Trevor Gates

Trevor Gates Jul 2013

The Obsidian Theater XIII.

Greetings, ladies and gentlemen

Tonight shall be yours…

I’ll need you all to listen to me carefully this evening.
It is so important, imperative that you obey my commands

Now

We may begin.

Everyone take a deep breath.
Now hold it.
Good

This is the moment
This is the show
This is the pulp
The nectar
The ooze
The Sector
The Muse
The blood
The spit
The Mud
The Slit

The bile
Or so vile

Gargling in the mouths of disdain usurpers
Frolicking in the seas of infected flesh
Mounting the pale demons of incestuous claim
Passing the threshold
Of
Mammon and his friends

Stop.

What’s this?

Oh my ladies and gentlemen, something new.

Something spectacular

Something…Well I’ll let you see.

Take the Stage my troupe, my thespian brethren!

Broken Promises have been spread
Shards of glass have been shed
The wine is wasted and the houses burned
The candles ignited for all who earn

The whip; the leather; the oh so feather
The lip; the dip, all together
THE WHIP; THE LEATHER; THE OH SO FEATHER
THE LIP; THE DIP, ALL TOGETHER

Honey, why are you out of your room?
                                        Father, stop it please!
                             Mother isn’t here
                That’s just silly

       The twig people of Salem beckon your soul

All I’m tempted to give it to them

       Is, after all just wasting away in the jar

                           I have

                                 On the wall

Those people who said they loved you?
They lied

That lover who pledged their life to you
They lied

The one who hurt you?
They told the truth.

These insane and poignant ballet dancers all jumping and twirling on the astral stage
See them light the way for all to enjoy?

When evil invades your senses, leaving you numb while they have their way with your body.

We can escape to the place.

You can come with me.

Yes you madam.

Yes I know you and you know me.

Yes take my hand.

Leave your body behind

You can’t take it with you while it’s being ripped in half

Yes, this way

Take center stage.

This is my gift to you.

See the lights, the performers, the musicians and the audience?

They are here for you. They will do what you will.
Let us cancel out the effect of that unspoken abuse.

What will you do?

What shall be the fill to the emptiness?

What shall you compose for my droogs, minions and fairies to perform?

Let it be your own.
Let it be your all

Let it be everything you’ve wanted
Let it soar

Let it pierce your heart with relief
With joy

With unfathomable majesty and sweeping emotion
With ubiquitous elegance and compelling tenacity
With resonating passion and relentless captivation

Let it be unique

Let it be something

Something that will release those tears you’ve held back

Something that shivers the body

That will leave your bones in ache, making us feel alive

Something the angels will hear and accept it is more glorious than them

Something heavenly

Something lovely and positivity radiant; like you the goddess of all things in our world.  The world that has only mattered to us. The one that is our own.

For the one in my arms

For the one that is forever gone.

Let it be

Something beautiful.

This performance is dedicated to my departed friend Sabrina. Thank you all for being here.

You have my blessing.

