BLAME

BLAME
there is no world
there is only the Earth
and the Earth is empty
there are just bodies of mass
they float through space and time
they move but they don't go anywhere
as the beatings - emotional and physical -
have compounded over the years
one leading to another
there is this idea of blame
and I'm aware of it
although I feel independent of it now
there comes a point in time
when people blame you to the extent
that the concept becomes absurd
and becomes meaningless
so I am to blame
but then what?
if blame's purpose is for someone
to wash their hands clean of someone else
what happens when the someone else
has disappeared down the drain
of the sink of responsibility?
the sink of judgement?
the sink of consequences?
there is no blame any longer
and everyone is free
finally, finally it seems I am home
the place all their beatings and blame
directed me toward
the place I was meant to reside within
I'm alone
and finally, finally
nothing is my fault
 
 

“I’ll Bite Your Dick Off!”

“I’ll Bite Your Dick Off!”

                The first drug dealer I lived with had a girlfriend and a pack of seven wild pit bulls.  The alpha female would follow me up the stairs to my room or all the way down to the bottom if I was leaving, snapping at my crotch the entire way.  It was just her way of asking over and over again if I liked her.  The old, “I’ll bite your dick off,” routine.  Sometimes I’d have to crack her on the skull to get her to stop snapping and drooling on my pants.  She eventually seemed to gain an understanding of the size of my junk because sometimes she would bite my pants and just barely miss.  That’s when I’d get mad and she’d smile at me with her gigantic head.  That’s usually when I’d crack her right on top of her big stupid dome with my fist.

                One time I came home and my drug dealer roommate was upset and I asked him what was wrong.  He was cooking eggs or something bland.

                “I’m sick of it,” he said, pointing to the food on the stove.

                “Eat something else,” I said.  I was holding a bag of Mexican food I had ordered to go.

                “Do you think I like this?” he shouted.  He went to the closet and pulled out his hand gun and started waving it around at me.  “Do you think I want to stand in line for three hours at Food Maxx with the rest of the Mexicans?  Do you think I want to eat garbage?”

                “No, I hate Food Maxx,” I said.  “Their produce is terrible.”

                “Fuck you, man!” he shouted.  “You fucking trust fund baby!  You fucking liberal!”

                He went out on to the balcony and fired four quick shots into the night sky.  He came back in and I had two shots of Evan Williams ready.

                We knocked a couple back and everything was good.  Weed smoke filled the air and all the pit bulls became relaxed.  I was able to get up the stairs without the alpha female biting my dick off.

                I had survived another day in the underbelly of wine country society.

               

My Bloody Blister

My Bloody Blister

My bloody blister stares at me
My bloody blister oozes with glee
My bloody blister begs to be eaten
My bloody blister begs to be beaten

my hanging callous flaps in the wind
my hanging phallus grazes your chin
my lovely Alice claims she's thin
you're a stupid fat bitch

Strawberry!

Strawberry!

Daddy says he just wanted to strawberry
strawberry with Mommy
didn't mean anything he said
says I make him feel dead

Daddy says he just wanted to strawberry
strawberry in Mom
can't do it while I'm here
says he just wants me gone

Strawberry!
Strawberry in Mommy!
Strawberry in Mom!
Strawberry me gone!

Usually Wrong

Usually Wrong

Everything I say
        everything I write
it's usually wrong;
    outlandish
 - to most people
people with their mediocre, spoon-fed opinions and sensibilities
their mediocre expereinces
their angry resentment and jealousy
  it eats at me
     how truly lame the world is
the double-edged sword called loneliness
it's always there because they are
if I was average, normal, mediocre
I'd be better at lying to myself
in order to let the boxes package me up
and let the ignorant, well-meaning, overbearing mothers of the world dress me
let the priests put their tiny cocks in my ass again and again
let the kids who used to shoot me with their bb guns keep threatening me
let the boring people and their certainty in whatever the herd says
mold and shape and chisel me into their sculpture they had no part in creating
into their nothing

The Truth

The Truth

               

The truth is I was just bored.  I had been social enough – very social, you know, for me.  Usually I just walk around in circles listening to philosophy and political theories with no basis in reality whatsoever on my headphones but for some reason I told myself that I needed to spend time with friends and to try to make new ones.  I had had a great time with one friend, not so great a time with another (because I was drunk or not drunk enough, or let’s face it, it’s just that my personality sucks), and so when Foreskin invited me to come over I thought his invitation sounded like progress.

                I’m now convinced that all claims about what progress means are total fucking bullshit.  Nobody knows what progress is.  Nobody.

