A scent of tobacco in the air sunshine scattered I can feel the envy creep along inside my muscles cringing. but all i know is that i can shut time off inside my head and let an immortality of a second engulf me. its too damn much it swallows every bit of something up. i either got up and left or it all left but its all gone and it doesn't really matter how it happened, just that now the days stretch out in a forever endless mye. there is no escape from this except death, and that is not an option. options aren't really in the hand right now the future holds an escape of death but right now i can feel the edge inside my brain churning streams of ideas & conversations & wishes & clutching every possibility into a trap or i think its a trap but rumination only takes things so far eventually the time for experiments come to play, hypothesize attack unfold scatter out like marbles on pavement rolling rolling. i can hold my body together but its hard with so much nothing perched up all around. i saw black crows at a gas station jumping around next to motorcycles and sand dunes my neck sunburned and me trying to tie a shirt around my neck to stop the wind from blowing across the skin. when the night came and i was alone in the silence hearing its ringing piano sounds i wondered whether the plants had any idea of what silence was and what would happen if i got up and started walking. it was so romantic that i cried a little bit and wished for a xylophone to play as soft as possible. throwing rocks in every direction my hand and throw Chaos tool!; do not touch me unless i want to have sex with you, any other kind of comfort makes me anxious, nauseous & it becomes perilous to our relationship. i have been known to push everything away i am a believer in destruction and rebirth though i do not believe in the rebirth of man. i only believe in the rebirth of things and art and construction. throwing everything away to accumulate once again is the only way to get better things & I hate things but still surround myself by them. when they are absent, say, i am far away somewhere then i can exist and it is the most peaceful thing i have known; it can also turn on you like a drug becoming a frenzy of blood, eyes scattering across a horizon searching the desperate plea from the heart to beat. i cannot attack this or anything without fully extending my fist because when i stretch out rage becomes real. i don't have a favorite time of day only favorite people who have eyes deep with wells of pain & care, translucent bodies I see a boat and You inside gold coins scattered on the floor a little wet and you trying to tackle the wind while i paint pictures and we fight a storm. when i pass they will discover treasure and they will finally understand what i have been doing all this time, mystery solved only to create more mystery and this proves that questions can be left without an answer that answers are kind of arbitrary and I am going to spit all over you. Somehow in a instant i caught hate like a cold and wanted to press pain on your temples. i want to watch how you retreat so that I can understand what you value. don't be afraid, I am quite skilled and have never been known to kill anybody. the worst that can happen is a 5 year repression, but thats better than heroine withdrawal or breaking blunt stubs up to make a joint just to pass a couple of hours in peace; resonated trees taste like butt & ash but they get you very high. gardens are a wonderful source of renewal and even if inhabited by wild animals take care there is never a need for a gun or knife.

'i caught a swallow once in my hands and watched it shake violently almost to the point of death; in its eyes i saw part of myself and i pinched its throat watching it gasp for air. later on they took me to an emergency room where i sat on a cold bench looking at pictures of the body & mind. the doctor came into the white holding cell and looked at me then opened up a manila folder and closed it again sighing. i thought about running. a lake blue from all the tears of heaven a full moon during daytime and a trusty chair brought from home, in a backpack salami, bread and water. my treatment lasted 22 years. i came back and killed another bird then hung myself.' at my funeral my best friend had read a note i left him it said: "there is a manila folder in a doctor's office on Blvd. it contains my soul. please burn it so i can rest." he never found the folder instead got too caught up in his own life raising kids and having sex, drinking and watching movies in the evening. eventually the power grid failed and he sat huddled in the dark smoking cigarettes very afraid and confused. i'm stuck reading bad poetry in an adobe hut in hell, watching fire and smoking weed. satan loves marijuana, but all it does here is make me paranoid. i sure as hell wish i had never been smart enough to catch birds. i'm pretty stuck here & I don't blame him for not burning that folder but fuck, it sure would have been nice to feel sunshine instead of fire and be able to close my eyes without a nightmare. hell is a fucked up place.'

every lover i have ever had made me interested. i was interested in their legs their lips their hair (i love long hair) their eyes their cheeks. i have lovers that have never had me but that doesn't mean they weren't lovers. i got off just by touching their hand even if i never saw them naked and could only imagine it. everyone made everything too much of a big deal so as i got older the little glances looks eye fucks hugs scents and caresses didn't mean as much as they should. why did it all turn to anguish, its all a blessed gift just to see them and importance is a joke. laugh out loud and enjoy every second of anything that makes you sad because that same thing can make you boundless in your mind an extrapolation of ecstasy. every lover felt warm and when i was more keen to my own awareness i had a moment of epiphany: in the dark fingering a naked body hearing it laugh and moan and shake! she grabbed hold. i never felt ever in my whole life an instance where i stopped being totally myself except right then. right now i don't think i will ever get that back ever again, but i will never do enough drugs to ever forget about that. i'll be in war and thinking about it or asleep and my hand will reach out to a blank space on the bed instinctively grasping for the purest thing i ever felt.

i like to hear fruit fall even though it scares me; i like to get angry and then reconcile because it makes me feel alive. but i hate being angry and I never really am unless i'm tossing glass bottles out of a window to watch them break on the ground. one time i destroyed a car with a man watching. he asked me what i was doing and i stared at him until he drove away. people become uneasy when faced with the truth, unsure of what to do. they've only ever been trained to deal with lies. a lie is fine and all but its patchy grass, you don't ever want to sit on it afraid maybe its mined with ants or cockroaches instead just keep driving by. maybe hope was the mother of a lie. i don't really know or care i'm not prone to lying much. in fact i'd probably count all the lies on my hand not counting all the lying i did as a kid. that doesn't count.

the solution to mans' problem is extincting digital watches and cars. in fact mechanical transportation makes your body forget what it was built to do; and that is move. i keep a sundial out back and birds rest on it. i tried to leave a watch in the grass once but the sprinklers just shorted out the circuitry. eventually it became engulfed by clovers and wildflowers. i think some mercury leaked into the water a while back because i have these spots on the back of my neck and they don't look normal. sometimes i think my neighbors are spying on me. if i didn't live 2 feet away from a stranger i might feel better about a lot of things. one time i stole all my friend's liquor and smashed it. it smelled terrible outside in the night on the side of the road singing through the air as it tasted its last moments of distilled existence before hitting stone.