Talking freely.

Please.
Talk to me.
I need that thought of.
Uh.
Nevermind.


Garrett Johnson.

Tempted Significance.

Zero moments did I say wait.
As for the forsaken channel decided to be draped.
In electric blue.
Only to be draped back into clouds.
Passing foothold on lonely function.
& twisted return in waves.
Lay shy in the face.
A cryptic respite.
Embraced by the wolves in the atmos.
Of all self being.
Self too clear for comfort.
& too silent for silence.



Garrett Johnson.

That time we walked around for no reason.

Talking.
Outer.
Wooden door.
Brain rush.
Molecule.
Closing eyes.
What's her name.
**** I forgot her name.


Garrett Johnson.

The Fall.

Trees out my window.
So barren and chipper.
As if I could almost taste the death.
Taste their eyes on my person.
Their wraithing edges.
Their aging systems welcoming like *****.
Splatters.
Across all fronts.
To conjure the oh so sweet milk of air.
The dusty platitude of forgiveness.
Sight the faces so smug.
So lucrative.
So tiny.
As the weaving sits bined.
And the yellowness unwindes.
Trees out my window stand gladly.


Garrett Johnson.

The roof of Alcatraz.

Embodying the psychedelic lust of youth.
We stealthed our way into the ancient cinder block.
Old and moldy.
Cold.
We made our way to the top.
A cold breeze off the bay sea.
Pushing along her hair.
We sat in that cold night air.
Just watching.



Garrett Johnson.

The wayy she smiles.

Sputter out of controlling remorse, taken all of his energy.
Notably chalk.
That waits in his knee.
But then you sneeze.
Mostly realize.
That you've got it all.
And none in a hug that was in the fall.

Garrett Johnson.

Time again.

Soft and mad.
Left Fields barren remaining without a soul.
Later rehydrated with life.
Cleansed for the bossom of the soil.
Begain.
Only.
To be ended.
Intime for the hard rain to fall.



Garrett Johnson.

I've been restless.
Torn down.
Ripped from the edge of the universe from which I sat, Looking back out to This great blue rock a-floating and twirling with grace.
Only to that certain eye, could it be satisfied.
I've been shaken loose of my Fantasies.
Those imbecilic thoughts, void of reason or roads.
I have been killed a thousand times in your names, those names.
Crawled across picture-esc landscapes of plastic.
Frontal assault on my character, left blistered by phantom shrapnel, called words.
Shouldn't it be time already?.
Am I ready, already?
Perhaps....Only with ticking of moments shall I find out.

Garrett Johnson.

To me.

If you are the one who called my grandma saying I'm In Seattle.
I understand your style.
You've traveled 1,339.6 miles.
To one of my fav places.
Using a payphone.
Why?
I don't know.
Just to **** with me?
Maybe.
(I would like to talk, but if you Are my clone we might be talking right now)…..

Garrett Johnson.

Too late for influence.

Sour particles through silence.
Hair faced.
Lighted for the the violence.
Nevermind it.
Sighted.
And terrible.


Garrett Johnson.

To the sidewalk at Night

Cranberry to the house.
It's not right.
I feel old.
Like the rust of speech.
Like 3 degrees off and a letter from Jack.
Takes all 2 seconds to get used to it.
The nearness of you.
And the walk back home.


Garrett Johnson.

Tracing your own crime scene...p.s you did it.

