Hookers or Cake

View high resolution

There is a wild silence that ties itself to the trees

falls from the leaves 

telling ya “please baby please! won’t cha blow me?!”

and tells you about a long ago war

how god got frightened down at the store.  

and lighting when its divided

can run a sewing machine

stitch together in my mind

curling till I find the line

running to 7-11 to get more cheap wine

your laughter creates a breeze, and that in turn creates time

to count all the rocks on Venus

Notes on watching the QVC channel high on peyote

1. I don’t know if you’ve ever made love in a haunted house at the bottom of the sea but its not as bad as Neitsche says it is. Its actually quite fun. Similar to making biscuits for the sun, that is until you run out.
2. And if you order this soul killing blender in the next 20 minutes we’ll throw in the Hieronymus Bosch attachment and TWO roaring voids for FREE! You only pay a small shipping and handling fee.
3. It reminds me of the time that my spell check started acting up. It began to suggest lurid spellings and emotions - high school potions that we made out of whatever liquor was left.
4. These magic rings speak secrets to your hands. Hot tickling moments whispered into the sand. That reality is slipping through your fingers is still the best handjob ever.
5. Up next, an infinite chain of delight that will drown you. Made out of Cap’n Crunch’s soul and with a limited lifetime warranty.

Life is nothing without all this hot

death on death action

no need to use fractions

we’re all gonna die.

My grandma lost her mind in the end. She’d buried five children and she had a hard time remembering who was alive and who was dead. Every time she’d see me she’d start crying. I was alive. 

View high resolution

Experimenting with social media.

I can chant shit poetry all the live long day. 

But as long as I post it with a pic of a naked

famous chick

It’ll get notes and reblogs and then I can say to myself,

“They love me for my poetry.

They love me for my art.”

Its not for my fake celebrity tits

they truly see the depths of my soul

and they like/love/reblog and I feel full

no longer made of holes

I am fucked completely.

View high resolution

rrrick:via hizerjason

In the rough and hungover…

lost in a strange land.

The desert speaks to me

taunts me

with tales of hidden treasure.

I lost my flask 10,000 years ago,

but I can hear it crying still.

All the whiskey in the world

whispering my secret name.

View high resolution

Giovanni Canavesio (thanks monsterman)

Coors Lite changed thier marketing strategy. 

Once you hang yourself

and are disembowled by a demon monkey

who steals your soul 

only then will your beer be truly cold.

View high resolution

Mr. Giggles never did get use to my robot leg.

His ferocious display of snarling barks

whenever I clanked around the house…

and though its been 3 years

since Mr. Giggles passed

I can still hear his suspicious growls

from deep beneath the flower bed.

sometimes in dreams I find him

alone and whimpering

my phantom leg in his teeth.

View high resolution

Anyone can bitch.

The art is in listening for the deeper mystery.

The executioner wears a clowns nose

as he slits the throat of your childish love.

You mourn what could have been, 

while the rioters remind you of what will always be.

There is a great peace in being broken

being found out as a simple fraud.

A smile, in the humiliation.

Sure it hurts at first  

also quite disorientating

but its like when you were a child 

you gathered yourself in

and rolled down the hill

you roll and roll, endlessly out of control

the earth rushing madly around your ears

you stand and turn to run but fall straight into the ground

everyone laughs and you flop over on your back spread eagle 

and as the clouds and blue sky spin down around you

 or is it you…

 spinning up in them?

whatever the case, you find yourself

a bright blue spinning freedom

full of clouds, birds and weather.