1 Trillion Dollar$

"And you know why we don't go over to their side?"

"Because they have tacky shoes?"

"Because they're evil."

..........

Nothing in the Michigan UP seemed normal or commonplace. The land was all forest and eerie small town folk who inherited peaky owlish eyes from generation after weirdo generation. The entire northern peninsula was vibe-ing a socially inept country slasher behavior. Completed with the anxious notion that they all held blood covered bibles over their hearts while they chopped a sinner's head off in the name of Jesus. 

Burly men with obscenely furry chests dominated the population. No-shave-november? More like no-shave-never. Seriously, it was as if they had awesome beards even since infancy.

Most Northern UP men were caught sporting strictly Carhart outer clothing and the sleek black outfits have been spotted zipping up the midwest. Not that Northern men care about such trends since they're too busy looming over a butchered stag in the dead of winter.  

If these people can't be found crouching somewhere in the middle of nowhere, try the nearest brewery where many of these hairy losers embarrass themselves. 

Everyone was a hunter's daughter or a master of arms in training. Misogyny, racism, and chauvinism hadn't yet been dealt with in these uncivilized parts. 

The star and I figured heading north was our safest bet. Except having Danger MIA and McDonald growing restless like a mad dog... moving anywhere seemed to be a good idea to us. 

Parachute

Today was my last day alive. I had envisioned this moment numerous times in varying circumstances and how I would not weep but instead bravely hold my head high, admiring all the beauty surrounding this world. Each breath would be an indescribable treat that opened my eyes wider than any muscles or torture device, clearing the veil away from the truth.

Unfortunately, after the first two hours of wandering around central park, tenderly caressing the roots of trees then watching in horror as random homeless men whipped out their stinking genitals to pee on such trees that I had touched, I ran into a young man. He jerked himself to the side and I recoiled slightly on impact, immediately ready to spout my apologies.

"I'm sorry-,"

"What the fuck?" He was looking at me like I had just swallowed a live chipmunk, furry tail and all, "Watch where you're going, dumb bitch."

Dumb bitch. Huh. Three strides away when my held tilted in naive disbelief; six strides away when my eyes began to lower into barbaric slits, as if I'd allow some punk to smack talk me on my dying day; not even eight strides away when my left hand closed around the back of his faux fur hood, dragging his skull onto the sidewalk. 

A look of abject surprise flashed across the teen's face before it morphed into panic as my right hand catapulted into his sour mug. The crunch was audible and so were his terrorized screams. That whiny behavior only portrayed him as more of a ball-sack. Technically he was crying because he got his nose smashed by a girl barely five foot tall. What a spongey chode.

After the ambulance had come to take him away I was already being lowered into the cop car with my hands cuffed behind my back. Worth it. 

DOG

Sometimes people can't control themselves and that makes them angry. Not necessarily angry because they are sorry for the things they've said, but because of the hot shame that takes hold of them at every remembrance. An uncomfortable lack of control over the situation twists a rational man into a beast and the sweetest of women bewitched into raging cunts.

When you love somebody existence seems infinitesimal and eternity cracks open a FOUR LOKO for the long stretch. Baby, times stands absolutely still. 

You will never age while you are in love. You will never die and you will never get sick. You are frozen in love forever. 

Dog Father knew what he needed to do to harness the capacity of fathomless essence that oozed off of couples like dripping caramel, to steal the power of love he had to succumb. 

LILY

 Customs practiced in repetitious enslavement ending in absolution do not necessarily inspire a man of faith, but allude to a more insidious routine of sin, save, sin. 

The man understands his faith and he may practice it daily but that does not mean he believes it. Lily believed no one should be a slave to another be they God or mortal and enforced this belief through a debacle of loitering among the lacquered pews in a blatant act of rebellion, and by with-holding herself from joining the teeming sheep lined up for the sake of safe ignorance. 

As far as she was concerned, Kennedy was the last honest president. 

