In these times it takes nothing
more than a ray shining
through a window to
ignite the flames of war.

Those lying talking
heads who play on your
emotions while sticking
to the script and dishing
out the fears.

The Politicians who guide our fate
and ship our young to fight in
foreign wars in far away
foreign lands.

Our leaders are like small children
upon dangerous weapons.

And death rides with them.

There was a
time so long ago
it's as if I was
someone else.

Back when
he was all
of what I had hoped
to become.

Throughout the years
he prospered as a
working man.
Which brought along
the burdens
of becoming a family
man.

As he fell
into the horror that
is "The Domesticated Life",
I was on the
streets doing
what I knew how.
Or surviving beneath the
long gun on a desolate
prison yard amongst
the souls that man
had condemned

As the drum roll
of the life that
is America
played itself
out like a re-run you've
seen too many times.
The working man
he had always been
began to turn
more into a drinking man.

There was nothing
romantic or
exciting about
his drinking.
Nothing good ever came
out of it.
Nothing like
when Hemingway
did it.
Or when Bukowski
took hold of
the bottle,then
mastered it.

His demise
approached like
a slow moving
swell.
Slowly gathering
up all he had
accumulated
throughout
his years
of labor.
Steadily
gathering
the momentum
needed
to fall a man.

And when that
wave of failures
and alcoholism
finally hit
the shores of
his reality.
His will had already
been weakened
and the little bit
of fight he had
left in him refused
to put up
his fists in
defense.

I bore witness
to that which has
to be far more
painful to see than
death.

I watched a man give
into the pull of insanity
as he threw it all away
without even the slightest
hint of grace.

I opened
the door and cringed at my own actions.
The day was bright and most would
describe it as beautiful.

I **** the beauty of the day
with my dark sunglasses and
step out like a nocturnal little beast
being forced from the comfort of his burrow.

I see Poe's Ravens atop a stuccoed
apartment building all screaming
their curses into the wind.
Mad squirrels dashing across
live power lines as worried pigeons
cooed their concern.

Cars pass and all I can smell
is cheap laundry detergent  
dog **** and fuel beneath it
all the tickling scent of the salted sea.

A girl leaned against a wall
staring at her bitten down nails.
Her mismatched clothing and dyed close
cropped hair almost blended in with the graffiti .
I passed and I think she called me
lover .

The tall proud palms looked down upon
me as I avoided the cracks in the sidewalk.
I tried my hardest not to turn around and flee
back into the safety of my darkened room.

There's a group of daytime drinkers
angrily smoking outside the bar.
I instinctively reach deep into
my pocket and caress the buck knife
as I pass through the drifting
tobacco smoke .

One guy spits and another guy
toes the sidewalk with the tip
of his work boot.

I concentrate on their actions .
I don't care about their faces .

I'm just trying to move through the world like dust.
Hitching a free ride on the winds produced
by the passing cars and the passing memories.

I curse myself for fooling myself into trusting another day.
for I've learned that only the night forgives .
Only by the light of the not so distant
stars and not so distant moon
does this world truly appear inviting.

The rich kids never read
Bukowski.
The poor kids all read the
same dog eared copy of
"Women".

The Animal Control guy tries to feel
Nietzsche while parked within
the shade of a drooping
Eucalyptus.
While his frightened captives
**** in their pins and wait on death.

She gave me my first copy
of Kerouac and made sure she
took it back when she
packed her things and left
for good .

I found Dante half dead
and forgotten in a prison cell.
His Inferno had been stripped of its
jacket and was scarred with graffiti.

I read passed the torn
and missing pages
and when I was done.
I went back and walked
through that
Cold and Confusing Hell
with Dante as my guide.

Over and Over again.

She was so
far gone that
the Gods themselves
had
forgotten her name.
She had this
strange ability
to stay beautiful
no matter
how hard
she ran.

She depended on
other peoples
pills,
ate only
when she was
hungry
and once
sliced a girls
cheek with
a razor she
pulled from her
teeth.

She did
all of her
shopping
at the liquor
store and
when she
shared a stolen
bottle of *****
with me,
I knew we had
become more
than just
friends.

Can't stand against the ageless winds while shedding sour tears now  amber from the ******.

The Locols were the only ones who ever parked cliffside off the highway and always ignored the signs.

You can't withhold anything the ocean wants.
What the Pacific always wants the Pacific always takes .

The rich have dug in without saying a word.
The generals and the enginers know there's no where for us to go.

Its all happend before, nothing ever new is something never known .
There's giants laying dead along our oceans floor.

