The 6th Entrance to Hell
Dear Death,
Your passengers wait patiently for the opportunity to salute the fears which have nourished their souls.
Sitting in silence, inches from each other’s backs, imagining what burdens they may have carried.
Our whispers are dry, inhibiting the humid stench of self-deprecation.
Tapping my shoulder is a waste of time.
What does one say when hope feels like an impossibility?
Speaking from the past feels like a sin of the future and the only solitude I can afford is the memories of immortal optimism.
This is the failed promise of eternal comfort, even in one’s childish pain.
For here I wait, your forgotten friend and ancestral enemy,
Peppa Pig.
The Galaxy Rose
The Galaxy Rose was first discovered in 1919 by the Danish woodsman Erys Holtman.
He first stumbled across it while searching for truffles. It was often overlooked as a spoiled Agaricus mushroom, due to its black skin and the stench of earthly death.
Erys firmly believed a poison of the forest is better left undisturbed, as to not unintentionally spread any harmful toxins to the wider area.
His curiosity and temptations of fame ultimately got the better of him.
He would eventually die of the rose.
Its gravity was too strong.
A REAL FLOWEr
It’s got soft petals and a long stem.
It’s kind of yellowish, probably greener than what is let on.
There are millions of them.
Nothing is special about this flower.
It will not make you feel happier.
In fact, it stirs no emotions.
You are not smarter or more enlightened after looking at it.
You couldn’t even describe it to someone if they asked.
Honestly, this flower does not improve the quality of your life in any way.
Even if this photo had an accompanying motivational quote such as ‘Collect Beautiful Moments’ or ‘Believe In Your Ability To Bloom Into Who You’re Meant to Be’, you’d still forget that shit 10 minutes later.
You’d probably be happier if someone just texted you a compliment or asked you how your family is doing.
It’s just a photo of a flower with soft features, much like your inner beauty.
Awwwwwwww, see?
There really was a payoff to this TLDR bullshit.
3 Brothers
It’s kind of wild no one has human skulls just decoratively laying around.
It’s estimated that 107 billion people have ever lived.
That is a lot of skulls and yet I’ve never touched one.
In your will can you leave your skull to a relative?
Screw leaving jewellery or furniture. How about my actual skull?
And can you leave instructions like, my skull must be silver-plated and one tooth needs to be a gold-plated fang so future generations will make up stories about half human half vampire blood lineage.
Candice Cats
Candice cats are known to frequent the park during the typhoon months. Harassing the staff with their confusing demands and unpredictable emotions.
Some say it’s because the wet weather pools the corners of the ill-maintained lizard enclosures, forcing the scattered dead skin to soften; providing an attractive summer degustation for these trepid felines.
Others say it’s because they are fucking cats and cats have no purpose in life other than to fuck shit up, regardless if there is food or not.
Blue-manity
The torment in their song writing is without colour.
It’s not black or void of feelings, just unable to express itself on a visual spectrum.
When perception is defeated, it’s lost its identity to its surroundings; blending with the physical world.
An accumulation of all pain and joy.
Becoming one is becoming soil.
The colour of Earth.
Jenniferus
Why don’t more people commission marble statues of themselves?
This seems like a pretty good gift.
Is it really expensive? Is there no one left skilled enough to carve one?
Perhaps people are so turned off by the thought of someone coming over to their house for a barbeque and asking why the fuck is there a marble statue of your naked body in the backyard?
This seems like a bit much, Jennifer?!?!
We know you take it a little far with the selfies but this is truly something else.
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The eXchange
Did you bring it?
Ya I brought it. You just asked me that.
Just checkin’, relax.
Kinda hard man, you know, holdin’ this thing out of its box.
Well let me see it.
Take your gloves off first! I don’t want you to drop it.
I ain’t touching it with my bare hands!
Why not? I’m not wearin’ any gloves.
Seriously?
Ya, take your gloves off.
No way man, you know they say that shit rubs off. It’s probably all in your body now.
It’s not in my body, I feel totally fine.
The same as I did after the first time.
I don’t know. Kinda don’t want to hold it now. Maybe later.
Don’t be like that man. Took me so long to find a box to fit it into.
