They always told me

I should be; breathing.
experiencing, sunlit skins and
hopes floating alongside pollens.

I should be; waking.
embellishing, long anticipation
of a place to call my home.

I should be; living.
encapturing, joy in C Minor
allowing Dark Humor and Sinister through.

I should be; writing.
expressing, black ink dreams
motor reflex transferred through representation.

I should be; laughing.
enveloping, each beloved spirit
gathering pretty things of which to keep hold.

and I should be; crying.
emoting, tears brought falsely
only to shed truth inside of isolation.

092307

She is sitting here anxious.
Unable to comply with the
pressing need of her
frozen feet restless.

Procrastination pulsing down her neck
to focus centered in her knees.
The tapping verbs reverb
through polish buffed filth and tile.

She is sitting, witting
filling her mind sporadic with
humorous thoughts
discontented disconnect.

She fills her lungs with fauna waste
and cracks a grin to absolute thankfulness.
Her eyes circle in non-darting pattern
to observe her intangible mental creation.

She wants to know your heritage
but always finds apprehension
from social reciprocation.

She wants to know why we are so ashamed
of our for-bearings and for-mothers
that such inquiries have grown impolite.

She extends her toes into imagination,
releasing lactic acid and tension from the unfocused.
She wants to know how apathy has
become the rhythm of her societies environment.

091907

Quite unsatisfied by thought for thought
she clenched her teeth against bone flesh rot.

The dripping core of dream play lines
to break the plot over all their behinds.

And they all knew the child spanking,
for sparing violence was needless thanking.

An infant born into his sin
must first be broken, then built again.

For how shall we teach the spirit love
without the anguish passed from above?

The baby's laughing, screaming cry
will force insomnia's dreams to fly

to rescue innocence clasping hand
forgotten how to understand

why purring cats sleep on the feet
and why the hate will love defeat.

But don't forget the tortured souls,
still lost to search the page's folds.

0918-1907

Tonight I am sleeping but
the problem is that I'm
not quite sleeping
like Science of Sleep/ing
dream-sleep Waking Life.

Breathing exhales and inhales of
meditating toe stretches
that are meant to relax
the ever restless mind

like Chamomile tea
for the insomniac.

My past is living
crawling through my pores
to remind me of
the recollections
I almost got away from.

And now I have been alive
for so many hours. My
stomach barks a growling ache
like all of my human sorrows.

My present fights for
immediacy, for
the gratification
of too many sweets
and procrastination.

While, my future sits
awaiting frantic dread
and raw gnawed fingers
that never had a chance to shine.

And the loom of tomorrow is already casting shadows
covering my eyes with anxiety
quickened breath and adrenaline.

Yet why is the ever flowing mind
wide awake as the sun child
splashing in the crashing
of excitement, while
the body suffers consequence

filled with not-caffeine
and inward churning discontent.
Both aware of this dire need
for regeneration; recuperation.

A rest filled night of
eye twitching stories
and thought-breaking dreamland.

But why is this journey too difficult?

Why have the paths been
beaten impassable and
forced the body
resorting a fate
so repetitious of the Donnor's?

I am not sleeping, but
yet dream to be sleeping
and cannot comprehend
the lack of body sleeping.

091807

My sultan of insanitary sanctuary; you.
My stubborn sulking cherry lolli'; you.
My climber's hands caressing tickled vertebrate; you.
You are my mindplay stapled dreams.

Dreams of sunlight mirrored pupiled love.
Dreams of darkness passioned breathing love.
Dreams of daynight nightday insomnia love.
Love flows elixir through my blood.

From the Vaults of My Cousin.

Blemished

I adore mistakes
The way they slip off my tongue in that baby blue way
Innocent

Sometimes I consider
Sliding these blemishes in between the letters
Of the words I write
Just so nothing of mine will be perfect
And I can savor the taste of wasting away in this cliché English language

(but I know you would come after me with
big vocabulary and dictionaries saying I’m
sinning against the god(s) of literature)

So instead I rub my tongue down my bloody knees
Licking away the “accidental” trip I took on concrete

Some people say I’m one step away from insanity
But I like to think of it as flawed ecstasy

-Ashlin

WARNING: SREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

My bed is covered in shit.
Not shit. Trash.
Not trash. Litter.
I despise those who litter more than
all of those who litter
because I know we all do it.

I spent hours shifting through the wilderness
just to bring out six bags of your litter.
How dare you steal my child wilderness
with your bottles shattered and
downstreamed plastics.

I despise you for throwing your
cigarette on the ground and
what the fuck goes through your head
that makes you think you can just leave your
Starbucks mug on the pavement?
This is human laziness at its most distasteful exhibition.
Fucking humans.
If we have the means to create the waste then
why can't we take the responsibility to clean it up?

