script on screen life is but a dream a b c d e f g gee **** g-chord ******  geezz script on screen row row your boat h i j k ellemenoh *** oh please baby *** for me let me watch you stream merrily merrily merrily script on screen q arrest tee you vee double you x why zee

last night i watched a woman answering questions about ***** size she spoke about the toilet tissue roll test for years i’ve been thinking my ***** is rather undersized (compared to studs on **** sites) this morning i took the test undid the roll from wall and stuck my ******* in the hole at first i had trouble getting it in so i guess my thickness is healthy then i slowly managed to shove the entire head of my **** out the other end by that time clear pre-*** was dripping from my ***** hole pressure from my hand gripping tissue roll felt surprisingly arousing i began ******* the roll squeezing pushing in deeper jerking almost bringing myself to ****** i passed the test the toilet tissue roll appears kind of twisted indented

what will happen next hoping for heartbreaking story with happy ending man masturbates while woman urinates both watch each other intently what is so fascinating

Asheville is small yet monumental by luck or fate he hooks up with Tim Calaprese a gregarious loving soul Tim loves women and wine and dogs particularly Farina he owns a beat up old house on steep hill overlooking downtown Asheville Odysseus rents a room for $200. a month Tim is a wine salesman and gone much of the time Odysseus is critically destitute he goes to Salvation Army they provide bed-sheets towels he sells tent and camping equipment to hippies on Haywood Street for several weeks he and Farina live on convenience store hotdogs he gets job prepping house exterior to be painted his boss tells him he is a good worker after a hard day’s work the boss lays him off he gets hired as a waiter for the dinner shift in the restaurant of a resort hotel he is weary of waiting tables but needs cash in the mornings he takes Farina to ****** Lake to swim then they go back to house paint on the porch many mornings are overcast with fog around noon sun comes out warms afternoon Odysseus loves Blue Ridge Mountains he paints a series of mountain scapes while listening continuously to Palace Brothers Pearl Jam Pavement Sebadoh Steve Earle occasionally he works on story about the clone sometime in 90’s DNA has become a factor and he needs to incorporate detail into story

on stormy afternoon in July as thunder echoes through Blue Ridge Mountains phone rings Odysseus is suffering from severe attack of food poisoning it is difficult to reach receiver phone keeps ringing it is Penelope her voice sounds shaky she says doctors have diagnosed her with leukemia it is startling shock she is only 43 years old his stomach rips he needs to run back to toilet telephone cord is not long enough Penelope says it is urgent Odysseus return to Chicago to see if he can be bone marrow match for her he tells her he will drive up immediately after food poisoning passes Penelope becomes irritable he can feel himself leaking between his legs hangs up immediately runs to toilet spends most of night in bathroom brief naps in bed in the morning he hears someone knocking at door he does not know who it is he cannot leave toilet he hears footsteps enter house call his name Odysseus are you there where are you it is Penelope and Sean he flushes toilet comes out to greet them what a weird surprise why didn’t you think to give me some notice he questions as he lies down on bed Penelope and Sean want to take Odysseus to hospital he tells them they are overreacting food poisoning will soon work its way out of his system Penelope asks if there is anything she can do Odysseus answers Farina hasn’t been out for a good walk in days Please be an angel and take her up the street there’s a field there she likes Penelope calls come here Farina let’s go for a walk Farina follows they depart out door Sean sits down at foot of bed he forcefully speaks Odysseus i know you you like to skew the facts to fit your own purposes then hammer me for whatever make-believe you can cook up when are you going to finally start being a man live up to your responsibilities Odysseus questions what facts are you talking about i’m sick as a dog now is not the time to have this talk Sean challenges yes it is you listen to me your sister is sick and needs your help Odysseus replies i’m heading to Chicago as soon as i’m well enough to travel Sean insists that’s not soon enough we’re taking you to a hospital Odysseus stands from bed Sean stands up facing him they stare each other down Odysseus goes to slip on jeans Sean stands in the way Odysseus tries to step around Sean shoves Odysseus back unto bed Odysseus stands shoves back fistfight ensues mostly Odysseus throws wild punches Sean blocks as they violently jostle out door Sean trips on wet porch falls breaks rib Odysseus grabs his pants car keys flees Penelope and Farina watch puzzled as he drives off day after incident and departure of Penelope and Sean Mom calls insists Odysseus return without delay to Chicago he answers i’m on my way Odysseus packs car with Farina drives north he feels pressure of his family envisions himself as piece of living meat whose sole purpose is to supply Penelope with bone marrow momentarily imagines his family as predators Mom is the real killer she knows how to delegate ****** Dad had been a killer for Mom Penelope has learned from Mom how to contend Odysseus is weak link he taught himself to brave harshest conditions yet is no competitor he is worker bee stupid dreamer all alone in greedy predatory world more than anything he loves and wants to help Penelope he is annoyed by nervous tension of family

