sensiblebusiness man coated ingold

how it is

The sensible living
aren’t interested in the dead,
unless there is money in it.
So little you can do with them.
What they say is in your head.
They visit in dreams but turn their backs
when you beg them to stay.
They are never hiding in your closet.
Empty jackets, loose sleeves yawn
on the hangers. Their cold feet
that they rubbed and rubbed
with their long sensitive fingers,
before they put on their socks,
never come back with their fine
fitted bones to warm your bed.

the ugly truth

In the Next Galaxy
Things will be different.
No one will lose their sight,
their hearing, their gallbladder.
It will be all Catskills with brand
new wrap-around verandas.
The idea of Hitler will not have vibrated yet.
While back here,
they are still cleaning out
pockets of wrinkled
Nazis hiding in Argentina.
But in the next galaxy,
certain planets will have true
blue skies and drinking water.

my crumpled veins singing their songs

The penalty for masturbation in Indonesia is decapitation.

There are men in Guam whose full-time job is to travel the countryside and deflower young virgins, who pay them for the privilege of having sex for the first time. Reason: under Guam law, it is expressly forbidden for virgins to marry.

In Hong Kong, a betrayed wife is legally allowed to kill her adulterous husband, but may only do so with her bare hands. The husband’s illicit lover, on the other hand, may be killed in any manner desired.

Topless saleswomen are legal in Liverpool, England – but only in tropical fish stores

still

theyre not the same.

actions are not forewarned

words, words and words and words

often people use the two together to contradict everything about the corresponding party;

“i care”

give or take shallow embellishments, make it look meaningful

try to open your eyes before reality exhibits

“i do not give a flying fuck”

I have that scared-nervous-excited feeling

I think I’m about to make a big decision

I think I’m gonna throw up

the tales and times of phineus gage

i feel as if the biggest test is overcoming my obsession. i have two years of refraining i have to fulfill until im free to do whatever i want. but the problem is i always have these cravings to do something, anything at all. this morning that urge slithered up and i had to do something about it or i mightve shattered. i told john i had a headache from hell and he told me i could grab the advil myself. silently celebrating his slack i ran ( but not too fast as to make it obvious ) up to the bathroom. i doused my hand with advil and drown my throat with those little red pills. i took 15. and all thats arrived is a big load of nausea and a fever. 2 hours into this experience i sit here grieving with my enslavement, and wonder how in the hell am i going to succeed soberly for 730 days. every prejudice has proven wrong so far. and i feel as if these pills ahve amde me lethargic, i guess i better find a shovel. and dig my own grave.

fingernails

my gut is telling me to run. its been to long in one place. everythings too still, too confined. this isnt right to feel so buttoned up. these constipated thoughts dwindling down my spine, leaving my body with a stomp of my foot. im sure somethings coming to an end. this quiet, has to die. i feel it in my palms, the sweat and angst tearing up my hands. illegibly i tried to write this down. but this computer seems a fix for my trembling hands. this is worse than depression, this lifeless existence. sitting and containing, burying and rebuilding. i once thought this turmoil strung my life together. yet peoples expectations of you have no matter in your spirit. your life demands an internal possibility that you can only concieve yourself. you cannot live by others standards, yet everyday there are swarms of lives who've duplicated the likes of others to match their priorities. maybe life isnt about living like others, or fulfilling you desires through a pinhole of anothers. maybe its about finding something inside you that becomes a realization of everything. you cant understand unitl you dont. you cant find what youre looking for unitl youve lost it. but loosing it has become lifes tradgedy. no one tyakes the time to find the peices of their life, and put them back together again.

student of the month

my mind is aroused with reasons to leave here. boiling with hoarse suspicion, rotting with demons, encaged with doubt. im lifting lifelessly from this hole into a deeper surmise, filled with reasons to stop.
where do i go.
what am i doing.

milk

im chewing this dam pencil like itll fuel some sort of fucking answer. like maybe if i chew long enough and deep enough , ill find that little resolution to this little problem i dont even know existed until now.