It'll be the waters that bring about our end .

Its all in the experience.
From the flower  petals
a child tosses before a bride,
to the rain water the ****** used
to get himself well again.

The Pills you thought
were good for you.
And the woman who took
all she could from you.

It makes up the hours
you spent locked away.
And those Golden days
when you had
her and she needed you.

Set here upon the Earth
to wonder, to grow.
To believe in the lies while
only dreaming of the truth.

Men as leaders set
forth the course
to keep the lies as truth
and the world as round.

Reach that age of understanding
survived their Wars
and their Drugs.
Just to be cast
aside for believing
in the truth.

Fell hard and lingered
at the bottom.
Picked up a book
and buried a friend.
Took the time to add it
all to my experience.

Watch me as
I grow.

The only way for recreation
is by spending more time
on  recreation .
Do what it is
that makes your
heart happy.

Beneath the shade of
the swaying Palm Fronds
I block out the cities worth
of screaming sirens.
And take the time to add it all
to this.
Whats left of  my Experience.

Steer clear,
curve wide your ways
upon the artist,
the poet,
and the deliverer
of the inside view.

Unwelcome am I
upon your marble steps.
And unwelcome
are those with trained
thoughts within
these guarded walls
of the
City of the Heart.

Dare not tainted ones
cross my plains.

For my poetry and
my art will tear at
your flesh with an
Obsidian knife.
Whose only made purpose
is to ****.

The music wasn’t too loud and the band played only instrumental music.
Music that I found rather pleasant as it drifted its way above the senseless conversation and obnoxious laughter of one particular group of young drunk ladies .

The potted plastic plants stood stone silent next to the cheap pressed wood tables filled with used paper plates ,plastic forks, wadded up napkins and half full clear plastic cups.
The flower arrangements at each table had all began to droop as the air became more stale with the sweat and the breath of the drunken people whose beauty they were all meant to admire.
I heard about how stiff the drinks were and how long the ladies room line was.
I overheard conversations about money and addicted daughters, ******* bosses and good deals on tires.
I heard them admire the fact there was no traffic on the way here and how the food was ok.
I purposely listened for any comment made about the dying young flowers whose time was cut short in order to be at their table.
I listened the whole night .
I heard no such thing.

A pair of huge ******* brushed against my bad shoulder as a large woman with dyed black hair and too much jewelry on began to speak into my ear.
She spilled a splash of her drink on my only good pair of shoes.
She knew what she did but never bothered to apologize.

The cheap faux wooden dance floor laid there like a minefield devoid of the swaying bodies and sweaty torsos.
Yet for some reason the music still played on.

I noticed she had a strange need to be as close to you as possible as she spoke.
Her conversation was about as cheap as my shoes and the empty linoleum dance floor.

The party balloons began to lose their ability to float above the senseless conversation,
cheap cologne ,dying young flowers, plastic plants and plastic *******.
I smiled as they began to slowly fall to the floor.

For the third time that night I cursed my decision to come here and mill about with the rest of the cattle.
I went to the bar and got another drink.

Overweight women with undersized clothing stood in line to the single stalled ladies room like needy mothers in a well fare line.

This pair of ******* kept themselves snug against my bad shoulder as the lip stick painted mouth with the tobacco stained teeth kept on about what she did and where she went, who she knew and where she wanted to be and how badly she wanted to smoke.

I downed my drink, the drinks were strong, the drinks were good.
I stopped her in mid sentence and said.
“The trees they all die in silence in the forest’.

I made my way towards the exit passed the dying flowers and the sweaty men.
I hit the double doors with all I had and stepped out into the welcoming night.
I took in the scents of the salt water and the burning fuel, the taco truck across the street and the ***** still on my lips.

Before I left I went back in and tipped the Mexican bartender a 20 dollar bill.
Him and his stiff drinks were obviously the life of the party and the only real reason I was glad I came.

The Harbor freeway was without the congestion and the gridlock that made this highway famous.
Empty freeways demand speed and in Los Angeles everyone's in a hurry with somewhere to go.

It was a rare sight in a city full of men and their machines
A rare sight that was quietly becoming normal.

The lack of cars made the otherwise thick layer of ***** brown smog become a minor smear on an otherwise beautiful blue Southern California day.
With the changing of the guard the nameless planes with their exaggerated white lines across our skies magically returned.

There's more of us noticing things today than any other time before.

To the far West Venice is dying and the beach has become a refugee camp full of tents and blue tarps all wasting in the wind.
Handball courts now occupied by old bikes, tents and an array of useless garbage someone calls their property.
And the California girls' no longer come here to tan.

