every night this decision must be made, to break in half or take it whole, this small ovular mechanism that will regulate my thoughts and actions, my words, my many wasted dreams, my general momentum. several factors must be taken into consideration, more than are fully understood, how many terrible thoughts were there today, how…

they lord, forgive them for what they do not know, forgive them for their conceived notions of your will and your testament, they lord, they know not who they be. they lord, let them clamor across the earth from city to city, desert to desert, locking arms and swaying in the dead air, let them…

don’t let god crush you in his hand, his is a hard world to endure and he a hard spirit to appease that does not accept sacrifice, this place is purgatory with pine trees that skirt the heavens and brush the clouds, the gray sky a manifest of your heart as it waits here, as…

I AM THE SUN i shout each day at the zenith of my crossing. i follow a rhythm inherent to existence itself and no formulas nor suppositions can unravel its reasoning. the harmonic waves of the universe are echoed in solar tsunamics and as i burn i burn through and through, an orange heart too…

it’s a special kind of drunk when a reunion takes place, something words fail to properly express but alcohol deciphers perfectly, some odd re-arrangement of matter in to a more understandable manner. it’s an even greater parable when the reunion takes place between a drunk and a drink, something words fail to properly address but…

cartoons and strangeness fill the hours, vodka and orange juice, work and money, sleep and wild dreams, smoke and apathy, chasing the delirium like a feral dog with nothing better to do. i’ll carry these memories in a flask to tilt back when the loneliness arrives, the burn in my throat a throwback to a…

she and i were born in limbo within the wide walls of its stomach, brought to stand before its wandering and damned inhabitants, to watch them writhe and burn and scream endlessly, on and on endlessly, their thin voices reaching up and through the throat of the earth. ours was a love that burned with…

so troubled she dreams in nightmares, of blood red blackness and pistols, cowboy hats and dirty hearts and yet awake she is some gentle creature who bears witness, who drinks of the sun and likes pretty things. it is as the night draws closer that these two begin to mix and change until only one…

she has burned with a fire drunk on gasoline, thick and dark and angry, she has a strange lucidity that lingers long after her presence has gone, something with powder and grime, a slick residue with a troubled aftermath. she has chewed up the night and spit it back out just to keep the sun…

what is there to write, really, what should i say; how about, “world getting weirder, angrier, louder, every, single, day.” would that be good? so, again, what is there to write, what could i possibly come up with that would in any way float across their attention spans, get them to stop googling and facebooking…