Self: keep track of these text messages

I don't wanna fight a war with doo doo on my face - adam
I am STIMULANT GAWD! - rahel
Fuck a horse with a 2 by 4 - kyle
God, cartel was such a great fucking band - danyo
Gareth lim is such a little dick - chase
Tiny dresses pink violet black why do fat girls insist - kelli
thanks, that's good to know. its defunct now, and i'm broke, so i guess it doesn't matter one way or the other. but blunt later this week - logan
we probably both pot a s on our paper - robin
moses is being really standoffish to his new sis. decided to go upstairs this morning away from her - mother
wait? .e tooooo!!! - rahel
when are we gonna do mushrooms - ashley
Johannesbourough fuckin' A - chase
sorry for messing up - cambray
Who wants to go grocery shopping with me? - logan
Thad you will fail class when we have it tomorrow morning because it is our last class
Will you listen to I'm so tired for me? - kyle
Tommy is drunk and crying while chopping onions. he keeps saying "fuck you, onions. fuck you. the more I hurt you the more I hurt". he doesn't know I'm home. - rahel
dede...super cool or super bitch? Or super cool bitch? Or super bitchin and cool? Or cool and super bitch? Or super cool and/or bitch? - chase
No way! Hero! - robin
Son of a bitch bastard - adam
Gaineet iced indiffi illesyog monie.fi glumma gee.b.b.nonmo.b.charlie ? - ben



there are a couple things that I know I need to write about in my lifetime, but have found it impossible to even attempt thus far. They crinkle my vision and burden my chest and etc/. They come in flashes, I ignore them, let slip a whimper, and go about a walk or drink with better times.
They nibble at me daily, I don't know exactly what to do with them.

I am young. time will bring words to my thoughts. yes?

"patience is your ally"-batman


Number 9 (124/10)

what if i named every piece of work i did (painting, prose, poetry, music, etc) what if i named everything "NUMBER 9". this poem is called "NUMBER 9". it is the first of its kind, number nine:

I'm on the edge of my seat here
in the city of stranger people

my chest is on the edge of itself.
I don't know if it is a natural consequence
if I am hungry, starving, losing conscious.
my chest is out of me, I am jittery without it, starving starving.

Words from ONLY some darling
quicken my existence
I feel her message forwarded towards the end of everything
The night is so quick it is unsettling

give myself peaceful smoke
to meander silently into the eve
become a small dazzling light in the distance
small, alive, wished upon wondered
gather the dust between YOU and ME

I need sand to bury my feet in
shore in my ear to lay me down
Hear of the other sea in the shells
shut the traps
the doors are down
the endless invisible waters
Are you thinking of me?

soft. sweet. tired. cup of caffeine
transform my sight and my actions
in time I execute my future tongue
by digging into the holes of thought
there is never so much
as every vaguery of "ALL"

I will now talk about "ALL":
In saying it and "nothing"
I empty myself over the keyboard.
display an array of every hungry inside
that pokes its head down in my head's cavern
dark dripping pillars
down on down towards the shitter
of the future of other tongues
publish publisher publication

These hours I've worked my head in a way so that
I cannot find my place back in the seat and the table.
I sprint and tumble about in the empty space between
a YOU and a ME

Sitting requires starving your baby
and I owe a drugged up panic to that
baby building himself a rabid panther
dashing without eyes, towards his brothers !
It's Me! My friends!!!!!!

quiet quiet quiet
quiet. QU(IET.
this city is underwater,
the people have gills
and I do not, but I wander
my body finds a tunnel
and my soul continues

chatter on chalky bulk unstable under pressure deeper swollen murky residue
little for the best
give a little for the best
and a littler for the rest.
Once you're open like this
you cannot speak.


Sweet Assholes Are Forever

My friend (enemy?) Rahel and I made a bet today

If she doesn't date michael cera in 3 years, then she owes me $50.
you have 3 three 3 three years, you "sneaky slut"

This is an internet reminder,
because the internet is forever.
Sweet assholes are forever!

If michael cera finds out about this,
that is disqualification.
Terms are that
Michael cera has to ask rahel out,
or that is disqualification




if you haven't dated michael cera in three years time,
you owe me.
you have until NOVEMBER 7TH, 2013.

get crackin
I really don't think you're "his type"
I think you're an ugo

if the world ends before 2013 (via 2012 mayan) then that is also a DQ.


Why are all the studio girls looking for love?

So uninspired to do anything.
feel crowded in by made up 'responsibilities'

Dave davies and Ray davies make me sad

been listening to "Man on the Moon" by The Jesus and Mary Chain all day.

I haven't written a poem since
I don't know when.
What's next after this
what's next?

Seems like there is nothing to do
but make money
to pay rent, buy food, repeat.
perhaps I'll treat myself to ice cream
but then what
perhaps I won't treat myself to ice cream
and then what

I don't talk to myself anymore.
I just think to myself
do I want chocolate? My tongue wants it.

