I love dancing

I love dancing. Sure, I might be hurt, maybe pull a groin. Fucking groins. It appeals to my sensitive side. CRAAAZY.



Electronic paper. This is electronic paper. “Electronic” paper. We can’t escape the paper! Next time we start earth, we should use better materials. Like bendable things. Reshapeable things. We only need globs. All households are given 3 tons of globs. 3 tons of pliable material. Globs become what we need. Government supplied of course. Fork? Ok! Camera? Sure! But a bit more complicated. Forks are super easy. Cameras fucking SUCK. But GLOBS are the solution. No dumps or landfills for future generations (or aliens) to excavate. No tires floating to topsoil. Just globs. F-O-R-E-V-E-R. But, we really shouldn’t make them toxic. Maybe a little toxic. Not hugely damaging on life expectancy. 5 years? Globs are worth it.


3 Sections

Section 1:

Resembling a parachute, the blue hoodie sweeps endlessly. Cover your bones, knuckles from me. Hoodie, my hands fit into your musky spaces. Should I sell it? It must be worth a great deal. There are other hoodies, including blue ones.

Section 2:

How about pressing lips? Slightly open and breathing; also, trying not to try. Stop focusing, stop planning, stop guessing, and stop directing. THINGS ALWAYS MOVE FORWARD. Besides, this is perfect.

Back to pressing lips. Soft, yet controlled. We trade hints and glances.
How can I capture this in writing? These words are too defined and clear to depict anything, especially a kiss. It frustrates me to try, but my constant interest will not let me be. I will follow this passion until I have no kisses to give.

Section 3:

My pattern again…But this is I.

The cure for loneliness is to be alone. But not too much.

There is no objective positive personality trait. Although, some are more commonly sought to obtain (sense of humor, intelligence, attractiveness)

Outward aggression is a reflection of inward turmoil. Maybe, maybe not.

Everything is a reaction to a previous action. Impossible to prove or disprove, which gives power and influence.

Happiness is relative. If it were truly relative, would there be any happiness at all? How can this be objectively measured?

There is no such thing as causality, only correlation. But with enough correlation, we take the risk of inferring causality. Nonetheless, causality is a farce, however a necessary evil.

EVERYTHING IS SUBJECTIVE. EVERYTHING IS OBJECTIVE. In my conscious isolation, logic pushes me to subjective way of life while emotion pushes me to an objective way of life.

INTERESTING. “Emotional” subjectivity is found through logic. (Existential isolation, nothing provable)

INTERESTING. “Logical” objectiveness is found though emotion. (Empathy for others)


glowing with Optimism

Practice conversation to success:

“Hello Dynamite. You reminded me of dynamite and sharp. Also, sharp sensation for my brain. Comprehension bogs and bogs and bogs and also bogs. But I continue. HELLO DYNAMITE! You remember me? I repress, and my arms feel uncomfortable. No need to worry, for my heart and liver are intact like functioning fountains. Bleeding and pumping and filtering and bog and cleanse and sigh. So we stare with intensity. You can see much focus in the pupil shrinking. Smaller black dot. Smaller and more compact. (like wafers and other computer chips). Well, I am and addict of something complex and unobtainable. Feeding my addiction is complicated, unlike a 15 dollar bottle of rum. 15 dollar bottles of rum obtained by earning 15 dollars. A fair innocent trade. Until you beat your wife. Blow smoke on your baby. We have parking lots of shaped stone. However, dirtied with smaller stones and stuffy. Rebelling tress or wild grass."

Any understanding. I focus on it. I love consciousness. I love this drama we play. Introvert. Watch and be filled.


large cardboard boxes

Pick up the doll. Cradle the doll. Rub plastic carrots against its plastic lips. Change the doll into new doll clothes. Kiss it, sing to it, squeeze it softly, and put it to sleep.

Pick up the plastic gun. Inspect the gun. Hold it against your armpit. Squeeze the unmovable trigger. Bam Bam Bam Bam. “You’re dead” “No! I shot you first” “No you didn’t”

Plastic drum sets, plastic shopping carts, plastic trucks, plastic kitchens, plastic tools, plastic houses, plastic vacuums, plastic dolls and guns.

Give them large cardboard boxes.


You know what’s funny? Nobody asks for my advice. However, I really LOVE to give advice. Maybe my advice sucks. I mean come on.

I’m always asking people what they think. But, you see, I’ve received terrible advice, acted on it, and have been royally screwed over.

Go with your gut, as Steven Colbert would say.

I like to fix and problem solve. Here is the catch, people don’t want you to fix or problem solve their lives. They just want to bitch about them. That’s fine. Just listen. Sympathy is so nice and comforting. If they really want advice, they’ll ask for it.




Hair on my back,
Hair on my ass,
Hair on everything,
Why only a pubescent, conquistador mustache?



I notice her giggling. It’s as though she has forgotten reality or is oblivious. It makes me jealous. I want to ask her to coffee, but I stop myself. I usually over calculate.

What was her name? I don’t like the sound of Mary. Maybe it was Erica.

Father gives advice worth listening to. He understands my motivations and needs. I am like him. Which is good. My father is brilliant, caring and strong. Nights are hard and difficult, but I wouldn’t trade this life for any other.

Quite an odd relationship. I miss her. I miss her smile. I miss the way she would look at me. I miss her perception. I doubt she misses me. That is fine. My feelings are not based on her's. Things are not necessarily equal. I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE FOR MY FEELINGS. FUCK YOU IF YOU JUDGE ME. She has somebody new. Wonderful and new. She can’t carry my issues. Nobody can. She is free. I am not. I will get there. Time…

I miss holding somebody. Having somebody in my arms. Somebody I care about. Somebody that cares about me. I crave unconditional love. There are people I can hold. I don’t want them.

It least I’m logical about it. I know what I have to do. I have to reject my cravings.



Politics – Layers of policy for resource distribution. Such as gold.
Gold – A metal less common than others.
We demand gold – This less common metal now litters malls - Absurd.

Gold value seems inherently meaningless, comes from society.

Work – Expected from people. Father. Brother. Friend. Neighbor. And Society.
Now – I expect work from myself. I fear being ostracized.
I must become a cog in this fabricated system.

I did not create this language. I did not create this system. Why do I hold its weight on my shoulders?

My consciousness sits in my head, isolated. I yearn for connection. If only my soul could dance, fit inside another’s, feel their emotions.

Meaningful or Meaningless. I continue. Maybe even buy gold. Not too soon though. I need to forget about this.


I feel much and many.

I miss hands that never touched.
I miss arms that never held.
I miss endearments that never came.
I miss memories that did not happen.

When I press upon warm bodies, I hold heat.
When I study eyes, I cannot find myself.
When I paint, I find nothing beyond it.
When you paint, I cannot find the painting.

I feel complete. Whole as this apple.
I feel existential. Disconnected as this apple.
I feel diverse. Unique as this apple.
I feel compromised. Infected as this apple.
I feel much and many.