a cheap novel

In the face of the obscene, explicit malice of the jungle, which lacks only dinosaurs as punctuation, I feel like a half-finished, poorly expressed sentence in a cheap novel. 

Werner Herzog

twoheaded and slayer

DRAWN OUT ALL THIS, THE

STRINGS I am creation without courage THAT

TAKE I am loving without look

liar to FOR MY LOVE STILL

others MUST

STAY bitter from all seeing

an ideal.../newspapercuts

It takes great deal of courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it. 

An Ideal Husband; Oscar Wilde

feeling hammers

mosquito hum past—smash of memory—
our massive noise—tangles breathing—

all of these words are apple cores, my happiness depths.

feeling stills

there is a certainty in rust

of the night drug

to hear it loudest above vanilla light

one friend of myself.

scared sound (happiness)

"This is just such a calm, ocean happiness, that starts with a song, and then ends in thoughts of you all strange, bright, cannonball friends."

Ian William L.

a streetlight wind—jagged—kind

I am starting now, at (THE BLACK SUN SPITS, ECHOES HOWL), because I am happy, and I don't bleed enough money, as I should, to feel adult, and okay. And I care about my mother to a point, that will never be healthy, for someone who is me and cannot bruise time, and I am going to shit myself for seeing a good friend, and throwing up/ourselves into the future. Which is (SOME KIND OF WAX AND BLOOD AND BEE STING), which reflects something (I remain). I have a name tag, with some skin, that says (I SEE YOUR HANDS WANT). I have never. I really like the futureIHATETHEFUTURE.

Everything—is—still—not—bruising——next to me—the warmest———the writer.

I am not good at telling. I was—now—clamming up, closing up, hearing gunshots pretending to be sound, that is just———any fear becomes: Gunshotted. Unbruising. Fearer. That time.

I am going to (I will) sleep, at (ROCK FACES). I am going to dream of golden not spiders crawling into my mouth or existing.

(these global tenses rob us.)

time piece

"Ever you are, ever us brightly."

Ian William L.

anotherwinter

"This life is amazing, the morning against the songs of our skin, everything what shiver."

Ian William L.

what swallow the writer the city

"To step out against our song, the friday night all staticky with rain, dizzying flash-spots, the city to be ours. Here I am animated—swam under—pale—artifice—ticking—made drumming—all grinning—now."

Ian William L.