Trevor Gates Jul 2013

When my Angel cries

There are moments in life
Experiences
Where the minutes feels like hours
The days feel like years
The weeks
A lifetime
Looking up at the sky
Or the clock in the watershed
While it was done to you
To me
The strangling, the fighting
The crying, screaming, tossing and turning
Over and over again
They say it’s the last time
That they’ve changed
Born again
But
No
It’s not true
And here they are again
The daddy and the mommy
Names given to flesh-tearing monsters
And lusting jackals
Gleeful devils and
Shadows on the wall
Laughing and *******
Pulling knives and nails form their womb
To bury us in an keep us there
Fiends wrapping themselves in avarice
And sweltering babes roasting over the iron fire
Where fingers and tongues push and pull
Your insides
Thrusting and moaning to weekly
Mixed tapes and infomercial gurus
Batting eyes to static gods and god haters
Feasting in my tears
For the last time before my very own fingers
Become jagged spears and
Raging teeth
To pull apart the wolf in sheep’s clothing
Jerking his **** over your face and whispering
Bibles verses to an invisible
Congregation
Who holler and praise
The almighty lord
Who watches over us and
Places bets with the Devil in the aftermath of
Melting, dissolving, sacred bond
That is till death does them part
In sickness or in health
With broken bottles, wheel jacks
Kitchen blades, handguns, bare-knuckle fists
And those friends wonder why
Why I’m alone and
Why I can’t do the same things they do
Speak the way they speak
Understand what is so easy for them
School is a foreign concept that plagues our life
Its mere system mocks us
Saying I’m
We’re different, special, needed attention
Counselling, treatment, guardians
Medications.
Lost
So lost are they
For not seeing the truth
But the lies are more convenient
To the slothful ignorant
The fearful cowards
Wrathful misguided
Wrongful accuser
Lustful solicitor
All groping, kissing, grabbing
Slapping, hitting, tearing, bleeding
*******, licking, copulating
Red-eyed mongols throbbing over and
Drooling and spitting
Beating and killing
Flinging bodies against the wall and
Smashing the heads of children over the
Burning bridges of sycophant minds
Taking away the innocence
Laced with birth
Where our loveless bodies harden
And become blank and
Emotionless
And see the painted veil
That hid the original art
Of the first painter of the sky

The thing about being suicidal is,
No one knows you are till you’ve already done it.

And people say those who off themselves are selfish
When all they want is a release.

They still love you,
And are assured others love them.

But it’s not about love.
It’s when vengeance and fate aren’t enough

When tears dry up

And distress runs it course

Trevor Gates Jul 2013

Dark Meat & Naked Greed

The Obsidian Theater XII.

You’re all probably wondering why I asked you to come here this evening.

I do not plan to waste any of your time

Regardless if you feel that I do

Now

I’ll get to the point.

But

I’m afraid I don’t have one

And neither do you

Or you
Or you
Or even you

I once spoke to a lopsided journalist who understood what I meant
He once sat where you were sitting and spoke to me in such unique lubricities
I couldn’t help but ponder his underlying tone of voice
A hidden message gargled beneath his throat.
Past the teeth and gums
Sliding down his esophagus and into his stomach
Of voyage of crude judgment on my part

Again
I still haven’t made my point.
But then as I recollect what we’ve just discussed
The point was made
Regardless of what you think
For what I say

Are we confused?
You should be
Because it’s really quite simple

The amount of time you took to read this nonsense is equivalent to the deaths of a handful of people.

Now that’s a lot to think about
But in return many newborns have arrived on this plane of existence
Ready to be embraced by chains and strife

Regardless…

Of where they are
Who they are

No one is born free

We’re all fooled into accepting these rights, or extended privileges
All false

Everything has been orchestrated and arranged to keep your mind in check

How does it feel to be another chuck of human cattle?

Humans are mostly made up of Dark meat

Billions of people have lived and died

Yet

We don’t know them

We don’t remember them

Because of how insignificant their impact was

We only remember a small percentage

A fraction

Because of what they did

Writers

Leaders

Religious figures

Inventors

Artists

Heroes

Lunatics

Monsters

Conspirators

Musicians

Rock stars

Bestsellers

Celebrities

Murderers

Rapists

Hunters

traitors

Predators

Assassins

And their prey

We don’t remember the normal people

Why should we?

It will take on average three generations to forget you after your death.
All that will be left will be a grave and a tombstone
If you’re lucky

Everyone who would’ve known you
Will be dead with you.

Does this depress you?

Does this make sense?

Do you know what I’m talking about?
Did you hear what I said?

Check your ears because no one said a word.

Did you see what I did there?
Check your vision because I didn’t show you anything.

Nobody will
Show you
The truth
You must search for it

And accept the opaque mucus of circuitry and metal
Interwoven through our biological makeup
And
Hardened flesh

Resilient to innocence
But
Empowered by lost negligence

****** into the illusory overindulgence of ignorance,
Racial profiling
Ethnic intolerance
Class segregation
Wars of Naked greed
Pursuits of justifiable genocide and wrath
Condemned and institutionalized by denominations of Christians
Muslims and non-believers
Who claim to act in the will of God
Or the moral benefactor
Of the meat grinder that is

Modern civilization.

