negativehome-blog

[negativehome-blog]

[negativehome-blog]

I'm really upset about the recent allegations against me for what I did when I was younger. I was young and foolish and my heart was attached to a girl that didn't really mean anything to me so I said some things that really hurt her. But I can tell you certainly that I have never hurt her physically, and I would never do that to a woman. These allegations are astounding in their wrongness and their ability to shake me to my very core. I never touched her in a harmful way. I never asked her to have sex when she was unwilling. I only was mean to her in other ways that she must still regret, for these allegations are false and I hope she sees it fit to reveal the truth. I was watching the tube when Alex walked in and asked a question. He was worried about having sex with a girl for the first time and it told him that it was meant to be fun and if he was at any point not having fun he should stop and do something else. Sex is not a necessity. The feeling in your body is fake and only meant to doop you into reproducing. I asked him if he had any desire to reproduce with this girl and he said of course not so I said then there's no pressure. If he doesn't want to do it he doesn't have to and if he really does want to do it then it will happen naturally. Sex is all about desire and energy and self respect and love and all of that collides into fun. If anything is off then both parties will no and you can stop and do something else. I was very tired tonight and there was a wish I had for a better future that I never felt would happen. My leg was bothering me. It was broken and I hated more than anything to be debilitated. I couldn't move really, I had to work so hard just to go up and down the stairs so mostly I stayed downstairs and only went outside when I needed food. My parents were there to help and I was crabby and sick and I wanted to just get up and run but my bum leg confused the hell out of my psyche. I just sat around watching the tube and drinking. I was drinking light beer pretty much all day to numb my anxiety and pain. My leg was a bit of a struggle but I got through it. I went to a party at Joan's and she told me I looked well. Joan was a smoker and she was wreaking of cigarettes and I told her that. She said thank you and quietly floated into another room. I saw my friend Tom and walked over. He was talking to a girl I'd never seen before. Hello Tom, I said. Jesse! He gave me a hug. He was looking for me because he wanted to give me a picture he'd taken on his Polaroid. It was a picture of me and him lying down on the grass in front of a church. I guess his friend Megan took it who was with us. We looked like two goons. He told me to keep it and I slipped it in my pocket. The girl he was with looked at me and I looked at her. I started thinking about Tom right then and wondered if he was into her. He just laughed whenever she spoke like some dummy so I assumed he was but he was also trying to play it cool. I started rolling a blunt with some weed I bought earlier and he said he wanted to smoke and the girl said she was down so we went outside. The night was crisp and dry and happy and I lit the blunt like a fool in love and we smoked it down to the end. Tom was ravaged in love with this girl at this point. He may as well have been in a fucking train headed straight into her soul. She was into him naturally, Tom could probably get any girl he wanted. She looked at him often and she seemed real stoned cause she kept taking out her phone and giggling. I was waiting around for Emma to show who I wanted to hang with. Tom and this girl were now at each other's throats and I was out. I walked into the party and there were a couple dudes playing pong and there was a sad looking girl watching them. I walked back out and saw Emma. She was dressed like an Egyptian pharaoh. I called her name and she said she was ready to get drunk and we went in and I poured her a drink and we talked. She said she was worried about an upcoming job interview. She hated her current job in advertising and she wanted something that was more social and more creative. I told her she should work for me and she looked a little upset about that. I think she was jealous that I was famous. She hated famous people but made an exception for me. We drank a lot and I was really wazzed out and felt a little sick. I kept looking at Emma who wanted to leave and we left and we hit a place to get some food because I thought my stomach only had pot and alcohol in it. I bought a pastrami sandwich and we walked into town and saw a bunch of lights and I felt like I was on LSD. I'd never done LSD but imagined what it would be like and this sort of felt like it. I was wavy and sort of aggressive and felt like time had stood still. I took Emma's hand suddenly and it shocked both of us. She just put her head down and we walked hand in hand for a bit then I pulled away when I got a text from my mom saying she was excited to see me Saturday. Fuck, I thought. My mom always came in to town at random times, it's like she knew whenever I was feeling sick and she would swoop in to mother me. I told Emma I was feeling tired and she said she was too and we parted. I thought about her the whole way home and it made me even sicker. Nothing, I mean nothing, is wrong. Everything is right. When the card game begins I will see the spiders turn into lovers. The heat will turn on and warmth will surround my head. I watched the movie believing in love. In the midst of doubt and sin there's only one thing to cure me of my loss. The act of compression, which can become the law of time in a symbol. Can you imagine, knowing the heart of a woman? Can you imagine knowing what it's like to fuck like a woman? I watched her dance with the stars at her feet and sighed knowing we would never touch. I knew her well at that point and I knew she was in love with another man. She was turning and turning on the floor, twirling. Her feet were prancing on my eyes. She had an ass! I didn't even begin to understand her and she saw me and knew I was important. I laughed and she came over and we knew there was nothing to say so she just touched my face and invited me to dance. I danced for a little until I broke and sweat and went outside for some cool air. I felt like Hemingway or Da Vinci, but I was lonely as hell. I bet those men were lonely but they didn't let you know that. Anyway, I went back inside and she was flirting with Jack who worked at a bank and I knew she would sleep with him. She turned to me and invited me over and Jack told me he was working on a novel and said that was nice. He said he was a fan of my work and I felt like spitting in his drink but he laughed and shrugged and looked all around unassuming so I refrained. She was smitten with him so I left and went into another room where I saw John and his lover Sam kissing on a bed and I invited myself in and shut the door. I asked them if they wanted to do Coke and they said sure and I pulled out a vial and poured it on a record sleeve. I took a line and handed it to Sam who was shirtless and he was very muscular. John was excited and he told me he hadn't done coke in a while, that he'd been a good boy, but no A good man is hard to find, a bad man is hard to find, a good man usually lives in hell and a bad man usually lives in heaven. Ramilda was over and she was talking to me like I was some brick wall or a fucking turtle. I told her I didn't think Barack Obama was evil and she said that he bombed the heck out of millions of people without anyone knowing. I said that sounded a bit false and she said he was an alcoholic and that she met him once and he was indifferent to her. I thought about Obama and I thought about my dad who loved Obama and I couldn't see Ramilda's point. She said Obama was a rapist and I got upset and said she was probably fucked up in the head which made her really angry. She left in a storm and I was forced to watch the rest of the movie like some fool. I walked over to Mike's and he was playing super smash brothers. I told him was itching to hit the frat party tonight and he laughed and said no way but I told him I'm serious and he said alright. We walked over after sufficiently stoning ourselves and then we arrived and there were ugly party girls everywhere and even more faggy frat bros and I felt like I was in heaven. I told Mike I would get him a drink and I scooted toward the drinks and waited for what felt like 20 minutes and finally got two cheap ass beers. Came back and Mike was out of it saying how he wanted to go. I saw a girl I liked and told him he could go but that girl looks like she has a hot friend and I asked him to stay and wing man. We eventually got this girl talking and she said she had a friend, a roommate, that might be good for Mike. She looked at me with eyes that I wanted to fuck and she said she would be happy to invite us back to her place. I watched a movie about a soldier who killed himself for the glory of God and then I masturbated to a picture of my ex girlfriend. I was sad as hell and remote and I saw a vision in my mind of love and hate in some extravagant battle that no one knew about except me. I don't

