Life & Everything

everything i s bullshit

what does it take to be a man? If you want to say something is cute, make sure you say it's fuckin cute.


what does it take to make a friend? I don't know, but I used too.


what does it take to be alone? Nothing, just lock yourself away and your emotions to.


what does it take to say a prayer? Knees, hands, faith.


what does it take to change? Must have friends and enemies to make a difference in yourself and the world, if you got neither do drugs.


what does it take to be wealthy? Be born lucky.


what does it take to live? Food.


what does it take to die? A mixture of courage, cowardice, and inner vacancy.


what does it take to die while living, live while dying? Fuck it, just throw yourself under a garbage heap and eat shit.


***At anytime, substitute you for me.




A CURE!to all the bullshit which is  e v e r y  t h i n g  :


-- manicdepressive blog posts


-- hardthumping bass guitar jam, dark soundscaping callus making


-- get away from food


-- the 70 s


--  

The Thought Reading Drunk

I'm just a very ugly peel of unhappy

not speaking loud enough

looking down

you see me look and look and look
this ugly
I'm so ugly

Soon You will believe me

I have been beautiful you tell me
not up to you

shutup thought reading drunk

I've come Oranges

I'm Your third time

I linger The last time

I melt

You can’t see me shine
I'm just so half there
stunning first time makeup
believe its still me
can't can't You can't
tell if I'm I'm not I'm

not interested

and You look

look and You see
I was always

looking at you

The guy was naked as he passed the bathhouse of girls who saw he was no clothed pervert so their towells stayed lieing on the floor

Social  failure.  Failure  socially.

Ugly  person.

Laughing  stock  in  their  minds.

Loser  loser  loser. Rip  my  throat  out.  Waste  of  words.  No  one  really  likes  me.  No  one  really

likes  me  alive.  Likes   me  dead.  Likes  me   dead.  ME  DEAD.  Wonderful  idea.  ME  DEAD.

Give  them  what  they  want.

Comprehension  of  spoken  words  so

s  l  o  w.  Connecting  with  anyone  won't  happen  at  my  pace  of  mind.  Example.  Don't  know

song  lyrics  to  my  favorite  bands. I  am  actually  retarded.  Why  didn't  anyone  catch  on  to

this.

Turn  around. No  where  to

go  to  heaven  or  go  to  hell. Wherever  it  is  get  on  with  it.

It came back. Swiftly and Flawlessly. Would kill myself. But much to look forward to. Disappointment imminent. Yes this is a cry for help.

running running running running running running jogging jogging stopping walking walking
waterbreak
gasping gasping pacing pacing walking walking jogging running running sprinting tripping collapsing
booboobreak

working too hard at her

risking

WHERE                     HAS          BLUE
GONE       TO                                                 TREAT
HER          A               THOUGHT
                  LEAPS OFF              A
CLIFF       OF             SE             X
TO             NIGHT     SE              VEN
TO             MORR      OW
INFREQUENCE       NE                 XT
AN            EAR          LOBAL
PROTE                                       ST

Where does depression go?

When the depression goes they have me feel belonged. When the depression goes there is something to look forward to. When the depression goes the body explodes flower joy. When the depression goes I can hear the birds chirping. When the depression goes life is so simple. When the depression goes it must be elsewhere. Today the clouds rain heavy so the depression must be there. When the depression comes I wish it never leave. When the depression goes I wonder why I was ever depressed. When the depression goes I'm in trouble. What comes up must come down. My sister calls me moodswing boy.

An exquisite corpse I take credit for.

the conceited poem

Who could say whether the thaw was complete?

The silence broke. Incendiary rain and thunder

Plastic palm trees

The 10%: responsive to the copied underworld

We drank cider at midnight, with thoughts of cinnamon trees.

the crisp crunch of gravel against shoe

One more cup of coffee every day until I’m dead

But only a clock can make a sound like that
Brontosaurus burgers at sunset

They will not dream of baboons and periwinkles

They remained dominant until the end.

Easy Exit

Wednesday, May 2, 2012 10:54PM

            Hey this is for a poem. Okay?

Uh sure.

            How do you feel tonight, David?     

Less hungry, uh let me think about it. Thinking about it: Good.

            Good. Good?

Yeah, good. I feel alright tonight.

            Alright. Nice talking with you.

Wait what are we doing tomorrow?

