Friday, February 25, 2011

Keep the hallows clean, do not reem the gallows,
The holiday stops, and dancing mops dance along their way,
Hey and ho, low and day,
Upside down reverse and confligerate.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Fur is murder

Tears continue to roll,
from the chained lions,
the bleating lambs,
morose sirens,

Suffrage in the fifth degree,
paid the price,
Put them in zoos,
O how nice,

We are man,
this is our domain,
Follow my rules,
I am not insane,

The world is our oyster,
though pollution kills the orginal,
what will we call it,
when there total is nill,

tears stream from the last man,
when he realizes there is no more land,
no birds calling in the trees,
he has spread, a never ending disease.

Merry Finch

The temperature is frigid,
Though the sun continues to shine,
That doesn't seem to bother you,
As you continue to pine,

Ruffling your feathers,
Merrily skipping from branch to branch,
Life is here in a moment,
Your flight a joyous dance.

Do you recall that time in June,
When you visited my home for sustenance,
In the frigid air you have flown,
Your journey a path of jubilance.

I a giant,
You so small and frail,
If i held you in my hand,
I'd fear I'd fail,

In applying a gentle touch,
To cradle you in a childlike grasp,
For I'm clumsy, A brute,
And You are natures own spun glass.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Free Wednesdays

Here we are in this line at the zoo, waiting to buy tickets for me and you,
Yes its the zoo where mating zebras preform at 12:00 on the dot.
Lions and cheetahs are racing speed demons in their prospective slots,
And hippos are juggling meerkats through rings of fire,
The meerkats for reference have no clue of thier situation being dire,
Siotting around munching on popcorn and popped souls,
The gorillas stand on the opposite side of the glass witht their hands pressed against it.

I hear the other visitors,
"o isnt he cute, it could look like a human. I wonder what its thinking."

The gorilla child,
Looking through the glass,
"I know your out there, and i know your free, and though i may be here, behind this seperation, At least i am here against my choice. Fate has landed me here without a care, except freedom has never been in my voice."

Thursday, February 17, 2011


Let us ululate to the half crescent sun, in our pajamas of skin from the rarest of national monuments, Let he sun come and go, i will still be here.

We are never at home unless their is adventure in the air or the sun continues to shine on my bare neck. i am speeding along the river, i and our passenger full of people. relatives, distant and close, friends,  strangers and liquor bottles. "Fill my cup", as the oither hands steers this monstrosity along at a cool 1000000 miles down this god fearing river, exotic, birds fly over head, letting out squawks along their fight, "you do not belong" stop mowing the lawn. Stay out my jungle, it is my own. But i do not listen, we do not listen,  we are the jaguar, we are the shark, speedily cutting the river with our hull.

The road is dust and i am holding your hand, night, cool and calm and i, we are being eaten alive, in this the jungle of my soul. You hold my hand and i hold yours and i feel no sex, no desire, no heating in my private parts, instead we are the children in the yard, boy and girl, but sex doesnt not divide us. We are simply you and i and here we are walking in the unpaved, untamed road  of my jungle.




Madmen run this world,
witht their religious fantastic fanatics,
Grasping the arms of hallowed out husks, the animals inside their eyes have been culled, castrated, killed.
WHOA , joey says to blossom, a flower, a fury of fantastical fuming visions.

cries that ring,
PAST the empty echoed halls,
PAST the wooden cemented celings, high on high in the sky, floating
PAST a boeing 747, carying precious teeny boppers and disney wards,
PAST the sun, the moons and the sands of the sky, into the visceral, guttural, existance,
Dissolving into the universe in strands of prepubescent adrenaline,
sighing, sighs, on highs that never last long enough,

Yes there madmen are on the streets, hiding inside alleys ways and dark corners that corrigate from the rain waters,
Tears of victims, that splash on the faces on the ill advised reporter covering the story that will eventually make the six oclock news,
Blasted into "living rooms" in tenaments,
a block away,
that will stuff the TV, frozen, ill packaged rabit entrailed meatloaf into their mouths and disgustingly say
'What a pity" or "No ones safe."

Damn right you maniacs, you heathens, you freaken lunatics,

no ones is,

cause their are madmen running the streets,

MADMEN dressed in blue jeans,
MAD MEN dressed in blue uniforms,
MADMEN screaming at the corners about the new age nazi zionist alien agenda,

What the fucking hell?
Have we all gone mad?

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Consume -ism

I am alive in an age of lieing,
Politicians and slick soul pickers,
Forked tongue and armani suits,
Smiling god fearing dupes.

I am aiming for a new republic.

Speak your mind and one may find
that things thought and dreamed,
are far from what they seemed,

To the rules of the real world and legal stipulations,

The paper is just that,
While the people are not.

