Perfunctory Perfections Poised

If I were a fortune cookie I'd be hoplessly in debt.

The people we choose to love are a direct manifestation of the things in ourselves we hate.

Tomorrow has absolutely nothing in store for us. It's a void. Let's leave it that way.

I feel sorry for cocaine. It spends so much time in people's noses.

If I were a love letter I'd be illegible.

Confections in Skin

Custard thighs were baking in her dress. Warm with sugar and sticky with egg. There are many gods to worship, but the ones in skin can never be trusted.

Her lies cycling between truth and agenda in the religion of flesh. The skin inside her like an ocean spitting out the bones.

All her matches gone she guarded the fire as the world began to close. Elevators stopped between floors falling to greet us.

Kicking the ball. Away is always better. Testing the sharp edge of his grin with bits of lipstick. It's a war after all. Some must die for the rest to live.


It's not over until we're strangers again. The moon with its noose and the stars with their fables. Stories we'll never tell, but everyone knows.

She tastes sweeter when you're only remembering her.

Bored Bartenders

Sober bunnies devour pretty paper drugs. In little bits of eggshell that peel away from hard-cooked skin. The lettuce is high on the cactus. The tomatoes are drunk on the cherries. It's hard to be a farmer these days. Even harder to be the thing they're trying to grow.

She was counting the fingerprints on the freezer door handle. Trying to determine how cold they had become. There were melancholy skunks for perfume and hungry coyotes for pantyhose, but she still hadn't picked out her dress.

Ring-tailed lemurs made a gauche presentation across her breast. While the wild termite mound seemed an ample analogy. Curtains on a broken window. The world pushes its way in, but I see nothing.

The fabric of her flesh calm and debating how far to stretch to fit. Things too big that she could never cover. And things so small she'd slip right off again.

It's like algebra. Find the absent number. Solve the whole equation. It's like geometry. Multiply. And the multiply again to find what you don't know.

It's like love. More sure of itself than we are of it. The crease of the denim. Temprorary prison. The fever of skin escaping again.

No law.

Limits Reaching Some

Old man! Are you listening? The whole world is hungry and yet you still take from it. There are children and mothers without anything to eat, but you won't die.

Stones at the bottom of a river. Tiny barricades keep the stupid fishes from reaching our mouths.

It's time to lie again. Pretend we want you here with us. Cold sore festering on lips that want to be kissed. We'll keep waiting. As long as it takes for you to die.

No one's young anymore. Everyone's born old because of them. No one ever really lives. They're all just afraid of dying.

We should be killing each other, but we're too busy naming our children. We should be evolving, but we're just too busy having sex.

Pretty Pretty Girls

Pretty. Pretty children. Wit big eyes and tiny holes. Like lamps without an off switch. Christmas presents you shouldn't, but must unwrap early.

So that's what a pedophile would say if asked what he's thinking. Or at least that's how I imagine it. Not that I imagine it often. I just was curious and feeling creative. And wondering how pedophiles differ from regular men. They are want girls way too much younger. Ok. not all. Just the gross, skeevy ones that are still bachelors when they're over forty. Nevertheless, I propose there is an interim disease between pedophilia and the normal adult male. Young girl obsession. Mary Kate and Ashley are all the evidence I need.

See now, I don't care who or how young what man or old man wants to fuck. But it just annoys me their arrogance. They think they should be able to have young women. Why on earth should attractive young women want old, bald, ugly men? Low self-esteem of course. Bulimia. Anorexia, Depression. The burden of a society that constantly demands they be thinner and thinner. Unrealistic standards of beauty perpetrated by the media and hollywood. Hair extensions and continents of makeup. Little girls growing up having no idea that Julia Roberts is fugly and Jessica Simpson even moreso. Little girls lost in world a where Kirsten Dunst looks fuckable and Oprah is thin.

And you know what, men aren't to blame. They may have started it, but women keep it going.

I want to be pretty. As pretty as desperate is.

Dominoes

The baby bird looked down from the nest with eyes as sure as any naked breast. It wondered how it should ever learn to fly. It wondered how anything could fall ant not hit the bottom.

The word pretended to know what she was trying to say. Diaperless orphans trying to hold in the smell of their shits.

She had always assumed the ugly was her fault. She was wrong to love them. To want to have them love her. She had always thought the world was working against her.

Little did she know it was the people she had trusted.

Opening that umbrella as the storm decides to hint at drenching us. Pretending we're prepared for what awaits us.

We fall down. Or we're knocked there.. Doesn't matter if we don't get up.

Imbalance

Damn that TV and its petulant allure. Heinous vacuum that robs me of my mind. Damn the movies and their overpriced ersatz entertainment. Repetitive mockery of art and humanity. Abomination of those unnameable atrocities we call emotion. They get it wrong every time and yet we still go. Pay. Sit. Watch. Gorge on fatty popcorn and diet cola of course, thinking it'll be different. That we won't know who dies. Who lives. Or where the original story came from.

Is there anything new left to create? Has it all been done? Shall we just begin now wishing for the great plague that wipes out most of the population? Setting back the clock on humanity to a few hundred years before it became this boring.

To begin again with politics, religion and entertainment. It would only end up the same. Overpaid morons captivating underpaid idiots. But at least there'd be a few hundred years grace before it became as fucked up as it is now. Maybe somewhere in between there'd be an ice age. That'd teach us not to buy into and pay them for all their bullshit.

You know, if everyone stopped going to movies every friday/saturday night they'd be forced to come up with something worthy of separating us from the money we worked so hard for. It's sad when you think about it. Millions of poor schlubs paying $12 a pop to see some crap movie that makes all the people involved in said crap movie wealthy enough to make yet more crap movies that millions more poor schlubs pay $14 a pop to see.

It's a vicious cycle. If you think they're overpaid then do something about. Stop giving them your money. Actors, directors, athletes. If you've brains enough to know they make far to much money. Do something about it. The only thing you can. Stop paying them.