Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

it was one time! one and that was it. after that I thought to myself what is the point!

if it happend that way (last two sentences) it would of been great but no!

-but why does it have to b this way

-didn't i mean more to you thsn thst?

-ppain---not being a man. not being a man.

I was like a little child crying for a superman toy lost under the deck.

girls do not go for that. they want dumb smileing and stupid men--it does not matter the size of your cock, as long as you are dosile enough to be dressed up you are what ---spme women want---and that is the harest part---you do not realize you were a ken doll untill way after the fact--that sying about love being blind--it is TRUE!!!!!!!!


to a cold night in vancover, and buying a 30 once garbage bag of smag weed off some on for 5 dollars drunk on granville street---forever rain....


to lost thought at mid-0night------god let me rest!

I don't write stroies or prose well. I'd like to respond:

In what I name as feminine is where I claim deficiency.
The physical analogy is obvious: my beard is thin
(no lion lacks his mane); my shape is fat (with old-man-breasts and thighs);
my pitch is weak, my faith is tried, my tears are seen (like little girls’).

Androgyny misogyny blooms with harshest efficiency.
My full male sexuality (both masculine and feminine)
in civil war upon itself and narcissistic compromise
grasps the why-question-chromosome and sees its ex- depart Man’s grip.

And what is more outside my reach than power over others’ love?
And when my Not is feminine, what’s Woman more than loneliness—
the single state of being I might claim when what I claim is naught?
Upon that person/place/idea/thing, I crown the pronoun She.

The She of hoped relationship might be the one I ought to move
from some outside of future-held experience to Loneliness
(within my He-man human network in which all of me is caught)
and love this man (this me, this ex- and why) who somehow ought sum one.