The girls on Figueroa stand half naked on 64th street waving like debutants at the lonely men as they window shop for *** from the safety of their vehicles.
The girls here never tell you their real name and all the men are called John.

The Gang members in the Hoods on the West side and in the Varrios and the Projects on the East all use Graffiti as a way to convey their threats to one another.
The Taggers bright, bold pieces bring colors to the otherwise grey concrete freeways.

Downtown is nowhere you want to be without a million dollars or a side arm and a reason.
They gave Skid Row up to the people and the graffiti then watched in horror as it grew into what it has become today.

South Central continues to bleed red, brown, blue and black.
Curbside motive candles dot the city corners like mile markers along the highway.
There's been far too much death to ever mention peace here.

Hollywood is slowly dying and Melrose is at 50% capacity with robberies happening almost everyday on Rodeo.

The Cranes along the Harbor stand like giant monuments to a God no one prays to anymore.
And there's a lot less Cargo trucks on the road today then any other time before.

Yet we are told to "Stay home ,we'll pay you to do so".
While outside our city is dying and there is no where to spend the money we're given anyway.

The school house started you off with a lie.
From the letters of a foreign alphabet
to the numbers worshiped by the Pagans.

They kept secret the true origin of things.
In code and symbols they've taught you well.
So well that you don't even see the
stars and the titans in everything around you.

Wake up ,open your heart.
Take a really good  look around.
Forget it all ,I know it's hard.
What they've took from you takes time to understand.
If they say Left you'll know its right,
everything we've ever known was a lie.

Shut them out, question the thing that is the city.
This city wasn't made to survive ,
it's destined to become the killing fields.

Stock up and believe, gorge yourself with knowledge ,know that of which you ****.

Forget all you thought you knew
,release their ways start anew.
Arise with the new dawn in a new age
with new eyes and a ****** mind.
Look to the east where the light gives way, forget their lies and see...

I tried and was
attacked.

I shared and was
ridiculed.

I presented evidence
that they all
refused to see.

In the end I took
care of only
my own.

I contributed to the
illusion
by remaining silent.

I lived out my days
shielding my thoughts
from them  all.

Spent my remaining
years away from the fray
where the wild dogs
still grin at the sight
of the moon.

Promises
assure
me
nothing
is
sincere.

There she sat
cross legged
on the
neatly made bed.

She held the Wine
bottle and a lit cigarette
in one hand.

And used the other to
slowly
pick the lint
off the comforter
while humming
a song
I'd never heard .

I doubled up my wake up
just to clear the cob webs away.
Attempted to numb my mind
before it had a chance to
start thinking again.

Waited for the *****
to come before
I brushed my teeth.
What I gave up was
clear mostly air
with a trace of
Orange juice and
stale Bar Peanuts.

I felt less as I
pressed my only good shirt
with too much steam
and not enough starch.

I keep remembering the
last time we talked
but can't seem to
recall how it ended.

I can't help but
be angry.
No saying good bye.
No invite.
No real reason why.

We're all on own when
it comes to our Demons.
There's no second chance
when you play with the
Serpents.

The pain is from knowing
I'm now much more alone.

The tears I released were
those of true sorrow.

You won't see them again.
I cry only once for a friend.

.
They tell us what is and isn’t fantasy.
Instantly numbing the mind of any hope
of any chance at creating something
pure of all their rules.

I can’t say I knew it or I seen it coming.
I can’t say I’ve never been here before.
And I still can’t figure out why I would
ever want to come back.

Its the signs and symbols not the rulers and the laws.
The veil is lifting and what’s hiding beneath will leave
you questioning everything until your mind goes weak
and you give in to the eye.

It went from Stein to Stain and none of us even noticed.
Mirror Mirror to Magic Mirror
Who's playing these games
with our minds.

When the light is revealed don’t expect to see me.
They’ll want my tongue and my writing hand.
Both of which I'll manage to live without.

Beneath the shade of
an untrimmed
Juniper tree children
swing from
Hemp  ropes while
singing innocent
rhymes about killing.

The girls use nets
made from a
Reed switch
and catch gentle
Swallowtails
with no intentions
of ever letting them go.

East sat amongst the
ground level clouds
drenched in the
weeping tears
of Down Town Mothers.

A crystal door chime
sings that song
the wind sang
to me a lifetime ago.

Out of the blood
of the living
comes the strength
to stack these caskets
4 and 5 deep.

That bearded
guitar playing
Demi God
spoke the words
I longed to write.

