Moms Against Gaming

Before the very very bright murderous thoughts, a dreaming 
claustrophobic violence lobe seethes the fear of women 
from the quiet long toaster of its dude-mold, 
horniness fever bandied about in instructional video drag, 
blog skin musk trailed moody fused to racism
as if in a bad bad eBook fuck-up,
logical fallacies summoned with hate as if in fright, 
scared of walking over to the Kool-Aid jug-romanticized 
to actually manually digit eyeballs,  

scared of breaking, 

wanting to break. 

Gmail

Mickey Mouse in anatomical hockey mask sticks a nail into a stress-relieving toy, nude, rat stomach transparent, veins weird, ears gross. Magical M&Ms become grass Kermit-like in the holes aliens left in the rapid eye movement of male tantrum, the asbestos gaze leashing the anime colossus of the robot lord’s gorilla remains legless to Martha. Mental doom entombs inspirational candy with the rancid beer physics of semen jeans and with the chimney science of cuckoo clock boners, snuggles bubbles into industrial refuse-warmers.   

If Santa Were A Jock

With the lights out, the action-lava of nostalgia smashes into a plateau,

into a grid touched by its jock sun, the firmament encoded into lulz

with the Jedi vibe of Reddit most foul, of gods enamored with my dump. 

I watched Goombas share a sleeping bag and forgiveness wander into gore, 

in the ER, hands on the funky chakras of a football mascot. 

The animated chatter of the reanimated corpse, though –

in the comments – can you feel Yoshi’s castles?

I have … seen things you people wouldn’t believe.

When I close my eyes, I still see stuff … Christmas circling back

to the blaster in a screenshot, glitching from hobo to robo – to bro –

spawning milkshake in its casual death, chiming relative

to its mortal throwback, adorable as jelly latching onto fear.    

mysterious night curve Friday in a boat

dry against dead scary cherry sank a big heart

bloated elderly Japanese static teddy leather

drain of mirrors furnace tomorrow blasts backwards

verboten major sticky strained Warhol’s swastika

Jesus mounting really hates humans

really leave who amongst the most damned lawnmower

as the brain morass fucks a girl

ugggghhhn 15 minutes of synthesized birdcage

little bunnies eeeeeee, whores as waterproof, giants, elusive

bring in the shake isolating deepthroat meaningful Axe

tomb pour O dicks shits

feel intrusive killing as well bleed out intrusive

worry anxious same goes itchy meta

rapping Reagan Oi since first wig caramel

screeches can’t burger asking if the system is fucked

imaginary lalalalala draws pawing dark metal

merry steak knife floods if glitter goes blank

data 2010 of

the normal beach bubble

blip-realm

towel tongue

jonesing for

innate popsicle

on a dime 

remixes LSD

to default goblin

of global

duck gray with….

cook pine

in pain

inject with….. 

shoot my dog

balls-deep in diaper

refashioned

shapes of sounds;

the stream opening

a subtext of exteriors

mono sky-eyes

full of blood –

bliss techniques

dribble marshmallow

midair Toyota

chevron twinkle with….

the jazz process

of your enemies

flashed

then stayed on:

Dali’s tears belched

from the slashed lens

of circle burn

blow job 3D-printed

King clockface

Aknefuk on

quaaludes in

ghoulish schmooze

with….

apathy FM-

unshuffles

the Manson experiment's

mousehead jizz

magic threat

Matches soft moon Stefan’s

matchbox glands

pussy foot 

baby blinder

splooshes dead pigs with….

the striations of torture

not always visible

The Wax Fruit In Dune

weird worms go anywhere

like a penis, handcrafted Chuck-e-Cheese

lab spirit love glimpse via the wardrobe’s Mickey Mouse

ironically scraping poop off of antlers

circuits hark at the gift guide, interject with an exploding head

the darkest missing pet bastard inside out suit

spider solid math medley secluded in ugly sweater

penis tempest erect as the sisterhood rips it out

(swallowing the scream in the mug)

(suffering the egg timer’s thyroid chin)

for Linux butchers cheese, glittering bloody vape

crypto twitch digests MS Paint

eats heat thud alive via Agent Cooper’s fruit wax

the worms in Dune look like dicks, fossil aerobically

but their moving parts geek to the massacre
but big man x-rays at cop funerals set up counter-claw 

Food

Zeus eats seafood through a mask of ocean gauze and that spray-wobble of food extraction is how ambient diesel relates to the brownie’s dark algebra connecting the car bomb to the limb’s iPhone case with the flavor of piano thought bubbles crunchy as souls captured in lunatic blotches of lobster torture and soft-porn boardgames decking the hallways of aquatic time’s strange light with the motion of mysterious flirting mauling puppies in God’s lap and chopping the conduit to its bleak expanse in a circus of bug debris as if in the wake of the Red Bull time-travel of a scarecrow with fucking fleas.  

