fuck politics fuck you fuck starving everyone fuck privilige fuck you fuck it. what do you want from me how to live today, how to know enough to get by. how to care how to open anything at all without wrecking the whole system the uselessness of trying. the slowly incapable. the choice you've made and the ones inescapable. so fuck you and your notions of by rote fuck you and fuck me too, fuck this attempt and fuck the next. fuck caring, fuck knowing that yoiu are critically corcerning yourself with someones elses academic problem fuck it fuck who you are enough times and he'll be with you for ever, same as it is with anyone. fuck me especially always cuz i hate this. i hate trying to live and trying to sleep and trying to die and trying to try. is there a point to to trying anything? probably not, but that's not terribly important now is anything.

boring bored bore... fuck you.

what is your total ignorance concerning utter apathy pervading upper levels of lower conciousness. what is my total incapability with concernicing, why am i so disinterested i am of no use how is unistrested connected? ask yourself if these distinctions convey more than ineveitably distinctions upon levels of distrac6tion maintained by each class.

fuck wive fuck lives fuck this fuck yo fuck up fuck down fuck all around stuck u[p and still it soundds over and over infernally more shallow with each reverberation the conatation drifting from the moment. all told this is retard crazy nutbar screaming at bhimself anger with bleh bleh bleh fuck you.

fuck you and ypour insistence on levels maintained by levels of on the go subscribing to zines all by those in the know. fuck you fuck you twice fuck this fuck trying to be nice fuck off fuck me .

fuck you don't answer anywhere cuz i don't exist somewhere i can peg down and naw none of me exists on the consequences of a dense moronic particle where i used to be.
fuck you and your iunsistence on form fuck you and you advertising dollars spent on message abreviated out of meaning.

eat my edit sdit my truth helpless and indefinite i continue on i hate you indefinite control i hate your lopsided freedomn i hate having to be more than i am just to be. you can't indefinetly. try, try and see, hold it for a moment so the rest of us can be sure that you meant it. pretend at least that you care in the slightest of the slights the betrayal insights are worth more to you than life.

you're asll better thn me, i don't carei'm never gonna stop speaking, you hate me, the more you ignore me the stonger you feel, fuck you fuck your non commital appeal fuck your instead of lifestyle fuck me especially because i can't weven do it anymore because i don't love you, i suck fuck you fuck opfff.

things dissipate, lifes wreck upon incalculable obstacles too infinesimle to claculate fuck it. i am not trying anymore, i is tired and unsequenced unfortunately unhappy and bleh, most of all bleh. i am sorry woprld i have noting to offer you, suck on this massive parasite for a while.

drifting sight to the intangible hatred for self.you cock left you cock right
ending inevitably somethings flight something some right, life continued on take some solace in the fact that life will continue expanding it's influence across time even now organized information penetrate the outer reaches of our solar sytem even now words from this post float off into space as a jumble of meanigless pain prescribed to some other chance as the cure for growth.

hdsb

i wrecked my life every chance i got, why? i don't fuckingn knmow? and i don't know how to stop either. i have driven my self to distraction, literally.

can't focus the mind to make head can't stand the time it takes to describe instead can't believe that you even tried go to bed moron go to bed.

the impossibility of sustaining this recollapse the hatred for the steps which led you here the retracing to the line back anf forth back against time. bleh and the infernal empty head, the careless regret of a junkie insted

i is uncertain as what can be done i feel able but not able to do anything, i is not correct.

i wish

in othrer words i suck shit right now but i don't care.

do not place quadrants around you life you will inevitably evade the constraint and wind up hugely disappointed with yourself.

this is where i fuck off(or die?) fuck you. i am not happy and i'm staying right here, step over me or around me, you do whatever you have to, i am. but is anything you do what you want, and which direction does time run in anyways death.

your skepticism is malplaced and unimportent you are the trials of a silent mind you are the stick tuitiveness of like mind you are nothing and the world has left you behind.

how through a pinhole to see some truth we beg and drool over someone elses life

how to compose a symphony one note at a time how to learn to live and speask in rhyme how to forgive and how to die?