Papyrus people and ancient parchment,

fire lights them all,

No red trucks to the rescue,
There will be nothing left too,

Stipulate, regulate,

Deemed and control.

Manifest destiny, Ego has no soul.


"If was a man i'd make my move."

One foot in front of the other,

We are moving towards a monumentous monument,
A magical misaligned adventure of advantageous sorts,

We will travel hundreds of steps ,
speed will be our sensai,
The road our once forgotten path, is adventure,

We will have fun, funny, funintaneousist
(yes i created it, im an artist)
We will throw our bodies parallel to the earth to meet our destination head on.

LISTEN to me, we will reach our spot, see the beaming reeling face of our irish friend.

We belong together, you me and her, we have it , we dig it, and we will feel it.
Cause we are lolligaging rebels, were rebelious aging renegades,

We are strangers in a very remote adult land.

Friday, February 11, 2011

-To the reader, dont look for purpose. No oedipal complexes or hidden fraudian meanings. I am trying my hand at free hand, a ghostly appartition on what goes on in this hollow space between my ears.-

Little lessons, i need a tyype writer, my face is strecthed upon the concrete the beaming san francisco sun is alighting upon my face. I am a dharma bum , here i am free. perpetually free in this minute moment waiting for the bus.
My fedora, the symbol of my status, an individual, is here, it is my pillow, below my head. My head. Am i smiling? never can i ever really remeber the face i had on, on like a mask, WOULD YOU F_ me i would F me says the serial killer with his junk tucked in, MANGINA, yes a compilation of words, combined, like the souls of me here and yesteryear.

Goddanmit. Why cant anyone here get me a coctail. i am the hunter, not a wolf, not a lion but a thompson. yes a thompson, crazed and chatoic, there are way too many bats here to count. The proper way to deal with a traffic cop is to speed up, gve them a  challenge. FEAR, the first rising fiends of an acid frenzy. Yes spout, but do not pout.

I had friends once. Close, intimate friends, we lied down next to each other in our beds of ferns and sunshine and delved into hope, fears and whiskey. Yes the bottle was full when you got here, yes this is grasss, tea, sodium pentathol. Sitting under the stars on a road to nowhere. We were friends, close intimate platonic friends, that laughed at each other, and cried for each other, feared nothing but disease and strife. Drinking partners and violent offenders, accesories to crimes.  Ranting, but listening friends and there i was cool, there i was indeed a round peg in a round whole. hip , cool. digging it. i had friends once, close intimate, platonic, beat friends.

Thursday, February 10, 2011


" Wake up!!!!"

The alarm chimes  with a non familiar voice. Its dark but the sound of the waking worlds widens my eyes, slit that opens and bright natural light erupts on the back of my eyeballs
SLAM,i merrily say hello to the clock, stopping its incessant wake up call. This isnt a a hotel, there is no cholocate mint under my freakin pillow. The chiming continues

'WAKE UP!!!"

Its not my freakin alarm, its my roomate, J. " Dude, wake the f up" dude, dude due, am i cowboy, isthis the wild west, am i covered in cowsht? The fire starts to burn in my belly and danm is it bright, I explode. "What the hell man, why is it so important i wake up?" He looks at me dumbdfounded, a wounded puuppy look spreads across his face.  This is the first and only time i have yelled, the only time my aggression has been geared toward him.

Sheepishly " I thought you were dead, you've been sleepin for days."

This ass is drunk, did he say days. No way. Now i am more pissed than before. Probably hit the bong before i got up and is on some super freaker trip. " what the hell are you going on about, you better not be tripping man."

Disbelief. Dis -freaking - belief. Clock look. I do and its thursday, noon. sit on the edge of my bed in pure freaking disbelief. What the hell is going on here. J looks at me simply, that identifiable i told you so face all along his grill. I turn on him, "so your telling me Ive been asleep for three days?"

Friday, February 4, 2011

Daredevil Daves Dance with the Deadly Dervishes

Dining and wheeling in dire despair,
Its tantalizing tales of transversing travels will terribly transpire without trained presumptuousness,
To leaven an over loaded life onto lithographic liberty,
one would rather rambunchously ramble over ramshackled ruins of time a tallies transcribed there,
So welcome to a land far from here.

Perhaps to properly portray the projected personality,
Albeit persona,
of the personified person,
We must lenghtly look at the  long and ludicris life.

To begin at the beginning,
The marvelous man of mighty myth,
Traveled through tall tales and trouble in his journey to judiscious justice.

The propagated pen was once protagonist,
while truth twice told was the triumphant tale,
beguiling that beginnings so bright would dimmer dastardly under diluted dimensions of discourse
and deadening desk dealing.

