An Empty Form

When I go against what I want, I turn pitiful and weak; my strength atrophy’s because it’s being completely ignored. When my strengths are ignored all that exists are my weaknesses, and so I turn pitiful and helpless—unable to fight off my self-malicious attacks. I become so weak and self-helpless that I must grab at

Dead at Sea

Once again, he was disoriented.  He hoped for inspiration to come; there was no more spark, no more catalyst within him.  External energy was required for him to create art.  This is what he wanted: to create art.  But he couldn’t fight the destitution of his life—paying bills, grocery shopping, observing automobiles as they zoomed

Gertrude

Brain fog, limp dick, half ate chicken breast in front of me.  Today is dreary.  I barely feel alive.  Can’t finish the rest of my chicken breast.  Gave away two loads of swimmers that could have been saved to shoot into someone else’s hot wife.  The emptiness and dullness of today is enough for self-mutilation. 

I Want to Run My Hand up Her Fish Net Covered Popliteal

The psyche is formed through assimilating physical compliments.  She was given less compliments than the other one.  Her soul was stronger.  The other one’s soul was abjectly unrousing to my platonic attraction of her.  Despite this, I feel more towards her.  Feel more, towards a vapid piece of flesh.  And the truly beautiful one: my

New Year’s Flakes

Looking in retrospect at my rejection: Was I too stupid, arrogant, a bad kisser? Were my lips too chap? Did she see my chub while walking out of the hotel lobby after making out? It could’ve been her. She could’ve been waiting for the comforting post-date-text; thinking I would reject her, she rejected me. It

Tin Can Lost on an Interstate

Thirteen hours in a stuffy tin can, packed full, leaving no crevasses available.  Leaving was an odd feeling- like finishing a book.  Feelings of nostalgia rushed in, making my past into something sentimental, old, and sad.  It’s a feeling of understanding you’ll never get that time back.  The good and bad memories will never be

Fear and Loathing During a Blizzard in Iowa

Snow flying into the wind shield of a Chevy S10 like the millennium falcon taking off at light speed.  They were lost on a gravel road in the barren landscape of Iowa.  It was a winter wasteland outside; drifts obscuring everything, but twenty-five feet of visibility.  Inside the S10 was a consoling interior that felt

It Can Happen to You

It can happen to anyone.  You can be lifting weights and the ventilation system could crush you.  You can be at Target and see a hot trashy slut.  You can be at Walmart and see a classy woman wearing a skirt who watches Ingmar Bergman films.  You can approach a woman who wants to fuck

Served With a Side of Ego

You get yourself sold back to you today.  The lost generation: selling you shit is made easy when you’re pummeled by confusion, narcissism, and soul-homelessness.  Experience is obsolete in this world; being something is the current ideal to strive for.  Being for the sake of the disgusting self that believes it’s better than all the

Ron and a Hospice Chaplain

Life was straight forward to him.  If he knew what a paradigm was, his life would be marked by pleasure.  His hedonism wasn’t the least bit glorious; there were no jaunts, no benders, no adventures.  The life of Ron was a long-drawn-out ride.  Today, like any, he ordered pizza for delivery.  Despite his unstructured day,