I wanted to disappear, with him
I think he wanted that too, sometimes
But mostly, he just wanted my rent
We were starting to work together
on this stage of life…
I had the magic and he had the act
He had the hat of tricks
I had the white rabbit fix
When he sawed me in half, ha–
the audience roared for the illusion
but I will forever be reaching
for myself
it’s the sound of coltrane
on a rainy evening
a glass of wine spilled
on the floor
yet another bent spoon
burning a little hole
in the carpet
you don’t think of
yourself as a junkie
you are a hip cat
from another planet
with a bit of soul
and still a little class
a top hat given to
you from the last
homeless man you
stole cigarettes from
you like to tell that
story as a game of
poker among old
friends
even aliens believe in
honor among thieves
but as the sound builds
on that old record player
the thirst arrives yet again
you still believe in redemption,
love and whatever it takes to
get a piece of ass these days
and you’ll gladly get back to
that discussion as soon as you
find a decent looking needle
i can’t remember the
last time i looked into
the eyes of a woman
i can’t remember what
true love, real love
fuck, even fake love
feels like anymore
and they tell me i still
have plenty to live for
that suicide should be
nowhere in my sphere
of thinking these days
sure
a fucking pandemic
a presidential election
a country fading into
a totalitarian state
all the circumstances
that say isn’t this
just fucking grand
what a life
all my heroes tasted
at least one barrel
in their lives
my patience only
has so much thread
left on the tires
another day
avoiding death
some people think
of such a day as a
major accomplishment
i applaud those people
i’m not one of them
death has been at the
front of my mind for
over thirty-five years
now
countless people have
tried to help
therapists, friends,
lovers, family,
jack daniels,
jim beam,
even a few fine
fellows from mexico
tried their hardest
a few years ago
not everyone gets
the picket fence
and trophy wife
my father always told
me there would always
be a need for people to
dig ditches and graves
he always claimed
he knew something
I didn’t
give us a like dear
the body gets no rest
behind this swelling glass abscess
and next week’s podcast
the one you blocked
because something else
more than remembrances
makes fuckboys go mad with flesh
buried in mute drama
swallowed in listless indolence
& belched content
babies doing the worm on coffins
tear-suckling athletes
extreme sushi fatigue
& glorified misfortunes
you’re trying to feed something
i.e. everlasting war
on my behalf (ha!)
the photoshop blasts
your attention to ruin
(rejoice & click the link!)
(rejoice & click the link!)
(rejoice & click the link!)
simple pleasures rule America
I want to slit you
like a mouthless equestrian
brandishing lollipops
a kitten’s tongue
scraping your eyelids black
the symmetry of underfed youth
unfollowed & obliterated
put this cis dick on repeat
keep it alive by gripping
tell me it barely exists
in your thumbnail
that you’ll never visit
my page again
(ohfuckohfuckohfuck yes)
or whatever
deal with it
make me the brand ambassador
of loneliness
a vessel of joy & feminine brutality
spewing stock character macros
with limited engagement
confined bodies sliding
into non-physical adventure
selfie-flushed
these prisons sanitized
for memorable hints
of a larger void
i.e. the real authenticity
of our passions
my dying will be etched in screenshots
enraptured by a city of DMs
& unfiltered sunsets
forever convinced that newsfeeds
are superior to genius
drifted to sleep mode
i.e. a real tragedy will always
get mucho hits
hate to say I told you but
those buried hours
this surfeit of pain
a carpal fog inflamed
thick in every direction
when night is not night
& intellect is pantomime
strangled in self-interest
the browsing starts anew
& we contain
multitudes
What am I afraid of
My biggest fear?
Gladly I will tell you
If you’ll buy me a beer
Ex-wives,
girlfriends,
any of my ex’s
Latinas with knives
and most women from Texas
Their husbands and boyfriends
Drunk and packing weapons
But if I’m being honest
I will have to plead
Women just in general
scare the hell out of me
Let me narrow the field
If I must confess
Any damn woman
in a wedding dress
That would have to be
my final answer
Also nuns with rulers
and exotic dancers
I stayed at my grandparents
a lot as a young child.
my grandmother was a very
liberal person when it came
to the human body.
she would get undressed
in front of me, and allow me to
look at my grandfather’s
playboys while he was at work.
she would be in the bed reading,
and I would be at the foot of the
bed not reading the articles.
at night I slept in between
my grandparents in the bed.
on one occasion, my grandfather
was working the graveyard shift
at the paper mill, and it was
just me and my grandmother.
we got into bed and I put
my little leg across her leg
as I usually did at night.
this time something strange happened,
and I said to my grandmother,
“Nana, you make my lizard long”
silence…
she was either thinking that it’s
time he sleeps in another room or,
‘shit, I still got it’
The Canadian psychiatrist, Humphry Osmond,
coined the phrase in 1956 –
over half a century ago,
but it doesn’t seem that long;
four years after I was born.
