Dreams

So many shirts. All different designs, mostly black and white. Is this a game? How do we decide who gets what? Whose shirts are these? Why are we taking them? Why are they so big and all long sleeved? They look cool but I don't need them and I don't know if I'd wear them. Do we place bids? How can I help her get the shirt she wants?
I drive thru a mountain town. Streets so small. I have to turn around. I pull off the rocky road and go up a steep slope to a grassy ledge. I wait for cars to pass. I turn sharply and almost fall off this ledge. Then I have to go uphill on this rough road. My car sounds bad. It takes all its power to start moving slowly. Runners come toward me in slow motion. I hear a deep male voice over about the women's bodies. Some of their clothes disappear like he is in control giving a presentation. I see their breasts bounce in slow motion. A woman in the front is very fit and attractive. There are some old fat women growths hanging off them. I think I'm in southern Europe.
This is a strange movie, like a game. Three famous middle-age male actors play the three smartest cities in the world, Alexandria, some other sandy place, and maybe D.C. for some reason. They emerge from the earth shaking off dirt with buildings around their heads. They fight or something on a sort of stage of the world where one foot is about 100 miles... It looks bad.

Dream

I am go into a tiny basement apartment where two women live. The tall one runs a shop out of it. The name of the shop is painted bright and large across the wall next to the front door. One women is pretty and small with kind of short black hair. The other is tall and big and homely with long brown hair. There is a bunch of stuff in their tiny apartment. Arts and crafts stuff on the floor. We are hanging out. I feel out of place. It seems the short haired girl wants me there more than the other. She wonders if I can fit into any of her clothes, so she gives me some track pants to try on. I worry that I will break them. She unzips the waist. I say I would have forgotten to do that. I hesitate about putting them on  because I have a boner. I go into the bathroom and take off my white tank top for some reason. I put on the small pants and they fit pretty well and I am able to hide my erection. I try to put my tank back on, but I twist it around my arm. It is fun for us when I walk out. One of my pant legs was zipped off, and she zips off the other pant leg. It barely went past my knee, now my upper thighs are exposed and I show off my legs, which have less hair than normal. She seems to enjoy it, but the other woman stands up and goes across the room. The apartment is bigger and maybe not a basement. The tall one stands over a pool table holding the cueball knocking the other balls into the pockets. I compliment her on her skills saying it would have taken me twice the time to hit all those balls in. I feel like I am starting to win her over.

World Four

I'm gonna shower in the semi-darkness, I'm gonna shower in the semi-darkness, I'm gonna shower in the semi-darkness. What's a world for? .... What's a world for...?

Every light has come out, Every light has come out... every light has come out. Dead Wringer - Goast Righter ....

Four Spaces, Aphrodite Aloysius.

Sidle

Spontaneous Energy: the Past Becomes the Future

The real word, beside my seen word, hides among the lines of letters.

The Last Number

I have yet to directly perceive anything, therefore my interpretations are even more ambiguous. Even that sentence is confuddled... befuddled, befuddles me, muddy, watery, flavorless, stinky...

I write insanely. I am typing. I write 100 novels of truth every day and at night I sleep and dream of humans without purpose or meaning and I drink till I am drunk and I orgasm till I ejaculate. I am in another world, a world beyond perfection and disappointment. When I wake up, I say damn. Why can't I live my dreams? In my dreams, I am God.

To be absolutely true is my goal, to be completely and outwardly the pure core of myself forever. It's always trying to come out but I find ways to shove it back in. It must be there, otherwise I am nothing and can do nothing, not care, not love, not be. But I believe that I am. I am most of what I believe there is. I try to believe that there is more, because if I am everything, then I may as well be nothing.

I don't think I have to force myself to care. I think I always care, but at times it is difficult to recognize that I care or what I care about.

I am as oblong as a widowed rainbow. Daddy books.

Elaine runs a marathon quietly through a silent city. She moves quickly and gracefully between buildings, on empty streets, through narrow alleys, around mailboxes and trash cans and trees and bushes and parking meters and fire hydrants and rivers and oceans. She runs through the Marianas trench. She breathes the water pressure. The upset volcanoes are silent and timid. The black sky waits motionless. She high fives all her friends halfway to the finish line. I ate with a similar mindless female at Fisherman's Park in February. There were ham and cheese and wheat bread. Ducks surrounded us, and we felt like captured pirates about to bury ourselves at sea, and we still wanted so much out of life, but death is a sinister minister and beckons with an icy ladle for us to eat the cold soup and be drenched from the inside out with stillness and wishing. She ate the most beautiful tree there, and I wanted to break her face but above all felt intense sorrow and pity. She makes all my blood rush to the surface and my hair stands up and my eyes tremble and fire tickles my nerves and makes my skin boil and drip onto the wet grass and stain my beloved environment.

