More paintings on glass

Eric and I did some more painting last night. I love these nights. I think I may be improving.

A woman in a black dress

Eric's favorite

My favorite

Scum-puppies

Hungry for a drink, but half past full,
a bottle of ketel one and a jar of pickle juice are on standby.

Stomache grumbles, staples in your smile, malodorous
maladjusted mommies mummified for miles.

I feel tired and twined, left behind and begotten.
Unsettled, hog-swallowed, hindranced, harpied and hollow.

Making up words, slaying slews of birds, bitchslapping them out of the sky,
scoring scarves, carving dwarves, harboring hordes of whores,
adoring adorable adorned dorm room doors.

I miss Alan.

Etre

Caramel dreams have hot cocoa nightmares

and those with expensive weddings tend to have cheap, dirty affairs.

Modulations

I am so goddamn bored that I could eat my own foot.

I COULD.

This whole moving thing is crazy and I just want somewhere that I can put my stuff, take a shower, have a real pillow, and put my energy because right now I'm kind of a pre-teen ejaculating:

This shit is going. everywhere.

But nowhere that will produce anything useful in the future.

Nah mean?

FEED MY PETS

Peedle and poke,

this world is a joke,

this world has no knees,

this wind has no breeze.

I'm dying, I'm not,

am I a robot?

Can I have new eyes?

Can I have two tries?

Who bought this land and is that your real hand

It took me nine seasons to realize the reason

I was watching X files, it was Mulder all the while.

So I watched Californication and my life is good again,

but really it's not, I'm just full of snot.

I'm lost and who knows how deep this hole goes,

who cares and who needs it, not like Sarah Palin's gonna read it.

But then again she reads blogs and slams pajamas while she wears clogs

She signed an x box and killed a hog before she went for a jog.

(Yeah, but really, I have no idea if she wears clogs or killed a hog or jogs or if she even reads blogs....Maybe she just had someone read them to her. Maybe she hired some poor shmuck to read all of the nasty things that people said about her on the internet and then paid him/her to let her punch them)

Winter is lame and life is a game

the snow can suck my dick

and a hoe can suck a trick

wait.

a hoe can suck a john

until the snow is gone

and I can punch my face

while you get to second base

I'm supposed to get a job

now that I've a diploma

but i'd rather write and rot

and suck down my Coca-Soma

heat riot, street quiet

keys conduit ease onto it

give her hell

don't ring my bell

Just open wide

I'll come inside

my mind is dirty

it's past seven thirty

Man, I need a new laptop.

I'll FLOOD GATES

A hambone and a hug,
a steak on a stick, a ratty old rug
doctor, depicting existence in
numbers and circled graphs,
circle jerks numbering nine,
circular reasoning wasting time
spent like dollar bills in g-strings
and coke machines, 8 balls aching
to pocket,
cash, misguided trophy wives splashing
in the jacuzzi, jack-off floozies bought cheap
and sold when the botox wears out, labias
sagging as the mascara runs a marathon
to parenthesize the mouth,
wasted hours of sucking sucked away
like the ratty old rug doctor and the ratty old rug
thrown away when the looks are soiled.


--

Feelings get hurt,
they're dropped like fruit.
calls left behind in the alley outside
in the snow, banks robbed of riches
double digits
do the dishes
I'll do you in the ditches
I'll ditch your dug-out in the riverboat
red murder she wrote, as she bled.

--

Whenever you're ready. I have spaghetti.
Where's your bowl?

--

Big ol' basset hound,
halt your howling
haunting, hounding
heed your haunches
feed your flaws
now bleed your bludgeoning
pigeons widgeting
ferrets fidgeting
fighting, fisting,
double discing.

--

Carve me in your temples
I'll shed on your carpet,
I'll feed from your fleas;

I'LL FLOOD GATES.

--

Kalli dog bore me from the vagina that she didn't have. somewhere between California and New Jersey.

I was a tiny little pearl inside a pea pod,
stretching and yawning the sun away into
my tiny palm,
engulfing the day time for a few year's night.

The morning was something that happened before the sun did.

It was a mourning dove in the giant fir next to my window --
cooing a greeting that I answered,
telling me that the tree was something that I would outlive and I didn't believe it, at first.

I lost consciousness once in the snow on the side of the house.

I miss that house already and it hasn't been sold.

Nobody will ever understand him, her. it better than us, I am sure of that.

I will be long dead before that happens.

But I know that I will never die, because I have never been dead, unless I am death.

--

Prosetry, pinky promise

Bicycle wheels,
      bisexual spiels,
       oil spills,
        giant clock gears.

A funeral rose
      an officer's nose
       a fist-fighter's knuckle
        and a seatbelt buckle.

A camera attached,
      Lego building all smashed
       up high in a cage
        this chick's all the rage.

I'm ready for fame,
      I Know it'll be lame.

I'll be misunderstood and overextended, but it's fitting that I'll have started how
     I've ended.

--

A tug boat insists
      on kissing your wrists.

Alice is proud,
      And the press is allowed.

There is no sin
      There is no sun
       throwing up at times
        while committing your crimes