"You make me laugh
You make me want to talk
You make me laugh
You make me want to talk
You make me laugh
You make me want to talk"

And that's all that matters
Chocolate doesnt do that to me


google trip

google "death is a toad with a cape"

Insta-google is freaky.


I see the end
the end the end
the end of me and
the end of you, twenty feet down
lost in some
Mickey d's patties
The end of me
sitting in a fountain
wishing for wishing in central park
the end of you
on the ground
walking taller than
your stubby shadow

mother effin
I'm tired and all I do is stare
What's some good music I should listen to. everything is shit. I am listening to the Temptations, Ray Charles. Should I just stop listening to music. Should I try to listen to silence.


right on

experiment: in a room with people, but only conversing through gchat.

I feel conscious of the "trying to do something"
I can't get into it at first because I am too aware of the physicality of other people
I am out of the (holy) moment, feeling cliched or something

Starting to feel high.
this is strange
What should I do.
the screen is getting hazy.
I'm trying to write while trying to chat
seems impossible. I'm too aware
of existing.

the face is moot.
an exclamation point flows directly out of the head
to the fingertips
and there is no physical recognition

I feel high.
I wonder what an acid flashback feels like
whether I can tap into it like this

after more time
It seems I can't break the silence
even if I tried.
I feel more solitary, enough to work more efficiently
but there is a lingering "forcefulness"
feel in limbo

There is a window next to me
I'm tempted to jump out the window.
because I'm high
because it seems like the right thing to do
people would scold me and scoff
but no one understands
that it was more of an arbitrary decision

okay I'm gonna do it
but just in my mind.
gonna listen to ariel pink's haunted graffiti
and just float down to the ground

I need to get the mood.
what emails should I respond to
who should I think of
to set my mind on the correct course
set me into gold blue light

can I use you for my happiness
my happiness depends on your happiness
your happiness should be a true silver
for this to work


I see my Generation Y, or whatever, in 5 pictures

New York Times did a piece on the twenty-somethings of 2010.
Why are you so passionate about being so dispassionate, gen Y?
gen Y, you're acting like a child, and you know your booze/drugs.
What are you gonna do with yourself, gen Y? Farmshare? TFA?
Y all, listen, GEN Y, you have to listen, to the echoes of tradition.


today you love life
tomorrow you hate life
tomorrows tomorrow, you know you loved life today
but you don't remember the feeling
early in the morning you wake from a broken smoke alarm
boosted on a couch you beat on it
like last night, the drinks to your head
little self whispers: why? why? why?
but you know he doesn't make sense
because that humming feeling
its the light in the window


Letters from a drugged up homeboi

Sent: Wednesday, June 30, 2010 2:41 AM
To: Kyle
Subject: slj KING KAHN

hey buddy.
it's 11:07?
i think my computer is covered in ash from the morning bbq?
did we bbq this morning?

seems like ash is everywhere

not morbid
like clammy
on my hands
grime as an objective source of income

look at this picture dammit:


kyle you are awesome from ashley

she's tripping
adam is showing tim the kryptonite napalm


Check out this Beaut

I really like "the Canoe"


this house stinks

I have not created
I have not create
I think of a moon that is not there
a drooping moon
with a howling hum
a moon that is a clock that is a melting clock

my insincere fingers
are my fingers
they rub and grate against me
they remind me of dumb tractors
and they rumble like:
"hand grasp pearls
was it wrought in peril!"

my passivity grew like hidden babylon
I found myself gorging on the clouds
vaguely thanking god
for a vicious metabolism
and up close the drooping moon said
you've misplaced memory,
he said, there is nothing
quite like beer in bed


