Cyborg Canines and Well Dressed Insects (Freewriting)

Not sure why my freewriting is always so God-heavy. Regardless:

Before I was eaten alive by waves and waves of wild and sinful neon, I was a priest. I taught respect to children and embryonic immaturity to adults. My pet dog was half robot, and had his legs eaten by a swamp monster. His vocal chords still worked though, and so he was still my dog. Together we wandered as misfits, tipping trash cans and reminiscing about greener pastures and bluer skies. We remembered the day where we recognized the best day ever. Today. Because today was the day revolution started. Someone threw a glass brick through God’s window, with his son’s finger frozen inside of it. There will be a war, and things even worse than war. Vengeance will be sought because there is no escape from things like this. Even if through secluding yourself deep in the dark of the ocean for years you manage to evade the swarms of ghosts looking for you, death will have you ride the lightning straight into the trouble you have started.

It has come to my attention that the threat is growing inside of all of us. every single one of us. Its growing bigger, and its getting smarter. We won’t know what it is until it’s too late. The damage will be horrific, and we will have subjected ourselves to the most painful self humiliating fate imaginable. Only God knows whats best for us now. Only God can save us from what he already plans to do to us. We have betrayed the source of our magic, the source of our life. We have given in to stupidity and corruption. The world is no longer ruled by nature, but by slugs in hats and suits. We have to fight back, we have to fight for our fucking lives! Every day is a struggle, even if you are too depressed to open your eyes and face the fucking world, take a deep breath and open them. Congratulations, you have just succeeded in something. You have the willpower, you have the ability. Believe in yourself and together we can slay Gods and everything and anyone. Do not slay yourself though, for you and I are one, and we can be of no use to each other if we are separated by a blade. Now, come closer, I have a secret to tell you.

Heaven is an ice cream cone. (Freewriting, absolutely obliterated)

It was a cool night to shoot the moon. The pieces of ourselves that we leave behind in our childhood burst forth in fiery images of love and passion. We desire only to get away, we desire only to think for ourselves and destroy the collective hive mind that is imprinted upon our souls since the conception of man. The blueprints mother nature had grinded out of her own teeth and bone were of simple antimatter, which substantiated the claims against our bonding ties to love. We throw up our hands in wonder and scream. We scream because we love, because we give enough of a shit to slighten our jaws and utter syllables called words, to make things called sentences, which make things called prayers. We are in a city, we are in a world, we are in a universe but we are not in your favor. For that, you are a shameful God and we banish you from the hearts and minds of our people.

We sing like we will die five minutes from now. The day that we all do die, we will not regret being wrong. We sang louder than we needed to. We did more than we had to. We fucking ruled the world in that minute, in that single instance, and there is no taking back the history. Once it has occured, it is burned into the universe, it becomes energy to be constantly recirculated in story and idea.

Rained upon us is the slow syrupy drizzle that pulls on our emotions, the ectoplasmic hailstorm that fills the trenches with blood, that counters the knowledge of rational beings, the evil that smothers hope while it dreams, the terrible deeds of men born without the ego trump card. This rain will irradiate the skin off our bodies and make us want to live and die simultaneously.

Elroy hated the drudgery of thinking. One day Elroy smoked crack to make his life better, and it did. Elroy smoked some more, and it simplified his life further, all he ever had to think about now was getting more drugs. This made Elroy ecstatic. So Elroy got some ecstasy. He danced naked with a stripper and lost a tooth getting punched by the bouncer. But Elroy didnt give a care, because Elroy smoked crack. No one knew why he was happy or how he could contend with the rest of the world and not feel ashamed. It is because Elroy was a crack smoking green toothed street rat, and God loved him.

They played canasta and smoked cigarettes while slitting the throats of soviets. From a distance you could see the souls flee the bodies of their kills, leaving in their wake gorgeous fiery rainbows that shot across the sky in a force like no other.

The colors made me smile, as they rushed through my neurons like a flurry of angeldust. Within the grout of my cerebellum is a memory which contains the essence of my being. Soon I will forget it, and as such become a different person entirely. I beg of you to not alter my perception. I need to face life as it wants me to face it. I will grow stronger, I will be a warrior, and you will face me as I stomp on our curious rags and shackles and scream to the world my victory, and scream to the gods my name.

Heaven is an ice cream cone, with posies and superheros skirting around the scoops. On top of it sits an old man, who wags his cane at those who he figures ill guided or daft. The posies sing in a harmonic beauty, and reminisce about their ancestors, and of their great doings and teachings.

They murmured ideas that they exchanged among themselves at night. Above the trees and inside the skin of the clouds there is a prayer that got lost on its way to its God. Check the rhythm and play it like a beat, love the lost lies of your mouth and tear apart the sky and sought after bite you need to grow and strive forward in a land so foul even the mood of horse men and beer apocalypses have envy for those of us who want more, who want to get something out of being able to see the best in people, maybe once in a while we wont be able to see whats in who or whats in how or anything remotely like that, but thats alright because deep down we know we care. we know that for a moment there was a fiery underbelly below the zephyr of rushing emotion, caught in between the webbing of our fingers, which are always pointing to someone. When it comes to blame, we are all socialists.

As we spend our time reminiscing, children are crushed by the weight we press upon their small bodies. We shatter their spines with expectations and vicarious intervention. Every wish they utter is stifled with an order, or with subtle manipulation, or with an act of punishment. Hop in the rat race children, the pool is still shallow, your minds are too clean and we are jealous of the hope you have.

Old freewriting. A bit girly but I thought it was nice.

