Cynical Notes from Today

Starboard Somba nova and all of the sequined sour salts know about the peppered future, firing fixtures fixating on the French and the f*****g philanthropy of possibility.. 

It's too f*****g early for jazz and bald a******s reverberating out of the speakers beakers and reapers - stiff and blonde and skeletal pungent questions marking my eyes and shadows of eyes and spiraling ears and red shirts everywhere. Advantageous pennies and copper tinted luck reflects on windows of banks and blue crystal eyes of blonde statuesque spindly spines. Aerodynamic globes are rubbernecking busty moons. 

Golden leaves and platinum agendas and webs of bitchy spiders dangle over head. The skies give way to the dusty clouds and the excreted salt powder of eager jets. Squirrels scurry and scratch in mirrored glass skylines, up and down dreams of trees and updated seeds, for all that is needed is one large tree to seed and shadow all of our peeling prejudices- or skins are tight and our masks smile false teeth along with false testimonies. I would sigh but sighing is cliche. 

I would say I do not belong here but I'm afraid that I do. Along with all the other hard boiled skulls are asses that prance and egg on my glowing eyes. Dance to distract from the inevitability of it all, laughter is closer to death that you think. Scattered flowers and green hues of radiated color from the source of the splendid unknown. A giant head of Gandhi smiles sheepishly as he herds his good will and fortune towards others near and far. I sit in the middle of the circle and gander at other questioning consciousnesses, so busy on the inside when they should be living thru their eyes outside of themselves. 

These damn squirrels are distractions to my simpleminded unhurriedness, quick and dashful strides up and down the corridors of light. A brave squirrel hops up my hill and makes his way over to me, coming incredibly close and without fear, probably in search of food or company. I say hello and he comes closer. I pull out my camera but he runs off, bashful. Bashful and foolish I feel with the phone-thing, writing this in my quiet solitude yet aware of the limited distraction it really is from the light of day; and everybody else does it, spines forever bent at a forty five degree angle. The crust of my thoughts settle around me in the dewy grass and the bugs probe with question. 

Yes I sleep in the grass aware of all the tiny curious bugs that crawl over my being. I sleep soundly until the sun peaks the tree and dots my vision with myodysopsic bubbles layered under my eyelids. How long can I sit in silence and just watch the world revolve? In quiet stoicism pretend to smile within myself as birds try to make friends with squirrels with itchy hands and humanoid faces. Wheels spin and disturb and rattle the soul out of the skull. Shake rattle and roll baby. 

Maintaining ambiguity behind brunette trimmed glass of shades, watching blindly to others but as observant as a fly. Glancing over thighs and the bisextion of legs (the center of the universe) seeking golden sorrows and ripened morrows --- fleshy pink and purple from ivory to voided black breathing structures rendered by the sun and the moons love child earth. 

Squirrels scaling trees like paved roads with their tiny tidy hands, hanging by hangnails. A swarm of humans come directly my way, a bunch of my deformed transgendered skeletons than appear to be lesbionic in nature. Again a squirrel approaches me. Wonder if it is the same one. Alone I sit and watch the paired order of the laws of nature blossom and bloom and squeak out of squirrels throats. Alone in my singularity. By my self in this life and alone in the previous. The same hungry and scared soul in a different shell, recycled. What are the colors in between colors? 

Staring into the vast blue until it blurs into nothing. Planes scar the canvas with its trail of traffic & spiders with their vast network of interlinked webs. 

I Taste the chemical history on my tongue. Drinking from plastic water knowing well that in 1947 the same water was composed as a black mans t**d, and later in 1976,was apart of the genital lubrication of the creation of a recycled baby. 

The Suns hot breath is again on my neck. It has peaked the tree and will continue to rise until it can find me. I must move. The racket of modern digitalized orchestra stirs my meditation. Can you see yourself from their perspective--or even the squirrels? You can only turn your head so far--if you want to look farther you must stand and move. 

Female Passerbyers of exotic alien filter strut and stir the  emotions of other opposite gendered passerbyers, rousing phallic devices to seek the slimy source. Statues of mothers holding smiling babies holding globes in their tiny hands. I can see Australia from this angle. Little girl and boy runs near. Chasing squirrels they declare the object of their attack, yelling the vowels and twisting consonants off their ruby tongues, Squirrel, Skwhirl, skwerle, they are able to form these words yet don't know anything about them. 

Cranes and drones stalk the planet and eat and shape the inside out. Kind of odd isn't it that all us animals have the same basic structure -- hands and ears and whatnot. It seems lately on another note that miscellaneous things of everything have become only distractions from the fact that we are all alive --- which only means that we are dead. 

I contemplate the worst logics of life and stress on the world realistically like a bubble about to pop. Bubbles and demons remind me of Shelby. Shelby was a b***h, is a b***h, a vile sociopath whom yet I put up with simply for the sex. But the scars show. Sometimes I cannot handle her insanity. The other night I tried to kill her by blowing bubbles into her p***y, but it didn't work and the c**t ended up firing off gaseous queefs right in my face as I was trying to eradicate & sedate this primal beast from above ground. I hope to succeed in planting Shelby somewhere, if she does not plant herself on her own soon.

Author's Note

Just some notes.

Reviews

[Gaston Villanueva]

Shake rattle and roll baby haha
The bubble, i can see Australia from this angle, a bunch of my deformed, transgendered skeletons, etc
I like how you describe Fresno State. I chuckled when you brought up the Ghandi statue
Really great stuff here Max

[Chadvonswan]

Its all for the humans. thanks for reading man