OMG! my brother, is so destructive, he treats even a jewel like its rubbish
he is soo stubborn, he gets under my skin like sunburn, but in the end he's still my brother.
i wouldnt have in any other, why? cuhz he down for the fam like southern? lol
i realized people you can never govern but even currently as he proceeds to walking on the second story on his FREAKEN KNEES! i realize i must make a compromise that there might be something about me he doesnt agree with,, so lets avoid the conflict cuhz it looks like a slippery cliff,,, wtf is he doing upp there sounds like artillery ships and shit!!!, im about to throw this fit,, but my homeboy like na flames here smoke this spliff,, na NAGA my mind is a gift and you kn ow im trying to quit!,, witch brings me across the next subject,,, i suspect my inner demons which demoralize my drive to subside with most high take my closest friends minds for a joyride,,, undercover like a spy to poison my ambitions to stay sober im so bipolar, being high is mediocre but when mind is clear i tend to turn into that ogre,,,i feel as if all is hopeless,,, i live in the moment i live in the ocean,, i think my name is Joseph,, and i sleep on my best friend sofas,,, i dont know where this story is going, long as i continue typing i guess its my way of coping i guess its my way of invoking,,,,
When I little I used to play a few games in my back yard
They have become more real for me lately
And I think that is because you make me feel like a six-year-old again
naive and impressionable and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I used to play freeze in my friends back yard.
At night we would run around and wait for her security camera
Light to go on
And when it did
You froze.
If you were close enough to the edge of the light
Someone on the outside could pull you back
But if you were in the middle
You were screwed.
And that's how I feel now
That is how you make me feel
Stuck in the middle, all eyes on me
Except in real life, with you, the light doesn't go back off
It stays on staring at me
Forcing me to rethink every step I ever made.
My best friend and I played a spy game in my back yard
Trying to figure out who the evil master mind was
With our faithful companion
Hogan
The best dog ever.
And I wish I could go back to those days
Where we could make up our own secrets
Instead of hoping the real ones wont get exposed.
Or even better
We now try to uncover real secrets
To expose our enemies for what we believe them to be.
I want to turn into that spy again and figure out
What you are feeling
From the source: your heart
Because I don't think I trust your mouth.
Tag.
Your It.
Do you ever get that feeling
Like someone's watching you
I used to be a nobody
So this feeling is kind of new
I'm used to being alone
No one wanting me near
Doing whatever I want
Without ever having to fear
Now I'm in the limelight
And I'm not really sure why
But anywhere I go
There's always a lurking spy
Now no matter what I do
Everyone wants to know
I can't have any privacy
My life's become a show
I feel as if I'm famous
But not in a good way
Everybody talks about me
I feel like I'm on display
People voice their opinions
On all my private affairs
Someone just make them all shut up...
Someone stop their stares...
I shutter in the nights moon.
I hide my self way before noon.
I fear, I fear, night will drift me away.
Moon! I gasp! Do you see me,
turn your judging face from me.
I shutter in the moons glow.
I fear! Which way should I go.
I see the morn only in my mind.
Its solemnly burrow within the trees
like a spy. Yet the cannot escape
my keen eye.
Day light! Blasted day light!
Sneeks its glow upon me.
Yet, comforts like a blanket!
But though I shutter in the moon light
And yet, I welcome a
pleasantly new days sun,
Woot! Whoo! Comes my weak calls.
For by days sun I hunger no more.
I just peck lustfully blood from my
fluttering feathers, of nights telltale gore.
I am just a hungry owl,
Whoot! Whoot! I cry.
My beak shutters to softly croon
My calls fierce, again in nights moon,
Alass! Shouts of fear from the mice.
from chipmunks from the baby racoons.
Hide! Hide! Hide!
For I will stalk you in the night.
You shall be my dinner before
day light.
Comes now too, my endless fear.
I float over fierce brown deer
Its mighty weight, yet, of me
it does not flinch,
Yes, even with my nightly, whoot!