Used it in a letter to Aldous Huxley,
the guy to whom Timothy Leary brought acid
on his death bed –
died the day Oswald shot JFK –
so Huxley could die tripping.
Comes from the Greek words
for “mind” and “reveal” –
psykhē and dēlos, the root of which
means “to shine”: dyeu,
which also informs the words “adieu,” “adios,”
“diety,” “divine” and more.
Osmond used the word in a scientific paper
only a year later:
“A Review of the Clinical Effects
of Psychotomimetic Agents,”
in which he discussed therapeutic uses
of LSD and mescaline for the mentally ill.
In his 1956 letter,
Huxley had written to Osmond:
“To make this mundane world sublime,
Take half a gram of phanerothyme.”
Osmond wrote back:
“To fathom Hell or soar angelic,
Just take a pinch of psychedelic.”
i’ve been watching cam girls
literally fuck themselves
for weeks now
empty beer cans
decorate the area around me
like some kind of enchantment circle
where i can summon a demon
to devour me
but instead i cry frequently
and boil into evaporating waters
that stain the ceiling
like a rorschach test
something is also wretched
in the turning tides that
encompass all my
personal definitions
and now
“a thunderstorm forever, above me”
these perpetual distractions
that linger like a lust unexplored
that bleed into the banks of
my yet filtered deliberations
i’m surely becoming
someone i hate more
than i thought possible
fuck you
she needed the biggest, she needed the best.
the boys in her town were stubs
and the men of the city were little more.
so hollow girl hiked the globe:
sometimes paying for it, sometimes raping.
hollow girl went shore to shore
pounced on and bounced on every man she saw
in countries you’ve never heard of.
she passed herself around the few hidden tribes
whitey hadn’t wiped out yet,
but even they barely scraped the sides
of the insides of hollow girl
and as she lay in jungles crying hollow cries
as technicolour beetles scurried over her hollow girl body,
the satellite picked her up:
the narcs in secret Lab 47b were surveying the globe
for the next tree glue, the next cancer-curing coconut or whatever,
when they got wind of hollow girl
and they homed in on her:
watched her rut and cry and rut.
a chopper swooped in and got her
and hollow girl was wheeled into shady government clubs
where:
narcs took turns.
prime ministers had a go of it.
royals hopped on.
powerful men – anonymous and too famous,
they all plugged her up,
even all at once at one point
but alas – they still barely met each other
in her.
it was no good:
hollow girl was still hollow.
so the important men shot her into space.
the bastards, they shot hollow girl into space.
hollow girl hurtling through the cosmos in a big phallic rocket
that she could easily take: the irony not lost
as she watched galaxies slide by the window like weird little windy towns.
hollow girl wishing she could be full.
wishing she could be a full full-on lesbian,
as the edge of the universe came yonder
faster than she ever had
then there was
nothing
then there was
something –
maybe some light?
some white light?
and then
she woke up
on God’s lap
who’s your daddy? He said
and wriggled her up and down His length
but still, STILL
hollow girl was unsatisfied.
that was it.
she’d had enough
of never having had enough.
it was the literal last straw.
she slipped right off Him,
and He slipped right out of her.
then she leapt up at His face
and scratched it into a big useless pate.
then she sat panting on Him a while …
finally, she felt good.
not great, but good enough
there, on God’s dead lap.
still not fulfilled:
quite the opposite in fact.
but she was full of unfulfillment, you see?
the agony of hope was gone at last.
she was choc-full of dreams of vengeance
as the blood of His face rained down on her.
a hate
more powerful than any dick
swelled inside her.
The Hate filled her up, all right.
The Hate bubbled out of her every chasm orifice,
on the faceless throne of our baby dick dead God.
on Her throne.
She was pregnant with vengeance
as destiny coursed through Her hollow body.
and Hollow God?
She looked down at all of us
and now Her work
could begin.