Music makes daydreaming easier. Lost inside our heads while life flows by carrying hungry children and sick mothers, and loose maniacs and gentle cashiers, and greedy pigs and faceless butchers, and restless painters and tired farmers, and fat frogs on dirty windowsills, and snowstorms above busy, blinking cities.

He plays a Chinese harp with his falling tears. He waits for his cohabitants to lift him above his mortality. Alone, he sinks into grey matter. When it fills his mouth and covers his eyes, he sees it is Play-Doh, so he plays with it, pulls it apart, squeezes it thru his fingers, and giggles sickly.

Clngr

I hunch like a freaking rabbit. Apollo lands on my shoulder. Blossoms grow penises looking for roaming feathers. Totally damaged creep shows split noticeable laughter upon a bosom of later heaps.

She booms like not a bomb, not the bomb man who threw his life at the death of everyone he was too. Broken ears hear dripping sonnets from burnt oaks leaning against blue sky, stabbing the earth, creaking with black shiny pain, grinding fine teeth into a mouthful of mushy sugary fruit.

Klingon loves to clangor... Pelvic thrusts into hearty space, blown awake; it's always night in space; to see a trillion suns rise and set one turns one's head with open eyes absorbing ancient and recent lights.

Eagerly biting into his lunch bag, summer sunbeams turn his neck into a rusty red truck hood in Winfield Thicket.

So dizzy from singing ringing molecules I ate and dreamt. I slapped my hand on the honey-wooden table. Blood flooded my skin, sounding like a hurricane forgiving the land for letting itself be destroyed.

Pale, fat nerd outside nearby never before helps carpenters. Sweaty, greasy dork strolls along Wilson toward the tracks at midday, then rolls and falls in a tumble dryer for 80 minutes at 205 degrees Fahrenheit.

Noodles between my lips speak for my lonely universally located mind grapes. A bonita vista behind me bugs the window reflection in my laptop screen...

I am growing weak. I am watering my face. My plant needs moisture. The bones and muscles are inappropriately aligned. Do I really care about all the sad hungry faces of people around me? I want to stroke God's cheek. I want to live in a cloud making music, dancing, smiling, and sleeping forever. I want my toes to vibrate at 3500 hertz, explode, bleed, and soak every planet I step on with thick, red nectar of love.

BYEB YEBYBEYE {: {: [.

Gobbet

There is a huge bomb in the middle of a big city. It is about to go off. I order for the bomb to be twice the size. Big enough to destroy the entire city. I was near the edge of town when it blew up. Some other people are around me. The shock wave flies at us bringing pieces of buildings. I'm dodging bricks.

A fragment of raw flesh. Patch of flesh that is still showing. A mouthful of meat. In France in the middle ages, they used to chop live human bodies apart with meat cleavers. They fill their teeth with muscle and fat. They stroll through French lush courtyard gardens full of green leaves and bright colorful flowers. The walls are stacks of large, dark rectangular stones with small patches of moss. You can pour your hand into a bowl. Discharge a puddle of hot glue. Pick up the gobbet of boogers on the eighth grade hallway. Science sucks. Bluebeard's blue balls hideaway in a lonely pirate's cove. Three elephant seals plan a homage to Ernest Goes to Camp. He dunks the Fat Kid. They all cry like little girls in first period. He gets sun in his eye. It goes behind his eyeball and lights up his brain. He has a warm itch on his frontal lobe. Hashtagperiodbloodonmyeyelid.

In the dang lake. The pier is too long. I peer at the deep thirsty water, but I cannot touch it. Lots of slimy dumb fish near the bottom. The clouds are coming in and getting darker. I think the omnipresent trees are shaking. There may be microscopic squirrels scurrying under my skin, says the magical wizard hanging on my sock. It's stupid!, she says as she fills her gobbet hole with goblin pudding. The turkey from the fourth sector scrapes a knife with his talon. Leftover thanksgiving dinner in Mid-August. Sorry the blue is so loud. She is banging on my wall from the bathroom, shattering the tile, open sea ways, leaky vessels, appropriate amounts of rosemary in the soup we blended yesterday for our mothers as they lay in the tree north of Sleepy Hollow, their heads falling off but almost finished with a long, serious game of Life anyway.

