Turns Out You Were Only Hungry

Who are you to judge my block, with your google news muse and yahoo chat consolation? The bicameral mind in the multi-faceted world, and only a 1600 square foot pot to piss in, between us. And he won't read this unless I leave it up and when he does, he won't say anything, because there is nothing to say, because it does not speak to him, like a few hexed ghosts used to, and they will use other words, but I will use common ones, because I am comm...conventional. Lies and flattery are the flies and lottery of the human condition: the platinum cards that get us in everywhere. Except we go no where, because of the traffic, because of the distance, and because of the cost. I am being literal because I am going somewhere, because I'm a hustler, because I'm a scrapper, because I_do_not_have_a_choice. Which is categorically untrue because I do have a choice, because Dad always said that if you thought you didn't have one its because you weren't using your imagination, but its just that all of the other options are not tenable. So long, SAHM. So where do I see myself in five years? On an incentive trip in Niagara Falls. And then there's this wholesale rape of a few sacred things and a hundred inadequacies and a thousand fears, my constant erection. But...the timbre is wrong, all wrong, and I'm just writing myself into oblivion, and he writes in tag lines. And all of my designs are parodies of themselves, like most crimes. But I have no reservations, like the show. So how are things on the East Coast? Because its not so lonely when the bad dreams catapult a warm body into my bed and I hardly understand what it means to regret something. Like I said, I've wanted to die plenty of times, but I don't regret anything because ... because I don't like the mystery.

I Sure Do Love To Be Put To Bed

He's desperate for an accident (like a million private things) because these are the dull miles -- and all because you're disappointing and they are disappearing and you don't know the words to all those old songs they loved so well and do you see what I just did there? I made it seem like I was talking about someone else but I was really just talking about myself; centrism thy name is my name. Get a new haircut, get a new job, a $452,000 car. Do people simply hate to know anything? Or is it just in the reminding that they don't? Because we didn't really used to push cars with our feet! But we do have little red scaffoldings that hold up our lenses of truth and why can't we trade one metaphor for another? Because I can laugh a musical laugh and effect a casual flutter of the hand and just tolerate. But, in truth, my dudgeon is preemptively high and my scythe is deceptively low and I have genuine difficulty believing people actually watch Big Brother (including you.) Love ya!

I'm a Specialist in Hope and I'm Registered To Vote

Come into my barrio, we'll see if you can float.

An act in four plays:

She says wives shouldn't suffer for these things for which they suffer; for their diamonds bigger than a cyst. And I admit, party and money keep some girls in check and are you saying "what the fuck" yet? Because anyone with a conscience should be. And all I hear are echoes. Tell me truly: is your own marriage odds-on? Because, for all of your awful entitlement, you are awfully indebted. Como se dice gratis?

There are three kinds of "no" and four kinds of "oh my god" and five kinds of "yes" -- just ask the fiendiest of the fiends if you doubt the claim -- and you'll find him over there, admiring the teethmarks of time; planting seeds of regret that he will forget to harvest. His life is in drugs and rage and he hasn't slept in three days. He is still so young-looking but I remember when he was a boy.

The biggest egg he ever laid. I wonder if my feigned restrain crosses the blood barrier -- a thousand apologies, Pumpkin. I pretend to try to control myself but you're on the inside where my cover is blown. Let me lay it on you: in a passionate break, I begged for you. You are an ounce of trouble. You are three inches of love. You nosedive in me like a peregrine. You are safe and alive. And I can't remember a time when I didn't love you.

And you, Criminal. There is a bitter breed and they watch with bitter hearts but I've grown lengths and lengths and lengths of love since we started this thing out. I can still feel it when you lie but -- how do you say? There is no percentage in it. Briefly, I felt the motion of your skin in those fat blue serpent swells and it made me kind of dizzy and elemental, but in a good way. I felt you so much today.