Sleepy Sun - Fever


This is part of a story I hope to finish someday

Nic wrote his name in the ground, stared at it, watched the lines slither and warp. It moved as fluid as Nic’s own hands, and body. He tried to understand the way the lines moved by letting his own hips shake like a belly-dancer. Not working, Nic thought, but this dance feels fun. Funny.
“This chalk is fucking fantastic!” Matt said. “Great idea Cambray, such a great idea.”
Four hours in, how long had they been drawing on the sidewalks?
“I see my name, it’s so weird. Look at my name. Is that me?” Nic had been struggling to comprehend those letters for, it seemed, seven minutes now. What did they mean, really? “It’s like a mirror of my physicality. But I don’t—it’s not—it’s a prison of misunderstanding. Misrepresentation.”
“I can’t see it!” Cambray said. “It just looks like lines. But, wow, the color is amazing. It jumps out, and I can feel it! Vibrancy. Aura. Color is so beautiful. I hope I don’t ever go colorblind.”
“A mirror of my body, the vessel that carries my heart and soul!” Nic said. They burst out in laughter, and Matt threw himself to the grass, rolling about. And Nic saw that the grass was paint, and that Matt was coming alive in it, neon green on his clothes, his hair.
Matt drew his name on the sidewalk. “Shit! It’s so foreign isn’t it? It’s like…it’s not me. Am I Matt? Matt. Matt. Matthew. Matt. Matthew.” He touched his fingers to the ground, tracing the letters.
“Matthew? Matthew? It’s not you, Matt. Matt is not you. You are you. Matt is not you.” Cambray said. Nic agreed vigorously. No, Matt was not green. Matt was Matt.
They moved down the sidewalk, Cambray trailed a line of blue chalk. “If we get lost, we can follow this line back from whence we came.”
Onwards they travelled, and they passed a bum peeing on the sidewalk. The urine flared up and subsided, darkening the side of the wall and the ground. Acidic steam rose as it melted the pavement. The man turned and smiled a toothy grin. “Did that bum just piss on you Matt?” Nic said.
“What! Shit! Are my jeans pissed on?”
“Is it damp? Feel your leg. Touch it,” Cambray said, trying not to laugh.
“Oh shit! I don’t know! What the hell! I don’t know!”
They came across a bench on the sidewalk. It sat beside a little pool of water surrounded by swaying, blooming flowers. They spoke, they whispered things to Nic that he could not understand. A sign stapled to a tree shouted, “THIS IS A PUBLIC PARK. YOU ARE UNDER CAMERA SURVEILLANCE.”
They sat on the bench, felt the cars rumble past, saw the dogs walking their owners.
“Thanks for convincing me. I’m so happy we did this together,” Nic said.
“No, no Nic. Thank you. I thank you and Cambray,” Matt said.
“No, I thank the Lord our Savior and Father...and Lord our Jesus for this time we’ve each spent together,” Cambray said.
They put their arms around each other and pushed their heads together, laughing and grinning.
“We’re golden children,” Matt said.
They lifted their hands to the sky. The sun had set its course, down the horizon. It flung its finale up across the trundling clouds. And they were brought to life in a reverberation of fiery light. They were wrought in pink cotton, transformed into elephants grazing the heavens.
“I feel like we are the greatest underdog sports team ever,” Nic said.


Silver Saxaphones

affection flitting filtered
in a bucket of mud
under the rain

soil slipped shoes
down the hill I
ponder weights thrown
down the sole you
walked me to my room
I would walk you to yours

under drunken stars
your breath swept up mine
sotto voce
and I thought on a crevice
of another time
where I was tired
and you were tired

I think I would like to move away now.



a girl jumped from the 2nd floor of pigott today
"I'm gonna do it!" she probably said, over and over, for 30 minutes.
and when she finally did it, she sprained her ankle or something.
"Go big or go home!" someone wanted to yell
but then thought, "nah, you can't joke about this shit
out in public, and in front of all these police."
"The stress!" she probably thought, "It's too much!"
of course, she couldn't have thought it was a suicide attempt,
being one measly floor up.
maybe this was simply her "stress relief activity",
similar to the "dog stress relief" party that they always have during finals week
all that stress was in her foot,
and she totally said, "fuck you, stress"
good for her
good for her
fuck work before it fucks you.
she's smarter than anyone I know.
(is she "hot"?
is she single?)
also, it was a nice distraction
for everyone else.
"we're all in the same boat" the girl probably thought,
"so I'll give of myself to these people."
we can all learn a thing or two
from my future wife, faux-suicide girl,
the sexiest, most giving woman to fall on the planet


Some kind of stress

jumble drunk mind--
set on restitution
in a keyboard
I'll seek my God in a pill
and if that doesn't work
I'll distress and cry Jesus
and if that doesn't work
I'll stagger on towards time
and hope to fall on the other side



LOST tells me in its finale:

nothing in life matters but the relationships you make
there are many mysteries that we will never know the answers to
so go spiritual instead of scientific

Hm, that's nice, I guess.
I wish I could've gotten "trashed" after the finale but I had homework to do.
specifically, I had to finish PKD's book, Man in the High Castle.

All LOST letdown aside, it was awesome to parallel this ending with PKD's ending. Double climax.

both deal with alternate histories. The real ending scene to LOSt is a picture of the initial plane crash scene. There are no survivors. PKD tells a story where Germany and Japan win WWII. Doesn't seem to be an alternate history by the end of the book. More like an parallel dimension that refers to ours.

"I thought you lived in a fortress," Juliana said.
Bending to regard her, Hawthorne Abendsen smiled a meditative smile. "Yes, we did. But we had to get up to it in an elevator and I developed a phobia. I was pretty drunk when I got the phobia but as I recall it, and they tell it, I refused to stand up in it because I said that the elevator cable was being hauled up by Jesus Christ, and we were going all the way. And I was determined not to stand."


Ancient Submissions.

