Sketchy.

An array of frightening nervous laughter flees from one wall to another.
YOU ARE DYING.






My hands bleed. Poisoned volumes trickle in drops down my purple fingers, resting near the tips of my manicured fingernails.
Don't discount the small amount.
It's just a drip to the eye.




I would bet the cocoa fifty in my back pocket it's enough to stop the continuous melody, running through your body.
Nonstop motion, finally collapses.
The end is never soon enough.

The turtle-dove's necklace - Tu Es Un Neuneu

Far away, constant pounding, so much to say.
It's better that way.
Good to be, good to be on another hill
No sparks seen above her head. She only feels the surface shift
With colors appearing under her eyelids, vivid.
Forgotten.

Laissez-nous vieillir ensemble et mourir en même l'heure,
À perdre moi vie ou de perdre moi amour, c'est le cauchemar J'ai fait tourner de.

Kill Lies All

I don't listen to what art critics say. I don't know anybody who needs a critic to find out what art is.

"I wanted to bring the art absolutely up to date, to retrieve it from art history and give it life.I tried to trespass beyond that invisible barrier that no one is allowed to cross; by my acts encourage the individual to expierience it anew and to challenge it, deal with it and thus see it in its dynamic raw state as it was being made and transformed, not as a piece of history. "


The Peacock Throne.

And to all my dear, earnest admirers, I thank you for your support and constructive criticism, you've pushed me to my greastest heights. I thank you with all of my moist, turquoise soul. I beg others to appreciate my musings and collected pieces as an homage to life, as a tribute to death, and also as a mockery of what is tangible.


Look at me, eyes awake, as I shove twenty grams of white through your nasal cavity. Push, thrust, my pinky through the sharp hairs, your brain it soaks up the fluff, and I feel your movements, soft, then shaking, ending rough. Snowflakes landing in the corners of your eyes, they melt and pour downward. Pupils freed, now explode. White, white as blow.
My limp friend... This is the beginning. You've never felt so real.

The Radiant Child

SAMO does not cause cancer in laboratory animals.


To Repel Ghosts


(Where is Taki?)

My experience has shown me that the artist is a person much respected by the poor because they have circumvented the need to exert the body, even of time, to live off what appears to be the simplest bodily act. This is an honest way to rise out of the slum, using one’s sheer self as the medium, the money earned rather a proof pure and simple of the value of that individual, The Artist. This is a basic class distinction in the perception of art where a picture your son did in jail hangs on your wall as a proof that beauty is possible even in the most wretched; that someone who can make a beautiful thing can’t be all bad; and that beauty has an ability to lift people as a Vermeer copy done in a tenement is surely the same as the greatest mural by some MFA. An object of art is an honest way of making a living, and this is much a different idea from the fancier notion that art is a scam and a ripoff. The bourgeoisie have, after all, made it a scam. But you could never explain to someone who uses God’s gift to enslave that you have used God’s gift to be free.

Not unlike melting butter, separating whey.

Caught inside,
The keeper of the key.
Well born and raised
Without the want to leave.
What a locked up crypt
It felt to me.

Silver Zebra Times

-The blurred colors of the street lights overhead and neon signs as you lay your angel head against the leather seat, feeling tears and liquid build up in your vertebral column.

We were sleeping till you came along
With your diamond heart
You let us in the wooden house
To share in all the wealth



Seven figures leap the hungry maws
The beast it comes to you
He's a hunter for a lonely heart
In the season of the sun



Where you thinking that you have to run now
With the beating of a diamond heart?
Hang on to the things that you're supposed to say
Billions of stars that open to your fate

Thievery

The days they go slow.
The nights they go fast.
It's only some time,
Til we get together.
I'm out on the street.
I'm waiting for you.
Do you hear me looking?
The method is clear
In waiting for you.
I think I need a distraction.
I'm not staying in.
I'm searching for you.
I can find someone new.

Go downtown put the drugs in my body.
Step back up I'm the life of the party.
Come back home and we'll get something started.
Stay up late put some heat in my heartache.

Lay down my incapable body.
Wake up, I'm the life of the party.

My stomach's all over the floor.
No one can blame it on liquor.
I asked for somemore.
Anything that reminds me of you, makes me sicker.

Go downtown put the drugs in my body.
Step back up I'm the life of the party.
Come back home and we'll get something started.
Stay up late put some heat in my heartache.