Fragmented Speech

/How can I form you, myself/

Blank Machine.

My book Blank Machine. is available for purchase in softcover paperback.

Help support. Buy a physical copy.

This is not one cohesive work. This is fragmented speech. This is a machine. A white box you peak inside of. It tells you

things, about the world, me, yourself. It changes each time you look inside. The box might fit in the palm of your hand. You

might fall into the box and be stuck for weeks, days, hours. It all depends on what you let the box tell you. The box may speak

in fragments. The box may tell you more than you want to hear. It all depends on how willing you are to listen. If you purchase

this box with your earth dollars please feel free to email me your thoughts. Tell me what the machine told you.

Takes long to arrive, but I gain a reasonable profit:

Ships a lot sooner, but I receive less profit:




That House.

They would come to realize that the first three weeks in that old house would be longer than any years to come.

What do you do when you can’t stop thinking about something? Where do you put it? Where does it go? To the basement, you’ll see.

Mother, aging gray, and child, late-born, forty-five and five respectively, would come upon that house. That house, whether wanted or not, was special; a kind of special, which could not be removed, no matter how old or forgotten; and its ancient manifestation of fears still emanated from its heart. Each knock of a new family like a beat, pumping a thick stream of life giving liquid, coppery like the the pennies which burned their pockets.

Upon arrival the first thing witnessed by the mother, aging gray, was the yard and the graveyard behind it, although separated by fence, they failed to distinguish themselves from one another. Both overgrown and ancient. Mossy cracked cobblestone and the overwhelming smell of wood rot, drifting.

Once out of the car the boy was fascinated by the sights and smells, unaware of his mother’s ideas of the unsightly. He was new and deciding. A wanderer in his time, small and unknowing, but striving to become decided and to become part of the knowing.

One night, 30th

I would not know, for night shrouded her figure and I fell in love with a blind eye. Times passed by me and my ears and the years faded and had forgotten her. Long ago a wondrous time, but now ancient and wondered about. I sometimes see through the thin veil and ponder about her now and then. Why must she die now? When will I see her again?

She clung to my arms, like a wrapper on a candy, as the sky clouded  and shrouded the streets with no chance of moonlight. Arms out, pillowcase in hand, we waddled desperately to each lit home. The occasional unlit house intrigued us on a night such as this. One in particular, down the road, on the lake. Huge, but always for sale, it loomed over our small figures. We craved to step inside and hear that first floorboard scream our fates, but alas, we pass.

So much. 10/21/15 3:06AM

10/21/15 3:06AM

So much.

Their lips were never brighter than they had to be and their eyes made conversation of the sunsets. Two different worlds–nebulae– separated by the unknown, never to make contact.

We are all small ignorant unhatched eggs who don’t know how to eat our way out.

When the wind hit their hair in the right light, it appeared as if they were waving a white flag.

I would surrender myself to you.

If you love something–hold onto it–idiot.

I am on the moon when I see them. I can not breath, I can not speak, I am either too hot or too cold and I feel as if I could run fast enough to jump and leave the planet.

Their eyebrows always looked amazing to me and the shape of their face made metal melt. Like a super heated massive sphere, they influenced me, I drifted closer.

We are all monolithic vases, infinitely shattering and recombining ourselves with bad glue

Find me and them where the summer breeze just overtook spring and is chasing fall. I will be there. I will not miss it.

If you believe you only use 10% of your brain, then maybe you actually do–idiot.

I am floating in space, but every star is her. I still can not breath, I still can not speak, I am always floating towards him, faster and faster, until I am defleshed upon fiery impact

But it’s worth it.

Born Walking

blacktitle white

born walking

broken windows

beyond watching

borrowed wishes

bare witness

before wisdom

burned witches

time, no captial t

time does not wait around, stand by or stop

time isn’t something to hold onto or something to drop

time simply continues with a path and no end

time simply is just a mechanism, itself not to lend

friend or fiend it stops for no one

setting the moon and setting the sun

dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn

planting your garden and mowing your lawn

time doesn’t stop for individual people

it does but, only in their minds

you would get it if you weren’t older

some day you won’t understand

only left those behind

I promise to still hold their hand