His cell with silent shrinking solitude
kept him dire distraught despair
at the cost of complete cordialty for confining conventions.

Apathy was appreciated if not altogether achieved,
resigning rented reserves of resolute rigidity,
In categorically constraining ones complete control over care
leaving lifes limiting liberties for lasting laughter.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Be my friend Forever, Benjamin Murphy Fiffs

Chilly was the day, when I met the coolest cat I would ever know. The park was the setting, high noon the time and my mind the meeting place. I was traveling to nowhere coming back from a missed appointment strolling along with my overcoat and second hand sweater. I was winded from the walk, a steep hill, and juggling the responsibilities of my unusual life. The somberness of my mood weighed down upon my chest. So I pulled my rear into a seat, to languish in my lolligaggerness. The sky was mostly clear but a few wisps of cumoulus clouds constantly diddling themselves high in the sky.Squirrels dawdling and discoursing on daydreams, as was I. But I was violently awaken from my conscious slumber, by a rambling by my side. I hadnt noticed the eccentric figure to my right, how i could have missed him is beyond my permanent recollection. He demanded attention, commanded respect, his figure stood as tall as the himalayas, his beard mirrored that of its abominal inhabitant. I remember being drawn to his eye patch, the woven facade of a skull outlined the once filled socket.


The shamans hands circled above his head, hands undulating in the phosphorescent smoke of the burning jungles leaves, howler monkeys raucously laugh at his attempts to incorporate the divine. The village is silent, if silence is possible in the midst of a living jungle. The steam is its sweat, it never sleeps, the rivers its tears, the echoes its past, present and future.The eyes of the native children widen as the voodoo doctors hands crisscross over the flames, singeing his skin, his eyes roll back , hes blind. Tongue stretches out , contorting his face in a grimace of what? Pain, pleasure, divine ecstasy? i cannot tell. he lets out a guttural yell, a growl, and for a moment i swear there is a jaguar in the middle of the village, a fierce primordial beast, a killer of men, a myth of legend. The shaman collapses, blood pours from his nose, The elders rush to his side, as the pained face relinquishes a smile. "Auk co wae tae. Sino chuk take." Translation: The gods are angry. There is no blood.

Old Glory

"Keep alive out there." the grizzled veteran yelled to the shaking recruit.

One could hardly hear over the roaring of the engine,the bouncing of the bed and the screams of his country men. The blast echoed all around, mortars, gunfire, echoed all around, ripping through flesh vibrating deep inside against his pounding heart. The veteran had played the game before, he knew the rules or lack thereof. Point and shoot, run and fall, fight and try not to die. The same game his father had played, his fathers fathers, and his fathers, fathers, fathers.
The recruit shook, from his head down to his feet, shook like a child falling into a winter brook. The brook back at home, shook like that time his brothers and him went to the brook in winter, to run, to play, to venture into the unknown frozen land. He had fallen in, after proceeded farther on a frozen bank that was just not frozen enough. He had fallen in, its freezing waters engulfing him, in a panic he tried to call out, but the call was a silent one under the ice. Only bubbles of air escape the icy current. Thank god his brothers had been there or he would have frozen to death under that river, dying ten miles away from home instead of thousands of miles away today.
The veteran eyed the recruit, with paternal eyes that seemed to affect men once they'd seen to many young faces in the dirt. "God how old is this kid, whats he doing here?" A mortar shell erupts, splaying earth across his faces, the sound of mud thudding against his helmet a wanton reminder of the severity of the situation. An inkling of panic rises up, the personal dialogue had kept him off guard. The off setting push into this ghastly reality has caused a moment of discombobulation. But the animal keeps him calm, the man has fear, but the animal survives. The explosions go off all around them, a fireworks display on a deadly level.

Silent Walls

Looking on from the flies vantage point it was plain to see who the murderer was.

Too bad it would be dead before the victim.

The sleuth walked into a crowded room, with flashbulbs going off, a silent echo to capture the nonexistence that took place. " What we got chief?' he asks with one hand on his corn cob pipe, the other in his worn overcoat. " Murder. The fifth one this week." The chief replied with nonexistent lips due to an overwhelmingly bushy walrus sleeping beneath his nose. " This ones younger than the rest."  Shucks, the detective said to himself, the smell of Cavendish twirling about in the air, arcing, circling, ceasing to be. "Scenes been ruined by the press, got here first. Might as well charge them for it and call a day." Its never that easy, the no name detective quipped to no one in the room, it never is. The body was in a chair , turned to a window in the corner of the room. The victims face was serene, almost peaceful, at least that's what the Mr. No Name hoped. Things are never that simple though. "What's the time of death?" Mr.No asks without any particular care, in that moment he's far from there.