The Devil Blocked Me

Squid kill deer as a 2001 space odyssey 
inks the pyramids and Chernobyl 
single-handedly fans a joint!

well now all the pics relax

and cry goop as through balding eyes

your asshole tears a new you!

seethes death's negative energy
as wriggle becomes urban legend

and snapchat butters hat! 

surfs the full moon's log (in Hawaii) 
as funny abstract neurotransmitter 

tucks into urinals swollen with gnarl

and every oink oink in-between

super Mario hunchback as bacon knot

of police officer licks orphan!

As peace perpetuates gun

fire foams in horse bellyache!

Rocky's flipper, though

tooling Gatorade around in insomnia

as anarchy = Jehovah's witnesses

in tungsten dies alone, misunderstood

the Devil blocked me I can't #believeit!

Untitled – Another Mutation

An ambulance out of nothing – out of hollow whale chained to crisp parking lot –

with a side of Steve Jobs's head in a bear trap, less an electron than

a regular plugin. Pug flesh combed by its soothing atom.

A homeless man sleeps beneath this monument to youth –

a mashup of regular flesh and bones – talking, talking; the IKEA stick a cop beat him

with gave him a sex change. A spreadsheet of this still languishes there as

a memorial of the time the robot bourgeoisie, wrapped in futuristic jaundice, began to

understand Marty McFly, who in a manly voice insisted: “Instead Skeletor –

though homosexual – should be TIME's most biological person of the year.”

Commercials spread thin behind 3D glasses on a troll's nose.

“Progressively,” Walmart sexualizes the crooked spectrum with the zen of fermentation,

branding itself pro life, arming celebrity holograms with learning devices

to fight like regular babe magnets; their ghosts spit in the sand.

Nobody cares. 

Failson Autism

magnetic duct MMORPG undisguised dick echo

from unconscious supercomputer to Japan,

the queer blood Barbie colossus slick

spider paste peg streaming the monstrosity

with cephalic punch interface of sticky GPS, grainy dreams

now long overgrown dream-addled disturbed in

cop loneliness spews the blood, a dinosaur-pile feeling

from within a child's balls, crying the blood terminals

panda afterbirth in lawnmower static electricity

latch fussball hacked toilet dying on my bicycle...

I chug helicopter beefcake laughing subterranean acoustic

whip inverted, as you unite the demon copy ribbed laser sensitivity

dark jerking insanity of hipster missing narcissist

swells Pokémon pope tampon, zombie Bic spoon dusk

streams such pharmacopeias as road cone moon bling impact-werewolf

manslaughter obliquely, the clickhole bevy Linux breaks tits

tumblers shroud the best, acetylene drones like hell, Tokyo's bloodstain

gravity tush flower aesthetic and she kisses gangster stool in our mindblowing

dick's throat and I bloom dreadful, a nightmare fashioned

after earth-toned windex and the shame flexes the goat steel gamut

Boogie Nights – Another Mutation

An internal object holds him down. It doesn't know what he is. As its orbital mystery, its tight lid, Krang knows what it is. The proclivity for gruesome overreach of its petrol cadence – a gray area poses as a portal, transforms into a bubble. A literal fume, worst anchor. He thinks, “I'm going to kill myself,” then hears voices behind him – Ernie, no, you can't, not here – and the very statement seems to cross a threshold. Solar blood. I am Krang, motherfucker. Figuratively, the goat in the display cabinet is inanimate, therefore embodies the Gospel; social nebulae filling its autism with bells – sensors discerning textures with a bacterial fisheye – it plays the lead role in Boogie Nights. “John Travolta” finally fucks a girl. Necrophilia, finally. Fever-ink traces mirror-ball architecture. Pigeons shit like chicken. A pox pops up, little non-biodegradable prisms ejecting the venom of the pivotal lump's void. I shit on my own shit. A fluorescent graph finds its tabloid tone, finally, like a tongue curtailing heavy piss. “[For which] I am going to Hell,” she tells [Ernie]. End of (a bad) movie. 

Loud Dildo

A doorbell resonates through tunnels like the slain flavor of malaise in comet camouflage. Oscillation laid pillow nodes cracked beneath the emoji of male birth control – that a chemical Columbine has a friend in the electrical bear breaks the internet. To make the physical wind's hate-finger FAQ discord on an open field with its dick, choose your own adventure right in the flux opera cookie cleavage station if you're a lady; the anus if you're a gentleman. Lest tinnitus GWAR audiences full of Microsoft, a future gameshow robo-enigma must mangle the dildo's skeleton and the dildo's repellent defense-skin. 