Sorry, I just, I don’t know, seeing it right there infront of me is like, too much to process.
Fuck, man. It’s yours too you know.
Misery’s Path
Yes, that is a green hose at the end of the path.
It’s connected to a single, standing tap.
Knowing that, how much more boring is this scene now?
Really steals the mood, doesn’t it. I probably should have photoshopped that one out.
Well someone must be hydrating something nearby?
Maybe it’s a garden or some hedges. Something happy looking.
Or maybe the tap is past its use date, like a dried up well? Only dispersing dirty, ploppy, sludge. The kind in movies where someone is really thirsty and their last attempt at beating dehydration is a faucet in the middle of nowhere but all it pours is dust and the sound of metal stretching.
Yes, that’s it.
This is a death faucet.
On the path to misery.
Mountain Eyes
Fog is Earth’s sexiest fart.
Raining Men
Sometimes rain refuses to reflect its origins.
Why must I mirror those who came before me?
Do I not have a choice in what I say to the world?
How this is forever out of my control.
I can see you looking at me.
You think your glance went unnoticed but I was waiting for it.
Sitting here, pretending patiently. The hunger for validation and the upheaval of isolation spars with each other like rain ignoring its birthplace.
I can see you Darlene.
You haven’t answered any of my texts and I know you are home.
I can see the bloody kitchen light from here.
I’m sorry I forgot to pick up bread on the way home.
You know it’s raining and my bike totally shits itself in the rain.
Just give me a sign, please.
It’s cold and my socks are wet.
You know I hate wet socks.
Enticing
Sweet, sweet, suckling.
Oh the lushness.
Gorgeously plump and soupy, gushing with charm.
Brush the rubescent mush, you vibrant hump.
You splashy thrill.
Let the vulgar in.
Lubriciously pinned and immodestly undone.
Go ahead, press the nether button.
Press it harder.
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Hardcore Gout
Carry your pain as a companion.
Let it feel your weight.
A relationship as forever unnecessary and never forgiven.
It’s like a phone number.
You assign it with confidence, believing it will never change but knowing it can and probably will if you don’t regularly exercise its memory.
It’s all too hard.
You’ve memorised its identity.
555- GOUT.
Pickup the phone gout, I’ve got something to say.
Knuckin’ at Heckin’s Door
Mammy take this meme from me
I can't use it anymore
It's getting dank too dank to tweet
Feels like I'm knuckin' on heckin’s door
Knuck-knuck-knuckin' on heckin’s door
Knuck-knuck-knuckin' on heckin’s door
Knuck-knuck-knuckin' on heckin’s door
Knuck-knuck-knuckin' on heckin’s door, eh yeah
Mammy put my chats in the group
I can't tweet them anymore
That cold black cancel is comin' true
Feels like I'm knuckin' on heckin’s door
Sullen
Squinty McSquant.
Steven Squent.
Sargent Skwont.
Squim Swimmeth.
Sam Suspecto.
Senior Sqwelps.
Sandy Snoz.
Snoozle Smith.
Sid.
Stommy Snuckles.
Stormy Snuffles.
Shelby Shnelps.
Shooty Shampagen.
Sean Shong.
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Foreplay
This is the best photo I’ve ever taken.
I could stare at it forever.
It feels like it has a deeper meaning but I don’t know what.
Its as if someone could write an entire thesis on its symbolism, without argument.
Or maybe this photo means nothing.
It’s not capturing a unique moment in time.
You can travel to this place and take the exact same photo. This is in Finland.
Nothing is happening.
Sure each quadrant is in a different stage of environmental affliction and could tell each it’s own story, but does anyone care?
Would it even be interesting?
We cross paths with dying man-made structures all the time and when was the last time you thought, jeez I wonder what happened to that wall? I bet someone crashed into it with their car after getting right-pissed alone at the pub, 8hrs into learning their spouse spent their life savings on equipment which turned out to be a scam and now the phone number is disconnected and old mate saw the equipment in the trailer and ya can’t say it was stolen so going home sober and trying to bullshit your way out of this one was never an option.
Stepping Up
This is one of those optical illusions where the closer you get you realise the object is actually the size of a matchbox.
