“Maze... psychopathic daze... I create this waste
Back away from tangents, on the verge of drastic
ways... can't escape this place... I deny your face
Sweat gets in my eyes, I think I'm slowly dying
Put me in a homemade cellar
Put me in a hole for shelter
Someone hear me please, all I see is hate
I can hardly breathe, and I can hardly take it…”
I used to be that kid who leaned his chair back so far he almost fell—you know a real troublemaker! Storing cactus slude in my underpants. Fuck is my mind supposed to twist this way? Tastes like jackrabbits, coyotes, and crisp covered igneous rock melting over my forehead while the sun and moon play cop & robber across the crust covered sandscape, obliterating haunted tales of a strung out reality pirate down and out on his luck. Just run on into the distance forever—didn’t work, believe me I’ve tried. Again and a fucking again. Wrestling with an itchy trigger finger while I pace back and forth, viciously injecting fuel into the internal debate over what percentage of the plunger I want to shove down under my stomach line, letting the tendons rip through my clenched fist, splintering a vibrating ribcage. I cake my face in plastered black mud, watching as it drips off my hollowed spaced out thousand yard stare…whatever…Arms locked around my chest and I leave my imbalance and the dependent neurotic cradle of doubt to the eyeless slimy worms below. I am 8,000 miles away and you can still feel this tension flow through a wired in smokestack. Don’t ask questions, just get lost in it and keep the gnawing unconscious fear in full throttle—ring ring its only a matter of time before the wires extrapolate to a violent repercussion of unchecked hedonism run amok like shit…wound up plastic white teeth with a red gum line jittering off the table in child like amusement—too fast from too much speed…clench clench clench clench. My gums are bleeding but I love the warmth….
…I did my time…I’m fucking done with all of you…
Sandy Goa X-tastic suckerpunches like a clenched jaw and an orgasm loaded with bumping colors a few days past Christmas day. Tribal tattooed hippies in flowhawks just erratically twist into—just make a of noise, make a lot of fucking noise. Scott my doses? Too much lie in disguise. Images flickering off the oozing cavern wall while corporate sponsorship parades clay molded creatures across the ally way to distract you from the fundamental horrors of a slit wristed existence. And holy fuck what am I seeing right now? Drug Free Zone—get your alcohol here—right…Everything is fucking fake fucking fake fu-fake fukikng fakekeeeeee. Everything is make believe. Everything I see….Everything is within me…Someone is playing games with my head…Its lost and I’m back but in a new place, somewhere I can see through but devoid of feeling. Crunched emotion caving in on me and jolting my adrenaline to the ceiling while I puke black blood across my wobbly knees. Where did it go and what has taken over me? A sign points to a box, saying “break here in case of emergency”. The case is already broken and there is nothing left to hold on to….I move out of my room and towards the silent beach and darkened ocean. There is no one here. Deserted arm chairs and damp sand occupied only by albino white snow crabs scattering to and forth, feasting off of fleshy fish carcasses and the bladder of a beached whale. Its chilly outside. I put on my stained forest green sweat shirt and curl into a wretched ball, feeling each breath move in and out, slowly, gently, resting on the cool white sand, as the waves come in and recede back out into the cyclical abyss where they came from…Techno music fades off in the distance…Its quiet here now and the cold is almost warming the iced splotchy blood chugging through my veins….Dawn breaks. My body is caked in oil and my hair is dried like salted rope. My lips are badly cracked and my breath smells of old seawater. My sweatshirt is a dry but damp, sagging off my sleeves, slipping across the rivets in my fingers. This elderly dude is sitting next to me about three feet away, long grey hair, button downed shirt opened and fluttering in the wind, revealing some bizarre colorless kaleidoscopic tattoos. He has a braided beard about eight inches long and is holding a bottle of half-drunken Kingfisher while smoking a dwindling beadie cigarette. He sees I’ve woken up and hands me a cigarette without saying a word. I accept and he lights a match that nearly, just nearly, goes out in the sputtering sea breeze of dancing salt before igniting the natural browned tobacco leaf. Breath in, sigh out. I take a swig of Kingfisher, swirl it around and spit it out into the pile of ceramic seashells next to me after handing the sandy bottle back to him.
“I like it out here. No one bothers you.” He says while starting off into the blazing orange sun that dominates the skyline without turning his head towards me.
The wave breaks and nearly reaches our toes.
