....always thought i could see the world spinning when the clouds were moving, but it was just the weather
i love the smell of myself, somethings is dripping out the corner of my head i don’t know where the circle stops or where it begins, a baby wont you please come home. i ride my feet down the blocks in my neighborhood, i stop and walk to the streetlights to mute my mood. i wanna stop but just cant stop it feels to good. wont you hold me cant i hold you? wont you come back home again. i wanna teeth i wanna breathe i wanna hear new life, crying fighting dying smiling holding in its master thought, own a head make it float, its yours again, drag your spine leave behind your foot prints don’t separate, so i’m dragging my feet i’m keeping it neat as i walk passed humans n cubans and some sort of africans. eating only when i feel bored to calm the sounds, my windows open sighs are stolen through paragraphs. you chug yourself and you feel better you are what you eat so you wont stutter from these gulps and these drinking, cocking your wrist and head back your ready to feel something. if this habit didn't start where would i be on earth doing my own part. a activated thumb scan to show that you are the right person to be walking through that door your drop your lure and it sinks in the teeth you were aiming for. we shot what were aiming for, why are you always holding throats with your conscious life support. an itch on the nose, emotion sent and declined so i have to lie to myself covering my nose with my hand like a child again. maybe we can live forever maybe we’ll live again. i like your brown eyes in the sunshine. you lay in the perfect part where my body meets my arm. its a comfortable solution for feeling down, i wish i could be strong forever and you see it, you’ll feel it. i’ll be strong forever you’ll feel it, you can feel it. why do i get so weak when i’m in the strongest position. why do i feel like hiding when i’m with my favorite friends one stops and one goest the lights shatter the atmosphere the bike rides and the gears keep spinning. i shake the blanket that we were laying on where,, we both saw something we knew might happen. we searched miles in the park for the perfect spot, is spread the blanket with the dolphins holding palm trees up. five fingers like their human counter parts .if we keep going we’ll keep floating into the other side. if you get through i’ll be there when you sink in, i won’t stare cause we both feel the same pressure, lets put it down, i’ll be the clown let do this the right way. i want to show you the rawest focus through my lens, i want to tell you the things that hold me together. but when i feel like this i cant even hear my thoughts my self control has been over-clocked. i don’t get overtime and my pays a week late, i hover on the water in a fountain wishing it was a lake. passerby's can make you feel so related. i need that outside i need that sunshine or i become sedated. i can’t fake it but i try so hard. my hand shakes with every odd counter movement the opposite of what i was thinking the ship drops and now were both sinking. on the dock our feet covers cracks flowing over my crotch i hold my babies in. were holding a baby in, then were taking it out. i really wonder if two people that wont fart in front of each other can have a kid. and how often this happens and how its fucked up. i want to give everything but i feel drained, i feel stuck. we both have the same life issues to depend on ourself but we look to each other to distract and cheer us up. it works for the moment, everything is fine. i love every second but i would really like to show you mine. i would really like to be me all the time. i get into the groove of walking with two feet but then the fall down, and drag my feet. i cant feel my body weight above my knees, i’m welding down my touch so i can feel alright. i want to shape my face like clay i’ve never handled but i’m sure i could make something ugly i’m positive i wouldn't love it. if i could change my face it would be for the temporary beauty, something that doesn't last but looks good at first. basically flesh, teeth and eyes looking good in the moment, but when the worst times comes whose holding your cheeks up. my smile shakes, and you ask about it, i don't know how to answer i feel worn out. i need to do me but i hate when you say that. i love you and i’m me for you thats all i can be. these things are how i act but its not who i am. i clam up in the moment. foot bone is connected to the cement bone, cement bone connected to the head bone, head bone connected to the feet. i want to sleep with my own limbs on, stop them twisting into each other, and just holding on to my body. gravity is obviously pulling me down but i don’t feel it all the way, i feel my knees bending inward as i fleck the pelves, the backboard to my genitals. i can make a wall so stiff to sharpen a knife on my skin. i want you to hold it in, till it drips out. don’t think of it as such a bad thing its only natural we’re only hand stands until the sun goes down. we blend to posts, the walls the solid areas around our ankles piss drips down the dirts sidewalk. everything i have ever known since i was a young boy being raised by who i was raised by in the environment i was raised. i used to rebel against their stupid anxiety and pride. worrying about a reputation when you’ll be dead and no one will remember, what was the point of sticking to that town again? feeling safe warm and spreading your offspring there. its yucky when you look down and can’t feel what you see, but somehow you know your eyes are part of what your looking at. street children laugh not noticing the cars honk and the eye glances of my headphones, head blocked up in a whirl of distorted thoughts, or distorted reality. i’m going to find out something for myself, if what i think makes me, is what i really believe. i’m a god and i cant be stopped i will keep floating around these randomly found spots, that leave my liver stained, sucking my ribs. my heart feels like its floating but i can’t feel my chest. can someone please map out my nervous system the synapses seems to misfire in every direction. i need to hire a guard or get a dog so i can detect my own dialect that streams forever in my head. and it grows out as hair, dead. then i cut it and regrow my thoughts again and again, i’ll do this till i’m dead, or i run out of hair.looking down at my body criticizing everything thought we have to find out where we start and stop. i can hop on one foot till i’m antsy i walk on one leg two times with my feet. slip the cover over and dip it in the wax, it will come out as an over reaction. we sit hear in satisfaction glancing out the window when we hear a scream. just