I looked into the mirror and behind me was the pig. For a time I guess I had become a California alcoholic. I was in that room, and my beard was gone and I was fatter. No one fatter could take my life. Today I had done more to make that sick dream a reality. A hardcore disempathy. My life wasn’t a virgin’s dream but better than the dream is the ability to play the piano that haunts the dream.

For The Minor Planets

Telos

On the 14h of March 2018 Earth lost simpson’s character Stephen Hawking. His appearances on the show helped shape the programs of our universe and shape our mind to involve itself in the perpetual complexity of the modern cosmos. He was our generation’s less physically talented Einstein and his final theory reconciled the extra dimensions of heaven, hell, and the metabeyond.

Watch Their Pagan Ritual

An ass. You never saw or heard about Marilyn Monroe’s ass or Farrah faucets ass! Or wonder woman’s ass or Davinci’s Mary Magdeline’s. Or Queen Sheba’s 
Where did the infatuation with the female human ass come from 
Are we sick bastards lower than the mules of the field, like the holy cows in heavens pasture that I mentioned earlier. Or is this odd infatuation, another feminine plot to save her future children behind ass and hamstringmuscle from the infanticidal masculine that leads our civilization to speculate to mars or the moon or “technology”

The Tragedy Of

Sometimes the noise helps sometimes it hurts. Either way, being around it cures my hermetics. Which also has obvious duality. On one hand its speaking without teeth and on the other you are holding mushrooms and eggs and hair from the trashcan. What price would you even pay for that? The ones who organize their brain around true geometry are so hooked by the thought of it that the hook leaves a sociological scar. Like that of the woman with the little man in her. Or the man with the unfashionable woman in him. Smile and nod. 

They still wonder who I am at this age with the lights like Jerry Seinfeld but it’s because I am young with a backspace and that I had an idea to prolong my progenitoration. Death is a she and she does lines like an actress, she is a ghost whisperer and she is a dead wife. The way they treat her is terrible. To make a point I will make this known: Death is a wasting, in a toilet after an alcohol, those are the rules of this vacation. A postmodern elvis on a toilet revisits this love: Death is an anxiety to pee and then the regeneration. The rehydration to transform one’s personality through a cosmetic machine. She uses the time while I’m in the machine to blame the machine. Gingerly carry my body down the stairs at the lowest form of mind so that I barely remember before the next life.

The Los Bodies Demo

Dismal Fruit

The Incredible Cows

Virginity At Last

The gray sunshine fell through the curtainless windows and lit up the eggy walls, air came through a large foundation scar that ran from the ceiling to the floor and she pointed to an indoor window that looked down into a den. Sleeping bodies were in bags on the floor and she stopped in her throat her next word and all her energy bulged to her eyes. A door opened and something screamed as if we walked in on it in the nude and though it favored a girl I knew in primary school, it didn’t recognize me. In a fucking raging spirit, we turned around to leave her naked and alone but the architecture of the house had changed like a sick joke, and the hallway we had walked down and the kitchen we were standing in and the tile and the foundation scar and the gray light were traded for a stack of carpet angles staggered in depth and no doors or windows just static electricity.

Onion

A head floating in water, no cell phone. I iridescently make a delivery from a sino chinese restaurant by bicycle to the foot of a mountain. So that it isn’t corny, or cynical. There’s nothing else like it in this world or the next or the next. A leg that is broken listens to the body. Rotating hands in clockwise motion makes you elevate into highest highs. The man that I asked about smoked paint in a hurry. In the house a dirty dirt poor house where i hid my temper tantrum drums which later was our home which later was a five bed rehab. I looked into that mirror and I wasn’t the same. “No Sex in Here” said the cop “Yet, I understand the urges; my wife was in here.”