sorry bunny

sorry bunny

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

really cool ideas:
project influences by R. Buckminster Fuller
- The idea here would be to explain in some way similar to that of Paul Klee's Pedagogical sketchbook check it out: more to come!

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

re translations

you just made my day =
you gave me something i wanted before meeting you =
i actually thought about you giving it to me the whole time we've known each other and now that i have it i'm not sure why i still know you

the real world =
world outside my head =
the working world =
the world where when you find you should be responsible, you are =
the world of having a job, making money, and being sort of a common folk =
not the world in which is run purely off of air, thoughts, magic, and let's be honest the hardworking sweat of others =
the world outside my self

i miss you =
i passively miss you and will be trying to replace you with someone else =
no matter how many people i replace you with, i still think of you often (but less and less often as time goes by)

i will miss you =
until next time =
i feel like i'm falling in love with you, or the idea of you and i don't want to tell you because a) that's weird and b) i've only known you for a week =
i am already trying to plan the next time we take our panties off

solving puzzles =
taking off your pants =
taking calculus =
getting into your pants =
soul union

i wish i had a money tree =
i never want to work =
i never see the recirculation of good in the eyes of the lenses

you suck! =
i probably care about your opinion =
i love you, but don't like you
= I love you!

um yeah more...P.S.

YOU SUCK! jajajaa

one sister to another

and in this time of research and exploration
tug on the strings of your sister's lover

another post unsure of its foundation
in still water ______ falling.

like any hold in my splintering.

black water.


learning names.

veins tightening.
all the same, i guess.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

hey this is funny sometimes

words seem stupid. I am no distinguished writer. I would like to talk about my feelings. This is what this is supposed to be used for. This is supposed to be release. This is supposed to prevent explosion.

Or a gargley group of nails-on-the-chalk-board poems for you. You who never speak. Silent internet audience. So the panopticon of awareness. Equals paranoia for me.
Watching speaking slowing down your slurs to make movement.

I understand, i do not understand. Why does what could be recognized as negative seem so poetic? And the happiness so bland? This is just a private journal or some small lady who never aged past adolescence. The honey of the eucalyptus tree. Anti ANTI BIO your face in my MOUTH.

Warm feelings feel light. My point must be down. Or horned. Yes, I have felt it on the top of my head, formed and de-formed to reform society. My little society the microbes underneath my fingernails. they come creep up to the outside corners of my eyelids at night and watch as the sandman gentley locks my eyes down, so I don't wake up in the middle of the night in a fit of terror, If'n i ever caught a glance of the real world.

All rotting flesh. But I like Our perspective.

Maybe it really was like it was in that big book Dad read to me at night, Myths & Legends. That heavy book. And every night, from dream to dream I would sleep. From stories of girls and animals who were once humans, and mixes and moxies of strings that I could draw out and into my mind as I drifted. Oh i imagine it was opalescent string. And I yawned it out of my father's magic. It was pink. It had the stink of dreams. The wonder if i could get away from this real thing. But really what if this one is the real fake!

Starbucks Starbucks Starbucks Starbucks. Suck my ass but i like your coffee. I am no coffee connoisseur.
(as lips dress your cheeks, as lips drape over your skin, as lips purse for purpose)
I wait in line to buy organic goods. Under the similar pretension that we all need to be protected from nature. Perhaps what we are trying to do is not natural, but SUCK IT KIDS. Fuck it I'm a tree.

i think worse than the fucked up things they put in the ground to make mutant food we have no idea of what LIFE will be affected by, is the intention spread on the ground, that of dominance and making money out of survival goods.

Anytime you try to make money off of what people need to survive, there will be those who will no longer be able to obtain those goods.

So I think it is swell, yet swollen, that so many of us are being enlightened by random toys and lights and objects that bear no hold on your blood & breath.
For example, super shiny golden track jackets. Blue dreaded hair. Bacon grease. Shiny shiny boots of leather.

(TB More)

Monday, September 5, 2011

waiting in the hotel room in Reno. spelled silly. dropped some letters on the ground. hard con. scratchy and miss-graded. there is a leveling here. floor below floor. below flavor. i messed up skilled scared. to the garden. to the passage way. to the lose papers to the middle man. i was horse. i am cowboy. i killed buddha. i killed myself. i killed the president. i killed Zardoz. I made a mystery out of two lips. breathing words so slowly the wind stops time. I unlocked a door. the door opened into another hole. the hole formed two sides. I exhaled and got taken in. blown through. cracked open. free from walls is what a passage way looks like. maybe the illusion of a wall, the negative impression of 3 walls. The fourth lacking in any connotation.

above my head the air glistens in the way only air can. warm and flowing and coming from no where just being air. the air moving the air as if particles were separated and rubbed up against each other with as much friction as two pieces of paper. two differently colored chunks of bark. two names of a feather, flyin' together.

Thanks to deep Playa

Thank you dear greek deep playa
matted with feet scrapes now your dust is thinly slain
how terribly raw is my face
she called me an angel, i said, we all are.
on my face the flesh boils up
steamed skin now tough
can resist burns in the hot sun
contemplating why he would keep keep telling me how hot I am but not how beautiful.
does not think i am beautiful.

I think everyone's face is so terribly unique they are each their own examples of complete beauty

he couldn't stand my face so I put the sunglasses on. he couldn't bear to look at me, because his penis was growing. And my face was red. He thought I was someone else. He didn't care. He cared. He turned away from me. My mouth smelled bad. I have an infection. I haven't taken acre of myself for years. I kissed him we gave each other tongue. My face turned away. I know when my face is a burden. They try so hard but they separate my body from my head. I think he was embarrassed to see me in the light. I looked unlike his usual girls. Red face Lives lower under the surface of our skin care. death face angel race.
race to the line
divisions of grandeur
who are you and who are you deserving of?
the photo turned bad anyhow.
i never loved him.
we danced till dawn.
we danced in the day.
i used him for my sex-dancing motives.
i was desperate for uh pick me up and let me fly kinda guy
our slow dancing rubbed him
we didn't even need to leave the dance floor, right there out in the open.
he appears confused.
i am not what they belong to. Unlike fear love. Unlike near love or near brine.

he to me stood like an adonis. it was clear the connection was physical. i stood with my wings banging the air around me creating whirls of wind magic spheres. i cover my face in the darkness. it is too much to handle. darlin.
face like death, to remind you of the afterlife