It’s pretty clear to turn tail and run.
When you’re on top of the world like Al Jolson.
And then crash like Syd Barrett.
Yelling at the clone on the wall.
“******* SWINE...HOW COULD YOU!?”.
IDiot.
The tub water has drowned the floor.
You’re long gone with golden hair.
Taking all the acid tabs, mescaline, ether, bloodleaf letters, and the small bottle of goldbond lotion.
“How dare you” I ask.
Coursing with enraged grief.
I feel it; the intense measure if deterioration.
Taking its time skipping along side the sounds of Octopus by the man himself.
All while you melt into the typewriter’s ink.
Unable to walk as you would fall into the infinite muck.
“How do you leave” you ask.
“HANG IN THERE!” I yell.
Why I am I yelling.
I didn’t think this was a side effect.
I can hear just fine.
“****! Who turned off the lights!?”.
“Buddy! You gotta leave now” someone behind me gracefully said.
“What do mean, I just got here!”.
“Feller, you’ve been here for about five hours now, and I think it’s best if you went home”.
MY GOD!.
How long was I in that terribly fascinating state.
What had gone on was to be decided by for the entire variety of the heavy drugs that were seducing the situation.
Why didn’t they kick me out in the first ten minutes I was there.
There must of been a slow start...Then sped up near the end.
But how the hell would I know.
I was told I had been there for five hours and counting.
When I thought I had just sat down from taking a ****.
“Jerry, How are you?”. I asked.
.
.
.
“That’s for you to decide, man”



Garrett Johnson.

Transmission teeth.

Down the back loc.
N out the sad top.
Plus one.
& plus two.
Making sad flocks.
Of people.
Screamin’.
& cryin’
And flyin’ about a new world.
One that has fingers in hairdos.
& coffee grounds for *******.
Talking over new vocations.
Guitar strings in heck fire.
Hell fire.
& lava.
Green organs blazing down in ancient rains.



Garrett Johnson.

Turquoise hadphone splitter.

Turned and looked at me.
Said that the end was good.
Turned and looked out the window.
Rumble like The Velvet Underground then head against my shoulder.
She must of really liked the end of that song.


Garrett Johnson.

I want to go somewhere no one can find me.
Go somewhere where nothing is defining.
Read and write poetry out loud to or with some one who will actually listen.
Someone who understands.
Do nothing but watch and listen.
Paint our own Jean Michel Basquiat or Jackson ******* paintings while listening to records of all sounds around the world.
Leave the doors open to the surrounding woods.
To the small town down the road a few miles.
Lay on a blanket under some trees.
Plant a tree.
For I feel as if I'm losing my mind cooped up in a room where barely any moonlight could reach me.
I want leave.
Go far away.
Start all over.
But bring her with me.
I'd rather live in Greenwich than live in this suburban masked waste land where parents go to live out the rest of their land lives.
******* any where but here.
*******.
Any where.

Garrett Johnson.

Waiting for you.

Dismal marigold.
Hovering at most.
Fear for vehemence.
Sepia perfume.
Palladium rug.
All I wanted was it back.
Salty mush.
Roomy in Autumn auburn.
Hepburn of copper empires.



Garrett Johnson.

Washington’s finest.

The air of Aberdeen is cathartic and grimy.
The girls of Edmonds are cute.
The world of Seattle is inventive.
The boys of Olympia are alive and tired
The dirt of Gold Bar is ancient with a tang.
The sea of Tacoma is repaired in green.
The tears of Monroe are small.
Evergreen.
Evergreen.
Take me away.


Garrett Johnson

Wash the dirt out of my hair.

Fox Academy lowdown.
Stone flannel in the wind.
Killer n a frown.
Hair long on 15th.

Watching the doors in the morning.
Mire more then ever.
over and over tired.
Take sadness for my fever.

There might be a road.
Take off your mask.
I’m scared of every.
Thing that you ask.



Garrett Johnson.

Watching the walls turn for colors.

Dead under eyes.
Appliance.
Awaiting.
A stronger taste of Sulk and.
Morbidness entering.
The tiredness because why not.
Forward.
Adore.
Shaky legs for silence.

Garrett Johnson.

