Aside from the need to breathe, feed and procreate the most common thing we (individuals, groups, communities, nations, etc.) share is a fundamental disrespect and lack of consideration for women as human beings and not vessels of temptation and ruin.

Anti-Feelings Campaign.

7:22am

each morning, save the ones i spend in her bed, i watch the ceiling fan turn hoping to find something hypnotic, calming in its autonomy. but it never comes. it's just alternating space and dust-covered wood moving through the thick humidity of this makeshift bedroom. save the days i've been lucky enough to share a bed with alternating hers, i've been sleeping on this couch for far too long. my throat is hot and most mornings feel like summer, just the parts i hate most about summer. i am not enough water and too many words, wishing your hands were here to run over. the world tells me i think too much, about you and it, and sometimes i agree but never in the morning. in the morning i just want your hands here. your fingers wrapped around which ever thumb of mine you like best, tightening vice as you fall into sleep. in the morning i am too honest to pretend that every story isn't somehow rooted in love. i am too honest to write about the world when all i want are your hands. one on my chest, fingertips grazing carrion, and the other fixed 'round which ever thumb of mine you like best.

-lamon

i can still go there

i would like to breath in air that smells different... Chicago, at its best, is barbeque and sweat, but winter is coming and whether or not soot has a smell my nose will conspire with my eyes to make one.


-samantha

how to serve man.

that's not a hand. ii's a claw. and this is not a song. it's an exorcism of numbness. we are not in my bedroom anymore. it's a prison camp that i've been stuck in. this isn't skin. it's a scramble suit with a thousand me's rotating. that's not your mouth, its a boredom generator powered by irritation. we aren't a couple. we're isolationists who tried to use the buddy system. and that wasn't sex. It was a competition for power that I'm clearly winning.

this ain't a break up. i like to think of it as a stay of execution.

you're not a woman. you're a piranha with cutlery for dentured up smile. and i'm not a man. i'm an incomplete punchline to a joke i don't understand.

once we've mastered the art of being feeling-less we'll be able to do this.



-lamon

paris, je t'aime quartier de la madeleine

-lfm

this is what the aliens will see.

where on earth are all these friendly, naked white people?