igors piece

the sight of my own breath has been associated with mortality and linked to disparity for longer than i can remember. the conscious effort given. well-being consultants never seem to fully accept their own misfortunes. blaming themselves on science and error escaping flashbacks. oh its quite selective in the manner approaching their gauche decisions. guilt plays its part in the science of man. humans are only fully restored to righteousness if they die before they've been around long enough to become self aware. mortality. challenges of breathing exercises becoming death clocks.

ah distraction. the original grey glaze replacement therapy. the cold snapped through every layer and bit of flesh i owned. the biting temperature gnawed through my spirit right into my nervous system. its defeating. absolutes in any direction were usually disregarded beyond all reasonable doubt, for probability must see its way in. no. not in the instant where i was sulking in pain down the scaffolding parallel and slammed up to the port side deck. the ship must have been a quarter mile long but in this fog it was indeterminable. the mandible of the this ice haze has been thorough in its process of leveling us humanoid bacteria.

struggling to keep a steady foot on frozen planks i followed the only probably path for any other cognitive being to have taken. likely it seemed to me that any spit of human remains were already recycled under further mandible guided obliteration. chances however, are what they are and i used whatever percentage of existence i still owned to to physically move a sick mind into a future of wellness. affirmation beats against self degradation. i never really believed that.

i see life as a get in/get out scenario. not in the manner of doing it in haste but to always remember that you got in and at some point you're definitely going to have to get out. choices are really the fundamental realization of freedom. on your deathbed you have the choice to feel how you want about it. i am choosing to acknowledge the likelihood of death but carry out my will regardless. i am getting on this ship.

range of motion

with simplistic weapons we guess the range of motion to be limited with equations based purely on denied reason. ive followed footsteps but id rather digress into a manner much less than the hollow pages of your worlds most directly stated graceful ages.
 

youth. it happens once.
 

truth. let it belong.

victims of aging

only five more. five down. give or a take a life. its unused and my tongue is under appreciated. i found my way home. they way you look in two dimensions is impeccable. the third dimension being the only one left we've yet to cross. perhaps a fourth will present itself in due time. in a manner of speaking i tend to sing. my favorite style of singing is talking really fast. jargon.

a cousin once told me that i should make up reasons to believe if i was unable to find any. that never did work out in the end. i began to elaborate in depth and detail that wasn't there after all. i found a reason to believe. samesunsamemoon sameseasamestars

xx xy




falling asleep to waking children and unspoken victims of aging.  perhaps even lately your thoughts are molded for shaping and constructed for breaking. your tongues names is 'save me'. my dumb brain is a shade tree. providing scripture for those not near me. ive used more service station napkins than ive been afforded. i roll out of bed without even faking. motivation is creeping but staying. stuck in flats with no doors holding. the window locks have gone without saying.

blood eaters

12/7/2008

cold. little words to mean big things. i sat in a wooden chair on the balcony discussing to myself the theory of unending life. "what would you accomplish if you had unlimited time?" damn cold. i feel as if im being bitten by a thousands mosquitoes with teeth. the kids in this neighborhood never sleep. if i had half a mind, id tell them to the shut the fuck up. But they dont bother me. Maybe i pretend they do just to have something to occupy my mind. i used to be like them, supposing the world will never change. i light a cigarette and curse myself for not having control, for who can stop a train with their lungs? i sat still unfed waiting for any disease to force me into submission. my youth holds me like a candle stick. lit and burning. "if i have to move then i have to die." i often give myself unrealistic ultimatums. anything i can do to relieve reality from my mind. the clock read 15 past 11, just enough time to see if paul can assist my desire of the flesh. i dont like going over there past midnight. its not thats he sleeping, i just never know what to expect in the early hours of the morning from him. the one time i did stop by at midnight, no one answered. 20 minutes later he comes running into my flat, bleeding, screaming something about how he never do it again. i never bothered going into too much detail with him, seems as if theres no real substance there anyways. sometimes hes just strung out and theres music blasting through my ceiling until 7. i dont really mind, sleep is something i do during the day when theres no one to talk to. one double knock and of course, "hey paul, you here?" i never really know what hes doing before i come over but its always takes at least 4 minutes before he gets to the door. "hey, hey, glad you came over man, i uh, got something i gotta show you," he let out in one breath. the sheer smell of his place had me thinking thai food that murdered a burrito. I half expected him to offer me a piece of deer meat, that wouldve made sense. i make it to the living room, which is really just the space between his bed and his kitchen. "you ever eat blood?" he smirked. i waited for a moment thinking of the best response. paul had always been quick to have a clever quip. "yeah but she asked me stop," i said with grin. he smiled with long pause behind his eyes, "i bet she did," he replied, "i bet she left a stain on your heart." i sat in the only chair in the room, which happened to be the one i threw in the dumpster 3 weeks ago. he stumbled around, back and forth between the kitchen and the bathroom, thinking to himself. i broke the ice, "do you ever eat blood?" the look on his face turned from being paranoid to completely spun. "here-" he jolted, "eat this and call me tomorrow." truthfully i would take whatever paul gave me, i trusted him without even knowing his last name. Still, a voice inside me told me i should at least prepare myself for it, with information. "well what the fuck is it man?" i asked with a sincere tone. "Blood," he said, "blood opium." i smiled with a sigh of relief and made my way for the door. I didn't give a fuck about the name, it couldve actually been made with blood for all i care. I felt his eyes burning into the back of my head as i opened the door. "you should lock your door behind me," i suggested, "never know how many assholes could be attracted by the scent of a thai food massacre." i think i must talk too fast. he stared looking confused for at least 30 seconds before saying, "let them come." "bold," i said to him, "matter of fact, sounds like a death wish." At that moment i recalled being 8 years old and already knowing, i was going to ditch my family and become everything they wished i wouldnt. I thought i was ready to die then and i think im ready to die now, but i know the moment the guns at my head, i'll think of something id rather do. i didn't bother explaining this to him, too much of a task for me. how could i begin to tell anyone that as a child i knew i would ruin my life and i never even tried to stop it. Back in my room, i pour three fingers out of the remains of two rye bottles. I sat holding the ball of opium to the light, like a rare gem. I thought to myself, "blood thirsty bastards." i swallowed that fucker whole and called a cab, "do you take post-dated checks?"

