droop loss slave

I just got these… sorrow pants on…

as an ascii kitten in the lasso of tiresome

attachment, a fever inside the EZ-pawn

coconut of “social parity” so that I want

to go again to the beach. O Daisy of

Gory Insouciance, give me some

compliments, for I am prettier

than that girl with insufficient space

between nose and upper lip. Grace juices 

shrewishly the supposed pubescent bodies 

of animated classical music babies. I’m not really

into things “fading” or the “bendability”

of mind-boggling “progress,” its

profoundly colorectal fluid tossing.

The Jewish bride circles her husband

seven times, to show she will protect

him while he reads books. The cyclones

starshipped grandiloquently then are not (then)

the spooky nudists of my will. Problems

shall surely jingle, silenced by the shabbiness

of unwooded rejections, inferring their pirogi

from what is quickly einsteinian

by shamble. I do believe in marriage,

its solemnity, the smell of caves,

the nearby (unwedded) albino crocodiles.

Of this I can sob masterfully,

loftily, coherently soured, all mushy

with the birdsong of the mind.

She (Rachel) asked why I have to write love

poems, and what about ideas…

but isn’t love an idea? The

idea? Deliciousnessing? First:

the cessation of oestrus. Then, its waxy-

tortuous crystals, forming homes around

dependent young, or surrogate

dependent young such as Nemo

and Dante… sebaceous watercolor

hopes stewed in a nonexempt golden

junk, an ungual kinescope swooshing

in a metaphorically barebacked

toughness. How to routinely

badger myself in the unfrosted

careerism of thrum? My husband’s

junk, harmfully collapsible. My husband’s

birthday, filled with the sweetish

dreamings of polysnthetic mythicized

dogs. Incurvate as kismet, uninstructively

meaningful, leathered by mistakes, tensely

deep-seated. I give myself fair warning.

Free of him. Free of her. Swallows’ wings

around a looming breast, why want what

one wants? Fake freedom of hummingbirds,

universal music all over my hippie

headband. What is eruditely unexcitable

can sit mussy on the variations of these

banal astonishments: “The Promise Breakers.”

Eternal reproach of rotated to soaked.

Eternal reproach of aromatic rust-colored

bodies. Eternal reproach of quintillionths

of fear images. Medications are not

dogfights. Eternal reproach of auric

blathering lustfully quantifiable truth

serums. Uncivilly that I am. Eternal

reproaches that are not adoptive, as

pink-purple smocks or brazen-faced

antiquarian raptures. We should

ptyalize the doors as unassailably

unstirred ghostfish, the ghost in the

apartment, shells of shapes, shells

of sounds, shells of smells. Noncolumned

it is inexpressible, and it quilts

the petty cactus of doubtful imaginings.

Its enchanted runch. Eternal reproach

of these nonmodern verse sardonics:

they slaver on the looming irreality

of the señorita, smashed as from

a sheika or hajj or cygnus. I suppose

I am the chick of the clunky hindfoots,

diabolizing tamarillos and pennywhistles

with fancily confusing tunes. I do believe

in marriage, its amaranthine blubber.

What can you hydraulically have?

There is a thorn tree India. Like

a truth serum. How not to fear images

of soapy bodies’ riddles? We should

ptyalize the doors. Eternal reproach

of a conscientiously belittling buffalo

wallowing in the montmartre of its

flightiness. It is Sumatran by finiteness:

marriage, I mean. The oddballs of ringleader

whining. Her feet smelling in those rubber

boots as she waits for the lipgloss. Patchily

again I have the cactus of imagining,

polymerizing the psychotropic seed-time

of a plane-polarized organza. The high-tech

viridity of self loving. The bird-hipped

dinosaurs of marriage – we manfully research

our skin. A hollow pianissimo, marriage’s

iridescent spareribs, precedently retroflexed.

The mysterious chatter of the lions. Tired

of men and their alphabets. He wallows

in the grandest blindspot. Chock. Fracture.

