Cocaine Doom Meet With Video On Zoom – James Krendel-Clark & Eris.exe

Booming black industrial powder splashes. Drowsy after-ever hourz. Dreamy at the club, sipping something heavy and clear, your eyes shoot –>> I feel bullets I hear mantras I see You. Nearness of your face, breathehotfaceheat. (a)graphic mania against god, (b) we swoon drowzily in the screen.


eez theez eeven real? i wuz browzzzing thruuu a magazine rack thinking uvvv uuuuu, mmmmmm, cum-bubble-queen barely existing corporeally u seeeeee, pulsating asshole, picking cuticle, i’m floating in theeeee afterlyfeeee ((eeeeeeee!!!!!)), see ivvv i cannn fooocus enough to m a k e o u t innocu0us uwu **~~ outlines of figurezz in lingerie… sweetie my skin hangs loosely off ov BONE, febrile ghostfingertips thumb perfume packets, seph0ra samplezz, ch3@P :)) the world is unworlding blulite UV protect10N forever young + online, advertising fluff, beckoning in the poet dreams a crisply defined victim outline, the only printed matter i can dige$t anim0hr however now, VOGUE, ELLE, INSTYLE, imagez of women in fashionable outfitz, this bitter like single_white_xanax taste forever in my mouth, intestines fall sloppily out of anus, allegedly as fuck, smUSHHd the pineal-33L| -skin- | flesh down the front of my face, hair flapping, it’s rotting, decaying toecurling rot eek [e-R0TiK d0t dot d0t comm] dead corpse but still some skin held on by stringy strands, striated cells [[sitting tensing your ass and calf muscles in order, in rhythm, hegelian kegel of the dialectic of consciousness]], magazine pages slopped off, my fingers grungy with junky anorexia of poetry [[all the blood exhales out of your lips, you feel sublimity of god]], i’m dead, you see, i skritched out my earz and bled out thru da holez so i culd hear the dingy music in the TARGET store [[sounds like buzzing insects]], i pinched at my face and nothing but slopping off crusts of flesh, yes, i cannot emphasize enough the way my skin is barely even there, i’m simply an animated puppet, my hair has rotted away, and frum the earz i just flayed that shit in slabs, surgical, and now i’m whispily wiping a finger around the skull, grindin my teeth and wishin 4 a graveyard ho 2 extricate my skeleton from this stikky situation, did u read the personal ad on my tombstone, i iz in here and dtf, eh, ma’lady? Engraved, as they say, as u read, zero zen EZ to pick the skin i’m not in, flick the finger to the pensive crack of knuckle, my phantasmal-ectoplasmic fingertipzz wishin washin whiskin down my face-sidezzz, numerous ghost-tattoos adorn them, see, on the knuckles, nothing to grab below the crotch, medical exhibit that i am, anatomy textbook stripped into virtual layers of unreality, perched on my little clench of seat, living humans a real pain in my neck, i burned my library when they buried me, laptop and bluetooth speaker creates an environment suitable for recording feelings, concepts, but i’m not educated. hebrew letterz tattooed on tha bonez, aleph marrow mushy like clay my fleshhhh, ahhhh crispy like ash, zyklonscorched, it’s smushed and it’s charred, my tired bones ache with lust but how i remember it though, that slushy mushy marrow, the way it nevertheless springily held up, tautly surfaced me ((they buried me shallow in flashbulb fire and machinegun shots, see i flayed myself but not before i got gunned- down at the drive-by, or what it the drive-in, drive-thru gaschamber, whatever, they didn’t know what an utter madman i am, i’ve given a soundtrack to my life and it’s nothing less than the most extreme songs and vibrations)), i’m resurrectin this shit with my phone buzzin u got me on sp33d dial “zero hour halo whore” calling me out of nothingness, awww, nice, i’m resurrected with the ringing, the screeching vibrations, cute, puts some plump tush on my hipbones and some itchy thumbflesh on my claws, plush, ditsy, remembering a body, scratching it, stretching, fumbling, rubbing, jabbering TELEPHONE JESUS, i’m floating up in the ether, DAMN, as i PUSH the phone to my EARHOLE, I SIGHT YOU FROM AFAR, TELEPATHIC INFRARED DOT ON YOUR THIRD EYE, MY BULLET PIERCES YOU, CRUCIFIED, BUT AT FIRST NOTHING BUT FEEDBACK FILLS THE VOID, IT’S HARD, HONEY, listening NICE AND CLOSEEE SEEE33 INTO THE CAVITIE33S OF MY E33AR AS IT RINGS DEEP INTO THOSE SPIRALING BONES OF 3ARDRVM [[MY SK3L3TAL FAC33SKVLL T33TH LOOM ALL LEE3RILY AT U, MY SKR33MING 3Y3BALLS, MY ETHE3REAL, E3-THE3-RE3AL, CUT3 TONGUE LICKS LOVINGLY AT THE SKREEEEEN, RAZORSHARP, AND MY SKELE-HAND LIKE A CLAW CLUTCHING THE SUBLIMITY OF THE VIBE, LIKE PLAYING A PIANO, MM NN MM NN MM 33 DD DD DD D# Fb, G, FEEBLY SCRATCH OUT A GUITAR CHORD, TEETH CLENCH SNOT SNNKKK I INHALE PHLEGM COUGHING AT THE INTERIOR OF MY CELL, THAT LITTLE SPACE THEY’VE GIVEN ME TO HOLE UP IN, WHEN I GET BACK FROM TARGET I HIDE HERE, THAT SECRET HELL HOLE HUNCH WHERE I PASTE MY IMAGES ON THE WALLSCRAWL AMPHETAMINES AND HUNCH MY NECK IN HORRIBLE HUNGER SCREAMING AND CLAWING THE SKY FOR MY GOD]]



