Let me Have a Look

things
aren't
real
if you
don't ever
say
them
out loud
there's more than
one
of me
in
all
of me

Science Center

and well....
here we are
"now isn't the time for that"
indeed
it's never the time, or a quarter to it
inward seething
my stomach burned all the way up to my gum's
my palms were sweaty
i'm not a good hand holder
and i'm nervous always
one favor please
come closer
closer
closer still
now.
the brain
i marveled at the model of the brain
all these things that go on
in this 3lbs of soft pink flesh
the total abuse i give it
and still
it responds
that's all we need sometimes
a response
a honest to god response

I Bought You Flowers Today

from the receipt:

polluted, everyone, everything, polluted
this city is a giant dumpster
and you all know it
everyone deceased
even in this madness, even i,
even the dogs and children are mad
one can only hope
one can only believe in something
with the twinkling eyes
we've all been tricked
oh yes
the disease eats its way through the walkways,
like termites
everything crumbles
evaporates
distance
there will be others
and that i am sure of
you will come in pairs
or three at a time
you will hide away
like a blanket placed over my birdcage

Santa Clause was Grandfathered In

it's closing in
the time to litter the sidewalk with christmas trees
time to come out of sickness with our own voice
to develop our own small indents that make us whole
the small variables and actions
the way you hold your cup against your chin
or the style in which you slouch
slouching towards the left
or right
depending on which side you're standing

There is No Incision Deeper Than the One Made By You All

always fighting the tide,
there is no salvation
no god, no women or man, nothing
nothing will come down from the heavens
and nothing will stroll into the room
and take all the pity and remorse away
there is only you
"sometimes i wish i could start over"
yeah well,
you can't
"this isn't the way it was suppose to be done"
yeah well,
we're in it, either we change it, or lay down with it
you take these things to bed
even your loudest moan will never drown out
the sound of wind blowing through your empty soul
no matter how hard you dug your nails into my spine
will the blood run warm from your lips
pale blue lips
pale blue eyes
it's necrophilia
yes.
we as men have all fucked a corpse
on occasion
more than once
frequently
i did it for 6 years
not literally of course
cause that's just sick
but....
but you have false power
hiding between you
i made my choice
but i'm not absolute in my purity
my dick calls, "You should of done it!"
while my mind knows whats right
so now i argue with my dick
i argue with my brain
and i argue out loud
to whoever will bear it.

Play it Hard and Close to the Vest

you've discovered the vice young man,
at a young age and with frail young heart
with up and down constant beatings
and your stupid stiff upper lip
tight against your wool coat and leather gloves
you've been away haven't you?
we know where you've gone, when you saw it
this is almost as gorgeous as she was
almost.
we take these things that happen to us,
and put them in our pockets
we use them as book marks
and never pass them on to new books
it's temporary
even though you say nay
it is
your minds made up.
admit it

Of my Heart

the chill in my bones,
i shake em' off,
stepping out, into pale sunlight
heat hidden in the hands of the imperial feat,
the orchestra playing in my chest
and the flowers singing
the heavy cruiser sandwiched down the street
and the steel doors shutting heavily
right behind me
at night, the phone poles across the street
strangely resemble crosses
i'm still waiting for the fired colored leafs
to fall to the ground
we never gave up hope
Cody:
i think you're sick, we haven't been around,
you've been put on everything put on hold,
you've stumbled right your way right through this thing
we all called making a living.

it actually is christmas

so it actually is christmas
the saying goes
"everyday can't be christmas"
but with all that weight and burden,
will it actually be what we thrive for?

Entertainment

fairies dance, with boots on of course,
all over the foot of my bed,
and elves are somewhere to the north
plotting my every which wish
for my first day of rest
coffee and a cigarette
followed by a hot shower and
a movie worth my time
i haven't done christmas shopping,
i really don't have much money
so it'll be hand made gifts for all
out of junk others threw away
i'm not much right now, in the monetary sense,
but i do good by my friends,
and that is the gift in itself.

and the more you look....

and the more you look,
the less you find,
the more you try,
the harder it becomes,
to be okay
i can't help it because it runs,
runs through my system
it's something i posses
face it,
the world is shit
it's a plot to destroy and rape all of us
what are we to do?
reality will not escape us,
and unless we are willing to change our way of living,
we are destined for this ride
either we are silent and sit untouched,
or we exploit others to gain what we want,
there is no middle road
i'm in the middle road
maybe i want too much?
that's not a bad thing
the 3am sky is so beautiful tonight
i wish one of you would of seen it
i wish
i wish
they're just empty promises made on teletype
dreams
all fucking dreams
reality

Dry Erase

i fight everything,
myself mostly,
it's in my nature
i fight my way across the rip tide,
i fight my words
it's all i can do
vulnerability scares me,
do you not all understand?
i am what is left of a dying breed
balance
we will all fall into ourselves
let the loathing commence!
someone once said to always be ready,
stand at attention and expect the worse,
maybe hope for the best
lately, i'm wondering what the hell is going on?
am i becoming soft?
probably.

There are These People

these people sit up on their hills,
built upon a mass of dead hearts
twisted bones and acupuncture souls
fornicated bodies and the mangled wreckage
of rotting .......
its not that they don't care
they
just
don't
care.
the sky is smog yellow and devastatingly black
below are all of us
the supposed non conformers
the people with no defense
we huddle in a great mass and wait
wait for victory
nothing more and nothing less
the chill in our bones
the holes in our clothes
and the blood clots formed around our eyes
our dirty fingernails
no doctor or pharmaceutical can cure what ales us
hope is lost
drown in your defeat
sleep alone in your small crevice
lie like a rat
and steal like a thief
take every last chance
you deserve it

How Possesive

Maybe somewhere, through the gears of time,
The metal shavings fall right down the shaft
these tiny, little, insignificant and bullshit
pieces of frail aluminum.
nobody can even drill the holes through the pie pan.
this is not about love
or money
the two things that over consume this
this is about feeling true to the original
thoughts that brought you here
we are but one
and you are but two
this is not what we always hoped
and it will never be
this is only what is is.
is is.
it is,
face the facts and believe we are all injustificaly fucked
don't let it go
never let the thing with the thing
walk right into the fire

Tinkle

this
is
all
just
a part
of something
have
faith in it
we are not all
rotten

snowballs

it has to be done today
we have to clip your wings
both pairs
the ones at home on the chair
the ones riding in my car
even the ones that shined in my eyes
all the time
its sad in a way
yes indeed
i'll miss all the cliche things
and the little bits more that
really made it into me
if you don't know
Cody and i have become great friends
if you don't know
Cody doesn't exist, well,
out here he doesn't
we'll both be hanging out on this
side of the wall
if you ever make it out here

i can meet everyone
i can also meet everyone
i can also do also almost nothing
and remain alone
compromise
it's the best possibility
the things in our dreams do not exist
it's a fairy tale once told
they'll fight you for a parking space
and rip out your eyes
sleep now....
tomorrow it'll hurt a little less

some of the times

some of the times a song says it better

Gimme all the hate you feel.
Binge and purge
All over, cannot change, we’re gonna destroy.
Breathe in the sea of seas, we’re in this together.