Are we there yet?

Are we there yet?

Yet, there we are

napping on the clouds—

licking the stars

Below, we see a man hanging from a cliff

Yet, there we were not

So he plummets plummets, plummets

to the needles afar

pleading for his mother.

We spot a blackberry bush—

it’s voice calls for us

Yet, there we were—

napping on the clouds

College

E   S   S   A    Y   S            T   O           D    O    

fuck.

P    O   I   N   T   S             T   O            L     O     S     E

soap.

S   H   O   W  E  R   S        T   O           S    K     I     P

latenight.

W  A   I     T  E   R   S        T   O                T      I     P

luck.

S    M    I    L    E     S        T    O           P    U     N     C    H

hope.

C    O     C     K     S            T     O         C    U     N      T

lovefight.

                       I   S          I  T                F    U     N       ?        

WARNING LABEL

WARNING:

DO NOT LISTEN TO BUKOWSKI MORE THAN (5) TIMES A WEEK

IF YOU EXPERIENCE WEAKNESS OF WILL CONTACT THE INTERNET
BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE IS AROUND

DO NOT GIVE IN. THE NEXT DAY AVOID STAYING INDOORS
IF GIVING UP OCCURS SIT ON A BENCH AT LOCAL PARK UNTIL SIDE EFFECTS WEAR OFF

What does depression mean?

If I stop writing the depression comes back. If I start reading it the depression comes back. If I take a break from my work the work never gets done. If I take a break I take another. If I am creative that's enough for one day. If I end the poem here I'm satisfied. If I keep writing I'm scared it won't be good. If I write something good I think it could have been better. If I am satisfied I am dead inside. If I am dissatisfied the depression comes back. If I can't decide what to do the depression comes back. If I find something to do the depression comes later. If I can stop talking about myself I must have something important to tell other people. If I can talk to other people as if they were not there they would like me better. If I notice people their nerves become disfunctioned. If I am unpredictable they nod and smile. If I am predictable there's now something to talk about. If I am predictable I hate myself but they love me. If I am unpredictable they predict me as mad or bored. I am mad. I am bored. If I am bored that is depression. If I am mad I am angry above all that depression. If I overreact to being dissatisfied they won't allow my depression. If I am in the money they won't allow my depression. If I am out of money they expect my depression. If I am depressed then I will keep walking on with the world. If I am happy I am a pioneer. If I scare the world with my courage they will step out of my way. If I move forward in life I am happy. If I move forward East I am happy. If I stay West I am depressed. If I rhyme I am happy. If I arrive on time they are so very pleased. If I am late being late was worth being happy elsewhere. Why did my dad tell me to be quiet everywhere we went? Why didn't Mom talk with me more? Why was I alone? Why did I get stoned. Why carry a phone. Why anybody pretend to be not alone? Why are the easiest people to talk to alone too? Why reach out to the beautiful ones who already have someone to say they are beautiful to their face? Why bother with me and you and them and her and what are we looking for in another human being?

go tohell for whatyour dirtymind isthinking

willget big ideas they happen

justdont get anyideas

dont justdont

dont get any big ideasthey will never happen

dont get any big ideasthey are not going to happen

dont get any big ideasthey are not going to happen

Something on my mind

Nothing
Nothing
No thing
No, thing
Thing, no
No no
Thing thing
Nothing

Yesthing
Yesthing
Yes thing
Yes, thing
Thing, yes
Yes yes
Thing thing

Yething
Nothing
Maybething
Maybething
Maybe thing
May be thing
May, be thing
Be thing may
Thing may be
May may may be be be thing thing thing

Everything
Every thing
Every every
thing thing
Every every every every every thing thing thing thing

EVERYTHING

Outsides In

Outsides In

hexagon edges hardened, a diamond’s breath. From a green goo form turtling attitude tapdance the beach of evolution. Paw from fin, fin from what had been, back to pigskin, the poetry written deep within. Center of Planet Rock that Hot Damn! Pan of Secret Sizzle. Each word wheezed did melt those survivors born under a lucky star. A lava cloud a ping-trill frequence rings the lobe. My chirrup beamed from othersideoftheuniverse belly then out this turt’s chomp. Reamed my god HurLeD AcTuAl SYruP! What’s up with this green body of a shell? swims like a tuna and screams ricochet up an inkwell? here’s the catch,

            I fooled ya, ima great liar

You shoulda seen the hook yr face

Could you really go on reading some sshit about turtles with magic powers shutup get out of here go clean your apartment or stick yer dick in a toilet ASshOle

           

                                                                        .end of poem.

