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.