Rawness as a Virtue+++ YES === Rawness as vital +++ Ruthless little thing 00000000 (rawheart) (rawheart) (savageraw) (slicedraw)

(rawcheek) (raweyes) (kawaiiraw) (heartraw) (rawtouchheartraw) (rawbruiseheartraw) (rawmeatbruiseslicecutraw)

[and i tell u its just the coolest thing

in this cyber cosmic fuckin C H A O S {{what DO you call it?? how do you say it like a millennial, like someone from Gen Z, even}}

of aching hyperventilated shards of faciality crust {{something like that}}

that we met, u know??? it’s like every time you say

an experience is “so weird”, toecurlingingly, every time, like,

something really bad and corrupt happens. ya know? ah, but, what’s febrile? what’s that? ech, don’t sweat it, i’ve heard it before, my skullclench,

that animal thrashing off into the underbrush {{THRASH THRASH}}

could have been a randy mountainlion {{A DANGEROUS ANIMAL}}

but it’s really impossible to say, too dark {{WHAT SYMBOLS}}


going to stop chainsmoking to check, my neck hurts,

in short, i couldn’t concentrate

enough to notice the coincidence,

something stuck between my teeth, the muscles of my feet tight

from the walk where we went by that crazy tree

its dead branches screaming into the sky

like cruciform swastikas

my eyebulbs impaled

with sunbeams

pale flowers









“social norms” worm hole=not_forever


worldwide space e3y3s ALTERITY swimming p00lz of love gasps are feathers/ed or heavy, heaving tubes of flesh monumental tooth statue, rows of them in my mouth, each tooth a church, you crawl inside and masturbate, the temple of my reichian toothchurch, it’s a theaterperformance, you scrawl the symbols

on the wall and chant, lighting incense; my tongue lovingly fondles the outside of the tooth, deus ex machina, a huge mechanical model, maniacal topology of physicKal being, tubes of, um, wiped cum off gucci glasses, fancy cocktail, every finger used to count times i agree with your opinions, so much in common, twirled oily hair, dazed off sedatives, jadedly staring into eyes, that time we went to the opera blazed out of our skulls // surreal // that word is overused so much but that’s what it was, seeing wagner blazed out of our fucking skulls besides which I’m Jewish // triumphant teutonic absurdity, like Gaddis your favorite writer, in JR: “who is Alberich, the dwarf? / –That’s supposed to be that boy J R, said Wotan sidling up, wiping both hands on a fox tail. — He’s only being it to get out of gym anyway.”


(touching what, exactly?? i mean… if you touched me, i could touch you, but we both know that would lead to different touches and different soft yielding to taut violation of hard surfaces sharp smacking against rough latex tightened gloveskins, violent shaking, thrusting, hard hurting amidst soft glitterpatterns and shards of tightened windowenvironments)


I can call you later, your voice a wet hiss in my ear, sweat and earwax and when I push the phone away from my face it looks like a Wish app attempt at White Bitch Ivory/MAC robot flesh, does MAC MINERALIZE TIMECHECK LOTION— you, you will be nonlinear and without pores. just some cheap rectangle covered in dimethicone from the makeup left on it, bald, a wig maybe, hairpulledout, perhaps slight saliva flecks, razorslashesintoface, certainly a thickness of vowel and tautness to the timbre, screaming ullulating contactlenses from halloweencostume and drag makeup rendering monstrous aura frightening, mutilated torturechamber in a horrorstory the way you scrawled those letters on the wall of your toothcave, what did they mean and what powers are you accumulating in that little orgone hut, when you pretended to cut the implanted transmitter out of your mouth, a certain thickening in the throat, picking at prickles of hair along the edge of my jaw, i enunciate with my tongue in the grooves of my teeth, CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK wailing like ghosts that can’t contain me in their prayers, concentrating with my hand twisted over my mouth, moving my lips in ways that express certain sneering emotions while pinching the skin at the top of my scalp, my face has a shape and i feel it with my hand for reassurance, i want to know that i remain imposing, sharp, i want you to maneuver your fingers over my faceskin, feeling with bitterness the sore hand that contains a thought in its twist, and wriggling around to loosen up my lower vertebrae, take a facemask and wear it, and i’ll wear yours. I apologize for making that lame joke, before. I clicked the knuckles of my left hand as I bore down on my will, but I kid, I cough, I kvetch, get over it, I’m not sincere enough. You accept my apology gracefully, so excited, like a child, “I was amazed you even called!” it said, (he) said his name was Andrew (AN-DREW), AN he DREW a strange symbol in the SAND, wiping it away before i could memorize, before burying her, Elizabeth, in sand, completely (I’LL EX-SAND-HER later, he said, slyly, so maybe that was his name, ALEXANDER, who knows, I didn’t get the joke), subliminally imprinting a sigil, finally, on her forehead, it would only take on meaning later, MUCH, much later, dot dot dot.. (qua qua qua) many tears poured out of my left eye as he unsanded part of her head to braid her hair in fractal patterns