Whoot! Over it my eyes gauntlet glare
It just looks me over as if I am not there.
I flutter full, to appear stronger, but though
I am mighty to the new birthed young,
I am desolate to the ones more than I, so strong.
Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! I cry out.
I cry strong and brave,.
Yet, not a small beast does not fear as it
shows its self to me
They scamper, Ha! Ha! I laugh.
Do they not realize their tiny legs will
not free them from my swooping outcome.
I swop, Ha! Ha! Silently I am upon them.
I since their heart beats like a drum.
Soon it is over. Their will is no more, but mine.
As I perch way up in this tree
Shutter I do of beasts, but so do they.
For in the woods all too is fair play
For that is nature's contract
guaranteed, to all forest prey.
I shutter in the nights moon.
I hide my self way before noon.
I fear, I fear, night will drift me away.
Moon! I gasp! Do you see me,
turn your judging face from me.
I shutter in the moons glow.
I fear! Which way should I go.
I see the morn only in my mind.
Its solemnly burrow within the trees
like a spy. Yet the cannot escape
my keen eye.
Day light! Blasted day light!
Sneeks its glow upon me.
Yet, comforts like a blanket!
But though I shutter in the moon light
And yet, I welcome a
pleasantly new days sun,
Woot! Whoo! Comes my weak calls.
For by days sun I hunger no more.
I just peck lustfully blood from my
fluttering feathers, of nights telltale gore.
I am just a hungry owl,
Whoot! Whoot! I cry.
My beak shutters to softly croon
My calls fierce, again in nights moon,
Alass! Shouts of fear from the mice.
from chipmunks from the baby racoons.
Hide! Hide! Hide!
For I will stalk you in the night.
You shall be my dinner before
day light.
Comes now too, my endless fear.
I float over fierce brown deer
Its mighty weight, yet, of me
it does not flinch,
Yes, even with my nightly, whoot!
Whoot! Over it my eyes gauntlet glare
It just looks me over as if I am not there.
I flutter full, to appear stronger, but though
I am mighty to the new birthed young,
I am desolate to the ones more than I, so strong.
Whoot! Whoot! Whoot! I cry out.
I cry strong and brave,.
Yet, not a small beast does not fear as it
shows its self to me
They scamper, Ha! Ha! I laugh.
Do they not realize their tiny legs will
not free them from my swooping outcome.
I swop, Ha! Ha! Silently I am upon them.
I since their heart beats like a drum.
Soon it is over. Their will is no more, but mine.
As I perch way up in this tree
Shutter I do of beasts, but so do they.
For in the woods all too is fair play
For that is nature's contract
guaranteed, to all forest prey.
He was a CIA director
He was a top spy in many countries
He was precise, he was cold,
he believed in corporal punishment
he was kind, he was funny
He was a Lawyer...well hell, that says it all.
Nobody ever really knew this man
though he was genuinely honest
and didn't believe in deception or manipulation
He said such unethical modes of operation
"Turn the Spy Business into Dirty Business"
Dirty Business...yes, the spy business is by and by
like living in a pile of dirty laundry
Smelly and foul, not romanticized or luxurious
though He did become good friends with a country's leader
But what his son later noted in reflection over the death,
possible murder, of his father.
"He was distant, may never have really loved anybody.
He didn't need anybody, but we later realized:
We needed him."
He was a very famous man, a very famous spy,
but nobody really knew him
and sad to say, I can't even remember his name.
The Night before Christmas of the Living Dead
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all down the street
Came a howling of wind and a lashing of sleet
The stockings were hung by the 50 inch plasma
And parents were snoring like bulldogs with asthma
The children were nestled in cosy wee places
With smug little grins on their villainous faces
Their mum in her nightie and I in my skin
Were of Christmassy spirit, specifically Gin
When out in the garden, a moaning was heard
I sprang to my feet without breathing a word
To the curtains I leapt like a naturist ninja
As spry as a horse with an arse full of ginger
And what did I spy as I peeped through the crack?
