Handjob Tyrants Of Hollywood

She will not be perfect.
Her skin will fall and flop.
She talks and talks
and I of course make the mistake
of judging her value by
the changing of her physicality
while granting myself privileges
of mind, lintellect, and earnings.
My breath stales to phlegm
and stinks its sad mature mucosal
isolation of men.
I become known as

the handjob tyrant

and look towards other women,
but as I grow old and my hardons
no longer work
do I have the courage to love her
as she turns into something
beyond time,
eternal, beyond stupid words?
Something my mother told me
as a toddler,

listen to that feeling inside your head

and maybe I’ll still be afraid of.
This poem was not written for the
fashionable young people or the
vainfully rich and egotists
rushing in and out of the stores and
clinics of the City.
This poem was written for the leaves,
grass, and particles
still vassals to the wind,
not the human negrotude
put in place by the ancient Court
of Ine, ingrained in your movies and
television.

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Bourgeoisie And Meaning

Can we play celebrities please,
today, when it rains?
Will there be gift baskets
that we get,
courted and made to feel special
for at least an hour, maybe more than an hour?
For them to give us something meaningful
so we can go home and reflect on,
open our mouths at a later point
and say what we did, where we did it,
how it was done and who it was done in front of.
Can we talk?
Were you talking to me?
I was talking to you in the foyer.
You weren’t talking to me.
Now is my time to tell you what is important,
it is about me.
You don’t have anything to say, do you?
You never do.
This isn’t why we rolled around on the carpet,
this can’t be it.
This isn’t how we play celebrity.

You need to have breasts.

Dialogo For The Mythmade Magic

New York - Los Angelees

What’s the difference between New York and LA?

In New York
they’re well-postured people.

Tightly postured, if you will.
Excellently postured, I might say.

Very very well-postured.

In LA
they’re sloppy posturers.
They’ll posture at anything.

At cartoons, cars, stars, pornos, bars, fast food.

To quote a person I once met who represented
both so well,

“Do you know what I mean?
I mean like the experience.
You gotta really have it.
You know what I mean? Yeah, you get it. You do.
You know what I mean. Yeah, you do.”

Quote, unquote.

No. I don’t. I don’t get it.
I think you’re all full of shit,
living in some deluded 20th Century archetype mythland,
giving yourselves pats on your imaginary bigheaded
mythbacks.

And I hate to be the bearer of bad news,
but this is the 21st Century,
where the people have stopped operating via mythmade
ego-wanton magic.