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Hey! Yeah sometimes I feel like we should talk more, but I hate prattling on. Srsly. I just kinda feel uncomfortable talking about myself. So I try to kinda look at everyone’s stuff on tumblr. Listen to all of ya and let it coalesces in my mind and respond to it. And when it’s my turn to say something I get self conscious and smash a church organ with a sledgehammer. It’s just my way of saying I love all you terrible humans. And I thought you might enjoy some grand silliness
I’m middle management and work in an office. This is my half assed rebellion. I write because it makes me happy and I enjoy exploring the endless possibility with semantic dead ends. Til it murders itself and is born anew again and again. I like how words can become recipes for a different experience. Cook our perceptions into a different dish. And I like watching people eat. Not really. I don’t know why I wrote that. Maybe I just like the feast of ideas. Eat. Digest. Communion. I DO like people watching. I guess tumblr is like a more intimate version of that.
It is odd that we still all go out in public and eat together, but not like, really eat together. Like maybe with one or three other people. I don’t know what we’re doing in public together most of the time. It’s like some weird prehistoric ritual we haven’t been able to shake. We need to be around each other, but we don’t really interact. We just talk shit about everybody on our phones.
God sure is weird.a net of jewelsmaking fun of itself in a circus mirror
a narcissist with amnesiaalmost rememberinga hilarious dirty joke
maybe that’s what prayer istalking shit about corporeal realityto God (the creator)or the Devil (the destroyer)
or whomever it is you’re in love with (the 3 in 1)
its all aboutyoumeus
this strange threewaythis private orgyfloating in space
So, hello in there. My name is Jade Bos. I’m an Aries. I enjoy a good pie fight.

Hey! Yeah sometimes I feel like we should talk more, but I hate prattling on. Srsly. I just kinda feel uncomfortable talking about myself. So I try to kinda look at everyone’s stuff on tumblr. Listen to all of ya and let it coalesces in my mind and respond to it. And when it’s my turn to say something I get self conscious and smash a church organ with a sledgehammer. It’s just my way of saying I love all you terrible humans. And I thought you might enjoy some grand silliness

I’m middle management and work in an office. This is my half assed rebellion. I write because it makes me happy and I enjoy exploring the endless possibility with semantic dead ends. Til it murders itself and is born anew again and again. I like how words can become recipes for a different experience. Cook our perceptions into a different dish. And I like watching people eat. Not really. I don’t know why I wrote that. Maybe I just like the feast of ideas. Eat. Digest. Communion. I DO like people watching. I guess tumblr is like a more intimate version of that.

It is odd that we still all go out in public and eat together, but not like, really eat together. Like maybe with one or three other people. I don’t know what we’re doing in public together most of the time. It’s like some weird prehistoric ritual we haven’t been able to shake. We need to be around each other, but we don’t really interact. We just talk shit about everybody on our phones.

God sure is weird.
a net of jewels
making fun of itself
in a circus mirror

a narcissist with amnesia
almost remembering
a hilarious dirty joke

maybe that’s what prayer is
talking shit about corporeal reality
to God (the creator)
or the Devil (the destroyer)

or whomever it is you’re in love with (the 3 in 1)

its all about
you
me
us

this strange threeway
this private orgy
floating in space

So, hello in there. My name is Jade Bos. I’m an Aries. I enjoy a good pie fight.

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You are free, yetin charge of nothingyou have the best seat in the housedown frontcenter stage
hey get comfortablebreathewhat comes nextmight be a fabulous deathor the big love scene
usually it’s just anotherlong soliloquy
the rambling one about freedom and lovethe one where you try to keep yourself companywith the idea of an audienceand the dream of an after party

You are free, yet
in charge of nothing
you have the best seat in the house
down front
center stage

hey get comfortable
breathe
what comes next
might be a fabulous death
or the big love scene

usually it’s just another
long soliloquy

the rambling one about freedom and love
the one where you try to keep yourself company
with the idea of an audience
and the dream of an after party

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Grandma has been gone for years, but I still have dreams about her old Victorian house. Its like the final resting place in my dreams because whoever who has died, I always see them there.

