direct deposit

a man walked around for days. his head was like an aquarium full of violence, but mostly indecision. the water a simply subtle grey. the denizens of his aquatic mind were creatures designed for destruction the all, chiten blades extended from every possible surface. they roamed, they fought.

his days took him to all sorts of people. he met a new one every not so often, and immediatly drained them for all they were worth. to him, casual aquaintances were of no use. he loved like a stripmine.

he took everything he could, feeding the predators in his head. not that it was what he wanted, it was just an apparatus of his world, the way things worked. he wished to stop it, but could not.

the women didnt see it much differently. a terrible process. the wise evaded, the unlucky fell victim. stripped of their love for him. that was all he was taking. the demands, oh those incessant demands. and the life they must lead after, or without.

but the man was forced to observe the process, watching the destruction of himself, unable to stop it. the water churned and churned, vicious, vicious beasts. they would not be sated. they refused to offer the answers to the questions he proposed, this mind of his. the words didn't come, the man didn't speak, the world tumbled by, and he was lost.

so began the war to win himself. a trip to the department store furnished all he would need: a hammer. the end came swiftly. the glass cracked around the fracture, immediatly came the water, rushing into the air and forever down, down, down. as the water rushed, the glass gave way, piece by piece, jagged and sharp, and joined its late prisoner in the descent. the water was gone, except for a few drops, and there were no fish. the man dropped the hammer to the ground. disbelief. there was no process, there was only him. he was the process, he was the destruction. he loved like a stripmine.

ive acheived an ambililent drunk. one that cannot be surpassed.

unfortunatly, i spent the best couple hours of my life watching mtv cribs, where upon i had to ask, ok so you have an enormous house, you don't have to cook for yourself, you have nice cars with fucking umbrellas that pop out of the doors but are you happy?

i dont see how money equates happiness, afterall, my own life goal would be to sit and think for 50 more years, until I die, writing down everything I can for the benefit of someone. anyone really. is that a unique thought? I dont know, everyone is a communist when they're 20, so i don't really see the correlation to genius.

I went to work today, soon my hands will be iron and my skin bronze, but that won't make me happy. I have to be up in 9 hours, after i recuperate from all this rum, and i'll go to work, making me unhappy. to thrive on what you do, that would be the best. but I have nothing that amounts to ambition. I dont want to make money, because i see money as just a avenue to furthering what I do now. Which is nothing. The perfect solace, to sit and wonder, how many have lost the feat to be amazed, destroyed by too many hours of labor. i guess perfect stillness is my point in life, and that seems childish. perfect thought, unmarred by the stupidity of time. goals like these are unattainable. I want to spent all my time thinking of goals that are unachievable.

so, I've thought as much and now I dunno what to do. I've faced pure blind hedonism. I must do what makes me happy.

money - its nothing short of amazing how much time people spend worrying about worrying. if this sentence bothers you and seems completely asinine, i urge you to continue on your path. it is a noble one, the pursuit of money, but not for me.

love - obscure, obscene. loving girls to death will kill you. maybe this is my goal? i love loving girls to death. doom.

god - i've forsaken you, and I think the bible is bullshit. Only religions clear of any definitive text hold any merit. i was a buddhist once, but forgot soon. theres nothing here for me.

death - death is everyone's goal, but its opposed to lying around doing nothing forever. eventually, you die. death is my enemy. fuck death.

the breakdown of everything, lacking. what am i to do?

loooooooooooooool!

to create that moment, above all else, leaps and bounds, that is kinda the goal isn't it? we don't know the moment or how it could feel, slightly less than usual, more than anything. i've trapped an insect between two bottle caps, smelling like beer and sex, he's so fucked. the last light seen, creeping through jagged chevrons of his metal coffin. i feel like saying a prayer, but i cannot release him. its what must be done, to ensure my dominance. to assert it. to win my fate. the choice was already made and i cant change it now. i chose to let him die in this makeshift hourglass. nay, i demanded his death, fuel for my own dying.
---
the carcass remains. i tossed him out on the desk with not so much as a toll for his boatride. i find myself musing as to how skilled of craftsmen or slick of speaker my kill was. could he find his way, tossing away instinct to build some sea worthy vessel. i doubt it, he wasnt much of a thinker. but I never asked him any questions except one, "do you deserve to live?" his answer still echoes on my desk.
---
today, i met a man. he introduced himself as howard. a dead name, i thought. some social function, with many equals, scattered about in non rhyming shapes over a cityscape asleep. howard pressed the function, he embodied it. the usual introductions and something about war. my ears found the violence amusing, sitting here with howard, we were so removed we shouldnt of said anything at all. persisted. howard. again and again, the questions and the inane answers, it all fell short of entertainment, not to howards credit. i realized why howard was here. a minor trivialance of three nights prior, death had come knocking, covered in shadow, a scythe of astonishing ennui. there in that filthy dredge of a more social society, i had found death. i was shocked. vomited everywhere. the silence never started.
---
i woke. i thrashed, the echo of thin plastic, liquid. immediatly i felt like i was drowning in carpet, the ground was covered with it. i needed air. i looked around only to see a shattered lampshade, bits of broken glass, a light snow. i remembered death. they scattered me out on the desk.

zwei

i couldn't sleep in a blanket of glass. i couldn't read the lines that were written to glass like holes in the ground. i can't read those fucking things either. plus, they're dangerous as all hell, and fuck the other guy, i'm not going first. not into a god damned hole. so i can't read what you've written, scribbled on dice and rolled, unlucky us, masters of circustry. all kinds of colors too. nothing worth noting. 33 ways to record a flash of light and we've found this one and agreed it was the best. we held a vote, it was elected the finest. the most brilliant and simple. simple thoughts. simple decision. but soon we realized that the best wasn't good enough. the light disappeared, no remorse or return, gone. our records revealed it had been there, but it wasn't there now. perplexed, we could only shake our heads. we were lost and it was lost with us.

spring time, yay

do i please thee, sister of death?
do my eyes carry that gleam that has been robbed
stolen and dead.

do i caress the same living that brought about the nothing that we've seen.

does it matter enough to stand in the spring and be washed clean?
does the spring matter at all?