[negativehome-blog]

I smoked a cigarette and watched the moon as it dipped over a cloud into a clear sky. The darkness of my heart was lightening. I called up Megan and asked if she wanted to see a movie. She said she really wanted to see the movie directed by the guy from Key and Peele about the black guy who meets his white girlfriend's family. It was called Get Out and it got good reviews from everyone. I told her I wanted to see the movie about the guy with split personalities who kidnaps the two white girls. It was called Split. We decided on seeing Get Out but it was a tough choice. I walked to the theater and it was light outside from the moon turning against the sun and the block was full. Beggars and lawyers and teenagers with black clothes and white skin. Black men with white clothes and eyes full of lust and hope. And a comedian was performing stand up on corner and I slipped him a buck. He made a joke about my hair and I flipped him off jokingly. He went back to his mediocre stand up as I walked toward the entrance. I was excited for a movie.

[negativehome-blog]

I was enthused by the stern looks and the confused face. "Didn't you hear, Donald Trump is dead. He's been shot. Someone shot him in cold plain sight. "Nothing can compare to I was depending on her for comfort and I felt a little shitty when she told me she wanted to be alone. I asked her if she had a pen and some paper I could writer on. She handed me a notebook and a pen and said she was going to work in her room. I was left in the living room with a notebook that had a few notes in it. One page had a picture of a dog and a note that said the dog was cute. Another page had a few lines about her friend. It was an empty notebook otherwise. I wrote her something that I can't recall right now, something abou her love for me and the fact that I couldn't reciprocate it. I didn't say it that explicitly of course but I made sure she could get the picture. I was writing pretty furiously and when I was done I took a deep breath and looked around and felt really out of place in her apartment. She was really neat and there were pictures of places from around the world on her walls. She went to Ghana a year ago and she was from Texas and she had pictures of both places. She was a photographer as well as a writer. Her pictures were pleasant but they missed something. She didn't have enough anger to be a photographer. She was a good, sympathetic writer. I watched the tube for a bit, flicking through channels. There were a couple men working in a power plant on one channel and an animation of a bird talking to a squirrel on another. I ended up watching an episode of Friends when Rachel is pregnant and its Monica and Chandler's wedding. Ross has to dance with a bunch of kids because he's trying to impress a girl named Mona, a really pretty blond. She ends up being into Joey I think. Friends is one of the best shows. It's so funny. I stopped watching and knocked on her door and she was asleep. She had her computer open and I closed it and turned out her light. It was 6:30 and a dark light trickled in from the window and illuminated her face a little. She was beautiful. Too bad she would never understand the hard heartache I feel for her. I left wondering what was wrong with me, if anything. I knew one thing, I would keep trying to love her. She wa special.