What is Gothic Funk?
Their blog seems strange, like it's trying to keep its identity a secret.
Also, their name clashes with the website layout.
or maybe not, I guess, since "funk" is attached to "Gothic"
I guess it flips the intended meaning of just "gothic"

it seems I submitted something to them over a year(?) ago.
It seems like it will appear in this cool/confusing format like this
I've forgotten what these guys are all about.
Did I even submit the poem, or did they steal it from my hard drive?
People take so long handling submissions these days.
Some older poet told me that once upon a time editors sent replies within 2-3 weeks.
I'm too young to know that time. Sounds mythical.
anyway, thanks for accepting my work Gothic Funk.


Internet Doldrums

entering maybe my 5th hour straight on the internet
not counting a nap that cut between my surfing experience
I didn't plan this, it just happened
I've wasted most of the last 26 hours with these pixels:

12am- feeling feverish/bieberish
12am- try to download azure for the first time
12am- try to download connect360
12am- surf interweb try to find zune software for macbook
1am - succeed in connecting macbook to xbox360
1am - watch Reggie Watts m4v on TV via xbox
1am - feeling sicker, eating ice cream remedy
3am - Advil pills/sleep

12pm- Wake up/ open up Macbook/ open up Itunes/ Fats Waller "Ain't Misbehavin'"
12pm- Kellogg's Cereal "They're GREAT" (good source of vitamin D)
12pm- Tylenol extra strength
1pm - Coffee shop to review for Jesus Test
1pm - research (via WIKIPEDIA) on the Gospels
2pm - typing out things about Jesus
2pm - 2 minute "mental bitching" session
3pm - collaborate with friend on an "aloud bitching" session
4pm - Get into the zone, the Jesus zone. Start the online test.
5pm - Fail to finish test in the time limit
5pm - Tylenol Extra Strength
6pm - meet someone new/ look at artwork/ wonder about "gaydars"
6pm - meet a good looking/ friendly cat
7pm - Advil
8pm - Steak plus carrots / airborne
8pm to 10pm-- ONLINE --Yahoo, Outlook, Pitchfork, Blogspot, Wired, HTMLgiant, Google, Youtube, Facebook, MSNBC, SeattleUniversitySpectator, Hulu, The Strokes, Dilandau, Grooveshark, AssociatedPress, Gmail, HipsterRunnoff, DropBox, Woot, TomsShoes, heheheheeheeeheh, yo-yo master Prankster, Riot Dog, Futurama, Repeat

- Sudden Nap
11pm - Wake up dazed. Neck cramp. Sticky mouth. Confidence loss. Fever, not for the Bieber.
11pm to 2pm-- ONLINE-- Yahoo, Outlook, Pitchfork, Blogspot, Wired, HTMLgiant, Google, Youtube, Facebook, MSNBC, SeattleUniversitySpectator, Hulu, The Strokes, Dilandau, Grooveshark, AbsolutepunkForums, Gmail, HipsterRunnoff, DropBox, Woot, TomsShoes, heheheheeheeeheh, Rhinoceros Escape, Riot Dog, Family Guy, Repeat

- silence except for the quiet humming of the computer. achieved a dizzied state, altered state by staring at screen for lengthened state/ not moving anything but hands and fingers. It's an electric dream.
2pm - Tylenol /sleep

These are the questions I want to see answered:
(how many hours per day do you spend on the computer
how many hours per day does Avey Tare spend on the computer
how many hours per day does TAo Lin spend on the computer
how many hours per day would Jesus spend on the computer?)

maybe I wish a had a mom here to take away my computer privileges
I remember when I let go of my FAcebook,
I remember how free I felt
I want to feel free again


The Garden morning is Full of Fiction

in the morning
is a cadence
and a quiver of green
In the chest arise
eloquent blades
convene to a whisper
"this day is sol
and something something"
But it was not a day
it was a moment of
prehistoric patience
and I sat upright on a couch
as if I was sleeping


the Garden of Forking Paths

Ana C. put one of my "poems" up here
Ana C. used one of my drawings here
She seems like a genuine person

I read this short story "Garden of Forking Paths" by Jorge Luis Borges.
it was so short, only ten pages long.
the last page gave me chills, and I wrote in my book
"chills chills when did a book last give you chills?"
I don't remember. A while ago.
Maybe it was Septimus' suicide scene in Mrs. Dalloway.
and before that...oh i dont know
I mean, I've read some very good stories/books
but nothing compares to Borges story. It's haunting. It's haunting me. It was hard to speak afterward, I just kept saying aloud "What? What? What?" I couldn't get back into reality, I was stuck in the story.

Damn. Damn. completely mind blowing.
It's a mystery. about time. about parallel existence. and all the forks.
god damn.


I AM MINISTER. (call on me for all your marital needs)

Example ordination


mother am I smart?
mother I'm not drunk I can't think
mother tell me how dumb I am
mother be honest with me
mother how many terrible decisions have I made
mother I can't see myself when I walk past the mirror
mother thank you for not lying, but that's no help
mother thank you
mother bless you


Tao Lin + Pilot Books

I am awake at 11:30
Should I skip my class?
I have a beautiful schedule that looks like
12:15-1:20 some class
1:30-3:35 some class
3:45-5:50 Time Travel class
6:00-8:00 some class
I will skip. the sun is out, and Tao is out.

