i feel curious whether women perceive writing that affects them but that is written by men by imagining the male perspective to be an amalgamation of traits they have perceived, recalling observations they have made about men they have interacted with/heard of, and subsequently project that perspective onto men in future interactions, or if they simply transpose their experiences onto the male perspective, or both, or more...?
when i read writing (by women) that affects me i imagine similar experiences i have had (and project myself onto the female perspective), while i simultaneously contemplate whether or not the female perspective/voice is indelibly tied to a perceived, (essentially female) depth-of-reference that is consistently more fluid than the average (male) thought progression (and therefore implies/incites/accesses a more extreme depth of information than i am capable of perceiving), which excites me and causes mild-to-high anxiety during attempts to 'think critically' about text/context/subtext, due to the (emasculating) possibility that i cannot 'get it'
i think everything is inconceivably confusing/confused, and feel (mostly) comfortable (with an average 87.348% psycho-emotional stability) thinking and acting accordingly
welcome to being alone
swelling occurs
there's this thing, called jealousy
movies are comforting, but not very comforting
if everything were unacceptable i would fuck things that are serious about being fucked
passive agressive health
genuine embarrassment may be a common occurence
but acquiring attention from attractive people is paramount
i keep thinking about ex-girlfriends in what feels like an unhealthy way
breasts are sweet
feel good that i haven't been in a fight for a while
transportation impairs one's ability to be in a relationship pretty harshly
it's so cold outside
brilliance doesn't get you laid
ineptitude for brilliance doesn't get you laid
swift movements at opportune times gets you laid
what if i were writing this while getting laid?
would that be notable?
there's this thing, called jealousy
movies are comforting, but not very comforting
if everything were unacceptable i would fuck things that are serious about being fucked
passive agressive health
genuine embarrassment may be a common occurence
but acquiring attention from attractive people is paramount
i keep thinking about ex-girlfriends in what feels like an unhealthy way
breasts are sweet
feel good that i haven't been in a fight for a while
transportation impairs one's ability to be in a relationship pretty harshly
it's so cold outside
brilliance doesn't get you laid
ineptitude for brilliance doesn't get you laid
swift movements at opportune times gets you laid
what if i were writing this while getting laid?
would that be notable?
i ate pizza for breakfast today
every indolent hook-up seems like nostalgia for infancy
seems like crushing the first ant
seems like hitting the first girl
seems like stealing the first cookie
seems like leaving the first womb
and what, if anything, does that create?
a corruption.
and a corruption is wrong, in that corruption doesn't signify anything except a mood
and i don't want to signify a mood.
seems like opening the first present.
my dislike for shakespeare's elizabethan-zeitgeist-oriented poignancy is similar to my dislike of most 'norms'
but if memory were defeated all things would feel new
and what would people learn?
what would people have to write about?
how would people express their faculty for expression?
seems like puncturing the first balloon.
if i could show another person,
a person with capacity for empathy and restraint and religious levels of human value,
would i want for that person to see how i elicit attention?
would i want the most basic stereotypical human to see how i communicate?
SEEMS LIKE CLIMBING THE FIRST TREE.
i want to demolish a gargantuan brick warehouse and call the resulting pile of rubble 'mine' and hate it and still not know what hate is and cry until temporal displacement turned the rubble into something different and beautiful and objectively perfect...
and i want to still not care what perfect means
i think i am probably wrong about everything
but it seems like the first halloween
seems like the first intimate relationship
seems like this poem is discernibly an extended metaphor for virginity loss, 'actually'
...an extension of the human impulse to procreate
and a remnant of the wake caused by the pubescent epiphany of discovering i will never know anything about anything ever, including the concept of anything
even when it seems i do
seems like crushing the first ant
seems like hitting the first girl
seems like stealing the first cookie
seems like leaving the first womb
and what, if anything, does that create?
a corruption.
and a corruption is wrong, in that corruption doesn't signify anything except a mood
and i don't want to signify a mood.
seems like opening the first present.
my dislike for shakespeare's elizabethan-zeitgeist-oriented poignancy is similar to my dislike of most 'norms'
but if memory were defeated all things would feel new
and what would people learn?
what would people have to write about?
how would people express their faculty for expression?
seems like puncturing the first balloon.
if i could show another person,
a person with capacity for empathy and restraint and religious levels of human value,
would i want for that person to see how i elicit attention?
would i want the most basic stereotypical human to see how i communicate?