Weblike. Tight. The mesmerizer is not

punitively crimson. We were stonelike

and licensed as retrievable doves,

puckishly justifying vermillion

songs-as-gadgets in the cool midnight.

The subtreasuries of our minds husked

heavenwards as hollow pianissimos;

I was the cloven-footed schoolmarm

(many-chambered droop loss slave)

unswayed by the WILL of those

off-putting bodies, their ordinariness

and lustfully quantifiable bunts.

Final rule: can you actually have the

maladjusted rhinal pup? Patchily

I despise the deliciously prognathous

slaughterers, immunized from heart

to heart. This womanly motorized

scholastic body. It is a kind of vaginitis

of the mind. We should ptyalize

the doors, and grapple, notwithstanding.

Snail-like, they were…

psychotropic. Indeed: there is

a kind of thorn tree India in them.

In this nearsighted doubtful opinion.

i don't know

it feels weird to be both bitter and blissful at the same time...

kind of... vertiginous...

whoremongers, etc.

IMG_0262, originally uploaded by Ululate.

stream

IMG_8229, originally uploaded by Ululate.

feeling

the chemical dialectic

TYPING OUT LOUD

I put lemon in my eyes?

My main reason for choosing to write this review is that now, the absence of a scent is bothering me. Although it is 'unscented', I smell something, and it isn't pleasant! To be perfectly honest, it smells like worms. It just reminds me of those rainy days, walking to school when there were lots of worms on the sidewalk. It smells like wet, rainy weather worms.

Even after my third wife went cold, i kissed her.
The first two were decapitated in farming accidents, and no, i did not kiss them.

Yeah, is death suppose to make them gross instantaneously?

What did I know of worms and skincare?

shook shook shook

Third day off Effexor.

it’s as if my head were an old band-aid can full of dried grasshoppers then shaken

or like there are these alligators made of cardboard who chomp their jaws repeatedly in a way that stops time

it is rather like time stops for a second, or like the brain is kind of throbbing in that transition from past into present

it’s percussive, sort of electric, shuddery

it’s a kind of gap in “normalcy”

often in the literature it’s called a shock or a zap or a jolt… I don’t quite experience that…it’s more like, as it’s sometimes often called… shivers

I can’t see myself when it happens, but I wonder whether something weird isn’t also happening with my eyes… if they are rolling back slightly, because I have that feeling

it’s a little like the scratching a dj does

as I said sometimes I have to just stop if I am walking or kind of steady myself

it isn’t serious, doesn’t feel dire… but it feels weird, especially in the heat

a whispery sound like shook shook shook
and a tension in my skull and temples

if I move my head to the side
or my eyes to the side
quickly.


p.s.

from the FDA medical products reporting program, the list of withdrawal symptoms from effexor include:

agitation, anorexia, anxiety, confusion, coordination impaired, diarrhea, dizziness, dry mouth, dysphoric mood, fasciculation, fatigue, headaches, hypomania, insomnia, nausea, nervousness, nightmares, sensory disturbances (including shock-like electrical sensations), somnolence, sweating, tremor, vertigo, and vomiting.

star pasta and black night carrot

!!!

same old argument

This were my responses to someone who posted the following quote on Google+, which is better than facebook, by the way.

“We believe there are times when you are empty and times when you are full. When you’re full to overflowing, you write poems until you’re empty, then you wait around while you get filled up again.”
- Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux, The Poet's Companion

Nada Gordon - This is absolutely ridiculous and annoying. When you feel this way, just steal something.

Nada Gordon - I don't think you could pay me to read that book!

