Tuesday, May 24, 2016


You were always You were always around I was distant I was resistant to be helped To be found You were hoping You could save me from myself, From my hell, But the best parts of you died Every time you tried Every time you failed I'll bite the bullet I'll take the pills They won't be the death of me Nothing will You sank your teeth in I sucked out the venom And swallowed it down You played the victim I played the villain Then we turned it around And back around The coalesced blood burned, But still we never learned once it formed We kept biting more I'll bite the bullet I'll take the pills They won't be the death of me Nothing will You'll sink your fangs in And take my will You can be the death of me I'll love you still Colourless in the air Breathe me in Poisonous; you don't care Drink me in

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

The Alex Show - Episode 76

To circumvent the past events won't correct the present tense it makes no sense to frequent the cycle of being spiteful to faultless rivals you may as well remain idle while circling your malcontent repent repent repent carry on for your survival


ASIDE: I live in the past herein again. I bid adieu, minus seventy-two.

The stairwell is a descending letter L, crooked and droopy. When I think of an object that droops, I imagine it being limp, lifeless even. This is a jagged droop, though, like half opened scissors in a pocketknife.
ASIDE: A pocketknife is not practical in dire situations if you do not have long fingernails.
I am sitting on a leather couch. It is red, but faded, easily mistaken for maroon or a light brown. I have room for two more, but I greedily decide to sprawl out. While examining the building internally, I can see its pulse. Even when we sleep we breathe, and this building is no different. Its heart pounds, and blood pulsates through its walls. The chambers are still, but they digest everything consumed within the last hours of their consciousness. I can hear it. I can see it. If only I could feel it, perhaps my heart and belly would start moving in a different rhythm.
My brain is abandoned all too often. It thinks incessantly, but rarely about its self. Now is different, and so it wonders, "Self, why do I not fixate on my own being? Aside from rarities such as now, why is this building directing me?" To my brain's own knowledge there will be no answer. If it thought like it generally plays chess it would have known this ahead of time. However, it persists, "When do I truly know things ahead of time? When does any brain? We can guess, we can predict, but I do not think we can know. See? I do not even know if I can know!" In its world - my own mind - it is satisfied with its own answer to its own rhetorical question. Now, I can think about the other members again. Hello, Heart. Hello, Belly. How do I start?
to be continued...

____: Criss cross the roads cross over episodes stone throw epicenter came the winter breeze bent birds frozen bones upon the shores splinter spider crept inside her hint of lemon zest of rise riddled rent and jigsaw spent on tangled lines swept out to sea sent shivers back in time rip tide ripples rich with quibbles about naught insight ten spite spikes anchored the wall to the window cracks showing in the amber light tint the tattered tomb tucked under the narration timbre without resonation vile vibrato vents from heated pipes steam sockets full of memory beat on the drum drum drum until dust pierces the light broken beam scattered dreams desire and dirt caked on cake crusted vein beats beats beat pull the gear butcher man father imprint pork belly rewind and set in sand motion locates and tampers thread golden dripped and apple pulled fruit fright fraught indent coast to empty and pitched shards eastward sew them back cauterized caramel squeezed dry and heaven sent

ALEX: Each spec of dust swept from the drum will never rest or land on one as one may guess the web was spun to ingest the coalesced son the spiders silk is warm and sweet like heated milk and satin sheets a clever ruse set to confuse the illustrious lead from his defeat repeat repeat repeat when awake the boy still sleeps opened eyes eternalized but behind those doors the mind was seized arrest the spider and wrest the web but still inside her the boy lays dead in shaky borders and blurred out frames forever to remain the same unless the hoarders pierce the silk and allow the milk to dribble out and seep into the forever fall the web will spin till curtain call enthralled with quibbles nailed into walls beseeching sibyl to recall what one was yours or theirs or mine and distribute each and reassign the overall script of riddled hints the salted wounds the fevers pitched the facade of feigning the twinge herein a waxing waning sediment deposit the silicate element innocent instruments in dissonant merriment dance 'round the web cut open and fed to the mouths of the vigilant innocents a sickening pyramid how does time permit a three-sided figure to circle the sun the silk though smooth still sticks like glue and the mouths which chew are forever silenced and there's nothing more militant than subdued violence