Whatever happened to matchboxes?
Does anyone make money off matches anymore?
There is probably only one matchbox factory in the world left.
It’s not like there are matchbox start-ups.
20-something tech bros looking to disrupt the matches industry.
The candle people probably own matchbox factories.
What are the working conditions for matchbox factory workers?
It’s probably a rough industry.
Those candle people seem like they could be slave traders.
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A Colder Winter
Nikolai Masalov.
Crusher of Nazis.
Saviour of Children.
Wielder of Soviet Pride.
Maz the Laz SS Fighter.
The Suppression Silencer.
Blacksmith of Fear.
Corroder of Chains.
Prince of Poundings.
The Gallant Grudge.
Misery’s Diet.
Nocuous Nikky.
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Prisoner
Here enclosed is a man.
Refusing to jump outwardly and inwardly.
He does not say why.
He doesn't ask for help or guidance.
Some say he has all the answers he was looking for- delivered like a bullet to his soul, so fast his momentum carried him here.
His body has lost its purpose while his mind produces echoless thoughts.
People brought him food and left him their love.
T
hey spoke to him, read to him, and built him shelter.
They granted him privacy; shielding him from their temptations and the questions he could not answer.
Why are you still here?
What is the purpose of this?
If not for you, is this for us?
Why should we feel a need to understand why you’re living on the ledge?
Ladros
Ever since the streets were deemed unsafe to touch, the people of East Maagenshire devised alternative solutions to visit family and friends.
Rooftop ladders were installed to quickly traverse from one home to another without infection.
This went on for years before anyone took notice.
Eventually certain road paths cleared up and street activity returned to normal.
There are still some who continue to use the ladders.
We call them Ladros.
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The Medusa Orgasm
The Medusa Sex Museum is entirely dedicated to the preservation of every fallen lover who could not resist keeping their eyes closed.
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Leaflet
A leaf-by-leaf summary of every bug in the system.
Spine Teeth
Grooved like rivers of age.
A conversation with finished lives.
The mouth is animated but unable to express words of love.
It’s receiving your pain instead.
Your gasps of finality.
Fuck, this is it.
Crushing bones are my coffin’s flowers.
Thrown down with such force it expects no impediment.
Bone to bone- a meeting of equal admiration.
Hello dust, my brother, my sister.
My genderless twin.
As we clash, as we touch weaknesses, we test our power.
Our entire reason for existing.
The last trial before returning to where we started.
Leaflet
Patient #A9230043
Admitted June 6th, 1988.
Cause of death: Double inner eardrum collapse resulting in severe brain haemorrhage.
Tissue damage shows sustained impact, most likely over a 1-2 hr time period.
Signs of self infliction underneath the jawline, in a convex upward incision.
Instrument most likely a flexible metal object, possibly a grapefruit spoon.
Facial expression, the artist’s discretion.
Make-up by Drunk Elephant.
Hashtags, the model’s own.
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Face Tune
The barking dog never bites, especially if the head has been bitten off.
Sail It ALl
The last photo ever taken of ‘The Forbidden Touch’.
Later that evening it capsized.
Luckily all 4 crew members survived.
They were strong swimmers and not that far off from the eastern shores of Bruny Island.
By all accounts of the event, the captain (Bruce, looked like a Bruce) did not seem that phased once upon shore.
In fact, one local resident said on record she found it odd all survivors quickly dispersed once ashore.
Captain Bruce (definitely a Bruce) seemed to be more concerned with finding food and water from the nearby park & rest area instead of connecting with the rest of his crew.
Such a Bruce thing to do.
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Billy, The Greatest Of All Time
What the fuck was that?
Billy, that you?
You better not be fucking with me.
You know how twigs trigger me.
Summershore Bungaloo
Find inspiration surrounded by nature, and enjoy a relaxed, peaceful break in this premium, elevated getaway, overlooking decades of poverty.
The open-communist, plank wood flooring, Stalin contrasts, plants, and impoverished hues help blend the suite with its surrounding lush canopy, so you can wake up in the trees and spend the day escaping all that governmental punishment has to offer.
For those with a love of the great oppressions, make the most of direct access for a capture in the swamp below, or adventure through the local prison settlements where dreams and hopes are abolished.