Nude Dads

a pointless! head

do you ever? delete tweets

the! child is so fucking small

you can't even put a small toy on

its head

hocus (pocus)

amounts to cooking

a chainsaw –

to razing a car,

a rash

or to having once stood

in stubble

Fuck Yeah Mom

the fuck video game

Oreo of Tarantino

white, male, alien leaked threads, self-aware,

extending hatred

I am the

last homophobe

the Cookie Monster mass shooting

started to disappoint the hippie:

I stick the ghostly mess post-apocalyptic in a calcified host

fruition circling the cookie console describes a narcissistic suicide

the brunt of an Euclidean vibe averts Muslim social media

like a rejection-python, high jinks-shrouded –

former pieces formed pierce

ears

ahhh rummage bald;

in beta YOLO

a bladder fizzles

introspectively,

steam stems from panic

foaming at the

girl grave

an Ikea-dimension

inspired the tableaux-cut:

the pillow fart of passing Kool-Aid

disappeared through a jar as

if face-flossed at a D&D swimming lesson

the dead man paring karate with paralysis,

fuck yeah mom, Helter Skelter,

jpeg 

Symptoms of Death

Paper is evergreen, with candleneck stuck up the theoretic lightbulb.

A Japanese sprite’s fear of shopping awakens a bias for cuddly stuff.

For where he pees, the woods bury Andrew. Insects KKK HIV.

At a party, clean puke’s 80’s inertia;

dirty death in the face of a sleeping bag’s port.

A gorier mom would’ve cleaved your dad’s diseased beer-projector.

Satan swings buckets of waterlogged sexts, in Minecraft,

weeping – on the very spot where a corpse sucks the mortician’s dick

smiling tiny fast smiles because

apart from the obvious splashback

symptoms of death include the turbo-smile

in miniature, psychosomatic red balls

and a violently ripped off breast –

bummed out snakes splattering around in glacier fluids

as green ground-shift eats itself. 

Anxiety in a continuation of robots blending among ghosts.

Radio to the point of overkill.

disco ball entropy’s core gravy particles bled like a Steve Buscemi mask from concrete’s magma-face, it’s porn season in the fat modular city, the killer song’s junk cubes are fuzzin’, clocks inside tulips get completely grayed-out with electromagnetic gum, babies’ grim ass murals get ripped off on YouTube by low life lizards, in hacker coveralls the archeological raccoon is hanging out with friends in the Walmart shade under the influence of a drug, tending to tulips that are permanently in the throes of becoming their own pimps, Santa with full moon balls laughs haiku-wet, app-abuse, a clamp for life for a bad family and its gimmick cat

rot suffers the Pac-Man horror-constant

in the eye of the last giant asshole breathing blackinternalchaos:

glitch-sick mongrel physics power-melt into hauntedhouse head lakes:

spinal teeth split beds through clothes tyrannical men

wear jagged, the fresh-puppy fallout of Karma’s goiter-

ground rising up ant farm-style as dribbling, closer masses

chain-sweating their dreamlike sour in infinite mishap.

mashed up eye-patterns licker, hobo Christ, beholder –

sewer shapes trapped in the cold lane’s

headachefest whose decapitations thrust leather holes

into creatures doomed by sharpie to the expressionless madness of

a random maggot deity hung on helium magic

from a disembodied heart

Pus Lad

Shame is a feather. The radar of it squirts fuses

with a hedge that thrashes beneath the skin pulled off

Jar Jar Binks by the war parents – a marionette’s

dead leg in the mouth of a holy cow biting down

with a guffaw’s kick-ass suction. Anyway, the splurge

would have Maureen eclipse scarier lad pus.

A lens turns to stone pitted by the crap clown

like a mole screaming in chimerical gravity,

bisecting the crawlspace of its swinging rainbow’s

black immersive dust’s subtler Meaning

for the Complaints to pour out like sand. Meaning

only Homer’s amorous chromosomes wheel

hypnotically to her now.

So a cop castrates himself. I’m performing

vulture metaphysics on a stuck ratchet, heh. Curses.

Oh, into what had the wizard slid? Sighs.

I like it here. I bought truth in experimental tungsten, hehe.

Nauseatingly, it has self-deleted itself. Looks around.

