Dec 18 2010 ABC No Rio

"What is your passion?"Giuero from Jerusalem asked.
Could he read the despair on my face?

Right now my passions are few. I struggle to wake up in the morning. Knowing that futility awaits.
I used to find things interesting.
I used to see glory in the sunshine.
I used to count the stars.
My imagination fails me these days.
I am unable to find comfort in living.

"My passion ... is staying alive."

Wet paper

Breath like crumpled cellophane
Skin pale and wet
Joints stiff and tight
Itchy dry eyes
Tissue paper thin skinned lips
Crack and tear
with each
raspt breath
Slow death rattles
Shuttering and shivering- frozen
Blistering to the touch
Bathed in sweat
From hallucinogenic dreams
and too real realities
Every inch inflicted
Every cell infected
You will die here
Bone marrow boils
Brain matter burns
Each squishy pink organ
Hardens to grey concrete

You will die here

M.K. Daydream

written sometime in 2010

Its been almost three years since I last saw him
His face remains the same in my mind
The same part in his messy golden wheat hair
The same sweetly sneering smile
The same green glass eyes
He still wears shirts from old jobs
Pants with frayed edges and tears from being worn in day after day
His shoes held together with miles of electrical tape
A faded bandana around his neck

His neck- which I've seen so many times before
It hangs in front of me
I reach out to touch the thin soft flesh of his jugular
My fingers run around the rim of his clavicle
My hand falls to his chest- a place I have only seen while drunk and socially naked

I had always dreamed of being held close to him
Breathing hard against his chest
Inhaling the scent of his sweat

The bottom sticker says: I AM SO HAPPY I COULD DIE

This whole book is filled with laments over Chris Peeples and then pages and pages on the zine I was going to make about relationship advice. Who was I kidding.

Who are you out there reading my blog?

sometime in 2009 still holds true

I am now enjoying the newest frustration to come into my psyche
I am lonely. Always. For the touch of a lover.
I want to be held in the after glow of sexual gratification.
SEX isn't so much what I need.
What I am really looking for is a mutual need for the warmth of another body.
Maybe not the same each night.
Maybe not a different one each night either.

A mutually aided affection.
Some one whose willing
Some one whose capable
Some one who wants to be there
Someone who doesn't want to be alone either. 

THINGS I AM GOOD AT

1. Fucking up
2. Causing trouble
3. Being a dissapointment
4. Beating myself up
5. Being a shit

We hear you
but stay behind
We feel you
but stay in line

We agree, we see
don't fret
We are here for you,
don't fret

We have a common cause
You go ahead and burn your bra
We like your feisty attitude
We like your dark tattoos

Your colored hair, the things you wear
You've got us on your knees, we know - to say please
We've got the words, to make you feel heard
We are here for you- to make you feel validated too

Don't worry
Don't fret

You ain't seen nothing yet

Mama did not

Mama did not try
Mama did not try at all
At some point she gave up
At some point she just let it slip from her hands

She called me a drama queen
She called me an attention whore
She called me a problem
She called me a nuisance

She said I was just being "overly dramatic"
That my bouts of depression
My spurts of self-hated mutilation
Were just my teenage emotions
Running wild

When I'd beg to come home from school
Pleading on the phone
"Please Mama"
I cannot do this anymore
I cannot be myself anymore
I can no longer breathe
I can no longer live

She said, "Fine, come home. But go to your room to cry. I am tired. I do not want to hear it."

A little cigarette ash is good for the body

Drink it down.
"Whose beer is this?"
"Dunno dude- is it cold?"
6 am another all night rooftop carnival
Will it ever get old?
Will we live to see it get old?