James A. Emanuel

JAZZ

from the

GOODHEALTH KING

Gone t’ the beach        gotta

Get outta the city

All the other here are contagious of the city

Fever dreamin             Lock the

keys in hot car            can’t    eva lose

Clothes comin off       cruise with ya hands in ya food

Pain of DUES             first of th’ month BLUES

           

            Come in kids an listen up

            That lifeguard  isa piece of shit

            yall swim out as far as yall needa swim

Somethin goin on wit the sand— sticks t’ our hands

Grain gums in d’zigned harmonization

Palm-scriptions recite rhythmic strans of bead         

Slam the door              Vacation down zipper highway

Return                         Complete metamorphosis

Through n to               the DAYSLEEPER opposite

Donchu got the sand   hitchhikes onto carseats

up legs             on yr sofa

what yr dog licked up                         noodley shit stinking

in yr garden. . . one day

                     . . . A Pretty Flower

"as the form appears the spirit wanes"

                                                              The title of the poem is underlined.

Stepping up to bed, the blankets sip me into                                            Shower: the pores on my back

its furry throat                                                                                              subsume moist-air

Arising next day the cauldron                                                                     Plaque stir plays game

spills over                                                                                                       of alluvial depth charge

                                                           

                                                A ghost of our generation commingled with the rest.

Arising dingy green a grin                                                                             Toothbrush purl swept

on your face                                                                                                     into orbit midnight

 

Stepping in to sleep, that coquette smiles                                                    Bathtub: the mind on my neck

a snake’s                                                                                                          dissembles landfall

           

FREE THINGS CLICK HERE TODAY!!!

N    O     T      E          T   O           S    E    L   F

Weapons at your disposal:

            --Careless state of mind

            --Walking class style

            --Beard Fear

            --Personal Flexibility

            --Blue eyed stare

. . . I love my eyes not for how they look but for how they see.

            Testify to bursts of spontaneo-reality. Puts it down to memory, in neural                                       
                   connections or on parchment. But the page put out from the inner,                                                    
                         pleasurable sights, painful ones. Sterilized.

      I love my I’s not for how they look but for how they seem.

            Truth is, I am not the guy writing any of these words. He and I talk. Check in                                              
                   with each other from time to time, 
                         but I prefers to work by my self.

My <Tarantula, by Bob Dylan> Moment:

            Death. What about dark&alone nothingness?

                        Life is already nothingness.

                                    --Itself probably misunderstood as nothingness by those moved on                                                  
                                       to Death. Somethingness ain’t nothin but

                        Maybe. Maybe not so bad.

                                    --Death? feels like nothing.

                                    --Life? feels like nothing plus a little occasional something.

                                    

Family values

Family values

it was wrapped in shawarma

stinks up Maggie’s wiffie’s spaghetti temple

so Ted won’t get all up in her business.

Chanukah Celebration

Tie dye roll in the hay

Mom + Dad holding hands.

Exciting children tear

open presents

like heart surgery.

A marriage’s memory is measured

by the weight imbedded

into left side of the bed.

“I can’t wait for your death

any longer human

Currently the Lethe takes you

in your pleasures

and successes

hopes dreams

and personalities.

Your were so ripe

Now cold blue

why do you smile

Are you

as ready as I am

to see you off?”

 

The boat trudges on.

The river curls

its lickity fingers at the woman fleshes

turning excited

and impatient.

The boat begins to slosh

violently the bow

dipping harder now.

“Pleeeeeeeeease beeeeee wiiiiiiiiith meeeeeeeeee . . .

your life

is a floooooooooowerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr . . .

I’ve been awakened

by your scent

It reminds me

of an ocean

I once knew

I release you

from your dark coffin blues!”

Her eyes open

once

close

open twice a little more

This time she rises

the river still

Her eyes spark

with hunger

and her body jumps

up without gravity

Flying her blue bird form

reflecting off the Lethe

The tide withdraws

for another to pass.

