January 1, 2020 at 12:50pm

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Number code thing 2514#

Frozen droplets of all kinds of patterns and designs fall from the clouds above in many directions; some are big and others are light; some snowflakes fall parallel to another, while others drop perpendicular to one another; the journey of these treasures are blessed by the angels of heaven, they cascade, in a chaotic manner, through the empty air. The street lights outside glorify the haste of the flakes and how quickly they fly to their earthly demise.

Wash away these memories, please God let me be reborn through the flesh of perfection. These delusions, these ghost stories of a foreign time haunt me further and further, each and every day; these memories, distorted pictures of a dead zone, a museum of regret and romanticization, please let me let them go. I’ve been here before. The mind is a delicate thing, and I abuse it. I abuse myself. I abuse others. The mind and its mysteries are not to be understood simply. The chamber of my thoughts, echoing from one fleshy wall to another, holds my sanity with a delicate grip, and the threat of explosion is constant.

>reality? 
>i eat reality for breakfast

my family just casually brought up the fact that my grandfather had a step-brother who took part in the Bataan Death March of ww2, why the fuck was I never told this????

February 18, 2020 at 9:45am

Qsource
QIO

The transformer outside my apartment exploded. My neighbor asked: “Did a tree hit it?” I said “uhh maybe, but I think it was in self-defense, probably.”

my legs burn roots into loose mountain edges 
harrowing over nature’s wonders,
my eyes cast hooks into the silence of the trees
and their leaves falling;
I mourn the loss of the tree and its beautiful coat,
The leaves and their beautiful colors,
the bushes cloud the trees hips,
insects are burrowing deep into their bark covered skulls;

it is but no surprise that nature is indifferent,
screams of pain are silent,
in the destiny of the worlds design

           -    all i want is a suitable mate who will bite off my head and eat my body for nutrients, few know this

March 23, 2020 at 8:14pm

Leaders create toys out of thoughts and beliefs, ideas and hopes, and all we can do is play with them like little monkey idiots

      -  Write a story about a cave man trying to create philosophy,
                    but instead he just kills people (is this not philosophy?)                                                                                                           

----~11122223!!!!!

All libraries are closed. all staff is still expected to show up. There are no customers around and we are not allowed to run programs or outreach. There is very little in terms of book circulation (who the fuck goes to a library during a pandemic anyway? Luckily im still getting paid. Also for some reason libraries are still taking phone calls? I’m sitting here, alone with my coworkers, playing cards, waiting for something to happen.

I hope im sick. I want to wtch more kurosawa movies :)

Truth be told.. there is a sadistic part of my self that hopes things get worse…

April 21, 2020 at 4:01pm

The homeless people in Skyrim are a lot cooler than the ones in real life.

Maybe I should kill an eagle as some modern critique of patriotism, also eagles are fucking terrifying, they look like they want to kill me…

It seems ironic that i havent seen a blind person in awhile…

What’s an IP Address? Well, I can certainly tell you that it is not an IPoop Address

Playing with a ball - an internalized form of celestial circumnavigation - having the ability to toss a spherical object in any direction and with any speed…the power…wut mean?

He feels the ash burn…holes… im sorry I hurt you, god damn it im sorry, I wish I was dead

May 24, 2020 at 9:56pm

A tribe called quest, but wheres the quest love?

Ferrington is a black cats name; he passes by my house every day. He follows a woman named Lauren, who’s the local spouse of a famous photography. The photographer used to smoke a lot of weed and go to Jimmy Buffet concerts. I wish I could have hung out with him more.

“Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire.” – Jorges Luis Borges

Dear God, 
I just now realized that
there is no turning back.

coronavirus has transformed restaurant dining into a TSA airport experience, fucking great

it’s weird having a happy trail when you’re depressed

June 7, 2020 at 6:50am

Holy shit, am on so much coke, am with harry and mack, have to write this down

Okay so get this: my Friend harry smoked meth with james hetfield and gary busey!?)

• steven miller story (harry met steve miller holy fuck??) harry walked onto a yacht and it was stevens (his dingy was named abracadabra, go figure) 

• Harry wanted to tell him his favorite song that he liked was abacadabra - steve got an acoustic, his wife brings out electric slide guitar and plays the song in front of him.. wow

• Pamela Anderson gave his dad a blowjob, and somehow this was used as a one up bragging point for any argument

• His dad even hungout with yoko, nancy, courtney love?