“Yeah I know what you mean.” I respond quietly…”I do know what you mean…”
My…whoa too much...You ever get a wiff of your breath and realize…holy shit…my mouth smells like that…its then the sudden drop off of social interaction over the past 5 months suddenly all makes sense…you know, its a humorous cringe, sort of like the one you get when you look at baby pictures of people you’ve had sex with and you say to yourself…fill in the blank…. Helpful, like when you have narcolepsy and freddy kruger is after you. No thanks, I’ll skip the coffee just stick a hypodermic injection of caffeine and loaded nicotine into my jugular. Fucking fluctuation.
Fuck your symbols and your conceptualization of the matter, it’s a lost cause for you to stroke yourself over. So I’m just going to take you into a real deep pothole here. One you will never get out of. Double, triple, quadruple meanings—how fast can you roll before it falls apart—well, lets find out…You can’t see shit, yet the simplicity is you are the master who greens the grass but then you spray caustic fertilizer over the whole fucking thing, gagging on gasoline, gurgling hatred through your trachea, gasping for air, screaming up towards the heavens that this isn’t fair, failing to recognize—no one cares. My windpipe is pure fucking suck. Clarity shines through just before you swallow the lit match in a protest over religious freedom and its then the irony of the matter is revealed in morbid laughter. Man, you burn like charcoaled hotdogs on the fourth of July in Kathmandu…Rolled up little sausages full of dog dick and cat fluff to make your tongue tingle. Watching my fingerprints burn a hole through your sunken cheeks, creating a…haunting….deep….lonesome…wrath you cannot condemn to hell without getting your filthy nails caught in the rickety machinery. You are just clawing yourself into a rotten tombstone where you will rest in peace…yeah, right. Hyperbolic poetic madness bleeding a riot shell into the concave rage I slugged into your fat fucking chest, like camouflaged feelings on a maniacal circus act where I cut the fucking rope clean off. Disguises are for clowns, I just want to fuck you and watch you die. Spit in your rot and lick off the poisoned venom so I can chase after you deep into the afterlife and stab your soul to shit. Even in death you cannot escape me. Nobody loves me, nobody loves me, nobody loves me, I don’t need this shit rotting through my veins, this fucking cacophony of silence drowning out my rational clearheaded self-respect that—everything is okay. Everything is soft…Everything is okay…everything is soft….everything thing is shit and my hyperventilation is a pure rage filled bloodline. I’ll drag you through one at a fucking time if I have to, while I try and ignore these maniacal voices in my head turning the entire fucking world against me, attempting to slay my coils of clarity…you’re so much better than me, you’re so much better than me, you’re so much better than me, you’re so much better than me, you’re so much better than me, you’re just fucking perfect aren’t you?...just perfect…Storing up stress while the chilled cemented door shatters and beckons to you in the peak of a violent dream, awakening all those encapsulated nightmares from the cellar beneath a watery grave. Spit it, roll it, just drop it quicker, spraying you with the blood from my opened wrists while I lick off the remains, clean off your grit…”Gee, this is rather graphic and violent language I hear coming from you Jerry, you aren’t thinking about hurting those around you or yourself?” Well, only when you’re ripe, wouldn’t want to do this too early, as this tourniquet might not be dense enough to wipe the blood, your blood, off the floor and I might slip and fall into a black hole where I will melt into my surroundings forever leaving my mind open to shell shocked smiles emitting teargas and grey smoked balloons for the crowd to frolic in. But the matter is I can’t find the light switch so I’m just going to slice my way through everything around me, catching my eyelids and cheeks on fishhooks while I spin around too fucking fast. Fat squirming maggots surround me in a feeding frenzy, razor sharp teeth whirling down the wire to some sort of insipid truth . Cryptic post- apocalyptic psycho-humanistic messages spat across my pupils in ancient Sanskritic symbols…ic…ic…ic…ic…icky…Deja-vu twisted backwards with metal contorting instruments of torture protruding from a splintered forehead and a shattered equilibrium. It turns like a violent heart operating on itself with a dull scalpel in the middle of a hammerhead’s bloody orgasm during a hurricane…I have really no clue what the fuck I just wrote there—I wrote that a week ago and I truthfully don’t get it…I’ll lead you into a unreliable narrative I suppose…because every syllable rings clarity into my bone marrow. Its all the way it should be, so its okay and its free—just the way it should be.