All points made and
Explanations aside

I’m glad I wasted your time

Regardless of what you think
And
What I say or do

I’m glad you came by
I wonder how many people died while you read this…
How many were born?

It doesn’t matter I guess
Only a few will care or remember
The same goes for you
Unless you make enough of a significant mark on the world

The same goes for me.

Will God still exist when all the people are gone?

Without humans, there will be no religion
And no war

So where will God be in all this?

Maybe having that knowledge was part of the plan.

Who knows…

Either way, God made a point.

Thank you. You can turn in your notes by Friday. You can submit your question to Tyler Durden in room 099 on Paper Street. I’d like to thank the faculty for arranging this conference. I’d also like to mention the little guys who helped organized this: Flying Teapots, Edith Piaf, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Nancy Sinatra, Jeff Beck, Interview Magazine, Starbucks, Smart Water, mechanical pencils, Terrance Stamp, Spike Lee, Rooney Mara, wax paper, coco jelly beans and of course King Candy.

Until next time.

Trevor Gates Jun 2013

Silver-skin Reflection

It was the rain against the windows
And the moonlight sonata playing
That accompanied my transition
Into melancholy insomnia

In the mid-morning deluge of the overcast sky

The reading of books and Freudian dreams
The watching of movies, Kubrick stare and all
Where emotions are captured and paraphrased
Amidst fight clubs and Fantasia

The Klimt surrealism outreaching from the walls

A lone piano listens, glistens; ripples of time
All dissimilar reinventions
Swirling in the incense smoke rings
Dancing in the flowing spirit air

Free and marvelous among vacant living room eyes

Memories recall the rain of Pasadena
Over rustic-themed modernism for
Eager tourists and the nonchalant few
Whispering words to descend the stairs

From the surface to below where thrusting cocktails reside

Years ago in the same position
But younger than I am now
At another desk with a bleeding pen
Pouring over the torn fickleness and skin I saw

Matchstick men smoking flesh roaches in alleyway shadows

Something hidden underneath the seen frailty
Single mothers courting hairless young men
Cracked anchor teens moving to a beat not of their own
Act of demon from the hand of God

Itching skin and slimy **** for sexes of all;
the men can take a turn in bearing the small.

Tales written from reflection and soul
Those wanderers and solicitors passing over the sick
The dead that laugh and the living that cry
Cold flesh injections stock markets for cattle to imbibe

Like so many humans do

Trevor Gates Jun 2013

Hellbent Manifesto

From the skies came the howling screams
And the malevolent weather
Casting the hands of shadow over my world
The loveless giants and slack-jawed executioners
Laughing and drooling over the wicker baskets
Filled to the brim with severed heads
Faces frozen in the final moments of their
Demoralized longevity

While the others
The innocents and deceivers
Hung from the peeling trees
From their necks
Their bodies swaying with the
Winds of the howlers; the hoarders and rising dead
Ravens and winged monstrosities feasting on the
Available tissue of those left behind in the dusk
Of lesser men and greater demons

I wept and cowered like never before
In the swelling, audacious fields of fallen brothers and sisters
The air was moist
The earth was damp
I pulled the black garments of butchered priests
Over my coarse back
Covering my punishment from the eyes of God
And his Angels
His divine bystanders
And jealous endeavors

Draped in the cloth of the papists
Drenched in the accumulated fluids of the slain
I wandered the wastelands with no name
No home
No family
No soul in the moment of sought mercy

The drying of blood and tears hardened the stain cloth
Against my healing body
Pulsing and throbbing over my senses
Turning me into something more
A vile and vengeful entity
Walking among the land of the dead
A ****** of my sanity

Through the cascading water dripping from the sky
Souls and ghosts of the battlefield
Clung to me, touching my feet and hands
My path was followed by the impaled
The disemboweled and the murdered
For the name of such clerical disambiguation
Promising to be absolved for the crimes against His name

I wandered from the true path

I came to the cliffs above and looked over the carnage
Of a 1000 warriors and people all sewn together
In the skin of the earth.

