I will give some sayings.
For ease of writing, I will write up against the left margin.
Not in correctness of English.
But syntaxually comprehensible.
And not reprehensible.
I am of an odd renaissanceness.
I am of syntax otra synergy
A syntax “sinnery” I hence…
…there fore run here.
This is my DAMN show.
This is my page.
I will strangle my ink to death.
I don’t hate it.
I love it.
I live in it.
I have a lustful passion
For suicide in its ideal expression
But homocide of the body
Is a disgusting defacation
What the hell?
People really think they can?
Without a mess and trauma?
There’s no goddamn passion THERE
Oh how depressed the man was
I get it
Im not talking about judging THEM
But its an EMTs job to pick em up
So his 48 hours is this:
Save a pregnant woman
Help a car accident victim
Broken arm only
Get a drink
Go to sleep
Go to work
Homocide and one wounded
Man is cussing
Money on the ground
The EMT puts $1200 in his pocket
To give to someone
Home suicide attempt
But its too much
EMT says, “Why bro? Why you wanna die?”
28 year old man says:
I’m late on my rent
And I’m gay
God help me I go to church
But I cant stop
EMT says “How about I pay for your casket?”
Man says, “Hey… hey… I’d appreciate it. You don’t have to.
EMT says, “Its gang fuck money”
Man says, “Well fuck me dude. Not literally. You’re alright superman.”
EMT says, “I’m sorry I can’t save you. You know you took arsenic too?”
Man says, “You saved me forever”
EMT doesn’t but a casket.
Puts his body on a stretcher.
He doesn’t want the mystic pressure
Of pressurizing in someone else’s pressure cooker
But he says
A man is a man
What’s it matter where he puts his cock?
Don’t put it near me
No way no how
I aint bent like a woman
But you are my bro
I save people
Who gives a shit for secrets
Who gives a fuck and what the fuck is it business for anyone to make it their business what the fuck my secret is?
I don’t live in closets
I like women
A whole lot of women
But Im straight faithful brother true
Aint no father
What could I do
Never backed down
From a fight I believed in
Put all my blood in
To extract the wrongdoer
And beat out the shit
So I could see the flesh
Of my brother
Brotha froma anuthah muthah
And accept him for what he is
With a past
Leave it back
Then youre not a piece of shit
Call yourself perfect?
Even for a sister
You’ll burn in claiming perfection
You cannot take it with the you of you forever
Click click pop
Once you ain’t got a ghost…
What you was… you are not
Like in the day nothing was scary
Play pop a cherry
Find a motel room with AC and cable
Live to see a blacker day
You feared it
With tables and nails and knives
Didnt I mention this was about
The idea of ink bleeding
How many reasons to live
I am a virtuous man type tendancy to do right but I feel like exploding and spreading it is not my normal mode but I wish to express what I hold back and even if only, partially in code
What am I doing?
I was so sick this March
But in February, my wife was so sick
With immunological difficulties?
Is it LEGAL TO WRITE THIS?
That I planned in the back of my head, but none of it came to pass, nor will it now for I learned true SCORN for the ills of life is to live mostly
But she was ill
So to console myself
Since there are none to pay the bills
And she knows all this
And Ive lived alone before
Sick and suicidal
You see, she saved me
My family is selfish and melancholy
No matter how I reach them
No matter how often
Reciprocation is rare and lifeless
Like a dry leaf
I planned if my wife was to go
To be a deceadant
I would go to Walmart and get items
To make myself a deceadant too
So that the love we have had would not be fogotten
And my mother would be denied
Her cruel wish
To take care of me again
It would be a cruel knife to the heart
All Of The Above Was Fiction Based On Reality. I Am Anti To Suicide. I Have Almost Died. It Is Only Scary And Not What You’d Ever Think. Don’t do it.
If this writing displeases you, apologies. Though viscereality is the best surface for other words to stick to.
So kiss my ass, critics.
Who am I particularly talking to?
Im just a Syntaxsinner
Blood is like cherry juice in the living, oil in the bleeding and liquid feces in the dead.
We had a suicide in our building. Floor two.
I was on five.
Glad to be.
Second death in 3 months.
Back when I was single.
Eleven years ago.
First one was heroin OD.
All apartments are one person. Loner complex.
So they found her.
Corpse on the floor.
Its like finding crunchy bad mouse sticky cheerios under your fridge. Organic. Bag it up. Put a blanket over. Roll out fast. Looks like a living payient.
Coffee next time!
And donuts, creme-filled
(They don’t associate food goosh with body goosh. I don’t either. I do enjoy eating a chocolate bunny. You do have to make it predatory. Unless you are über-vegan which almost cries “serial killer” for your cleanliness of self. At least a prick to be around. Im kidn. Kind of.
This young man was found dead on floor two.
His apartment was quaranteened.
His girlfriend (more like spousal love) died. He went to his cubical apartment days later.
He decided it was the end. Obviously he loved her deeply. I did not know him. But what I find now is that I don’t care that either of them died. I wonder what they did for fun together, yknow?
What was so amazing and SO fun that a person would rather DIE than live one more moment without.
He was found dead after 2-3 weeks of decomposition. That’s almost 21 days. There’s the answer. Without her, no one was going to check on him or miss him. No one was going to kiss him or hug him. Or he didn’t think anyone would comfort him. Or he refused to be comforted.
The neighbors complained of the smell. Thats when investigators came in. A neighbor down the hall told me it smelled like (#2) and that if I ever felt depressed like that to come see him because he has (meth) drugs.
I initially like the place for its security, simplicity and view. That was all shattered.
I apologize if this comes across as distasteful
I assure you my clothing of choice, car of choice, woman of choice… is “fine”.
I just won’t leave the people behind who helped me to get to where I am today.
I am well off
At least in spirit
I was hoping
Through many of my herein saying you follosed
I could take you on a tour to hell and back
And leave you in one piece