The Beautiful and The Unbeautiful - a collection of poems and texts

And...

another meaningless hour in another meaningless day

seconds noted on the calendar some may slip my grasp

i float through a muddy, dirty, neon-green stream;

emotions, too many emotions

fear, there is a lot of fear, who wouldn't fear the real world in this day and age?

who wouldn't fight against the two ice-creams stuck together in danish, in their own, pointless way

but, point, point, point

we all need one

and if you are able to find one tucked between the pillows of yr. personal couch-potato

why not claim it?

you wouldn't leave a penny

no, you would read

and think

and think you know

and know

and think you know for sure

and know for sure

and create a personal belief

and move on to the next book

and shun the last for being banal

though it for sure had gotten you to you current, comfortable couch-potato

and you read on and on and end at Finnegans

and you laugh yr. ass off

and reattach it

and try to find meaning

and try again

and try again

and fail

for nothing could prepare you for a book written outside of a book

and you start rocking in yr. rocking-chair

where you found meaning you find the desert of yr. life

and you reject

and you reject

until you can reject no more

and you come to terms,

with this malicious mortal coil

with yr. own insignificance

with nothing, too much nothing

and finally, for yr. last trick; with yr. own insanity

with yr. own depression

or bipolarity

or some other word the important-looking woman throws at you

she must know whatever she is on about

she is proclaiming it with such conviction

and you have been taught to respect people who do that

for they often have little else to proclaim

and you go home

and you sit

and you drink and sit and smoke and masturbate and feel, oh how you feel

you don't know how you feel

it is all just words on paper ink on paper anyhow

and the proud rectangular pinkish plaque reads "Clinically Insane"

or something like that

you never bothered to check

and you go back to the things

the things to do

"Treat yr.self, that's the best you can do. A bit of R&R"

those were the words

so you treat yr.self

and treat yr.self

and try not to get lost along the way

then again, you always had a great sense of direction

so you turn on the T.V.

forgetting that you haven't had a T.V. for years

so you go to look in the mirror

forgetting that you have forgotten yr. face somewhere in the rubble

for surely what looks you in the eyes, that creature with a beard couldn't be you

a 12-year-old elderly-person

and you search

and you search

finding nothing but stone

i must be on the beach

i think knowing full-well that mere seconds ago i was in my apartment, flat, the place i live

looking for my face

so you, i, me look to the sea and is nonplussed to see a white, supremacist brick wall

tear that shit down i think what purpose does it serve

and life goes on

and on

and on

and on

for the man with his arms tied to his back