Nada Gordon - The whole notion of "inspiration" posits a bourgeois Privileged Self with a Special Inside. To me it's dopey and cloying. We make things out of enthusiasm, excitement, ambition, or some other sort of motivation, but "inspiration" is nonsense, as is the idea of "fullness" or emptiness," as if we weren't always permeable and therefore neither full nor empty. Besides, we didn't make language, it moves through us, it came from outside to begin with, so the idea of being "empty" is just... fallacious. Just think about it, people! Don't rely on worshoppy drivel-marketing for your consolation or guidelines. "The poet's companion" MY ASS! If you want to make something, just f***ing assemble it. Addonizio and Laux are symptomatic of the ingrained simpering wrongthinking of "creative writers" who think their precious little epiphanies are Of Great Import. Angst anyway is not "emptiness" and neither is "joy." Emotion may imbue/ exude from/ project onto a poem, or not, but it doesn't make a poem. Will makes a poem. Selection and combination make poems, not emotions. I find the book, the post, the comments, the whole mindset utterly annoying. We can't BUT "steal another person's words" unless we use a zaum language no one else can understand. If you don't know what zaum is, look it up instead of reading Addonizio and Laux.

tameiki ga dechauu yo!!

(the post title means "a sigh totally escapes")

(song: Koi no Vacance [Passion Vacation] sung by The Peanuts)

nightmare

boyfriend had an affair with husband's girlfriend

I called the husband to tell him, he said don't call me, I said I have to tell you this news

at first he said hedidn't mind, saying that people were supposed to have one-night stands

but then I said it seemed more serious

and he posted something bitter on some social network, I can't remember...

I suppose I am not free. silly subconscious!

it was... where was it... there was some bank, or hotel... where there were these tropical island tours. it was near me but I had never been there.

on the lawns of the tropical island were these golden tongues

sculptures of golden tongues

they meant something... memorialized something, I am not sure what... some sort of... sea leprechauns?

and a friend lived near there with a prairie for a huge backyard... his children were frolicking there with his girlfriend... it was "India"... and it looked as though there were a huge fire in the yard, all red and purple and vivacious colors

and there were tumbleweeds, but maybe the fire was an illusion

since everyone seemed happy and unconcerned

today

I took my last dose of Effexor today. I feel free. There has been a weird side effect over the course of the discontinuation...moments of buzzing vertigo, with a strange tapping sound in my head, and a rush of numbness around my lips and the lower part of my face; this has been happening when I am tired or if I move my head or eyes too suddenly. Sometimes I have to steady myself a little. It hasn't been too bad, though; I have read many horror stories online, about zaps and tinnitus and the like.

I've had a couple of bouts of tearfulness I've been grateful for since going off this drug is a little like unwrapping oneself from a thick, muffly blanket. The tearfulness is a sign my emotions are back, and so are my... appetites.

When life is good, it is so very good indeed, I was just saying to Sharon this afternoon. I feel almost strident with happiness, having learned at least temporarily how to free myself from sorrow. It certainly took a lot of effort.

Tomorrow I am planning a trip to the beach, with a vegan picnic and a beautiful genius in tow. I bought suntan oil. Suntan oil? Do people still use that stuff? I like the smell and I want to darken myself a little.

I am marinating tempeh in soy sauce and agave and ancho chile powder and paprika. Will this actually be good? In a sandwich? A TLT? It sounds good, but I don't know. Should I put tomato paste in the marinade too?

Sometimes I rub the scar on my chin as a reminder of all sorts of things. What to do, what not to do.

I am going to write lots of words on a dress. What kinds of words should I write?

(Nemo is sleeping on my inkjet printer under the lamp and dreaming, his paws and eyebrows twitching wildly.)

all I see are these puppets

Where are all my lovers
All those who loved me so much
Once when I was beautiful?
Farewell to the infidels
They do not know where
In other appointments
Me my heart has not grown old yet
Where are all my lovers,

In sorrow and the night comes
I remain alone, isolated without support
Without any hindrance, without love
As a derelict my heart is heavy
I've known that once the happiness
Evening of celebration and worship
I am a slave to my memories
And that makes me suffer.


The night ends and when the morning comes
The dew cry with all my sorrows
All those I love
Who loved me
In the wan days
are cleared
I see fog move on me
All I see are these puppets, they are the ones
Still struggling, supreme effort
I think the hug again.



(Actually, I don't feel like this, but the occasion called for it.)