She watched her father's long pant suited legs bend to kneel before Mrs. Beatrice Cook, a member of the congregation who lived in their neighborhood, and he dipped his head to receive the blood of Christ.  She remembered dinner the night before.

PREVIEW

"Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs,

Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres:

65  Now Conscience chills her, and now Passion burns;

And Atheism and Religion take their turns;

A very Heathen in the carnal part,

Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart."

- moral essays

Epistle II

TO A LADY

 Of the characters of women (1735)

by Alexander Pope

A Lonely Rot

Taro Lonely lived in a hub

Where he sat and he read and he measured his rub.

Taro Lonely lived in a dream

Where he wept and he loved and he covered his scream.

Taro Lonely lived in a star

Where he carved and he smashed and he buried his scar.

Taro Lonely is not here. Not anymore: it's A Lonely Rot.

Real Talk

The people that I love the most are the people who inspire me:

My mom.

All three of my sisters because to me they are a valkyrie of self confidence. 

My father for tearing me down at every opportunity. 

My Step Mother for teaching me tolerance. 

My cousin for teaching me trust.

My bestie for teaching me friendship.

My older brother for giving me his protection.

"I would rather be taken advantage of than watch him walk out again."

1.) Why? Why are people such assholes? Using and bleeding one another dry for their own fucked up reasons. Leading lamb into the emotional slaughter and murder of the self is now acceptable? Without love a human cannot live honestly or yet even experience the bonds of affection or bereavement.

2.) Souls can only be cultivated fully with love. So why do some try to raise them wicked and stunted? Smashing fists into children, screaming at them and starving them, locking them away into basements or marking them. Those actions are poison to the seeds of man.

Yeah

Ideal landing quadrants are hard to find, especially when you don’t necessarily have a pilot’s license or a quality aircraft. I was stuck with a grimy green rust bucket that chugged rather than floated across the skies of South America. Screaming permeated the winged demon instead of quiet chatter and all flight attendants had selfishly taken refuge in the small cabin lavatories, leaving the rest of us poor souls to flounder and panic amongst each other.

Trust was a hard commodity to come by when hurtling through the air at 200 mph while everyone around you strangled each other to get to the emergency exits, forgetting the societal rules of etiquette and decency. I watched open mouthed as an old couple brutally clothes-lined anyone who tried to pass them en route. A Mexican mother abandoning her kids to scramble closest to the exits.

Naturally, while all this was happening I was still strapped in securely and clutching my seat for dear life as I prayed to any higher power that would listen. Me, the agnostic and part time atheist; me, the one who faded in the background.

Dear Jesus,

I know I’ve never been especially devout or at all thankful for your presence, in fact I spent a lot of my youth denying your existence. But being raised catholic has its lasting impressions and I can’t help that you’re the first person I turn to when my life takes a turn for impending doom. As my trip to Colombia turns to shit, I can only picture the worn pews which I was forced to sit upon in adolescence. Stained glass windows depicting the story of Christ in the way that only the church could ask for; light pouring through high raised windows down upon baptized babies and their newly wed mothers.

I was the only child who attended mass in jeans and a hoodie. The only one who stayed upon the pews during communion. Alone. And in that time I learned not to judge those who stepped around me to receive the body and blood of Christ, but to give them the middle finger. To say, “Hey, I don’t need that stale bread or dry wine. All I need is love for myself and fellow man.”

Jesus, Hollowed be thy name, Christ, let me complete the most sacred of catholic acts that I have previously spit upon so that I don’t go straight to hell when this plane lands face first into the ocean. Before I topple into the great blue demise, probably full of sharks and giant squids and other death machines, I feel I should confess. Confess so that if there is a heaven… I may pass among the pearl gates.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned; last month I killed a male stripper.

Slugger

Another Normal Day

Caracoli

“Man ... can go up against gravitation in a balloon, and why should he not hope that ultimately he may be able to stop or accelerate his drift along the Time-Dimension, or even turn about and travel the other way.”

H.G. WELLS, The Time Machine.