i am nothing in the nothing. writing upon itself. i am empty and need to be filled back up, give me your discarded dreams your malcontents your miscreants.

tired renovations like second hand window frames installed into a fifth hand home.

boredom in the format, contained boxes to be filled according to user specifications.

i need you as much as you need me, let the sweet wash of saturation salt our wounds and heal.

file grievances cyclically. don't forget to edit but make it look like you didn't pull the wool over my eyes i need you to.

say hello to the new millenialist say hello to tommorrw b4 tye day is done say hello to shorcuts say hello to victories b4 the battle is won forget everything you ever construed remmber only in congruence to the image b4 you, truly understand be and evaporated puysh the limits of your psyce gain the stability of distance not from the pain but from the stimulus.

screaming and rethinking and reliving and dying and never living again and the utter truth of the end of pain and the struggle against pretense and object of viewer and observed. and the truth belies the choice that ends you. like em and ;eave em love em and die going listless and tired my life ends slower than yours.

bland reconstructions of what it was like to feel objectived visions of a life they see progressing beneath them and the dissipation the utter dissipation and the hatred for the struggle and the gleam of a silent eye.

silence in the end of your name. patience is a virtue for the insane. empty expanses of limitless drole less than affected. stains on the pavement, less than human meta communicated diseases of the mind propelled forward in time restricted from ever living again. all this in the name the name of progress taken and projected the blame.

i'm eating some stouffers pastaria mac n cheese shit and it should taste like heaven cuz i got the magic sauce baby sriracha hot n spicy mutha fucka but the fucking bottle jizzed all over my bed and it's all like yo, i've just decided to make it look like you LIKE it ruff feel free to hit me. or such. fucking ruin my mac n cheese fucking magic sauce that create the paradise in the first place only to taint it with dreams of sexual malfeasance.

this isn't anythin, anythin you'll remember. this here's two seconds b4 the skip the utter blandness of you general well proportion normalized discontent. sigh and retread softly this time and erase your tact.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

klgvqosuidbvisnvijsnvnwidfhqoiuer'poQEJTOJWBFVIBWTNQIFGFAHFOKJiohfgpqnefigjnqdifjgnipusHFGFNniuhrijnsckvjbJNIJNVKKJBNSN;lkjbcfsjn

lkfm,n hjmxzchjjhxcvxcvzmkzxc

bitch

i hate myself, deal with it.

crap crap crap crap.

or nsaaaaaaaaaaaadd

not good, face eating up energy 90% distraction rate catastrophe to ensue.

useless water goodfer nuthin self fulfilling death march/machine incapable of the most simple poetic thought towards which in expires.

i'm not an easy person to live with i'm not an easy person to love, sometimes i've an easy one to fall in love with everyone sometime has been it all. verse boredom, drunken stop, sad uninspired hurt les hopeful everyday pathetic emty wrung out junkie fart brain.

i miss the certitude i miss being i miss the attitude of the seeing i miss the shooting straight from the hip i miss certainly you have been missed. you wanted to disappear so completely as to leave a hole. no fuzzed out edges no crash course in independence, sheer silence. no echo no rebounding to gauge the depth no responding the years have crept up on you as the tide has swept trace on from dew to the faces kept from you and the tears unwept. i am missing another piece of myself, cut me off cut your telephone cut and run cause the day is done, cut the crap cuz i know you'd won cut me till you can't bleed or run. safty in the lapse of a rhyme, there's no saftey left from here to the end this time. i'll never fill this shit you left was mine but you'd promised to carry through this time. everything about me spits hot and acrid and dry. my spit is white with undissolved issues unresolved risks you don't know how to take. hate and the solid march step, time.

i feel constantly at odds with this situation, none of these places feel like home, i want to sink back into the great wash of printed word sweeping across our bitter landscape, kindling for the traveler, saviour of our hands warmer of the sole.

the sad fact is that none of this can aproximate the level of discontent i am feeling. writing takes practice, aparently, maybe i'm simply excusing again, probably, i don't know what to say only uncontrollable desire to spew meaningless hatred forward, face book is evil.