____: Hard tack heartier than heart attack dabs stacks ones tax dig grout out of eyelashes blink twice alive encased in carbon finer than the deadly scarf scented spider like violins still bleeding with each pump next to the other boil the curds and toil the earth plant deep seeds of resignation wrapped tight in the shell of your own skin crisp and brittle and bursting with life shaking from the drooping dew dusted spiral into cork diamonds from the glass in case extravagance lips taste yesterdays precipice woeful morning feather crust and break free hit twice the key unlocked untwined to ensnare powder wings velvet white brown cotton drown in dunes overdue plant knaves in steed dance prance in weeds roots grant the eve break heat and rearrange brined and moist with grit fingers scraped tongue howl lost the moonlight played on

ALEX: Where is The Hopelessly Lost?

____:  I'd page her but I don't think she can see this post


As if I've forgotten? She can see this post. I know you all can. I know you all do. 

repent repent repent

- afm

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Through the Halls

Can you turn off the light? The brightness hurts my head. Fluorescent buzzing, the swarming of memories you dread. Carve your initials in lockers and vandalize each desk. Maybe someone will ask who you were now that you're... My mind is a dangerous place to be alone. My mind is a dangerous place to be alone with you. Crumbled up papers of notes that were never read. Tripping on wires and words that have all been said. Tying up laces, retracing the places you fled. Maybe someone will answer the door now that you're... My mind is a dangerous place to be alone. My mind is a dangerous place to be alone. 
Residing in vacant places won't make them a home.
My mind is a dangerous place to be alone with you. I've feigned my own sickness.
To see who'd coming running,
But all I do is turn to run instead.
No one can match my quickness
When it comes to shunning/benumbing
Those who came to meet me at my bed/
The cure I need to rest my weary head.
My mind is a dangerous place to be alone. My mind is a dangerous place to be alone with you. Can you turn off the light? The brightness hurts my head.

- afm

Friday, April 15, 2016

"80's rap is soooooooooo great"

ALEX: 80's rap is garbage.

SOME BAMA: Alex McCurdy is garbage. See, anyone can say anything when they have no clue what they're talking about.

ALEX: Mid 80's rap laid the base of a culture, but to replace with waste makes you the lace, not a sculptor. 90's rap started to sculpture the sculptors that defaced the base of a race that was altered by white washed clans, I meant Klans, is that o-K? While they tried to disband those who fought in disarray. Subculture, sub-art, submissive and afraid, the above abused the privileges of those who they defaced. They replaced the heard with words of the popular Aerosmith and taught each youngster abroad what makes a rhyme forthwith, so they shook their heads sublime knowing what a "true" rap artist is, but while they were raptured in this figment the truth had gone adrift. The youth started to slip, the proof in the abyss of real rappers rhymes lost in time, and it just is a figment of our imagination and much like morning's condensation it's beautiful to look at, but the important matter is everything that drifts far beyond that swift abyss is a lesson to be learned: don't shutout the unheard.

SOME BAMA: *deletes comment*

*places mic down gently onto stage, since I ain't gon pay for it*


Saturday, April 9, 2016

The Alex Show - Episode 75

Some lessons are self-taught...


______: He's gone.

ALEX: You staying in this relationship and fighting for him as long as you did is not a reflection of denial or weakness, but rather your strength to persevere when times were persistently hard. He's not your responsibility. Every action - no matter how heavily influenced by others - is ultimately his action. He's accountable for them, not you. You breaking it off isn't giving up on him. People like you and I never truly give them up. Sometimes it's necessary to let go physically, especially if needed for your own well-being, but losing that person and that love isn't something you merely get over. Much like the loss of a loved one who passes away, it's something you have to cope with. Time will help, ______, but also keep yourself busy with positive vices. Surround yourself with good people and good vibes. It gets better. It always does. It has to.

______: That was beautiful. Thank you.


______: He's back.


... but that doesn't mean that they've been learned.

- afm