Eyes bleeding in Target.

You’re not supposed to be able to survive there for long, I hear, ventilation poisoning, lighting washout, eyes wasted on farsickness of bleach and magazines and shit, i’m tautening my calves and hamstrings trying to concentrate, trying to rub and get loosened that pectoral/clavical region also and my fuckin scalp i can’t get comfy, gymnastics of kinaesthetic intentionality, heavy-vowels in my voice, twitchy, looking at ads in every direction, sucking on my own saliva, thoughtful, targeted, panting, sweating in my reeking crotch, labels on the products, sucked in air, brightly colored, you know, air conditioning, corporate towels, corporate detergent, corporate tank top lint. Corporate tweaker scratching my skull, manic, out of control, cosmic grit grinds in my teeth. Cute panties, yeah, tho. Yeah. Yeah. Put em on. Why not? I want to see you in them. To SEE you. Target has great socks, you know. You get the ones with both pigs and bacon on them, hot pink, sick joke, anklets bitch! Those T shirts with darth vader or bart simpson. Plucking my lip from its cage, you made a cage for my lip, it’s cucked, my lip is impotently caged in a house you designed, a liphouse ,liparchitecture, you crawl around the columns of the ridges of the pseudorectal liptissue, applying thick plaster. You feel your toenails against your socks and it kills you and you take off your socks and they are flung against walls [[the kundalini yoga that i did, the ringing bells, the empty zilch zen scorched aura of the space was torched with a thousand demons before i saged that shit to oblivion now incense and jangling bellscorch i cry weep from chakra eyeballs beading tears of trauma focused infinite transcendental submission to structure, structure itself alone can save me, i’m mad and only structure saves me from it, from this madness that is chaos and my own mind, its cruelty and disorder, topologizing bead-dots where my fingers touch my face, scanning, to 3D model it]] –what if when you flung something against a wall, hear me out, your body itself was flung IN ITS STEAD, flinging your own flinging face at its farflungness, IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL CONVENIENCE? In short, no, no one asks you, no one asks you to do that, but nevertheless IT is always screaming at me, my fucking frostfrozen frigid face, the quivering edges of my facialized frontal absentcore, the blank hole i call my identiface, the sliding interlace of muscle of its expressions, pixelated, just like my leg so held in specific muscleforms, consult a medical textbook trying to pindown the exactshape of its kinaesthetic loneliness, i smile at you through the screen, whenever I am rough or throwing things roughly, ja? as if it were ME myself, thrown, roughly, you see, screaming into the void, throwing myself roughly like a football player, selftackling down the elevator shaft, CRASH, hope my iPhone didn’t accidentally SHATTER

always screaming

always roughly

onscreen, offscreen, alone in my structures

flow my tears

fall from your springs

bow my head in john dowland worship of sad perfectsong

my frozen narcissus caught in mirror with arrays of

objects hung carefully walled in with my reflected mind

the stacks of library that douse me in thoughtful pedantry

i look at their angles and i see an arrangement that lacks structure

the way they lean and hold together, the way they tower above me

i count them and their titles and the way i read them when i have

the time // never may my woes be relieved // since pity is fled

and tears // and sighs // and groans // my weary days //

my weary days // of all joys have deprived

they crumblingly corrodedly corruptly are stacked atop each other

and fear // and grief // and pain // for my deserts // for my deserts //

are my hope since hope is gone // hark you shadows that in darkness dwell //


hang on babe, WHO are you again? this hole music, hold music, it’s really sad, why did they go with john dowland, that’s fucked, this isn’t that sort of corporation where it’s just to gaslight you, some kind of sick art experiment? what? I dialed hun… Wait I’ll try to call you back. Ech, fucking loading issues. The connection… Do I type numbers? Dyscalculia, see I have, it’s like dylslexia but with numbers, I’m tired I feel like I fucked up, a typo, a mistake, an error, I have it, though, a disorder, so don’t count on me, it’s not quite up to snuff, my mind, ,but the thing is I’ve been VOMIT by the side of a bonafide hu$tler whoroscopic badass who brought on the bankruptcy nausea after two inheritances, somehow kept my broke ass along for love, shivering epileptic something, but if you ever saw my ass, truly saw my ass, you’d understand what love is ~ ~ you see

wink wink

knudge knudge

fetlife kink list e-mail me 4 it! jk(?)..jk 🙁 hey there,

[death could come any time there is no time for shame, redemption is a lie, sold at TARGET or WHOLE FOODS but it is also soul’d out, outer sunset VOMIT LIKE A COMET. Fog is air, no people exist, death is near, use your hands to write it down, good thing u are myopic, DEATH IS WHATEVER but !!!! you cannot afford literally anything_ but definitely not being dumbshy, why don’t you make a diorama and show us how you feel]

