debt squads coming

i pretend a lot of things about myself
yesterday i was imagining myself confessing to all of you~ that all of these words came from the vast Craig's list free pile
if i were really unemployed and really a filthy bum, i'd sit at the library computer and look at all the freebies~ and the food

ice cream beverages ~just the sound of such a concoction brings tears to my face and stains to my shirt
we should let our children run barefoot, we should give our shoes to dogs
there's a subterranean world covered with mossy lichen right below us~ with denizens ?
where artists throw all their work in to the trash ~ where it all belongs~
the things of the world just fall apart spontaneous
we could push buttons together / and push each others buttons together
long board handplane~ one side is a nose rider for my mom
the other side is a hull for some ambidextrous handplane action~ recycled crates
i've been retraining myself~ on how to eat again, with small bites and savoring each tiny taste
learning to listen to food ~ what did the tomato say to the banana ?
the marvelous colors, of which art can never duplicate
such splendid juxtaposed contrast~ the produce workers are truly gifted artists
i wanted to lay with fruit~ to be all mouth~
i pretend to be a tourist~
to be emblazoned upon enormous beach fires~ of drift wood and carcass
the heavy sway of shelving against gravity ~ the lack of information made us. . . want
the dead touch our world with mittens
this painting is a surfboard, i shaped it ~ ish
of course it used to be something else~ i like that about things and people
protect me from rain, dust, and splinters
beware of the flowers ~ because i'm sure they're going to get you~ yet*

*old punker song, by . . . you'll have to ask someone else~ El Mutante ? perhaps
look at all these handplane vehicles
you don't believe in cake ?
something awful about a plastic wrapped salad
fake greens / with salt and pepper
a rich golden fried color ~ of ~ i hate chicken
everything looks disgusting when it's over ~
and everything is over
the west is getting old
a horrible waste of trees~ to be forced to hold our leaves ~ against ~ our autumn

this is how i want to be killed~
bury me~ with a shovel
ghost bunnies
novels / poems / love letters here. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a modified infinity here
an earth composed of spherical sky and childhood clouds

try not to look at something beautiful or another something hideous~ $ 10 !
you don't believe in cake ?
cars didn't always have cup holders / we used to drink in appropriate drinking locations, like diners and bars and puddles. . . out of our hands~ cupped
i failed a lot of this type of test
i feel generic and sterile / you look delicious
we're all just as stuffed ~ but not as squared

1 comment:

  1. Loved the blog,the colors the words everything,I guess part of that was shot at Ikea.How come I don't see this when I walk around or imagine this.What a mind.pucci.


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.

Supported by the website design company guide .

Blog Archive