[negativehome-blog]

Ariana

Something turned within me that night. I was startled when she said she hated her father, it made me nervous. I wasn't exactly in love with everything about my dad but I certainly loved him, and to hear that she hated him was scary. What could pass through her mind to make her feel this way? She was a secretive girl, obviously. She never talked unless she had something important to say. This meant that many things turned in her mind that may pester her and shake her, and she tried to conceal those feelings through truth and goodness and righteousness. Her father was probably a bad man. I don't doubt her. But I've always believed that hate is the worst emotion. To hate someone is really to love them, you just simply can't believe you can love someone so awful so you end up hating them. I don't know, something was off. I slept lightly that night and I believe I dreamt I was a lobster deep under the sea. I was watching other lobsters swim and move around me and I felt like I was in a cage. Suddenly I was in a cage and I was being burned and cooked for the meal of a petty human. I died viciously and then I woke up. I decided to call her and see how she slept. She said she was just waking up and hadn't yet realized the time. I told her it was 10:30. She said she was surprised she slept so late and I asked if she wanted to get breakfast. This shocked her a bit because we had just been together the night before. Ok, she said. I'll take a little to get dressed so maybe pick me up at 11:30? I said that was fine and I told her I'd have coffee for both of us when I arrived. She was such a weird girl. I truly couldn't tell what she was thinking. It was like that old song that Lydia Lunch covered called Spooky. She was a spooky girl. I watched TV while dressing and saw images of an old woman on a chair and she was crippled. It was startling to see something like that early in the morning. I tried to put it out of my mind. I think there's nothing worse that being crippled. Being alive but being inhibited by your body or your mind from being your true, full self. It's fucking scary to me. I'm lucky to be healthy, I don't even care about being happy I just want to be healthy. I walked over to the coffee shop and bought two coffees and walked over. I was a little early, it was about 11:10 when I was nearing her place so I slowed my walk and checked out the scenery. There was a girl walking her dog and a man in a suit drinking coffee and an old hobo talking to himself. I have the hobo a couple bucks and smiled and he shrugged and made random sounds that scared me off a bit. I walked away sheepishly and went into a bookstore and strolled the isles. I wanted a copy of the new Charlotte Mann book but they didn't have it. She's an abstract writer that inspired me a lot. I saw a book by Ezra Pound that I picked up and I didn't like it. I heard Ezra Pound was a Nazi sympathizer. I heard that through the grape vine so I don't know if you can trust it. Anyway, he wrote like he was on crack. No flow and no soul, a bunch of nonsense that sounded good together. He probably had a big ego or at least a big id and his superego was probably all messed up. I ended up buying a book by Freud who I deeply dug. He could write like no other. Dude had my heart in his writing and he explained it so well. I walked to her house and knocked and it was cool in her apartment, slightly chilly even. Her roommate was on the ground doing some type of yoga and had her eyes closed. Don't mind her, she said, and she put on her shoes and we were off. We walked to a restaraunt that served good eggs and pancakes and I ordered an omelet and she got pancakes. We drank coffee and talked about how we were going to handle the upcoming week. She was writing an article about some musician she was really into and said it was a big article at the company she works for. She was hyped about it. I told her I was excited to read it and she was happy I said that. I told her I was writing something too but it wasn't really about anything. She wasn't really interested in my work and I brushed off any negative thoughts and we talked about the news and stuff like that. I told her my dad was coming into town soon and that I was a little nervous. She said I had nothing to be worried about. I told her I probably did and she didn't know what to say. We walked out and it had warmed up a bit. The sun was shining pretty bright and I squinted. She asked if I wanted to go back to her place, her roommate would be gone. I said alright and we went and she had the radio on for a little. A song was playing that reminded me of my little brother and I asked her some questions about her family. She got into talking about her friend who worked at the same company as her and how they were really competitive with each other. I told her she was probably the better writer but she said she didn't know. Her friend was pretty smart, she said. I read some of her friends writing and it was alright, but I genuinely thought it wasn't as good. She said she wanted to do some work and that I was welcome to stay but I told her I'd go and I walked out wondering why she invited me over if she was just going to work. I was a little pissed as I walked to 47th to see my buddy Mick who was always up to something good. He said he was trying to bag this chick named Joan who worked at the store he worked at. He worked as a sales rep for Urban Outfitters.

