Sunday, January 29, 2017


Loading please wait loading a log of shit please wait logging a tremendous load of bullshit please wait or fuck the please just wait or don't be on your way don't need me to say it or anyone else or maybe that certain someone that certain high school face and it was never the same handling anything after that dropping something would never be a small matter just a glass bowl full of the reddest bloodiest fakest bloodiest fruit punch crashing to Earth and staining your spotlight in front of the group splitting and resplitting into thousands and millions and billions so rapidly your heart not yours for sleep in a lost peace as the pillow tears at your eye closed but like a garage door being forced open to waking moments of insomniac frustrations and deadlines and people who you are being convinced by yourself you are supposed to rip your brain in half to give a fuck about while they make up their minds glued together with deflections and rhetoric whipped on a rowing machine into shapes and sizes of thumbnails that make your eyes gloppy with mucus of isolation and just a side note behind the very turned banana peel licked by the cat a stain of something it finds reminiscent of the edible once found in the cuts made in the rotting land between locations for passing out after talking each other out of doing much else things taken off of other things or put next to something reminding someone of a boxed existence or part of one. 

"Mention his name go ahead I dare you."
"His name?"
"Yeah, go ahead I fucking dare you to and see what heap of gnarled shit-storm will come raining down on you."
"I don't think I could."
"You see you've probably filled your pants with a load of excrement in anticipation of the wrath of our own torment or maybe who knows maybe you might get lucky and be spared losing only one limb."
"No, I mean I think you're referring to her the woman who liked to wear all black well I don't want to assume she liked to wear or liked much of anything I think your feigned optimism struggled in all its strident echo chamber of hollow motivation in the face of her pushing back I don't want to read too much into it it might have just come naturally to her for all I know and that has always been a failing venture on the downside of vague too forlorn to be able to focus and keep my place when reading others I tend to find myself out in the hallway hit in the seat of my soiled pants by the impatience of those behind me in line at the checkout."
"You said her name once I think you got it wrong. It doesn't surprise me with your way or lack thereof."
"One thing I do recall is that book I lent you because you were obsessed with making small talk more microscopic and when asked for it back several months later you smirked and made some pun of the book's title and walked away. You shrugged and walked away."
"You keep insisting I did that."
"I don't insist. I bring it up whenever the noise dies down for a brief moment every few years or so. Not a frequent event. It could also be when I come across something like a lighter with not enough fluid to get past the spark."

Delving into nuisances
Bending back to the window
Heading for the disagreeable
U-turns into silence
Changing one's stale mind
Thoughts unbrushed with paste
She knew holding 
the last time one could
muster tears
or tear into muster
gone now
bellowing in a house
with knocks 
to bring one to a barren keyhole

- Max Stoltenberg

Saturday, January 21, 2017


Got the case mixed up upper or lower the beginning of each plane flying over the house the shower has run cold figures ran through the steps and can't simply add one would think one would run out of reasons for trying to hit print again except that you are expecting something else to happen for example for it to work and that would be asking a column not to fall on you look up and the color of your eyes might catch a hint of what used to come in through the window through my mind when I used to look up not like you no one could do that the way you could when I paid attention outside the folding information promises of better and worse flatten into each other when folded over into beds made by my deceased togetherness.

Trying to put an ear to the door that jiggles in the lock barely held and going nowhere hardly a purpose shut open and shut a strainer over a small child's face the metal cold eyes squint in a manner that between planets would conjure a recipe for emptiness die and make sure all evidence of your existence no longer makes you cough while you try to listen to another transferred call. And her glasses were broken she said was what she was trying to had said and that was it as the tub the drain clogged got the instrument next to the snake that shed its skin in the corner the forgotten part of the neighborhood texted a reminder to bring the letter sealed with tape didn't appreciate how envelopes didn't appreciate a tongue and she left with her picture framed of a ship with a framed relative on board the ship released too late to enjoy freedom having died within a weekend.

"Let me see."
"I have no control over that."
"You have very little control over anything you crack in the cement."
"I didn't think I could even manage that much."
"The stairs."
"It's impressive how they can go so long without blinking."
"No, the stairs. Where do they lead?"
"Lead? They stop after about 3 and a half floors, but it's your funeral."
"We'll see about that. I've fallen down a flight of stairs."
"Just another day for changing your mind?"
"About what has befallen me or what I'd like to befall me?"
"I hear a nibbling inside my head."
"A rodent or bad idea?"
"A rodent with a bad idea. It has a mind for sewers in the belfry of my skull."
"Turning over an old leaf?"
"You know me too well."
"Like an overcooked burger."
"Undercooked vegetable."

Trees for climbing and bleeding
Blood for dripping and signing
Chambers for gestures twisted
By bigger people cruel with disdain
Dark hallways stretched with failure
Mind is an accordion 
Thoughts unsuccessful 
in keeping the walls apart
defiance is measured by suffocation

- Max Stoltenberg

Saturday, January 7, 2017


Been signed out for a long while since the dawn of the shroud mincing words with the weakened fortresses of sick and contagious anxiety chests at attention most of the time overtime so over it not over it into the night that deals its horrors in your dreams in your cranial furniture the cesspool of flawed blendings trying to spit out words spitting or drooling with punctuation or pauses or and or can he or she or it or and or this that common distinctions ending where I fall asleep almost and then startle with another segment of the worm that loops in my markings and grades never entered for anyone to remember or even or odd or and or terse knocking at the wall behind the picture of the child wearing a sheet over his whole dirty body no one to remind him to shower they just never leave their rooms they just never leave their rooms.

"There, I said it," she said.
"There, you said it," he said.
"It always sounds better when you say it," she said.
"But, I didn't say it. I just said that you said it," he said.
"You did," she said.
"About what you said," he said.
"You did make it sound better," she said.
"Who told you that?" he asked.
"I told me that," she said.
"No, I mean where did you get that idea from?" he asked.
"From myself," she said.
"Who else in your life said that other people take what you say and say it better?" he asked.
"The others, I guess," she said.
"What others?" he asked.
"Everyone else takes what I say and makes it sound better," she said.
"They don't exactly assume your raw materials or shitting pot you hang your lips over. It tends to be closer to a starting from scratch process," he said.
"Like that for example," she said.
"I am not they," he said. "Or perhaps I am no matter how much I'd like to refuse membership with everyone else," he added.
"No matter?" she asked.
"Like that for example?" he asked.

Shuddering vision
Diffused with closed eyes
Vulgar kissing sounds
Ushered in by your tired asshole
The distance is populated 
by the mean
Reading blank pages
curving into the everyday death
reawakened into coercion

- Max Stoltenberg