The Sock-Monkey As Alone

Haunted, with to much medicine for my belly. Dark as when the ghosts were my siblings. Afraid no one will remember to read my suicide note. Or, worst... that when I get there, I will want to go home. That all of this is a punishment for my creation. So that I may follow or find where the spirits rest or creep. Tender as when we used to pray "now I lay me down to sleep."

I am frustrated as always, kind of struggling with my brain lately. Been thinking about my book for the last three weeks but not really writing on it. Then the other day I had a small breakthrough. I decided if I didn't like it than I would rewrite it. So that is what I have been doing.    Going to start looking for a publisher for some of the crap I write just because some people seem to enjoy it. The strange thing about my creative output is that most of my finished work I don't take seriously specifically my music. I never thought I would be able to write a piece of prose that was actually readable on a purely technical level. (than Grammarly changed my life, I still struggle with language, but now I feel people at least can get what I am trying to say, even if I tend to think abstractly and write in a straightforward literal way. This incongruence doesn't seem to be that much of a problem, though.) So I just recorded music non-stop to satisfy my desire for having a c...

Stricken with decay in the corner of the idea. I say with disgust under my Breath "they are relentlessly godless." Karma speaks nothing, but I follow. His horns orange his yellow face smiling. He is gods jester, he is and will be. The pocket of some plaster and rotting cardboard. The moon hides behind blacks clouds. While a storm's wind carries the event to the borders. Infinite with originality as intelligent nonsense, My favorite words deny me. In the shadows display the misplaced memories  Of infrastructure of another time in our country. When descending the stairs to the basement With stars encircling my eyes, dizzy as the smell of rotting produce. When at the core of the hospital I find the spirit of God. The maggot squirms in the basement.

  Your one prime looking stargazer and I am looking for a bit of shine. so drop your gown like a razor, a fist of sand and a gut of grime. Where simple as the dreams I've had, carry from you to me. What was broken, tender and sad. Like a kettle screaming steam. Is now no more than nonsense verse, Free but without wit. Cream where your butter is churned. As the neighbors are to forget. That meaning is to be found in loss. Like love is sprinkled with sex. With veins that glitter with frost, you're my doll for a voodoo hex.

  “ Both read the Bible day and night , But thou read 'st black where I read white .” ― William Blake Down in the cellar, the little girl Elaine played. Her mother had left her there for most of the day. When she heard from the furnace voice that shook the steel she pursued it with bravery reserved generally for military service.    "who is there?..." she whispered taking a breath before repeating herself louder. When there was no response, she climbed the stairs to knock on the door. But remembering the beating, she got last time she thought it better that there was a locked door between her and her parents.     A tentacle wrapped around her ankle and dragging her screaming beneath the stairs. With several fingernails tearing loose from the eight-year-olds hand as she desperately grabbed for something to hold.     She was found by the police preaching the word of god in the park. When she was asked about her mi...

As if the question needs to be answered. I don't like being told what to do. Maturity slivers by and stings like cancer. While you have confused order for the truth. My avoidance of political correctness                      leaves me vulnerable. While your confidence leaves me blind. As if the moment that we cease to be human makes for a better story. Flaws and forgiveness what more can I say. Provocation of the simple minded, I have no patience for politics. No patience for what I can't trust. the shattered mirror         the blood and pain. you call me crazy    but never tell me what is sane.

    "The great stories will always return to there original form."                                    -Neil Gaiman The metaphor has no reach, as a star in the sky. A sun that gives life in the eyes of the earth, in the storm of our grief... a category unknown. Surrender to posterity without belief.  As rich as soil but call me dirt. I rage forward forgetting that revision is required. Cliches of lyricism with confrontational sincerity. All the while pursuing clarity. The consensus is that my reduction is tame. While unable to comprehend infinity a cluster of words that can not live eternally. In his skull, the light of his eyes...  to candle flames that flicker and wane. The grim reaper stands on a harvest of souls. When sanity only able to entertain, whil...

 There is clarity in the consensus, you either know when everyone is right or when they're wrong. Democracy is failing the two-party system is essentially Fascism on the Republican side and a incoherent mob of social justice warriors on the left. Republicans and Democrats want to live in a fairytale world. the republicans one is well stupid, racist and sexist. The Democrats, is, well founded on the assumption that all white male are Republicans I tend to be a prick and a dumbass but the fundamental rule of my existence to is try not to do things that I will need to apologise for but If you want to live and let live this is a not so good time to be alive.    I wish I could clarify my own beliefs and to guide someone to understanding even if it was just myself.  Art is dying not because of talented people like me (because I am not!) are not able to get their voices heard but because talentless people like me (because I am not alone!) are unable to get on with distra...