[negativehome-blog]

I have become a ghost of my former self, a washed out priest or a Puritan who is in touch with Satan and anger. I once believed in my love for her but now she only drives me to incessant pain. Her love for tragedy was nasty and her need for aggression was pure. Her feelings were secretive and her name was known. Now she sings a song that no one had ever heard. I was a Puritan before I realized that death was the only thing keeping anyone alive. My leg seems to be just as bad as it was a year ago, meaning I haven't really changed. Wild birds and chocolate mice and secret sisters that whisper of loss and heat. Lustful energetic sluts that but into the heat of society. A girl named Rose who trusts only those that drink perfume. And the demonic child that runs into perfect circles against his better judgement. People see me all the time, and they just can't remember how to act. Images and distorted facts. Even you, yesterday, you had to ask me where it was at. Sweet lady, idiot wind. Blowing every time you move your mouth. It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe. I ran into the fortune teller. Forget the music that plays, begin the N understand your fruitful nature and your sad hammer. The grief of a million republicans couldn't hurt you, the tiredness of a million democrats couldn't control you. You are apolitical! Don't fear that word, it doesn't make you evil. You don't believe politics can help anyone. That's fine and normal. I was lost, hopelessly lost. My time had come, it was time for me to die. In the evening there are people who try to mess with you. They try their best to invest in your prosperity and then when you fail they say you have ruined their lives. And then when you do well they say you have so much riding on you because you owe it to them to succeed. All they did was invest in you and you owe them? All that I see is doom when I look at them. The sadness of their eyes is black and white and green and they have so much negativity. I can't stand the fathers that beat their wives or the sons that harm their children. I can't stand the nazis that spend money on clothes and the fags that buy watches. I can't stand the bullshitters that buy million dollar homes simply because they can. I can't stand myself. I am an enemy of love. Writing is probably the only thing that still turns me on. Women are dead to me. Men are too sad to look at. Everyone is subjective and boring. All I have are these writings to confuse you and delude you and ask you, what is right and what is wrong? My soul is good, I know that. I learned when I was young that being religious is the only way to be happy. Believe in something greater than you and you will thrive. Unfortunately, it is a very difficult thing to do. I often think I am the most important thing, that no one and no thing can take me down. But then I get beat. It happens so fast and it makes me wonder about the world. How did that happen, what could have spurred that incredible wrong to happen in my presence? Maybe it is God putting me in my place. Maybe it is the darkness that life is shrouded in coming and telling me to look to the light. Maybe my only friend is God. Hello, God. It is me, Jesse. I want to tell you everything I know. I want to show you all I know. Please listen and maybe you will learn something. I was born in Nevada in 1972, to a poor family. I had two brothers and a sister and three dogs and my father. My father was strong and he raised us to care for each other. He told us to stay strong in the face of adversity. He was old when he died and I remember him telling me to stay strong when he was on his death bed. He said I didn't need him, that I would thrive even after his death. He believed in me like no other. My mother died shortly after my brother Bill was born, he was a year younger than me and the youngest in our family. We had nothing when my mom died. Her and my dad worked long hours to provide for us and when she was gone my dad almost gave up. He knew he couldn't support us alone. My mom's medical bills were also piling up. My siblings and I stood and watched as my father scrambled to make a life for us. We were young and there was no hope for us without help. Eventually he wrangled up my mom's brother who lived in Utah and told him he needed help. My uncle packed up and came and he was able to raise us along with my dad. He was a nice man who often was mean to us and even hit my older brother a couple times. I say he was nice because he worked hard and gave almost everything he made to feed us and clothe us. He was nice but had a bad temper. I was a wimp growing up. I made no friends and relied on my younger brother to meet new people and dri ive. Demonic angel of doom hovering above like a potato in the grass or a locker in the center of town. A brilliant anarchist is typing a sonnet about porn while his brother is working in the field. I am lost on an island in the Caribbean and the morning is coming. Last night I ate a bag of Doritos and a scientist told me I had nothing to worry about. I was tired and sad and I was focused on the sickness in her heart which was wasting the grass she drank for breakfast.

