frying my mind ain't so bad (as far as i kin feel it)--

it's losing my teeth that truly frightens me.

it's listening to my father blindly spouting truisms.
so i may likely smoke prior to seeing him. this will also help me stomach any food stuffs he may suggest we devour.

i mind the people around me when they are not listening. when they are merely awaiting their turn to speak, counting their thoughts and the seconds and gripping tightly to their words with their tongues behind tight lips.

people and their influences. their influences bother me as well. why couldn't they float past the gate of possibilities. why must they insist on following the same tunnel without exploring the windows on their way. without investigating the source of light shining high or to their far left sides upon the aging roads they tread.

i'm unwinding blissfully, arrogantly, ignorantly. i hardly know what goes on around my own perimeter, where do i get the gall, the nerve, the inclination that i know better.

i only want to step upon a stage and bang my drum and sing with a proud tightness around my eyes and a wide mouth excreting the biggest words i can think of with abandon.

i want to live with abandon.

stoned becos i'm sad

i'm sitting on a toilet seat
glancing at the door
then down to the floor

i slouch forward
and stretch back
and i'm lucky if
the sensor behind me
doesn't assume i'm
getting up when i'm not

cos otherwise
the water will
splash up to my
ass cheeks and
the idea of that
doesn't go well
with my
facial expression

and my stomach
churns as though
elbowing me for
not eating a proper
meal instead of
bravely venturing for
a cup of tooth
degrading
 sugar
and coffee

and the people around me
arouse my attention and
then my disdain

and i want to clear up for myself how i feel
but i can't stop nudging myself from the thoughts
that (a) maybe i'm unhappy
and (b) i'm being dramatic

i haven't a real sense of reality
i'm really just roaming the city
in a costume, getting stoned
in as many crevices i can hide in

and i always want to write something
and i want it to sound good all the time
and i want it to make sense, too
and i also want it to be deeply thought out
and i want it to be clever and witty
and suddenly, i don't hold my writing
at such a high regard, and so i stop thinking about writing
and i just sit there, where i may be, and stare
and slowly, sometimes, i'll just stop thinking

sometimes, though, i could just
pick up a pen and begin to write
and i will like what i'm writing about
and the way i'm writing it and i'll be so happy
at my expressive nature and i'll be proud of myself
and eventually i'll stop writing
and walk away from that moment feeling good
and just as eventually, i'll forget i ever wrote anything
and whatever i wrote, however neatly i may have written it
will go on to exist in vain, stowed away and out of sight

i'm inclined to listen to vinyl records
because i have a small collection of them
and occassionally i might summon all the energy in my being
to put one on the plate spinner and place the needle gently on a groove
and i could listen intently, appreciating even the smallest sounds
that leap and swim all around the air tickling my ear drums

some times i might sit at a computer and
get carried away with it's functions so attentively
that i lose my being in time and when i finally snap
out of the trance i succumb to i find my ass to be aching
at the slightest shift of weight.

i've got to get up
and move out
before the floor
sinks below me
and i'll feel bugs
crawling about my
head and neck
for ever.

how does inspiration strike you

long and difficult. striding along trying to keep your eyes straight ahead, i guess i cannot help but avert my eyes from the road to glance left and right towards my surroundings. coconut water streams ice cold, white chunks to chew onto/

wu-tang, wu-tang, wu-tang

a rush of blood to my face, warmth strikes me in the forehead and cheeks and neck

lots of information to take in at once. there is no excuse for not digging my face into the notebook, no reason the pen cannot scribble as much as possible with the string of ink provided.

something's fallen.

one ten.

i could use a massage. a back rub, a neck rub, a squeeze, relief.

do not be a pervert.