I walked into Pilot Books at 12:

Tao Is talking to this man
Summer is there
and no one else. I feel exclusive.
I sit in some chair and look at Tao Lin
He is a real person
He says some things to me, I don't remember

other people arrive

(Girl is quiet the whole time, her boyfriend or boy friend talks about "shitstorm alberto")

(guy says "Oh, I KNOW, about muumuu house")

(Woman seems unaware of generation. though she seems genuinely interested. She talks aloud about herself for some time, and I think I'd rather like to hear Tao talking instead)

He was talking about MuuMuu House
But I mostly couldn't hear him
because my brain was screaming about
"something something Tao Lin something"
and then stopping to ponder if
Tao Lin would hang out with me if I invited him
to this show that a friend and I wanted to go to

Or, wouldn't he say yes if I invited
to smoke him out, with some of my raddest of friends?

He was talking all the while
He had this invincible smirk on him
whenever it got quiet

And he threw BrandonSCottGorrell's book at everyone in the room
per BrandonSCottGorrell's request via Video Chat from Mexico
I think I said "I already have one"
I think he said "have another one"
now I have 3 of this book
1 as a galley copy, i guess, when I was at Wave Books
1 from some sale Tao was having at his online store
1 from going to this muumuu house session

Someone asked BrandonSCottGorrell
"is gchat good for relationships?"
he said yes
he said "I made a lot of internet friends on gchat. High quality ones"

Right before that Tao said about the muumuu house website
"It's supposed to be innovative but nobody cares"

I had to leave in the middle of his presentation
I have to leave Tao, sorry I'm being rude,
It's not that I'm bored
I just have to learn about Jesus.
He said "what's your name"
I said "thad"
and I felt like it was a holy moment
"I'll be back" I said
and the sun was still out


I Return at 6pm.
how could so many people fit in Pilot Books
everyone is young
after tao reads there are questions and there is also silence
in the silence everyone wants to hug tao lin
everyone wants to buy him a drink
everyone wants to know whats on his ipod
everyone wants to have a gmail chat with him
except, if possible, in real life

I ask him to sign the back of my phone
We talk about putting tape on it so that it will last
but I also liked the idea of it fading away with time
His signature is already gone

I'm not sure if I regret not using tape
I think I'm okay with it

When I meet "famous" people
I'm sometimes not sure about myself
I think I give them too much power over me
power that I don't enjoy being witness to
that allows them to sort of transcend humanity
one of my friends put it
"They know nothing about me, and I know so much about them
why don't they want to know about me"
the balance is off as if
I told a girl that I liked her
and she said nothing to me
and I would then want to erase her from my memory
but I felt like meeting tao was different for some reason
like he was more human then me
and maybe he would even hang out with me



I'm probably not anyone
I'm an amalgam of the culture
of my teachers
I'm roughly 3,000,000 pixels
I am bound in history

420 has been a series of 3-5 days
because my time is private
and I am from head to feet
a deadline sick in bed


A poem from James Murphy

Is LCD Soundsystem's track listing for This is Happening a poem?

Dance Yrself Clean
Drunk Girls
One Touch
All I WantI Can Change
You Wanted A Hit
Pow Pow
Somebody’s Calling Me

Are you in Seattle right now?
the sky will shit soon, look at how constipated it is.



my head is turning into a bush
I lost my beanie for a week and it was the worst week of life thus far
Someone asked me if I have a blog and I felt stupid
my lucky boxers are now my unlucky boxers
I am INFJ and ENJF
(My level of outwardness/inwardness depends on the friends I am with/not with)
so many earthquakes
My perception of you is marked by your simplest actions (I feel like you are evil now)
I listened to GRizzly Bear's "Knife" 43 times today
I met Michael McClure, he taught me some poetry stuff
I saw Animal Collective, Avey Tare waved at me, I felt a bond
Saw Tao Lin and the sun was out that day I laughed a lot
picked up pink pillars from the yard, 35% of my room is now pale pink
my mother knows how to google now
I watched Little Miss Sunshine for maybe the 20th time
I am losing my vocabulary
I want something new
I wish I had the drive to become an astrophysicist
there are genuine people out there somewhere, I don't know many of them
if you ever come to my room
do not take a breath
because I was cremated in this air
that head is like a bush


Waterfall, fall with me for a million days

i'm telling this to my roommate adam right now too. I've been training myself lately (for 5 years i guess, since i was a moron before that), to be "moved" to all or most forms of innovative, genius, towering forms of music, upon first listens--to experience the ecstasy of the virgin listen--instead of having to force myself to listen to some music that I just think I should like. I think i've reached that point, where I don't need to wait on music anymore, where I have been patient enough already, and I can understand upon first listens. And I don't need to fight through time anymore, I don't have to wait to love a spectacular album, don't have to wait for anything to sink in, don't need ritalin to stay focused, don't need to torrent thousands of songs at once, and never pay any attention to 99% of the songs, don't need to make bullshit rules like "if the first 15 seconds doesnt..."