teaching a wild creature to feed from your hand is a feat maybe maybe not Mom taught me from a young age then never let go in June 2013 the estate will cease all the coats hats shoes scarves skirts dresses blouses belts purses from Ultimo Saks Neimans wherever steaks from Gene and Georgetti’s Gibsons whatever will be consumed and she will be forced by the bank to resign her condo on lake shore drive and go live with her sister and i will be left with nothing

nothing feels better than fighting back gathering the strength courage to do that to fight until there is no daylight

the world is a mysterious place it is Sunday December 26th 2010 6AM pitch dark outside in several months daybreak will come earlier a remarkable surprise yet always been this way in several minutes firmament turns light i open eyes stretch legs look out window pink blue gray blue morning skies tree tops mountains watch flock of birds maybe 30 or 40 flying back and forth east west why do they do that how would you like to be one of those birds flapping around searching from above at the earth hmmm what if everyone had a ***** and ****** feathered wings fin distinctive tail floppy or pointed ears what if you could share breakfast or lunch with Kim Gordon Patti Smith work on poem with e. e. cummings James Joyce William Faulkner paint with Mark Rothko Anselm Kiefer play football with Payton Manning Drew Breeze jam with Jimi Hendrix Keith Richards race with Secretariat sniff with Lassie mix with Max Ernst Georgia O'Keefe Donald Judd meet with Gandhi and J.F.K. make love with Charlotte Gainsbourg Kate Moss dinner with John Lennon Friedrich Nietzsche dance with Albert Einstein Isadora Duncan share a smoke with Sam Clemens (Mark Twain) Sam Shepard last drink with Sylvia Plath Virginia Woolf then go to sleep next to Sphinx Pyramids wake with Cleopatra Mata Hari on Bali beach look up at tiny puffy clouds that resemble strange script do you understand the possibilities mysteries of everything

old is lecherous but i’m still trapped in childhood hurting wanting to be grown-up

i think i said i don’t know how to talk i was speaking to this **** greedy landlord trying to negotiate between 2 different spaces long distance and i meant to say i can’t talk right now i’m in a restaurant or shop but instead what came out was i don’t know how to talk he was insulting me bullying hollering at me on cell phone accusing me of dickering about price lease and it slipped out my terror from Dad my childhood fears repression inability to negotiate i froze fumbled finally uttering i don’t know how to talk then disconnected

i’m running scared gasping for breath heart pounding yearning praying crying for love beauty happiness success i’m smart creative powerful yet inept too shy or fearful to know how to properly spontaneously speak in person

what if consumerism is realized as a mental disorder a method to suppress genuine hunger with fetish products

what if money is identified as disease actual legal tender found to source fatal viruses

what if humanity is discovered to belong to an alien predatory race independent from Adam and Eve or monkeys

what if all knowledge is found to be deceptive invention concealing real world truth

what if existence is a chess game or trial enacted by higher forces and your every thought feeling recorded in eternity

what if progress is the enemy and primitivism the remedy

my whole life i’ve learned about infidelity my mom sister dad uncle i don’t understand i’ve never been unfaithful to a girlfriend (one is enough one is more than i can handle) why do people speak those vows then get married only to violate themselves their mates maybe that’s why i am afraid to ever get married infidelity is the most painful betrayal to find out your partner with all your shared secrets compromises them with someone else oh god