The cracks in your eyes leak when you speak, fragile, pearly white pupils that bat back and forth like planets aligning for a final judgement. You speak so soft and eloquently but are so afraid, your body a divine temple, silky and unornamented except for the burdens that are carried upon it. The turret in which you were once sheltered is gone, lost with the sparkling winds that had carried it. You might miss the cozy warm blankets and frilly pillows in that bedroom but you are different now, you are lost in your own solidarity. If you are lucky maybe you'll escape the labyrinth, take the time to sniff the flowers and maybe your spirits will soar and your brain will fill with the same restless dopamine that lives inside the blossom. I hope this will happen, I hope I can fix your leaky porcelain eyes, but I am no man of any sort of trade and I do not mean to be. I am only a wisher. I can hope for miracles but I can only craft within the limits of my own aching bone and flesh. Love weeps, existence dawns.

Baby Wars and Truth Beams (Freewriting)

The paintings are becoming more vivid again, Marley. One of the most terrible things that has haver been born just crawled under my skin and is heading straight for my cerebellum. Once it begins to tear and gnash at my nervous sistem I will be an angry motherfucker again, and I won’t even remember your name. I will swear at the stars and bind myself to hatred of all things, the microbes that controlled animosity inside my peace valves will be raped and thrown into burlap sacks into the new york river. A few days will pass and on the twelfth of October, a sun will rise with much more essence than its brothers and sisters. It will rise and grow brighter and brighter, untill all is whiter than any holocaust bleakness in any history book. The one thing you need to remember is that God loves you, even if he did try to rob a liquor store. It wasn’t his fgault, the hipster with the sad grin made him do it.

Call me old fashioned, but the smell of lilacs makes me quiver with a sort of euphoric shock. It is trendy to go along with the most immediate urges, while those who pursue greater depths and levels of necessity are burdened with the collapse of their social life, and the ridicule from those who choose not to explore themselves. It is a cry for help when society collapses in such a manner. The bonding agent that shoved us all into this same world is imploding. The nexus that will replace us will be the focal point for love, and the land will crawl with babies of all creeds. There will be a war, and the babies will starve and fall into trenches. They will fight back, nude and covered with mud, but their efforts will be callous and misguided. The young must again obey their peers.

Money revolts the anarchists into bumming homosapien flowers. The periodical discharge from the cornea may be a result of the truth burning into your retina, and searing your mind like a cow being branded. It wont be long once you have forgotten who you are, and then you will forget what you stand for. Monotony goes well with monopoly, and true dissidence will come with the plausible discourse of action and happenstance. The vixen with the solid green lips will be the one who dances with villains, and it is her that I need to talk to, and tell her that the earth is dying.

Ghost Love (Freewriting while inebriated)

the mind of man is not far gone in it’s wild conspiracies and hypothetical nonsense that they tyhrow in just to destroy your dreams and inhibitions always remember that every time you fly they gain one of uyour wingas, and your children will never live to see the future only six of your friends will follow me on my jpourney not only are you gone to me but you are really gopod at what you do like things like seetling a village in its exposure to me that is a wonderful thing to be able to do ia am regretting i do not know where the arrows are pointling to the edge of the earth or otherwise things are moving atround very shrapyl and i do not see how to get there for it is only like a miracle to say that we don not ermember what we are told everytdh as things like that get to us in the end it donesnt really matter because thats where we all seem to head anyways and the laughing becomes so hard that you forgry to look where yoi are headed and the end of the line becomes so invisible that when you are lifted into the sky almost eveuryonearound you will love to be in you omnly the very finest would ever uhderstand but the end of the line is something you need to understand with only the finesrt if tijmes journeys and expodeitions in the end of everything

the only way to truly say what i mean is so arrange it in a way where things dont really matter as much as they used to anymore not the same as rhelly wanting to go do it but it is just so amazing that i needed to tell you that when i am over the sea and instead of on top i am at the boottom i see only how things couldve gotten better if we tried a little harder but i am not going to say it was all for nothing because that would be fraudulent inside and i d o not harbor any criminals in my heart for yuou were a witch and a scoundrel you fucking ghost wehre were you when i needed help every aspect of my life was something to do with the mafia the lords and the energy it took for me to write this paragraph is pnly the more proof that you need i want to rip you out a need air socket to throw acoros s the bends here with me uand uoir lover wojne dyay eweiiwkll wabts t9 see tyr08gu 9t t0 tye ehd wuere we caj -jpy uep-f 0t9 wabt t0 opead tue 9-9 tue [r90kj9]dsrf oahd 8h tye t9ke tya6 9t t00o f0r ke t0 kjaoe tuy9s s0jg 0hoy 0oeu 0f tye kjehj tua7 w0rutrpjehre dueicidh fhuffeh tgurhufhhrururu ryedurufuids udi

Miami (Edited Freewriting)

The animals move along their beaten path, tightly shielded from their womb. The unworthy among them still demand respect, but somehow all seem beautiful. Their hills are not gone but rebuilt, with curious angles and slopes. The color of the world is faded and dying. A smeared pastel horizon of tessellations and shapes, of pinks and oranges and yellows, and Black and white never stop arguing.The sound particles are soothingly infinite, but eventually I hear the world derail, and come to a screeching halt.

Drawing by Michelle Pugliese, inspired by this paragraph

The lamb had crawled up into the pipes and gotten sick, but had made friends with the bats and other strange creatures that lived there. They told the lamb not to be afraid, but the lamb was still terrified. Her wool had uncurled and grown dingy and bright red with fear. To this the other creatures widened their eyes and howled, they mauled the lamb to silence before the creature could cause any further harm.