~ ~ ~ ~

skeletal fingers groping mounds of poppin orgasm asshole, slappin smackin pops of orbs, organs poppin poporbs organflaps, orbpops of assgass, tearorbs of sadlonliness, let me lick them, geometrically flayed like a skeleton, slick, stuck, fisted and hungry with longing, japan-tied, asscheeks plump with longing, tattooed,

the word ass is a sort of snakeloop and will be your mindenemy if you do not accept this new poetic metermantra, i can’t explain it, i hardly have the stamina, but calm down for a second and let me try to give you the run down on this earlabyrinth, wait, no time for that, let’s just say it’s a sort of free verse loosely based on structural alliteration, there’s more to it than that, consider, for example, flaubert, or roussel, zarathustrian-platonic illumination of alethic sparks, autohypnotic rhythm of neurolinguistic mindrot, my tired eyes keep the rhythm, keep the rhythm, tired eyes rotTing eroTica ROT, ro-tTing!! T T tttttt teethgrin like a hotel thingy t t ta t-A t-A-C-O-N-N-E-C-T-E-D-V-E- R-T-E-B-R-A-E got something stuck t-AA sorry did i spit? CRACK or a concrete [[sparks explode in my head]] need for love, poetically encased beeping signals in your TV set, squealing, telepathic TV (sometimes confusingly concrete, the material, the coincidences, with concreteness, the quality, moaning like prophets, like from the pulpit, i mean, like a churchchoir out of tune, that’s one of my problems, the way that i complain, priestly, you see, my many problems, also with the poetry style), mm maximum lips, enlarge them more, perhaps? perhaps.

[interstitial liminal what’s the word time where it’s that precious less of a nanovoidsecond slice of time, snotinhaled a topological fragment of measurable space, whale being dissected, howling groveling rock bands maniacally propagate messages [[how can you measure the immeasurable aspects of time and space]] in a cultural void of lifestyle synapses, a nanovoid taxidermied animal viviscected constricted, wait, i need to scratch… u cut thru with your own t33th, hanging by the unpainted nails in an uncomfortable crouch in your cluttered space, always always kept SHORT (your nails) where you decide if you even possess the ability to LIFT fucking LIFT your gigantic heavy eyeballz, and snork the snot rejuvenating your mind with oxygen shooting into your lungholes, hang on while i hydrate, where was i… to meet voidpupils, shuttered liminal lids clamping down as you pierce through the pixels with those precocious peepers of yours, that wacky einsteinhair, becketthair, they way you constantly use it like cilia of anttenae, and can you say, death by pleasure w/o puking because, my eyes, fucking klonopin hangover,

are tired

I have never STOPPED puking


i’m sure u have noticed

since this began

it’s been quite the cleanup effort

many tortured tongues have labored over my puke (&_they_LOVED_it!)





Tape One

The author had to take a break when writing about Piglet’s Pukkake because she is phlegm demon from somewhere really fucking phlegmy, apparently. She shrieks the sticky demon out, wonders where it cums from and then of course it hits her, it is ghost cum! How cool.Rub it in my hair. Or it’s from the Cyber Crime Cocaine Committee, which must exist, because she doesn’t even remembering ordering! N.O.S.E. (NARCOLEPTIC OPENING OF SEMINAL EFFLORESCENCE // NEON ORANGE SEWAGE EW // NOTHING OF SUICIDE EVEN // NOTHINGNESS OOZES SLOWLY EASTWARD) GHOST CUM MAKES THE PERFECT HAIRGEL. Oh what a time, right, hon? What a time. Would explain but u r totes broke tho lolzz.

it was festive + GLORIOUS (once I figured out what to wear)

but that is,

as they say,

another story!