It would be excessive to start off saying I managed to crash a nudist Ernestine Family reunion in the spring of 1978 and that I had procured an eyeful of all the so named jewels in relation to their family, too extravagant to describe, than to simply say that I have had a bad day.

While time traveling indeed had its perks, it did not fully prepare me for the occasional random meetings I continually happened to experience. Don’t get me wrong, Grandma and Grandpa Ernestine were lovely conversation. However, I would not say I enjoyed the unambiguous view of their unclothed genitals while they gave me their recipe for the deviled eggs. Not to mention the ugly view of Aunt Norma Ernestine’s evident third nipple.

This was just another day that blurred into so many others. Spending more time in the past then in the current: I am a sappy excuse of a functioning human being.

“You did what today?”

Nonchalantly sipping from a bottle of whiskey, I pretend there’s lint in my ear.

Bitch Are You Serious

"Have you seen that show on Lifetime about that woman...?"

Okay

"An artist is always alone - if he is an artist. No, what the artist needs is loneliness. "


-Henry Miller

“Lingering pleasures corrupt the mind,” the freckle covered man took a deep drag of his cancerous vice, dark eyes watching the fragile girl set before him.

“Get over it.” He pressed.

“What happens when we die?” She asked.

“Enslavement,” he paused, “Probably.”

The weak little girl barked a laugh and set her candlelit eyes dead straight, “I thought we were already slaves.”

The Star ascended and walked out of the bar.

She is a dirty, dirty, racist

Oh Mr. Octopus, you're so handsome

HOW HIPSTERS GET GIRLS/IT'S A TRAP!

All art done by me. Not that it's anything to be impressed by.

Push Me Away

Life has turned dull and acrid,

Dust replaced blood; still becomes my bones.

Weeping women wail all over town.

I can’t be awake.

I walk steady in dreams.

The comfort I had once been given,

Had bathed in and glorified,

Is ripped away, leaving only the thick ink.

A substance so revolting that it fills me up.

My throat is black and oiled;

Brain submerged in shadow.

Let me speak to that once mortal man.

I will tell him all the wonders about all the sparks

Lighting up the world in rebellion.

Three words:

I

AmSorry.

White as Diamonds

Demonic voices croon out to me. Venomous words rolling off tongues as black as Pan’s shadow. The pine forest smothers reality, reducing the now into grain.

As much as I want to fight back and to feel my fists caving in their skulls, my own rebel thoughts linger towards the vulnerable. I cannot begin to expend myself around building an opposition against the foundations that have raised me to such despicable heights. How unfair and how cruel; how terrible my thoughts seem.

Tremble beneath the ghoul’s verdict. Grant me one last choice before the world succumbs to fire and deep heat.

Svefn G Englar

The selfish block of humanity saying, “we got you,” but really no one has anyone. How could they? They won’t catch you as you fall back into the crowd, arms crossed over your chest in a sign of absolute trust. It’s a kill or be killed world. Eat or be eaten. They’ll drop you.

...

The world felt light as a balloon, helium filled and taking me higher. I had a bottle of vino in one hand and a sawed off shot gun in the other. Most of my time on the faery coast had been spent shooting empty tomato cans and arguing with the Chief. He was just as stubborn as I was, surprisingly, if not more iron-willed than I gave myself credit for. Short like I was. Perceived with eyes akin to mine and a consciousness that jumped to petty conclusions.

Rescue wasn't an option. Beached as we were on the cusp of the worlds, only faith kept men alive. Did the spirits even exist? I was lost at sea with a group of scallawags, most of whom smelled like construction site potties. 

I was ready to abandon the metaphorical ship when the mermaids began to assemble. They were beautiful. Earl shot one. Then he shot another. Another boom and the rest of our crew lost their minds.

Ever wonder why no one today has ever glimpsed a mermaid? It’s because Earl killed them all and mounted them on his wall in the ghost ship. Begging led not to mercy yet instead to cruelty.