[negativehome-blog]

I was watching the television thinking that there's nothing worse than death. Maybe my mind was hopeless, maybe it wasn't. My heart was here again for the first time. My heart was here again for the first time, I was with it. My mind was begging for change in the script. Grudges turn to love as slime turns to paint. My evil twin is here spraying me with lime juice while the crutches of time are watching a movie about diamonds and pearls and the doctor is telling me I'm almost fully cured from my hemorrhage. He said it was a reaction to the news. He said I should stay away from video games and pretty women. He said that there is nothing to stop me from reaching my dreams. In the end there's a factory above him heart where the lip turns into the dragon. And there's a heart in his soul that rapes the queen of the past. She lives in squalor with the slaver. There are no options anymore Everyone is scrambling Trying so hard to be remembered The members of the congress Are playing cards with the arsonists Who burn bridges just to make a statement I don't know when it happened but I can barely speak anymore. My feelings are lost on those I love. I feel a sense sickness that I can't shake, and it's an honest sickness that spawns from the desire to feel something real. I wish I had a heart but it keeps dying. I wish my mind was right. What's happened to my mind? What's happened to my mind? What's happening to me? It was Tuesday night and I flew into LA to see my friend who was opening a shop in town. He was selling clothing that he designed himself, sort of street style stuff with cool images on them. It was a happening opening, seemed like the whole town was there. He sold a lot of stuff.

[negativehome-blog]

TERRIBLE

Cornucopia of Sound Drenched in a locker room of dicks I figured there was nothing I could stand. Peaches and sound were sucking on my supporting stance, but there was nothing aggravating me. I lied to my parents and their inkling to agree with me led them to understand my wrongs. I can't say if they knew I lied or not but it's probably irrelevant. It's probably a white lie, something I can overcome. I wish I didn't feel so much. I wish my life was less of an idea and more of a story. A place where characters can live and die. I hate being at peace with the world, it makes me sick. Elegant patterns and soft firm cards that trick me into sleeping. Drifting shadows on the o Tired of dreaming and sleeping, tired or working and eating, tired of seeing and hearing, tired of laughing and loving. What happened to me? Why can't I enjoy life anymore? Why can't I love life anymore? I slept with her and felt nothing. She was so hot and I felt nothing when I came, it was a great big empty sound. She was satisfied I guess and gave me a kiss and it felt as if my heart was banging a drum that made no sound. It was tiring to sit there with her and count the stars. We made love again and this time she was on top and she was quite intriguing. She rode my cock like a rockstar. I told her to go faster and she desperately tried to fuck me like I'd never been fucked. I told her to keep going and she was whining and sweating and she was so damn hot, but I still felt close to nothing for her. She came hard and said she loved me and I said nothing back. It was fucking hot but I had no feeling. I simply came and fell asleep. She was nuzzled up against me and I felt dead, I felt like a zombie. It was tiring with her, staring up at the stars. I was so tired. After a lttle while she told me she wanted to eat my cock and she did and it was like the breasts in her mind were only there for my enjoyment. She was swallowing me like a bulldozer and I came in her damn mouth. She was in the bathroom cleaning her self up as I sat there wondering what I was doing. She was sad, I think. She was really sad that I didn't love her. She came back in and kissed me and we slept for a while. When I woke up she was gone, she had left a note. "Going to my parents house in Maine, be back Monday." She wrote in silver ink on a white notecard. I threw the note away and went to get some milk for the coffee and I saw my brother on the street. It was pretty biblical to just see him randomly, he said he was visiting a fiend who lived nearby. Nothing had been going on recently that was worth telling. The mistress of my mind had fled for a better man. The logarithm of the circus was tied to my chair. And the banging on the back of my head was creating a song that could not be explained to normal people or people with ears. The laughter of the medicine was waking me up in the middle of the night. Severed men were watching a movie about money. And the demons and the cathartic energy was disgusting. No one cared for Whoopi Goldberg or Dakota Fanning. No one cared for Martin Sheen or Anna Farris. No one cared for Gina Rodriguez or Mos Def. No one cared for David Spade or Don Cheedle. Decency of Youth When I was young a fairy told me that I would be famous. I knew it wasn't true. I knew that fame was for the wise and the crazy and I was neither. And the most important thing the fairy said was that I would grow up to be happy. This I found more appealing and probably more likely, but I still wasn't sure of it. The fairy was kind and believed in me but I had my doubts. I was a liar, after all. I lied my heart out. Cherry Tree I was drunk and sleepy and a whale was attached to my leg. The leper was making love to the lime and the senator was screeching. He had just eaten a parrot and didn't want to throw up so he swallowed a dick to make himself feel better. The dick tasted to him of lavender and credit cards so he was satisfied. Then the doctor arrived and asked if he needed any help becoming a good person and the senator said no, he had it covered. I assumed the position of the worst person in the room and left when I realized there was no one who could help me. A Chinese artist was watching TV in another room and I watched with him for a while. It was a cool show about gay kids from Sacramento and the Chinese artist who was named Brian told me he directed it. I told him h had potential and left the room.