Random hearts that beat for each other,
Random hearts in a cruel, cruel world.

I don’t care what they hear
I know the way, say same.
Broken fingers for broken chords.
The effort is indelible,
The frequency is not decay.
We’re in this together.

Random hearts that beat for each other,
Random hearts in a cruel, cruel world.

The only world you’ll ever know
Is what you see in a movie.
Suburban TV babies,
We share the same accent.
American disillusion.
We’re in this together.

Random hearts that beat for each other,
Random hearts in a cruel, cruel world

It Burns When We Piss

we as people surround ourselves with pleasure
we as people submerse ourselves with happiness
we as people criticize everything
and never care for anything
we put holes in our chest
where our feelings use to be
and we don't even acknowledge the strangers
on the street
so many people pass their whole day without
acknowledgment
i'll admit, at times it's really not
worth caring for
i find myself talking with strangers
and occasionally making my way away from them
i talk and mumble as i turn my back
and i run from them
the phone never rings
the computer never weeps
and the blank space in my passenger seat
will always be filled
even if it's imaginary...

It's All Guaranteed

it's hopeless out here,
in a world ruled by fashion
in a society ruled by discontent
in a place where no one can be free
mentally
it's dreamless out here,
walking zombies
blood sucking leeches
they stick to your heart and brain
and suck every pure thing out of you until
you can no longer be what you were when you
decided what you wanted and how you wanted
your reality to correspond
it all ends the same
badly
what have we learned?
laugh at everything
and understand nothing
taunt everyone
and subconsciously destroy every living
being
we can all erase pictures and notes,
we can burn possessions at the steak
we can tell ourselves all day,
that things are gone
but your memory can destroy you
as it tried to destroy me before
as it will try to destroy me again
you may not know why you are even here
but you also realize that it's not to be here
or there
drive out to the mountains
drive out to the sea
nothing waits for you out there
like nothing waits here for me

the hat

the hat wears itself
out that is
the hat has sweat stains
and a band around it,
sometimes it doesn't get worn for awhile
sometimes it gets worn out
it stinks
but the hat never tries to be here
or be there
or be everywhere
the hat is exactly that
a hat
it's not perfect in any way
flaws all over the goddamn place
and it's an obstruction to beauty
it's just ridiculous for something like this
to even exist
but it does
its here in my lap now
my hat
dirty nasty mangled old hat
i don't know why i like you
you're an inanimate object
you don't love or hate, or lust or press forth
you can be worn by anyone,
but not everyone
save me
oh hat
make me

The Quiet One

we're both sitting here
it's dense

i actually can't stop

this is one of those rare moments where i can't stop, i want to keep going, nobody reads this shit anyway, out of all the blogs out here, i don't even know why you would end up here? it's kind of predictable in a way, the guy writing about how much he wants people to dislike him probably has some of the coolest people ever made on this fucking earth reading his blabbering bullshit, but all writers are bullshit of course, it's just he way you use your words, you don't really care for plot or character build up, it's all a load of shit, you want honest things don't you? you want a guy who will say what you're thinking without any sense of remorse, at least that's what i like, maybe i am off a bit, i've been off a bit since i can remember, but lately i've been thinking, alot actually, i'm actually pretty normal, maybe every once and a while i write something that people can look back on, and say, "oh shit, that was good," but every dog has his day right? i do believe in one thing though, that these words that i write keep me from having pent up, pathetic, aggression, they keep me from doing bad things, i'll keep on thinking it's a normal life, but i'll add my own twist to it, that's the best part of all this, i'm actually not writing so you can pat me on the back, i'm writing so i can work this all out on paper, it's like a huge fucking math equation, it never ends, fucking long division right?

this will never stop
it's constant
it'll outlast.
even you.

don't actually believe for a second that i'm serious about any of this. or am i? no... actually i'm not... really. or? no..

we all ask for honesty in persons,
but we can't believe our fucking ears,
so we all ask for pretentious sayings,
and we still can't believe our fucking ears,
so we all build walls,
brick by stupid humiliating brick,
it's useless on that side,
but that's the side everyone's on,
i'll tell you what,
i'll chill on the honest side,
and maybe someone will peak their head over on that side,
and decide that that side isn't so bad
maybe they'll actually dislike that side
and shoot balled up pieces of newspaper at me
it's cool
i'll still be on this side
we ask for so much
but respect so little
we all ask for a piece of the pie
but we're all full
don't assume for a second,
or even two seconds,
that whatever happens between here and there
really isn't worth your time,
your plagiarism,
one day,
you'll be almost gone,
and wonder exactly where it all went bad,
it's too late
it's a little too late
it's actually really too late
you should of done what was suppose to be done,
but you held back
and now,
now,
now you want to wind the clock back at least 20 years
for all the nonsense, the belonging, was never for me
breath
breath man
i'm telling you to breath!

i was eating porridge at a bar, and i got in a fight with a marine, the bartender gave me free coffee and then informed me that i had won a prize, he unrolled a large piece of paper scroll style, and drawn on it, was an archangel who would take me to heaven, i ran away.

Don't think Twice

"do you see it?"
"yeah"
"don't just shake your head yes and not really see it, do you fucking see it? is the question"
"not really"
we were both standing there, out in the sun, on the grass, with our shoes off, both wearing hats, i had my glasses on, he squinted a bit
"let me ask you a question"
"shoot"
"why do you insist on not believing?"
"fatalistic?"
"bullshit"
"it's all here man, all around you, in the grass and in the wine, in the gin and in the food, it's all here, it's come down to this, it's everything and nothing and somethings and sometimes, you need to really open your fucking eyes man, take your head out of the sand and really believe it, not just embrace it, or even pet it, believe it, make it apart of you, butcher it into your consciousness, it's all here, it's all in your hand. now look at your hand and think about whats here and how it got here."
i thought for a long time, i bit my lip, silence set in, i closed my eyes, i didn't want to be here, i didn't want to be doing this, and especially around all these people, i wanted to crawl right back into bed and let the day progress, i felt forced and tricked, i was vulnerable, all these things were destroying me, i wished i was stupid. when i reached down to check my phone, he punched me in the chest, i stumbled back and landed right on my ass, i put my head down and held it between my hands, this was it, it was either me or the butcher, i couldn't let it end like this.
"how?"
"feel it"
"and who?"
"everyone"
my heart hurt right where he hit me, it was hard to breath and i almost wanted to say fuck this and just head right back into my car, but when i motioned to get up he slapped me, i've never been slapped, stings a bit.
"now i want you to repeat this: this is syndrome."
"this is a syndrome"
"be yourself"
"be myself"
"think, but don't think"
"eh?"
"THink but don't think!" he motioned to hit me again
"think but don't think"
"do"
"wha?"
i said "do"
"do"
now you can go.
i got up, dusted the grass from my pants and squawked at the crows, they were all laughing, i laughed back, we both walked back to the car, he put his hand on my shoulder
"you did alright kid"
"thanks"