                Anyhow, I drove over to Foreskin’s house.  He took forever to answer the door and I knocked like 18 times.  He acted like everything was normal and I followed him up to his room.  It seemed natural for me to do so because he was leading and I’m comfortable being a follower.  There’s nothing objectively wrong with the the fact that I can’t think for myself.  I’m a robot, not a person, and that’s the way my parents, God and the universe designed me.  That’s okay.  I’m not just at peace with it.  There’s no evidence that being anything other than a robot would be a superior experience.  Would it better to be a rat with free will?  Or a cow whose daily purpose is the consumption of grass?  How does a cow even choose which blade of grass to eat?  And yet the cow thinks it has a choice – and that its choice matters.  Who is more free?  The robot who knows he has no free will or the cow who thinks certain blades of grass taste better than others?  Taste is an illusion – any true alcoholic knows that.  Cows are stupid, unless they’re smart.  But are they stupider or smarter than most people?  What is objectively wrong with eating grass?  Nothing.  Who is the livestock, the slave, and who is the farmer?  It seems as though most cows believe that they are farming the human beings who have the audacity to set up fences, as if they know that the cows would leave their farm and if that would be a bad thing!  Who is more domesticated and who is actually in charge – the farmer who wastes countless of hours of his meaningless, pathetic life slaving away for pieces of little green paper and all the happiness it buys him, or the cow who is simply and obviously content as he believes he is picking only the best blade of grass to put in his mouth as he endlessly walks around in circles, standing and laying, standing and laying, standing and laying…

                I sat down on Foreskin’s chair.  As he reclined on his mattress, I noticed a large pool of male ejaculate next to him.  It looked fresh, but my eyesight isn’t that good.  I decided not to care.  I had no money and he had offered me a drink.  I carefully avoided touching his hand while he passed me the cup.  I drank.  It was good.

                We began discussing art, science, music - all very interesting topics.  This man was clearly intelligent.  I felt he was a man of culture, of passion, of well-above average intellect.  I asked for another drink and he poured one for me.  I drank it slowly.  I began to forget about the pool of semen on his sheets.

                Finally he told me how relaxed he was.  I asked him if I should go.  He told me I didn’t have to leave and so I asked him for another drink, which he poured.

                I was so obedient and good.  So was Foreskin.  The experience was overall very positive.  It was only when I left that I began to wonder about what “good” really is.  Who was I to know?  What did it matter that there was a fresh pool of cum next to his reclined body?  What did it matter that he made absolutely no attempt to hide it?  The three drinks were enough to make me feel less bored, less like a cow eating only the correct blades of grass, less like a rat who tells himself that the sewer is a safe place to eat, to sleep, to fuck, to sniff the anal glands of others so very much like himself.  The one thing I knew for sure is that I was a good person, and so was Foreskin.  I knew who he was, what he was.  He was honest, and pure and good and I’m very happy that he was relaxed like he said.

                I thought about the fact that I had no money.   I thought about the pool of semen, that Foreskin had taken the time to wash his hands, and also that I had only consumed three, four, six shots of vodka at most.  But I was a good person and no one could take that away from me.  I had done the right thing – I had forced myself to be social and I had been nice to someone.  What else could be more meaningful?

War With Iran - Yeah Can We, Um, Not Do That?

War With Iran - Yeah Can We, Um, Not Do That?
I'd hate to spit in the wind here or, God forbid, bother you from your personal narcissistic journey of scrolling through your social media feeds.  I'd hate to disturb your daily routine of noting how many people like the pictures you post of yourself.  But here goes.

"They" - since I shouldn't name names - are at it again.  "They" are pulling the obligatory "The foreigners sunk our battleship!" line to try to convince the American public that Israel's pet project of claiming the entire Middle East as their own is a worthy cause.  Oh yes, I'm so down with Project For A New American Century's "A Clean Break" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Clean_Break:_A_New_Strategy_for_Securing_the_Realm) plan to come to fruition.  I am so fucking stoked to watch a gruesome nightmare unfold as trillions of tax dollars are spent on blowing shit up, murdering kids, and occupying a foreign land while thousands of American soldiers die and millions of Americans become homeless due to the rising costs of living which will inevitably be a result of said carnage.

Does anybody really believe their bullshit?  Does anybody truly believe that Iran - surrounded by American military bases - would do the exact thing that would allegedly justify an American attack on their country and people?  Does anybody believe that a couple of grainy pictures with circles and arrows CNN is promoting and spreading hold any water?  Does anybody remember the fake pictures the Pentagon used to justify the invasion of Iraq?  Their pictures aren't evidence of anything.  The only thing I see when I look at that horse manure is intentional deception.  And the only thing I smell is an obvious Mossad operation, an obvious false flag.

And clearly the "They sunk our battleship!" claim wasn't good enough, since they've played that card at least twice in American history with World War 1 and Vietnam to start those wars, so they sent a drone into Iranian territory which was quickly and justifiably shot down.  "They shot down our plane with no people on it!  Oh, the humanity!"

The only human rights tragedies America needs to worry about are the ones America is causing, like the starvation of millions of Yemeni children due to an American funded Saudi blockade, like an American funded Israeli genocide of the Palestinians, like the way America treats its illegal immigrants in their detention centers.

So war with Iran - yeah, can we, um, not do that?