No jolly fat Santa or magical sack
It was as I had feared but had always expected
The zombies were here and St. Nick was infected!
His sled, with a frenzy of giblets, was smitten
And was pulled by a mob of the people he’d bitten
He threatened and jabbed them to get them to run
And struck at their heads with the butt of his gun
“Now Arnie, now Johnny, Now Barrak Obama
On Oprah, on Beckham and on Dalai Lama
On half of Madonna and Samuel L. Jackson
And run for your lives at the sound of the claxon”
The sled rose aloft dragging corpses behind
Like a wedding day prank from a murderous mind
And with more than a hint of the melodramatic
An almighty crash rattled down from the attic
Still dressed, as it were, in my birthday attire
Some pants and a chainsaw, my only desire
I crept on my tippy-toes, ever so soft
And I heard a grim sound from the stairs to the loft
I searched for a weapon and first to my hand
Was a porcelain Goofy from Disney land
I ran from the bedroom to battle my foe
I turned to the stairs, but now where did he go?
When a breath on my neck made me shiver and freeze
And a trickle of urine advanced to my knees
I came to my senses and spun on the spot
And before me pulsating with maggots and rot
There stood zombie Santa, he drooled as he leered
His eyes filled with hunger and blood in his beard
I screamed and I bolted, I ran down the stairs
I bounced and I bounded and leapt them in pairs
I rounded the corner and flung back the door
I flicked on the light but could journey no more
The windows were gone and in every direction
Were lurching the victims of zombie infection
They lunged and they nibbled and ripped me apart
They tore out my liver and chewed on my heart
Like tinsel, my entrails hung on the tree
My kidneys were baubles and under it, me
And while they made meals of my pieces of mind
Upstairs there was gore of a similar kind
The missus was mangled and minced in her sleep
And Santa selected the pieces he’d keep
The children still snoozed with not even a groan
The zombies sensed evil, and left them alone
Now their job was completed they hastened away
To the attic they galloped to rev up the sleigh
With a scrape and a grind and a clatter of slate
They took to the air to continue their spate
And the voice of St. Nick could be heard from the sky
“Merry Christmas to all and to all……
DIE!”
.
To my sanity,
I pledge to give
a truce a try;
this life I know,
ruled by blood and lust,
makes my machine a spy.
So shall it be
that my mind to grow and rust
seeks to witness purity,
and pester not
to tempt another soul;
involve them in such lunacy.
You see deep,
the dark within a man,
a boy who failed but began
to excel with protest,
thus becoming a most perceptive man!
Will you help me
pitch a rope to Birch
in the morrow to free
those who have suffered
and heard my offending word?
My life's muse
proves to be Queen of dreams,
but when she finally
quits my joyless name,
to be understood by others
….sounds most absurd!
-Mark Lach
A long long time ago
I can still remember how
the Russians and Chinese teams used to make me cry
and I knew if we had a chance
that America could make people dance
and maybe the world would be happy for a while
But the news made me shiver
with every sound-bite delivered
spun words from the corporate criers
I couldn't take one more ditto head
I can't remember how often they lied
When I read about the Tibetan bride
but something touched me deep inside
the day our motto died
so
Bye bye Miss American Spy
burned my flags to ashes while the book-burners cried
them good ole reds
liberal-shamming
with fear in their eyes
singin' this will be the day that America cries
This'll be the day America cries
Did you write the book of code
And do you have faith in God above
if the Bible tells you so?
Now do you believe in red, white and blue?
Can stars and stripes save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to pray real slow?
