Five in the Morning; The Words Don't Stop

What is it about writing, reading, thinking, and learning that I love so much? It's like chasing after the greatest high there is, but with only occasional hints of it with an occasional rush of bliss.

I love the smell of books, the feel of paper, the ink that rubs off on my fingers and turns them black.

I love feeling a keyboard at my command, feeding words into a document until page upon page is filled up.

I love holding a paper down while I scrawl my indicipherable printing onto it.

I love the feeling of making a sudden connection, the moment of Eureka, the apple of newton, the apple of discord.

Oh, Eris, oh lovely Eris. Oh Mary Magdalene, oh Sophia, oh Holy Spirit! Every word I utter, every sentence I write, every thought that I could ever think, they are your doing. You have imbued me, I have imbued myself, I am part of you and yet I am more than you and less than you.

Oh, Eris! How I love thee! All the paradoxes, the confusion, the chaos, all the reasons why we ask, "why?", they are all because of you! They are all hoaxes as you and I are hoaxes ourselves, as we are all nothing and everything! Duality, seperation, they are all born soley from an individualized, contextual perception at a specific point in space and time.

You are the reason, you are the rhyme
You are the spice and you are the lime
You hold me up while they hold me down
You make me smile while others make me frown

Praise Eris!

Playground Pirate

To swing and to slide, to dream and to glide
To cough and to sneeze, to cry and to please

These are the words by which we live our lives
These are the youth that will break free of the hives

Look at my this, look at my that
Look at me mother, 'for I old and fat
Look at me scream, lest I not speak
Look at this world - it will be gone in a week

Play while you can, 'for ye'r worked to death
Smile to the end, laugh your last breath

Truly we all die for the question of why

Sophia hath learn that all lives will burn

Insecto-pornography poetry

I want to fuck a beetle
I want to fuck it hard
Reduce it to the fetal
And then smoke some shard

I want to cum on a mosquito
Then eat some mescalito
I want to shove flies in my ass
Ugly despicable and crass

I love them all, the squiggly things
Inside the earth they are the Kings
In my heart they reign supreme
Thinking about them makes me cream

The Laughter of a Thousand Dying Souls

A laughing man once fell dying to his knees
He screamed and he cried, he begged and asked, "please?"
"Please, let me live!" - then no more, no cough or wheeze
I stood and I laughed, "More whine with your cheese?"

Through cruel eyes the world is a hell
To live or love, it's always just as well
Broken by the years, nothing more than a shell
On such dark things the beast will dwell

A thousand dying souls consumed by hunger, thirst, and winter
One pour soul stands and yells, "Carpe diem!" only to disapear in a haze
To become one with all, then to break off and splinter
She asked the question and he answered back, "Learn to love these trying days"