my keys

11/29/2008

painfully wrecked with stained glass eyes of heartache on my shoulder sliding down to my hand on a whiskey glass. determined to never find a way for regrets to follow a pill. all around me i could have convinced anyone i wasn't misplaced and uninformed at first receiving tugs on my jacket and willing to understand the extremely casually dressed pink skinned man asking with little tact, "my keys, they were here where are they?". relinquished of my duty for even a split second when he paused this burden was lifted and destroyed. "your keys? yes, your keys." i reputed, "forgive me now, a moment later and i would asked you who i shot, but whos kidding who, you're on a mission, yes? well i seem to know no nothing of your origins other than you and your keys are tangled about in a game of obsession and lies." walking backwards i feel around for the ledge to act as a sober leg. not sure why i had to feel obligated, shit the man lost his life, no, just the key to it.

in a moment like lighting a sheriff runs down the door, "where is it!" of course i've seen this before, no i was there, i remember it was a big tv. well who would've guessed i could run like i can smoke, of course, fate, what a horrible invention. "i said where the fuck is it?" the cop bolstered his chest. i snap my fingers, whoops, nervous habit, well at least foresight of the future will render useless. uneasy, i stepped out, "where is what sir, and how i can i find it for you."

seeing as i spoke, the man searching for the keys now 40 steps away and 25 steps from the door. the step count is a basic process involving the awareness of where you and where you are going, my father told me being aware means be prepared. yet i still failed math. could have given preparation another go, but a mold grows to it desirable deteriorated state just like the life of a person on a quest that doesnt exist, but that doesnt matter if you think it does. staring down the barrel of a glock 17, all i can think of is whether on a day to day basis if i see more of what i like or more what what i dont. tough decision, with a lot riding on it.

careless could be synonymous with witless or reckless but when asked what i have to live for and why i am still alive i can only say, "i have not found such a thing, should such a thing exist and i find it, i will have a response. for now, i care not. actualization of knowing how fragile life is like being able to choose at anytime to live or die. the ability is yours." in a second ive hit the floor wondering who lost their cuff link somewhere near my back and my face. with a hand to block the flourescent obstruction, the sheriff walks quickly over me towards the back door. at first i was realized i wasnt going to jail i commented on his shoes to the man next to me, "bulletproof?" no comment he steered back into my eyes locking me on and could even begin to ask him why he had the matrix code lettering tattooed over his entire body... and why it was glowing... and revolving on his skin as if it was a monitor. "snap out of it," i thought, "its not like that movie was real, just another abstract version of the known truth, with a hollywood twist."

rising to my feet i find the once frantic room regaining a sense of decent, non-arbitrary, non-toxic, brain shaping fun. could have talked my way through jail but it didn't work at the baltic room, i cant be him like any other. fumes. its thick. they find a way to get me on my back. with a last grey light i see an archway on fire. "prepared i am not," i sighed, "if i was i would've packed a lunch." every nameless face i  could get a glance of stared at my feet, unanimously saying, "death did us part." all went black as if to not be, until i felt the cold release of concrete on my skin. my face pressed against oil stains and cigarette ash, my legs in my car. the car had been running in the garage for at least an hour, giving me ample time to have not remembered existing at all.