and that's the glory of it all

Rasputin

Rasputin

To awaken, naked, covered in vomit is not a good way to begin. Head throbbing and neck muscles tense, I uncurled from the fetal position and began putting my face back on. Staggering into the bathroom I slurped at the water faucet like some kind of famished dog. Projectile vomiting ensued. Easing my way back onto the bed, I began recollecting the previous nights events.
I had come into possession of six peyote buttons from a mutual friend who we will call Hank. I was already plastered by the time he placed the satchel in my lap so I figured, “why not?” Chewing the first of what would become 4 buttons I was immediately drawn to the texture of it. Almost like eating an artichoke, stringy and salty came to mind. I washed it down with some warm Pacifico and continued on.
My apartment was hot and getting hotter by the minute. I cracked some windows and poured myself some two-buck chuck wine and sat in my chair. Ohhh my chair; I found it on a side street near work. It was leather with a high back decorated with diamond inlay. Some degenerates had tagged on it and defaced a nice fucking chair. But I loved that thing; sitting lonesome, turned on it side, discarded on the street by some old man who probably sat in it watching M.A.S.H. while he was drinking scotch and smoking a Backwood Cigar. I had to bring that thing home. You should have seen the look on my brothers’ faces when I lugged it up the stairs. Fuck em’, they don’t have to sit in it.
About 20 minutes into my passionate chair loving, I decided to take a second dose. Button number two made me gag as soon as it hit my lips. Needless to say, it tasted like I had a sock in my mouth. The nausea was setting in, and the wine wasn’t helping any. To defuse my desire to vomit, I stuck my head out of my window for some fresh air. Lighting a cigarette and taking a drag, I started thinking about what life would be like if we could only see in black in white. Would we lose all passion for food? Art? What would racism be like? Would people be more into texture and shadows? You dig?
After tossing my cigarette onto my landlords car, I stuck my head back in and went to work on chewing the third one. These little fucks were starting to taste pretty good. Almost made me think of slapping some goat cheese on top with some grapes and making a party tray for the annual “Santiago” family Thanksgiving dinner.
I faded into the television for a while and watched “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou”. I never noticed how Bill Murray never smiles, but delivers his lines with a smooth, charismatic voice and doesn’t try to be funny. He just is. He just is. I just am, as we all move about. Adjusting, nursing, screaming, crying, fighting, arguing, living, dying, breathing, sighing, jumping, dancing, fucking, sucking, kicking, groping, testing, driving, smoking, drinking, drinking, drinking,….. you dig?
By this time, I was not well. But in the tradition of my elders, I pushed on and chewed the fourth button for what felt like ten minutes. Standing up to refill my glass, I felt my earrings begin to weigh me down. My knees locked, and I could feel my blood pumping and oozing from every pore. I whimpered like puppy that got slapped in the nose with a rolled up “Time” magazine and fell to the floor. My bottom lip quivering, the last thing I saw was a pair of shoes running towards me. My eyes watered up and everything went a blur.
Blackout.
Sipping a frosty beverage with an umbrella, it was the middle of summer. I sat in a state of numbness, as my body was no longer connected to my limbs. I was free falling, to quote Tom Petty. Every move I made was not felt. I had to only think “it” and “it” would happen without even a bit of effort. Things manifested themselves in front of me. Pretty soon I had a nice setup going. Full bar, a couple Cuban cigars, some hot chicas in bikinis fanning me with huge feathers. I was living it up! I heard a loud squawk and looked up to see two crows hanging about on the phone line. Phone line? Who needs phones where I’m going? Then it happened. My cigar, gone. My chicas, gone. Even the bar. Ahh the bar.. please take anything but my precious bar.
The crows swooped down and perched on both my knees. I was scared to look at them, I knew they were there, but I refused to take my forearm away from my eyes. When I did manage to muster up the strength, I saw right into his deep black eye. Nothingness, eternal, deep, down, plague of hell nothingness. Suddenly he spoke: “Leave us alone”. I thought the bastards were going to peck out my eyeballs and have them for lunch. But they gave me a loving peck on each check, rustled their wings softly against my face, and flew away.
When they were gone, I felt this cold loneliness that comes when you haven’t held a warm hand for a very long time. You keep telling yourself that it’ll be all right, you don’t need the fucks, but it’s true. I could feel everything then. I could feel the emotions of millions of people deep down in the dark part of me. It made my stomach turn. I could feel the coldness of shadows and the warmth of the sun on my face. The desire of the boy who wants to become a man. The sweat dripping from the farmers’ brow as he plucked ripe, delicious grapes off the vine and treated them with care. Transforming them into wine that would reach a cold hard glass bottle and finally my warm fine hand and be devoured deep down into my blood stream and taken to my brain and make my vision less blurry and more tolerable. I could sense. I could feel. I could be.
The sun was beginning to shine its first rays into the apartment. The floor was colder than a Minnesota winter; it also didn’t help that I was buck ass naked. Crawling to my brothers’ room to find some kind of solace, I vomited on the carpet (and myself) and passed out cold.
My headache has subsided, and I am nursing some coffee to get my system back on track. I feel as though this might have been a good experience for me. Believe you me; I have a new respect for our black winged friend. I don’t think I’ll be doing much hunting anytime soon. Although I do hear duck season is underway. Now where’d I leave those other two peyote buttons?

For the Night

i was hiking up a large hill, there was a tree to my left, and a long corridor made of glass, the floor was concrete, i found myself in a dining room of a cottage, with people in their mid 40's sitting around a table, i had a tuxedo on, and i also had hair, which was weird, considering i've been bald for about 5 years now, we all talked, but none of the words seem to come to mind right now, all of a sudden, we all became very hyper, and began jumping on the table, and chasing each other around, i squirmed and ran away, i yelled, "i'll find the kids!", i entered a room with a bunk bed, next to it was a chair, i sat down, a bunch of kids in their 20's were sitting around watching a television set, nothing was playing on the screen, but i could hear the sounds, they asked me what i wanted, i told them that their parents were going mad and the madness was coming into me, do they have any pills for a come down? they did, i swallowed a handful of small white pills, i sat down again, the walls and ceiling began to breath, they moved around organically, everything was coming to life, i could count the breaths the house was taking, my feet were sinking into the carpet, which had now become quick sand, i put my feet up on the chair, just like that i was back to reality, the lights dimmed in the room, and some girl told me that ants were attacking my hat, (i left my hat on the floor outside the room) i looked out the door and saw something move around my hat, i ran out and grabbed it, when i looked in the direction of the room with the people my age in it, i saw Christmas lights, and they were undressing each other, i saw 4 girls and 2 guys, and the girls all had on dark green lace bra's and no panties, one of the girls walked over to me and put her hands around my neck, she said, "come back when you find the right girl for the night." she turned away and shut the door, i walked around for a while, thinking about this, finally it came to me, she said the right girl for the night, not the right girl, so really there is no right girl for this night, it's a cop out, i don't want to start something this way, i don't want to just grab someone and forget myself, i need solidity, i walked outside onto the patio and sprawled out on the couch, i fell asleep looking at the stars, which is funny, because this is a dream, and i've never fallen asleep in a dream before, i woke up (in my dream) in my room, in my bed, only my room was turned upside down, i was still wearing my tuxedo and i was bald again, as i got out of bed and went through the door, i woke up in real time, i was in my bed for a while, debating whether or not i should right this, but then i remembered nobody reads this shit, so it'll be a good little personal record i can keep and look back on.

what a fucking dream huh? it's like a "Brave New World".

