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worros dna niap ym kcab em evig

!

damn. it's easy to nurture the past.
to worship the past.
when really i know it wasn't as good as i remember it. (and better than i can imagine)
i don't like it when i die in my sleep.

five mountains to clime
the great labyrinth to escape
the fires burning bellow
the old man made of gears
the meny beads of a body
each with their personification

messages to my self
to not forget.
in hopes of not being forgotten.
1
4
3
3
4
2

!

हेल एंड हेवन
well it's been awhile, time for more midnight ramblings unto myself.

alot of people try to hate everything be exclusive and show that they really have tast. that there thing is there thing.
the guy who likes everything is crazy,
the one who values it all is insane. right??
fuck you.
punk is dead don't bother greiving. where did you comefrom, what's the most imbarising music that you secretly like. how much do you lie to yourself about that sort of thing, people don't just sit around and talk about apples, i could say annything right now. think about yourself in context. of. the earth. of an ant. of a bumble bee. talk to animals. our thoughts creat reality. beleive in what you want. why bother being afraid, really? why give a shit?
i got hit by a car on my bycicle, it was an instant, i'm going the right way in the right place, and then oh, car hood infront of me, how can i take this, this is it, as i'm hitting the hood, will i survive or is this it, my death, i think as i smash onto the windsheald and then fly over the other side onto the pavement beond. i lie still for a moment feeling my body whandering whats broken and if it will heal and if i'm going to be in exessive debt to a hospital cus i don't have inshurance. than i stand up and laugh, ha it works, i think it all works. check to see if my legs and arms bend and they do.
i'm at a show and every ones afraid do make a fool of themselves.
i loved doing comunity service i want to go do it again. the old lady sorting cans in the basment insisted on giving my a bage of food. most of my old cristain friends don't know what critical mass is.
allot of people ask me how a sertain event was after they didn't attend it. i made and hung alot of flyers for Robert Kings speaking, knowing that no one i showed them to would actually come, but atleast allot of them petended to give a shit.
the other day i ate at kings diner in Altuna PA and my bill came to $6.66 josh had the waitress sight his poster of the Angry Mob. brownies.

i don't have bad dreams

lucky me

(this is a synopsis of dreams, some of which are recurring)

i don't have bad dreams.
even when the pulsing sea of cockroaches
is tearing through a humans flesh before me.
it doesn't touch me

when were running through a rotting house
from the butter greased mouths, the
immense hoards of flesh, of the naked gluttons.
and behind every door,
and every closet, every crevice in the wall,
is filled with children’s corpse
which feed there eternal hunger

amusement parks in the sky
hi, hi over the water.
where straps never lock in place
and the cars come of there tracks

the ancient house, one room immaculate
like a museum the next desolate made of rotting wood
rooms leading in to rooms leading into rooms
and each is smaller that the last
then the floor boards creak and looking down
you see the tops of trees
as you sway in suspended
rotten wood
a ghost house of splinters.

a towering wall of rocks and moss
a strangers tells you witch rock to touch
and you turn the handle
and the wall swings open and there in dust and cobweb
an ancient pipe organ hidden with in the stone
and seated upon dressed in dust
human sized birds
dead and dried, in there playing pose of eternal worship
to fallen gods
i push them aside to look closer
at the satanic script, the song book
at the top of the page it reads
"the worship of Satin is a bed of vomit"
but still i long to play those pipes

i don't wake in a cold sweat, it never touches me.
the only thing i fear is the invisible depth,
the dark water somewhere far beneath me,
still and silent,

in every dream.

Redeption

you where raped by your idols and you never knew it
strength is found in putting others down
rising above them, being the biggest, being the most
taking taking for your self, taking pride in having
the most for show.
men are enemies. women, slaves.
but the song of wolves will bring purity to your ears
your flesh will be redeemed as it is torn from the bone
and you will have purpose
as you feed the mouths that sing sweet praises
to the moon

true story

i'm driving down a road
and i can't see
i have no arms
and the pedles don't giveway to my feet
i'm pushing and grasping and
straining my eyes
but it's just blackness
i can't see anything
i can feel the seat and the peadls
and the swaying motion of the car
my sister is in the seat next to me,
i call out to her
i tell her that i can't see
i can't steer
i can't stop us,
but she knows
she can't see
or steer
she can't stop us

so we sit
and drive down the road we can't see
and marvel that we haven't crashed yet.

st. mary of the glass eyes

so i've been thinking about where i was last year around this time
and all the stuff i did last year.
and then i found a bunch of things i wrote in New Orleans
that i had forgotten about.
for the most part i did hardly any writing while I was there,
I just felt that I couldn't capture it, I couldn't record it,
it wasn't possible, now I wish I had written more,
just because it triggers my memory.
any way here is some stuff from when I was down there