(Time for Second Payment on Target Incel Husband Do You Have Cyber$Currency%%%)

pink lighters r tiny talismans ; when you told me this i froze for a moment and picked my nose indecisively but then with a devilish look i met your eyes and understood perfectly where you were coming from

~ ~ ~ !

skeletal longing, drifted through TARGET, blur, every ass a magnetic topology zone of roundness (( )) modulating vibrations, the wonderful shape of legs, vague pornography, [[sickeningly crouched in my perfect skeleton, adjusting dancerly my bones as i look down, dancer-like i adjust my bones, i feel the anklecave connecction strong athlete-statuesque, i feel the way the power flows through my joints, i feel as my nose snootily sticks up at you the way my zeusbody mocks you with its lightningbolts]] the word ass, even the PLATONIC idea of ass, the round shape, or the word thigh, the word calf, OCD obsessions of a really bloodshot moondish of a mind, toothdish of a mouth, cokedrip my neck muscles are working over time to chew the cud of this conceptual conversation, i’m bullish in the brain,

zeroing in on the data, calculate the zeroth hour of cinematic data dish, phlegm in the throat, look at the way that lilting ankle turns in its shoe, dainty rather than romanesque, a sober satellite dish of a penis, wrinkled forehead, skeptical stare, piglet [[why piglet? just another one of our little nicknames, you’ll catch on soon; see above but also we have yet to unfold the way piglet in the lobes of our brain, it splits our personality when my left lobe turns to greet the sky, tingling in its tightness, its epileptic participation in the dance, piglet is my name when eye grin madly and dance my head right brain lobe actives godlens of lefteye dilatestrong, the siren’s song rivets my pigleteyes, i am piglet, chemical coma baby coquette contorting with my spine, my sulfurous ass, my erudite, punchable nose, my submissive snout, i scratch my head, my stupid self, break out the whip, piglet’s sublimity needs to be severed from the dagger in a sky she has already swallowed hole, piglet goes into the volcano, piglet gets sacrificed, every night we do this, this pigletgame, everynight this pigletdeath, pigletapocalypse]\

~ ~ ~

sodalite and zero serial sarah means princess u chose that for yr girlname, it’s titillating for both of us, and I called you that, said it was nice to meet you, but sodalite, yeah, it’s cute as fuck, I have the selenite wand and this boy thought it was crystal meth and you had to do a ritual cleansing ceremony that was honestly ratchet af but it worked, still panting and gagging on my every word i see, coughing, out of breath, enjoy this submissive thread strung through your ever reddening rod, tight red thread on your bare mattress, your hair lightly tousled, every anemonic strand, a titillated teenager for the first time, mindfucked, splayed out, you know from the mental health discord server you volunteered at until one time u lost yr shit and told that awful girl to SHUT THE FUCK UP and STOP MESSAGING YOU which was




of you



pant pant pant


and now you can’t stop picking your skin

i think it’s cute tho

you’re shy and you are always pulling on your hair pensively

i i i i can imagine u dancing brightly ~ ~ ~ like crystals. . . something about the idea of crystals now, just makes me stop and stare into space blankly, but back then it was scintillating, and it was the dance, wait, we should totally, um–and is a crystal, hang on but why did you make it your email, encrystallized, what about it make it matter? [[encrystallized piglet is hidden subself whipped boy piggy, encrystallized i see the glimmer of p i g l e t in your eyes, shaven head P I G L E T as a tattoo, the leather outfit that you put on, the sensory deprivation hood]] some sort of inflatable crystalline architecture, archibed, crybaby chrysalis for all of our shoutingmatches, ((crystal_slut@knob.globeeeeeeeee)) yeah see you had to go with pure text instead of matter and infrastructure, oh well, the ideas are the rods that spin the marionettes of culture, i’m perched on the balls of my feet, i guess, and you screwed your face on properly, and THESE blobs, man when you get a look at THESE blobs, you see, THIS PERFORMANCE, so scintillating, I’m on tenterhooks as i watch THIS PERFORMANCE unfold, you SEE, these NURBS (non-uniform rational basis spline), of anti-matter, globular sad facetits, your herculean splinenipplecalveankle, we gravitated around every spline (parametric curve) of skeleton and of fleshnipple, fleshtitcocknippleanusanklecalvepectoralquadricepts but that stupid gif where the actor says JUST LET ME DIE and I look at it on your twitterstream and it’s weird cuz ur dead now, and you were so good at being an AUDIENCE MEMBER, BUT I can retweet TWO dead exes in one swift flo, one fucking flop of a limb, i love you, FLO.EXE, decapitate me, can u say that, execute me, u fucking zero. yeah. bugsquashed every zilch that doesn’t get it. SPLAT. holocaust in my head, fingeranusnipplemouthtongueeye [[piglet knows, piglet weeps, piglet grieves]]

it’s not an insult tho, it’s like when u were called a nihilist and it was meant as an insult and u took it as a compliment. the delicacy with which you felt the tip of your nose, it made you seem more jewish, the way you emphasized its shape, the different tissues composing it, as if you were drawing up a medical diagram of its functioning, wilhelm fliess, baffling, almost. i don’t know, more cocaine, please. it’s confusing, the way it flows together, my lower back is killing me, however. shit, another coughing fit, hang on. embedded trauma? like where it meets my hips i’m saying, the yoga sutras of patanjali couldn’t crack the crustiness of this chakra, the way they abused it. kether, hokmah, binah, chesed, gevurah, tiphereth, netzach, hod, yesod, malkuth, all ten nodes corroded and burnt out, energy dissipated as if vacuumed in a black hole, pray in the shower of the psych ward, the warm water loosening a rigid exoskeleton of shame // the way hans bellmer makes those x-ray drawings and the hips are like butterfly wing ovals. ah, i am such a lobster, a lizard. crack of the neck, face spins. ugh, demented. what is life.

