the vigorous vorticity of vigorish

werdz sux

the little mermaid
a segregated man sits quietly in a room
that both holds him and does not
and as he sits segregated he thinks
about what to do with a love
that dies hard within him
he thinks about the mistakes he has made
and what he could have done differently
he thinks about what he has learned
and about that which he has failed to learn
he thinks about the world which exists outside
of these walls
and how he has thus far failed to find his place within it
and with that line of thought comes
questions about what life changes he could make
to better his position
to find his place in that world outside
walking small circles segregated within a small room
and meditating
and lying quietly on his back looking up and to the right
at nothing in particular
and one day after an indeterminate length of time
he makes his way out into that world
by the good graces of a man wearing a sash
and he smokes the last of his cigarettes
because why waste perfectly good cigarettes
and then he wins some money
and then he writes this
and then he goes to sleep
resolved to try to do it if not better
then perhaps differently tomorrow

What we may call Bliss
may in fact be borne of
the hell of our deepest imaginings
a place in which
all things are possible

As I walk these halls
a funhouse of horrors greets me
a cosmic dance
a interplay of creaked linoneum
and flourescence meeting shadow
in an endless recursion
which is also ever changing in nature with each step I take

a large man passes me by
all swagger and bounce and verve
steadily chewing upon ice chips
with his head held high

(no subject)
Picture a statue in your mind, made of, iunno, bronze. The statue is, iunno, of a woman blindfolded with flowing robes about her, standing erect. She ain't got shit in her right hand, well, iunno. You decide.

She's holding something in her left hand. Well, not holding but more carrying. An apparatus of sorts. It's sort of like a scale, but there are two weights linked to these chains on opposite sides of the apparatus.

She is holding this apparatus at the exact midpoint.

The earth turns.

i am black and i am neither long nor short but i have a measure. i have that which are called pistons within me but i do not have a caller. the butt end of me is both rounded and curved. i am pointed but i cannot say that i have a point. i am moved by my operator from place to place but i cannot say where i am. i operate at the discretion of my operator in a manner both slow and fast. at the present moment i am pointed N by NE. and my operator is asleep.

another creeps up behind him.
one who is similar to him but different.
the air is moved and are heard or not.

and then he wakes up.


The New Rain
Where the right eye of one man
  meets his reflection in another's
  contact can be said to have been made
  in that quiet moment where understanding occurs

Move by move they set their patterns
  With alternations of jabs, straights, feints and parries
  in choreographed fashion they dance

Commanding the black pieces
  he goes for the win
and as he plays
  he regards the position
       and the opposition
         and himself
         with eyes open
and as the button is pushed(?)
  conditional upon an action being taken
  minute amounts of it
    remain on his fingers
    or fly off into the air
    or become a part of him

(no subject)
So I used to own a TeeVee. I smashed it cuz it had shit coverage. Y'know, I wasn't paying the cable bill and shit. Just thought I'd let you all know.

I'm fine or at least I think that I'm fine given that, y'know, you never really know anything or sumshit.

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