St. Mary of the glass eyes

poetry has a desire to spill
like the brown sludge in your refrigerator
the desire to serve meets the desire to destroy
you house is inside outon the street

i sat in a storage room in the second floor for an hour
putting myself into a 4 track
while the big guy came in with fear in his eyes,
4 times, i told him it was cool, i wasn't going to tell anyone

sat up all night, eyeing a nearby chair
ready grab and swing it

i had a dream about a girl locked in a stairwell,
a room full of knives,
i had to tie them down,
i had to stop her-
a curtain ruffles above me(Static glitch) and she's all cut up
why can't i control what i see?
why does it control me?

the other day i woke up with sorrowfor memories of lives that never happened
for things i will never remember.
without a memory it doesn't exist.
the memory of a memory is a sorrowa duty paid,
a flower on a grave

i sat in a room full of people remembering
what was taken from them
knowing your not alone makes everything infinity worse
i could see the tears they all held back
just beneath the surface
(anti sexual violence caucus)

a guy I know, Joe,
picked up eight bodies on Saturday
scraped a man's brains of the side walk
it had pine needles in it.
they call it grey matter, but it's really pink
and god it stinks

the stories drift around like the bodies did,
no one wants to turn it over

a fat cat with flys swarming into its mouth
a flattened fat rat, and a decomposing mouse
in the back of the stair well.

sound carries, and they can hear you crying,
go somewhere ells,
GO SOMEWHERE ELLS.

i hate/love people rant

this is an angry stream of consiusness
if you like good spelling and gramer youll love this.

don't take it personally... well actually do.

late night rant...

is this it?

is this life?

is this it?

were all going (runing-walking) in cercils to confim and validate one another.
the hipsters the yuppies the artists the christains the punks

what worthless bullshit.

none opf us break free. none of us are aktually doing anything that maters

christains-- grow up get jobs fall inlove and get maried and fall out of contactat with the world around them go hide in your safe litle corner with your sweet heart and be in love and forget the world and your old friends and doing anthing that actually afects things.

the cool kids-- go to parties and dance and drink and smoke and are so fucking full of shit that i vomiteon this keyboard right now. go in your big cercil form cool place to cool place and complement each other on your hair and outfits thats so cute, lots of cool parties and making out and living for an image, like old movies you are propoganda self sold, and you love it because you validate one another by telling one another how cool you are. and the corprate leaches love you even more as they drink your blood at watering holes and cornerstores. and you think your stiking it to the man by shoping at thiff stors you dumb fucks. wake the fuck up. and think about what your doing to your litle siblings and the kids that see you pushing your image so hard as you pretend not to try.

yuppies--, jesus forgive us we go to sckool and work hard at it and lean learn learn and studie and get jobs in things like computer sience and graphic desigen and interior fucking decorating jesus, we are cogs in a macien that we have exepted,we have exepted that the system is ok and things will sort themselves out and we need to get good jobs and have future. but we forot our child hood ideals about individuality and freedom and equality. and few of us really comprehend the macien that we are such a willing part of.

artists--. oh what fun time to stab at myself, we can wonder deep in dimly lite hallways find a pink room full of the locomotion another room of bunnie rabit men, and turn it over inside out and say... hey this means something. and sertanly it does. but no lessdo we run in circls chasing our metophoric tales. i can contemplate my naval all day long, but no nnurishment will it give.i make art and he makes art and she makes art and i tell him its good and he tells her its good and she tells me its goodand we are no difrent from the cool kids with hair and clothes circular affermation, but we think we're better and all the wile we're putting them down as we do the same damn thing... none of us are breaking out of this

punks--. you beutifull people, is the cose lost or have we for gotten what it was... for the most part arnt we just alitle dit of all of the above.image, dependancy, music, art, snobery. salvation is a skateboard. rebelion is image. rebel in a formulated fation. drink, smoke, fuck, and fight, whose the narliest, who is craziest, whose got the biggest leggend. withoureally thinking about what real rebellion could be if rebls idalised things like responibility, itegrity, work ethic, productiongiving. sharing. teaching. loving. what could it be like... can you imagine...

lets get over ourselves

lets look at the big picture

lets stop talking shit

lets start doing shit

who am i kidding.

rediscoverd

well i just rediscoverd this old site and had quite the trip reading my old poetry, I'm glad I found it, brings back alot of memorys. poetry has always beem that for me, a way to remember, like keeping a journal in code that only i understand.

i just went sleep walking, it's a nice damp night. I like walking, without particularly thinking of anything, just being, feeling the city sleep. 3:35am