We forgot to laugh.
The lonesome cars.
The lonesome people.
The poor souls.
The gutter trash.
The lonesome past.
Lonesome we.
Lonesome us.
Lonesome you.
Lonesome me.
Too lonesome.
So we ask.
Where are my manners.
Meet with hands in the mud.
Soil for the soul.
Eyes in a fade.
SIdewalk.
Old chevy with a silver bumper.
A *** in the alley.
Little soul.
All soul.
No soul.
All before it’s forgotten.
Allways of the way we were brought in.
Change.
Let the snow melt.
Drink it.
Eat the grass.
Still lonesome.
Lonesome but wholesome hospitality.
You’re dead if in a hospital.
The people gather around.
Just to watch..
Watch it all burn down.
They killed Jim by the creek.
They don’t care.
Sad Boys.
Sad girls.
Sad beds
Sad world.
Needles.
Scars.
Bits.
& parts.
Separate.
One with all.
All in one.
Patterns.
Killed.
No grave.
Only Michael T. Berland

Wellness.

None at all.







Garrett Johnson

When you know what to do but don't know how to do it.

Paris.
Springtime
Ultimate.
Suicide.
Seating.
Pinecone.
Eyes for the best.
Hallow.
And.
Saturated.
1966.
Going to the outskirts.
Looked.
Upon the fresh.
New bodies.
All over.
And opened.
Into.
The.
Dawning.
Of her
Only.
And.
Left alone.


Garrett Johnson.

When your gravity fails.

Lost on the texture gun.
The hopper shot Alex again.
Her hair die was acidic.
An I thought I was lost in the rug tree.
My shoes have no use anymore.
Cause I'm gonna get me a new Garrett Johnson and I'm gonna use him.
                                     See you next xmas
                                     Cliff Booth.




Garrett Johnson

When you’ve taken too much mescaline, but stop and think maybe just a little bit more.

Too much info he says.
Too little time.
Too many lines to look over.
Why so much tobacco he says.
Why can’t you stay with us forever they think, feel, and express through all the other emotions.
How bout ya ******* and leave me to my coffee I say.
It’s 3:25 in the morning. I’ve been up to finish a piece about the new development of the “NEXT” atom bomb. The process is heavy but, with the strict drug regimen to give me the somewhat energy to keep my brain kicking I think I can finish it.
Why can’t I just live for once.
Questions.
Questions that cannot be saved for the genocide they take place in.
Overused and over ridden for lost hopes and chances to become anew.
But when you take 5 times too much of peyote, and you start tasting the color yellow.
You then start to think if you'll ever get out.
If you'll ever find the cure for the satanic mess that's occurring on the inside.
Inside the abomination that has crept up the back streets of synapses.
Utterly grooving to the sound of “Like A Rolling Stone” By Bob Dylan.
Sidewalk.
Overpass.
Flag.
Café.
Drink.
This drink sits badly.
Acid.
Flying over melting mountains.
Shimmer.
Swimming through suburbs of death.

Garrett Johnson.

Why not stay for a while.

Hey Ma.
It’s me.
Alex put the dishes in the graveyard.
But I didn’t believe her.
She’s been studying for the chair leg test.
But I guess all the best rockin’ chairs come from over here in Laurel
Canyon.
My bud said he got tired of all the mice in Greenwich.
So he bought a whole cage of em.
Syd & Jim took a hike.
They’re looking as thin as ever.
The neon sky Drops packs of cigarettes and water jugs regularly.
So we’re all in tip top shape.
Don’t forget to close your over door.
                         Your last son.
                         G.M



Garrett Johnson.

Why should I care.

It's another light house.
It's another light house.
One to **** your alliance.
On the front door.
Is the next level of violence.
The next terror of silence turn around.
Your beautiful with aliveness.
Quiet and alone tonight.
Nothing else to be.
Nothing else to see or hear.
There it was.
There it went.
Gone.
I don't.



Garrett Johnson.

Won't be back till later on.

I'm gone for the long road.
To nowhere.
That's somewhere.
With her that has something.
& her that has nothing at all.


Garrett Johnson

World.

The Door.
Awakens in the heat.
Of angst.
Discourage.
Rebellion.
High flying.
And uncontrollable control.
The Archimedes of Ignorance.
And the Diogenes of change.



Garrett Johnson.

Writing song titles on your hand.

Misery.
Oooh.
Where'd it go.
Right near.
Near your eyes.
Shoelace.
Downer.
And done with.
Because we all know why.


Garrett Johnson.