Life is amazing, mysterious and beautiful to the point of horror and ecstasy. Yet, it seems so plain, painful, and pointless most of the time. I keep waiting for this revelation but half the time I doubt it will ever come…None the less, I can hear it calling, whispering to me from sonic waves of music, from far away lands of the exoticism and adventure, from beautiful women to drool over, and ancient shamanic rituals deep in the heart of the Amazonian basin. But is anything to come of this? Is there are conclusion? A finale? An answer? It doesn’t exist. Magical world is full of shit and then I take hit and its back again—flying pupils get me some fucking tea. And then it fades away and I grow increasingly tired of loops, cyclical madness, and bullshit revelations that leave me like a one nightstand. “Romantics always want to be somewhere else,” an insane but rather clever person once wrote. The rapture was a lie, the melting solidifies, and the open door slams with your fingernails still clawing, trying to hold onto the other side, leaving you with permanently snipped digits. I’m back in the monkey feces and it smells like I pissed myself, my breath reeks of a five a clock shadow and warm soggy liquor while my hand is covered in some sort of pulsating mucus material that wasn’t there when I went sleep, sticking to my crotch and crawling into my pores…
Buy the ticket, take the ride…Okay, great, but what the fuck am I supposed to do when it ends…holy fuck did I ever tell you how good this feels and how much I fucking love you…its like the universe is melting through my bones while I lick the sky clean and the god’s come and nuzzle my body a peaceful depth I cannot comprehend. I slowly close the door and crack the lock. The vicious insipid wrath of ten thousand fists beating down in my chest needs something or someone or, some other word should go here to describe this but you can fill in the blank. Real high. Real low. I warp into balance and break that shit for no reason but a lack of self control. The world really isn’t that big. Its just very deep. I could get from Kathmandu to America in 16 hours—shorter if I didn’t have to connect through Delhi. Bu to understand 8 blocks of Kathmandu—you could spend a lifetime analyzing the cultural dynamics formulated by race, ethnicity, religion, class, gender, caste, infrastructure, development, history and so on…So yeah, the world is small but its deep—that’s what it appears to be…
Anxiety. Overdramatic expressions of temporary angst lick the Scooby dooblotter stapled to my flickering tongue and I hold it together by keeping in mind I can only do what I am capable of—otherwise I would be doing something else, seems simpleminded but I think there is a lot of wisdom in that realization. Reindeer games. Poor metaphorical references drag me down to that blackened ally way where light comes to die and darkness comes to breed and swallow the excess spawn swimming in slowly dwindling pools of ageless embarrassment. Humiliation. It stings like the grim thorny needles of blackened caustic erosion. Shit stained caulk pouring from my third eye through my finger tips into your—whatever. Its like rolling dough and using your other hand to try and peel it off, only causing the dough and the problem to spread. Rising up. Incapable of deciphering why I feel the need to relate myself to the internal cracked shells of the flesh and bones around me through my fucking computer of all things—talk about diverting the problem! Anger. I stick a fist through my mirror and eat the chunks of glass bleeding out of the knuckles, slicing my esophagus into a million little puzzle chunks for the morgue to mold back together in a wacky design that is fun for kids of all ages. Edgy. I tattoo my eyeballs pink and go walk around the streets, waiting for the sun to rise. It ripples off a quivering reflection of my decomposing sanity, dripping through the moonlight sweeping me softly like the petals from a drooping willow tree. Reassurance. I keep focusing my stuffed chest on your worthless caricature, pleading for forgiveness sunken in deep-seated shame I can’t shake. Holy fucking shit its only fucking Tuesday…
…Goddamnit my head hits the desk with a fat fucking thud….I spit fire from rhythm’s destiny handed down from fucking death on wings. Queasy needles erupt through my stomach lining and I hammer down the nails on my own personal crucifixion—tasty twisted nails. I’m in this ocean, drowning in nothing, while no one dies and I observe the emptiness of it all. Its cool, I forgive you. You are just me in drag.
The violence drips deep in the back of mind and I am there just waiting to be fed and I can assure you I know exactly what it feels like, to have a gun against the side of my head. I stick this blade into my gut fucking everything I hate away watching my vomit spill over the side of my lips like black slime from some sort of bile soaked creature that cannot tolerate its own purpose. I want to die. I want to fucking die. Just kill me. Just kill me. I smile erotically at my own self limiting statements and crawl over into a muddy corner of a worn down clay hut in the middle of the Nepalese jungle—a place where no one will ever find me and I can die over and over again.
“Cut me - show me - enter - I am
willing and able and never any danger to myself
Knowledge of my pain, knowledge of my pain
Or was my tolerance a phase?