Pop

sometimes i go here, and sometimes in my head
sometimes i sweat through the sheets
that cover over my decapitated head
often i jump to conclusions,
that have no validity except for the
conclusions i hop to in my head
in my head
in
my
head
in here,
as well as you should know,
nothing is ever as plain or plaid as it seems,
there is no pattern,
no sense of well being
daily
yes daily it's a constant struggle
but not in a bad way
i like to stack rocks
it's a thing i do
just like we all have things we do, to make some sense
or pennies,
however you see it
rattle, and tap, rattle at my bedroom window
tap your fingers against the glass
i can believe it

rewriter

i've written in this box at least 10 times in the last hour, and each time, i don't think it's good enough, i don't like it, i'm critical of it.

sometimes even your best isn't good enough

i'm forcing it, so i'll spare you the waste of time

haaammma who?

sometimes things are so be
they make you grind your goddamn teeth
sometimes things are so good
you smother and consume them like
you think you should
but today i was nobody else,
and i possibly more than once argued with myself
oh man don't you realize you lost from the beginning,
i had you from i can take you
i know your strength
put the typer on the counter like its 1929
pretend like it's all a goddamn forensic file
and examine it to the core
it'll be your worst own departure
but this is what it's like on the other side.

The Space Between

the space is growing larger, between realities i mean, so i medicate myself daily, with caffeine, nicotine, ephedrine and ibuprofen, it's hard out here for a hustler. movies fuck you up man, they make you see and believe and hope and dream for these illegitimate bullshit make believe tales. out here, greed and envy prevail, and the good guy gets pissed on constantly in the rat race of life, as he's trampled so everyone can be stylish and lose themselves in themselves.

it's watching the sun burn and the leaves dry out.

it's being spent and still pushing forth.

it's throwing up liquor that hasn't even been digested, it still has that stench.

poetry is dead
and music is singing it's death tune
i hope none of you understand
and i also hope you all hate my writing,
my cussing and incorrect use of words,
i wipe myself with "poetry" rules
although i am vulnerable
almost all the time
how can i be?
when this world no longer knows the term humanity?
i care too much, and that's probably my demise
anyone who is close to me will understand
i ask too many questions and think way beyond necessary,
but that's because i'm curious
and i do want to know
i saw an older lady, with a walking stroller,
get stuck between the doors of the metro,
and none of the bastards around me would help her
i had to stop, and wedge myself between the door
humanity
hardly any of us have it to begin with.

it's easy to be an asshole; just don't care. sit there, let people get crushed, say, "yeah whatever" and just let everything roll off your spine. it's too much of a task for you to put out your hand, so instead, you ball it into a fist and use it to pound against the walls you've built around yourself.

knock knows

when you breath,
it dissipates
and if all goes right, and exactly
just how it should
the wind will blow it my way,
and i'll inhale, deep down, forever true,
just like i'm suppose too
part me,
part you,
part of what i never thought i'd write
but that's the beauty of this thing
that it makes me go unexpectedly into the night
and crawl right along the edge of the rug
and down the road i can see a lamp burning for me
the place for travel to rest his head
financially, it'll all balance out
personally, it somehow makes a difficult stand
but all around,
it's where i'm good at
for this time
this place
for this is the piece
that we all need right now

Dah dum Doo Dah

... the dream you mean?
sure i'll tell you about the dream
so i'm standing there, doing laundry,
in a laundry the laundry place?
uhuh
ok. go on
and i'm folding my clothes, actually they're not my clothes,
they belong to somebody else, but i'm folding, and i start getting
to the bottom of the basket, as i reach down for my last pair of socks
i look up and there's this guy with glasses, and he has this bloody
red ball of mass in his hands
uhuh
well i wipe my nose with my arm, and would you believe this,
the fucker is holding a piece of my brain
what the?
yup.
anyway, he has this big cup, with a bunch of sharpened pencils in it.
and he's stabbing your brain?
no exactly stabbing, he's breaking off the tips of the pencils into it
can you feel it?
not really, but every time he breaks off a tip my thumb twitches and
the screen flickers
you're nuts.
not me, the dream is nuts.
so what do you think it means?
i think maybe it means that i should start using pencils and stay away from pens
that doesn't make any sense
who's the one talking sense here?
what do you think.
i think you should stop projecting
i'm not projecting, you're projecting
would the two of you shut up i'm trying to figure something out here
.....

Mediator

stop it
no.
stop kicking the back of my seat or god help me
i'll pull this fucker over and beat you with a golf club
pfffttt...
from the passenger
so what do you think? should we go on with this?
my only worry is that someone might interpret this the wrong way,
in which case i'll end up back on the bright side.
it shouldn't matter
easy for you to say, you don't have to confront what i do,
you can just dissipate and nobody will ever know the difference.
but you'll know.
yeah i will..
from the backseat
i'm hungry man, lets get some hash browns and jam
no dough
that's always your excuse, yet you find dough for the cake.
piss off man.
hey, what if we pretend it's all a game?
what? when did you get here.
i've been here, i just don't really ever say anything unless necessary.
and you find it necessary now?
uhhhh.. yeah
the man has a point.
yeah, this guy over here (motions with thumb)
he's got a point.
ok, so lets do it, hash browns and jam and we'll play the game
let's just not get carried away, remember who's in charge here.
hey, everybody be cool man, it's a cop.

we all slumped down in our seats

Conversations with Oneself Before Stepping into the Bathtub

"it's cold in here"
i agree
"you really should of waited longer to get in, or out"
negative, the water was warm and ready, almost calling for me, so i jumped right on in, whatever the end result is, i'll deal with it.
"you're not understanding, what if it's not the right temp and you throw everything off, you're really going to piss into the wind for this?"
i will
"you're a stubborn bastard, but i like it, you dedicate yourself to things, that might just be your end."
i'll be
"damned you mean?"
of course
"don't forget how bad it might get along the way, you are going to want to give up several times, and it might not even be for the right cause."
that doesn't matter
".. what do you mean it doesn't matter?"
what i mean, (i put my hand on his shoulder at this point)
is that it might not be perfect, i might get worse, or i might get better, i can stand here all day arguing with you, but the water will only get colder. so lets settle on this, shall we? the temperature of the water doesn't matter right now, only the water itself, it surrounds me just like i want it to, it washes the dirty from me, and it makes me relaxed, if at some point, this furthers my sickness and i fall into a coma, then so be it, at which point, i would like my room to be painted mauve and to be covered in cherry blossoms, and i want a crown, a crown while i sleep.
too think to far into it
i'm just pissing into the wind.

cough, sigh, hack hack

the typewriter sits in her case,
lonely, under my desk, waiting,
i feel her kicking at night,
sometimes i can hear the clicks in my head,
and i can see it grow legs and walk up onto my chest,
and scream, "fucking do something!"
i'm scared
what if it's not good?
fuck it if it's not good,
i'll use the pages to wipe the snot from my nose
or the blood from my calluses
this keyboard is too hallow for me,
i need interaction.
give me interaction!
you don't understand do you?
you shouldn't
it's one of the those things you keep close to your heart
locked away in the cellar doors of your mind
to be awaken with the sun shooting through your blinds
as the morning cold runs up your toes and grabs your
balls and squeezes them tight so you have to place the pillow
right between your legs for some kind of warmth
she's starring at me now
the typewriter i mean
i'm faithful i swear,
i've just been busy with work,
don't hate me, you know i do my best writing on you,
just give me a minute to get in place,
in a good place and a good movement,
i don't want to waste you on some bullshit story about
the death of moths
.

