Impossible

Can't get a dial-tone.

An American Prayer

Do you know the warm progress
Under the stars?

Do you know we exist?

Have you forgotten the keys
To the kingdom

Have you been borne yet
& are you alive?

Let’s reinvent the gods,
All the myths of the ages

Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests

[have you forgotten the lessons
Of the ancient war]

We need great golden copulations

The fathers are cackling in trees
Of the forest

Our mother is dead in the sea

Do you know we are being led to
Slaughters by placid admirals

& that fat slow generals are getting
Obscene on young blood

Do you know we are ruled by t.v.

The moon is dry blood beast

Guerrilla bands are rolling numbers
In the next block of green vine

Amassing for warfare on innocent
Herdsman who are just dying

O great creator of being

Grant us one more hour to
Perform our art
& perfect our lives

The moths & atheists are doubly divine
& dying

We live, we die
& death not ends it

Journey we more into
The nightmare
Cling to life
Our passion’d flower

Cling to cunts & cocks
Of despair

We got our final vision
By clap

Columbus groin got
Filled with green death

(I touched her thigh & death smiled)

We have assembled inside this ancient
& insane theatre

To propagate our lust for life
Flee the swarming wisdom
Of the streets

The barns are stormed

The windows kept

& only one of all the rest

To dance & save us

With the divine mockery
Of words

Music inflames temperament

(when the true king’s murderers
Are allowed to roam free
A 1000 magicians arise in the land)

Where are the feasts

We are promised

Where is the wine
The new wine
(dying on the vine)
-Jim Morrison

Impossible concentration.

Fuel

I can only tell you what it feels like:
Disturbed emotions
Steel knives in my windpipe.
Drowning in hallucinations
Fueled by fastidious paranoia.
Eruptive, crushing, clawing
A feeble mind to pieces.
But I know he'll resurrect me
He fucking hates me
And I love it.

"I used to be self-conscious about my height, but then I thought fuck that, I'm Harry Potter"

Several hours later, I awaken. I find that I am back where I began: in the middle of two unfamiliar bodies on the floor in a familiar basement. Confusion overrides my expression, but I decide getting myself fed is more important. My growling stomach agrees with me, and so I begin my journey towards the stairs once again. When I get to the kitchen, I notice that the fluorescent shadows that once speckled my table have now completely absorbed it. I rub my eyes. The image still remains, but I am too hungry to make sense of it. Opening up the fridge, I find to my dismay that its contents are empty. It seems I will be making the trip to the market sooner than I had planned. Without changing clothes, I slip on a pair of sneakers and open the door. I make the necessary trip of three flights of stairs down towards the exit. When I push the door open, what I see nearly knocks me back inside. Shining lights of radiant violets, bright greens, neon pinks, and luminous yellows sore past me, around me, and even through me. Everything else can only be described as sublime. Where sidewalks once were, fields of grain are paved instead. Where roads once existed, a crystal blue river made of cellophane flowed in its place. The sky is now purple with red undertones. A sun no longer exists. I am standing in what feels like an alternative universe. Before I can even begin to make sense of my surroundings, I call attention to a tug on my wrist. Looking down, I find a crystal blue transparent creature with black beady eyes, a tubular shaped body, and no other distinguishable features to speak of. Its hands and feet are the shape of thin pencil tips. I can see my skin through its tiny, fingerless hands. They feel warm on my bare skin. “You’re going to be late,” it said, tugging on my wrist in a westward direction. (Preview)

Plausible 2.0

Cherry blossom month
There are petals in your mouth
Tugging my heart strings

Soiled powder nights
Rule: go to sleep when birds wake
I want a pet rat

Drawing from the well
A fish that has sprouted wings
He keeps the dream close

How to see reality on drugs

1st draft of short story:
Involved an elevator ride up to the office with three people (Tom, Chaz, and Lucy) and a pregnant woman named Darcy. Tom is a cubicle mouse who has finally reached the point in his career where he can move beyond his office cage to greater things. Chaz is the son of the man calling the shots, the boss if you will. He's a douchebag. Then Lucy is the love interest of Tom, snobby but sensitive to the needs of others (how does that work?). Then, the elevator stops. The lights go out. Tom's freaking out because he's late to his big meeting. While he's freaking out, Darcy goes into labor.

2 days before due date of short story:
Ditch concept of 1st draft and begin a Thanksgiving tale about an overly religious family who is blind to different ideas/worlds that surround them, and the son who's just trying to get them to move past that.

Ongoing thought while this is occurring:
I probably should eat something.