#Uploadingnature poem 1
This feels distinctly American
Standing in the woods
On a friends property upstate
Hundreds of wooden acres
Inhaling a cigarette
I feel my feet take roots and feel the generations
Who have worked this land
Shot deer and mountain lions here
This stolen land, now decidedly amerikkkan
I listen to the crickets chirp: tranquility
Spot a falcon
Gently release into the earth
Nature makes me so fucking horny
I watch the leaves change
The light skirting through the branches
Imagine the boy I love is with me
As I wonder who he’s with now that it’s over
Try to photograph another spotted deer for luck
Update a picture to facebook
Wish everyone I’ve ever loved was with me
Somehow maybe someday
I will fall fully into Walden’s pond
#Uploadingnature poem 2
Lately I’ve been idle
Bruce Benderson gave me this porn called “The Closed Set”
Swore it was the greatest gay porn ever
Released just before AIDS
Just before it was politically incorrect
To shoot a bunch of dudes in a warehouse thinking only of disco, dick, outfits, hairstyles, drugs, and ensuring everyone made it to the party
“what’s a condom!?”
So many different types of bodies writhing to the beat
Shooting piss and cum all over one another
This video really is a historical document
Proof the piers and warehouses were all the lore claim it to be
I wonder if it’d been different for me: me who has spent so much time alone
I prefer making S/M bondage submissive porn with women because I dont fall in love with them in the same way I do a guy. Working with women feels more playful, even lesbianic given my androgynous spirit. Shove a dildo into my ass as “you” rub your tits across my face and call me a sissy bitch. I feel honored becoming somewhat of a punching bag to release into. They are my sisters. And yet: I am taking away from the experience because I do find feminine bodies to be attractive however they also mistify
I want them to find someone more sincerely capable of being wholly for them. Afterall, I love dick. This doesn’t mean I only crave one night stands, short flings, or momentary encounters with alll kinds of dick, though I do, it more comes down to the fact I feel myself so much more capable of worshipping cock. Sucking on cock till cum shoots to the back of my throat. Riding cock. Tugging on uncuck choad as some dude tugs my hair and spanks my ass. Licking the head of a dick. Bouncing on a cock as someone else smacks my face with their penis. Jerking my own. I have had long term lovers and the majority tired of me before I even knew what was happening. So I’m not quite sure if my ability to love and worship one particular cock would go beyond a couple of years. Which is a lifetime in “gay time”, I understand, but maybe that’s the problem… I’ve never felt that connected to gay culture… But ever since Jr. High ended, gay cock’s are the kind of penis’s that are mainly readilly available for me. However, as I walk to this porn set to sub for a wild blatino girl I’d probably never cross paths with, I can’t help but smile.
Life is about searching for newness, evolving
Staring into the computer as if it were a void
Typing frenetically to appease the government
The NSA watchmen jerking it to my facebook updates
Weird people at parties whose names I never remember who “love my twitter feed”
Feeling nauseas when a tumblr icon enters a room
We’re the generation that gave up working for twerking
There are no jobs after all
Porn stars should read poetry and poets should jack off to porn stars
I’m no longer young
Nor was I ever really that much of a twink
Don’t turn into the guy who invented the segue
and road his idea off a cliff!
But I really hope the asshole who invented the flip open coffee cup lid has become so completely scalded by hot liquids he has to pay for all affection.
Who cares if it’s true or not, it makes me laugh.
Sometimes I scroll through yr photos online
I love my new touch screen laptop it makes scrolling so easy as I jack off to yr porn
As I imagine living with my current favorite porn star
Get so horny I keep jacking off / keep cumming
Till all I can do is stagger to the roof and stare at the clouds
Smoke a cigarette / feel completely full of life and empty as the whir of the trucks stalling out in the street below
And the sun breaking through the horizon
Somehow fills me with hope
Can you feel me, I wonder?
Then return to bed to write
Like you actually really love me
Like words mean you’re here holding me
Like symbols have meaning
So I could cherish you
And not only fill the room with cats and succulents
#Uploadingnature Poem 3
Life became absurd noises
Blurring lights, fragmenting days
Nights tossed to the reflecting ever-spinning disco ball
I thought if we spoke again I would scream
I thought if we fucked again I would weep
As you entered me you took my hair in your hand and I remembered this is the place I call home.
#Uploadingnature Poem 4
For a moment gravity failed and many animals, plants and earthly objects fell from the planets surface and their bodies spread apart into the sky to create the constellations.
The stillness of the forest has been forgotten: walking along a river in hushed conversation with a lover is no longer valued
instead everyone wants to connect to everyone
While walking along the freeway
I yell out to the terse drivers
inching forward, isolated, eyes fixated on the bumper of the car infront of them, jaws flapping as they scream into their earphones
I’m struggling to know with whom they’re communicating
What is so important
to forgo the present moment?
Sit at the computer and claw at the keyboard
Bang head against the enter cursor
Lick OKCupid images
Pour vodka over facebook invites
The party is in the “whose going” feed
Obviously we’ve all gone.
#Uploadingnature Poem 5
Sometimes when I’m writing poetry I feel like an Orangutan scratching at bark
Sometimes when I’m reading poetry to an audience I feel like a court jester performing to the new uneducated anarcho-fascist regime
I could suck on an infinite number of bodies but it’s only a spirit which I could love: a spirit, a spirit: without a body just a dumb and useless mind.
I speak English and know a few phrases in other languages
Not very communicative if compared to “other people”
Can you squeel like a child?
Or hum a Lady BlaBla Song while doing the dishes?