April 19th 1995 a bomb explodes in Federal building in Oklahoma City killing 168 people injuring 759 what are Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols thinking did they act alone there are so many lunatics running around out there so much misunderstanding disenfranchisement in America

Arlington Street Asheville North Carolina June 1995 Odysseus and his dog Farina keep mostly to themselves something is wrong with his voice he sounds hoarse when he speaks it is uncomfortable to talk he goes to free clinic and waits half a day elderly doctor attempts to stick long metal instrument down Odysseus’s throat Odysseus gags coughs elderly doctor becomes irritable he warns Odysseus to quit smoking Odysseus wonders what it would be like to be loved possibly married in loving positive relationship to know all the endearing enduring connections between caring couples other people manage it why can’t he? he thinks i’ve never been a good provider nor placed enough value in money i believe in freedom and love i chose to make art and pursue a life of self-discovery experiment dang i am wrong from the moment one’s work hangs in a gallery the artist’s integrity is compromised individuality becomes commodity typically people who buy paintings have so much money they scatter a trifle on art the artwork provides the consumer with a look of ‘soul’ to be shown off to their envious friends the artist becomes needy pet of dealer and client maybe converting one’s spirituality into commercial merchandise is like making deals with the devil he thinks about Native American artists whose work is immediately esteemed and utilized in their culture he has spent his whole life seeking validation in art world he wonders how many other unknown artists feel similarly useless discarded he considers i’m forty-five years old now and i don’t have a penny to show for all my troubles i still believe i have much to give insights to reveal but no practical plan for survival i don’t know how i’m going to get through this existence the world wants young promising talent not some older painter striving for another chance women want nothing to do with an impoverished aging dreamer my dog loves me she knows who feeds her i’ve got academic degrees a long resume of legitimate shows i know how to use a computer solve problems fix toilets sinks strip and paint serve food and liquor but i can’t land a decent job i never learned how to properly market or barter my work and i’m not interested in the position of sacrificial lamb i want a home and female partner like other men have i want to be needed respected loved a creative member of a community instead of an expendable outsider working menial jobs for minimum wage what good are paintings if no one looks at them what good are noble values in a corrupt society the world runs on money and greed not freedom and love

It's a beautiful circus affair,
them artists meeting
in the round square,
in Asheville down there.
Pixies & henchmen
spreading their wares
& so lively,
it seems magic
covers them
with true love,
coming down
from the mountain air.

have you left yet?
are you gone?

i miss you.
i love you, koala.

you're free.
wrap your knuckles around the steering wheel & don't look back.
think of me as you drive into a west texas sunset.
shout my name as the thin mountain air puts pressure on your lungs.
stop at traffic lights & expect to be enlightened.
look at the clouds every day. i mean really look.
stop & cry by yourself on the side of the road somewhere.
stare into the fantastic sun & don't blink first.
return light to the world like a universal mirror.
take a bath in a hot mountain spring & learn to breathe underwater.
fly in vulture circles over the deadness of your past.
never stop writing & painting & singing & reading.
turn around & surrender your heart to the void.
take the list you wrote of the things you learned here & burn it for fuel.
cut up that credit card & use a sharp piece as a guitar pick.
laugh at your warped reflection in a rippling pond's surface.
let light dance around you in a lush green valley.
look at life through a thrift store camera lens.
abandon the road before the road abandons you.
go chase a rabbit up a mountain in tennessee.
go nowhere & i'll meet you there someday.
go find your friends on couches & balconies.
talk to strangers every chance you get.
pull them back from the ledges they're on.
hug a quarter million people.
by the time you hit kansas i hope you love it.
by the time you hit asheville i hope you love yourself.

