Today’s breaches are sealed,
mended with iron irony. Dare not to smile today, commuters… It may rip your jaw line ear-to-ear like a dull scalpel opening a morbid grim. Today‘s a bum waking up in the gutter as indifferent steps hustle to work. Today’s an idiot, a retard. Mundane is a bully emerging from the crowd and punching you in the stomach. Today’s a walk down crackland lawless nest governed by glass pipes, urine and toxic haze of burning plastic Today's decaying humanity aliens in the alley fidgeting to be fixed.
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Her sex was of the fragrance of ancient virginity,
and yet her heat by itself could teach an atomic explosion of tantric moves to Sasha Grey. We fucked all night long a fair, clean fuck with no booze or pot, not even music none of the bullshit strangers need to take to loosen up. Just a straight forward Vanilla fuck all night long, Me in and out of her holes an open kamasutra book smushed somewhere along the bed she howled "YEAH PUT IN THE FRONT DADDY" and I gave her enough cum to inseminate all of her one hundred billion eggs My urethra expanding like a seven seat Jacuzzi of bubbling jizz for her to ease her dark body. My whole life, all ever did was to look outside the window of a train leading to the abyss, but then her ecstasy reflected mine and her satisfied smirk cued me to all black and then all silence: I gave her the seed of Life In exchange for the best fuck of my Death. I'M
watching a green guy coming down the sky: he's wearing an open parachute and the more he falls even more the ground sinks. SO mid-air he floats, helpless standing-by. the more he goes lower, the more he gets HIGH. Nevermind the dead bird,
It's a perfect weather the stone falls from the top down to the hill's nether Physically exhausted but mentally O.K. Sisyphus feels chipper today Bills paid on time plastic in the recycling bin sometimes his boulder gets easier to spin Focus on fulfilling fate: back aches but humor is O.K. Sisyphus is happy today. Instructions:
friends, what the fuck is happening to us? what the hell is our generation? are we all depressed, lost and bored? how many times a day you contemplate the possibility of suicide? how many seconds does it take for you to check your phone again, and again, and again, again, again, waiting for happiness to reply your desperate texts? is there any nexus left among us? is there a foundation to hold our discontent? our disillusion? our apathy? our impairing self-centerness and need to escape? is all of it just another joke, meme, caricature? the pleasure from liking and being liked became distortion stirring us away from meaning and core. Narcissism. Boredom. I want to smash computers I want the city to go insane I want it to STOP I want orgy to spread like a virus that makes us STOP striving for money and mc donalds I want to scream in Portuguese and be understood by every language because the pain riding our generation has no nationality, owns no house, has no will except for shallow ideals and masturbation and forced orgasms. I want to not to want I want nudity and lack of options. I want your approval shoved up your asshole. I want to kiss what is ugly vapid dumb and forgotten.Books tend to pile Cords tend to tangle Toasts tend to burn Heads tend to turn Poems tend to rhyme Revolt tends to crime Things tend to trend Empires tend to end Skins tend to wither Summer tends to winter Sunrise tends to dusk Humans tend to lust Mouths tend to yawn Sleep tends to dawn Stars tend to fade Hearts tend to break What is this cold?
Is it the winter wintering? Is it the passion fizzling? Is it the fear awakening? Is it the void unpacking? It is all of that, Matheus... But like your favorite poet once said: Don't kill yourself. I wish I was a castrato:
My balls are just as useless as if i had none, and at least i'd be able to reach higher notes. snow, snow, snow,
milky sky, snow. snow, snow, snow, blank page, snow. snow, snow, snow, taciturn walls, snow. snow, snow, snow, just go away, just leave snow! (Vignette: Santa Claus is roadkill buried in slush. I saw a snow-plow truck hit him and run, and pedestrians were too cold for dialling 911. His requiem are tires wailing on ice, wind howiling through a breach in the window. I too feel much indifferent to alarm anyone. Continue) snow, snow, snow, warm sex left long ago, but you, snow, refuse to go. so I wait, snow, snow, snow, like spleen in the refrigerator I too am cold, cold, cold. snow, snow, snow, you muffle the scream in my naked soul. snow, snow,snow I trickle more jizz, for I too snow. No matter how much he prayed
Mr. Cox would never fuck. He was poor, ugly, annoying and bad in bed. When finally, prayers answered, Mr. Cox won the lottery. Hastily he flew his life to eastern Europe, where he made out of his days gathering tier one hookers and having orgies for breakfast, lunch, dinner and all meals before and after and in between. Oh, and how Mr. Cox banged! banged! banged! Banged every bang without condom. Banged until he was sick of banging. Mr. Cox contracted so many kinds of STD's That, one night, his cum turned into acid, burning by accident his favorite girl's, Alenka, angelical face. The event snapped him out of his dick's brain and the guilt grew so laden that Mr. Cox then made himself celibate, withdrew to an Orthodox monastery where he waited up to his last day to die of AIDS. up wrapping his farts, his yawns in the blankets,
striving on his lazing, his slow stretches, he rolls on the bed, waits for the banquet... a still mummy, lacking worries and edges. day in day out and nothing is achieved but for a new procrastination goal. night in night out and nothing is conceived... a wingless airplane than him has more role Who's that sloth, so tired of the not doing? He eats, sleeps, complains, jerks-off, sighs, repeats... born bum, who vagrancy is pursuing, I wonder how his heart keeps on its beats... Look! He stood up! and on his feet he goes! pat him on the back for stirring up his toes! empty room; empty plate
no windows, no doors you just sit there and wait. empty room; empty state no future, no past just you and the glass plate. empty room, empty faith no clothes, no mattress waiting there like a dead weight. empty gloom; empty date no sanity; no kiss just you and that dish - you wonder how it will taste. I wanted to go West.