Today’s Writing Prompt

h0w yur marriag3 unravel5 

writing poems

the university wastes its time on me (charlIeepsteIn) 

fuck the things i carry on my checklist conscience

that could be a Tuesday essay about Monday masturbatory girlfriend crisis about a 
coulda-been job we erect Sunday’s morning-mullers they just take our coffee bean

bag automated cashier substitutes the human suspended by her busty brassiere could be

the sole source for the coffee sandwich w/ soy conformity my evil plan

watta funk the unhip hop gods gott me in

shoelace floppin like dreads ungiving a shit about

leglaces gooffin like dead spun stilt in front of stilt across

soft silt the color of red sun when eyes called be closed

soft silt laid down mattress-style fingers up and down and up yr back and down and  

down the highway gotta car now got to get gas soon now rot

expressions rot inspuration raise unallowed expectation ruin

ruining Boulder’s beauty-refundraiser thousands search for everyday so

stupid to believe in the chance of greatness is on a seat in front of a whiteboard behind a 
professor blah blah blah blah blah blah blah through the thousand dollar months

the I wastes its money inside the academy
the dead pan voice unversed

the splish splash of overflown bathtub these preoccupations slip slop out the heels

the I mute full of the unversty

Four

Ingrid is Eric

Study of Spring

Study of Spring

Suddenly, everywhere a newborn baby.

Natural wouldn’t give a shit

if you got snared in a thorny bush.

In fact,

This natural born killer hunts your

calcium bones

For all its soil. 

Nature will blow you down

a mountain on Monday,

Make prickle your descent

of a hill, small cacti

scattered. sets its

mosquitoes to your flesh.

Who is to blame for

Our dynamite war?

That sun who beams dryness

through our veins

while it hides water deep

in a mountain on Monday.

Why Our pavements

so upsetting to

Nature? Hardly, Our metal velocity

so downput by unbridged waters and

gaps in a jungle. Testify the climbers lose grips

and the river swimmers drown.

Look! The athletes of Earth

flee to their membership gyms,

every type of injury

categorized by square computers

Cannot compete with the wisdom of the wind

that moves sand dunes like ocean waves.

Want a higher purpose?

Go to school, read our books and

we will purpose you.

Want to purpose? Walk 30 miles West

build Nature into a hut

and make it your

bitch.

very

writers say dont use it. but i think it's very okay

very revised

(having revealed the dude was damn arrogant, arrogant like an arrow / Her Responsibility

  

            The handwriting on the wall narrows down at the breakfast in bed.

Mom sings to hovering pancakes

this golden Sunday morning like a brown nipple. I’m going to be fed.

Late I rise, up the ceiling lowers

the start of a modest day. Those upturned glasses sat on their back all night,

the same way our turtle choked on vomit. . . Jacob really messed up.

Anyway, I finish my meal and sprout to the next,

a cup of joe to get on with it.

Had to have gone on with it, no matter what the what.

Life for me has been, well, accommodated

so I am comfortable. The handwriting on the wall highly recommends

I take a break

so, I am comfortable with not much else to do but a pile of dishes

            Hello chap, could you kindly fetch me the paper. . .

thank you much. As I was saying,

the words come as easily as the Jewish money, the connection being that

moola makes language, to and fro, a boat ride. You know all too well,

do you? Okay then the poem ends here

            it’s not too late!:

The bed )on the wall narrows down on the hand

writing about breakfast. )Going towards Mom who hovers over sun day more ning,

who sings these gold enbrowned )piles of mourning me. . . feeds me

the vomit of his turnup turtle, )a real choked up

mess. Those meals lower modest, down )Jake’s gullet, be it a cup of nipple

that any brown dish of joe can sprout to a sunup )sputter and it wouldn’t

matter any way you read this, with glasses or on your )back—

            You will puke and go back to sleep )just like the turtle finished,

comfortable )for life. I accommodated, so

much )the High Hand reccommendated, what, not a pile of pancakes.

Take on )so kindly a break, could you

much. )The paper fetches the chap, thank it. Was. . .

I )saying the Jewish boat ride connection came with

money ‘la moo? )You do know the poem too, and fro, and where

it ends

--- Yesternight. from,

Charlie: ‘With welcome we

disport through the sinuous

assembly, a ceiling

over the head, unnerved’

Cole Swensen poem

"and the body between word and world fuses, frays" (Such Rich Hour, Cole Swensen)
and the time between an hour's utterance and
       the hand full of potential energy at 12
and the people in the city streets know
       the verses of the day, it will end at 5:30,
for some

I hope, one day, the clocks are burnt like jesus.
       Then we all won't know what to fucking do no more
the doing scheduled appointments, morning announcements,
newspaper n shit

morning poem

Eyecrusties
little green jewels, am we.
morning we see, night we born.
Fingies hate us, kill us
green little jewels. Squishy yet tough
You get rid of us, but you cannot for
              You are a factory of we.