Catch a Body Coming Through the Rye

park bench
and Christmas lights
macaroni and cheese
melted and gooey
spaghetti O's
oh!
newspaper wasteland
tumbleweeds neverland
and freeway overhangs
huddle masses under awnings
and holes with shoes
socks drenched with gutter water
through and through
straight to the soul
and down into the blood
streaming cheeks
covered with traces of mercury
and decided to reopen the letter
sealed with milk mustache
pistachio shells crumble underfoot
and the nurse tightens the clamps
this white room isn't big enough
for the three of us
so get the fuck out

Box Town

Here lies Hugo,
down in box town,
where the walls crumble like cookies,
from the rain soaking into ourselves,
where there's no communication ,
and no sense of direction,
no beginning to an ending
for the box people
nobody takes a breath,
for the air we breath is not worth breathing,
nor is ourselves worth saving,
denial is our best friend,
and the starvation is just a fact to face,
a phase to pass by,
a window to roll down and spit out of,
and a perfect world for the ones who left
and are living too far out of bounds.
sometimes i feel destined for box town,
but more often than not, i feel my chest
i feel my heart
and realize that a place for runaways is not
exactly what i want
so at night
i pull my blankets up tight
and await the sunrise
await the first taste of smog
when you're alone
all you have is time to think
so it makes communication harder
than what human beings can take

It's not always about the rock

it feels forced today,
nothing can flow, nothing can be made,
the trees all seem to be swinging
incorrectly
not to my desire
i don't want to answer my phone,
or salute the dirty bastards walking down the street
i want to spend the day in my head,
which makes it hard when you have so much
around you to interact with
maybe that's how people lose it?
by spending too much time in their heads,
and not taking part in whats constantly changing
and moving, and growing and once a upon a timing
maybe i should of fought harder?
made my voice heard a little louder?
maybe i should of wrote something?
or sent someone something?
or just done something!
no.
you can't beat yourself up for the things
that washed down the street into the pile
just make sure i remember this part
make it a part of you
to remember this part.

Baaaaahhhhh! yes! lets go!

the pain resides,
i can breath a little easier,
the sky seems a little overcast,
the situation seems a bit breezy,
the contestants on the game show seem uncertain,
and i seem unhinged,
my throat, bare bone dry, due to cigarette inhalation
my hands all cut up and damaged
how?
i dunno?
dirty fingernails, face without a shave in
i don't really count or know just how many days
my gut hanging way over my waist line
"the pixies dancing on my head"
glass cutting up and slashing my skin
and school children will eventually one day,
feel exactly this
dig it
dig it for what it is
donate a rib or a spine
some people don't even use theirs
so whats the deal if they don't have it?
give it to someone who needs it
someone who would bleed their veins for it
i withdraw
and stand upon the roof
drinking my orange juice,
looking down over the rolling hills,
i take my thumbs and stick them in my belt loops
and feel right at home.

dirty sweaty hands are an advantage in a thumb war

forever is overused
so is love and death
together is used out of context
as well as sex and drugs
the bar is not home, and neither is this place
george carlin said it best
"it's just a place to keep all your shit"
sometimes my heart beats fast, and i enjoy it
and i like pain
out of pain comes some of my finest work (at least i think so)
i envy bums and hobos
because they said "fuck it" a long time ago
i want to break rules and cause disruption;
sometimes, i stand out in the sun
and i feel the sweat dripping down my back
like this is where i'm suppose to be
i want to throw myself upon the leaves and grass
and become sucked into the wildlife
feeling the dirt between my toes
and the water from the sprinklers raining down on me
the roots from the trees wrapping themselves around
around and around
overtaking and consuming my inner most heart
its honest here
heartbreak was a good thing for me
so is living poor
i want to starve out in the desert
and come close to misery
i want to feel the pain of hunger in my stomach
like i feel the pain for madness in my heart
whoever's up there, if anybody at all
can you make this a little harder for me?
that's all i ask
challenge and test me to my limits
give me hell!
out of that, will develop the most beautiful things
i will ever do

Tonk, Honkey Tonk that is..

when i awoke, arm numb, needles running, from the place where she rested her head. i slowly hugged and rolled her so i could get up without disruption. i put some Lee Morgan on the player and walked out onto the balcony, the sun was starting to warm up and the concrete was still cold in the spots where the shade remained, my feet touched these spots and sent a nice refreshing chill through my blood. i was in the process of lighting my first cigarette of the day when the lizard slowly crawled across my feet. i jumped with surprise at the amount of thing ingested the night before. i poked my head through the curtain and starred down at this young frail body lying in my bed, wrapped like a mummy in a blanket, lips soft. where did we come from and how did we even make it home? i looked out across the street and saw my car parked there, with one tire on the sidewalk, and the other tire flat, my poor car propped up on there, like a handicapped prisoner. i didn't feel so well, there was a burning in my stomach, was it from the guilt? or was it the drinks? maybe a combination of both. my lips were dry and crusty and i had some buildup right around the eyes. i sat on the balcony for a very long time, with a cigarette in one hand, i thought about going inside and putting some shorts on, but i liked the way the breeze felt and the sun felt when one was naked. i could feel the ringing in my ears and i watched as the neighbor rolled out his lawnmower and began to get to work. i saw him as he took a swig from his lemonade, with his pastel shirt and casual slacks, with his fisherman hat, and his stupid sunglasses. that cocky smile creeping across his face and his stupid beady little eyes. he had the life, tha bastard, and i hate to be an ass about it, but he has his picket fence, his hot wife, and his career as an urban developer. what was i doing? fucking living! while he had to follow the same routine i could make my own up as it went. i had nothing to prove so i could just as easily be here or there, but know exactly where i am coming from. the bastard probably cries himself to sleep at night. i walked around with a cup of coffee for awhile and my hat on, mumbling to myself the poem about staying gold and the two roads that diverge in the woods; i washed my face and hands, drank down the rest of my coffee and sat at the typewriter. i switched it over to Herbie Hancock and waited for it. the feeling was there, and i sat there, arms suspended in the air, perfectly inline over the keys, waiting for it to hit me. when it finally did, i burst into it with such fury, that when i was done, i was sweating.

