Enjoy it.

Look,
I know that I worry too much,
but I had lost my father
in the mire,
and the cancer had sunk down deep,
now playing new games,
in the coming seasons.
What was I supposed to do?

I don't sleep much,
and yet I still see light,
sullen beauty,
in the street,
leaning on a lamppost,
slurring mechanics in the City
but getting dirty down
at closing time.

Freaks fucking,
getting bad habits,
cuming and dicking around,
eating and laughing
late into the darkness.

You are glorious,
sweat and skin.
Tis enough self-loathing,
you give light to the people
around you,
don't you see that
through your gin and tonic?
Your sad eyes let me in
on your secrets
honey,
I'm not blind,
not yet.

I have fierce wrath welling
up inside as I witness
daily the unneeded soul-killing,
hatred and violence spreads.

Baby, life is hard,
I know the pain
you suffer.
I've loved and lost,
was used and abused,
indeed given against my will,
and taken away from hope altogether.
These visions are
ticking clocks,
candles flickering
perception,
we enter as always,
through the looking glass.

Relish in the
utmost pleasure.
Forget your troubles
through soft touches,
sensual slumber,
desire and mixed rhetoric,
slurring of our words,
love or lust or whatever,
psychoanalysis,
cialis,
architects of the underground.

Phantoms breathe deep,
lose you and me,
in the heat,
staggering away,
breathe quick,
seeking to loose the battle,
give in.
I can take you away,
for a moment,
Enjoy it.

The Energy Monster's Playground

            I suppose I should speak clearly, even if for just a moment. This memoir is at a standstill with so much paraphernalia resting in my hindsight. I replay the nights of coughing depression and thoughts of suicide when I was in sixth grade and my friends were trying on those fashions that split the skies with the times. I slide in and out of melancholia due to the bloody visions, the memories that I can’t place as either mine or someone else’s: the dissociation of a girl just sitting in her room counting down the minutes until the sky falls. I wish there was a happy unending, but I don’t know what the future can see in me to stay up all night and wake me up from my moment of rest by the water tides rising.

            Can we cure the cancer that hunts us down? Staggering and in denial we shake our heads and walk towards the horizon until the sun goes down. Our gaits longer, our eyes wider as we hear the words of the incurable diseases. Mad hatters, we are made from the fires and ices of the new dawn when the witching hours prove themselves worthy of a quiet moment’s meditation and the laser surgeries are found unnecessary.

            I want to change, morph into the energy monster that paces impatiently in my head waiting for the right moment to unleash its power from within: talons sharpening, teeth wide and grinding together. As corporations flood with enemies, as the masses accept the way things are with their skulls distorted and contorted into the mind asylums of the liquor power anti-prophets. I listen to my playlists and channel their inhabitants, the collective consciousness was a like beacon lamppost in the all encompassing and ever thickening night of the astral plane. It seemed as if I dead ended my own identity so as to flirt out through the genders and identities that I found empathy within, and I did love to have the scenes played before me, your actions and the unconscious desires were the themes that I rendered the most attention. I watch bodies tense and shake off their frustrations, interrelations, and try to hide the sadness that seeps through eyes the most when you sit and listen to someone with your eyes open to their possibilities.

            Sneak past the mundane human reactions and beneath this earthen crusty surface, there was a myriad of aesthetics and in the dark regions of the soul there was yet more fuel for the dangerous of our species. The mediums that I come to learn from and exercise those ethereal senses are looked at as the court jesters of our time. Where are our believers and artists that hunt inwards to find and connect with the sprits of the others in the abyss that edges on madness and equilibrium.

            I desire a quantum and religious dissonance, a space to unlock our chains of certain insanity verdicts by our forefathers and the Freudian latex industries of medication and Oedipus. I find these psycho-hyper publications of making anyone that is non-forming out to be a natural disaster to our society totally unnecessary and irreverent. Embracing our oddities, our inconsistencies, our brainwashing banter, we arrive at the core of our destruction: be watchful, for our puppet master is changing into a new sort of machine. 

Cancer Choke and Shamans

Cancer stood and then shouted in every room of my goddamn house. There was no talking him off the ledge, no bargaining for an adult conversation or a quiet discussion of pros and cons: just flax and golden dripping cells that liked to jazz the night away with his headphones on and tantrums ablaze until the thirteenth hour when the elevator seemed stuck and the liquor flows on down the hall and sinks into the carpet, secret requiem and lacrymosa valentines.

Let’s grow toxins and tumors and then build a home here, bring the kids and the grandparents and we will set up horrorshow camps in this darkened space, warped telepathic channels and dissonant esoteric figure heads that just enjoyed the sound of their own babbling voices. The brain was a shuttle bus that was never on time when the earth cancered us all, delivering our bodies to the maker and forever taking me away from my kindred hearts, my nights and mornings forever lost in the fire.

Lust and loss came in the room together holding hands. These two requested to be named together for this number and I can only cater to the faceless ghost that is the language that I have, the words didn’t bother me too much as long as they kept their mouths nailed tight shut like a orchestra conductor on his coffee break.

Incarnate cancer into an embodied angel, I shall wrestle you until the tide comes in and washes the sand off my body and away into the a stream from once I ascended onto this green and bloodied mound, this haunted and landscaped protagonist. Make me sick to my stomach with hallucinations and voices of the dead weights on earth

musing with the lightning bugs that circle the lampposts in the summer. I miss the thicket talkings with the slimy banks and muddied river as it descends into darker waters and the ice hungers to be birthed to the surface again, the distant embryo making lovers sense they are not alone in a war that will tear them and then wear them as protective gear for the undercover insurgents.

My limbs then quake from the turbulence of the storm clouds colliding, the mannequin masked faces tied to strings from heaven seemed to cry and then lapse into an iconic moment of memory loss and seizures that erupt on the planes and folds in my brother’s head. I wanted to shave off my years of living to let you have a few more moments of life time. Blood knocks hard on my brain when you lay up at night, staring at the swirling ceiling that does not forgive easy.

Cancer chokes me with my sleeping hours- mixing in time with the seconds in which my eyes are open to the dreams of my fellow fornicators and fundamentals. Coursing thunder skies above lead me to ponder the death of my sweet sanity and all of her friends lovers over the years of the monkey.

Die fiercely and forever, epitaphs that never encompassed the essence of a broad or narrow idea of a being, mostly a gloved hand holds your own as you watch the casket set into the ground. Time carries us away but does not make things easier than baking bread like my mother

used to do when I was young and confused as I am now and indeed living on lighter fluid and harsh harmonies that drown out the lead actors (causing quite an angry weatherman to predict hazardous conditions in all of the nation-states and decimal caves of the coughing underworld).

An appetite for shamans and pencil lead was not uncommon in this part of my basement, thus I let you have your way for just this once. I will die to resurrect you, the phoenix takes the fall and will not bother to ask you if you mind or what you want or where to meet once all this filthy Freud

century is over. Choice was as variant as the music that wines and dines the base of your neck, your bones weakening to temptation with the night as it is in the flesh, and tourniquet trains slid through the brains of the cancer patients yet to be discovered, yet to be shuddered and sensed out of their minds- alone with me- we shall rock and sit and talk about our next frame of reflection, the light of a candle, the end of a lovely afternoon, and the words of dying men.