Combined Styles “Recipe for Prison Pruno” + Hypnotherapy

Take 10 peeled oranges,

First, begin to breathe in

            and out.

one 8-oz. can of fruit cocktail,

On the inhale, imagine breathing GOOD feelings.

squeeze the fruit into a small plastic bag

As you exhale, you release all the BAD feelings.

and pit the juice along with the mash inside;

Now close your eyes,

add 16 oz. of water and seal the bag tightly.

and relax each part of your body;

Place the bag into your sink,

speak it, say relax on the exhale;

and heat it with hot running water for 15 minutes.

start by wiggling and relaxing your toes, then work your way up

Wrap towels around the bag to keep it warm for

            fermentation.
all the way to your

            face.
Stash the bag in your cell undisturbed for 48 hours.

Count down from 10.

When the time has elapsed,

after each number, you take one more step down long stairs

add 40 to 60 cubes of white sugar,

You reach 0 and you reach the surface of

            a lake.

6 teaspoons of ketchup,

You can walk on the water and you feel

            relaxed.

then heat again for 30 minutes.

The water can be pierced by pushing your hand

Secure the bag as before,

through the surface.

than stash it undisturbed again for 72 hours.

And as you reach deeper into the lake, your body becomes

            submerged.

Reheat daily for 15 minutes.

Think of when you were

            fourteen:

After 72 hours,

What were the kind of people you spent your time with?

with a spoon, skim off the mash;

Did they go to your school? What did you all do together during

            lunch break?

pour the remaining portion into two 16-oz. cups.

Let anything that pops into your mind flow freely,

Guzzle down quickly!

You may be surprised by what you remember, and enjoy it!

Gulp Gulp Gulp!

 ---Nov 30th '11

The melody of my magic

Foogle fum fiddle

Fak frus fumblers

fla fla frees fluggun

Fitting fin the shade ov the free:

mother ucking hit I  ate you

Befrayal. My voice  orced to freak like this

rather be  oiceless.

o         Mama, mama I  ove you flo snuch

o         lover o Lover, snuffle fwee touch flo flowly

o and Dad, ow is  ork dese days

o kay freel  ice talking fwith phew

o my sister Sam who is so much I I much so her

o Jake Jacob Jake fumble genius and big lil brother

but       Mama mama, sweet annoyance I forgive. . .

but       you have that sandwich for me?

but and Dad, about that money. When will you. . .?

but       flease flease take  ood care ov I and the others,

not ferry sure what to, where to do next

Helpless, more often than not

Hurtful, empty ov fist ferocity

You think you can take me on? p--------ssesses

skills seen to chop up a family or put one together

 cratches on a vinyl recor or painting chorus curls

Watch me do:

Frish frosh  ti ti ti ti tak

Ya yeah faw set samoosrew

grep loo kadvala frees frees frees!

Are we there yet?

Yet, there we are

napping on the clouds—

licking the stars

We are up in the clouds
and we can't get down

Below, a man hanging from a cliff

Yet, there we were not

So he plummets plummets, plummets

to the needles afar

pleading for his mother.

We spot a blackberry bush—

it’s voice calls for us

Yet, there we were—

napping on the clouds

is i t all a dream, the life ive li ved
put together like a w a tch ?
Th e fl e sh a nd b lo od club
play a n a ct in my sc ri pt .

in the un lit morning their alarms signal
their g o get ready for my day p r o g r am--    (not be named)    the spectator, button presser flips to
c h anne l 1
"brushteeth" cam:

                                      I spit in the sink              stalk him like a hound

                                             shit a big stink                got in found out           

Control determined will.

Leftover actors tak ing a smoke break in side the ve n ts, casually, hiss my name 

One of the m fro w ns at me ever y six s miles 

A ny\no ne of it real

[Yes]  [No]         A cold/warm body next to me when I wake up late at night.

[Yes]  [No]         That cold/warm kiss to wake me up late at night.

a) doesn't matter.
b) it matters.