Cellar Door

Insert Barnacle Hangline Here: not there... actually here: or maybe to the left, of fuck just read it

i'm tired. unable to sleep- unable to comprehend just what or how is keeping my jamming my foot into the hardwood floor. i lie, lay, fade down into the floor waiting for the sleep to come and take me. it was all circular, the price i paid long ago, somewhere down that downtrodden road filled with field mice and anarchist pigs, filled with high flying low flying crop dusters, dusting us with tar and feathers to run around and try and fornicate everyone. to be be under the onside of an argument. i watched as he pointed his long bony finger out over my head and it shook, i tell you it shook man, with the cold pressing in through the walls, the old man shook at the sight of the midnight sky filled with a piece of the moon. he stirred the fire with the end of the cane and never before in my life had i wanted to kick that cane right out of his freaking weightless hand and watch him fall in, not to die, not to be burnt, but to watch the fire in his eyes as he came after me ready to teach a young man a lesson. his small clenched fist tight soaring through the air in slow motion, making contact with my temple, then blackness. the sleep engulfed me.

........Grab AHold......

often times more than not
it happens and i hear it
the sounds drop out and
the lone cars swish by
in complete silence
camera 1
camera 2
its still dead air
i peak through my blinds
at the blistering sun drenched street
i peak through my disguise
at the people staring at my insides
don't
please don't look in my soul
take my business card instead
and leave me
leave me
leave me alone

Watermelon Man Chasing the Train

"Hello Friends"
i smiled, but half awake
the first one poured
i was in there shaving
minding my own business
and suddenly the clock struck
struck what?
it just struck
eventually the owner of this small hole in the wall
walked over and we talked
"Dizzy?"
"Nah man, good but overrated, i almost wish he was never discovered"
and on, and on like this
back and forth, things are going to be tough
buckle down
eventually, it was 4 drunks, sitting round the bar
smoking cigarettes indoors, extinguishing them in shot glasses
talking about nothing
four guys immersing themselves in themselves
eventually we left
and that night will never be the same
i saw the Watermelon Man, Chasing the Train,
he was leaning over the rail, mirror in hand
flowers crumpled in his back pocket and cats crawling
all over his back
his blood red blazer, with an ascot
how distraught i was, how self inflicting his wounds were
he jumped from the train, to runaway, and to follow tracks
i'm subject to the same intoxication you are
if you're going to be flip about it, lets just hold our voice
down for a minute, don't break the bargain, don't call it off
make a run for it man, hide behind the tree,
i forgot i wasn't dressed
in the end,
we're never dressed right, we're just making bargains
and hoping we ride this out

Asi Es Guey

i frowned, looking down at my callus covered fingers, the tips so hard and nasty they made my soul puke. the trashcan next to my long corridor was overflowing with vomit and i wouldn't of noticed it if it hadn't of fallen all over my shoes. i hadn't showered in ten days and i was begging to smell like that guy. you know that guy, the guy who has come here from that faraway place, not knowing why or how but knowing damn well that he should be doing what he's doing and that makes him happy-- he jumps down off his soap box occasionally and listens to the people, like the loud tenor played over a bullhorn right into somebodies ear--- he speaks so softly into your face that his sweet breath of wine and double bacon cheeseburgers can't help but intoxicate you---
"whats the deal man? you've gotten all you want plus maybe more and you're still a whiny little bitch?"

"the deal is man, now look here see, the deal is that... quit interrupting me now, keeps your pants on, i'm trying to make a point over here... ok, now i tel you the truth, the deal is... oh shit man forget it."

and just like that Josh walked away and down the hill. the street lights reflected down his back onto the newly paved asphalt and i saw him halfway stop and reconsidered his grievances. my stomach had mad pain and i was doubled over on the park bench waiting for somebody to walk up and smack me behind the head with a tree branch and rob me for all i'm worth. i stuck my hands into my pockets and started walking home--- the wind was picking up and the ice was forming on my cheeks. i could feel the could starting to get into my bones and i looked up towards the sky for some kind of answer--- how unwise, the answers never lay there but in my head, just like before.... the liar pounced on my feet and stuck the needles straight into my tongue, for a minute i couldn't speak, but when i finally did, it was the most beautiful language ever spoken by man. it was grunts

Please Note, Demographics not Included

my lips are dry and my head is running a mile a minute, i've managed to run over the parking meter and destroy the front end of this vehicle of a death trap but i'm still running with my foot on the gas. the microphone was lowered from the ceiling and as i lay there on the carpet, i could feel the carpet beginning to suck me into the ground. i saw myself being pulled down past the hardwood floor and through levels of concrete, i saw my ankles chained down with a thousand pounds of gold plated weights and my shins were ruptured from the beating i took with large chunk of cinder block. i made an attempt to get up and i was hit in the chest by a man carrying a canister of helium and a bag of money. he poured the tar all over me, followed by the bag of money, i was tarred and cashed out. that smell, i can't get it out of my head, the black sickness seeping into my pores and i'm probably swallowing a large amount of it, i don't really know anymore. i rubbed my eyes, the blackness all dulled away and i was left with spots. i saw the other kids rubbing their eyes too. "did they see what i saw?" did they dream what i dreamed? was i riding this pretend dreamboat down a stream of piss that was going to empty into a great big giant toilet and then i would really know this is the place we call earth? or would i eventually get to where this river ended? maybe in someones colon? it was uncertain where or what or even how i got to get to a point, i did regress, and i am regressing as we speak, but even though i have no clue what year or time this is, i'm figuring this bitch out. because that's what we do, we figure shit out. it's human

Cattle Cars

i look to my left, elevator covered in fake plastic denim, i stuck my gum under the rail and prepared to head out, taking my hands and rubbing my eyes, it's like stepping into the sun out of a dark movie theater. the doors opened i heard a mad chattering the wind blowing somewhere through the forgotten cracks left in the buildings.
it was people eating people, people climbing over one another and ripping and tearing at each other, it was people laughing and having fun, it was animals; it was animals.
the dots collected and i was left holding the bag. remaining there, alone, watching the moon slide behind buildings and clouds, i exhaled and the smoke blew right into the cocktail waitresses face. she didn't mind it. she actually kinda liked it. i hear you turning over the thought in your head, like a magician turns the card, or the key in the lock and the plant in the pot. the vines grew and made their way up the building into the wind cracks and engulfed the concrete whole, they made their way towards my ankles and i could feel their slimy hands clawing at my shins and shoes, i could feel the firm grasp upon my shoulder and the thought of castrating the fucking plants that were destroying us came on my head like the commandments handed to Moses. the wind blew even harder as the heat lamps rocked back and forth. my coffee was bitter and smelled burnt, it probably sat on the burner even before i took my first sip.
i watched all of you, i could hear you all collectively screaming the same thought: "i'm getting to old for this". you spent your life running, from what you don't know and to where you sure don't know, you've spent your life replacing broken keys when the lock was the problem and you spent your life drinking hot chocolate and dreaming of some guy out of a romance novella, they put that shit in your head and now you don't know which way is sideways. it's all of a stash that you put in your mind.

when the elevator doors opened i saw humans piling out, the stomachs rumbling for a hunger that would never be excavated and a tenor playing somewhere in the back. i heard several, "moooo"s like cows being roped in for the slaughter. i was one of those cattle, i got off the cattle car, but you can't slaughter a cow who knows his place. i burped up my burnt coffee and washed it down with a cigarette,
"waiter, bring me a 7&7, light ice, heavy on the 7"
"which 7 would that be sir?"
i just starred him straight in the eye, he tried to break contact and look around, but i kept my eyes straight on the middle part of his face, and finally he walked away, when my drink was brought to me it was almost all whiskey, good man, i tipped him a dollar in quarters and moved on.
i learned how to use my resources.
when the table ordered drinks, i watched the drinks set on the table, there was always one left that nobody would touch, i drank it, ate the ice, chewed on the glass, and occasionally, poured someone else drink into it. i don't know about you, but i'm not paying $12.

its silent now. the cars have all driven themselves home, the people have all collapsed fully clothed on their beds, and i remain, burping bitter coffee and hearing keys and bells and whistles go off in my head. it's like a factory shutting down after a long day of production, the assembly line slows, the workers clock out, the janitor locks up, and then the lights go out.
tomorrow, we make soap.