I think i've "trained" my ears and tastes to the point where I can genuinely love and appreciate the great music that has come before my time. I can understand what music deserves respect, without someone telling me, I can feel it in my bones, i can revel in it. But now I feel like I still don't have enough time to listen to everything i want to listen to you. I want it all now, but i have to work for it, need time need more time. I hope I don't die soon, I'm not ready anymore. But it's easier now, all so much easier, and so fulfilling. It feeds my soul, keeps me from depression or whatever, drives my each day to the next so easily.

Oh my jesus this is an incredible looking cover:

I feel pretty damn retarded that I haven't been listening to Jimi Hendrix enough at this point in my life, that i've only remotely liked a few of his songs. It really gives me a deep pain, my ignorance.

4/11 edit: this post seems stupid or juvenile or something in retrospect. Jimi is cool.


I don't

i am on the ground
because the ground loves me
like no one else

I see your face on the white ceiling
you're so terribly far away
i can't even touch you when i stand
and besides the ground just whispered to me
in a terribly sexy tone
I think I'll stay here

I lie supine with a cigarette in mind
it has been a dream of mine
to see the smoke rise before my eyes

now i am smoking this cigarette
because this cigarette always shows me a good time
even though he might kill me someday
but that should be a good time too

I am on the ground with all the
lingering white lines above me
it's almost too much ecstasy to handle
and there you are on the ceiling
he must love you
you must've heard the same melodies
I heard in my ear
i understand now
thank god


I feel changed

this is my voice
it hides under depression
I am dishonest by myself, I really am, I don't even know it}

humans I don't trust
I'm sorry, for you and for myself
but I acknowledge
when i am out of body
when I see the world from a cloudless sky
it's all I can do
I am stuck
I was born

In fate we are
trapped, leveled
Dr. Professor whatever forced me to see
Oedipus, Sutpen, Agamemnon, Hamlet
but the end Is whatever
depressing as whatever, what matter
I say, "What is the point if I will never know?"
Jason Wirth told me, "It's about the process!"
and the scythe will always come
but what matter

So I realized,
I can climb mountains
I can fucking climb a mountain!
and that is
and if I was meant to do that
if God ordained me
and said,
this is what you are going to do
I will not complain about my choice
whether I be climbing in the past
or present future, along the Tralfamadorian range
I will climb that mountain

let me enjoy it
let me live to see the road to mexico
to Bolivia
down under the sea
towards Greece, Mongolia
and I will never be lost
I will be

I am young
you say this to me
you my comrade
let us drink for we are golden
in the sun, in the hail
in the hellish vagrant airs
where we see our souls
in each breath
we are golden

listen to my drunken slur
I will trust,
if I give you my words
that this will matter
that you will soon be as drunken as I
and that we will vomit with passion
(the toilet as beautiful as the sink as beautiful as the faucet, as beautiful as the bottle)
for the mountain

( Mountain! mountain! Mountain ! Mountain! mountain!
mountain! Mountain ! Mountain ! mountain! mountain!)


to you, from i

persons, inspire
create, give
If you ask, I will
If you're lovely, I will
with much reason
you, me



Look at what's "trending now" on yahoo
who can i punch in the face for this
I'm gonna punch Alex in the face for this
I hate him
I hate yahoo

I'm scared.
I haven't written a poem that I feel passionate about
in like 12 days.
don't know what the fuck
is happening
I feel stupid and
whatever other stuff too

dear devil,
i'll sell you my soul to write better poetry
(can I write poetry without a soul?)
god wouldn't give it to me, never gave me a deal
and i believe in both of them
and I believe in deals
I believe in karma
my obsession is in
calling my mother
and then meeting some hot girls
calling my father
and then receiving a letter of acceptance from caketrain or something
calling my grandmother
and then gaining telekinetic powers
There is balance there is order
so says jesus
he is crucified on my brain tremors
he is at war with nicotine .08 percent etc
they don't know how to be at peace
but I don't want to believe in these things
I would like to believe in myself instead

Matthew Rohrer says:
I'm going to sit here until I feel my soul


in the flowers

i don't know where my feelings are today
i think i should get married today
i will sequester all the serotonin
into this one finger
then i'll find my soul
i'll say hello
and then leave it somewhere in the flowers somewhere somewhere

"to hold you in time
to hold you in time
to hold you in time
to hold you in time"

I embrace the surge of the unreal. lack of feelings disassociates me with the unreal. I am outside myself, interacting with society. I am banished from my inner world. I am whatever

"If I could just leave my body for the night"

I'm doing this thing where i look at myself in the mirror while I write. It is disturbing. I don't understand my reflection. I don't understand how I have a body. I don't understand what I look like.

am i high right now
seems like it


love you

i'm gonna write a love story or love poem or love prosey shit poem (that is prose enjambed in brown and green font, i think).