Her house was a weird magic place. Maybe because everyone I knew who lived there has now passed on. It could be the skull she kept in the cellar. Grandma snagged it with a fish hook and pulled it out of the Big Sioux River. Just the top part, the skull cap. A darkened brown bowl with one eye hole loop that acted like a strange handle. Some sorta scientist looked at it and said it was a few hundred years old, probably Native American. I don’t know why she kept it. You’da thought the scientist woulda put it in some scientist cabinet with the other lost and found bones. Maybe in with the formaldehyde jars full of strange blooming oddities.

Last night I had this intense deja vu. I was sitting on the toilet and there was this kind of old person medicine cabinet smell. It reminded me of Grandma’s house. I guess I kinda lost myself imagining I was at her house and then, for a few seconds, I actually was.

Grandma hoarsely called out to me. “Ready or not here I come,” she said. Then the bathroom door handle jiggled and I awoke.

Grandma has been gone for years, but I still have dreams about her old Victorian house. Its like the final resting place in my dreams because whoever who has died, I always see them there.

Her house was a weird magic place. Maybe because everyone I knew who lived there has now passed on. It could be the skull she kept in the cellar. Grandma snagged it with a fish hook and pulled it out of the Big Sioux River. Just the top part, the skull cap. A darkened brown bowl with one eye hole loop that acted like a strange handle. Some sorta scientist looked at it and said it was a few hundred years old, probably Native American. I don’t know why she kept it. You’da thought the scientist woulda put it in some scientist cabinet with the other lost and found bones. Maybe in with the formaldehyde jars full of strange blooming oddities.

Last night I had this intense deja vu. I was sitting on the toilet and there was this kind of old person medicine cabinet smell. It reminded me of Grandma’s house. I guess I kinda lost myself imagining I was at her house and then, for a few seconds, I actually was.

Grandma hoarsely called out to me. “Ready or not here I come,” she said. Then the bathroom door handle jiggled and I awoke.

Tags: fiction prose
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Good Poetry

Each stanza a pornographic picture of God

a blasphemy a blessing a happy funeral.

How did we become so safe so boring?

Quick! Just enough time to dash off

a secret love note: Fuck everything!

Good Poetry

Each stanza
a pornographic
picture of God

a blasphemy
a blessing
a happy funeral.

How did we become
so safe
so boring?

Quick!
Just enough time
to dash off

a secret love
note:
Fuck everything!

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Vonnegut nudes leaked.

Vonnegut nudes leaked.

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TGIF

TGIF

(Source: johnnythehorse, via apanelofanalysts)

Tags: TGIF
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Buddha’s Labor Day Blowout

Slow growing clarity like a walrus enjoying a lengthy shuddering piss at a breakfast buffet

I need to take you to Disneyland and cook the place down into a sparkly purple pink powder

We can stay wired  on that for 40 days and 40 nightsAnd if we use our punch card the 41st will be free and eternal

Buddha’s Labor Day Blowout

Slow growing clarity
like a walrus enjoying
a lengthy shuddering piss
at a breakfast buffet

I need to take you to Disneyland
and cook the place down
into a sparkly purple
pink powder

We can stay wired 
on that for 40 days
and 40 nights

And if we use our punch card
the 41st will be free
and eternal

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coupdetorchon: Understatement.

coupdetorchon: Understatement.

(Source: vhsdreamz)

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A publisher once asked me who my target audience was. For some reason I blurted out, “I’m the Gagne sleeper of LSD.” He asked what that meant and I just shook my head. “I guess you’re not my target audience.”
Of course, I didn’t know what the hell it meant either. I was on a lot of drugs in those days. I do know I liked the phonetics of the phrase. “I’m the gȯn-yā sleeper of L.S.D.” I repeated it to myself continually like a mantra, like a Beastie Boy’s lyric, for several moons. And for the record, the Beastie Boy voice was Adam Yauch. What Beastie Boy usually voices nonsensical mantras in your head?
FYI - A gagne sleeper is a style of choke hold made popular by 1950s pro ‘rasslin champ Verne Gagne. So, I guess this meant my audience was people whom enjoy old time ‘rasslin and psychedelics. Yep. This feels spiritually true. Thoughts? What feels spiritually true to you?