Beatriz Preciado enjoy’s what they have. The unique pleasure of writing in English, French, Spanish, of wandering from one language to another like being in transit between masculinity, femininity, and transsexuality. The pleasure of multiplicity. Three artificial languages, expanding as they become entangled, fight to become or not become a single language. Blend. Find their meaning only in this blending. Production among species. Beatriz writes about what matters most to them, in a language that doesn’t belong to them. This is what Derrida called the monolingualism of the other, none of the languages that they speak belong to them, and yet there is no other way to speak, no other way to love. None of the sexes they embody possess any ontological density, and yet there is no other way of being a body. Dispossessed from the start.
As we sleep I grab your cock and dream our skeletons are intertwined in a coffin for all eternity… long after the world’s forgotten, my bones remember the imprint of your fingers on my skin and imagine your cock in my ass which is now such a large empty cavernous void unable to grip and give any of the libertine pleasures we shared, our past-life crumbling into a decaying wooden container failing to keep our remains intact, I don’t see myself becoming anything else too soon, more dirt? maybe a root? maybe if I’m really nurturing the dirt will form a root which forms a plant that will be eaten by a gestating animal? Maybe then, enough of “me” will be there to nurture this “new spirit,” just as your pelvis, no longer capable of entering me.
Denial forces us to remain enchanted by the fact we are unnecessary.
You make me wanna sign onto Scruff
You make me want to smoke cigarettes outside a taxidermist storefront
But once you’ve read enormous amounts of poetry you realize it becomes impossible to distinguish from the poetic… Its not as some say as they search for “what is poetry”… Try succeeding in “not finding poetry.”
Sometimes I think you’re the only person I’m having a 4D interaction with
Sometimes I want to throw it all away and move across the world
But obviously that’s not gonna feel as good as blindfolding me so I can get sexy on it
All this mortality gots me hella horny
And I’m still hoping my skeleton will be wrapped around yrs
Why does every word and idea and affection that comes out of my mouth make me feel like I’m disintigrating into increasingly obscure fragments??
As Dan Choi explains to Mattilda Bernstein, there’s certainly a moral argument here…
But when you get there, there’s a bit of an anti climax…. it’s the imagining of what could be which is ethereal and dreamlike.
The more I work the less I am likely to be able to speak coherently
The more I work the less I am likely to put up with bullshit
The more I work the less I am likely to want to try to love you
The more I work the less I am likely to care about the space/time continuum
The more I work the less I am likely to feel happy
The more I work the less I will be able to handle intimacy
The more I work the harder it will be to say yes
The more I work the longer my face droops
The more I work the the more important my obsession with Bjork becomes
The more I work the more I crave poetry
I feel like there is a reason Hakim Bey moved to the middle of nowhere after writing T.A.Z.
Temporary Autanomous Zone turn into monsters
Can Radical Spaces foster individual dignity while taking free labour from its interns?
Who decides how heirarchies form?
Why did “my community” become all about shit talking and isolation?
Can you know the insides of a body without entering
Can you explain why I had to be trendy
It becomes all about “the zone” and the people “the zone” accumulates become exploitable
Like capitalism:::different orgy
Knowing my body doesn’t amount to much makes me wary
I feel ridiculed as I pull my body into a cloud
Knowing i will never belong knowing that my lover doesn’t “value” me once the orgy has begun in terms of the orgy knowing the orgy is my lovers hearts desire makes all the time we spend together feel completely lost like i cannot know who i am when i talk to my lover i feel like he and i are completely connected until the orgy comes and then i want to know who it is i am in love with because now i do not even know where my bed is because my cats are hungry and the last time i spoke to my lover he was mad at me for speaking to him and then i saw this little kid with long blonde hair sewing a dress and tickling my lover and i remember my lover explaining to me how he could love a 70 year old at 70 and i am now remembering that my cats are hungry and running to the store five blocks away to get cat food because my cat is hissing at one of the other cats from the stairwell and i’m meditating and imagining myself floating into the abyss into my lovers face as he fucks this young boy and wakes looking so contented in his ego and i have disappeared into language i’m looking at my past wondering if there is any connection to the connection that once presented itself and i’m listening to my lover tell me a story that is about ten years ago and i’m wondering if because that lover laughed at my lover that means my lover is laughing at me and i’m laughing in my dreamlike state because i’m in my lovers sweater feeding my cats and i want to masturbate i fantasize his dick in my ass since he’s obviously busy enough to let me write and let me chug whiskey as karen dalton strums her guitar and i think about meeting other people but he said he might come over so i wait decide against it i am in love and i am tired and want to see my lover because he makes me happy or makes me want to be good to myself or forgets me and I go crazy and wonder why I let him lead me to sit here alone all night my cat keeps scratching at my door and i decide to roll a spliff in order to feel like i can feel again and i wonder why the moon which isn’t quite full feels like its full because obviously my soul is starving:
Evolutionary scientists looking at long dead predators cannot fathom the psyches of the animals they speculate the lives of:
Can you see in my skeleton the verbal damage which caved my body?
Silence = Honesty
Too Self Assure
Or will the new form of predation humans use to become apex-predators slyly bypass the physicality of our existence?
Love shouldn’t make me want to scream things I don’t mean
Love shouldn’t make my mind wander crazy into nothingness
Love should’t make me feel like a void
Love shouldn’t make me utterly alone
Love shouldn’t make me cry
Love shouldn’t make me
I wanted your spirit
I wanted your body
I wanted your mind
I wanted your charm
I wanted your grin
I wanted your hoarding
I wanted your creations
I wanted your diligent fingers
I wanted your hair
I wanted your tongue
I wanted your childhood stories
I wanted your performances
I wanted your sarcasms
I wanted your curiosity
I wanted your ability to manifest
I wanted your bellybutton
I wanted your morning smell
I wanted you
I wanted you
I wanted you
I wanted you to be
the first thing
in the morning
so I’d know the day was beautiful