I'm trying to come to some great discovery, that i am talented. that i am a genius. i'm trying to shock myself. i'm trying to find a tub of confidence. i'm drinking more often.

the first word of my love prosey shit poem will be:

the first punctuation mark of my love prosey shit poem will be:

I'm going to incorporate some lines from John Ashberry's poem Girls on the Run:
"Dream lover, won't you come to me?
Dream lover, won't you be my darling?
It's not too late or too early."

I will get this published some day. mark my words. shut up. shut the hell up. It'll be published, in one form or another, and then i'll be the one laughing at you for doubting me, but it won't matter to you because you won't know me, I'll just be a crazy person laughing deliriously on the street, and you'll be with your husband or wife and you'll mistake me for a bum and chuck coins at me or pretend you're really distracted with something else.


in 2080 i'll surely be dead

this is by far the best take away show i've seen


their a capella puts fleet foxes to shame.

"i'm so blessed to have spent the time with my family and the friends i love in my short life i have met so many people i deeply care for"


i don't have a Fbook to tell everyone i don't care about how excited i am

i'm a loser or something
so why don't you kill me

avant / garde

i'm gonna get drunk and high tonight and listen to bob dylan and not go to school tomorrow

I'm drunk and high
right now
and listening to
bob dylan and
going to school

with mixed emotions (between love and affection),

Peter Walsh


the f word or whatever

you are so small
and you are hiding inside
spying from a slanted window
hounds are stirring in your heart
but you are so tired
and you will always be tired


Massive outpouring Before death!!

(The sky is a ghostly black, and I feel like a remnant of the past.)

#1. Where are all the Poets?

Are there twenty-something year olds out there who have sold their soul to the art? who are constantly careful, crafting their words? with immense aspirations, dreams that breath, that gravitize, I want to meet you, I want to write with you, I want to write to you, I want to get hammered drunk with you, I want to go on the road with you, I want to see your future unfold. I feel lonely and I don't understand myself very well. (help me help you help me help you help me help you help me help you love me love you etc.)

#2. I See All my actions in Third Person (what is that in the mirror)

I have a inner conscious that has split itself into three: the reflective self, the confused stranger, the overseer. Reflective self thinks on behalf of the body, sorts through today's memories, as well as yesterday's and all of the past. He has a lot of folders to deal with and they never stop coming in--he is overworked and subsequently fucks up a lot. Confused stranger looks upon my body, and wonders what this body is thinking about, what the hell is it doing, it looks sad, it looks bored. The overseer tries to bring these previous two together, tries to account for both of their thoughts, and then tries to give me a plan on how I can grow and become wiser, smarter, etc. The overseer is mostly a lazy asshole--he doesn't much give a shit, and so Reflective self and Confused stranger remain at odds.

(eg. I look towards the sky, I see myself looking at the sky, I wonder what that human is doing, I search for a greater meaning, a "why" question and then an answer, and instead I move on with my life, forgetting that this ever happened)

#3. the Thing about God

I make deals with that thing (man? woman? alien? thing). Not because I want to. But because I have to. It will not leave my head (a world without a God? a meaningless existence wherein I don't give a shit about anything, or a world wherein I eventually enter psychosis from eternal illogical computation, or will I just embrace the world...am i doing that now?). So it creepy crawls about my cavernous caboose, I scream at it, and blame everything that I can never understand on it. It sets up balances in my head, says if you do this then I give you this, If you stop doing this then you get this. It plays tricks on me, it sometimes imitates the sound of my own inner voice, so that I cannot tell who is doing the talking. I don't want to talk about this anymore.

#4. My face is Dying

My bed is a grave. I etch-a-sketched dreams in my shoulder with my hands. I woke up with red on my hands, red on my covers. My body has terrible urges--when my conscious leaves, my body is a wolf licking the blood-soaked blade. My shoulder did not have a rash. but there is a rash eating up my face, and my unconscious hand leaps to it like horny teenagers, and i wake up in a sea of skin, and I think (confused stranger thinks), how gross how disgusting, and I store a little bits of frustration in my back pocket as I drag myself through a daily Monday Malaise. People in the world see traces of my demise, traces of my rebirth, my skin regenerating, spreading itself about the earth, and I am lost in transition and scaring away all the pretty girls.