[negativehome-blog]

AWFUL

Nothing hurt me more than when she told me she didn't love me. It was hard to hear. She said her father had hurt her when she was young and there was nothing she could do to shake the fear of loving a man. She said she had boundaries. I asked her where they were and she said all around. She said dating her would be like dating a circus freak. She had to pack up and move when the carnival left town, and if I wanted I could follow her or I could just move on and forget her. She told me that her father used to hit her. He would tel her she was nothing then take a belt to her back. One time he even punched her. She got a black eye and had to tell everyone in school she fell. She said she didn't tell anyone because she didn't want him to go to jail. She was in love with him in a lot of ways. He was caring and shy and he often would take her to dinner and buy her nice things. But when he was angry it was like nothing could calm him down. She was sweet and I felt bad for her. How could you love a man like that? I was hard up for cash so I called my dad and asked for a hand. He said he was waiting on some bank statements but would be willing I came home this weekend to give him a hand on some things he was working on. I was not excited to do that but I agreed and he said he'd send money by tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest. I told him I loved him and made my way to the store to pick up some food. I felt like I hadn't eaten in days. I picked up stuff for salad and some bread and some fruit. And I bought some soda because I was addicted and needed some Coke. It was unhealthy but I felt like i was healthy enough. There was nothing strange about me but it was hard to be uplifting when the line was moving so slow and I was in a rush. I had to get to class by 3. There was a man who wouldn't fucking stop paying for his food. He seemed to be stuck to the register. He finally was able to pay after he talked to the cashier about being a regular customer and all the things he wanted because of that.

[negativehome-blog]

I'm sorry. The flood poured in so fast and hard, I had nowhere else to go. Here I can decide between good and evil. Honestly there's nowhere I'd rather be. I want to be seen and heard and I think the Internet is the best place for that. She was wearing silk. It's not fun anymore. I started the talk like a nutcase in drag and it ended with the surface of the moon on my balls. I waited for a while and no one showed. The misanthropic nasty armor was worn by a sick maggot but that didn't stop the press from singing its praises. Least of all, the mountain of debt I have is taxing me. Demonic moonlight in the sunshine sky Twitter fingers in the moonlit eye Plastic people talking bout themselves Where Dena lives inside a well It was all a dream, certainly. The chaos was ensuing while dragons were flying in the heavens. A sound of stoned guitars was playing while the fire burned on the scarecrow's mouth. The feet of a dolphin swam with the gentry as it survived and conquered the floor. I was alone with Mandy and we talked on loss and love. She said that her father was sour. He reminded her of a tragic actor in a symphony directed by death. Her muse was his face. The love of a dolphin directed itself into her spine as I stated at her eyes. I'm starting to put the past behind me. The mirror is made of soft glass but it feels like thick perfume. The mundane sky is laughing at the dragons who circle the moon. The friends of God are talking amongst themselves about slaves and sweet women who mean so much. They sleep with wine and cheese while growing bored and swindling the choirs that sing for glory and freedom. There's a condom on my head that won't leave. There's a stick in my ass that won't fade. There's a drug in me that won't submit. I wish I was in a cage instead of here on this couch. I wish I was being fucked like no one has ever been fucked before. Raped by a woman who wants me more than life itself. She wants me and I want her but she wants me more, that's rape. And the misanthropic demon with the secretive doubt is not going to stop trying. Can you relate to the sound of love, or is it too soft for you? Time will tell. There are trees burning in the soft bubble which repeats itself. Keep going, said God, as I kept turning into the past.

[negativehome-blog]

In the middle of summer when the roads were cracked and bruised, I met her at a party thrown by my good friend Alex. It was a clear, deathly hot afternoon and I arrived at his house with honest intentions. I wanted to hook up with her then never see her again. Alex had a sizable hours with a pool and he was planning on entertaining people for a couple days at least. The party of the summer, he hope, full of drugs and sex and love but mostly a sad sort of debauchery. No one there had good intentions, I can assure you. I might have been the only one who had any semblance of an idea as to what they wanted to do with their life. But it was a chill vibe and I enjoyed myself for the first few hours. I met her after I left the pool and was in the house drying off. Her name was Holly. She was 16 and I was 17 and there were few things we had in common. She was confident and cool and I was lonely and confused. She was athletic and smart and I was lazy and lanky. She was happy and fun and I was poor and weird. But she took a liking to me. I figured I reminded her of a an old friend or a vision she once had of a man. She told me I reminded her of an old poet like Geoffry Chaucer or Byron. I was flattered but told her I didn't write poetry. I wrote songs, I said. She finished her drink while talking to me about her art. She made sculptures of male genitalia, she said. Penises, I asked. She said yes and gave an odd smile. She asked if I'd like to model for her and I told her I would consider it but I was fairly insecure. She knew that just by looking at me but I didn't know what else to say. Well, she said, what are your songs about? I told her they were mostly about my thoughts and feelings and she was amused. Are you the next John Lennon, she asked. I shook my head and she fiddled with her cup. Would you mind getting me another one, she asked. I left and poured her a drink and came back but she was gone.

