finblooming

fuckyounewyork.mp3
I want to be in open arms of yes.
A big pillow of yes! Yeses dancing around.
Large robust bossoms of yes flailing around ill-composed.

I want you to fuck my yes.
Hardcore yes fucking.
But I want you to want it first.
I want you to be the warrior with the bloody taste of Yes on your fuckin lips.
I want you shake mountains of no for my yes.
I want our penines and vaginas of yes to go in and out, in and out, in and out, and fuckin love it!
Orgasming left and right.

For then our yeses will be one.
Ecstatic moments abounding.

I’m so tired of propriety.
I’m so tired of planning.
FOR WHAT!?

What deserves my planning? What in this fine fucking fucked city deserves my complete fucking attention?
I plan so that
assholes can come and glance around for a few moments?
So that
some half interested artists can meander through and have a brief moment of
“ooooh isn’t this nice”
I plan and struggle and work and strive and pour out endless energy, money, time, struggle struggle struggle, pain, pain pain, waiting, planning, meticulous articulations of Aeeeehhhh, Aaaaaahhhh, Ooooooohhhhh so that I can get a quick glance.

Well I’m fucking tired of it New York.
I’m fucking tired of your schizophrenic eyes darting 400 directions a minute.
200 art galleries a second.
10 jobs a year
5 girls a night
3 apartments a season
1 what?! 1 of nothing? Not even myself to call one.

New York.
The land of dis-unification.
New York.
The land of endless diatribes of many. Now. Now….now!
New York.
The land of dissolutioned reception. The land of false starts. The land of contagious and contankerous sores of expended creativity.

“Don’t waste it man.” They say as I belt out my baritone- “Ahhhhhhh!”
“I’m not wasting it! I’m giving it!”

And as I keep unrestrained no-direction no-reception giving… my giving hardens.
Soon, I will give by taking.
I will fucking give by grabbing and shouting in your ear
“FUCKING TAKE THIS! YOU NEED IT! YOU UNCREATIVE FUCKS!”
Play is one method I try to coax the stupefied masses into refined dribbles of drool.
Let destruction be my next method.
Come hither all you fraternity masochistic men.
Come hither all you abusive and demanding women.
I give you a message.
Destroy!
Destroy with no direction. No aim. No consciousness.
Let your destruction be your detachment for the dullity of our society.
Let your destruction be the vivacious creative Yes that soars out of your mouth and into the asscracks of New York.
Let your focused destructive frenzy be the irrefutable and consistently logical conclusion of the unconstrained ambivalent detachment that echoes through your fuckin lives.

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