Who left a whole box of corn flakes

In a locker

At the Equinox

On Wall Street?

I told you go to the one at The Rock.

I told you, I'm not going on that block, like at all.

{Enter The Multiverse}

That's just my Karma, Ms. Nancy;

I did a whole lot than just

Thought about it

More edits,

More recognition that I—l couldn't stand it;

The planet just seems to get smaller and smaller

With less and less plants in it;

I have your pants on,

But shoes didn't fit

I wrote a whole book and resenting

But still not the movies,

I meant it.

Damn.

She's just so much better than I am

Head in a frying pan on high beforehand,

And however damaged,

It felt bad

I know what I did

I felt that

Camera Obscura, for sure, you know

But disconnect,

Swallow badders, wha— t?!

Get my peanut butter up;

Why!

I'm a circus monkey;

Damn.

I got karma faster

Than I should have known

I lost episodes

And threw away the whole entire show

I went running long

And then I threw up on the subway

I only like the one Sublime album

(The one with wrong way.)

You know?

Cuh' I went the wrong way

I fucked up on all my dollars

I got karma back hard, yah

Got a poem or prose or song on ol' Ms. Molly, too, (or two)

I fall in love inside the tube,

Truth is, though

Teletubbies and teleportation

Ain't so far off from where I come from

Problem is,

Opporsite world,

I'm the story of the whole show;

For sure dawg.

—a situational

Thought process.

When the crack finally kicks in,

Astounding the loss of my confidence

I've gotten lost in a toxic land

I got syndrome “talk to much”

Not on the spectrum, nor diagnosable

X's and O's on the tic tac toe board,

Just an underhanded

“I told you so”

All the rockstars want

—Subtle thoughts of suicide as the train approaches?

Nah,

Models and the other types of girls

That never work at all,

They just born at it.

I got bored with it,

But not the fourth one,

Cross my first amendment,

On my heart like catholic

More like Bart Simpsons,

Like art magic

Cause I won't watch that show

But love Matt Groening—

Maybe I'm the type that just

Love hating

But hate loving with

No way to

I don't hate you;

Yeah you're right, I'm off

Take two.

((Good Luck Riding The J Home.))

Not a gym run, a different kind of cause, I guess

I got so many plausible options, I guess

I should call on one of them,

Toss a number up, struck the dog on mathematics

I can't let my lantern out of gas,

We're not friends, are we?

What a fiend! Are you offended?

I just want to see my dreams relayed to me—

Is that too much to ask?

So I'm the asshole.

What did I pack a bag for?!

Picnic baskets.

What did I leave this curse for?

Nothing,

Thanks for asking, Nance.

I put a pilot on the presence of a whole color— phenomenon.

I swallowed all my pride and presence just for an automaton.

This automation algorithm— is it?

Doesn't make a difference.

I spilled blood inside my kitchen,

Put deposits on a flicker,

Tricked the treasure at a phantom,

Phantom

I want more but swallowed all my high pulp orange juice on knowledge of the only one;

There's only God,

There's only us—

There's only cause+ effect, 6 more albums, note books and a couple novels that came out of that one.

Squeeze em hard, ya'll.

Don't let me love God.

Don't let me talk back,

I'm not about a rack.

Tantrum, yes.

Talk to my God.

Please.

Talk to me God.

Now.

Talk to my family one time.

Now.

Talk out me sideways—

Now.

Bring me a rebel.

Now.

I have a headache.

Now.

I got regrets son.

Now I got a dead son, a dead daughter a ghost cat and George Jettson, Michael Jackson and George Zimmerman, all of my tabs open:

I take a tab hoping I fall asleep on the cold ocean,

Calm before storm comes

Out on a surfboard

Look at the full moon—

Nobody can hear you so

SCREAM.

Now.

For crying out loud,

Take the knife out,

For a second or thought, I'm a wife now;

What back handed thought or a back and on blacklist—

Your back room was only your conscious—

Now I'm looking at my left side,

Also catatonic,

Not aboard the problem like you wanted,

What an order form for border patrol,

You want tall glasses of hard fortune,

Work hard for it, or rosemary pork on sourdough.

I'm in love with you, but in poverty—

There the devil is.

But oh, aren't we all familiar?

Suit and tie hangs to the tide,

I tie the knot with rope from which I die,

And quickly crafting coffins, want to walk around before I go off,

Diving board or world one antenna?

Not to mention it, redirect the attention and energy into something other than consumptive—

Everything I do and everywhere I go, I clutch this stone

Or put inside my pockets knowing if I let it go

Or it falls out and to the ground

Not only will I float up,

But the world will open

And swallow us all whole

((Down.))

I live with the knowledge of criminal visions and masterpiece compilations, but as of today

I owe a bank my very and entire existence

It is what it claims to be, these days ring true

Nothing these days sounds like music but you.

I put that book back on the shelf;

Rewound the tape before I put it in the case

I knew it would be late because, well

That's the way it always is

That's the way I always am

I'm sorry mom.

That's the way it always is—

They told me I don't need no makeup on,

However this may have only been true when I was ten to twenty two,

Or twenty two,

Or two whole years ago before the motorcycles stole my story.

When I put the sun up in the sky, I suppose, is when I started this

[that's called a God Complex]

It's all behind us now, or rather

All up front

And out in the open

In twelve point font

As if I would ever cop to it

I took the wrong way to Wall Street l

Believe me l, i think of the tree at the rock,

Long before this all was ever thought of,

And I held her seed in the heart of my palm

God said go the other way,

I said

“Okay”

I want to see how much money I make;

I wear makeup,

I got nothing

So much for a body

I got stuck with words and good talking,

And long vocabulary instead of the coast and a longboard

So what's the cost for a whole table turn?

So what's the cost for a “her—perfect.”

Huh?

What is the cost for some popcorn in Lorne's office?

What is the cost just to cover the love boat theme song—

Don't get me wrong

I have original music

I'm just hard getting to it;

The motors are running

The mirror: my mind is a murderer, murderer

Engine's are purring are hurting her, hurting

But I been wanting some corn on the cob

To talk to my mom

To call some place home

To care for my son

To wake up on Sunday past noon like

“That was a good show.”

And the next sold out .

real talk, I got real problems

Someone knows I'm on top of my thoughts at the rock,

Choking back cocaine

All the world under me,

Mad at the world though

For not looking up to me

Huh

I call this suffering

Cause I already been been hungry,

And homeless

So I know this

Pit-of-your stomach

And tied to a brick at the bottom of the ocean feeling, that really

Sits somewhere between

“Hopeless”

And “not good”

But hey—

If you were to say “how's your day”

I answer “I'm great!” Like a positive, programmed robot or something, my mantras lately, replaced however with repetitive honest pleas of

“Please help me.”

Seems like— the only thing meaningful is saying this inside my Google documents;

However,

Seems like,

It isn't worth the breathing, really

Oddly, I forget to—

Then I get this special feeling,

Almost sentimental, inside my head

I don't need medicine as much as

I just need a friend besides my cat

—thoughts of hammers in my brain—

If I could tell you what the level of the pain is?

Mercy.

There doesn't seem to be a number

Merry Christmas,

Let's get displaced;

Case is dismissed—

Let's get shitfaced

Wash ...

What Up Wednesday (“What Up” w-Ū.)