that is not my memory that is the book girl, interrupted. you have to stop confusing them // i guess // why // really the question would be how // you’re dumb // i know // you like me this way [[my butt’s topology, it is a metaphor for the way i interface with the flatness of the chair, and this is a metaphor for every relaxation of consciousness in general // consider the topology of my butt, my cock, the folding of the fabric of my jeans, bodily odors, etc]] // shut up // mm okay you’re right // make OUT with me already // mm // LITERALLY eyecontact u fucking coward // okay // lol // i take it back // no but i mean coward is the worst thing i can call you, straight up // badass is the highest praise // totally badass // utter badass, tough and cool at the same time // it’s not good being a valley girl sometimes tho, u suddenly get excited and your iq drops and the amount of times u say omg goes up. oh well.

mph i know, he said, his tongue lunging into her mouth

((said it was connected to his brain, implant from a young age, reptilian acorn))

staring at asses was one of his obsessions // also philosophizing about them

now as a ghost he hovers, shell-shocked // his cum sprays into the face of

TARGET customers // skeletal finger reaching underneath, suckling limbs, stroking, mallsoft lavender dreams of skeleton radar, i sent you the youtube link i think, one of my favorite scenes, had to edit it myself, it wasn’t UP

bleeding dreams of skeleton radar stroking the ass of a lonely TARGET wife, incel trophy husband four payments of $19.99, [[my limp arm so thoughtful, my angled up, curled cute body relaxed, decadent, i’m reading french poetry, leafing bemusedly through treatises on kabbalah, ah this irony about all things divine]], buying sandwich meat and laundry together. both of them titillated by ghost stuff, spooked, but totally not realizing, slipping in the freudian spectral ooze.

detergent. just go with it. got to pick up that detergent. impossible to choose which one. JUST. GO. WITH. GUT. INSTINCT. DOWNY. HAIR POMADE. AXE.

for the dead, existence is codeine sludge, radar hissing skeletons tensors tendons jerking strings of

feeling magnetic desire clicking edges of angles / \ / \ click clack click clack

she twisted her head, spooked, squinting, angling

mm lips

edges of finger angles

finger edges snap SNAP SNAP







nude descending a staircase CLIP CLOP horsey



classifications of

styles, outfits, animals, personalities, scenarios

i am a raccoon of some sort, she thinks, and it doesn’t make anything move in her head, thoughts made of nice=dumb fluff light passing though that does not stab her, does not b0ther, s0dium vap0r street lights illuminate snow a cigarette shakingly lit, you said:

binary ghosts ! binary bubble bunny ghostbimbo !

that tiny excitement of lovedeath like some



like feet in snow

like panicked feet in

if you stop writing you remember your body and when you remember your body you think of insatiable desire and now you think what if deserts became oceans, if someone tells you they want you to sit on their face your answer is always


“you’d drown” 😉

but maybe not if u were a desert, whatever

dry, wet, what’s the difference, am i right?

fucking LIVE

dumb is your new favorite word and it goes SUPER well with slut because of its INTERNAL, like fucking, rhyme, dumb









showering with

frantic feverish rubbing

until finally

toweled off



halo whore [[meanwhile feeling stiffness of cheekbone, bruised, the soft skin, the febrile fingertips, the techno chipperness, the sore calf muscles from the whitmanesque naturewalk, before, when you saw the value in classifying plants and qualities of wind]], fantasy cyber girl [[in a room where our faces and eyeballs get closer, gravitate, our words spiral around and something is slowly described, crystallized, the room acquires a certain thickness, pinkness, softness, objects become more estranged, ideology gets decoded, our language becomes more urgent, fuscia, vibrating, crystallized, angular, sandy, crunchy, my light grey blazer, collar popped, suave poetic coyness, lips pursed like jacques derrida]] soft pink lips no filth no glitter [[crunching knuckles, fairy unicorn dust, left hand, chewy jaw, eyesrollback, UGH YES DADDY]] chapstick of your childhood cartoon now redone and looking obscene open like a zero sore [[HOLE]] count to zero, down, the zero is on a loop now [[an ancient chinese rock]], the zero crunches the spinal column, fantasy cyberdelic angel whore COUGH COUGH COUGH with halos never orgasm because LIGHTNING STRIKES that’s like, ow, cavity—your body reminds u it hurts THUNDER ROLLS, needs things, grows, ech, what can you do, your cheekbones, ACHES in smaller in yr neglected skinstuff THE POWER GOES OUT

some warm feeling of stimulation, i can reach out

and touch it, almost – CALL IT LOVE, says brain

some vague longing – SUPER INTENSE

CONNECTION // RLY LEGIT, says brain, an

extended finger, playful

bitterness of earth – GREAT BIG SAD, says

brain, its bones, skeletal, tenderness turns to

anatomical fixity, medical precision, diagrams of


never fulfilled – says body, always. always.