Well I know you're in love with them
cause I saw you boasting on the media spin
You both wore you flag lapels
Man, I dig those freedom props
I was a lonely and married broncin' buck
with a summer sound-system in my truck
but I knew I was out of luck
the day our freedoms died
I started singin'
Bye bye Miss American Spy
burned my flags to ashes while the book-burners cried
them good ole reds
liberal-shamming
with fear in their eyes
singin' this will be the day that America cries
This'll be the day America cries
Now for seventy years we've been on our own
and the rich cats grow fat on crippled backs
but, that's not how it used to be
when the jester sang to the union men
in a coat made with American hands
And a voice that came from the talking heads
Oh and while the voters were looking down
the jester stole their liberty crown
The courtroom was adjourned
The verdict was returned
And while Eisenhower warned
the Military Industrial Complex churned
and we sang America The Beautiful with eyes in the dark
the day our freedoms died
Bye bye Miss American Spy
burned my flags to ashes while the book-burners cried
them good ole reds
liberal-shamming
with fear in their eyes
singin' this will be the day that America cries
This'll be the day America cries
Helter Skelter from the 24/7 media eye
The drones fly off to a complex shelter
Eight miles high and circling slow
they shoot video and rockets from their wings
The players tried for a foreign slant
with the jester on the sidelines panting gold coins
Now the breaking news was sweet perfume
while the corporate state played a fearful tune
we all got up to dance
oh, but we never got the chance
cause the players tried to take the field
the marching band played
~He's AWOL From The Guard~
Do you recall what was revealed
The day our freedoms died?
We started singin'
Bye bye Miss American Spy
burned our flags to ashes while the book-burners cried
them good ole reds
liberal-shamming
with fear in their eyes
singin' this will be the day that America cries
This'll be the day America cries
Oh, and there we were all in one place
a generation tracked from outer space
with no time left to start again
so come on corporate voters who said
Social Security is dead
now it's owned by your banks,
you lost three-quarters, and still blame the yanks
Cause money is the devil's only friend
and I as I watched her on the stage
her lipstick red with full of rage
no angel born in hell
could break this corporate spell
And as the flames climbed high into the night
to light the sacrificial rite
I saw her laughing with delight
the day our freedoms died
She was singin'
Hi hi Miss American Spy
Drove the freedom fighters crazy with all of our lies
Them good ole kids smoking synthetics and huffing for a high
singin' this will be the day they will die
this will be the day that they die
I met a girl who sang the blues
and I asked her for some happy news
but she just smiled and turned away
I went down to the sacred store
where I'd heard the stories of freedom years before
but the man there said the fighters all died
and in living rooms the children screamed
the lovers lied, and the poets died
but not a word was spoken
The freedom bells were all broken
and the three I admired the most
Freedom, Safety Nets, and Natural Foods
they caught the last train for the coast
the day our freedoms died
And they were singin'
Bye bye Miss American Spy
burned our flags to ashes while the book-burners cried
them good ole reds
liberal-shamming
with fear in their eyes
singin' this will be the day that America cries
This'll be the day America cries
And left in the wake
was a President who cried for liberty's sake
and before the vote
gave pardons to all three,
Cheney
Bush
and Rummy.
He kept telling me it was a war we had to win
drones killing taxpayers without trials
while the three biggest killers are free
with war dust, I just can't see
the lies from truth when I told I'm free
and I began singin'
Bye bye Miss American Spy
burned my flags to ashes while the book-burners cried
them good ole reds
liberal-shamming
with fear in their eyes
singin' this will be the day that America cries
This'll be the day America cries
-Thank you, Mr. McLean
I dip my toes in the tide
adjacent to the edge of my all-consuming paracosm.
The water is cold
alluring
unsteady
absolute.
Within it lies the demise
of one thousand dreams
999 unfulfilled wishes
And just over 13 ‘what if’s.
Right outside my humble fantasy
I spy a silhouette,
my potential self.
Warily I take a closer peek.
The girlish apparition reveals nothing
She seems to hold her breath while I lean farther in
And at long last, deserting all juvenile fancies,
reality greets me as I timidly wade
Into the waves.
