(no subject)

This system is flawed,
This way of communication.
It's the way thought transfers from words through my fingers again
Into these languages that we set the pace with,
To draw out a conversation that we all feed ourselves with daily,
until we get sleepy from staring at a daydream,
That could have or should have better but didn't.
I can explain, but I can't make it simple,
Because it's too easy to just reach the light switch and flick it.
Shut it off and go to sleep at the first sign of disinterest.
But I don't want to make any kind of hidden assumptions or decisions.
These are symptoms of a person who got lucky.
Impossibilities to use integrity effectively.
Flawed chemistry. 8 week long sobriety checkpoint.
Muffled voice. No choice but to fight the sight,
And the sounds and the noise.
That's the chaos within.
My patience runs thin, and it's useless to beat a horse when it's dead,
So I will find a way to release the ideas in my head,
To put everything in its right place.
Until I'm in the grave.
Until everything is canceled and given cancer of the brain.
Collapsing every day.
It's a facade when I say there's nothing wrong with me.
Trying to keep it together - one piece.
One story I can't forget, under my breath.
I still remember how it stormed all day when you left.
These raindrops keep falling on my head,
and one can try to think forever-it will work until they're dead.
Until they're the margins in the page.
Cauterized and vague, until the focus separates the vision from the space,
Where it's understood and made into memories and events with a time and a place.
I can't help but quarantine what i say.
Keep it in a frame where the colors never fade.
Did you want to know my name?

(no subject)

there's a certain way i feel tonight
i would call it purified, but that would be a lie
so for the time being i'm just going to write
and put it all down on a paper wrist i slice
and my eyes are rarely capitalized
so they have an iris with which to have sight
of the visions in front of me before i run out of time
before i get buried in the ground, forgotten about
ignored and shut down, the words no longer come out
even if i try to shout, kicking and screaming, there's no sound
silenced forever more, cut open, cauterized then drowned
i'm coming around, i'm getting the feeling that i'm sinking down
down down down down down down down
starting to wonder if that princess gown was just a facade
to lead me on, but you cant go anywhere if you're dead and gone
like a dial tone that starts beeping when you don't make a call
is it a cosume? is it a disguise?
is it a destruction of the pieces i hold dear in my life?
like a jigsaw puzzle where you just can't find
the missing piece, a separate place
hidden under a stone that never sees the light of day
and that's where i'm at. that's who i am.
at the end of a page but i'm not done yet.
not even close. boring through my skull.
involved but alone. what do you know about that?
using a lighter or a match and i can't
fathom the things i haven't done yet
getting closer to you, then pushing away again
i can't sit stagnant for another season
that's my sole reason for the way i'm turning out
i'm leaving this town, and there's nothing you can do to stop me
this is the one friend i have, this is my poetry
it just listens and never talks back, see?
i could make things amazing but you won't let me
so now you worry about your fate, you kneel down to obey
do you find any solace in the games that you play?

(no subject)

oh, you like libraries and a boring sky
with a 50's radio voice boring into your skull?
it's boring in your skull, waiting to wake up as someone else.
it's hard to be yourself; whoever that is today.
i know mother told you you could be actual star,
but space isn't for you: there's not enough windows.
if we governed ourselves, we'd have to stop fighting,
or focus on breeding, or focus on living.
up in this tree is where i lick my wounds
before they can happen:
keep the skin raw waiting for vampires to happen.
if you happen to be listening:
at night, i hear voices and fight with words on a barren landscape
where anything outside of this is a barren landscape
hence the word bar.
drink yourself happy and vomit to sleep.
better not mind the mold in the bathroom,
it means we're being loved and someone's saving our urine
for when we snort up the ocean.
addicted to seaweed, practicing abortions...

missing something, or missing nothing;
ugly people don't fall in love,
they tolerate life 'til ash when in an urn,
sprinkled in a back cove where i grew up.
now i'm a machine, hating other machines.
i say it with a hotel pen...watch it dissolve like a hotel movie...
learning it all through a lack of understanding.
pacing myself, filling in the blanks,
and you strive to be political,
like buying a card somehow makes you a member.
i pick my fights the way i pick my friends:
if you fuck with me, come get a pyrrhic victory,
i'll show you why i have nothing; you can too.
this isn't a threat, i'm sharing my life with you.
fuck the internet.
i'll live in the past, i'm a product of the 70's.
i never wanted to be social;
judged through the eye of a 40 oz.,
the guts of a coffee; my coffin awaits.

i tell her: "hum quietly and grant the occasional hallucination."
everything is now.
wear forever this shit-eating grin,
it's the best chance for survival while you wait to feel lucky.
there's no gambling involved...
don't be a patient, hide from the pageant...
then from the fragrance of the rotten breath of a middle school teacher;
no use for science, it takes the life out of everything (let them go).
let them think themselves to sleep themselves together,
until they all blow over.

all the king's dead money recycled themes
themselves to sleep under fantastic clocks
that go cold in the night. warm bodies huddle,
cold bodies landfill under fancy restaurants;
the cold stay cold and have no use for flowers.
the warm pretend to be lovers 'til they're mothers and fathers.
the cold need chemicals and can't hide, not even in the dark.
where things come into light, where i wear a warm body around my neck,
and wait quietly for the world to end.
neither warm nor cold, just a bedpan for both.
it was nothing, actually,
it was nothing, actually,
it was nothing...

brian 'shagy' kennedy

passed away today ~2:30pm

i can't really hold myself together right now, so for a lack of better words, i will just say this.

rest in peace, good friend. you will be missed.