We buzzed the periphery on plastic,
moved in and out of the shadows
spending nickels on the corner jesters,
who stroked their banjos with fingerless gloves.

Their cracked fingertips were stained yellow,
mouths displayed racks of missing teeth,
snake eyes winked under reptilian lids
while blessings spewed forth.

I looked at the leader
who sang like Lennon
and wondered,
man what are you doing here
reincarnated.

I'm back.
To the gates of hell.
Now, maybe that's being dramatic, but she did fall here.
The center of my life.
The person who completed me.
The person I loved (still do, actually).
She left my life six months later.
To think that in the 4 days preceding the fall, so many memories were created.
Happy ones.
They come flooding back to me now.

It ain’t too bad to be from there
Just ask my family and friends
But it’s too flat, ain’t no way out
The roads are all dead ends.
Sometime soon I’ll find a place
Where the music I’ll enjoy
But for now I keep on tryin’
To escape from Illinois!

There’s a river on the border west
That moves a lot of dirt
Mighty Muddy Mississipp
Drowns the pain and covers hurt
Yeah, I’m movin’ south to New Orleans
Maybe I can find employ
In a blues bar down on Bourbon Street
Escape from Illinois!

Well I stopped a week along the way
When I saw the Gateway Arch.
But the folks out by the airport
Were stagin’ up a march.
Seems a white cop fired a shot that killed
An unarmed teenage boy
Oh yeah, the teenage boy was black,
Escape from Illinois.

Kept walkin’ to the Landing
(Named for Pierre Laclede)
It has most every thing you want
But nothing that you need
Some travelin’ folk told me some news
That made me jump for joy
Memphis maybe had some work
Escape from Illinois!

Found the haunted house called Graceland
And the grave where Elvis lay
Where half a million go each year
(Fifteen thousand every day)
They all want to pay respects
To the rockin’ – rollin’ boy
Put their finger in the bullet holes
Escape from Illinois.

Went downtown, knocked on some doors
Once or twice I went inside
But Beale Street was broken
The travelin’ folks had lied.
‘Cuz there ain’t no jobs in Memphis,
Or maybe I’m too coy
So I hitched a ride to Nashville
Escape from Illinois.

Nashville’s a big old meltin’ ***
Lots of great ones started here
But most end up as tourists
Getting’ ****** and drinkin’ beer
So money’s at a premium
And fame’s a fake decoy
End up workin’ in a record store
Escape from Illinois?

From Asheville to Atlanta
From Austin to LA
From Biloxi back to Baton Rouge
Need a place where I can play
I’ll follow all the buskers,
Form a musical convoy
Livin’ day by day and town by town
Escape from Illinois!

I’m a minstrel, like a rubber band
I keep on snappin’ back
I’m gonna make it somewhere
Singing somewhere, that’s a fact
Got my guitar and my music
Gotta do what I enjoy
Find a place to sing my songs for you,
Hell, it may be Illinois!
Phil Lindsey  6/4/15

i love asheville.

I danced my *** off at the Highland Brewing Company to a live band, smoked good bud before hitting Rosettas, wandered downtown, walked through a sketchy alley way.

I’ve met the coolest of people
{and some of the not so coolest}

but the good far outweigh the bad here.

this city has swallowed me whole

rolled me around on its tongue

and i covered me with its shimmering saliva— because everyone in aville sparkles, y’all
and i marvel at the inside of its beautiful mouth

there is power in these mountains
and good mojo in the air

we just need better water.