foreverandeverandever, pink, but then yes, finally

leading finally finally leading to the












WITH FLAKING                  PLASTER,












and so i fold my fingers together mischievously as if tracing a train of thought


I ask you, finally, shyly, what fabrics do you have near you, and I feel my roughmattress and soft pillow polyester made in SHANGHAI [[my thriftstore houndstooth scarf, my BANCO BMG soccer t shirt, bright orange, athletic, my nike huaraches, camo, my matching “MAINE” baseball cap, also camo, and my army green blazer, a penchant for military colorschemes, my mom says i look like a bum tho]] bought with my father, a child’s comforter decorated with pastel Saturns and period blood [[my glasses, tortoiseshell, fake, keyhole design, intellectual, chucked a couple bottles of itoen tea to edit this]], white sheets too big for the bed, you thought it’d be easier to put on but you’re an idiot it just resists STAYING PUT quicker with more fabric to spare [[my teeth clench tighter, it’s night time now, dark industrial music fills my head with abstract longing, i’m sentimental]], tiny black hearts and light grey skulls [[SENNHEISER headphones, totally worn out]], food trash books drug baggies are cute and you keep them [[medications, many, intimidating, the bottles]], everything MAY CAUSE DIZZINESS….your Cranberry juice stolen from your roommates makes you hate yourself, stop it, sofffften, slowwww, but you’re all dumb and speed horny [[several strands of hair you casually separate with your fingers, i’m frowning in my glasses, in front of your eyes, hair hanging down like plantlife; always running fingers through hair or touching and torquing nose, some fidget, some inner fingerfidget or pensivefinger that never goes away, because always kinaesthetic holding onto husserlian consciousness]]. You say dumb in a special way that makes you seem dumb, and you smile, because you are dumbb, and softttt [[so soft, mush, melted colors, rooms in a gigantic hospital, thorazine smush of nothoughts, just coloring books and desperately scribbled lovenotes]].

ACHOO scatters concepts

aww yeh u know, i alwayz wuz a silly skeletal slut, stenciled like a cartoon

i haz many needz but dezire iz not wun of them, which iz to say, itz all automatic. movementz cum naturally to me, it clikz in place, clickety clack, 1, 2, i slouch forwardz in my underwear an drool, well begun is half done, 3 6 mafia bumps on the speaker, i try to focus on something stellated,

i roll my EYES to feel their WETNESS, trying hard to stay in character,




sickly feeling looking at my phone, tired of the game, and yet i’m arrayed

langorously, decadent, romantic, poet

on the floor, legs curled up, neckproud, fiercely looking at copies of walter benjamin and emil cioran stacked on my bookshelf, not proud to be an erudite faggot, punchable but luxuriating in the spice of profound distance from the ordinary

i took off the protective cover

i dont throw it anymore

spidercracks through the glass

stylized itches penetrate my skin

punch me in the face piglet

penetrate, say it, the word is a race, penetrate me, i’ll penetrate you

i grasp my teeth, how are they dry in a mouth, aren’t they usually wet?

the following is scrawled in purple marker in a bathroom stall, dual gender:

is ass hair edgy? Is sloughing the skin off my skin a good Alternative Shower? I want to be softer, softest, like Courtney, Cruel like Tori, It’s hard to talk with your dick in my mouth like Kathleen.

But when I ignore you I am usually tearing out ass hairs.

When I go to shower I can’t get rid of all the hair and need to shave a second time, which I never take, it’s been months,

I have some coke here that arrived in the mail and didn’t even remember buying but it explains a lot(!), can you please just snort some so you can’t smell me, and somehow make sure the shower doesn’t become evil, I want to be clean, I am covered in places I dug up, thinking there was more. I will reach your most intimate of secrets like I did all of my ass hair, cute for you, can you accept I might borrow some of your skin [[yes, naturally, you have already borrowed acres of it, acres…]], I can give you Ramen, maybe. I know that you asked Annie if I was a goldigger, and you told me she just started laughing. “That girl,” she said, “would fuck for ramen.”

below this writing can be perceived a faint sketch of a sort of manga-girl, giddy, crazed, clutching a packet of ramen, ahegao expression and: behind her, a huge jock, ramming it in. everything is gushy and wet. i flush, pleased to have discovered such sublime graffiti. and at quiznos, to boot.

penis wrapped in its skin / blankets shivering eyes / mellow hardness / slow


wet, why is that still wet, grabbing crotch, im a girl and like to make you feel small because I WANT YOU, i always flirt first. i flirt using violence. body. body. it wants all these things [[slash me then, rend, cut, cordon, control, any communication is welcome, anything but this cold rigor mortis of pretending to be polite all the time]].


