Once I sat on an oppressive sculpture and ate a banana.

This body is a cage for all of my fragments of self, fighting to obtain

the title me
I am a meat popsicle
Besides the fact that I am dirty, I am clean.
I have no interest in regurgitating this reality,
but exist in constant questioning of its realness.
Willfully peeping below the second layer, down the hall, entering the
dark room hidden behind our spleen; exposing our fears, our libidinal,
raw, repressed appetites.
Spit at me
Aim at the hyper-awareness of instinctual desire.
I love Blood, BLOOD, but not red blood, grey blood.
And other bodily products
not me. not you. not he. not i. not it. not other. not she.
I am them/they
I am a woman with my guts loose
Living in a state of questioning
Where everyone is a participant
Is the customer always right?
I grew up invisible, yelling at the top of my lungs I am fiction!
Both existing and not existing simultaneously in a
Queer space
Uninhabitable space
A transitional space
A cage
A wall
A space of pleasure and pain
An immaterial space
A conscious space
Who am I and how did I get here?
Can I strive for anonymity?
Do I want to?
Does it matter?

The blood bubbles of my thoughts have created their walls within your
shell.
Ravaging revenge within the fouled curtains, stripping layer to breed
layer
Did you feed and water to cleanse or nourish? Does this keep your
spark alive?
Will the nutrients from the act, the fact, my cunt...did I taint that meat?
lulled using avoidance as distraction.
Meanwhile rawed carcasses engineer visual fiction to illicit a rash
chaffing above and below...the itching is simmering, creeping, cracking
the chunk of fat sits still.
You persuaded this edge. This tiny. This pink little lady snuck inside.
Did it still happen?
The consistent questioning of self, truth, failure, cruelty, love, and
reality.
Combating societal horror by projecting our hopelessness
as Mary Douglas states
Our surplus of repression is what makes us monogamous,
heterosexual, conformist, patriarchal capitalists
How can we remember what must be done to remain human?
What could it mean to forget who we are?
can two separate beings become one?
Can a human change?
Is there an essence we all burn from?
The ultimate reality is that of existence. Do we avoid this?
Can we force becoming?
Can we invent our own walls, break them down, and invent new habits
in order to better challenge those habits and barriers?
an experiment on specimen cohabitation collaboration and coexistence

I didnt race very fast this time,

It all just caught up first
The orange looked like orange again
He still pushed my face down,

II bit down.
I guess that wasnt what I was supposed to do.
Instead of tasting his cum,
I am tasting his blood.
Tastes just like mine I thought
guess we are all pretty much the same
only now hes on his knees and I am standing.
Things change quickly these days.
This body will never be a vessel

I want to be multiples, single, anonymous, dual, partnered

What do we gain from singularity or individuality?
Arent we alone enough, defeated enough, run over, tossed aside,
thrown away, projected, prodded, puked, eatin for dinner, and puked
again?

I will never fit inside a box or be caged behind a white picket fence.
I want to receive your gawking impulse
Your fixations on an others violative status
The other
The unidentifiable
The intermediary object between binary distinctions
Edible and inedible
Pervert and detective
Carnival and carnage
Cooked and raw
We are living in a collective nightmare, where happy endings
actually mean a restoration of order and repression.