Month: January 2011

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My literary mannerismsbpeople dance you broken into me the ciphers bleed out of my cho muumuu
Humpy humpy humpy

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so i had this dream that i found
my true love but then i got caught

in this place where they wanted
to take off my face and he wasn’t there

to help me. face gone gross extreme.
Neither the torn face nor the destroyed

voice could carry expression but
there was anxiety in the clear eyes.

i got myself out but then it turned out
that my true love had his face ripped off

too and replaced by another torn face
(a person with) a bad- tempered, sulky, glum

face. They became restless; their names rose;
their nostrils drew in the air with a snort.

One of them made a sudden dash on the body
of a woman with a torn face. What is a facial

injury? A person with a facial injury has damage
to the structures of the face, caused by an injury.

all of my friends faces were getting there faces
ripped off and replaced everyone was telling me

it was going to be ok but i refused. Torn Buddha
face. Cat’s Torn-Off Face Reattached. Free Torn

Face Clown Pictures. “Greetin’ face” or “torn face”
and “soor face” are all used to describe someone

who is looking miserable. Although my face was
ripped off, and I was blinded, I was able to make

my way back to my vehicle and drive myself
down a rutted mountain. the foam ripped

on the black face it ripped clean off of the
plastic plate. Smaller fish removed by the hook

stripper tended to have a greater proportion
of more severe torn cheek and jaw and torn

face wounds. Masks to Die For! Skinned
Halloween Face Mask, Torn Bleeding Flesh

Tales of the Crypt Type Creature Latex
Halloween Mask. How to face paint the torn

face look. Does This Look Like The Face
Of A Lady Who Ripped Her Daughter-In-Law’s

Nipple Off During A Family Brawl? Ripped face/
Zombie face. i was screaming and running

and scared for my true love
very scared very scared

what does that mean

How can I browbeat thee? Let me count the ways.
I shall haunt thee to the depth and breadth and height
That time can reach, when feeling all uptight
With endless seething and this ripped-up face.
I indict thee to the level of everyday’s
Most baddest seed, by dun and mandible.
I curse thee freely, as men curse my plight;
I reproach thee purely, as in a burning haze.
I rage at thee with a passion put to use
In my cold griefs, and as a craven wraith.
I hex thee with a love I seemed to lose
In all my bloodied faints, – I accuse thee with the breaths,
Barbs, fears, of all my strife! – and, O erstwhile muse,
I shall but guilt-trip thee better after ________.

The men have a strong ego.
They drive me insane. They
lead themselves into temptation.
The men fall in love with others. They reject
me. They also have weak
wills. The men are tiresome. They pre-
fer to shag with
Filipinas. The men are
my enemy.

It’s 7:17 am.
I’m on thyroid with a 5-htp hangover.
I remember that I am full of mistrust
disappointment and heartbreak
and I hate living alone. The cats
are eating stinky cat food. Cars
whoosh along the snowy ocean
of the parkway. My sacrum is out
again, the hamper is full of laundry,
my bags are still packed, everything
needs cleaning. Not just blackbirds
but also turtledoves fall out of the
sky. Despite my capacious
curiosities, I understand
absolutely nothing. Men
are about the weirdest things
I can think of. This
is lineated, but not
a poem: just to be
clear.

oh fuck, it’s that feeling again.  at the hair salon this evening I made a list of things I need to do in the apartment to improve and organize it, a very detailed list, of things to keep me changing the energy in here, but you know I got home, and I was tired, and I napped, and when I woke up I was overcome by a kind of forced stillness, as if I were being held down by invisible captors.  I made myself sit in the living room on the couch, but the feeling is much more intense there, because that was his territory.  So I just sat there and stared, not exactly into space, but inside myself at the heavy feeling there.  It doesn’t help that it’s snowy outside and the heaters are blasting oppressively. Such a contrast to the ocean air. Nemo is crying. They follow me from room to room, first one, then the other.  They eye each other.  If one is close to me, the other will keep a little distance.  Sometimes Nemo will displace Dante with a mean glare. It’s too quiet. All the music reminds me of something. Tomorrow morning I will wake up and start on the list of things to do, but today I have to deal with this heaviness. Fuck you, captors! I should move.

Sexually empowered monster head. Leaning into the cold creeps. Edamame eyes. Nuclear radiance open heart perjury in the fluttery aftermath; I’m tired for sound. Skull and fork, no joke, the voodoo candle is a parody of real light. Makes me want to put a hat on my hat and slide guitar. Pigeon-toed crooner, prophylaxis, a red hawk tries to eat the bad reason. A bottlebrush flower in the ear of my surplus solitude. I spill out of you as a serious idea inside a wrinkled plum. Tourniquette!

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video by someone calling him/her self Charles Bernstein but who isn’t REALLY the Charles Bernstein

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