[negativehome-blog]

Written word, as sweet as wine. Written word, as couragous as glass. Written word, as important as fuel. Written word, as awesome as language. Written word, as soft as honey. Written word, Sassicaia As the demon turns me away from darkness there was a child underneath her. She was drifting into targets and bourgeois student debts and creepy sarcophagus laughter. My brother told me I was a creep and I laughed and said that he's a creep too and this seemed to creep him out. And the lies my father told me were hurting my skull. What had happened, that fateful day, to make this turn of events unfold? A simple twist of fate? Can it really be that simple? Was it a crisis or a boring change? Enough questions. As I start to Either I'm too sensitive, or else I'm getting soft. It was beautiful outside but quite cold and I was huddled next to her in a blanket. I was asking her questions she didn't want to answer. Why had her father hurt her? She said he was a man of few words and whenever he did speak he seemed to enforce his dominion over her. I said that sounds like my dad. My dad was a talker but he talked until you felt lesser and angry or sad. If I didn't feel anything in his presence he was t happy. He would work on you until you felt upset. It was his way of teaching me to be a man. Being a man, he felt, was being compassionate. Having feelings that you can express and share. He was always feeling and it pissed me off. If it were up to me I'd never feel a damn thing but that was not going to happen in my dads presence. He'd talk or put on a song or tell about a man he met at work or bitch about politics. He'd keep talking and looking at you until you had no choice but to keep up with him and work and feel and act. It was really splendid but for a kid it was stressful. I was always working around him, emotional work. He was really a great man but never let me have a moment of peace. I think he thought feeling good and satisfied was a shitry way to live. He liked the song Vienna by Billy Joel that said "only fools are satisfied." I wasn't satisfied, and I'm still not. He definitely instilled that in me. Peace and love were descending on the scene, but I couldn't quite grasp the extent of my heart. Where have I been the past 21 years? At home, at school, at parties, at coffee shops and office buildings, city streets. I couldn't see anything when I walked into the tomb. Blood had spilled on the ground and the grass outside. An architect was building a ship to sail him to heaven where he would be welcomed by God. Deep in thought like an animal. Bridging the gap between heart and soul. Blood and guts and secrets. As the painful sock is thrown into the show where Deborah is taking a breath and listening to childlike wonder.

[negativehome-blog]

She was supported by sadness and she laughed at the trees. Her mixed up face was supported by her family. All the love in the world was becoming lost on the revolution. We were trying too hard to make up our minds. A million different things ran through my mind. Is love real? What is it? Like an old song that played with ferocity. Like an ancient ship that rang true and right. Like a play that explained the depths of humanity. What is love? Why does it torture my soul?

[negativehome-blog]

Decency of matter rearranging its heart to feel a bit less special. It was quiet outside and the moon was out. Sardonic soldiers in drag were waiting for the moon to die while Jacob was writing a song. His brother worked in the factories where Tom preached and the little girls from Sweden were waiting in line. Tom was bored of Switzerland and he ditched it for Paris. He wrote a book about language which sold well but his friends disparaged him because the book was cheap. He spent his earnings on coke and booze and slept with venemous ladies who sucked his blood. When he awoke one morning his sheets were dirty and the wine he was drinking had spilled on the floor. His wife had left him a message on his phone. She wanted to know where he was. Where was he? He didn't knew. He looked to his right and saw a lovely lady in a black bra who he presumed he had slept with. She was lying peacefully. He woke her and said he was sorry he didn't remember a thing and that he hoped she had a nice life. He walked into the bathroom and groomed himself. His hair had been a mess and he was unshaven. He gazed into the mirror. Where had he been? He couldn't remember. He was sad for a moment because his wife meant a lot to him and he had cheated on her for the Nth time. He was a mess. He decided to text his friend Martin who wished him luck but said he had no clue where he'd been the past couple months. Martin was in Spain working on his novel. He texted Joe next who said he'd seen him at the bar on 10th but other than that had no idea where he'd been. He felt relaxed for a moment then remembered the girl. She had gotten up and was making a pot of coffee. He shoulders were beautiful to his eyes. She had nothing on other than a bra. It was quite enchanting. He laid his hands on her body and she felt charmed. She was undeniably more beautiful than his wife. She paced around for a little and allowed him to watch her movements.

