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Lyin’ Thoughts 



I may be this thing, 

you call human

I am composed of flesh

but my thoughts are deceiving:

Am I an Alien?

How did these bones forms with gravity at their barriers?

I feel totally connected to the rest of the world

the oneness of the cosmic people is boundless


Its all based on the cross currents

the interwoven moments of dimension


All the factors of each present moment: the oxygen levels, the health of the ocean, the wind currents carrying particles across water and land, the quality and availability of food and water, the earth-centric progressional goal-setting that gives purpose to a life inhabiting this planet;

all these things, momentary equations spun by natural structure, give the paradigm a framework and meaning, 

this is the human paradigm, and all these factors denote the way in which we take in, and expel, energy into the grid of shared existence. 

I am here, you are there. I think this of you, and you ponder this about me. 

there is frustrating beauty and tragedy in not knowing the real thoughts:

I want to kiss you, i am bored out of my mind, what would you look like if we had sex right now, can whales be sarcastic, i wonder why human being is a 10 letter phrase and human beings have 10 fingers…

…what is true connection? can we ever really touch, because I believe that the concentric barriers of electrons between each of our bodies are actually never touching but just bouncing off each other in kinetic woe. Touch is the illusion of amalgamated sensory input on molecular levels, spun into complex networks of bodily functions that, within splits of seconds, frame the next muscular or emotional move. Determinism is elemental. 

What if strings in string theory are infinitely long? What is some subjective observer (oxymoronic description) to that string, scaled to the parallel ratio of a human’s size next to regular string, might see the delineations of the string fabric as never ending, making the case that the strings are subjectively measured and that energy in variable sizes is foundational for hypothetical framework, infinitesimally. 

And then I have thoughts of group sex. I think about running away and what a life of luxury would be, for the nihilist in me. How long could my body sustain the hedonistic lifestyle of “who gives a fuck?” as I give and get fucks between anyone who wants to. 

It would be pleasurable, yes. It is probably bound to be a blast. And yet, with all the physical fun, there would be the grass as greener uncertainty. 

How can i strike a balance of intellectual stimulation with the prostate and phallic stimulation that comes with being a man?

And then I think about my abs and how I work out to maintain a body. I use the gym as mediation and enjoy the ritual. I also lament at the worry coming from eating schedules, and I know I fluctuate and that a small belly bulge is somewhat genetic, but man do I have it good. My body is meant to be used. I want to use it and I want others to use it too. I feel sexy. My anima is strong and needs to be caressed. 

I wonder how sexual scientists were….did they need to feel the societal and salacious connection just as much as the laboratory instruments and procedures?

Sure they did. 

Why not. 

They looked at their bellies too, sometimes, I hope. 

We all can’t be stochastic phase shifting parametrically driven electrons. 

Man, I want a blowjob. 


I may be this thing, 

you call human

I am composed of flesh

but my thoughts are deceiving:

So too are the flesh monsters, next to me, part of the clan

I am them as they are me

We share a bodily miracle

this vessel we are bestowed, both, at the birth

and now, they let it go so far

how sticky is the fat, really

i chose to go to the gym. after how many lack-their-of choices does the impossible actually flourish

at what point does the apathy smear, on knife point over dotted skin, 

relishing the puns and double entendres 

unlimited appetizers pale, in thick and stuffed comparisons, to vessels of fat, to vessels of toppings and condiments

Cheerfully the masses en masse throw plastic, away and to the Visa Vista, to plateau a spending quarterly figure that matches the shape of their bodies: well rounded. 

And yet I want to lick them up and down, I want to taste the underside of their breast fat. I want to know the putrid stench of the garlic armpits. How can I make them sweat? What activity would best suit the pumping of adrenaline? Some 20 degree inclined treadmill? Those things were actually torture devices for prisoners, so that might just have to be the cornerstone. 

But I want to make them keep eating.I want to jump into their skin and use their bodies to their fullest extension; how much will fit into their stomachs; at what point do They get full; what is the chemical feeling of their body makeup that associates with the food intake and how do their ‘drugs’ feel?

What do work out sessions feel like? How difficult is a sit up? What is it like to operate a tub of lard?

What turns them on? What makes their bodies convulse and what do convulsions feel like for them?

To know the other is fascinating. It’s a passing hobby of my mind—to wonder what their nervous systems interprets. I’d like to know their sexual limit. I’d like to roll around on the floor and feel their/my skin on the floor: would I even feel bones?

What could their flesh taste like? Would the isolated/apocalyptic desert island scenario rationalize the mastication of their vessel? What part of their anatomy tastes best and why? How long do we cook it? Does their meat have a flavor or texture associated to the intake of food they have? 

Do they taste like Twinkies?