........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.