Scabrous

I was thinking about music album titles and covers for my musical alter-ego Toe Bleed. I thought of scabs and their interesting surfaces, bumpy and colorful. I wish I would remember my exact thoughts about album ideas. [I am listening to Coconut Records, Jason Schwartzman's music project. It's weird to hear him sing.]
The intricate pointy projections of a scab remind me of my doodles. I would make shaky, windy lines and connect them and fill in the spaces. That reminds me of dripping wet sand and making spindly towers on the beach. That reminds me of when I used that image in a poem called Languidge. That reminds me I like to read and write and connect with people and discover wonderful things. I want to go to that strange rural automated museum in New Zealand. In Sarah's youtube video it looked like the Cathedral of Junk. I have to go outside today. I have to call Home Depot in the next hour. I can work at the same store as Hannah. We can talk and arrange a meeting at her house after work and I can feel her boobs and she can feel my penis and we can make out. I can cry and wonder if there is a person inside of me. 50% of my reasons for typing this now is because Aaron told me to. That was a wild guess. Everything good is full of difficulty, like the human body. I hope Evan lives a long time. After the Storm Rhino killed James' parents, he had a really tough time, but the bugs became his friends and things got better. What is he going to do in New York City? If you write a children's book, you might change someone's life. I am immersed in fantasy. I think I might have sexsomnia. Sometimes in bed I find myself touching my penis without meaning to. I am going to stop at ten a.m. and call Home Depot. I hope I talk to a person and get it settled whether I can work or not. I want to nail two pieces of wood together. At five p.m. I shall call Bobby and ask if I can help him on a job and get paid for it. What I am really going to say is, "Hi, it's Greg. How's it going? ... yeah, yeah [responding, listening] I was wondering if I can still come work for you sometime." OK the conversation goes, possibly ending with me saying I will see him when we go to work. I might cut my hand on a sander and it will scab over after it bleeds. I wonder how soon I can beat Earthbound. I wonder if I'll play the sequel. I wonder if I will make steady progress developing Cold Fire. I keep touching my nipples and thinking about watching porn. Also I love Magic: the Gathering. I want to make cards, make a set, make a deck, and most of all draft M14 with my brothers. This weekend will be amazing. It is Tuesday. It is amazing. The ever-loving internet. Nighttiming!! Dancing and wiggling and jizzing and pooping and barfing and laughing and crying and booty-bumping and drooling snot-nose and screaming and playing slow-motion tennis and grabbing stars from the sky and branding your own skin with them.

I want to toss Domino around and shake the fat off of him and get him to be active and healthy. Tim too. I want to two-step with Aaron in a wooden dance hall and shoot a rifle at cans in the woods with Aaron. I want to try on strange clothes in a thrift store with Aaron. I want to make a movie with someone.

I searched google for 16 bit porn and ended up reading a tumblr post that led me to imagine a real event of a man shooting himself in the head and what the back of his head looked like.

It's almost ten. I don't feel ready to call Home Depot, but I have to. I can use Hannah as my motivation. Not for purely sexual reasons, but for mostly friendly reasons.

I sent her a facebook message asking if she had any advice. I don't know if I should wait to hear from her.

I think I have been trying to write for about an hour.

This music right now and the second definition of scabrous makes me want to be somewhere like Appalachia with rolling hills full of beautiful trees in the fall.

Hannah gave me a good message right away! I am inspired! Bye...

Cart Pusher

Cast of Characters:

- Nelson Angola Petridish

- Chicken Barf Gorgonzola

- Freezeframe Doogal

- Funky Albatross

- Mutant Sex Fish

- Evil Garbanzo Beans

- A Two Ton Deer

- Yurt Judy

            After I leave Walgreens, I find a Wal-mart shopping cart, so I push it back to Wal-mart. After I leave Wal-mart, I find a Target shopping cart, so I push it back to Target. After I leave Target, I find an H-E-B shopping cart, so I push it back to H-E-B. After I leave H-E-B, I find a Randall's shopping cart in a CVS parking lot, so I push it all the way to Randall's. In the Randall's parking lot, I find a Central Market shopping cart, so I push it back to Central Market. In the Central Market parking lot, I find a Sprouts shopping cart, so I push it back to the Sprouts parking lot. In the Sprouts parking lot, I find a Whole Foods parking lot, so I push it back, a whole Foods shopping cyart. In the whole, Foods shapping curt I find a Kray-mert showping cort, so I pish it bick to Kray-mert, yeh dum-dum. After I leave Kray-mert, I got seven kyit-kyat bers, so I pishem becta Church and prays the Lourde that I heaven't god a jab thad I hade so mitch.

