Once upon a time I kept a journal of brief mindblurbs. Random brain noise bits I tried to wipe out onto the keyboard at least once a day. Usually they were one sentence long, but if I felt particularly feisty, I’d blort out as much as I could muster.
This is a page of old mindblurbs, and no longer gets updated.
The end of the night is a desolate time, when vultures roam whimsical.
Sadness is short to nothing, singled out is something, strings are sometimes sentimental.
Distortion singing down, lofty towers molting, melting, mourning.
Niceties define a fragile reality. I should actually say “the fragile reality,” because there is
really no other kind.
Exhaust feeding the air, a carbon romance in the exchange of fuel and fume.
notes on atoms and silver penny whistle strings, I can play the universe, for a sucker, or
just for fun.
Gone are the days of heavy sighs and pats on backs and sympathy, now comes the
solitary, express ride to singing alone in a choir of one.
Sim singing, the orchestra is churning out symbols and meaning. I am churning out butter.
A grim surging: the electricity built up in her hands is amazing, phenomenal. I’ve never
seen anything quite so shocking.
A spark of anything seems to make so much more sense than a dull light of any kind, even
if the dull light burns brighter and for longer.
A grim spectrum in the clutches of madness: I see the whole come clear in images of
chaos and possibility. A picture’s corner is worth nothing without the rest of it’s canvas,
and yet that corner can be dazzling and startling, rewarding and unbelievable.
waxing fruitful, but I can’t multiply
What seethings the sea writhes, intimate wrenchings and sorrow renounced.
Seeding the endless water filled pathway, soon what was once only a foot trodden
landscape will become a bright world brimming with essence.
Salvation comes in little chunks, not the overblown exhausting lump which is so often
In the midst of becoming a new person, it is not uncommon to miss your old self.
singsong in the summertime, with sadness and sorrow
jism and juniper, staring up at leaves and silver clouds while the sun sets artistically against
galloping free association stems logical leaps
end of night begins, columns of soldiers trample the page
she lays exposed, the goddess of excitement
neo-wrappings and incense fondled sparkles
Fragile words settle emptily in my stomach, I need the sustenance of repetition.
Nothing with the intensity of stupidity should be ignored.
lines for augmented realities, waterboy.
Yellow reminders and huckleberry heart shaped tin roof sundaes.
Hiccuping into the infinite, a brown bald man’s bulimia.
Stabbing of serial killers, haiku of hiccups, maiming of the Mediterranean
The butcher stabbed my schizophrenic saline solution.
I have surrogate mothers in my hairline,
my lineage is threatened by bachelorhood, (quick stop the sperm-press!)
I sit in my dump of a toothached life and
surround myself with flea bitten masturbatory mosquitoes
which sometimes suck and sometimes just blow.
Make my day in the hills of venice, sailing through the marsh
which separates my heaven and the shoe store.
Storm blows in, it’s mandatory;
when suckers fall I lick the floor.
My my, how the beanstalk has grown,
one foot in St. Helen, huh?
You see someone on the street, swear you’ve seen them before, they make you think about
something you haven’t thought about in so long, you have to hit yourself, you don’t know
where you know them from you don’t know why you thought of the things you thought of
when you saw them.
Life is epitomized by the slow rhythm your heart knows at birth.
come the return of the stars, my eyes are large
drops on the doorstep of a dime-man,
dime-man’s face is unknowable
imbue the page with your lumps of mush and word
somber incentives saying nothing
I see in eyes the sphinx asking questions
you seek and secretly I swallow symmetry
logic in love with lips
the lusciousness of them,
leaning leering lechers
let logic lie,
I am a lover
stealing of sex
hands in wrong places
my lips on your neck
eyes hoovering over body structure
ease into comfortable mode
structure of relationships
determination red as rose crystal
burst into stationary steam
single sex in spasm with symmetry of symbiosis
why does change reap the harvest of humanity,
we are instincts of progress, change becomes us,
evolutionary guinea pigs of the highest order
are we the apple 2GX…?
values burn incandescent in7 the night of anarchistic reality
distinguished and distinguishing
matching sequins, matching napkins and silverware
paper meche michelangelos
dance naked on mantles
stand heavy with stipend—clothed
my eyes are silver to eat with
The Flying Cock-Sucker
stands, screwing his investment
making deals with lawyers
who want his vacuum
between their legs.
The flying cock-sucker
swims in the sperm
of below desk diligence
and closet incumbents.
republic of romance on twisting dance floors and caterpillar circus rides
in the courage of the dawn, the sun glides in for the kill
I shade my eyes expectantly.
eleven hours—sink half the day—I sleep with iron lids for my eyes.
Devastation is the man in a trench coat,
he stands on the corner looking out over a city inaccessible.
fetid fields fit with flora wave friendly enough.
results stem tirelessly, draining the muse
In the night, jumping off the beams of moons,
a heart can run faster than a man:
landing in pools of it’s own concoction,
or gliding ceaselessly through low clouds of emotion.
I ran into one of those hearts once.
I myself have fled the real in pant and circumvent,
my veins have been tangled.
I was wrapped in this heart,
fender bender of jumping hearts,
we were both snared.
Suddenly a snap—we were free,
a little worse for wear, a little relieved,
each sailed away.
Her neck sways like palm trees, her
figure bends passively in winds of touch.
I silence the words are inherent.
Incense makes sense
wiping away a sense
with the more powerful.
On the desk of platinum aroma,
the root smell of rank foot
takes top billing, the studious smell
of a coke refinery, the sulfur smell so familiar…
I have heard someone say they could smell the chalk in a classroom.
I cannot. But I do smell the spring. I smell the rain.
I can smell winter on the edge of happening.
through the burning hole of night
with a will he wilted, withered away
I snapped at the scabbards,
sheaths at sides of scoundrels fell away.
q-tips and conundrums
Iron skin softens at touch like a weapon.
I weaken your defenses,
trembling hands coil,
a glimmer of the inside emerges.
The fort is impenetrable,
impregnate with you though,
in between stones and mortar,
in between gaps in trees,
I can see your vignette,
faded at the edges.
With my weapons,
I will render you defenseless.
Today is spread thin.
I am melting like butter on toast.
The night’s dreams explode
like flowers recorded blooming and played back at high speeds.
I lean on a wall without cracks
which separates the good from evil.
I stand tall on a mountain built of bricks,
which towers above petty distinctions.
I’m fine in limelight,
got my shoulder into the grindstone,
I’m wearing down the bone,
want some bone dust to spread,
throw over my shoulder.
Someday, I’ll own the world, and I’ll charge you to stand on it.
syrupy dreams have taken me
am I ashamed?
in the view of defile, denial piles higher, files larger
a hated man is someone scorned
what dares intrude upon this romance of sleep?
which man or beast comes to befuzzle my counted sheep?
I swim in strange curves upon the dark dusk shores of Absalom
an unfettered wind swings the waves over my brawn
from sandy shore I emerge, naked and dry
to push my way through bush and tangled vine—‘till hidden sky
in deep, a web of green enfolds
no longer alone —speaketh ye, or hold your peace,
I would return from whence I came.