find the fucking cheese

The race is on.  Who kills themself first?  Life, unappreciated.  

Mankind, riding an ICBM, with a nuclear payload, straight toward the nearest black hole.

Whoever gets the tip to stick in their asshole wins.

King of the fucking mountain.  Slip up at your own risk.  A broken wrist, a fractured femur, if you're lucky.  All Gravity sucked in through your dickhole, exploding out your mouth, if you're not.  Ultimate regret.  Time in an instant.  Moments fading to feelings, dengenerating into sensations.  Nothing, et al nothing.  Et al everything, et al something, et al anything, et al

just one thing.

But, none of that matters.  Then again, doesn't it?

Think fast: the Fate of your Race is at stake.  You've got a split-

second to react.  But does any of it even matter?

Probably not.  That's the funny thing about it.  What could it all possibly mean, in the first place?  Who decides?  It's arbitrary.  This begets that.  I have more gold than he does.  I can convince an inebriated man to trade me

His Wine for My Water.

Then, I'm going to sell that wine to a drunk for double its retail value.

All profit.

There is no better investment.

You should buy in!  In fact, maybe I should go public.  My IPO might be bigger than Google!  My Market Share would dwarf IBM!  But, the SEC could spot irregularities in my bank accounts.  The IRS would call me on decades of blatant tax fraud and evasion.  The CIA would be forced to investigate my connections with suspected terrorist sympathizers!  I'd be under constant surveillance by the FBI!  THE DEA WILL BUST ME FOR GROWING BUSHELS OF MARIJUANA!

Damnit man!  Calm down!

It's the paranoia talking.  None of that is going to happen, so just calm the fuck down!

Besides, we're all straddling the same rocket anyway,

so what the fuck does any of it matter?

jw 5/8/09 2:17 am

It Was Written

I remember when I used to just talk to these things.  Whatever came out was out and there was no getting it back in.  Man, that's when I knew how to write!  That's when I talked about things that mattered!  No backspaces, no pausing; just letting it rip.  Go back and fix mistakes later.  Don't stop to take time and think about things, just shoot the fuckin breeze, man.

But, even realizing that, I still can't go back and do it.  My mind is so well-trained to be conscientious it makes me sick.  I am far too concerned with proper grammar and even worse when it comes to punctuation.  Fuck it!  Fuck it all!  I want to go back to using exclamation points not just to fool people into thinking I'm happy, but to actually mean it.  Get pissed off, get in a rage!  Let the momentum flow out of me, like an Atlantic riptide dragging me back down underneath into the depths of my own thought.

But I just can't do it.

I remember when I thought I could do everything.  Not just anything, mind you, but fucking EVERYTHING I could ever want or dream.  I can't do that anymore, either.  There's always limits.  I think I can have a lot, but I certainly can't have it all--that would be asking too much.  Every single day something comes down on me that further compacts what little recycled youthful optimistic idealism I have left laying around my Soul.  So I settle for something in between.  A compromise with Fate, if you will.  I can't go to law school at the University of Chicago, but I can go to Cleveland State.  I can't have Phish tickets, but I might be able to swing tickets for Umphrey's after Hempfest.  I can't just spew out useful garbage with little to no effort anymore--like I used to be able to--but I can do something in between that and the grinding, academic approach to expression that has been strangling my novelty ever since I first stepped foot on university soil.

And, I think I'll take that.  Even though I could argue it's a raw deal, it's probably a fair deal.  After all, what have I ever given Fate in exchange in the first place?

Absolutely nothing.

For those of you keeping score at home, that's:  Dragonman, 1; Fate, 0.

why I cry in my coffee

may be the drizzle piss dribble drivel down my window sill fog glasses shit salsa burgers eat

sleeping pills til the bottle's empty 9:30 in the morning

still can't sleep noxious fumes breathe from the radiator no heat for days couch too worn to sit

belly full of empty head full of weed suicide homicide and rage

bank account full of zeros bottle full of chardonnay lighter full of fluid 

and flame--may be the flame

flicker wrist punch fist fuck my asshole reach up gut nothin there burning inside of me died

senior year in high school when I could still remember my name

as something more than a brand registered trademark farce fart heartless cold cock shot myself

in the foot--may be the foot

slammed in the door toe bones shattered crooked nails plucked ripped skin fresh flesh sears

off in frying pan with a little bit of extra virgin olive oil--

may be the virgin porno barely legal cherry popper first time dick sucker double penetration bukake

cumshot facial clean shaven snatch plastic tits gang bang

in the glory hole--may be the glory storied university intellectual academia not public school bullshit

full of shit full of self full of esteem full of greed money grubbers

MONEY! MONEY! MONEY!  long line of credit FedEx internet shoppers eBay personal war stories

personal statement personal vibrator personal dildo stocking stuffer deep throat Iraq--

may be Iraq may be Afghanistan may be Pakistan may be Darfur may be India may be China may

be North Korea Red Russia Iran Israel Gaza Egypt--God save us!

God save me!

may be the Catholic Church priest tease hairless balls Father I have sinned thou art 

forgiven--may be forgiveness survival of the fittest gymnast acrobat broken back bent over backward

with a baseball bat knock the abortion out of the park stark contrast dark alleys 

crack cocaine heroin pcp lsd--may be the lsd magic mushrooms trip before you can walk chalk outlines

jump from buildings tell your grandchildren why the shin splints splintered winter sidewalks

concrete freeway onramps offramps inter-

changes merge right merge

left--may be the left liberal brainwash media stoned anchors special reporters special Olympics TV

specials today's specials are roast rump of duck blood soup blood lust blood

shed blood diamonds tips are appreciated but gratuities are included compliments of the chef.

jw 

12/30/08 11:52 am

the L word

the first thing that comes to mind

is the drum drum beating beating

throb throb of

my lower left

  leg.

       peg standing up drunk and half high

tripping on acid.  wasn't like

    the first time when the stars

told me to cry

        and Life seemed

  to be teetering on the very philosophy of it being

there.  wasn't

like the third time, mind racing face numb

    truckin through the same old shit.

no, it wasn't like that at all.  the first thing that comes to mind

 is the drum drum

     beating beating

          throb throb of

  my lower left

leg.

jw

2/21/09 3:00 am

we wake up late on the weekends

last night, while you were sleeping,

I was tip-toing around my mind.

dreams were coming and leaving.

I kept opening and closing my eyes.

five a.m., sunrise peeked

through the blinds.  I rolled over

wrapped in your arms.  heat

waved in between the window panes, like smouldering

hydrogen bombs.  I yawned.  I stretched.  I scratched.

I sighed.  I tried to splay out on my stomach.  I turned,

curled up on my side.  just as I felt a good snore hatch,

your cellphone alarm began to buzz.  I lurched

awake, your eyes still shut.  I switched it off.

your breath was soft.

jw 5/3/09 3:28 a.m.