I am bad at flirting…like…really bad
and
I **** at being subtle.
Your blog is quality and so is mine (on good days, anyways).
I may not be that pretty, but I am a good person.
                                        I won’t ******* over.
And I will make you tea at 2 a.m. and not judge your tastes in music
(out loud).
We can watch Spirited Away or Howl’s Moving Castle or Nausica
and tumble and have *** and wear **** shades.
I will make you breakfast and vegetarian dishes
on Meatless Monday.
We can read Bukowski on swing sets, smoke cigarettes, and drink whiskey, stumble behind bushes and kiss until my lips hurt.
We can have coffee in some place in Asheville and sit really close together and make fun of black-keys hipsters
(even though I really like the Black Keys).
You will probably have to listen to lots of Hole and Rising Appalachia
and read my poetry, but I will always
read your work when you hand it to me.
And probably buy you nice things.
Like a flask with some quote you like on it. Or your favorite pack of cigs with something cute like, ‘let’s have *** in that bathroom’
written on it.
Or a nice sweater because…sweaters are nice and my blow jobs are of legend.
I may not know you that well, but I’d like to.
And I think you would like to get to know me
because I’m pretty rad.
And I look nice in green and dark navy blue,
and my hair looks pretty in the sunlight.  
I’m saying all this because I’m lonely and people with good tastes in music are rare.

We were twenty minutes outside
Asheville when we slipped, carelessly
From the edge of the earth
Into an oil painting.

We were, still are really, perpetually
Twenty minutes away when the traffic
would clog, and Michael would blow
Into a tissue; trying to clear both.

Every curve would birth another stretch
Of road, another ridge of mountains, their
Sight not unlike the unlikely vantage of seeing
your shoulders for the first time in film.

Then we’d break again, sure that this was
Some sort of ******* afterlife, full of minor
Inconveniences and signs warning that
‘Bridge ices before road,’
Mocking us in our perpetual summer.

when i visited asheville
no one noticed the calluses on my toes
or the way that that one hair would not stay down
or how i was too lazy to shave
and being near cockroaches was okay
and my brother walks like a dancer
years later
thousands of minutes later
he continues to bounce with each step
just like you:
i eat
and kiss you
and no one cares if i was too lazy to shave
or that i have calluses on my toes
or that my hair just won't stay down.

i see us in shades of spring and autumn
in the  r        s    of earlgrey left on the
             i          g
                n  
bottom of chipped
mugs and tea glasses on antique wood tables
and wood floors
in the smoke of cigarettes french inhaled in the woods
in the smoke of summer fires
that burns my eyes
and in the red stains left of white shirts
and the (almost) ***** left the next day in asheville alley ways
i see us in water running over rocks
and in the moss growing on boulders
in the ice fractures of thin glass
and the steam
vapors of a
tea kettle
at 4 almost five almost sun
                                                u
                                                p
when you are going
to be too far                                        away
and I am
going to be
a little too far gone
in a bottle of wine
a little out of my head
a little mad
a little lost while you are loosing yourself

Picking black walnuts
In Asheville
And shipping them
To Nashville
Road tripping
And using my magical hands

Like when a farmer
Is ready to take
His vegetables
Finally away from
The earth
Ripping roots
That took a beautiful
Process to create
And strengthen

Like an umbilical cord
Being cut
Disconnected from
Where the baby came from
Mother Earth

When it's ready,
It's mine because it's time
And I deserve it

Someday
I’m going to be able to recite the line
“My favorite life is…
mine.”
and I’m going to believe it.
I’m going to have kids.
I’m going to visit Asheville, North Carolina a second time around.
And I’m going to reminisce about the time I ran away the summer I turned 17.
Because I needed to see mountains.
Because their dust had floated into my bones and tied themselves snug around my joints, and the magnet pulling me back had started to hurt.

