JeSuS

Fuck your friendships people
Fuck your lies
Fuck your lovers
Fuck your prides
Fuck a veil until it turns black
Fuck until something fucks you back
I fucked until my tears gushed red
You all fucked the solace I could have possessed
You all fucked
Until the fuck betrayed
Your fuck reduced to a cliché
Rebellion fucked you fucks to a line
The line ran on
A fuck or two died alive
But fucking still fucked
And you fucks fucked as fuckers cried
I let you fuckers
Fuck me with your knives
But a fuck does learn
Of the world of fuck
And a fuck like me
Discovered how to fuck fucked fucks

I
Am all you’ve fucked
I
Am still I
But you’re all still fucks
YOU’RE ALL FUCKS
NOW I’m a GOD









Fuck your “friendships” people
Fuck your lies
Fuck your lovers
Fuck your prides
Fuck a veil until it turns black
Fuck until something fucks you back
I fucked until my tears gushed red
you all fucked the solace i could have possessed
you fuckers fucked into a line
the line ran on
a fuck or two died alive
i let you fuckers fuck me with your knives
your “FUCK” reduced to a cliche
but an innocent like me learned of the world of fuck
a fuck became so i in disguise
i fucked you fuckers down to a line
the line ran on
a fuck or two died alive
rebellion fucked you fuckers into a line
but a fuck like me
learned the world of fuck
and a fuck that i became learned how to fuck you fucked fucks
see i’m an innocent
a dreamer of the skies
but you’re all fucks
your fuck became your life
and you’re all still fucks
and you’ll all always be fucks
all fucks
don’t you all know that fucks die ?
your gloom, your misery, your games, your routines
your charades, your malice, your endless fights insane
you fucks fuck because fucking gives power
your FUCK so strong that our dreams are slaughtered
but tell me who’s here?
letting your secret flow free?
its not a fuck, but an innocent thing
one like me can learn the world of fuck
learn of your souls and dig inside your lives
but you’re all still fucks
and my dreams are still mine
tell me fuckers, have your fucks become your own?
you live your lives
go ahead try to fuck mine
but i’ll never be a fuck
you’re all still fucks
i’ll keep my visions
i’ll keep my dreams
i’ll cherish every fairy tale
and love without fear
go ahead and fuck me fuckers
you’ll never win
your fuck is a minute
I AM ETERNITY




Old man singing
Aint nobody play a chord for his cry
Times of struggling hours alive in leathered skin
He don’t mind the bugs growin beside his dreads
Soap and water don’t make up for lack of kin
Will somebody come to save our old man?

Old man smells ketchup
In the laughter of youngin’s walking by
Smiling’ as they step around his shadow
Once or twice he made some kids
But they never come around
Pride aint a shirt you wear when nbody sees you frown
Will somebody come to save our old man?

Old man freckled
Where the sun forgot
Tattered about like a dead pigeon on the highway
Aint nobody stop
He coulda built a hut beside a beach but his house is on his feet
If you pull down your window he’ll tell you where to go
But nobody seems to give a fuck about the old



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i sat in a chair without cushions
in the counsellor’s office
while inside a room concealed by misty glass,
they were deciding how to give me my lessons
“its just this simple” they told me
“choose a passion, choose a plan, choose a future”
I told them my passions were infinite
and to choose any one thing I would want all of things
to which they replied
“you’re young, it takes time, to develop a dedication to one cause and it alone,
to sacrifice for something true,
to know every day what you must do”
“hogwash”, said I, to this intended inspirational speech
if I know where I’m going why would I need feet
if the goal is ahead
in some sense it is already complete
are any of you where you wanted to be?
is all of this life beautiful and sweet?
why can’t you bastards say the truth
we don’t know what we’re here for
to live is a joke
there is no reason or logic or fun
the mind, the mind is what dictates all
you know not where it starts nor where it ends
but you live every day for your supposed purpose
a lawyer, a banker, a daughter, a whore,
a scientist, magician, dancer, actor
you’re all the same can’t you see you blind fools?
you’re playing a game
without knowing why
or the rules
I won’t do it
said i said I
I will live every existence
never having one that is mine
i will have no personality no aims and no goals
but simply will observe”
to this they told i
“regardless of that, reality knows you’ll die poor and alone”







experience

my mother’s grandmother
could tell you
the expected outcome
of any prediction

she is not a psychic
and never was a scholar.
but her teeth are deteriorating from travels in decades of chewing words,
and her skin feels smooth,
but tough. from days working patiently with thorny fruit trees.

when i came to her furious
she smiled and asked why.
but she knew.
and i didn’t.
even though at that age
i knew everything!

my mother’s grandmother
knows just how
to give a hug
that will calm your soul.
but she is not a GOD
and she is not a genius.

my mother’s grandmother
has seen
new life,
grow.
but she was never a scientist.
and her eyes are too tired to read.


my mother’s grandmother can’t explain why,
but she knows
that oil will kill a tick
and that when the sky becomes pink
wind always visits the following day,
in overly-exertive gusts.

my mother’s grandmother,
she could tell you some things.