He said "Damn democrats, suing everyone for everything."
I scream, 'Damn republicans, not taking responsibility for ANYTHING!'
not out loud but the reverberations
echoed from ear to ear throughout my hallowed skull.
Because I am just a pretty blonde without the possibility of
a thought underneath her golden strands and hazel eyes.
I started to twirl my tresses just because you called me a dumb blonde.
What the fuck, who acts that way?
You were supposed to be my best friend.
You did it to your sister too,
like we could help our heritage any more than you?

And what about the fishes and the lead sinkers and the fork on the bottom of the lake?
And you think I can't lift anything just because I am female.
I will prove to you my strength with all the power held
deep within my narrow limbs.
Spiteful this child shows you she is stronger than she looks.

I AM STRONGER THAN I LOOK DAMNIT!
I can take the hits!
You have no idea what I can take.
Don't short change me my share of trouble!
I can handle it, I promise you.
Don't you dare tell me what I can and cannot carry.
Don't you think I can test those waters myself?

I am so tired of you telling me what I can and cannot do.

Just because you are a woman,
and you can't bear the weight,
means nothing to what I can bear.

This stream is flowing out of control now,
the waters crashing faster until
the shores and the dams and the freeway tresses
can no longer hold the gushing layers of icy flowing rant.

Here comes the flood Victoria because that is what we will call you.

Why can't I turn off my mind?
Do I really think any soul will read this?
Just because I write it?
I often find myself far too arrogant.
This is the first stream of consciousness I have attempted
straight to type,
bypassing the pen and ink and papertrees.

I find it an inexact science incorrect and improbable
because my fingers like to auto-correct and
then they patiently pause for the right thought/word/symbol/letter/vowel/pigeon!

Just three more days and I am coming home boys.
Just four more days and I am coming home boys.
Thursday. And now I sit tweedle thumbed
pretty sitting always waiting
for Thursday.

The condition of being seduced.

It would be quite impossible to get to me tonight.
I stacked a barricade of all the precious materialistic barriers.
Why don't you shop yourself some lovers?

Tonight my self and my pen play darkness games
of seduction and strip tease.
Lines flow deep and passion
of first kisses and nerves
of sex talk with your parents in the next room.

Tonight the ink flows hot like
sweat and saliva slipping from
metal to paper, like
tongue to flesh.

No
you cannot touch me tonight.

This is a moonrise of
vocabulary orgasms and
sentenced to endless literature tantra.

The ideas slipping in a quiver
of momentary pause-thought.
And the created mention escapes
like a stalled moan
that all efforts could not contain.

The black lines growing, throbbing
thick steaming with mindful evolution.
Threatening to debut the emerging body
tremors of ecstasy pleading immersion.

No
there is no invitation to party-crash the
body rolling
taste licking
nimble biting
limbs entwined
with nails digging
scratching to grasp
the soul beneath
the flesh.

The endless loving
muscles aching with begging.
The tingle of extremities, the
solace of deep impassioned poetic
letter for letter
connecting as bodies and souls
and spirits and complete
vulnerable communion
gifting completeness.

No
it would be quite impossible for you to get to me tonight.
For my written verse and I
hold the begging curse so,
Dear, please lock the door.

090507

I sit here sipping you
only to peer into
the bubbles that gathered
on the edge of you
strung like pearls, dancing
on the rim of your liquid

090507

The utter agony of ecstasy.
Anticipate the building release.
Beg for completion.
Press for satisfaction.
Pray that your body just can't handle.
The utter agony of ecstasy.

090307

Why am I the one to bear
your oral bloating and irregularity?
Your fixated plague of diarrhea
sliding off your tongue?
How are your senses so
dead to the atrocity you speak
that your lip fails to even
curl in displeasure
from your foul fermenting speech?

My toes hang off the edge of the bed.

And sometimes I create the perfect question mark.

090207

You are so out of my league.
but I am so alone here and
I hate the solitude.

I fear aloneness with
myself and
my fantasies. And
this house is so empty without you.

And my sheets are too foul and pink
so let's sleep above them-
but then the comforter
scratches at your perfection.

And Buffalo Springfield tells me to stop.
but I just can't hear them through
the go and go and go and
the blood is ringing in my ears and

it reminds me of when he slapped you so hard
you almost lost that side of sensory perception.
Thank God for modern medicine
or to this day you wouldn't hear me from this side.

And now Cake whispers sweet temptations.
Dripping love seduction
rich and melting into my ears.

Weight is always my last word.

Gravity pulls deeper into the mattress.
Sinking me down into the sheets of
Jersey knit and sinful secrets.
I still smell your sweat in my fibers.
And lick your taste off my lips.

You are so out of my league.
but somehow tonight
I rub the bruises
swollen with last night's memories.

Give in to the weight.

last 090207 night.

Why do we fear them?

Creatures under the bed,
Monsters in your head,
Blood-soaked demons walking like the dead?

Moment waking
Sleeping, baking
Dream Creating
Rise thick mind-play yeast.

Appendages frozen
Death Ice holds them
Foot stand the rigor chosen
Reaper hold no breath

to cast the mist arrival death
Blink away the haunting phantom
Heavy dreaming never chant them.