myself as a devoured fawn

I am not feeling well. And I have the best tactics for not dealing of anyone I know. I only know a few people. I don't know anybody. Who am I? such basic qualms, never ending. Laughable. The trying starts now, so I ran away. Stream of consciousness puke. Gets me nowhere. Safer bet than actual attempts. Back to square one. It's not all that bad. I am a fawn in the meadow is all, cowering in fear. Try and catch me. Shaky legs never stop buckling. You win. I am devoured. Well, the death is not so bad, its the digestion that I can't stomach. Never ending.

Myself as an egg, unaware...

Frayed edges supporting the traverse between two points elevated above a fall

Intellectualization, if dull and vacant of any emotive response, shatters the perceived world of what I consider important contemplation and exercise. Intellectualization, if beyond my ability to truly comprehend, if over my head and far beyond what I am 'smart' enough to understand, makes me feel inferior to the world I strive to consider. included in this convoluted nothing is a visualization of this schema (see attachment).

feelings are dangerous. And I do not understand. I am a boy stuck between the hard place of misguided desire for intellect and a stunted youth without a voice for my feelings.

Abstract List of Interesting Things:

Historical Mythologies
Contemporary Mythologies
Interconnected-ness of temporal existence as related to history, society, life, death, love, hate, you, me, them, us
Heidegger's Broken Hammer
Or The World Revealed
Natural phenomenon
Aurora Borealis
Social Phenomenon
Groupthink
Historical Phenomenon
Repetitive Nation States
Foucault-dian histories of thought
Moral ambiguity
Ethical ambiguity
individual ambiguity
Aesthetically narrow minded awareness
Blindness
Deafness
Paralysis
Fear
Fear of death
Being split open
Execution
The Wrongly Accused
Guilty walking free
Ouroboros
Hiroshima
The Extended Mind
Expanded Consciousness
Lobotomy
Nietzsche
Syphilis
Melville
Anonymity
Dostoevsky
Depression
Ecclesiastes
David and Goliath
Daniel in the Lions Den
Jonah in the Whale
Walking on Water
Belief
Miracles
Doubt
Hubris

Altogether Now

clap you hands. Forthrightness is lost on me. Hieroglyphics here. I wanna bathe in you. and you and you and you. Highly exercised are these neural pathways I suppose. Or LARGE this cultural leviathan? Both? More? Can we handle it? Not as we are? Accept the inevitable? These are truly the last days? Tuck your head between your knees, try to put it in your mouth. Paradoxical is this notion of not caring, needing to, needing others to. How will we survive? Please don't leave me behind. I have a beautiful neck.

contemporary thought

Humvee tears can't give anything up. strangeness in our hands. tapping and flicking and pinching and rubbing and scratching and picking and gripping. Christian mysticism might not be cutting it.
This is true? Probably. In a lot of ways? I'm afraid so. Is there anything salvageable? God is a historical construct. I am told, as some deep part of myself I am unable to understand whispers secrets I cannot hear. I might be wrong. misguided
your hand reaching down unconsciously fingering notebook dimples. Say it isn't so mysterious stranger. this proves nothing. Heatstroke heartache. Who is happy?
A house of cards is so obviously an illustration of this gluttonous cultures inability to sustain. it seems foolish to have to say. what more? some effigy of the towers we built that could not stand forever? a monument to the multiple phallus's doomed for failure. our human desire. our human weakness. our human temporary. only, they are actually really hard to make.

'never never gonna give you up, no I'm never, ever gonna stop; never ever gonna quit, cause quittin just aint my schtick'

ahh no bother.
and so what about bukowski.
he cheated too.

there it was
but I forgot.

some record of this
should exist.

because there is only
a small amount
to remember.

works without faith
Control trying
let your guard
down

What is it like
up there?
out there?
in there?
the void,
so overused.

I can't tell
about your heart.
Maybe its beating
maybe not.
What about mine?

Such effort,
doing nothing.

PS

We are all fumbling for the right words to say...

Im no good with answers.
I have bad questions
asked earnestly.
and everything I do,
feels perfectly self indulgent.

An aside

gosh. you sure know how
to make a gal feel special.
like a damp stuffed toy.

says judith.

Blindspot 37

The image on the cover of the last issue of Blindspot by Hannah Whitaker is astounding.

pain cliche
a pain in the neck
a cramp in the leg
a cosmic constipation
problematic but not
a problem persay
murky mucky fuck
i bust my ass all day
can't you at least
have dinner ready
when my sphincter
arrives
can't this line
move any faster
pain relationships
slave and master
needy needed cream
holes
dirty toilety enema
crusades
pain teachers
psychic muscle
workouts.
assfilled meatpoles
o stinkyfuck
bouts of viagra
psychosis
can't you cum
any faster
won't you be
my master

I am standing still. It's like I just woke up. A bad dream lingers; blackhole hovers at the edge of my mind.
Last Nights Dream:
I was observer and participant. Not characters or people or faces, but some sense of being I can't explain. Dueling egos slashing each other with razor blades and vanishing into shadows. Cornfields and darkness and dirt. Locker rooms, melting metal, and fierce battle. My ego was afraid and outmatched and determined to win. My ego was strong and cunning and knew the outcome. And much trickery, pervasive like a game. A magic I had no chance against. I had lost. A coffin being dragged into infinity with ego trapped inside. Long arms wrapping themselves around, Hands pulling ego down. Screams with no sound. Hands and arms bulging wood and splitting flesh until only hands and arms were left.

O Blackhole!

Divide my molecules
ease my mind
I would rather face
the negation of
existence. Than
dwindle over time.

what lonely death
life had in store...
but then you came,
blackhole.
and now I know.

who cares
if my ipod goes
through the wash,
and still works?
I'd give all
the dark matter
in my soul
for a real
miracle.

Model baby
Cream my pants,
Dont stop hurting...

I'm a clone with memory
is all.
Remembering
is all.

Don't think about clones
they have no souls.