navy blue lace thong

source.

in your polar bear paws,
i don't know if i should feel like a cub, or a seal.

the stray cats fight then have crazy make up sex

source.

looney.
infected.
lost.
alone.
scratches
front lobe
of brain
through nasal passage.
fingernail.
pinky finger.
vapid.
friends.
murder.
a culture of bacteria.
conquers.
skin cells.
kill.
fresh breath crystals.
liar.
shit eater's grin.
missing organs.
missing blood.
missing.
mv.
matt.
matthew.
motherfucker.
masturbating with sandpaper.
laughs.
oooowwww.
vaginal ovens.
baking.
battered chicken pieces.
in pussy juice.
sizzling.
sssssssss.
give birth.
miscarriage.
eat.
the fetus.
leftover.
period blood.
vampire bags.
squeeze.
pulp.
drink.
tampon tea.
with
vodka.
aaaahhhhh.
make money.
get rich.
fall in love.
marriage.
fails.
failure.
grim.
smile.
take family photo.
not good enough.
me.
sleepy.
sassy yawns.
white light.
hallucinate.
repent.
dead.
repeat.
life.
wait.
start over again.
i'm confused.

"i mean like why did they have to wear ski masks? they dressed like islamic terrorist from the 1970's. maybe they wouldn't have gotten whipped if they didn't."

photo source.

watching daytime talk show tv:

kitty boner + kitty vagina + camera = (insert rape sounds here)

i'm watching.

captivated.

sucking a bannana.

stroking my dick.

mixing it up with my pussy.

through the nylon fabric of my granny panties.

that way i can't get charged with the double:

beastyality

and

pedophilia.

underwear project returning next week.

photo source

underwear inspired lit returns.

and to whoever got to my blog using the keyword search term, "pussyshots in wal-mart," much love. 

Dia De Los Muertos.

photo source 

Walking around a cemetery with my hood up, when the sun turns orange as it gets ready to go to sleep, I sit down and rest my back on a worn out tombstone that says, "mother, sister, and child."

I forget why I'm here, but I'm not afraid.

Just tired.

Sleepy.

I pull a flask of scotch out of the breast pocket of the brown denim jacket, which is frayed at the cuffs, and take a pull.

I don't know when they arrived, but they are here:

Skeletons wearing dust covered suits, and tattered color faded dresses.

Smoking cigarettes.

Playing cards.

Reading yellowed paperbacks as the wind carries the smoke out of their chests.

We are all in a circle.

Just passing time, and curing boredom.

I pass the flask into the stained bony fingers next to me, and someone tosses me a light.

"Thanks."

Staring off into the distance.

Looking at nothing in particular.

Just humming funeral songs in spanish.

Observing two of the younger skeletons making out without any tongues, feeling each others rib cages and pelvic bones.

Pulling blades of burnt sienna grass out of the ground, and scattering it across my sneakers.

Thinking about my true love.

A skeleton sits next to me indian style wearing a lavender floral patterned party dress with a hole on the hip takes a pull from the flask, and passes it back to me.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Na. Well...maybe. I don't know, it's complicated and confusing."

"Isn't it always? That wasn't a very good question, but I got a better one: Are you in love?"

"Yes. Yes too all of the above...actually I don't know, maybe I'm just lonely. Or both."

The skeleton wearing a lavender floral party dress with the hole on the hip leans in closer, puts her arms around me, and rests her skull on my shoulder.

"Shhh. Shhh. Shhh. It will be okay. I can't guarantee that, but it'll work out one way or another. You're not going to be alone forever. However, it isn't going to change in a day. So don't think about it right now. Just have some fun, and let it happen."

Her earthworm perfume slows my mind enough to allow me to notice each and every passing second.

"Thank you. Seriously, thank you."

She tries to smile but can't, while two skeletons in black suits pour out a 40 into fast food cups in the waning light.

"You're welcome."

I get up, walk two graves over, and pull the bouquet of pink roses out of the white vase sitting on top of the granite tombstone.

I come back and hand them to her, then finish what's ever left in the flask.

One of the flowers gets stuck in her empty eye socket, and we both laugh.

"I can't smell them, but I remember their smell. Succulent. And sweet. Thank you. They are beautiful. That was really nice. I see flowers around here all the time, but never think about their smells. When you don't have a nose, it's easy to forget that smells still exist. Thank you for jogging my memory. For making me notice. You're really nice. Never forget that. Okay? Never forget that you still exist after you die;you just exist in other people."
 
"You're welcome. And okay. That is something I will always try to remember."

She pushes the bouquet into her face one more time, before laying it on the ground, then takes a cig out of her pack, lights it, and places it in between my lips.

I inhale.

The last ray of light disappears behind the horizon, as the sky starts to change from red to pink to navy blue.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

The skeleton wearing a lavender floral pattern party dress with a hole on the hip sinks her teeth into my arm, as the rest of the circle puts down their drinks, and encloses in on me.