this sacred procedure

of hiding my stashed chips, very precautisously eyeing the librarian,and keeping the new girl slate scott-clean is the most fun ive had this week. i dont want to start racking up points in his naughty list just yet. especially over something as minor as eating sun chips. He licks the heels of every moving being. gnawing at a chance to claim ownership in something to do. this guy must be insane to work at a school library day in and day out.

those who speak

this guy next to me. this stubby little fart of a human being thinks it okay to put down differences. just because of a snide remark. so your a man now right? because this little comment effected you so much you have to react immaturely and make an ass of yourself, youre now a man. youre laughing at your comment, sitting with your back to the boy you just hurt, not giving a shit of the mental abuse youve just caused.this guys got anger issues, control issues, anxiety issues, and many other issues i assume but ive seen all this pent up frustration within the thirty seconds of me observing him. i wonder what his family is like. better yet i wonder how they treat him. we have the makings of a psycho next to me and hes spewing carrots from his crusty lips, laughing and verbally throwing up all over his god damn friend. i wish you were reading this right now mr. striped jacket. i wish you were reading every word im writing mr. sketchers freak. " this is why we always ask you to leave dumbass" hes said this now about five times. his friends simply ddoesnt reply. this angers me so bladly. i know what its like dealing with these kind of people. all you can do is sit and shut up, because hes one of those people you know. who'll tlak your head off. hes one of those losers who has a fucked up emotional life so makes other peoples emotional lives a living hell. this makes sense right. this is his excuse, it makes sense.

cultured lies

bound in relentless fantasy, a little less content, and two steps back. i find myself trudging towards that ever occuring bump. that dam bump in the road that has me running back to hells shelter everytime. everytime im faced with an expectation, even if its one of myself. i freeze. i die. doubt is my worst enemy as of now. and knowing. my brain just expands and these thoughts never end. night upon night i find myself digging away at my sanity, to the other side of this nondescript world. you wont have eyes but youll see. you wont have ears but youll hear every morsle of a sound. this is my brain on drugs. rather my sober brain rotting. yet still, this evolution of knowing is leaving me all the more blind to what i once was. known lies became common knowledge, became trustful truths, became a web of pure fueled fiction. we breed this doctrine and we assume. the voices of question weighed out by the mass of distortion. that army of fables pound the pavement, stomping the weakness of our truth.

new

oh its fun being the turtle. the lifeless hermit with a quite broken shell. living in a landmime of faux children . the one dubbed as average, normal. with no second glance, im put in my place, the place where im expeted of nothing and in return gain nothing. no small talk, no interest, with the plain purpose of no purpose at all . and so here i type. to a lifeless computer, expecting to feel some sort of escape from making sense of myself in a blog. with my words unread, in lost scientific calculations, i hope this makes some sense. i hope this makes some difference. i want life to be resurected. living in this order only lacks every respect you can truely deam reliable. my morals, my morals and values trace the remnants of a brian. but are lost among these pointless routines played out in exession. the everyday life of an everyday human being, i am not average. grudgingly will i except that fate, molding into the folds of modern day society. lifeless is what you mean. lifeless, not average. making desicions decided long ago by people who have the guts to be unaverage. and now that special someone has cercummed to the fate of every oddball with understanding following their lead. average. average is untrue difference. a safe journey and a fogotten life. the problem is, every day questions go unasked, and the truth becomes more of a dream than its once reality. have you ever really thought?? do you admit to being an average life ? walking, talking, listening, breathing for lies that have become well known facts and reasons. average thoughts. normal thoughts, are not normal at all. when did life become about order, and finding resurection in status, values in money, life in a mask?????????
we as people, have destroyed our minds, pretending our "unreal" thoughts are just our subconcious acting unusual. we destroy whats good, and with our hands, weve created a monster of beauty, of life. we move in innocence, as cradled babies blind to what we really could have, if you just thought.