The most beautiful place on earth
Lives in North Carolina
But
I'm not sure what place it is

Maybe its the Blue Ridge
The Stretch of parkway between Asheville and Boone
The most ancient mountains on earth
And when your there
You can see forever
And you can feel it
The spirit
The sweet breath of the world
The way its loving arms can hold you
On top of mountains
Where you can hear
Gods voice

It had to be
That the king
Lives in the Queen City

Maybe its the stretch of sand
Ralieghs lost colony
**** Devil Hills and Nags Head
Highway twelve
Where the horses run wild
And the water is so peaceful
You'd gladly drown yourself
Just to forever be a part of it all
Where the most glorious sight
Is seen from a hill
Overlooking the Atlantic
And watching the sunrise
Alone

The most beautiful place on earth
Is in North Carolina
Waiting for you to arrive

Imperial ales coerced our high gravity choices one day.
Bleeding, drenched and on full alert,  
I limped from the Tuck's bank to the brewery.

With one pole wet, my whistle was next;
I needed hoppy nourishment, salty pretzels and a stool.

Lacking fish or gear, I imagined it would be difficult
to explain my appearance, but I didn't give a ****; I come as is.

To my 3 o'clock a smoke ring silhouette vacuumed my
exhale like spooling cotton candy from 3 feet away;
I took a breath and inhaled her dandelion seeds.

A tattoo of a paper airplane on her wrist was faded from afar,
yet as she flew closer the ink appeared fresh, 2-3 weeks old.
Her hair smelled of patchouli, parsnips, an Asheville scent.

Closer now, I recognized a look of love or disgust in her eyes.
Can't tell em' apart anymore, as the prior wears a disguise,
eventually becoming the latter.

She asks my name and I ask the barkeep for two double IPA's.

We don't need a racetrack to run in circles anymore.

Days in America spent with poems and jazz
Switching from deep dark black coffee to Jasmine Tea
This typewriter called to me
Jack has been talking at me through recordings I play while I shower because the quiet is becoming too much
And when I leave for work the quiet is all I'm going to want
But for now I burn some incense hoping that the old typewriter case
Would smell musty no longer and instead have that heavenly smell
Of Orange cinnamon

Days in America when I go to work
Shelving library books and the similar media for four hours
While I sit and watch all the people
The regulars include the old lady who can't seem to catch her breath as if she just sprinted the news of victory from Marathon to Athens
And then the bearded Buddhist wise man
Or at least I consider him so from the stacks of words of the Dalai Lama he returns weekly and proceeds to saunter to the 290s, home of the Zen speaking and Buddhist discourse
I don't think I could ever be Buddhist because the world feels too real and I feel too real
Especially when my back aches from the lift and lower to shelve each to its own
And in comes the couple who only call each other babe
In they come with voices I can only describe as whiny
I hate to portray them in such a way but yet those voices make it seem they were born in love and in the end will die with the tone of love on their lips and the word babe in their heads

American nights where I drive home to eat or drive to Nick's to pick him up so the whole gang can eat and play cards and rant and yell like we do each Monday
Or this past Sunday when the destination was Waffle House and I was reminded that young love is a sorrowful dog-eat-dog affair
You want to truly know the American night?
Turn to new old friend Thomas Wolfe
Let him tell you of nights in Asheville and New York and the nights of even Europe and how they are all the same and endless
Just as time is endless
Can you already tell I love time?
I love the contextual seasons and when I try and talk plainly about the American night I lose all words because we've all been there and we all know and there's nothing more I need to say
American days and American nights can all feel the same
And we all eat sleep live breathe bleed
This cycle

What can I add that isn't already there?
What have I said that really needed to be?
What drove me to write poetry outside of Steinbeck, Ginsberg, and you, Thomas
I have seen endless rivers
I have had my fill of stones leaves and unfound doors
My roots are of a shallow depth
My branches do not reach as yours did
My inspiration is a well run dry
My words are saliva on sidewalk
Is there a fate for me in California?
Is there a place more kind than home?
Is there a life for those who seek angels made of stone?
Thomas you saw an America I never could
You reached great heights I may never touch
But Thomas your legacy rests in my heart
I will never forget you
Angel child of Asheville
Wild man of words and words
Pages and pages
Thomas the river will always welcome you home