As the day ends, I remember.

this blog shouted me out four months ago.

so i'm going to shout this blog cause it is really cool: http://winthestars.tumblr.com/

talking to myself

i will break a pool stick in half, then start to beat myself with it in front of you and your friends, who are drinking 40's on the cement stoop.

screaming at the top of lungs between the whooshes and smacks of the swings and impacts.

"AM I MAKING ANY FUCKING SENSE NOW?

HOW ABOUT NOW?

OR NOW?"

painting bruises on my body, just to make you upset.

just to convince you of something i'm not even sure of.
 
the sun will rise in a couple of hours, and tomorrow will become today.

Beat Up By A Three Year Old While Sitting On A Park Bench

Sitting on a bench, next to a three year old boy holding a kleenex box, and his mom who is wearing a green subway polo shirt.

The three year old boy has short brown hair that looks like a freshly mowed lawn hugging his skull.

He looks at me with his big brown eyes that match his hair, smiles, puts the kleenex box down on the green painted meshed metal, then hides behind his hands, peeks out, laughs, and hides again.

I put my hands up, and do the same.

Playing peek-a-boo.

We keep exchanging hiding for showing, and laugh the entire time, as his mother watches us through circular framed glasses.

He stops.

I stop.

He picks up the kleenex box with his tiny pink fingers, rolls along the bench, and places the kleenex box on my lap.

He remains right next to me.

Along my side.

Touching me.

In the fetal position.

Covering his head with his arms, in a puffy navy blue and black winter coat.

Staring straight down.

I pick the kleenex box up, and put it on his back.

His mother laughs.

He comes out of his cocoon like a mummy emerging from a sarcophagus in a 1950's b-horror film.

Then makes a fist, and puts it through the plastic slot, and into the tissues.

He kneels so he is face level, then cocks back, and hits me with a straight right to the nose.

He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, before his mother screams, "Johnny! That wasn't very nice! Say you're sorry." Her face scrunched up the entire time.

He looks at his mother.

His face droops, which looks like a hound-dog puppy that just got hit on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.

I start laughing back at him, which creates a smile.

I wave my hand at his mother, and through the laughs tell her, "It's okay. It's okay."

I repeat myself twice to reassure her.

I don't know if it worked, but whatever.

My nose was a little sore, but it didn't matter.

Everything felt like it was in it's right place.

I see myself opening up a booth on the street in a year where I paint a red and white target on my face, place my chin on the counter, and let little kids punch me with kleenex boxes for free.

greeting card valentine's day poems by elly dallas, elly dallas' coworkers, and mv swydersky

co-workers:

menstruation is red

afterbirth is grey
& yr vagina

is what made me gay

roses are red

eggs are rotten

when you are dead

you will be forgotten

roses are red
skateboards are cool

maybe if you're nice to me

you can put it in my butthole

roses are red

gel pens are cool

be nice to me

and fuck off

roses are red
gel pens are cool

get yr d

away from my hole

elly dallas:

roses are red
pussies be poppin'

hit me up
when yr balls be droppin'

my phone sucks

violets r blue

what the fucking fuck
i miss u

roses are ok but

i can't believe its not butter

dis bitch spoiled

sum1 cut her

ketchup is red

high fructose corn syrup

is not

that's hot

ketchup is red

high fructose

corn syrup
is hot

ketchup is red

and vinegarry and sugary and hot

mv swydersky:

lacerations are red

bruises are blue

i got hit by a bus

fuck.

hard ons are red

lube is blue

masturbating with sandpaper

ooooowwwwwwww!

roses are red

balls are blue

i haven't gone down there in years

praise jesus!

cat piss is yellow

period blood is red

i watched a cow get its throat slit

don't flush feminine products down the toilet.

krok skin is green

missing digits are grey

i peed in the shower

what a wonderful day.

this bitch is bottle blonde

her teeth are cracked

she ate 48 cupcakes in two days

she's got an insulin pump

stuck on her back.

40's are full

crack is back

in an alley sellin bootlegged porn

hit me up wherever you're at!

guns are black
clips extended
if you claim my shit
you'll get shot with a sawed-off

vaginas are pink
buttholes are brown
if you don't suck my dick
get da fuckatta town.

pussies are wet
my penis is rusty
i'm not saying shit
i'm hiv positive.

i broke my gps and threw it out the window

photo source

i drive
late night traffic
with my eyes close
smelling stale coffee
and burnt joints
on the breeze
whipped up
by my breath.

red eyes
heavy and tired,
trying
to make sense
of you
and the dark
storefronts
that are closed
until tomorrow
morning.

dreaming
with my hands
on the steering wheel,
turning left,
then right,
then right,
and left again.

i have a destination
to reach
even though
it seems
like i'm traveling
in circles.

i'm done
wasting miles,
passing real estate
up for sale
and empty driveways
illuminated by
yellow streetlights.

hypnotized by highbeams.
blurred.
in a daze.

there is a picture
of you showing
your teeth
in a green
floral patterned dress
wedged in between
the grey plastic
of the dashboard.

just sit tight,
i'll explain
everything
to you
real soon.

i'm on my way home.