my email is twitchy95@hotmail.com my pass is nervous1

someone post for me because i'm sick inside and i don't need anything to get out.

bleh i ash

i done

i no fun

i bored as fuck

this shit does suck

management for anger to ensue

this blows myself feels like scraped out;

pumpkin, melon, pregnant woman.

myself feels like unwilling to participate.

myself feels like liable to stay this way,

myself feels like unable. bored bored getting tired.

unimpressed with self, inevitable as it may seem.

definitive.

situation:

lackluster.

writing is the only thing that keeps me alive. the trick is to maintain productivity even when you wanna shoot yourself in the mouth. i think i have troublingly associated happiness as essential to sanity as most of us do. sanity is simply the gossamer from under which everything else struggles and happy or sad, angry or calm mere gels on the gravitational lens, incidences mere matter with intricable mass. life if a holograph, is projected from within.

bleh and blah too

not very revealing
too nauseus a feeling to let out.

i'm all over myself

i keep writing lines outta sync and i keep erasing em like a fool steda saving that shit in a doc for when the story catches up to meet me.

hypertext my ass this here's my hypa text running ads for the sho three weeks next
thursday.

i feel like a blood stain on tomorrow's laundrey. i feel like brain stem lurking, waiting for your bleached whites.

and like a beat that's a going in the heart for a moment longern' a body's been dead, there's a place i'm a holding like a cigarette scolding that i've not a thought left in my head.

I Couldn't Figure Out How to Change the Utility On This Fucking Thing to Display the First Post to the Last in Order to Make You Scroll Through the Whole Thing (hopefully reading parts of it) to Get to the Latest Post.

so i just wrote it in reverse.

i don't know to write
if i did i(t')d be done
so i'm off at ten paces,
and my shot
into
the sun.

spits from spats, i done trained all them cats from the live wire acts to them men without hats fucked and off course i done run to them gats and got shot b4 i could pick one. that's that.

trained to be slow i just wound up stupid
took too many drugs and to much time to regroup
it
smarts just as much as if you'd been duped it's
just that you're so fucking god damned and stupid.

the sad drain of this limitless self absorbtion makes my life here in this void unbearable as the parts of my mind recede to fill this inescapable space, my thoughts lead me back to this soft warm densly lit place.

and now the inability sinks in again and back to this familiar, the one step into nowhere everything about my head moves so fast i feel myneck winging itself. i am alone with my own self disgust. i don't know where from this moves ugly lumps in my throat on my body, in the gruel you serve me day after day contemplating stretches of unmarked paint cartography for the nearly blind, hair and particules of dust; skin cells and cosmic rain.

I’ve started this now

the pre-checked disconnect from the future

a friend of mine asked me if I still commit poetry, I was sad to say not lately. I feel like life keeps sliding away from me like one drunken blackout through another the power has been cut to my transmitter. There’s something dead in here with me and from the way it jerks about I is scared it might grow back. Microsoft word just corrected my “I am” to “I is” thank god it didn’t let me forget that I write in ebonics, which isn’t in its dictionary surprisingly, is that a glitch or some programmers idea of a joke? I feel uselessly out of date like none of the advancements have advanced anything and as a matter of fact the advance I was promised is still due. Death is all around my chest and my lungs. Death is about my breast and rising. Death is for those who roll uncompromising. Death is to the old. This makes it feel worse actually; the unwashed years oiling my skin, slick with old life, skin cascading away from this sighing wasteland. Tears when they bring no relief, shaky heart instead when they would. Everything so in and out as the old in and out, hopelessly. So close to giving up so close to trying again so close to death as to give a start in the throat as if I’d just seen a ghost. So close to not being able to do it that it’ll be a photo finish for the start. I don’t know why I keep writing, here in my room, in my apartment by myself, in the frigid understanding of the winter to come and the strange complementary pain that is my life.

i feel as if every day since i dropped out makes three i'll have to make up. i wonder if anything will every change.

i hope to god that someday i feel less anxiety than i do now, if not, well then fuck off you sobs.

2191 day anniversary of natural reprecussions for our unnatural hold over the world.

there's nothing for me to do but die.

i'm waiting


as patiently as i can.