The Last Train to Phnom Phenh
Good evening forgotten children and forgetful grandparents.
The train is now ready to depart.
Mind the doors, roars and passing wars.
The next station is void.
Please mind the gap between expectations and reality.
There is no central service between your safety and where you get off.
Please ensure you have all your blessings with you when you leave the train.
Thank you.
Nasal Passage
How does that saying go?
Spit in your face and cut your nose?
Sprite up the nose cuts your face?
Cuts to the face knows to avoid spit?
Spit the nose on the face that cuts you?
Can’t spit on your nose without your face?
Face the noise while spitting?
You can’t spite your face without noise?
Cussing knows despite what your face looks like?
Face the spit with just your nose?
Spitting in my eye make it hard to cut you?
Cut you like a nosy neighbour?
Neighbourhood spiter man?
Man cuts nose off spiter, man?
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Area Codes
To hold a pose is a pose I know.
A pose of prose is one of suppose.
Who has chose this pose I know?
Is it those of crowes or an inverted rainbow?
Shadows bestows photos of nature’s promos.
One sure has hoes, in all the area codes.
Herman
I knew this was the last glimpse of family.
The last whisper of love.
Am I small or is the world too large for my ideas?
I offered my back like I always do.
Pretending not to notice your pain.
Your inner scratching of an idea clawing to escape.
I could always offer the escape no other drug could.
If only I had a last name.
Something that I too could pass onto my lesser selves.
I always did like Von Hoofington.
Class Distressed
First day at the Marshall Bone Academy for Disinterested Children.
The gates are not what I expected.
I knew from comments in the now deleted posts that this was a place to fear.
Its entrance would have no welcome mat.
Hope would not be knocking on these doors.
It wouldn’t even stop by and ask to check the gas meter while allowing for curious eyes to sleuth out suspicious shadows.
Upon entering, it was obvious the devil pays no tuition here.
I’ve done my fair share of horrible jobs.
One usually more hopeful than the next but I may have overplayed my cards this time.
By the look of dead lanterns and dimly lit candles in the hallways, my ability to power hope is bleak.
Any electricity has abandoned this place.
This will be the worst C++ computer programming class I’ve ever taught.
Seedlings
Plant the seed of doubt with plenty of holy water.
It will grow many nuts.
Oh Schnapps
Young Milton.
You were such a vibrant, abrashed boy.
Full of vigor and your father’s liquor.
You could vape with the best of them, both in jest and on winter’s corner.
Selling pop rocks and poetic name-calling, your voice knew no discipline.
Both gone too soon and soonly gone; you could not hold your schnapps.
Oh young Milton. Milty. M-banga.
Your cheeks will surely be pinched by the red king himself.
A punishment fit for a heir.
Your throne of deviance will defy those who ever questioned your time on Earth.
We all knew you were meant for bigger and better things.
A life better spent in the next realm, despite whatever arguement your liver presented in the court of bad decisions.
To pour one out is to enrich the soil of your slumber and nourish your soul’s happy hour.
Cheers Milton.
Sea Bedding
Alien seas abduct the most oafish.
Z-Man
This is Z-man.
The last hound of the Taxocedetal tribe.
Found in the tombs of Rocking Lorth with a single photo tucked under his collar.
In the photo Z-man is seen perched atop of a small group of rocks, underneath what looks like an oak tree, probably in early Fall.
He is staring off into the distance, slightly facing away from the camera but not enough to expect him being unaware of the photograph taking place.
Hi gaze reveals years.
Years of fields runneth over, trees saturated, and moons howled.
Z-man had truly recited the alphabet of life.
Wristles
And from this day forward, we will erase the world of the Equionoxolus TimeMaster 250F.
From all scriptures, passages, hymns, paintings and statues.
His reign of ham fisting will come to an end.
His porkling of ideas and belly up fury will die in the mud of time.
Take this with a grain of salt and wash the slab down to its trough of rash ideals.
Hoof the jowls of oppression before its feral stink shall sow into society’ loins.
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The Covering
If you don’t protect your idols the cracks will slowly widen, revealing their sentimental fragility beyond cosmetic repair.