#5. Happiness in Shared experience (being a stingy asshole closes all the doors)

I put shit in my body, I alter my state of existence, and I only want to take a trip with you (you!). You are tender and enchanting--you said something yesterday that really made me think, gave me a new perspective. I don't know you well enough, I haven't made up my mind about you, and so I can't stop thinking about you, I want to grow with you, and want to make something out of this.
I am sitting in my room, and I want to see through your eyes, I want to write about it and show it to you, I want to slaughter the leaden circles of time with the soft murmur of speakers, under ceilings, in this very room where the God of Karma, where the Confounded Stranger has condemned me! I could love this room, it could be like heaven.

#6. the Moon was there then it was Dead

I paid homage to the moon tonight, for Seattle skies rarely accommodate it. I turned off my lights and watched it slime across the sky. It left ugly trails in my head that faded quicker than my cognitive powers could function, and so I will never know what those bad feelings were that tonight's moon awoke.

The moon has left , will I ever see it again?

#7. Make your own way, Son

my step-grandfather wrote me a letter and included a hallmark inspirational quote:

Life itself cannot give you joy, unless you really will it. Life just gives you time and space, it's up to you to fill it

I was repulsed. Words from greeting cards that make a mockery of sincerity, that make profit on manufactured sentimentality! But Herbert is one of the sweetest and most humble grandparent I've ever encountered, and these were his words, these were his words, this was his handwriting,
and I am jaded, and I let Karma God reign as king, the fucker, and I need to grab life by the throat because I am young and agile and my thoughts race and fly with my body, with my pumping legs, I careen through sidewalks and fields, up buildings, up mountains, to shout from up high, to shout nonsense, to prove my existence, to prove that I have passion, that I am human. and as the sun is my witness I will take to the street burning under what mother said was heaven, and I will give love, I will give love as best I can, as weirdly as I can, as subtle as I can, as honestly as I can.

#8. Life Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow

Overseer wakes up, and does not know what to do, what to make of anything, doesn't know what decisions he has made, or which he has taken back, so he puts on headphones, and lights up his cigarette.



I am lost in education. (on page limit, on length)
I don't know anything about the world,
don't know what the fuck that is,
can't even comprehend what life will be like in 2 hours...

I am hanging dead for six hours:

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---

i "waste" 4 hours like a drunkard.
i want to be looking for the road instead.
where is that lovely beast.

I have a poem on the internet here.


self-destructive; instructive

"I think you are waiting to self-combust. That way you could start fresh", read the text message, late into my binge. I was looking for beauty all around me. I found it almost everywhere, in everything I had, and everything I did not have.

I knew how the hours would soon run and sigh, would reveal...the truth? the ugliness? Is that the truth?

"I think you are waiting to self-combust. That way you could start fresh", read the text message. I had on my new eyes, my new eyes, old and melting, weary with passion. my heart in my mouth, blossoming like lilies, weeping, soothed by its own utterances, knowing, unknowing..

and my mind, that tragic man in his suit, traitorous and true, left his post to say
and what of tomorrow
and what of tomorrow...?
"I have gathered up my little sticks
to burn this fire, tonight", I retorted,
bold as liquid

now, on the down
i knew, i knew, i chose, of course
I am waiting to self-combust
i will start fresh
not even i will know my name

shanti shanti shanti


success. hip hip hooraguhghauhg..

i got a poem published in the online lit mag Nth Position right here.

I was pretty excited to see it there. to google myself and find that I have a growing internet presence/worldly significance. of course it did not last.

"You always want more, you're never happy with what you have"- father to kid is never happy with what he has

if you look at the poem, you'll see that I've fucked up all the punctuation and capitalization. It wasn't on purpose, but it wasn't on accident either. I was given an opportunity to edit it, but I didn't really care enough to change anything. I feel like it doesn't really matter. I feel like the meaning (whatever that is) is just as accessible (or inaccessible) with or without the small changes i would make if i was more OCD about grammar. Maybe I will feel differently once I actually have a "reputation".


oh, how each lamp adds light to light!

I'm tiring of this room.
i'm stuffing bad emotions in that lamp in the corner
i move it, that shade reminds me of
when i lost my mind
[my tears separated from my mind
my body convulsed, hurling chunks of my mind
my mind my mind was supine
it suspended itself, left my body
in cornflowers marred in ivory
i saw wavered,
i laughed
i cried
my mind
set me loose]

gracious lamp field hide me
the hipsters have all run away
they paint you, and your scarlet hues
fleeing vagabond avant garde
decadence burning burning burning their heels
to the mountains! if you have your beards about you
relevance is genetic,

you and me we are apart
and i am a part
you, the subterranean alien
to the light, to the...
what path? where is the path?

I will take the dimly glowing blue light
fluorescent, subtle sanity lacking sanity

my last lamp:
sideways upon the wall,
you are my dearest
and most feared enemy
you wait like a wolf upon my dreams
and no man has ever seen you
and no man ever will

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

the lights the lights will not lead me on my way
fiction, grab hold friction
faction misleading, fiction
truth: i am falling much farther into a den of lions
got on a pair of lucky boxers i think will do the trick

oh how each lamp adds light to light