to pretend i acknowledged it, i would never call the cops. i hate the cops. its kind of a shit storm living in america and not trusting the cops. i feel completely alone here, i have stopped but my life keeps moving. dipping your head under water to pull something up your teeth are bleeding you haven’t flossed enough. when young get to the end how many of these things will be true. wasting time on opposite thoughts that we lean into. i trust my path and i understand its there, but it really sucks to see people ahead of you. the choices i’ve made, and the judgements i make about myself. some moment in time that we hold to close and it twists up our spine holding onto us and the things we love, getting under our skin, becoming those things we love and who we are. so much science to learn, so many explanations to ignore and make up our own for. its starting to be like the bible again i can feel time repeating itself and its really sliding down the latter. our smudge is going to stay here. about a year and half ago maybe more i realized something so true it has never left my mind even though i don’t understand it. so my belief is this, we are born in a year say 1989 and we have a clear path projector style gears rolling and picture pushing out over the air. our starting point is a large pile of black tar that we are born from, leaving a small stain on the nerves of life. i mean all of life, every string attached to every being ending somewhere. these aren’t the lines in math class that go forever. much like a slug we smear ourselves along as we grow older and think more into our bodies. we can go on forever in the moment, with our bodies staying still. so as we drag along leaving behind how we have effected life, our timeline builds and the earth keeps “spinning” if that even exists. so we stand on our path, as the world turns with our feet on the ground writing our rounds in circles around the planet. so we start where we are born with a small black splat, and then we scoot forward in the big picture a whole 2 inches, we die and another black splat is dapped at the point of our death. thats all we have a 2 inch line life span in the eyes of science and human measurement. there is no astrological way to measure how long we live, i don’t understand the standard of days and year set out for everyone to follow the exact same way when no one is the exact same. this has never made sense to me, because every year we live we cut down 1/80th of our life, and our perception of time decreases or get more used to spinning the seconds around in a circle over and over again. we are all so limited by the clock and the speed at which it turns, say if someone is about to die and they are in charge of the worlds time, they would have it set to such a speed that every minute to a child would end up being 7 to an aged, drying, dying adult. we can’t find a solid stance on time because our conciseness is ever evolving and we aren’t stopping for anything even if its directly in the way. so now our smudge becomes a zig zag and we sag our bellies, they drag on the ground as we drop and stop holding thoughts and never letting them grasp our heads. fill my head like smoke, so i can stop my holding on and deep dripping lime, seeding your split lips tequila drips into your bloodstream and opens your minds legs, now your mentally waiting to get fucked, and you can’t say no, anything or anyone you walk by during your smudge of life can cut it short, or adjust the width. i think our life starts as thing as a single string, it sticks to the birth valley of tar and stretches out like saliva stretching from the roof of your mouth to your tongue as you hold it out you let the smudge slur around your mouth, now you don’t control where you’re going, you are on the other end of that line. its scary as fuck to think you are the only thing that can chose where it lands, where its going and where it ends. then we zoom out of control into the threshold of at least 1/1000th of the human population, we see a littered canvas dripping with saddles, and legs lower, spurts of insemination, and abortion dots clot the canvas. we are spread along these things, not over them like a layer, but more into them like a blending crayon. maybe more like wet paint that can leak into the other color making ten new colors to chose from before it hits the end of the rainbow. this may only be seen through a magnifying glass, we drop the hatch and leave the lid open as we are heated and streak down a canvas of clouds. when you have this experience and notice the rain, a cloud floats over your smudge and drains the color from your brush and paint, leaving it thin and unrealizable, unattainable. not really there. then we hit puberty, our cloud can finally bleed the color into something other than itself. in a dream we stray from the smudge. then we wake up, so now we have tiny quills of alternate thrills and experiences that never existed anywhere other that in us. if i could sleep and dream my whole life would i go the exact same place as if i participate? its so fun that no one can answer these questions. it keeps me deathly curious, and dead center on my smudge. i wonder if at the end the smudge thins in width creating a point to the second tar mound. i will bury my head in the sounds of rock and roll to feel my own soul, what does that do to the color of my smudge? once i set my focus elsewhere i feel like i’m in control again i need to get away from my feelings because i can’t digest them. can someone tell me why my body eats things it can’t handle? how much of my smudge is suppressed by the way i hold my body? the way i squeeze my hands into the center of this laptop to type these words that will eventually kill my wrists. what does that carpal tunnel looks like on my smudge? its like a life line with only a y axis that you can call x because there is no y. so it spreads thicker in whatever dimension your looking at it from, it becomes full and thrust into function. the feet tickle the legs of the other times the pelvis was spread and it all leads up to this. i am so easily effected by you. when i’m with you i feel like my smudge is more like a peel and i’m riding the wave as it is peeled over the side, like surfing on the curve of the turning page. but 365 pages turned about 70 times, if we live until we are 70 we will have 25,550 days to our lives. if we write a page everyday, an average reader will read our entire life in 3.548611111 days. but who will take the time when their smudge is still stretching to the end? i spend a lot of time doing things that shorten my line, its not on purpose.
“smudge” =life
i seek constant thrill and companionship that alway is over always ends, just like myself, like everyone else.