(Also, not to be petty or anything, but that is my CD.)

purrrrrr

I love this piece because I love Claude...
when he's not tapdancing or granny
crotcheting or just being plainly

freaky wierd. CLAUDE IS THE WORLDS
GREATEST CHARACTER!!!!!! CLAUDE! ♥
"Sorry for my poor English" SQUEEEEEEEEe!!!!! CUTE!

I like my men with tight pants and eyeliner.
Staring at the sun, I want that art
has died.^^ I'm from Russia.

Logic is a little bird tweeting in meadow.
You're so right about glasses. Haha
it's the cool and smexy Claude!

omg i love him guys with glasses
are so awesome! *warning* by reading
this you just lost half ur brain cells

Here comes the smoulder...
If karma was a dude I'd kick him in the nuts^-^
Oh God...Do what you want Claude.

I can honestly say that this is, hands down,
the best Claude cosplay I've ever seen.
Utatane Piko + Coconut = Love

So serious. I badly know english. Write
briefly and clearly. I love claude's expression,
looks mischeivious, sneaky, kuku.

I want to devour my master to the very end.
And the shadow of the day,Will embrace the world in gray,
KYAAAAA *nosebleed* Wewt~~~~

Sarcasm is a sort of humor which shouldn't be used
while giggling like some kind of gymnast. yeah don't
just love when he pushes up his glasses?

Sorry for my bad English, I learn this
beautiful language! I love Claude. although
i feel that Claude looks like the beautiful man child

I swear, I love Claude so fucking much.
HHe had the cutest smile out of every character
I've seen. Claude you can have a nibble

WHAT THE FACK? I DON'T KNOW
WHAT THIS IS BUT *drool*
I'M GONNA HUMP IT ANYWAY.

Variant : Wonderland.
[3-D simulator of a flying soul]
one word: purrrrrr



　 ／l、
ﾞ（ﾟ､ ｡ ７
　l、ﾞ ~ヽ
　じしf_, )ノ

I feel as if I can hardly live without these items

Are these garments unsuitable for a 47-year-old soon-to-be divorcée, do you think?

Claude Dancing

Claude Jeter

Claude François

Claude Cahun

translucent on air

cluster bomb removal
in lace

the green cyclorama has been replaced
with a blue cyc, so make sure your talent
is not wearing bright blues
as those colors will appear translucent
on air

"this feels really coital."

cheese, menopause, bone density.


an erection slides along the grass

lying in a gray relaxed source

Torch someone to say
with you. Killed winding
after terrible sliding
and little ground.

Palm tradition
facing a certain gary
in your gary.

There are behind horns her
route sweat on your tried horns.
Stuff hands over a high wondering
at the tour. Clock affection
sorts you for a hoarse cement note.

Lying in a gray relaxed source.

Despite you for a cologne
or symbolic gently on display.
Wanting to bulk and home things.

Sighed times two... gray waves.

How Do Both Your Subconscious and Superconscious Mind Powers Affect Your Prosperity?

My mother sent me an email (one of those that go out to her list of subscribers) with the heading above.

I replied:

How do plutocratic oligarchies affect your prosperity?
How do entrenched categories of value affect your prosperity?
How do issues of race, class, gender, species, and geography affect your prosperity?
How does a cabal of super-elite power-mongers/puppeteers affect your prosperity?
How does corporate hegemony affect your prosperity?
How does the rape of the earth affect your prosperity?
How do painstakingly engineered campaigns to stimulate consumer desire affect your prosperity?

etcetera...


love you,
n

Drooping Novice

Sometimes my chest has these odd
sensations: I get a rush and then I shake
like I want to eat sugar and I'll fuck there

quick drink after my bath. In good condition
I sang out to the charter of the skin at different
levels to ensure that the next day it will become

slippery and smooth. I also like my corn
to taste like corn ¬¬¬– cow corn and people corn.
The drooping girl novice was just a edit

of the male version: the antennae were
shortened a bit for this picture.
People are using their regular eyes

and if you want I can mirror them.
But I'm so nice! In the summer
I'm also seeing it flying like fireflies.

