I might not exist

There is still time
There is sparkling time
There is maritime

I am selling photographs

This one is of the precise second I lost my virginity
This one is of the moment I decided to give up
This one is of a clock with 60 hands

Wow it’s 8:29 AM

Time for death
Time for dancing
Time for diamonds

I propose a toast

Wow I am going to marry a piece of burnt bread
Wow this is the best day of my life
Wow what am I going to eat for breakfats




the corpsecarpet stretches like penis skin
i am walking on skulls and femurs and ulnas and
tiny seethrough worms with white dots on them
smushing them to paste with falling apart sneakers
that squeak like whoopie goldberg cushions
the swooshes fell off seventeen horizons ago
i need to pee so push apart the skin flaps
exit the tent into a desert of milk powder made of bone dust
look around and see nothing but horizons in every direction
pick my nose and eat it
scratch my hole and sniff it
masturbate with sand in my hand
turn skin into more dust
expose the purplepurple



Something is coming to kill you.

And something is coming to save you.

One is coming from above.

The other is coming from stage left.

You are trying to avoid the spotlight.

You are avoiding it by doing a dance with intricate footwork.

It looks like you are stumbling around the stage.

The audience appears indifferent.

This is all part of your plan.

You are distracting them.

The other part of your plan is happening outside in the parking lot.

There is a girl breaking into all of the cars.

She is stealing all the candy.

You will need all the candy you can get.

Something is coming to kill you.

A sheep ate all the leaves off the power plant.

It has grown to the size of twenty sheep.

Its wool has turned dark green.

It is rampaging through the city crushing cars.

It is headed for the candy factory.

It’s all over the news.

It’s all over.

Something is coming to save you.

There is a camera crew following the sheep.

Their camera is malfunctioning.

It is broadcasting footage of you stumbling around the stage.

You exit stage right.

You enter the changing room.

You change.

The workers at the candy factory are working at full speed.

They are producing 7000 candies per minute.

Something is coming from above.

It is the sun.

Something is coming from stage left.

It is the sheep.

Your performance is happening in the candy factory!

The workers are your audience!

You are now wearing dark green wool.

The sheep arrives and begins eating all the candy.

It eats all the workers and the machinery.

You and the girl from the parking lot jump onto the sheep.

You burrow into its wool and set up camp.

The sun is now much closer to earth.

Everyone is getting sunburnt.

Everyone is burning to death.

Except you.

You and the girl.

You are sheltered in the shade of the wool.

You are throwing candies into each others mouths.

This is all part of your plan.


meat wave

i burp ham
by thin sheets
of bleached pig



Mila Kunis is pregnant.

Ashton Kutcher is Steve Jobs.

That ’70s Show was cancelled on May 18, 2006.

Steve Jobs is dead.

Mark Zuckerberg’s salary is $1.

Bill Gates is the richestĀ manĀ in the world (again).

There are 1,645 billionaires in the world.

There are 172 female billionaires in the world.

J.K. Rowling is not the world’s richest woman.

Mark Zuckerberg lost $1.4 billion today.

Same-sex marriage is legal in 17 states.

It is now technically possible to stop an earthquake.

It is now possible to clone a Wooly Mammoth.

Miley Cyrus’ dog died.

Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez are back together.

Chris Brown is in federal custody.

Hip Hop is dead.

Wu-Tang is forever.

The Wu-Tang Clan are only releasing one copy of their next album.

Ol’ Dirty Bastard is dead.

Tupac Shakur is dead.

Biggie Smalls is the illest.

Phillip Seymour Hoffman is dead.

Paul Walker is dead.

The guy from Glee is dead.

Tony Soprano is dead.

Michael Jordon is retired.

Space Jam 2 starring Lebron James was just a rumor.

I am tired
lying in bed
in the dark
eating popcorn
watching The Office.

I am the best poet alive