... is there a spring?

collected, we will be crushed neath iceland timbers
we cannot hold them back, they've been cut too soon
we're watching the tree fall upon our standing.
nothing can stop it now, nothing will hold it.

to dive for you, to save you.
snapped legs. theres no time.
to live, you must die
or stop the tree.
i don't know. you can't.

fucking tree. live the blade, become the ice, shatter the bone, correct the soul, live the life to die the death. stop the words. heal the ears. doom the mark. fall the drive. collect your things. this is war.

old shit vol 1

I found this in a manilla envelope, packed away with old stuff. A crumbled heap of papers, scribbled on in black ink. I guess I wrote it years ago now. Its not good, but I have to preserve it for posterity. I guess that's the reason. High school, i salute you.

sl-ow motion sacrifice, gods of drama

the cry of anguish barely heard,
crushed neath noise and lured,
out to die again in bloody fields of ivory.

I tryed and i tryed twice
to stop what was becoming.
I tryed and I tryed thrice
to stop what you'd become.

Shook off like steam in rain,
destroyed to nothing, I remain.
And you watched the last disappear,
hoping for something to exist again.

nothing can exist now,
the ground is cracked and weak.
nothing will ever exist again.
weak again, my friend?

i tryed affection, to no avail.
ruinious struggle was all I found.
Lost and withered now,
shameful
distraught
wishing to bend back time and continue the
struggle.
to no avail.

Like warriors of the wind,
we rode off to battle, searching for enemies non-existing.
And we charged their flank with vicious fervor,
but found them non-resisting.

So we'd lost but we'd won,
and by the setting sun,
We watched the grass grow greener
as the blood ran cleaner.

so we'd trampled them over
and set their corpses to fire?
WE CALLED THEM FOOLS TO OPPOSE US
(but we found them non-resisting)

existing is the great drama
lost are we to its purpose.
i found it once and all along the walls
we continued that circus.

maybe the walls would crumble like ash,
crumble like leaves and dirt.
All things crumble, crumble like ash.
crumble like leaves and dirt.

So i thought, you thought not.
the walls held firm and steady.

walls must crumble on their own.
i thought they would fall by will alone.

but if they fell,
we couldn't be ready.

frustrated i attacked the wall
with fire and flame and ash.
stymied, i fell back,
burned black and charred.

I ALMOST HAD IT! i thought i didn't.
the wall was firm, still undented.
But wait! I had it! the smoke had cleared,
and revealed a passage agape and clear.

i stepped through to find you,
waiting,
arms outstretched and warm.

it was then i recalled all of the wrongs
that had been committed,
romantic attrocities gone unpunished
while we submitted ourselves to...

Forgetting this instantly in your eye,
i walked into your embrace.
I was happy. Happy enough.
Then this...

blind.
shameful wretched man.
blind.
stumbling.
blind still.

not likely.
she was bored.
wind warriors can have no wars.
nothing fights anymore.

the war was over, the men returned to their stead.
But what when their stead was the war now gone to sleep?

warriors with no enemies turn upon themselves.
and i watched myself
from inside myself
turn upon itself.

so what then weary? no longer content.
so who then Leary? no longer content.

searching for a drink to sate my thirst for combat.
I came upon a tune with sung of my caveat.

long i listened,
and thought i heard,
what was being sung and said.

but foolish ears will believe anything
that's being sung and said.

I almost lost! it would be welcome,
to greet death at last.
but drawn i did, drawn to boredom
drawn on and on and on.

combat and conflict, though horrible things,
retain their luster still.
and fighting on through glorious days
is all i wish for now.

swords to plowshares? a fools gambit.
we'd starve than die to nothing.
So we thought, we thought long.
but we didn't die to nothing.

nothing would of been better in fact.
we died of something else.
or perhaps we were reborn again
to drink from the ivory chalice.

and we rose from so called death
but dropped to our knees and wept.
the ground was soft, the air was clear.
the war had come and left.

once again i was free.
freedom.
I grabbed my pole, i brought my lures,
and took a walk into the past.

the past was heavy, it weighed too much.
I struggled, stumbled and fell.
But in that blessed water's reflection,
I saw that all was well.

your face shown out,
framed in waves
with locks of doubled greenery displayed.

A reflection? All it took?
The facade crumbled quickly.
The reason came back and crushed the levy
that had leveled the odds so neatly.

floods of the old began again
and nothing would stop it this time.
The war was over, but had been lost.
no excuses this time.

i could of drowned, and should of drowned,
but drowning wasn't for me.
I dropped to the bottom of that flooded plain
in quiet reverie.

All was silent, all was still.
these waters knew no wars.
everything here fought against nothing,
that was all they lived for.

the reverie continued, I stayed for years,
my mind had lost its body.
I wandered far and wide for many tides
and learned much from what was taught to me.

but all i learned was for naught.
the seas hold horrible thoughts
and soon i knew all the truths
of the deepest darkest blue, for naught.

there lay a rose, crushed neath ocean depth,
crumbled and ugly it lay.
there lay a rose, crushed neath ocean depth.
it had been cast away.

i looked near, only to see
the rose had once been a part of me.
I'd cast it off in my epic struggle,
and forgot it existed eventually.

And i looked around my hollow feet
and gazed upon my standing.
thousands on thousands of crushed and ugly fates
were scattered about the landing.



fin