The Ferris Wheel Overlooking Hastings Park,.

somethings take awhile to be done,
cake, sometimes cookies, sometimes cigarettes,
so what is there to do in the loop in between times?
like when you sit there, and you're just hanging out,
not wanting to go, but not wanting to stay, where it's just you and the brain?
do you fiddle with your phone? do you observe the others around you?
it's that idle time in between breaths that tear your heart in half
you precieve and precieve and try to make the things you want to be want to be.
look man, let me inform you of something, the rambles of a human being are like the thunderstrokes from god, they have no sense no exact meaning, they are only random acts of nature. i saw a camera shoved in each contestants face and under the pressure they cracked like an egg too long in boiling water. the piece that fits exact into this puzzle is yet to be conquered but with soon be conjured and fit like it never fit before. i took a deep look into someones eyes and i could tell they saw right through my fucking soul. they saw things i've never seen before and i'm damn sure to remember that. has that ever happened to you? i hope not. take this spell that's been down on all of us.

do you know what the punk movement was? it was all a sense of urgency to make us all feel at peace. with all that violence and fucking feeling, it was like taking a calculator and breaking it when it read error, it was like taking the light bulb and breaking it when it wasn't right. it was like taking a force field and breaking through it and can't we won't destine.

it was like the perfect harmony, played over the perfect beat, at the same time, someone was yelling and performing, not to make you like them, but to make you hate them. it was a foreclosure of the soul.

Pork is Good For Vang Vangs

endless spools of wire spand over highways and concrete walkways and brickways and every which way where it's going to be all taken over. and the dogs all walk with their leashes in their mouths across busy downtown streets with the owner behind them oblivious to traffic or any concern first me then the dog then the bank account and then the women. not any humanity brewing from the pore is the price for perfection or somewhat distraction from any desire. the building where squatter lovers lye in a bed made from newspapers and their bundles rolled under their towering leaping heads, it overtakes them and they can appreciate bread, mustard, and sometimes some ham, carbonated pineapple under their fingernails and dumpster dreams for a pizza box full of crust.
"I'm a fucking artist"
"Luco, you are just like everyone else, only you claim to be art so it can be you but you're not fooling anyone man, you're just like him her me the alien."

he was talking with fierceness in his eyes and i'll be fucking damned if i understand or care for his depression. i am what i want to be, maybe not good, but who's art is good? and what's considered good? the good ones are always the ones who don't fit a cookie cutter under the bed laid the book of art i once drew when i was drunk on a binge for 4 days shut up in my apartment, with only the pizza guy delivering and the occasional trip to the store for more rum. i spent those days with my hands glued to a paint brush and typewriter constantly and it never ever forever let me down, i felt it run down my legs and up my spine, it was foreign like just one take, but it developed into a full blown picture. the snail started the race and even though he may lose and lose his shell, he keeps going.

the spots were getting darker and beginning effect my driving, i saw a team of fish i mean a school of fishes walking downtrodden on all four like a fish out of water and a penguin waddling towards a department store. i saw the pigs stuffing their faces through the glass and the wild mass boar pigs sitting at the bar stools, consuming life at the gills and getting fat ugly ready for the slaughter that was to befall them, befall us, befall this country if something isn't dramatically changed, we're all going to die in the great VP debate of 2008 of nobody takes ahold of the situation, somebody fucking say something!.!.!. it's 1984! just like orwell said! the animals have taken over the farm and Napoleon will overrun the city. Watch out for the horses, they kick like mules.

i was digging the vibe of the beat and sat at the curb for awhile to hear this cat play his horn. straight outta a time that doesn't belong to me, but fuck you must admit it feels right to be under the cast of a spell and just roll with the note and notes and notes and the scales ride high like we're riding that snake again like it was 19 something. man oh man it was beginning to get in my chest and i was feeling warm (from the rum). my palms started sweating and my shirt was sticking to my back and i could see under the dim Christmas lights, let me remind you this is late july and this man still digging his Christmas lights under his canopy, he'll never let them go because it casts an environment for him to peak in. for him to sit in. he never checks his phone because the only person he calls on is his alter sided dumb witted side. all of a sudden, as fast as he began, he evaporates into the sundown air, taking off with the Santa Ana winds never to be seen again until they blow back down this way, fierce and warm, like the man blew on his saxophone, like the window washer doing the window, taking the squeegee and squeezing it clean, like crows squawking and pigeons crooning, not cooing, because cooing does not take talent, but crooning in a massive collection, like the screaming in someones eyes when they are filled with adrenaline, like a butler, serving his last meal.

Mistaken For an Opium Prince

When i awake it shines brightly into my eyes, the talk and mad laughter from the night before and the insanity that was passed as i stood there watching a transvestite play the keyboard and my jerky head movements back and forth, while Phil stood there, to the left, he left into a side room and returned with a feather and a wig. he placed the wig on top of my bald head and put my hat back on. now i had an itchy wig and a warm beer. as i started to clap my hands went up and the glass of beer fell to the ground making the loudest, cracking shaking sound. i seriously felt close to death. i saw it once, with his head cocked over to the side watching me and teasing me, sticking his tongue in some girls ear and laughing at me. i reached into my wallet i mean pocket to try and find some pennies to throw at him, but then i remembered i had absolutely no money, i had to go around to different public restrooms and steal rolls of toilet paper because i was running so low on cash. i had my wits about me, that was all one could have at a time like this, with death knowing and knocking on my head, with holes in my pockets and a smile on my face, i said, "come and get me you son a f a bitch, but make sure you bring the whole army with you, i'm not going down without a fight, i will tear your eyes out and piss down your mouth, you don't scare me."
the sad sorry truth was that it did scare me, we're all a little scared, admit it, i'm not scared of going, or the pain of going, i want to see it, and when you go, thats it. poof. times up.
when i'[m h ere, i want to kiss it each night and follow it into my dreams, and burn with it into the sun each morning, i want to awake with my face immersed in it and fall asleep with my arms around it, i want to breath it in with each breath and take it in with each meal, i want to be consumed by life and never. never. like a witch flying her broom at night, i won't let it take over.
prolix... who are you to conform?
i could be just sitting here with nothing, instead i'm sitting here with laughter pouring out of each pore, it's a sweet sound, my voice raising in the pitch with each grab bag full of joy and excellence, don't ever epect acceptance on any other level except for the kind you can produce on your own, it rolls out onto the hilly grass and they prick the back of your neck as you lay down under a tree shade with the sun rolling high above the ridge, the bums sit around with their long coats and every once and awhile sneak a look at the girls who bring their dogs to the park, they see those small dresses and short skirts and a mans immagination cant help but run wild over the hills with that rock my uncle once threw. way over the hills towards the ocean where the land meets the water and i walk into it, submerge my ankles in it, feel the pain and glory of it, feel the trees and seaweed of it, feel the red tide around my waist and in my lungs, swallowing gulps of water and plankton.
always remember the plankton

