I want to take a bath, in last nights beers, the water would be luke warm, and bitter.

my sensation has lost its craving, i've mis quoted the raven.

things got ugly at the zoo while i was there...there was a calm before the storm...the lions looked dis-interested but i'd assume they always do, even as they are pulling your limbs apart with their teeth. i imagine they have a look of dis-content all across their face.

my harmonica has been chewed by a dog with no sense of tune, he looks at me sometimes as if he wishes i could be someone else...i agree with that look...

a bun that is one day old is cheaper than one that just came out of the oven and placed into a basket on a piece of cloth...the butter on that day old bun won't melt so smoothly...you just don't get that same smell, from that day old one...each day that comes and goes...my worth...is worse...

if your playing cards with me...don't stare me in the eyes...don't lock your gaze...i'll call that every time... even if i'm sure your sitting on kings...and there is a king on the board... i take caution and throw it to the wind...i have nothing to lose....i cashed my chips a long time ago...

the exchange rate was piss poor...

it's better to just accept your fate....the same song plays at the end for all of us...and the wishes we made along the way...get lost on those deaf ears, that were ignoring our lips the whole time.

does it matter...does one side of the bread burn quicker then the other. Rain has hit my window for the last 20 minutes in a patter that i could have sworn was scripted, but who could have written this kind of symphony....I am missing question marks....through out.

The last time i listened to someone speak....for longer than 6 minutes, with out tuning out, i think i was twelve....I think it might have been my hockey coach...

my memory is so shit these days....from all the tuning out.

i sang a song to a lady at a bar... she knew every word...before i said it...she knew what i was going to say...before it was said....this was not a popular song...i think she was an angel...or the closest thing that this world has to offer.

a few nights...a few days....some hours. I think about this world with out me taking up the space

i do...the space is not much, but it still takes up, i create waste. I ask for none of it...i picture it, it still turns...the papers still get delivered, the clocks punched....the over paid coffees....drunk.

my aunt once told me when i was small...'you always make people laugh'

i listened to a man laugh to himself on the street car for till i could not listen any more...no one was with in 20 feet of him. He laughed and laughed and laughed....i had nothing to do with that.....i believe even as a kid...it was kind of the same....

Walking behind a couple of men who are moving fuckingly (not a word... i don't care... i like the way it sounds) slow.

They have no sense of their surroundings they are not holding hands...but they should be. I have a case of beer in my hand that i have yet to find a comfortable way of holding, it currently is cutting the circulation off the tips of my fingers.

These men are blocking the clearing way of the side walk, i can not pass them on either side. They are leaving me in limbo, doing a stupid dance from side to side behind them hoping a opening will appear.

They both keep looking in the windows of the shops they pass by. They make comments.

"I bought all my futons for all my rooms in there" one says.

This statement almost pushes me over the edge. I hate it to the core. I hate the way he held on to the word ALL and let the L's drag on for way longer than need be. Worse than that, i can envision this man's apartment with each room another fucking futon that had a spread or cover that matched whatever the fucking motif he was trying to convey...

why he needs more than one futon...why he will not just get a fucking real bed...even if this was the case, or the truth in his life...why the fuck he feels the need to tell another human being, to share this trivial of all trivial facts is beyond my form of conception...

my fingers throb, and i feel the case shifting.

I squeeze to the right of them where i think i see a space.

I am pushed into a sandwich board that has cartoon figures of fish smiling and prices beside the figures and some another bullshit of maki or nori...which i could give a fuck about.

The one man turns around and looks back at me as the sandwich board slams to the ground.

"We're we in your way?" he looks at me with these eyes that i'd love to scoop out with those spoons that are used for digging out grapefruit slices...

"You both should fuck off and die..." and as i say this the case slips from my hand and crashes to the ground, i can hear at least three separate bottles in the case break...

"You asshole!" says the other guy, and they both turn and keep walking in the direction they were headed...they are not stopping to look in the windows any more, and I believe their conversation has ceased, at least for the time they are in my ear shot.

I watch them walk further down the road, my heart racing in my chest...these two were the 7th and 8th people i had wished dead...today.

Music comes from above my room, this dog i barely know sleeps in my bed he has gained control. Punctuation does my head in i want to not use it but others will judge my intelligence i'm judged every day .,; " ?!

I have gathered all these things, but i hate cleaning up after them...the dust comes back the second i wipe it away. I sometimes watch it form on everything, i spend half hours just watching it form from the particles i have just got rid of, it turns my stomach.

I invite people over, and regret it right away. I cant look at their faces. I have nothing to say. I'll make things up. Say what i think they want to hear. I instantly question why they are here, what it is they seek by keeping me company...i'm bored with my self from way back...