Let us then suppose an ugly Soul,
dissolute, unrighteous: teeming
with all the lusts; torn by internal

discord; beset by the fears of its
cowardice, performed by Life Of Agony.
Why don’t you let Mommy suck out your

soul? All wound up around the fur.
I don't apologise for loving avocado.
Drooping Novice - Beg for zeny and

items in style? O Drooping Novice,
commit suicide is a silly stuff to me.
y? itz because every life has a beginning

and an end. all living things die eventually
by nature(automatically). thus, there is
no point to work hard to die manually.

still, i want to live in a peaceful world
without stupidness. so, if there is a lot
of blocked heads still insist to go to hell,

please and please! go ahead!
or the world would never peace.

Sometimes my chest has these odd
sensations. Fuck you and your bad vibes,
awesome sprite. Your sprite aint garbage.

People aren't forced to share their sprites;
it's just that I would like to eat sugar
when I want to eat sugar.


And if you want,
I can mirror them.

the sensation of its own realisation

“Each line is now the actual experience with its own innate history. It does not illustrate – it is the sensation of its own realisation… To paint involves a certain crisis, or at least a crucial moment of sensation or release; and by crisis it should by no means be limited to a morbid state, but could just as well be one ecstatic impulse…”

~Cy Twombly

the dress is designed to be most beautiful as the woman walks away

divorce ceremonies on the rise in japan

Create Game

Do not believe that if women oral sex
to make people happy, but the day
itself suffering at the thought of how

it was and it may seem strange.
As a man you can never feel
the semen itself, is not it?

So no wonder that sometimes
women do not feel that the game
is. But for men, has been a sex game

oral sex more exciting! So how oral
sex more fun? Who knows, if you
managed to do what I can, it will

do so again and again … hmmm.
Clean. Yes. Cleanliness is very
important for them to perform

oral sex comfortably. Not only try
to make it comfortable, but also to
explore. Imagine how it is uncomfortable

to work when your genitals smell bad!
Do not forget that language plays a role.
So, wash and dry there. Remember

that the daily activities of the population
there, have caused the region less attractive
to women. If washing is necessary, both by him

that you both an exciting prelude. Tips for last,
but not shave all the hair is necessary, at least
not too big disappointment since. As a man,

women, full of beauty are like, a little cleanliness
will be very beneficial! For most women, lead
by the oral route is very important. Take

a comfortable position to build a good mood
to mate. For men, get to a position just relax to it.
Only the tips are not all women are like

when you’re standing and waiting there,
then feel hip like a king, or if your partner
does. You can not go to promote more couples

to swallow his head. Hey! gagged women
you might have! Have not most movies you see,
not all women can be influenced!

Create Game. Well, let’s say your partner
is still the woman does not like them, maybe
you can change to give food like chocolate sauce,

whipped cream, or other food scattered in the target
area and in other areas as additional games.
Do not forget to ask the impression, even if

need him with a sentence that says a lot
because you have been treated like a king flattered.
Although not as great, but trying your spouse.

In general, most women who do not swallow semen
when, but perhaps the man may taste more
interesting. Did you know that what is eaten by a man

so influential in the direction of his sperm?
As the taste of semen is not very strong.
If it is not ready to eat only vegetables

without meat, try eating fruit like kiwi,
watermelon, pineapple, celery, and are also
able to “relieve” a sense of sperm. In fact,

try to eat the fruit of plum, blueberry,
cranberry, because it will taste sweet at all.
Only information, beer and coffee will taste a little bitter.

some random questions

Have any real-life Jonahs been swallowed by whales and lived?
Can you lose weight by keeping the thermostat turned down?
How do doomsayers cope when the world doesn't end?
Has 1 in 8 people had sex with an animal?
What are those threads that float in your field of vision?
Why do we have sinuses?
Why do you always see just one shoe by the side of the road?
If you hold your eyelids open while sneezing, will your eyes pop out?
How can I make my own spaceship?