Sublimation for my Insecurities: A Play of Satire

People in academia piss me off. They stimulate their brain with respectable ideas for the purpose of making concrete changes in the world. I’m jealous. I prefer to investigate the motives of people’s drives and the reasoning behind their morality for no reason than the stimulation of it. There must be something missing in me.

Nikolas Cruz

This emotion is deeper, more thoughtful, and less instinctive than anger.  Growing stronger through reliving, understanding, and judging. It burns hotter within and changes the form of what contains it. It’s not about reacting, but instead a calculated desire for painful and hateful justice. I don’t just wish to punch back with the same pain

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  Experience is obsolete in this world; being something is the current ideal to strive for.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,

Accentuated Flesh

Accentuated Flesh The well-shaped pieces of meat, on their way somewhere. They wiggle and strut along, not wanting to be fucked, but wanting to want to be fucked. There’s an ego to them, It stifles and consumes me. Somedays I give them my power. Other days I put my head down, and look at my

A Game

Against things.  Hate things. Feel guilty, disgusting, pathetic when I give in.  The monk inside, ticks away from the pressure.  Soon, I will be living in a cupboard with nothing but a desk and twin-sized bed.  Holed up in a shack somewhere, deep in the woods or getting lost in the numbers of a city. 

Serendipitous Breakfast Club at Walmart

Why is it all so peculiar? Why can’t I have a normal life, where I savagely hunt squirrels to bring back to my wife, who will then concoct squirrel-jumbo for me? Pretty much, I want to be a crude animal who has no thoughts at all. I guess working forty hours a week, watching shitty

To All Writers

I think I’m done writing. The truth is starting to unveil itself to me: it’s a clever sham that has me believing that I’m doing something. I am doing nothing. I am an indolent-inertia mass of shit. The effort it takes, is at best moderate. The courage it takes is none. It is a frivolity

An Anthology of Two

Woman in a Man’s Body Muscles, pumps, scrutinizing one’s body in the mirror.  All are signs of being a pussy.  What is the being of a pussy ontologically?  Having a pussy and valuing it.  To be gifted something, and to be that which is gifted to you, is the epitome of being.  Well, muscles aren’t