Aggregate Knowledge

Poetry, musings, art, and whatever else falls out of my head.

Curse of the Sheeple

Combination of hand sketch and computer.

Last Night or This Morning

Sleep alludes me, runs away,

leaves me stranded, night and day.

Sun is rising, blurred skies behind,

wasted body and rotting mind.

Sit and stare, at nothing grand,

last cigarette burns in my hand.

A new day is starting, but I am stuck,

in yesterday, but that’s my luck.

I never move. I sit, among the trees.

Until I am gone, on a sturdy breeze.

Schrodinger’s Bar

“Imagine your sitting naked in a box.”

      That is what she whispered into my ear while her ivory coloured hand skimmed against my goose pimpled flesh, and her perky tits hugged my bicep. Not a syllable more was muttered, just that quick cryptic phrase, and her warm breath against my earlobe.  Her blonde hair swaying in time with her slender hips as she glides away from me. Black pumps push up and tight jeans cling, causing her supple ass to ebb and flow like the tide, my eyes feel like twin moons, trying to pull her back my way.  The lights flash to the music, as my mind flashes back too her words.

“Imagine your sitting naked in a box.”

     I stand in the middle of this crowded dance floor, alone. She, like a phantom has disappeared into a dark corner, the club slurping her up, like a slurp my rum and coke. I feel glued to this spot, like a tree, rooted in confusion and wonderment. Like a lost child, waiting for her to return to me and take me home. I try and imagine, why she chose me to entice, but I know that this will do me no good. So, I down the rest of my drink in one big gulp, one dose of liquid courage, before I follow after my sultry spectre. I can almost smell her trail across the bar, vanilla and sin. Reminds me of trying to steal a cookie before dinner, when I was a child. I feel young, and I can’t  quite explain why. I spot her leaning against a wall, a margarita in her hand, a straw balanced between her juicy lips. Once again her words reverberate through my mind.

“Imagine your sitting naked in a box.”

     I am not so sure I want to even go over to her, but my legs betray my mind, and I try to come up with the perfect reply in my mind. Playing over every possible thing I could say, not wanting to ruin, what I already considered impossible. Then a though stampedes through my mind. “What if she was fucking with you?, She’s young, sexy and totally out of your league.” I turn quickly, veering myself towards the bar, still close enough to formulate a strategy, but not on a collision course with failure any more.

I plop myself into a stool and ask the bartender for a rum and coke, and get a “yeahsirrr” and plastic smile. I drop  a five down, and the smile fades. I sip my drink and think over the odds, of actually  being able to explore the girl, that will now not stop invading my thoughts. I sit and I can almost feel her breath on my neck and her tits pushed against my back. And her hand snaking it’s way around my hips and onto my semi hard cock.

That’s when I see her doll like hand, and realize I am not daydreaming and go to turn around, but she slides into the stool beside me. She looks at me with scanning eyes and a quizzical smile and says “Close your eyes”. I feel a little silly, but I don’t care. I close my eyes and I wait for whatever is coming next. I feel her hand on my inner thigh, and her lips inches from mine, I can taste her, she is so close. Then I feel her lifting up my shirt and she starts to scratch me, but wait its not a scratch it feels more like a snake biting my flesh. The next thing I know I feel like my skin is being cooked from the inside out and the last thing I remember are her words.

“Imagine your sitting naked in a box.”

End of part 1.

The Coat Room

Anxious.

Breath catching.
Darting eyes freeze.
Getting harder inside jeans.
Kindling lust, my number one priority.
Quietly ravage sweaty thighs.
Unseen, voices whisper.
X-rated yoga.
Zipping.

Stop and Go (Ramblings on Life and Death)

Image

     I was walking around the other day and an absurd thought came to me. What is life, not the meaning of life, because I don’t think we are capable of understanding or comprehending that. I wasn’t even thinking about it in a spiritual way, but what is life when it really comes down too it. It seems like my entire day revolves around moving objects around. I wake up and move the coffee from the cabinet, into the machine, into the cup, into me, and not to be gross but then…. well you get wear I am going with that. It’s not just food though. I find myself cleaning and realizing all I do is move dust, dirt, dishes, clothes, trash, myself, my furniture, my files on my computer. Even right this moment, I am moving keystrokes into words, and those into sentences. Constructed this loosely fitting paragraph. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I can’t figure out a single activity or action that I perform that doesn’t involve movement, even sleeping, we still move, even in a coma we still move, our brains anyway, to a certain degree.

     What’s funny is that it calmed me, and it made me less afraid of death. I don’t mean what comes after death, because I have no idea, I have my guesses, I have beliefs that seem beautiful and could possibly be true, but I won’t know until I die. That’s just how it goes, but I mean death itself. It used to scare the shit out of me, thinking that one day I would just stop. That no matter what I do I can’t stop it from happening, but all this thought of movement made me think. Dying is stopping, its the only time we are truly at rest, and I mean that in a beautiful way, not in a depressive and suicidal way. I love life and I know that every day is a gift, even the hard days. Even knowing that we can’t control the end or a lot of things that get thrown at us, but living is definitely a once in a lifetime experience. Even if you live multiple lifetimes, it’s going to be a different journey every time. So my long winded and horribly drawn out point is, that dying makes life more real. It makes it a tangible thing, I mean imagine reading a book that never ended, some people might say that would be amazing, but I disagree, its in out nature to end things. It makes everything so much better when you know that one day it will be gone.

Jennifer Lawrence Portrait

From my Sketchbook.

kurt1

From my Sketchbook

Platinum

From mt Sketchbook

Fall scene

I painted this onto a pumpkin.

Before & After Halloween Skull Decoration

Dollar store prop making at its finest.