Smear it Out Man (a poem for the poets)

Smear it Out Man

January, cold month for all of us,
we all sat out on the porch.
our heads wrapped in thought and our mouths working
the kitchen had cooked up a mean soup
the boys were happy and my dogs didn't bark
as much.
the market was open but we couldn't go in
they didn't allow the line crossers to cross the line
our feathered hats were all we had left
that and a bowl of some mean chowder.
the wind blew across the flat land and ourselves,
we were under the mercy of the mother.
Earth had done it, we had done it, it had done it,
we were all losers, in one way or another, but then again
if we were all losers, that also means sometimes we had to win
we won whenever we were given the drink on the cuff.
or we won when we drove home, and made it each time,
we won when women were treated with desire,
but not for their beauty,
but for the intelligence and beauty of their soul.
sometimes we won and we never knew it, other times
we didn't care,
but the pest part of mostly losing, is when you win
the life taste that much better, it's like sucking air in
and having it rush to the back of your mouth and
give mad pain to your gums
so i say lets give up trying to win all the time,
and start letting the losing be what it is.
lets start with our minds?
aye!

The Pointed, Enclosed, Sheep Fucker

"Roger, that guy is going fucking nuts,"
"Nah man, you overreact, he's just doing what he does"
"yeah; and that's going fucking nuts"
i walked away after that, i walked out the door, and out onto the hot asphault. it burned my canvas shoes and the sun reflecting off of the car windows shined right into my eyes. i put my shades on and started down the street. just then i heard roger scream from the window in an English accent, "who are you to conform? ya arse!"
i flipped him the bird and continued on my way. my jab as the night deli guy had given me 3 weeks off on account of me slicing a nice portion of my thumb off at the sliver. i was only on my third day and already starting to get depressed. i lived through my work not under my own rules but through the rules governed by the horseman who came before me. the centaur who followed me home each night and sat under my window howling at the half full moon and always pissing on the same hydrant. wait till the city found out about this, " city planner of my city, where are you when i need you?"
to the Waterloo....

it was only a half beyond 12 and i had not the faintest clue of where or what i should be doing. i decided i'd walk down the street until i could find and maybe develop some kind of focus and eye that could grant me with a purpose and prose. not here man, not los angeles, where they were all out to get you. the women on 5th street, the whores smelling of semen on figueroa, the deli on fairfax, the dennys on wilshire, and the numbers often went high, the taco, a pizza joint that only enforced my eagerness to piss on whatever store front i could get await with.

my dogs were barking so i snagged a seat on the metro and dead foot and uncle feets were all there and i heard a man and women talking.
the women had a book on her lap, "Art History of Spain and Portugual".
the man was this much older cat with tats up his arms and around his neck, his hair was slick and he had on a full snake skin suite. i pitty the fool. the girl blatetnly ignored him and to disrupt and interupt i asked her,
"listen, is there anything good in that book? i'm headed out that way in January and wanted to know if there was anything worth seeing?"
she looked at me with her doe eyes, not smiling, not forwning, "No, not really"
i tried to talk to her some more, but upon further investigation i realized she was a boring shallow girl. only interested in the selft insticts that made her protect the unfar, unabridged version of herself. snake man could have her.
finally my stop rolled around and i exited like cattle just like the rest of this cattle. cattle on a rolling wheel tin can, feel sorry and unapologetic for out ant outlandish imprtance for the cut up skill. like a film high above and Apollo hanging out on his cloud looks down and laughs at the ants trembling under foot like we're building an empire, but don't you know man sheep sure enough fight amongst eachother too. it's the man with the iron pants and the skull made of leather bound text books. govenor aborne with the avon lady don't have a chance. the youth are pissed and disturbed. we all walk the same steps with our heads down all depression one another things that were taught right alongside with our nursery rhymes. at 4am the sun comes around the bend and my uncle takes a rock and pawns it out across the land and over the hill. the rock disappears over the brush to never be seen again and i sit with my head down as he takes a slug from the whiskey can, the whiskey bottle, the whiskey canteen.

the best thing for me to do was to go back to my apartment and walk around with my cold stale coffee cup and my shirt off, wearing my fedora galora and type up a letter to this girl out at Pepperdine College. she was stinking rich, her parents owned a horse stable and several mares. i wasn't much for riding but damn hell i liked to watch them run down the track. i got to the point where i could run $2 bets for 4 races and win enough to account for my enterance fee, gas, and a couple beers. so it was a way to pass time and not have to break into my now dwindling savings. it impressed me so but when the bets reached over $2 i was sure to lose, it was just Polo Apollo laughing high up on his white frothy cloud. what a champ, sitting up there with Z and all the other top shots. it was like a board meeting for AIG or Enron, they would eventually abolish themselves and outloud the bad legends. i wonder what it would be like when apollo declared bankruptcy.?

suddenly there was, this man, a brotha, wearing a tall mad hatters hat and waving a slow sign was a traffic man for the city workers, at a boy city planner, get some soul out on the concrete, the man was dancing to his own tune and was succesfully getting attention of the driveres with his mad moves. he'd take the sign and hold it with both hands and dance like a snake looking for prey. i watched him for a few and when he contended me with his eyes i shouted,
"go man go!... ride the scales!"
i continued walking on but the depression started dissapating and i felt much better, the man had taken my laugh and warped/twisted it around so i couldn't help but smile away like the priest watching the fairground and searching for souls to save. but i was just sauntering through the place, i had no place in riding the first wheel of fall or taking the bumper out for a spin, i had to make it home watching the time slip and sound slip into the behind hills where my uncle took that rock so long ago. i saw the priest walk towards me, biting his lower lip, eager to grant me serentiy and overtake the underpart of my sole. (shoe sole, not soul soul, there is a different part that rides inside, the shoe sole is much harder and has taken and can take a beating, the soul soul is only singular and can not take the amount of fornication the earth has bounced down onto our dreary little heads. its the passing of time that kills the soul soul. the sole only becomes more fierce over time and they are two but not one, so it's a gang deal more than anything, they won't evaporate. they can't be rewound so it only fades after a time. but hopefully by the time i'm good and done i can stand barefoot in front of heavens door and say,

"hey man!, my soul is hard and worn, my souls and head are under a storm, allow me into the gates back to earth, i want to be reborn and experience something worse!"


TBC