"I don't have low self-esteem. I have low esteem for everyone else."

dukes up

i am the challenger
putting my balled hands up
and covering my face.
protecting my head,
i leave my ribs,
and abdomen exposed.
absorbing body shot
after body shot.
punch
after punch,
they are starting to take
a toll.

i am becoming exhausted.
sore.
memory loss.
sweat building up.
the side-effects of patience.

i wait for the right moment.
waiting.
waiting.
waiting.
for my opponents
to let their guards down
so i can remove
their teeth
with my fucking fists.

left hook to the jaw.
i will smash their skulls
wide open.

swinging.
going for the knockout.
i watch the backs of their heads
bounce off the floor
as their arms go up,
and their eyes roll up
into their brains.

smack!
smack!

i hock a wad of blood and spit
onto the blue canvas,
and raise my arms to heaven.

"who nex!"
"who nex!"

i don't know.
i can't remember.

Stories V! by Scott McClanahan

"I saw that the whole world was one shitty coincidence after another. I saw someone rolling their eyes at chance-O god that's ridiculous. I saw how I wanted to believe in order too. I wanted to believe in the mundane shit of the world. But now i saw the world was stupid chance."

Thank you Scott.

Seriously thank you.



buy here

the beginning of a longer piece that i don't have time to write because i have to share a computer with 12 different people. (excerpt.)

The only person you know is yourself, and it is a relationship you can't get out of.

You buy one of those plastic cube mind teasers with the metal balls, then smash it on the ground, and call it solved. 

You pull your teeth out by tying strings around every single one, and a door handle, then slam the door. Totally comfortable with gumming mash potatoes for the rest of your life.

You want to pull your covers over your head in the morning and disappear every time you wake up, saying to yourself, "Not now."

You pick your nose and make sure someone is always looking.

It's amazing how quick you can love something in a short amount of time. 

It's amazing how quick that something can break your heart.

You try to imagine the outlines of what something is, but you always come up drawing a blank.

You are a fucking idiot.

You only get hard at inappropriate times, which makes the people you care about uncomfortable.

You are perpetually uncomfortable, and build a graph to chart your uncomfortably over the years.

You will never understand people, and that bothers you for some reason.

You will never understand yourself.

i understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore.

my alarm clock goes off,
and i punch it in the face.

smashing my head
against a brick wall,
trying to breakthrough, and always failing.
blacking out,
and waking up
alone
saturated in a pool
of cold sweat
and partially coagulated blood.

a dented forehead.
a cracked skull
exposing the thought of
you in the front
of my mind.

fuck.

i repeat the process
over and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over
again with the same results.

you watching.
you crying
as i hit the floor.

negatively affecting you.

i'm passed out
while you're
on your knees
next to me,
cleaning my wounds with
your delicate tongue.

fuck.

i wake up.
alone.
and realize i am an equation:
(piece of shit squared multiplied by the square root of manipulative bastard equals motherfucker.)

i wake up.
alone.
and repeat the process again,

i can relate...

sam pink is my nigga:

"the only problem with screaming and punching yourself in the face is it never hurts enough."

"the pleasant urge to run full speed into brickwalls. 

hitting against the brickwall then yelling, 'let's do another one!' to no one"

"depression like your face feels like it is being pulled downward slowly."

recycling bodily fluids

there is no easy way around it;
someone is going to suffer.

spitting up blood and vital organs
(lungs, heart, brain,)
i pick them off
the soot swirled
concrete basement floor,
and try to brush the dirt
back onto the ground,
but their pink/red skin
is moist and sticky.

i swallow.

the dirt becomes mud,
becomes part of them,
becomes part of me.

i soak the fluids up
with paper towels, q-tips, and circular motions,
then ring them out back into
my mouth.

the translucent crimson droplets
pool, and swish across my tongue.

gritty and bitter.

i swallow.
and try to disinfect my thoughts
with turpentine.

it's not working.

an observation about myself 2/2/14

i miss holding hands with someone else, more than having sex.

super bowl sunday.

what if the super bowl was two teams of 60-70 straight men from two different cities having gay sex with each other in the middle of a football stadium with 80,000 people watching in person?

the winner would be the team that has the most ejaculations.

tiebreaker would be styles and and technique voted on by crowd applause.

oh baby.

the business.

that's so fucking hot!!!!!!

(image source: http://www.altiusdirectory.com/Sports/images/nfl-super-bowl-2014.jpg)

frozen feet

i wear ice for socks.

numbed.

i can't feel the steps.

even wrapped in wool.

even in the summer.

my feet never thaw out.

cheetos bag

i looked at an empty cheetos bag in a ashtray coffee can tonight. i wanted to fill the bag back up with cheetos, reseal it, and put it back on the shelf of a mini mart with the rest of the cheetos bags, so it wouldn't feel so lonely. i wanted to hug it and say, "i know. i know how you feel." i wanted to trade places with the cheetos bag because it could use my body better than i can.

fuck.

fuck.

fucked.