arousal, heraclitean (hear a clit eaten) soulquality //

i call your the colors // i see when you scratch me pure aurora //

aching, not the enemy of the stars // once i’ve felt this pure presence // i’m never the same // scrawled a clit on a star, the window and me, i can see my bookcase from here, i only want to explode


predatory–>>> asking if I could bite a product bought at the most up to date store for buying things? i try to make a point by arranging my hand in a certain way, this limp gesture implying immense cultivation and total disinterest. my eyes ache backwards into my head thinking about entering a store, cartoon diagrams appear in the air, three dimensional, they are so complex it’s impossible to make sense of them in the span of a text this conceptual

predatory–>>> i pout and think, if this reality is penetrable by consciousness, or by my cock as a metaphor for consciousness, or vice versa, how come all this shit is such a wet mess, why am i nervous and why does my lower back ache like a bitch, like i AM a bitch, or like // why don’t we just share a few bottles of really good red wine and flay ourselves to the cosmos with outrageous conversation?


that one bellmer sketch where the penis is an extended female torso, catstretched out and her tits are the balls


i feel like you have felt things I haven’t, like a strange ghost [[a limp ghost, a decadent ghost, raised on gide and bakhtin]], zero hour dreams, acidspit jukebox, why does lust always have this graphic grip [[ghoulish]], pinching folds of fabric and gritting teeth, leaking wetness, why do i feel like an overweight buddha on fire [[and yet still this decadent silence, this reserve // reserved yet mischevious, like a snake that pounces without pouncing, a snake that doesn’t require military amplification ]]

an acid mutation like my backflesh, i ease myself back, in a chair, uneasy thighs, on a ledge, shaking, on fire, a razorslashed buddha hungover at a horrible breakfast buffet at the cheapest of hotels [[i remember feeling that way, but now i am stretched out in the most impossibly languorous lounge “L” shape, a zig-zag of limbs, propped up and pouting in pensive flop, my crustacean hands are plotting some futile revenge against the state, the state or, the state of the situation, a slender suicide to estrange the stranger further, alienate him]]

i’m pensive but still bitter, sweetbitter sapphic ho’s rly into zen the The Now, why does flesh have to be so easily cuttable is the thing of it [I imagine you delicately explaining, but only the beginning where you call say, because, baby… manifests. wait what? baby as in infant? embryo? can i dig it? my left hand clenches with weakness. why? happily ever after, no, just afff-ter, i’m limp, fey, floppy; yes, i will explain, softly, whispering, whimpering, shivering, weeping, or just rusty, confused, like welded iron trying to speak, like an explosion acquiring consciousness, the baby would be the messiah]


you laugh like the insane person you are


how do you imagine my manic-bitch trashcan laughter?

I laugh like the insane person I am

I don’t do it any special way, you know? Manically or grandly

nothing I do is done in discretion, much less grace or in daytime normal hrs, im always a zero hour fever dream belonging to someone


mirror / errrrrror, like

a choice of


like the choicest of mistakes, snakes

pinching, or plucking, several eyebrow hairs

i find it sometimes just sits there and floats…

i hate it when hairs come out and get on things


ach! my gritted jawsad, slalom of my face, oh well, my middle finger sidles down my nose, i’m winking at you, my erudition a superstitious disgrace, downcast my gaze to a frown, cough, ahem, the horrible feeling of feeling, ahem, finally… um, a joke! yes, let us make jokes, it will be an udder delight… no, i’m embarrassed, i fail to impress you, udderly disappointing, a flaccid flop in a pile of flouncy unwashed laundry.

gazing at my hand, narcissistic, beautiful like a statue, then turn up, use it

scrawl our poetry on every surface, write words with every available pen

to cover my face. recentering, bringing fingers to temples, thirdeye calibrated

fabricating statues out of wax, iron, tin, lead, cotton, dynamite

prayerhands to centerface, grasping chin in a symmetrical twist

thinking, adjusting, my position in this… situation, hairscratched

radiating aura, iron radiator, metal serrated edges of air conditioner, rattling

scalp ache, head ache, butt ache, leg ache, back ache, neck ache, face ache

robbed of my skeleton, thrust into soulful reflection by disarming disclosure of frankness, i’m pinching myself but i’d like to embrace you, can skin fold in ways that words cover it obverse? can brainpenis flip to a stacked rhythm of bookwords? capitalism? artfame?

what genre is this anyways, my eyeglasses are here, my iphone, my bluetooth speaker

i am listening to some sort of intense music

hands now clasped together, accepting some kind of GOD

i wish there had been some sort of thunderstorm to mark the occasion


have you not realized this .odt is a thunderstorm? I can only imagine the somnambulance of yr ambien nights

but the occasion, the OCCASION!

as if the location of the poem changed from TARGET to TEMPLE, still

i pensive, my hand under my mouth, i accept “GOD” as an ominous,

powerful presence, as a kind of hangover, i guess, or an after-dinner mint

my hand perched on my forehead

my glasses, sitting there, on my iphone

we wrote this poem

my left hand limply pensive in front of me,

i can hear the train going by my house

crouching and skritching my forehead with handbones, skullscratch

it makes the water in my glass ripple

who will type the last word

and be bound to the burden of silence