October 25th

Ice-cream headache. Love burns the pain away.
Bake SALE! Bake SALE!

I'll lie for you in a hotel bedroom.
I'll lie for you, when the sun goes belly up.

Children are at school.
It's October 25th.

Leaves are orange and brown.
She is four and he is six.

Everyone's asleep.
It's bedtime. 10 o'clock.

Monsters are make believe.
Your dreams are always real.

Dream

I walked thru a ruined city at night. It looked like a warehouse district. It looked like Grand Theft Auto 3. I came up to a drop off with a parallel staircase made of concrete. Three hoodlums cut me off and I tried to get past them and ignore them. It seemed they wanted to rob me. I think they were black and gang members. I jumped down a flight of stairs. It was more like controlling a video game character in 3rd person than doing it myself. It was choppy. A second gang of three attacked me. They shot me with guns and beat me with bats. I got very low health and passed out on a ledge. I woke up right away and ran for my life. They were slow like video game enemies. I think I was shot once more, red spot on my shirt.
I came to a field between warehoures. It was day. I think Mom was there. Ashley was there. I put my arms around her. Mom took a photo of us. I put my hands over her boobs. We all walked. I kept touching her. I felt her hips and lifted up her shirt to see them. I saw her underwear. Her hips were unusually tan and I said she had beautiful hips and she was surprised. I said she was perfect or something. She asked if there was anything lacking about her. I put my hand to her breast. She confirmed asking if her boobs were too small. I dodged the question but sort of said yes in a half-hearted way. I told her that I had almost died four or five times.
I was in some kind of museum, like Magorium's Wonder Emporium with junk and colors everywhere and things hanging from the ceiling. Mom was there. We went downstairs to a gift shop. We looked at the paintings of a Japanese artist. I recognized one and was excited that I had found it again and found out who painted it. He had one name or just went by his last name. It started with A, like Anamato. There was one painting that Mom really didn't like. I told her it looked like the cover of a video game.It was black and white of a man floating in the foreground and yellow light pouring from him like her was the sun towards a city in the background. I asked her why. It was the cover of a book. She said she is irritated by overt patriotism to the USA, which was apparently in the book. I found a desk for listening to an audio book. I picked one of three earphone sets, thinking about the people who used it before me. It was some kinda sailing story. I think someone had listened to the story and left when the study questions came up. I started answering them, but I had no idea. Questions were spoken to me and I was to speak the answer into the microphone in the headset. I was about to say something into the microphone. I saw a girl nearby watching me. A small part of me was embarrassed, but a big part of me didn't care at all.

Definition

I want what Jesus wants. Millions of Vaginas piled around my neck, shriveling and stinking. omygod, i am so tearfully disgusting, so sad and ambivalent. I am what I hate. I love the tiny justice inside of atoms. I am a gas. I infiltrate the verses. There is no universe. I am the spaces. The places are burning memories. The people have no genitals. There is no future. There are no babies. We are the last species left. We only have water left to drink. We cannot wash ourselves. We do not make any new things. We reuse everything. We look at photographs of children who never existed. We cry hourly. We cannot be distracted. We all have skinfections. We all have rotting teeth. Our best buildings are neglected and deteriorating. I am a downer. I have no hope. Or sam says there is always hope. Why am I sad? I have not been outside today.

I have no direction and too many obsessions and not enough occupations and i am too afraid of nothing and everything.

What is my vice. Meaninglessness. I dismiss every good idea. I used to think 'Nothing is possible until it happens.' That does not make any sense. Everything is possible. Sometimes I mourn my imagination.

I looked up the definition of shiftless and I definitely am shiftless.

I am too lazy to read Thomas Pynchon's article on Sloth.

That is definitive. I love America. I am America. I am the world. I am everything. I am selfish.

I am desire. I am insatiable. I am understanding. I am unknowable. I am God. God is everything. God is love. What is a word? What is a letter or a thought? What are sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste? What is a comma? What is a question mark?

What is what. Huge beef! Love country monkey, alphabet souffle!