Thriving, I couldn’t remember forging the weight of

all this piss in the lampshade...

good fog machine fist full of dick per restraining order

fixation meta discordant with toxic throb

worries the bludgeon into sandwich flashback

disengaged nothingness from its sack

dripped off the cartoon home planet’s plug

segued into violence

and robot-like got laid

acid serial skunk blink guitar diaper squishy knots clone

cheek flesh of a terrarium’s soft spot, leftovers an elbow is in

densely truncated beauty nullified seamless

hooks warped in mutant wifi yogurt blackout

heartfelt as star goo’s sunny bat ovens

dickhole cataracts clouding pop

slipping paired with spray

good dick fist fog machine restraining order

meta discordant toxic throb fixation

bludgeon worry sandwich flashback

disengage nothingness sack

drip off the cartoon home planet plug

segue into violence

get laid robot-like

acid serial skunk blink guitar diaper squishy knots clone

leftovers the elbow is in cheek flesh terrarium soft spot

densely truncated beauty nullifies seamless

hooks warp mutant wifi yogurt blackout

heartfelt sunny star goo bat oven 

dickhole cataracts clouding pop

spray paired with slipping

Not Good Bright Light Bad For Bare Legs

A naked woman sits atop a giant CTR monitor

In the ad, a chicken zooms transhuman through the malignant cable

Growing cock stinks, then eclipses the haunted cathode

The cawing of big data in an immaculate gym

A whole lot of sperm threatened by crying

Nerf balls unbunlding behind the eyes, fucking with you

Czar-like, a two-legged Telecoms stereotype afflicted with the paint-sag of ghostly fireworks

Santa climbs down areola chimneys

White trash screaming and knives ensue around a Christmas tree

Also hell-shame within the wildly cursed guts, wrapped in the dragon organ of his coat

Swoosh of stiff gore, then Joe’s orgasm

Dachshund jizz is the boring spirit molecule of Google’s not good bright light bad for bare legs

As a buzzing glob of death comprised of secret variants of internally damaged mushroom

As an ingrown pile of shit the crematorium conceals as a popping swamp of misfortune

The Sims excised from human waste the emotions of a lovecop, of Jesus Christ

Synonymous with Doctor Who fucking anacondas in mosaic Burger King blue

Deepening when nailed to a cereal box

Love app stitching ripped contracting into fins

Modern Chemical

A marsupial haunts the street corner. The snake mouth-breathes

after puking. Victims of a Star Wars way of life.

Artificial intelligence stimulates a flash of pastoral sauce;

volleyball and its hubbub; little tweets by a drone inside a crate.

It’s a spectrum that will unhinge its darkness, only to let it lie prone

in the worst sandbox – a cactus in its concept cage, a shopping trolley

and its embedded wolf. Both perched somewhere in the dark theater,

game faces on, glimmering like garbage.

Moon-aesthetics tracked through the museum

by my boots. As Ghostbusters we carefully weigh

our vacuum tubes, socially, love straws though

which a cheap simulation of care may be

sucked extinct. But sleep’s gun

is a spooky banana – I’d damaged a restaurant

by microwaving foliage in a normal oven,

releasing the modern chemical.

Welcoming Committee - Another Mutation

help, kill yourself, at least until it’s over – kill

me: onward touching-smiling like expanding paste,

the wily ramifications of Beavis steeped

burning in paradise residue, pesky caring

as intrinsically coercive, 10.123456 really

omnipresent scars, wanting something somewhat

semipiously, the hole of a skeleton, beforehand

picked inside-out – a feasible lobster –

lets a dead background conflate with

our sexiness anywhere, fanned throughout

a funny critical mass and helps the creepy

edifice fray outasight, as you and I are not

welcome here…

Counting To A Million

I hate counting to a million.

The way constipation squeezes a carcass as a composite of shit-vibrations, as ornamental magma.

Rockets drip till morning.

I hate it.

Hard on my tits as despair’s voodoo swatches.

Tissues fit a lump of dust like a glove.

Butthole hate won’t exorcise a brown, softly vulgar head from the lawn’s animal hair.

Help my chunk flirt.

Raw brains refine and pump life into stuffed animals, as Jesus once motorized sleepwalking –

A monster once exclaimed – “Yeah, hold my cock – !

“I found the easiest exit wound.”

“Thumbnail coated in vagina acne, dread gnawing at jab pouches

Cuckolded by pure dong lining – shedding, popping when rubbing against penis acne.

Which then also pops.

Speaking in tongues won’t mask your laughter.

WHO THE FUCK AM I BONING!?

What is my cup of tea and what is an egg doing in it, splitting crime’s joint in a dungeon sealed by the morning’s urine lasers.

As orthodox rabies, home to the hug.