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We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.

Food cold on the table.
he said burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
I said yes.

I love you, I said.
That’s very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?

- ? Jun 5th 2014

Anonymous said: I love you.

No you don’t.

- ? Jun 5th 2014
Cantankerous Art

I disagree with the complement of marriage. Solely for the fact that the romantics died in the 19th century.

I’ I believe Love a chemical imbalance that blinds humanity into a commitment even more devious than a business proposal. I read too much for my own good. I write awful poetry, but I read life as a dangerous critic. My mind’s compass and directional aptitude relies entirely on Bysshe Shelley’s “Essay on Life”, Nietzsche’s “proposal of the chasm of the Apollonian and Dionysian”, Sartre’s existence and humanism entirely. I wake up for Sartre. I have a superiority complex and I try to hide it, I don’t naturally hate, but it intervenes. I cry for the shadows:
Keats, Wilde, those of the Restoration, Blake, Yeats,
but the sliver of care I can demonstrate lies only beneath the names of the early 19th and late 18th century Romanticism. A completely hopeless care to bear.

I am critical of everything and everyone because that still is greater than allowing everyone into your life. Letting people in, is a boundary broken for emotional plague. I’m extremely introverted. I was abused as a child for the fault of the yolk. I say it again, I read too much for my own good, which could serve to explain my unattainable wishes for reality, but what is reality really: A mere reflection for a consonant, soft and sounding, but not for the senses, we could be living in one prefix in a multiplanar of realities. Where does this segment of our lives lie, if insignificant, what do I care if thus is one of a constituent. Life is vile for what it stands for, but worse wasted for what it seizes to represent. My eyes twinkle to the palace of light for Malevich, for Klimt, oh Klee, beautiful Vermeer. Kline satisfies my chaotic vision, Goya my fire. I have a blind palm named reason. I have no intimates or confidants, but that’s a choice, not a burden. I feel as though i’m resting damp on this Earth, with no indent, trying to lead through the surface of this reality.

Knowledge is my curse, and it naturally makes things less interesting.

I don’t feel as humanity does as a natural selection, i’m an irregular involvement of chemical instabilities. I appreciate Love as one would a feeling,
Without sight nor touch
Nor necessity to touch
but to feel for it’s mere availability.
It’s impossibly lucrative.

The foremost lack in humanity, modernization of humanity that is, is the lack of emotional input. No author writes like they would, had they lived in an era where Keats and Wordsworth were confining their own developments. People don’t write letters anymore. Their wrists are occupied elsewhere, as is the stem of their mind. That’s the supreme downfall of society. Drop the 21st century, it’s breathing down our necks with a ferocity of starch and bland implications. I want to implicate a dozen letters to a young boy, and to think i’m mad. This world still befriends me though, with it’s cascading moss of wonder, but
what do I know,

I’m much too impulsive for a run-on sentence.

- ? Apr 9th 2014

April Zanne Johnson

After I had cut off my hands
and grown new ones

something my former hands had longed for came and ask to be rocked.

After my plucked out eyes
had withered, and new ones grown

something my former eyes had wept for
came asking to be pitied.

August, 1969 

you are my something

- ? Dec 26th 2013
Greatest album in twee fucking history - ? Sep 29th 2013
769 plays

- ? Sep 7th 2013

Jonny Lee Miller as Sick Boy in Trainspotting

Untitled pen on canvas 60x60 cm. 2011

Anonymous said: This could get intricate. I only knew one other person to turn nouns into verbs. It's a frightening bit of coincidence and foreshadowing that I was was in love with that person. I am also the only other person I know who uses the word "rad". This is a plus. I can't say I'm not nonplussed, however. I like the way you speak. Because, again why not? Normally, encountering people with "synonymous compulsions" (in both your similarity to me and your love of synonyms) can be wearisome, due to...

Intricate? There are varied connotations to that word, and I’m hoping it’s the charge that a very proton in the base of nucleus would emanate. Well that’s a shame. Nouns phasing into forms of infinitives and participles are the best kind of word-play. Of course an occasional scintilla of satire and a morsel of puns could never hurt the excitement of a word exchange between two linguistically eclectic plebeians. I’m straying too far off and coloring off the lines of this social coloring book. I do apologize. I have the most disheveling rants, and they flow in constant revolutions; never having an end to their beginning nor the latter. Back to the case and point, I don’t see the fright, and i’ve never been one to believe much in premonition, but from what I understand is that you were in Love with a person. Who isn’t me. Now that’s a climactic moment so soon in our flourishing at the bud relationship; A bit unsettling as well, might I add. I’ve use the word “rad” as abundantly and occasionally as I use my men. Kidding. I just haven’t very often  because the idea of it being a bit of a downgrade to my current social status and impression to you is inconclusive. I’ve got to win you over, haven’t I? For the sake of our future. Reflectively, I can say the same in directional forward motion. Your extensive verbal prose and linguistic formality is…quite the refreshment in comparison to most of the body politic that believe that every form of conversing is texting. Naturally, but I can present my firm reassurance that i’ve not the intention of being overzealous or witless in my forwarding of motions and tendencies. Well, for the subsequent I can send my multitudes of appreciations, as you have had an estimated impression of me so early on in our potential-ridden conversing. Danke Schoen. Procreation? More like Copulation, wouldn’t want the literal strings to take the form a child would we? This relationship is to remain thread less  unless you are in fact into the conception of such procreation. I’m not exactly keen on abiding by the rules of commitment however, since it is you, I might just take the risk of being staked to the very ground beneath me. Of course you would, anything revolving around our children would be perennial. Phantom, I forgot to mention…I’ve been impregnated with your Love child solely by this very conversation. It’s a boy. You must be proud of your impacting amplitude. Indeed it does, dutifully noting back to the “synonymous compulsions” we share in parity. Ah, Then we own conceptual screens in parallel. What a striking correlation. Oh, and how rude of me, had I presented myself in a rightful manner in the former of this very response: I’m Haley, well my name is Haley, and it was and presently is a pleasure. [I do apologize for the long windedness of this] Blame your extensive prose. 

- ? Jan 30th 2013