untitled and subject to change

i can’t wait to tear this motherfucker to pieces, to hold it in my hands and violently annihilate every sentence, every word, every poem, concept and shade of light, destroying this fucking pathetic menagerie with the teardropfruits of stylistic murder.

august 15, 2008. raining outside. each droplet landing with a thud. they look like happy clowns falling wildly to earth, gruesome almost.

invariably and perpetually rehashing and refashioning this sorry excuse for artistic cohesion. there’s a philosophy, sure, oh, there’s a truth, though it hasn’t been properly cultivated, but you know, you know when you feel something that turns your heart, dare I say, soul? in a new direction. kill your idols they say. fuck it. they can watch.

or better yet, let it drop to the ground and break into a million, tiny, shiny pieces, spreading like tea leaves in a puddle, just so I can stand over the beautiful, glorious mess only to clean it all back up. chaos is the score, the song of time – quick, hurry, provide some structure. wait, no, don’t overcivilize. the world’s turning and shedding its skin, and these temporal aspects are about as obsolete to me now as they were in the beginning.

it’s a good night for mothing. it swarms the light, eyes like the spitting coal of the hookah. the sweet smoke fills the room. coffee cup empty. jitterbug in the blood.

i demand verve! i demand gusto! where’s the madness? it’s the night of soft, warm thighs.

give me alice in wonderland! give me alice in wonderland!

the kangaroo has two dicks.

i’m off to get pissed.

write soon, mon amour.