[negativehome-blog]

Written word, as courageous as glass. Written word, as beautiful as wine. Written word, as musical as math. Written word, as soft as love. Written word, as lovely as a girl. And the beginning began when songs were resounding from the heavens. When the birds and the trees were one. When math and science were second rate and lost on the mine fields and the tanks. When blood was spilling in the baths and the pools. When love was armor. Can you tell, why is time linear? Why is the blood of a million people as important as the health of one? And the blood is blood is blood. Wine is wine is wine! Love is love is love. Demonic truths told to the cryptic son. Love is love is love! Demonic sands and pilgrims who worship sluts and whores. Does tragedy strike when love is evil? Does tragedy strike when happiness is evil?

[negativehome-blog]

Sleeping with Daisy Decorative plates And the iris Molotov coctail dreams In a tube Surrounded by drugs Beware of the lady with the dogs She hunts men at night And thirsts for little boys in the darkness She treats me well But I am a lucky man Beginning to believe in love a bit too much. Like how much can we believe in love? Decide now, demon, or the truth will set you free Igloo dreams on the night watchman, who comes close to seeing rediculous dragons on the verge. A bubble bursts above me in the misanthropic table of the sun where Dracula and Orion are daring to be seen. Decorative plates and hipster dates and sardonic mates are talking to the squirrel who lives on Cheery Lane. Dad and mom are away, probably in Delaware where the knives and forks are thrown into the sea. Along the watchtower there's a bridge that connects Satan to succulent diseases but no one seems to care. Can words cure the heart? Yes. Can words cure the soul? Yes. Can words cure sickness and death? No, absolutely not. Words are not important. They cannot change fate and they can't become the truth your looking for. But they can make you happy and they can contain your honor and guide you to a better realm. But don't trust them to be your friend. I am a word man. I believe in words and know their power. Because of this I am hesitant to use them. I am hesitant to understand them and manipulate them. Words are a card in a long card game. You must use the card only when it suits your hand. If you have no choice you may use words but don't take pride in that. Words are a muse in the music of life. What dreams may come? What lies may happen against me? My girl is in San Juan, she left me to study Christianity. Her martian brother is talking to the truth in a tempest. My girl was listening to Vampire Weekend when I arrived. The song was light and airy and it reminded me of high school. I talked to her about what I was feeling and she said there was nothing she had to say. I was confused. She looked at me with a pained expression. I was lost in her eyes. What, I said. She had no idea. The song played on, a beautiful little piano part glided by. I asked her what album this song was from and she said Contra. It was pretty, lyrics about New York and and a taxi and aristocrats. They were smart cats. They wrote songs, not real music. I don't think anyone could say those cats are musicians. They're song writers. They're interested in structure and time and sentiment. That stuff can get a little tedious. Once you've heard the song enough you sort of memorize it and the magics gone. I like bands who just play and play until something turns up. Something that sticks with them and they can't shake it. I can see the Vampire Weekend guys sitting around thinking about structure and harmony and all that shit. They probably weren't that into jamming. But who knows, they're pretty cool. I watched her as she turned the page of a book on fashion and I started to whine a bit in my head. The clock was ticking. I told her I wanted to get some food and she said she wasn't hungry. Well, I said, come for the trip? She said no, she was busy. I asked her what she was doing and she glanced at me like I was some figure in a dramatic play. She went back to reading and there was nothing I could say. I left feeling forgotten. Darkness penetrated the space between us. I wanted to explain to her that magic was unstable. She shouldn't worry about magic. But that was irrelevant to her. She was a magician. I hate magic myself. It's obsolete. It used to mean something in the Middle Ages because there was little technology and you had to do something to make you feel more connected to the world. Now magic is like an old relic. I don't care about it. Nothing is magic. Secretive swamp in my heart is being buckled up and sold to the Mormon. He sings me in his backpack of darkness. The leaves and the stain glass songs are pouring from the graves. The mystery is captivating the Marxist. The Leninist is talking to the middle American about truth where a tiny bubble is wrapping itself in blood.

[negativehome-blog]

Something more than importance, maybe. That is what I want.

Something more than importance, maybe. That is what I want. Something more than importance, maybe. That is what I want. Something more than importance, maybe. That is what I want. Something more than importance, maybe. That is what I want.