Riding a phantom steed over the trampled bodies
Clad in otherworldly armor
And sweltering chains
The Horsemen of War walked
Among the covet children of his wrath

Not even knowing if I still roam the land of the living
I proceeded down from the cliff
And approached the Rider of War.

His crimson helmet hid his face.
Horns protruded from his brow
He carried a blackened shield
and a fiery Sword crafted from the pits of Hell

Striking his sword into the mound of dead
Rivers of blood soaked into his blade
It fed off the butchered, the murdered
The mutilated, the skewered, the molested
The sodomized, the swallowed, the reaping
The cowards, the fools, the thieves
The liars, the transgressors, the headless
The victims, the prey, the engorged
The envious, the gluttonous, the wrathful
More and more of the blood, the souls and the mess
Collected and gathered into the sword
Feeding the beast, the instrument of war
Fueling another plague of sinister dismemberment
On a once green land of kings and sires.

I picked up a walking stick from the woods
Walking through a darkened world
Where another noble shall claim me
As his moniker of death
In service to **** more men
God’s children
Mother Earth’s children
Who rip a part of each other with metal and teeth
Against the palms of titans and angels

All gambling on our victory or defeat
Where lives and words are mere tokens
It is not our lamentations or penance that is counted

Can I bear the attrition of my own nightmares?

Clad in the shredded papal garments
Soaked in hardened blood

I shall roam and absolve.

Whoever is worthy
In the bleak war of man
And his End.

Trevor Gates May 2013

Welcome to LA

Pearls falling
on the stone steps outside
Neon lights reflected
in the rain puddles
“Bang, Bang” Nancy Sinatra sang
“I shot you down…”
The music faded as I walked away
Movie posters lined the brick walls
Framed lovers embraced
One another
Between frozen portraits
Of atomic monsters
And art house flicks
While looking away at the box office girls
Slender and fixed
Up for the customers
And troubled youth;
Their tenacious allure
for a requiem
for the living
Cathedrals replaced by tower records
And Chinese restaurants
Withering, zealous loan sharks
Feasting on squished dreams
Licking their teeth with their tongues
Smacking against the laughter
Of festering sodomites and
Plastic-injected food
Basking in pools of molten gold
And sliced actors
I was in the middle of this
Me
Enforcing the invisible layer
Of success in the city of Angels
Where demons of entertainment
Pull the strings
Like Bela Lugosi said.
Moving through the Hollywood hotel
I hear moaning voices
Creaking beds
Loud televisions
Shouting and blaring beats
I open room 314
And walk in
The wallpaper peels like a corrosive blister
Mr. Poe sits at his desk
Waiting for me
He pours a drink
I abide
He passes me an envelope
I feel its thickness
I open it up and flip through
The bills, placing it in my inner pocket
I nod and swallow the bourbon
And leave
What pulp magazines tell you
Of the underbelly
The style, the glamour
The women, the one-liners
And thrills are replaced by
Shattered morals
Broken bones
***** stained stool pigeons
Slaughterfest racism
Taxi backseat *******
Where joints and blood
Spent napkins, clean the mess
Of the seats.
Through clubs and social abundances
I find coked-up fiends and producer hugging
Sycophants.
Laughing, smiling, drooling, kissing
Any who will profit
Able to get in line
To be the next big thing
On the silver screen
Or at the bottom of the sea
Under
Santa Monica pier
Watching the group of
Empty flattery, heartless groping
I follow and keep my distance
3 hours later
I knock on their fancy hotel suite
Just when the door unlocks
I push it through
And pull out my gun
They scream but they know
Who I am
And who I work for
I instill fear back into their
Comfortable lives.
They have debts
They own their luxury to to others
That was the price
They sold their souls and bodies for fame
And they will all eventually pay
I remind them what could happen
I shoot through the mirrors and glass
I pick one up and dangle them over the balcony
I find one member of the social party who does not belong
Who is not worth any thing
Who is expendable.
I grab that one and exercise my warning
My superior’s warnings
I bash his skull on the ikea coffee table
I pick up the vase of flowers by the side
I dump it all over him
I pick one white rose and
Dip it in the collecting blood
And watch it stain the flower
I lift it up and show it to the room
Still eyes and sweating faces look at it;
At me and what I represent:
A winning hand
A knock-out punch
Wrath personified
Callous, methodical, professional, indifferent
Mr. Libestraum is who I work for
Mr. Schyman is what I go by.
My point is made and I leave them with the body
I walk out and call my people
My part is done.
I walk out unnoticed and paid
Pay a vendor for coffee
Sit along the bench and wait for the sun to rise
On a new day.
And think back to what I was told when
I saw my first hit,
“Welcome To LA.”

