BinhUlrik

I'm sitting on a stone park bench watching people. The bench is named after some rich fucker who gave his name to public works and his money to hookers. I mutter some Socalist bullshit about 95% of the wealth belonging to 5% of the population. It's hard to take seriously. The park is a reverse breast implant. It's a fleshy, alive place full of squirrels and homeless people within a silicon, granite, stone, metal city full of the walking dead. I'll never see the nipple. I'm watching leaves--- no, not leaves. Credit card receipts. The documents of our national debt float like autumn just began. It'd be more fitting if they were yellowororange

My best friend, Scott, and I were up, in his basement watching DVD episodes of 'Arrested Development". We're in a boring, cinder block, suburban basement on the northside of Indianapolis, typical. Scott loves graffiti, neither of us have spent a minute on real streets, just the suburbs. There hasn't ever been a fucking carjacking within 3 miles of my house, it's pretty safe. The neighborhood is one of those post-war boom planned housing developments for incoming soldiers and their families. We're a subdivision of a subdivision of a subdivision of the Midwest. Somehow, our neighbourhood escaped being branded with a sign and a name like "Shady

I.am t(otally angable) y(ou) a(ought (t+o) arise nd) Realize I love you in the most H(allmark sort of way) but I should hide that with metaphor or something well, we're both ducks fighting over the fiber content of the bread the other ducks are now eating

An iron Arabian prince wounded by foxes night crawlers fucking in the dark fucking invisible monster monkeys speak of lemon merengue pie and other slight deformities of the mind cell phones dying streaking bolts of lightning I can fix the roof over the slanted world it's sickening I am so real being fiending meaning freedom to eat for men(wo) two spiders seeking men we can't write in English we spend our time fighting fungal wars with soothing spring bats dinosaur cheetah raping blonde teenage queen

My ship sinks into that Fucked up grey couch (Yes, the one we usually make out on It's imbedded with cat hair and Scratched up, but you never seem to notice And yes, my mind is in the gutter And, no, I will not return to the street, I like it down here) And I think about how pathetic it is That I'm reading the Communist Manifesto (4th time, HELL YES KARL MARX) And listening to Radiohead Non-stop 6 albums (Thom Yorke and I are emo kids together, don't ask) AND FUCK! You looked fucking amazing and shit If it were the middle ages (fuck yeah, it's not) You'd be considered royalty Mostly because you aren't Covered in shit But

A meaningless dash for success- hands tied       mouths bound             eyes blindfolded fate chases blind runners sprinting only to fall to be trampled

The moth floats toward the tungsten light imagining a sun She will love fluorescence Indiscriminately The flame induces a desire so strong- it cannot be controlled What about the blue light? It is a killer She has been destroyed by her dreams of a sun.

Ironically clad in Soft garments in Stark contrast to the Angry metals of my Forefathers that I So love to ignore So American "Fuck Europe" My emotions have Overflown and flooded the Black Forest the Alps and I'm angrily being Forced to read the Edict of Nantes Fuck the Pope! Fuck Rome! Fuck Washington and Paris and Nairobi and Sydney and Fuck Indianapolis Oh, Fuck Kansas, too and I sink down hippie dreams of sleeping in a forest I'd be afraid to enter (fuck prescription drugs!) Over the course of my entire life, I shall only speak English I am barbaric and illiterate! I do not form formal thoughts! I am angry… I do

"Hold me closer tiny dancer, Count the headlights on the highway, Lay me down in sheets of linen, You've had a busy day today." The words of Elton John floated across his room as a possessed wind, hell-bent on making his well up in tears, which he cordially obeyed. It had been one hell of a day. It had been one hell of a week. It had been one hell of a year. Her name was Daria. She generally referred to herself as Yoko, in a most spiteful way. She found herself saying outrageous things about politics. Her hair, which changed colour like it would die without doing so, carried a weekly average of four colours, but it ranged from two to sev

if you happened to be sending signals my way they gargled and scrambled or my receiver is fucking up again i never did get good reception with this shitty antenna i think i'll just read a book or change the channel i can't fucking stand this show