experiment 10

Jeremy was a wellmannered man. A man of taste and of a calibur that few could match. He dressed in the most stately fashion of the day, with dark brown eyes that glistened and shown from beneath a brilliant red sequin cap, pulled low. He wore a shirt of yellow, though not too bright of yellow, and tucked this shirt into black trousers that were pressed and creased to decrease the slightest chance of inperfection. His belt and boots were a dark brown, shiny snakeskin licked with orange. This was Jeremy at the height of the game he was playing. The game was simply perfection. And he was a accomplished and time tested master.

Jeremy is established.

A man walks into a bar, choosing a corner booth that he moves to and takes. He sits alone. The barmaid sees him and comes over.
"What will you be having?"
The man stares at the ceiling in some deep contemplation before replying.
"Oh, I dunno. Let's have a milk and gin."
The barmaid doesn't know what to do. This is the slightest moment of panic. She's been trained in the trade, however, and simply says:
"Ok."
The man raises an eyebrow as she walks off. This is unusual for the man as well. He was fishing for conversation, fishing for women, fishing for something. He caught nothing. This really isn't too unusual he decides, as he shrugs and lights a cigarette. He smokes too much and hates milk.
Meanwhile, a bartender excuses himself to the bathroom to jerk off in the man's drink. The bartender is fishing too. He hopes to come off cool and crazy to the barmaid, with whom he greatly wishes to engage in intercourse. He hopes that this clever interpretation of milk will lure her to such an end. That's the only reason he does it. He has grossly misinterpreted her, but will not learn of his misstep until much later. Though he is convinced nine out of ten women would bed down with him instantly at such a show of manhood.

Man is made.

Then there is tornado ripping through civilization like a Mongol horde or a tornado. It descends from the heavens and finds its soulmate in the earth and destroys trailer park after trailer park, ripping and ripping, throwing and throwing, whirling, whirling, whirling. It finds beauty in destruction and life in desolation. It searches for meaning just like everything else, until it finds it and/or dies.

The tornado makes man and man becomes Jeremy.

experiment 9

You are a curtain. Scarlet and hanging, dirty and beautiful. A curtain has no remorse. A curtain, a shield, my aegis, my dream. A curtain, my killer, my loss, my lacking, my life.

There's three terra cotta men that stand guard on the frontdoor step. There is one too many. Two have to stand to the left while only one stands to the right. These guards of mine are always out of place; their numbers would have it no other way. You carry no weapons.

You are a terrible guard. You stand naked in the rain and afterwards, the dust clings to you. You are the third guard, the lost guard, the guard without place, mission, or agency. It is something oh so terrible to be the third. Your brothers stand in perfect harmony with their place, and you must wander; the places are taken. The stations are filled.

You have carved a place for yourself, temporary, unrecognized by your peers. You wander only so much to stand exactly, right there exactly, where you never left. You stare listlessly and always to the right. You're a terrible guard, a worthless sentinel, a timeless staring eye. You watch forever and see nothing. Nothing but a curtain, descending from the sky to obscure, to cover, to fold over and upon. Scarlet and hanging from vaulted skies. A curtain like any other, its purpose the same.

What wonderous and amazing things happen beyond your veil, you can only dream. And dream you do, though dreams are deadly for a guard of serious merit and stature. No, you're barely a guard at all. You stare and dream of scarlet fabric. Of textiles unsung, of threads weaving themselves into more perfect selves. Into communities of perfection.

You care nothing for your brother beside you.

You greet the day and say,
"We'll live forever,
and move together,
like stars in the sky.

We'll sing together,
and dance forever,
like flames licking licking licking."

Your brothers are guards. They hate you. You sing and they do not. They do not notice the curtain. The curtain is only yours.

experiment 8

collected! doomsday devices, lol. explosions of joy.
will it make father sad?

we can only hope it won't
he can be an angry man.

hurling lightning is so cliche now days.
fear of judgement is worse than judgement

___


so we wait, shackled to our bodies
and when we escape, father waits

and there he sits, a throne like a podium
laughs at our meager souls

we explain in refrain
"we lost our bodies lord. you should of seem them"

he laughs at our meager souls.
laughs until he rolls. lmao he rolls.

upon this matter, the masses mutter
lmao? is all they muster

except for some,
the chosen ones

who only smile at their father
with teeth not lighter and eyegleam brighter

and they roll too, lmao
their father has made a funny.

on this accord,
their just reward
wings of white and gold and blue

and thus the father beat the masses
we the chaff did rise with laughter


lol! without, disaster.

experiment 7

deal. i'll eat the pickles, you eat the bread. together we'll vomit sandwiches.

tuna please. you're not going to throw up again are you?

no.

alright. here you go. one tunafish supersuprise with pretty mayo.

ok.

thanks.

pickles. now.

experiment 6

satan has a trident of silver purple glee.
he goes around and stabs shit.

it all bleeds, but satan doesnt care.
he is satan.

more than a name, a meaning.
merely a meaning maybe.

poor satan must stab shit.
its his name.

break your trident sweet fallen godling.
and swear no more.

because the loss of something known
is a sight of something new.

learn from plastic and plastic and plastic
elastic trident superstar.

spare us your bullshit em
brace what you werent

god only judges
the weak