Potato

Life is:
A potato.
round
square
triangular
never perfect
fried
baked
mashed
always unique
NOT chicken
NOT spinach
NOT apple
NOT beef
potato.
we are all potatoes
from the earth
we rise
to greet
every day
never knowing
what will happen
or who will have us for dinner.
potato in a restaurant
and in a drive thru
we are all potatoes
no matter
how much ketchup
is added
the potato will still be there
we are one
potatoes
and all
alike














beware of who you put a moat in front of.
someday,
you might need
a dolphin.

















red

an old fellow
fancies such a flower
for a faithful wife
of 40 years together
the blood
of a newborn
now a heart
shaped box of chocolates
while
the young lad
of a week’s affair
purchases a
panache dress
for a woman he has
seen nude
and the bold
at the company’s
most crucial board room
chooses nothing but this
as wallpaper
this which
was once used
as light in brothels
as to minimize physical imperfections
and still
this
reminiscent of love

give me another
color
with so much
life as this







________________________________________________________________________




my genes are probably pissed at me
my father is dark
and my mother is white

and i am not
looked upon as either
not my eyes
or my skin
or any my features have the pieces
to the puzzle consumers expect to see
the buyers of the world
so soaked into the perceptions they have been made to have
rarely analyze the absolute absurdity of it all
they want to put me in a category
so their day is a little easier, a little less
unsettling
i understand
if they all questioned their existance as i do
they would all be as confused as i am
and people don’t like confusion do they?
they like finality
the statistics of science
religion’s “truth and hope”
fantastically contradictory advice given by EVERYBODY
“seize the day!” but “take time to smell the roses”
“only fools fall in love” but “if you haven’t loved you haven’t lived”
“explore the world to find yourself” but “find yourself in university with a future”
“imagination is more important than knowledge” but “dreamers can’t make a living”
you want to believe that the daughter of a scientist and a physician
is... well you know. i don’t have to tell you
but i won’t stop confusing everybody
i won’t let your thoughts desist into conclusions
no, no! where would be the fun in that?
please, i beg you, don’t listen to advice, don’t accept anything as is
because any given thing can be dark
and white
strong and weak
beautiful and ugly
genius and retard
dreamer and realist
anything is everything
everything is nothing
and all in between
in a world that is a mystery in itself
i am one of the many proofs
that there are no
concrete
answers


































the caribou and the lion
the caribou runs
the lion drags caribou down
and eats

the caribou is a pretty thing
and lion is jungle king
caribou drinks modestly
lion pisses freely in water hole

caribou and lion
so dependent on the other
one is weak and fast
and one is strong and steady

caribou grazes
lion snarls

but if all the caribou die
lion falls
and if the lion should fall
the baby caribou will never learn to run

























































pancakes and a fried egg
are not my idea of love.

i don’t want normality
or security.

i want everything that is crazy,
and awfully evil.

i need to be bitten and enraged,
then healed.
and look at my scars daily.

i’ve had them both.
the breakfast and the escape at 5 AM

i prefer walking with the early rising of the sun
and will scream before i reach for maple syrup.

love is not comfort
it is not a book,
or a security blanket.

it should drag me down,
make me suffer,
blow me into a balloon,
and just before i pop,
i will crave
the feel of bedsheets
and the damp smell of secretions.

a cloud will save me
and i will feel ALIVE!!!

i will have that love.
and burn every piece of toast offered to me










paradox

i close
my eyes
so i am
able to see
away from the “true” images
restrictions
of sight
i imagine
IF…
how I want
MY WAY
hoping in this
will be a world
for others
castles
of freedom
rivers
of knowledge
drift away
into peace
that i cannot touch
and you keep telling me
to open
my eyes
shut down all
possibilities
.

















walking down the hallway with loud music from my player


it soothes me
in chaos
and your
comfort
cannot compare
this is my salvation
so save your
bibles
and your
wise mantras
i will listen to volumes
even if my ears bleed































they are telling me things
and i don’t want to listen.
they are creatures inside me,
telling me about you,
everything you’ve done;
that love has made me push aside.
they remember

they are the redness of my womb,
the aching of my thighs,
they are my thoughts

when you made my body yours,
they are my soul at surrender.

and they do not forget
they tell me things
so i shoot off my ears
and i watch them
squirm and squeal down
the pipe of my sink.
then I haunt my thoughts
with the
paradoxy of good
that i also don’t want to listen to.
i don’t want to remember your sweetness.
but my lips refuse to forget
your taste.

so really you have left me with no other solution

so i shoot myself



and everybody
shuts up