nyc.

i need to write about my trip to nyc.

it was nice.

i met lovely people.

lex walton feels like a cosmic sister (not in a trans incestuous way but someone who understands the situation).

im befriending coworkers and people who work at the camera store.

SEVENTEEN, NOVEMBER, MOVEMENT, NEW YORK CITY.

I WENT TO MANHATTAN AND BEFRIENDED A WEIRD GUY,

I MADE SANDWICH, IT'S REALLY GOOD. IT'S BEAUTIFUL.

I AM ABOUT TO PASSOUT.

portability.

I HAVE MY SOUL ON MY BACK AND IN MY CHECKED LUGGAGE.

YESTERDAY I HAD GAY SEX WITH A GIRL I CALLED MY SISTER. 

she was eager and a leninist and i was frail and rambled. i packed at last minute.

denver international airport wandering to east coast becomes habit. it's all a blur, walk to show, take pictures, this is a blur. this place where the songs are like water to a dolphin is like seventh circle in denver. ive been here before. meet lex, hello walton. quickly hi, and then photos of the show. eyeyey. after show, hello there, shake hands, she says hi. i say hi. we three go to popeyes. this is familiar, the sight and sound of friends, yippee. talk show reality tv in next room. i wish i could fall asleep holding a friend (hell ill take a lover at this point but would rather have a friend) everynight. me and the leninist rambled through boulder. gyro in her hand, film in mine. i need, more. i need, this cant be all life has to offer. the imperial core has everything but it's all rotten inside.

ey, there the lass goes,

world soul on her back,

six thousand blows,

the portability attack,

hack, slash, gauls beckon,

eat gold leaf out of god hand,

the queen performs bass in bushwick.

ways of mourning.

i finished ways of seeing today. i thought about people i shouldnt be thinking about anymore. i thought about thought while at work. im stuck here. in the deli. i think about the ordinary nature of my life. im no longer man in exile. i have nothing to add to the canon. it's complete. postmodernity killed it. your eyes glaze over this. theyve seen it before. time escapes us because of capitalism. i am use to no home. to no habit. i must find a way to take my sorrows and transform them. i have projects i should finish. tension string hitches into high gear. 

Kaleidoscopic Thoughts.

Kaleidoscopic Thoughts.

sleepless delirium!, deli poem two.

damn those blades!

gnashing, tearing, render dead.

bloody gauze, cut to the bone.

club perverts, "ice spice?".

white bastards, misogyny banner carriers.

gallows flashgun,

push the hounds to the edges,

verse compulsion, silent voice,

ey you too are mad,

pull yourself along burning highways in metal coffins,

"she shys away from the menfolk".

ride it faggot, ride it good.

oracles and the fates on grindr,

school boy games, pull at her hair and strain her soul.

crossword dog laps at the hood,

bitter drink, soviet spies in america,

marcus rides backwards to canterbury,

"return to your woods men dark as louisiana nights,

still mirror lakes",

go into the valley of the sunless lands.

there you will find god drunk,

pink in the face, yelling, singing,

cut the index to the bone,

mason ring gripping.

thoughts break into six, 

refact and sting,

woodwinds whisper fatalist thoughts,

rats swarm her corpse,

rotting foul thing,

red lace, red lace,

dissociate at deli,

crypto fash coworker patriarchy touch,

think of dog whose roommate hates me,

the day ends…

and thought becomes one.