SEEMS LIKE CLIMBING THE FIRST TREE.
i want to demolish a gargantuan brick warehouse and call the resulting pile of rubble 'mine' and hate it and still not know what hate is and cry until temporal displacement turned the rubble into something different and beautiful and objectively perfect...
and i want to still not care what perfect means
i think i am probably wrong about everything
but it seems like the first halloween
seems like the first intimate relationship
seems like this poem is discernibly an extended metaphor for virginity loss, 'actually'
...an extension of the human impulse to procreate
and a remnant of the wake caused by the pubescent epiphany of discovering i will never know anything about anything ever, including the concept of anything
even when it seems i do
if i am widowed in my old age and have nothing better to do i will ride every known roller coaster in order of completion date, maintaining a neutral facial expression, and repeat this action until everything in my body ceases functioning, as a performance art piece highlighting the thoroughness of humanity's confusion about reality and its inevitable extinction (impending doom) amidst a regenerative cycle of imperceptible chaos
i feel 'over-extended'
maybe i perceive reality how a remote control perceives a television
also, i have had four cups of coffee in the past ~1.5 hours
it seems that the most probable cause for myself is somehow 'pervasively sexual'
but right now i feel like an apple macbook power adaptor cable that isn't long enough to extend from a 'nearby' outlet to a preferred workspace
i want to kill myself sometimes; almost entirely on weekends
i feel curious if my anxiety derives from something metaphysical or if i induce it myself, consciously, or subconsciously, or using a type of reasoning inaccessible to current knowledge of the mind
when i was younger i performed a solo dance routine on stage in front of a group of people, then six years later saw the same choreography performed by a group of children more than ten years younger than me and felt okay but kind of betrayed
i think this led to me becoming an 'atheist', in that everything in the universe that happened previous to me becoming an atheist contributed to my eventual atheism
sarcasm doesn't extend to most regions of castellano that i am familiar with
seems like 'impending doom' is the most concrete abstraction i regularly access
last night i had a dream that steve jobs had a presentation in downtown los angeles, and i felt aware and calm that he was dead, and about death in general
i woke up and felt horrified and prophetic and that something must be done and someone must be informed but felt unsure who or why or about what
the service staff where i am living seems considerable more well-adjusted than i feel
it seems like here would be the appropriate place to advertise 'cornflakes'
maybe i perceive reality how a remote control perceives a television
also, i have had four cups of coffee in the past ~1.5 hours
it seems that the most probable cause for myself is somehow 'pervasively sexual'
but right now i feel like an apple macbook power adaptor cable that isn't long enough to extend from a 'nearby' outlet to a preferred workspace
i want to kill myself sometimes; almost entirely on weekends
i feel curious if my anxiety derives from something metaphysical or if i induce it myself, consciously, or subconsciously, or using a type of reasoning inaccessible to current knowledge of the mind
when i was younger i performed a solo dance routine on stage in front of a group of people, then six years later saw the same choreography performed by a group of children more than ten years younger than me and felt okay but kind of betrayed
i think this led to me becoming an 'atheist', in that everything in the universe that happened previous to me becoming an atheist contributed to my eventual atheism
sarcasm doesn't extend to most regions of castellano that i am familiar with
seems like 'impending doom' is the most concrete abstraction i regularly access
last night i had a dream that steve jobs had a presentation in downtown los angeles, and i felt aware and calm that he was dead, and about death in general
i woke up and felt horrified and prophetic and that something must be done and someone must be informed but felt unsure who or why or about what
the service staff where i am living seems considerable more well-adjusted than i feel
it seems like here would be the appropriate place to advertise 'cornflakes'
poetry collection, compiled for a reading
welcome to [something]; fuck
seems like there is something inside of me
an emotion or something solid
causing a natural convergence of standards and principles
specific levels of enjoyment are retained, and crushed
like cars in a compactor
or like muffin batter in what you put muffin batter into,
inside of a convection oven
that’s been preheated to three-hundred fifty degrees
we are negotiable as human beings
a finite debate on what must be done
and opposing actions that are taken
and i am a 747 airplane filled with desperate people
who have anxiety about how they are perceived by a cruise ship filled with apathetic people
52,000 feet beneath them
‘are we a force, an object or just invisible?’ they ask; wantonly
‘are we making sounds? do they enjoy these sounds?’