I was very excited. I got on the bus. Still excited. 8 hours latter I found out that I had gone the wrong way, far up North; almost a straight line. So I hated myself every second of the 8 hours trip back South. The next day I told myself I wouldn't be silly and that I HAD to get on the right bus. I went North again. I went south back again. The third day came and this time I checked 100 times the ticket and the number of the bus and the time of its arrival. I got on. I was excited and a bit anxious. The West vibrated for me, the horizon like warm lips waiting for my kiss... ...and there I was up North. again. And back south. Again. I woke up. a nightmare within a nightmare within a nightmare. I looked Out: the landscape rolling to the snoring road; and Inside: the steady low hum of the engine; my legs semi-numb, consolidated on the bus seat. One more hour and I'd be there. It seemed to be snowing about 80 miles ahead. We are smudges of bones and placental blood
On the defiled skin of Earth We are white noise spinning regressively around the clock we are landfills of skyscrapers mass graveyard of expectations We are always online Always on time logging in and out for cheap laughter rush of petty grievances food for narcissism We knee for holes thriving in the sky molecular machines hunting its blue making it another good for us to buy We ask “how much for a pack of cigarettes and a bit of sunshine?” We are fabricating a new kind of disease A phantom virus A plague besieges our steps An addiction beats like a vital organ We are scarce of oxygen and friends and peace of mind But we drag around this device in our cocoons Saying, Hey add me on Facebook follow me on Instagram You see how #happy I am? You see this pic? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it? Motherboard, Do you like it? We are on standby mode We are alone in our dim cubicles Venerating a white apple of light We see Eden But it’s just augmented reality We are reckless parents putting our babies to charge We are all smiles for cameras We are jelly jolly brains on kebab sticks as mouths of quantum computers salivate I force myself to write.
I force myself talking to you... nothing personal - I don't feel like talking to anyone. I'm tired of Brazilian culture. I'm tired of North American culture. I get sick of any culture if I live long enough into it. I'm in Limbo. I need to drink alone to keep going - it makes me sick. I'm sick of myself. I'm sick of my thoughts. I'm sick of my boredom. I'm sick of my desires. Nothing makes me more or less important than the baby who just died or the king who lived 300 years. Nothing makes me better or worse than the child dying of starvation this very moment. My speech is redundant. My complaints are irrelevant and so are yours. I can shut myself into silence and it won't make any difference. I could die at any given moment. I'm a fart in geological time. I'm insignificant and I'm aware of it. Any thought of validating my existence is just arrogance and ignorance. the universe is fucked up. My sex life is a desert where skeletons pile up beyond the horizon.
I could rape a cactus. imagine you have legs
they say "don't walk" imagine you have hands they say "don't touch" Imagine you have a mouth they say "don't eat" imagine you have lungs they say "don't breath" Imagine you have a cock they say "don't fuck" well, the last one isn't imagination. Fabricated flavors mask the insipidity of the styrofoam on their plates.
Clouds of algorithms smother the city: the city of optical fiber and efficiency the city where one cannot differ a person from an electron the city weighs the weight of a silicon Titan the city is a sophisticated, well-educated, hi-tech beast, shitting plastic mountains on top of trees, fishes, humans, etc, etc - in short: organic obsolescence . Someone from the city read too much French Existentialism it bought a gun, took an elevator to the moon and watched a recyclable planet get trapped on its on web. It shot itself in the head: it would never bleed. What is sadder than a full box of condoms that has been resting, untouched, inside your drawer for over two years now?
Writing about it. Then God said: "let there be light," and there was vagina.
"Lust is typing"
staring anxiously at that warning was all I could be as I waited for her to reply. It kept getting warmer in my crotch; more frantic in my chest; and the anticipation made me come twice before I finally got her text on my screen: "hey" was all that she responded. I came again. Then God said: "let there be light," and there was penis.
masturbation is milk
when your genitalia cries. |
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