump of organic mass until it coughs up some form of dignity, pride and honor.

There. You got it.

I build my brain back into the eyesore of a wall it usually is.

The cigarette helped.

Now, I sit... watching frail smoke rings get eaten by a cheap oscillating fan.

I gather my new thoughts.

Things always look to be changing.

From a young age, I've thought that you shouldnt rely or depend on anyone in life but yourself.

So far, I have had to break this rule a few times. Every time I did, I regretted it.

About to get back to my old hustle. I figure why the fuck not? I aint doing shit. I can't get normal work thanks to my criminal record and finger tatts, so yeah... caution to the wind and warnings to cyclones.

Not much time left anyway, not that expect anyone out of my loop to understand that. Nothing Mayan either.

While talking to a friend the other day, I realized a lot of my friends had given up smoking weed and doing drugs this year. Hanging up their lungs. Which led me to think that if breathing was equal to walking, then smoking was like running. I'm never going to stop my Olympic training. WORD TO ME.

I should probably be a whole lot more angry/emo at life. Why though? What's the point? I know I'm calm and I look for the positive in most situations, but that's a commodity that never changes, and when everything seems to be in a constant state of change, you really need to know what your load bearing pillars are. I am well reinforced.

I'm a good person living a bad life.
Right place, wrong time.
Dirty dishes. Half full glasses.