• This dude’s dad sold coke to nancy reagan who would put it in reagans orange juice?? Holy shit

• Harry owned a surfboard that he named fumanchu lol

• the song glycerine by Bush brings Harry to tears. It was the song he listened to after his grandfather died. Rest in peace

• Marky Mack had cancer, recovered thank god... he only makes 24K a year... also a felon bcuz he called in a bomb threat at a restaurant... struggling with sobriety… I hope I never end up like him

• Mack and harry were both in prison, now theyre hugging and crying… im gunna do another line

ijust snorted my last line and now harry is using the leftover coke to make crack – oh fuck me the cat just got out, maybe I can leave and they wont notice

my friends and I were drinking on the sidewalk when suddenly a black lives matter protest came by. The protest was mostly white people. we suddenly noticed there were more black people eating in the applebees across the street (have u seen their appetizer menu tho?) They took videos of the protestors. The protestors ate pizza when they were done. They had a fucking pizza party in the street. I didn’t get any. Maybe I should go next time… mmm, pizza…

look up Giorgio de Chirico flowers when sad

ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ start fires, drink beer, snort coke, and eat bbq ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

July 11, 2020 at 12:35am

confines of a world forgotten poem, maybe submit this?

a vibrant star bleeds through an endless foreboding expanse 
littered with winking pixel wishes, cyber blue eyes,
blood red moons, and muted muon loops, all fused together by the
far reaching cries of waning wonders searching aimlessly
for their intended destinations of the banal, the augmented, the uncanny
the will of that star’s slowly dying fire, echoing into that dark expansion, 
enlightens nearby celestial bodies, 
ripping apart sensation from reason, 
leaving shooting shrapnel pieces and eternal gaudy ashes simmering, scattering out to empty pulsar shores dead with silicon ridden rings looping around back and forth, back and forth.

(bookshelf is 5’7 tall, 35” wide (front/back) 22” long (sides))

les rallizes den – night of the assassin

the human heart bleeds willfully, endlessly, in a most tragic harmony of self-diagnosed disintegration, painting nearby celestial bodies with a neon dust; life and rocks and unidentified objects from the blackness
far as one can see, can see me--

the atriums of my heart are 
painted in a deep, rich purple, 
choked by shameful callous abjection, 
where pulmonary veins slowly 
separate from elegiac corporeal chains, antagonizing flesh from mind, 
body and spirit, virtual and absolute;
all drowning in violent venous bleeding.
but can we believe in, can i experience, or can there be expectations of any other kind of divine, eternal pleasure?

must we witness the abscission of our crestfallen selves thrown into a sickly nature, traditional and absent, plagued by forgotten futures, past transgressions, experiences of dying worlds erasing those longing dreams, of buyers, of delusions,
of sinners, of the eternal walking dead, unconscious to our negative depreciation? 
i believe so… fuck what am I even saying

the blood secures so very little,
inside living bones battered and brittle,
but it is the carving of our consciousness,
a pulsating panic in our breast, our chest,
the oscillation of those ironies and fears
which carries our souls through the years,
experiencing the brunt of suffering,
of traumatizing labyrinths here and there,
deconstructed into finite collective somethings
of unique parity bits broadcast infinitely,
struggling to find cohesion, 
until their untimely separation. 

let us remember our forlorn lovers;
let us weep heartily for slaughtered brothers whose deaths haunt their broken mothers;
and fall apart to realize self from other,
so as to search our wounds for hope, or perhaps the long rope of sedative cope,
to find beauty in our lacerated scars, to empathize with God’s fallen angels plagued by their follies and their regrets, 
as they fall deeply from the high, high heavens.

as we float towards infinite terrors,
of a separate world alien to human touch,
constructed by our own insurrections,
let not our fate be controlled by
the towers of guilt and shame looking 
over our future,
our past,
and our fickle, arbitrary glories.
I bleed for me, for thee--

perforate your perception,
let the twinkling lights dance,
and surcome to a comatose luxury;
because the human heart, in abstraction,
in a harsh rebellion against it all,
is nothing more than a wretched star,
born to bore mortal scars,
bleeding endlessly into a darkness,
of a constant vertigo
too cruel 
to ever 
let go

chikfila order – spicy chiken sandwich, chikfila sauce, sweet tea, 8pc chikn nugget, large fry

August 14, 2020 at 8:57pm

i was watching a student television network program and it was just passion fruit by drake playing over a video of an 80 year old woman rubbing ointment on her psoriasis like what the fuck

Sometimes the television and I will just watch each other. All I can see is my obscured reflection in the black screen. I look at the television and see dead air. I look outside and see air full of dread. The source for life is evermore introverted, unavailable in material form. I become consumed by those paranoid thoughts, my inclinations dissipate; the numbing sensation anchors my stomach to the bed, and I fall backwards

“Modern anthropologic thought suggests that the Sabre-toothed Tiger ate our species into consciousness. Isn’t that cool?” - Feed (2005)

Lorem Ipsum Dolor Sit Amet “There is no one who loves pain itself”

