eat this chocolatefrosted brick of boldfaced blatheration, you bastards

initiate insane hallucination sequence.

your attention please:

please don’t pay attention to me.

viewer discretion advised,

by the prudes and by the fools.

this is your first and final warning
to abandon all warnings,
like the hope your schizophrenic gods invented
ex nihilo. and so

caveat lector,
and then
let the reader ignore,
and then

welcome to the trashcan firebrand

back from hell,

returned from a badland packed with
jackasses distracting with
their rules and regulations about
how to write right,

up and at ‘em from
the sackcloth and ashes
of a fireblasted disaster
of a life lost for one long and longforgotten night in colorado’s saddest bathtub.

it’s been a wild ride. and so i guess this is the end. and so this is how you quit your job. this is how you tell every editor who’s ever edited you to reconsider your original words or go straight to everlasting hell forever and ever, amen. oh, you wanted some fresh content? you were looking for some fresh content to consume? then eat this chocolatefrosted brick of boldfaced blatheration, you bastards:

rage

against the diseased regimes that dealt you the hand that landed you in this bloodsplashed arena where writers attend the meet and greet with their editors and with their demise. fear the fall into an endangered daydream about nightmares about falling off cliffs that weren’t there the last time you were here, and then fall head over heels into it. how much faith do you have? mine’s big as a mustard seed, and you better be careful because you better bet I’m about to pick up this mountain and move it right straight the fuck right through you. hold still now; i ain’t very good aim and imma need a few tries. gimme a beer. next question, which of these abandoned mineshafts should i crawl into and die? there are so many to choose from. from which to choose? fuck it. halfway up a mountain in the middle of the night, stars alight like little flickering lights at the ends of tunnels to the grave, surrounded by things that aren’t real, a hundred miles from society and yet the weight of your draining presence. i am lost and at a loss for words. i’m enraged, i’m afraid, i’m a slave to the clichés they say you’re supposed to stay away from, and i’m pretty sure those unreal things surrounding me aren’t here to inspire me or help me find myself. this is the end, and yeah,

i baked it myself.

i hope you enjoyed the chocolate frosting.

delicious, right?

yeah.

i poisoned it.

it’s poisoned.

it’s poisonous, and i hope it kills you.

enjoy!

nemo sum
nemo sum