they lust for positive reviews upon their descent
and as they think these things we think to ourselves that we can kill each other
and that it will be okay
it will be fine after we are dead, and nothing will go wrong
it will be fine
it will be fine
it will be different, but it will also be okay
kneeling limp with my hands placed in a way that i would have to look down to spatially relate to anything
masturbating
i look up at the sky at nothing
feeling 'welcomeness' towards death
and to the extreme enjoyment of viewing and discerning between objects
a light varnish on my perception;
and a swelling, somewhere non-sexual
i am an enormous crystal
and my cleavage, and shimmer are ideal for cutting,
and setting in something feminine
but i am just too huge
to my right, there is a walnut, and i think, ‘brains’
and i question this relationship
and feel longing for some type of understanding,
then dismiss it, gently
'i will conquer all facets of myself,' i think
then crinkle a bit as gravity acts on various objects
and small things slowly become large things
i ejaculate onto my mattress and stare at it
and immediately want to cum again
you look at me, knowingly and i become a ruby, looking softly back at you
and we all become rubies and tsunamis and answer questions
of what is this and what is that
and then the universe resets a little
and it feels strange
there are three-hundred million people in this country and i don’t even think anyone really understands the concept of three-hundred million people or what a country is in a way that could be posed to me with any sort of definite clarity due, almost solely, to the abstract concept of ‘vastness’
i have no idea how my siblings will die
but i know that they will
and i’ve seen some death
i really attempted to contemplated it
i drank some cola while doing it
i’m not partial to ice in my cola
and i prefer pepsi to coke
and everyone i have met,
with the exception of my grandfather likes pizza
which, like most junk food, goes well with cola
but both, when over-consumed
can and will cause heart failure, diabetes, among other conditions
this doesn’t feel contemplative anymore
this isn’t going anywhere
‘vastness’
ideas of exclusivity and world take-over in a monogamous vacuum
i want to start a secret society for the two of us
i want to explain, in depth, purpose, method, goals
to usurp all governments, with you
complete domination seems ideal and impossible
ideas of dominance destroy feelings of the affirmation of life
the acts of cleaning, building, eating; processes
let's move, swiftly, past our close group of friends
overtake them on their career paths
take success by the earlobes and drag it
holding hands, squeezing our ideas together
this is life; this is horrible; there is some vast glory here
something untapped
seems like there is something inside of me
an emotion or something solid
causing a natural convergence of standards and principles
specific levels of enjoyment are retained, and crushed
like cars in a compactor
or like muffin batter in what you put muffin batter into,
inside of a convection oven
that’s been preheated to three-hundred fifty degrees
we are negotiable as human beings
a finite debate on what must be done
and opposing actions that are taken
and i am a 747 airplane filled with desperate people
who have anxiety about how they are perceived by a cruise ship filled with apathetic people
52,000 feet beneath them
‘are we a force, an object or just invisible?’ they ask; wantonly
‘are we making sounds? do they enjoy these sounds?’
they lust for positive reviews upon their descent
and as they think these things we think to ourselves that we can kill each other
and that it will be okay
it will be fine after we are dead, and nothing will go wrong
it will be fine
it will be fine
it will be different, but it will also be okay
kneeling limp with my hands placed in a way that i would have to look down to spatially relate to anything
masturbating
i look up at the sky at nothing
feeling 'welcomeness' towards death
and to the extreme enjoyment of viewing and discerning between objects
a light varnish on my perception;
and a swelling, somewhere non-sexual
i am an enormous crystal
and my cleavage, and shimmer are ideal for cutting,
and setting in something feminine
but i am just too huge
to my right, there is a walnut, and i think, ‘brains’
and i question this relationship
and feel longing for some type of understanding,
then dismiss it, gently
'i will conquer all facets of myself,' i think
then crinkle a bit as gravity acts on various objects
and small things slowly become large things
i ejaculate onto my mattress and stare at it
and immediately want to cum again
you look at me, knowingly and i become a ruby, looking softly back at you
and we all become rubies and tsunamis and answer questions
of what is this and what is that
and then the universe resets a little
and it feels strange
there are three-hundred million people in this country and i don’t even think anyone really understands the concept of three-hundred million people or what a country is in a way that could be posed to me with any sort of definite clarity due, almost solely, to the abstract concept of ‘vastness’
i have no idea how my siblings will die
but i know that they will
and i’ve seen some death
i really attempted to contemplated it
i drank some cola while doing it
i’m not partial to ice in my cola
and i prefer pepsi to coke
and everyone i have met,
with the exception of my grandfather likes pizza
which, like most junk food, goes well with cola
but both, when over-consumed
can and will cause heart failure, diabetes, among other conditions
this doesn’t feel contemplative anymore
this isn’t going anywhere
‘vastness’
ideas of exclusivity and world take-over in a monogamous vacuum
i want to start a secret society for the two of us
i want to explain, in depth, purpose, method, goals
to usurp all governments, with you
complete domination seems ideal and impossible
ideas of dominance destroy feelings of the affirmation of life
the acts of cleaning, building, eating; processes
let's move, swiftly, past our close group of friends
overtake them on their career paths
take success by the earlobes and drag it
holding hands, squeezing our ideas together
this is life; this is horrible; there is some vast glory here
something untapped
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