There are lies in our eyes.

Untitled 3

I miss you...like how the soap suds stick to the wall in my shower in little groups...

Actually...that makes no sense...

Who are you? maybe if i knew that better...i'd have more luck describing the 'missing of you'...

keep in mind...i'm not too sure who i am...

Then again...maybe that's for the best...

Sometimes.

(sometimes) i wonder if the future ever looks back at the past and laughs ?

but then i think...

what a silly thing to wonder...

Perfect Pasta.

How perfect is my pasta, as it sticks to the pot?

make me yearn for a trip to the moon and to be able to wear a lime green track suit...or to kiss the next person i see...

let me rewind time or pause a moment...let me ask you about your shoes...

let the walls cave in...

lets decide never to look behind our backs as we walk down the street no matter how loud the sound is...

punch me in the face...and break my nose...

reach for a star from the tip of your toes...

sit alone...

hunt rats...search them out...be-friend them...let them guide you in their ways...through the sewers...

puke in a bag...and send it to my house with a bow and a card...and write thanks for understanding...

miss me...when your with me...and forget me when i'm away...

drive a steak through my good leg...and laugh as i hobble away...

looking so...weak...

Untitled 4

never tell me you understand...and after your dead...i promise i wont go through your stuff.

Crab Carriage.

Your socks keep my head level and as my eyes watch them flopping around in the dryer i'm reminded of the time you ate a whole lot of mushrooms and found a baby carriage in the middle of the road and then when you looked inside sitting in neatly peaceful in the centre of the carriage was a crab and you looked at it and after a while of silence you said 'crab carriage' and we went back to your apartment and fucked on the mattress that always smelt like kraft dinner cheese no matter how far away you kept your nose from it and when i was on top at one point you started to hum the tune from 'threes company' and if that wasn't enough you started saying 'oh furly, oh furly' and i kept my eyes shut tight the whole time and thought of chrissy.

Untitled 5.

beachside through the crashing waves and the salty smells and a sandy itch that never goes away.

Hard boiled.

i'm hard boiled and goo filled and its pouring from the inside out and soaking my skin within my shell that is losing its strength and what else is weakening as i sleep ?

Q

uestion me silently, poke fun at my clothes behind my back, turn all my friends against me with lies, force feed me anxiety with every drink you buy for me...tell me the things i cant control you can take care of then forget these things half a second later...laugh when you have no clue what i'm saying, cry when you think i'm not giving you enough attention, act brave even though your shitless, make the least of every moment by never truly giving any of your self to any moment, when its pitch dark and you know i cant see ask me to guess how many fingers your holding up and no matter what i guess tell me i'm wrong, keep me around because you can't stand to be alone, and keep hoping things will change for you...while i try to fall asleep.

so here is some more of that old writing...keep in mind...this was at a time in my life...when i was not getting much sleep...that does not make this writing bad...just a statement of my mind space...

System

most of the faces that i see

stare back blankly...

with hollow eyes...

that long to sparkle...

and maybe its just me

(most likely it is)

but i think...we've all seen the end...

and are wandering around in a book we've already read...

a movie we've seen a thousand times...

a rerun of a television show we never really liked...

a family reunion ///

and i'm cracking from the inside out with not much more to say...

nobody really around to listen, anyway.

a bland taste in my mouth that won't go away...

and these... hollow eyes...looking around...un-focused...

Found some old writing i did...long time ago...ill post some..

Perched...

Im perched...and burped...and i tasted fear...

and it may sound weird...

but what doesn't these days...

my eyes see grey...

and your never the same...

like flipping a coin...in a place with no time or space...

and the corner i've painted...

it's a fine shade of red...

and i always feel late...but still haven't figured out where i'm supposed to go...

and if i get there...

who knows...if that place...

will be...

worth the wait...

Untitled.

keep looking at me...

and maybe...after time...

ill turn into...

what you see...

The Bomb.

shortly after the bomb went off, there was a peaceful calm...and the people who survived looked around for others...and when they found one...they asked

"So...what...now?"

and the sat down...and thought back of the time before the bomb...when everything seemed so fast, and tomorrow was just a series of things written frantically on a 'to do' list...

and there was a stink in the air...of a barbecue gone bad...

Untitled 2.

Lose your skin...and wrap your veins around my waist.

Lets suffocate our air ways until we're blue in the face.

Lets kiss with cold lips...

Send a chill through my spine...and make it mine...and within time...our lips may thaw but you, my chilled little tender loin you will be my blood line...your coldness a reminder of something that should be there...