from a dream i had the other night

The image on the screen is a close-up of a man's hand pouring Caucasian flesh-colored liquid from a clear vial onto the surface of a table around which several children are gathered. "I wanna touch your ski-i-iinn...," the children sing to the tune of the classic Beatles' song. They sing in a creepy deadpan voice, like they don't really mean it. The puddle on the table hardens almost instantly into a leathery residue complete w/ life-lines & wrinkles. The children rush frantically to the table, shoving one another out of the way for a chance to run their hands over the fake flesh. Their singing is heard in the background as the camera zooms in on their hands touching the table. "I wanna touch your ski-i-iinn..."

crime

Victim: The experience was nothing short of scrumptious. I love how he took me out of my comfort zone. How chic. Criminals can never have too much jewelry.

Perpetrator: I could have been more intimidating. My mind wandered. I was too busy thinking about our two destinies becoming one singular path.

Nearby building: The whole thing was tedious. I prefer chalk outlines to people.

setting for possible future events

Somewhere past
the miles & miles
of gameface

Where your
hurt feelings
receive neither
apology nor acclaim

Where people hunger
for more
than
red herring

Where all of the
stifled
facial expressions
are forced
to confront
one another

(but only for lack
of cellphone reception)

Where demons cannot
be held at bay
nor itches
scratched

A place where
your voice fits
in my ear
no better than
my foot fits
in your ass

Where the urgency
w/ which
we put on
each new mask
is less abt hiding
than it is abt hoping
that the mask
is still warm
from when
someone else
wore it last

It’s the exit
that everyone passes
on their way
to Otherwise

A world of convenience
where children are born
w/ their spirits
already broken

Where even
a generation lacking
moral compass
knows enough abt
Compromise
to measure the
distance b/w
hippies & hipsters

Where not even
a million internets
could get me to
hold your hand

Where those who haven’t
been LOL’ed to sleep
by the incessant hum
of human activity
still sing the blues

A world where adjectives
& adverbs modify
nothing, since everyone
is fashionably obstinate

Where the Numbers
always win
because even
your indifference
has been calculated

Where we need
only two dimensions
to placate
one another

All is for
the Beast
in this
the only world
that is
currently available

Where we dream of
a discrepancy
b/w worlds
brave & new
& a grt big pile
of neverending
Suck.

meeting my birthfather

Levity sticks out
its cruel yet
unimposing
beige tongue
reminding us all
that unprotected sex
works just as well
as a pie in the face
or slipping
on a banana peel

Did I really wait
35 yrs
to hear
this old man
farting
in my bathroom?

Just yesterday
at work
old woman on a walker
was leaving the men’s room
w/ an embarrassed
albeit relieved
expression

“I went through
the wrong door.”

She should’ve
opened
all of them.

Busy dying

It’s too bad
we’re no good
w/ names

when it no longer
matters what
is being adorned

when we cum
together
but always
wake up alone

Busy being born

learning to add
on fingers too fat
for counting

behind a veil
of lead

according to
an evolution
that favors
blk holes

That he not

does Schrodinger’s cat
share the values
of his/her
master?

Is.

weltscherz

The reason
to be embarassed
watching the white kid
play the black kid
is the reason to cringe
when your daughter
dreams of vampires
& the reason
you only put
the words of others
in your mouth
& spent your best years
chasing reflections
of reflections
which is the reason
that builds nations
of people not admitting
that not even
your best friend
or your own mother
or your very own partner
can hurt
where you hurt
how you hurt
& there isn’t
a damn thing
any of us can do
about that.

working man

By chad_wthrfrd | View this Toon at ToonDoo | Create your own Toon

“Divine Absolute!

Your shape
framed by angles
like prime numbers

Divisible only
by themselves
and the One

O Glorious Magnitude!

Anything less tangible
would lack
the gravity
to make our world
so deliciously flat

Judge! Jury! Executioner!!

Sculptor
of comfort zones

Architect
of paradigms
& status quo

The soft squishy world
of Meritocracy
shall be
our foundation

The only remaining distinction
being that
of 1 & 0

Their lives
will be like
those hardly noticeable
lines in the background
of a masterpiece

They will want
no more
than to accentuate.”

And so on. The others were careful to control their facial expressions as they watched the man kneeling on the asphalt give the dilapidated building an impressive erection.

A*a* would describe scenes like this to people on the street but no one believed him. “When’s the last time you saw the horizon?” No answer. Stockholm syndrome he called it when the dark places in your head become part of the landscape. But no one listens when they’re comfortable. He didn’t help telling them he had apotemnophilia.
“I am God’s little flower,” he said during his spot on Search for the Real. “He loves me. He loves me not.” **am was a working man after all.