Trevor Gates May 2013

The Obsidian Theater XI: Burnouts & Dropouts

Welcome to tonight’s show

Allow me to introduce myself.

I go by many names

Some of which, you may know
But those do not need to be mentioned
a howl, a moan, a scream, a summoning
Let’s keep this interesting.

This is the midnight calling
This is the raven cawing

This is the shadow lurking
And the jackals slurping

The demons wailing
While Charon is sailing,

The Acheron
The river
The first

The Eternal song
Of dripping livers
and Thirst

Stop

This is all confusing
And amusing
To some
And many
But to me it is painful

Demeaning
Putrid
Repugnant
Detrimental
Disturbing

And

A subjective simmer of passivity
A pious dose of sheer calamity

Once upon a time

In a land past the desert
Was a neon capped city
Devoid of hope

And shaped by
Casual nihilism

And too much money

A powerful portrait in all its brevity
The display of sweltering people melting against the asphalt
The mucous sunscreen and coarse sand between the toes

And crooked nails
And bleached hair
And coffee stained teeth
And pink nails
And Gucci purses
And Versace dresses
Shutter Shades
Corvettes
$5 lap dances

And promiscuous preteen slaves
To MTV
VH1
Pop sensations
Internet ****
Social networks
Smart phones
Model rock stars
Models
Interviews
Auditions
Mundane seductively
For him
Or she
The nepotistic aficionado

of

Delicious, robust, superb, disdain
*******: Nose Candy
******: Snake venom
After Parties: ******* adrenaline
***** Film tryouts: Garage studio
LSD: Acid
Plastic: Lips, skins, *******.
24/7
Hits of E
X-T-C

and

Do you have change for a hundred?
Or a change for a life?

Cites in Dust
Thank Siouxsie and the Banshees; A carnival.

Shout
Tears for Fears, they’re Head over Heels

Love will Tear Us apart
From Joy Division, who claims she’s lost control

Los Angeles
“X”
Exene and Billy Zoom’s Wild Gift.

The perpetual rise of sunset rockers and Neon knights.
Teens crawling through the muck of socialites and incubator nightmares
Civil borders wired by racial slurs and salivating bigotry
Water replaced by blood
Spit interchanged for souls
And fire traded for icy methamphetamine

Warriors and survivors

Poets and dreamers

Shooters and inhalers

Geeks and groupies

Burnouts and Dropouts

Sweet dreams are made of this

Such a show, such a show! Bravo Bravo! Thank you, thanks to all I have time to thank: Martin Sheen, Julius Ceasar, Fender Guitars, Randy Marsh, elbow pads, Chuck Berry, Al Green, X, Joy Division, Tears for Fears, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Less than Zero, Alucard, Humphrey Bogart, Grace Kelly, Daryl Dixon, George Harrison, Brad Pitt, Rooney Mara (Love you), Belstaff, Emma Watson (Love you too), Laure Heriard Dubreuil, Manolo Blahnik, Hannah Murray and Michele Abeles.

So many to mention, so little time. We’ll be back.

This is one of my favorites I've done so far in this series. I had just finished reading Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis and watch Gregg Araki's films, The Doom Generation and Nowhere, which all three sum up the existentialism and merging rampancy of living in Los Angeles, California. An experience I will never forget.