Dangerous penis! Ah luhv puhhnuhhss!

Ponce. Groovy lion mangler. Plllllllllllease flee my lights under a banana peel eye mask, daddy possum willow.

Greep. 'G-R' words are my favourite. I love my name. You have a stupid cunt. Mi coin is blister, my eyes drip taco flavored fluid.

Everything is a blissful night time dream land open the day look a live perfect human courtney pnats, jesus grow a pomegranate tere plant a seed in my womban go fly believe in life puffy clouds summer fun god sells freedom for everlasting untiring devotion sun tan magma quake shiny beard fluorescent campfire guns that shoot flowers and rainbows wounds bleed ice cream steam hits the dirt and we clean our new faces seems like death is never real combust the critical implement side salad tossed cheesed and ready for eatin'...............................................

Reign of Cold Fire

Main character is born very old and sick, low level. He is in a hospital dying and tries a new energy drink to hit super market shelves called Cold Fire. He loves it, so he keeps drinking it. Amazingly he gets better, and everyone chocks it up to Cold Fire and its advertised rejuvenating effect.

GanDalphini

Coffee on the heart. I burn a hole thru myself. I cry because I am dead.

Needless, thankless friend grows up like a mushroom in the rainiest forest on the broader Northern earth.

Moist cells move to the beats of rhythms of dying and resurrecting ourselves themselves again eternity nobody knows.

Listen to Single Frame! You are not myself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYYYYYYYYY prano.... Don't sing in the grave. Just lie down. Rest in fuckin peace defuckinpartment. Get inside of the one bedroom apartment of consciousness, peace, and unrestricted love...

I did it. I owe you. I'll love you... Lemme take a minute. I am on my way... I'll never be close, but I'll always be closer... Just Natalie Portman and the shiny globe of her living eyeball... See and believe. Hear and live. Feel and die... Bye

End of Time

Time blow up. Suckety suck... her face off. More like July Turd. I miss Douglas. I like being tard...
Fuck the time! Big black hard cock. Super female Presbyterian homeless taco meat.
Some time I shall try to beat a better life with my mind on the side, lovely too fairy.
No time left! Forever leave the nice boy unbuckle ship tea to Taiwan. Abacus tuition 45 hundred thousand.
Sure, Nobaby, everyone believes in Time. It's the face on the clock on the mountain up a baby's butt.
Time is time is time is time is a bitch. I don't have to. Listen to Christopher Denny! Your nails grow to the end.

New

Fell asleep, noon, Beatty. Weak beach. Hello, helluva bakery, makin' napkin funeral best flood open ocean tea kettle. Post evergreen tutorial posterior over achiever.

Eggs. ASKI... How do you spell? Wine woman, latte fecal hummus pork chop dude body lover tickle mensch.

Soap flax, operation toadstool beggar. Positively ovary whiner pesto, challenging opinion flatterer flatulence, breath taking, lone weeping wobbler. Boxer say home place horny safe, hello, Craig. Below Sunday, foreskin apple crap crag. Fluid yellow being human tips host fester lost belittle foster pope loafer Timmy Tim-ee's, coat ghost, protect. Leaven never. Picture float. Neat life.

Shim, I am leaving this home. The land burns, and I have a plan to build on a virgin-less property of stone and metal. I left Diane three quarters of a million dollars inside the pillowcase, so please tell her, then make her toast with strawberry jam. I think I ordered them to install the blue swimming pool, but they may need more money to fix their vehicular machines. They all wear ball caps and are tan beyond the tone of the average area whitey.

Terrible motive. I am love. Noble witness. Open wound. Wound-up memory and unsure plans.
Tight arms. Crusty bones. Chocolate teeth. Hairy pores. Stinky organs. Mushy baggage. That is me. What you are doing.

Satisfy so as not to understand or overcome... Understand, overcome, then satisfaction results, whether or not it is acknowledged.

Bye.

Dream

Don''t wait

Huge cliffs. Expensive houses. Vivid colors,

Baby Butterfly

The Guild and the Dodger and the everything we know.

The tiny space for flowers and the time between our toes.

Baby butterfly... Die. Die. Die...

Obviously, She Is Beautiful

Obviously, she is beautiful.
Her name is Butch.
I love her.
She butchers my head.
Always, I look for beautiful things.

She is a middleweight.

I cannot see her.
Accept that she is light.
She contains boxes of color.
Four lines times her face.
Indignant, silent.