September 25, 2020 at 11:51pm

So im sitting on my porch drinking beer and my neighbor comes up to me an says “yeah, this man came into planned parenthood and had gonorrhea in his colonoscopy hole because his partner with gonorrhea fucked his colonoscopy hole with his actual penis”

 im wearing my Kenneth cole shoes tonight, mother fucker, time to get messy

1. the lonely man lying in bed (as he did most days) mostly tried to think about what his mind looked like. His favorite answer to this question was that his mind was like a jeremiad sermon, a great congregation of people surrounded by fleshy walls listening to an angry man on a white stage yelling about the recent disasters and misfortunes of Morgenrede. What could it mean — and what should Morgenrede do? The man on the stage preached loudly — he was a personal servant of Morgenrede, who made it his mission to conserve, translate, and dillute these disasters and tragedies of Morgenrede’s life into a sensible language promising peace and reconciliation, where an experience to go on could form as well. these mental sermons served as cathartic exercises towards becoming, towards development and mental reconfiguration. but of course, to go back to where one was happier long ago, or to move forward to undiscovered and forever incalculable happiness; this was a most concerning decision for the man on the white stage. the sermon kept going, the crowd yelling in agreement, responding matchingly to the piano playing nearest the stage, and oh how lovely it was here, to be weak around the discussion of truth, which is course, one’s self.

October 23, 2020 at 5:33pm

I think back to a time, I think it was 2017, where I went off into a state of blissful panic. Thinking back to when I first left my apartment, it was very calculated. I told no one. I forgot my phone and traveled to Missouri. I left breadcrumbs. I returned before the police could do anything or put in a missing persons report. I came back, and then I just cried. That’s all I could do. I distinctly remember, during the panic, after driving to the hotel on a hill, I drove into a storm and stopped at as rest stop somewhere near the Missouri/Arkansas state line. I watched a trucker facetime his family. I masturbated and then fell asleep. I drove back home and went back to my classes. I thought of you the entire time. I thought about how much I miss you.

I fall in love with you
a milion times inside my head—
over and over and over again
until the idea of you is finally dead

Brandon Michael Boujie, the schizophrenic dude I picked up when I went to get beer at midnight

• Michael the angel, as he called himself, coming down through the heavens into the heart of the coronavirus plague – I swear this guy was like a kind of saving grace, except he kept saying that the mafia wuz coming after him. I walked him to my car, but he thought I was going to kill him. I thought about it, im not gunna lie. I initially saw him sprint across the street, nearly getting hit by a car. He wanted me to drive him somewhere in East Memphis. Maybe I could score some karma points, ya know? The guy said people were following me, so I drove faster. Apparently he was kicked out of a strip club and pissed off the mafia owners. I dropped him off and then came back home. When I parked my car, I noticed a black truck with tinted windows pull away from my neighbors driveway. It was just my neighbor selling drugs. I didn’t sleep at all.

November 4, 2020 at 4:10pm

Just took 1 tab of acid mid-day paired with seltzers and firmly rolled joints, let’s go baby

“Mounting hopes for the planned technological society in the 1950s encouraged some commentators to anticipate nothing less than control of the weather. Congress had actually been mulling over proposals for meteorological manipulation since 1850.” –
kevin rozario, the culture of calamity

Maybe we chew the skin off of our fingers when we get nervous because we want to be rid of ourselves, because we want to see what is inside of this complex machine we call “self.” I want to see the original, the skeletal plan, the me at conception, devoid of growth. Gnawing away at the flesh is a tick, a nervous reaction… or is it rooted ina primal belief that there is something deep inside, far away from the terrible reality of sense-based selfhood? but when i gnaw away at my fingers, isee nothing, nothing but muscle, blood, and pain. i come to discover that the body has no self, but is self, aware of self — a body, a believer, but a believer in the body, as self, a constant self-consciousness ad infinitum.

December 8, 2020 at 12:16pm

Yue Minjun, “Floating” (2009)

ive already had enough beer, i can always drink more beer. i think this slowed down year, this abrubt period enveloping our current conditions of schizophrenic subjectivity, autistic communication, and algorithmic behavior dictated by mental anguish during what many claimed to be the age of acceleration, while inflicting insufferable pain onto the lives of so many people, is probably one of more important stops we will have to really get a good look at ourselves, to be in a present understanding of things, to enjoy and take a ride on the boring, miserable banality chariot of reality. look around and take a second to laugh at yourself. Take a look at your friends, your family, your fingers, your dick, your books, your accomplishments. Do they matter? To whom? I finally understand what the pink-faced laughing men in Yue Minjuns cynical realist paintings were doing now. these men are laughing abruptly, with their eyes shut, face dark pink like aged skin, smiling as an obvious cope for pain and suffering in plain sight; these laughing men are looking into the darkness of history. they laugh at pain. they laugh at suffering. because they know. they get it.

Human suffering is the compensation for being grown in the womb; its the rent and interest for the nurturing care of the mother. And all we can do is hope we go back soon…

“What do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil – this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that people will fear him.” – Ecclesiastes 3:9-14

my mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and all I said was: “a do over”