Empathy, out of my way
I can't die...I can’t die…I can’t die…I can’t die…
You all stare, but you'll never see
there's something inside me…there’s something inside me…there’s something inside me…there’s something inside me…
You all stare, but you'll never see
there's something in you I despise…”
I’m awakening from a dream to a reality where there is no escape. I fell into a Burmese tiger pit as I was blinded by thoughts of peace and freedom. I toil and contort, wriggling myself back into a straight jacket of tense, precise, and intolerable pain. The only lesson I’ve learned from this is there is no way out. It just eats on while your reactions only delude you into believing that some form of liberation is possible. It isn’t. It just isn’t. Do I look like I’m fucking with you? Double-checking your journal or deepest thoughts won’t uncover an alternative solution. My sympathies go out to you but truthfully, I feel fucking nothing. It’s all on lock down. A boiling pot with a cemented lid of gripping fear—the steam can’t even escape, charring and blackening the stoned insides, melting it to flabby gnarled pieces. You open up your mouth to scream and nothing comes out—again and again. If only the movement could connect to something, then perhaps there would be some solace…. How many times can I describe this fucking place for you to understand what bleeds through my skin, pierces my weakness and eradicates any hope, any chance of survival. NO QUESTION MARK. Attacking and freaking apart all my lack of answers when my veins stretch from here to the floorboard and the whole fucking globe steps on them without hesitation, oblivious to the silent screams reaching below me. Where is the fucking trigger. Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger, tie the noose and end this shit once and for all. I can’t control my thoughts anymore and the nightmares have become a waking existence for me that I need not participate in any longer. This is the end. Goodbye. Saran wrapped chest and its warped to fucking shit. Huffing and suffocating like a gasoline soaked Molotov loaded for your earhole. I shave off the fingernails and carve out the bone, making elephants inside of elephants from my former body parts for the children to play with. I am a saint. Malignant misanthropic masturbatory madness molts mutates morphs and mutilates me into a broken home for emotional children. I stick the needles into my brain for relief and it feels…so much fucking worse…
I love you but when I am in your presence I close and shelter myself. I crush and crumble while my bones turn from trembling brittle to broken dust I love you more than one can contain and it spills forward from my chest through and through but I clog it to shit, stuffing it down the drain with a plunger of paranoia, uncertain what would happen if we ever truly felt each other and I’m fucking dying for you, needing to be with you, while my heart bleeds and burns itself to death over the lost Polaroid of you floating away into a darkened abyss because I couldn’t open up and I’ve missed my chance and its all gone. Now, everywhere I look and see the world is in hell and its all my fault. You’re falling apart and there is nothing I can do to help—I don’t think I would even want the job if I could have it.
“I keep my scars from prying eyes
Incapable of ever knowing why
Somebody breathe, I've got to have an answer
Why am I so fascinated by
bigger pictures, better things
But I don't care what you think
You'll never understand me…”
Here, for a moment of clarity lets talk to Jerry and ignore this fucking moron for ten seconds. Here is what he has to say, “I don’t like doing this but its what comes out when I go to write. Its like, do other people experience this shit? Am I alone? Am I the one whose fucking crazy? Am I the one who screwed everything up and society did everyone else a swell fucking handjob? You want a fantasy but this ain't it. Because when I say ignore him and come to me, I admit—and now that you came—him and me—we are the same. We are one and one is all. Endangered species. I am a panda hunter, a seal skinner, and a whale slayer. I wield an ax and carry a big fucking stick, walking through shadow systems in an untimely dimension of flaunting mechanical ignorance a screw is loose where the spear of my tongue rips to shreds locked rubber gripped switches off the itch of a finger. It melts through my bones and I eject quills through my eyelids before we connect, simply in order to push your lies back into the chamber where they came from. Its just a single moment, all of this is temporary and I drift away…It slides off my skin and I forget my troubles for at least enough time to watch the form drift away, exposing us for what we are—empty and at peace. Leela, leela, leela—what a sick twisted game…So much has and hasn’t gone wrong—its just when you find that stillness and see a mirror is being held up to your face that it was all part of the plan…Sort of like wind chimes in the Himalayas on dew drop morning, soaring high above the puffy clouds while your companion comes down from his throne to let you know that everything is going to be okay, no matter what happens…
“The world is a scary place now that you’ve woken up the demon in me…”
…But that shit keeps happening so I laugh, as there is just nothing left to say.
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