An image of who we were for the public to see

The Stylish and Beautiful modele cv stage
with regard to Invigorate The house Existing House|Warm DesireHousehold

servicing you, mommy to wake

how do i teach you these things? how do i evaluate you? on how to defile me?
                .i am your apocalypse.

about apocalypse and language and how i could...never...end a sentence again...if i never really...wanted to

and, you wouldn't miss this voice, would you...
because it is still in its existence without end...

simple text, a button, but it isn't even *real*

i find you on my personal
computer. we assigned you
before that intimacy, known

what satisfaction canst thou have tonight//

photos: "facetune" the background only

sometimes we feel the weight
of fragile egos pressing so...

hard and my
tiptoes cannot become footsteps
because land.

method to evade actually learning how

to perform
a task
at hand.

cylcleGAN quota

there is a gold star on my license just like the one on my, hearts, b.

stipend? rubbing up is pretty hard, can i get a reimbursement?

on stages of perversion. we mean. pervasive.

thank you, comparative lit. favorite of classes,
a middle ground to walk on. you were my box.

a slanted quote: the duty of life. first to be artificial.
                          possible. second duty, not yet discovered.

six forms of publicity, talk to me without answer

last of the surveillance, party-supply-party
music videos, looking, waiting, watching
*they can't all be winners*
for when, if
the performance ends.

but just as we say: die. exhausted. done.
the performance still prevails. another.

our body is poison, poison

i met with cruelty, unexpectedly.
in november (and december)           what a way to end.

it doesn't know what it is. i game there so much.
in habit, a partner in crime. waiting in a box. waiting
to be opened with you in mind. but i only perform [here, now]
that cruels, that comes, that's pretty silent a killer [without]

large storied laptop, just another thirst trap

i didn't believe us. we don't leave,
while in FL, you met me there--didn't you know?

you know, a part of me is glad that the water they sell us at WF is bad for us.
seems ironic and fair, the bad water without buyer's remorse. speak your truth:
am vegan, fair-trade, organic, non-gmo, gluten free: innocent, but still *toxic* too

once again: a reproduction of a stage i once knew

books of unused poetry. 2 months.
without time, nor a rhizome grant to transcribe.

[nothing like being watched]a speak easy, harder.

indulge in absence
what (subtext) we always wanted
backwards charm (from the swap)

but, we don't get lonely.
we haunt the self, but

thank you for caring.

when all rhetoric points to →winner, but you are diametrically opposed

→what does it mean to be a loser then?
I'm thinking critically about what it means←

so, I don't advertise, but this is nice.

the thing to miss the most about the depression: so much time to f w faceapp

*loser* *loser* *loser*
                                    U+1F60E
                                    U+1F60E
                                    U+1F60E

year 1: never gonna happen crush.
year 2: no publicity allowance.
year 3: a quiet assessment of the alone.
year 4: a time to pull with the survived.

if we weren't with you, we were against you

i guess,
no more i love yous.
no more. desire. despair. desire. despair.
~put your seat belt on.
``you put your seat belt on.

"what if I'm not the hero, what if I'm the monster?"

house of flesh, death follows their feet.

*i slept on ice, so that i wouldn't move towards you*
there are these moments we can identify when we should have been
more receptive. to relinquish the guard. but we are what we are, and,
*i slept on ice, so that i wouldn't move towards you*

do you remember when you were intrigued to meet w family.
when you weren't fully integrated into theirs. and, now
you don't even remember that i met a flower in your
company and i made a little seed out of your stare

voice-writer, you sound hopeful in the silence

records of the domain. almost four years ago.
it had not laid this flat flesh down upon you yet.
it had not drowned out without hard work for gain.

we left the hand in darkness. ~i thought myself an exile~ between two mountains.

in some city, about to leave for another and playing the sliding-doors-game

but, you know, whatever,
your thing was always obvious,
and i always wanted to tell you
that you were too good to be a
side piece. i wanted to turn a knife
too, to say, "you're too smart to be."
but, i just can't avow for anything
in your regard.

i remember when i knew. for certain. you said, "it's good for a man to fear sometimes."
it was obvious in the binary. it really struck odd, and, i knew if i was anything, i was:
silly-pawn-thing. to threaten another. but, i was the worst pick for it, made me
vulnerable to attack. he was already threatened and readied, about day one:

and, i'd like to turn the knife again *when i hear paramore i think of you*
and, i want non of it. immaturity feast. i want you to feel guilt. and, i want your apology.

:ask me anything:

known wastelands, a kind with love

throat and lungs, into the air they cut
*i think you're smarter than that*

an imaginary world that can restore us
*there is acid in my freezer*

+ justice, i hardly care
card we always forget
a card we never get.

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Post-It note.   “like” button.     The Play.
ineffective way of researching                  
           more myth than reality.

open & intelligent people, tell us the difference

I have always functioned under the knowledge
between an attack and a critique: public facing     image

subsumed by an institution, of broader systemic issues.
*that being said (my name included, Kevin)

any apparent agency. some, standing about,
brooding over the "process"                        show us your labor.

A teacher.
in-studio,
And, the thing is, dim,

bare minimum of bodily respect.