A publisher once asked me who my target audience was. For some reason I blurted out, “I’m the Gagne sleeper of LSD.” He asked what that meant and I just shook my head. “I guess you’re not my target audience.”

Of course, I didn’t know what the hell it meant either. I was on a lot of drugs in those days. I do know I liked the phonetics of the phrase. “I’m the gn-sleeper of L.S.D.” I repeated it to myself continually like a mantra, like a Beastie Boy’s lyric, for several moons. And for the record, the Beastie Boy voice was Adam Yauch. What Beastie Boy usually voices nonsensical mantras in your head?

FYI - A gagne sleeper is a style of choke hold made popular by 1950s pro ‘rasslin champ Verne Gagne. So, I guess this meant my audience was people whom enjoy old time ‘rasslin and psychedelics. Yep. This feels spiritually true. Thoughts? What feels spiritually true to you?

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Thank you for the feedback. I love feedback, especially if it’s critical.
I realize the photoshopped picture of a woman suggestively licking a baby’s foot is perhaps jarring. In fact, I made it and posted it for that very reason. I create images, poetry and art meant to be unsettling. And, hopefully, a tad more nuanced than plain ol “creepy.” This aint pedophilia. That would be unfortunate. Maybe I should change the woman’s face into a skull?
So, why would I cross contaminate a sweet innocent baby with sex? 
My stimulus behind making this image is the incessant marketing of babies and children, whether it be mothers on social media or giant corporations on TV. People really think babies are incredibly special. It’s kinda like how Christian rock bands sing about lovin’ Jesus so much you begin to question if they‘re trying to get into Jesus’s pants. 
Besides this little “vague” piece isn’t about how awesome babies are or aren’t. It’s about a couple that can’t have a baby, living in a world where people constantly, thoughtlessly, bark, “When you gonna have a baby?”
I guess I tried not to be too obvious. I tried to make it a bit of a puzzle. Perhaps I’m trying to sell you something like people on facebook try to convince everyone their life is wonderful, or the TV ads try to infect you with a strange longing for an item you didn’t even know existed. Cupcakes for the unconscious. A fever dream. A completely random thought. A funny joke remembered at a funeral. 
I do like your implication that I’m not awake when I make such things. That it’s all some unconscious creation. Maybe I am just a puppet acted upon by a lurid mad muse designed to infect reality with an insane thought virus. That sounds kinda fun. Perhaps even interesting.

Thank you for the feedback. I love feedback, especially if it’s critical.

I realize the photoshopped picture of a woman suggestively licking a baby’s foot is perhaps jarring. In fact, I made it and posted it for that very reason. I create images, poetry and art meant to be unsettling. And, hopefully, a tad more nuanced than plain ol “creepy.” This aint pedophilia. That would be unfortunate. Maybe I should change the woman’s face into a skull?

So, why would I cross contaminate a sweet innocent baby with sex?

My stimulus behind making this image is the incessant marketing of babies and children, whether it be mothers on social media or giant corporations on TV. People really think babies are incredibly special. It’s kinda like how Christian rock bands sing about lovin’ Jesus so much you begin to question if they‘re trying to get into Jesus’s pants.

Besides this little “vague” piece isn’t about how awesome babies are or aren’t. It’s about a couple that can’t have a baby, living in a world where people constantly, thoughtlessly, bark, “When you gonna have a baby?”

I guess I tried not to be too obvious. I tried to make it a bit of a puzzle. Perhaps I’m trying to sell you something like people on facebook try to convince everyone their life is wonderful, or the TV ads try to infect you with a strange longing for an item you didn’t even know existed. Cupcakes for the unconscious. A fever dream. A completely random thought. A funny joke remembered at a funeral.

I do like your implication that I’m not awake when I make such things. That it’s all some unconscious creation. Maybe I am just a puppet acted upon by a lurid mad muse designed to infect reality with an insane thought virus. That sounds kinda fun. Perhaps even interesting.