She was of a
Northern tribe
but spoke the language
of the Devils
and drank only
Volcano fire.

Her tattoos,
calm voice,
dyed hair and
flawless brows
are what pulled
me in.

I fought off Love
and gave in to the
muse while watching
yet another
Southern Migration
pass overhead.

Apartment door locks
all threw themselves secure
as the shadows grew taller
and West wasted itself
back into the sea.

Could it be we've
all been trained
with bells?

Or is it the symbols.
The Thirty three's
and hand gestures.
The tridents and the
five pointed stars.
The eight
sided pentagons
and the eye
that's always
watching.

Is it that we've
all been fooled?

Could it be the Son
is nothing more
than the Sun of
the morning?

She told me
everything powerful
always remains hidden.

I remained silent when
she reached across the
candle lit counter and exposed
her arm past the wrist as
she topped off her glass.

I showed no emotion as
she unintentionally exposed
the flesh beneath
the sleeve of her knitted
second hand sweater.

She told me how the
pills and the ***** had
replaced the priest and
the sacrificial wine.

I kept my eyes on her
drink as the ***** quivered
from the surface tension
along the rim of the smokey
highball glass.

She told me she was too fast
for love but too afraid to be alone.

I took my time with my own bitter
drink as she continued on.

She said she wanted more
sedation and less acceleration.

She wanted ice cubes for her drinks
that didn't melt so fast.

She wanted Winehouse back
and for the butterflies to come to
her.

She wanted to light up the
darkness like Goya did.

But most of all she wanted
everything she wrote down
to leave her forever.

All I wanted was to help get
her through the night.

I started by tucking my fighting
knife away and by really listening
while ignoring the marks on
her arm.

Those hurtful jagged scars
of a Cutter.

Sat down and broke bread with the
men in long white lab coats
and the women with
their hair in high, tight buns.

She kept her spectacles on when
ever we made love.

High heels clacking against
shinny waxed marble floors.

Dare there be a sound more
romantic to my ears.

They call them
brave and they
call them heroes.

As they drop
their bombs
while safely
away from the
battles below.

I'm counting
on all of
the things
I've already done
to get me
through all of
what I won't
do tomorrow.

These tears
are constantly
blocking my
view
as I struggle
with these
words
in memory
of
you..

Hair as black as the shadows who chase her.
Skin a deathly shade of pale.
Lips so naturally red her kisses taste of red wine and at times red blood.

There were times to celebrate and times to come together.
Times to steal away and times to watch them **** while sharing our pop corn and whisky dressed soda.

How I loved her.

Guitar players write Poetry with guitar strings.
Prisoners engrave crude long lost lovers names in their flesh.

Count your lot then throw it away.
Nothing here is real and when they tell you it is just agree and walk away.

Choose your fate, we were all created.
Your cousin may be a monkey but mine is of the flesh of man.

I didn't know God until I figured out the lies and accepted it was flat.
And yet I still Dam all of your religions.
I probably won't be saved.

They say only
the Good Die
young.


And the rest
are just
survivors.

What they've done is absolutely genius they've purposely filled our minds with things that are beyond belief.

They've made things that in their world are everyday ,common events. But to us exist only in fantasy movies and horror books.
Things like magic and ritual.
Other worlds or maybe just another part of this world we've been kept from since the beginning.

When they die they simply fall out of our fixed point of view and move on to live out their days in their own version of heaven on earth.

Its such a great lie and our minds have been so greatly deprived of all of what this world has to offer.
That even if the lies were to be exposed the people the true victims of this lie wouldn't and couldn't bring themselves to believe that everything they thought they knew were nothing but deception draped in deep dark lies  .
All to preserve that other here that we are not allowed to see.
And our minds have been made unable to believe in.

I sat out front
on the large
concrete steps
and allowed my mind
to slip just to
see how it felt.

The occupants of
the Mad house
sat and moved
about around me.
Some held intense
conversations
with the air and
with all that wasn't
there.
Others picked at
scabs or picked
inside of noses.
Their polluted
minds wondered about
everything
except why I was
there.

A guy in furry
slippers and a women's
hat decided I was
there to give out cigarettes.
His face froze with
confusion and horror
when I told him
that I didn't smoke.
Another guy
danced on the sidewalk
in wide dramatic circles
to the music in his
head .
His eyes were
closed and his zipper
was down.

I stared across Beacon st.
along with some of the  Mad
and watched two winos
as they sat on a bench
in their park.
They each drank out of
***** paper bags,
an occasional
mumble exchanged.

The scavenging gulls
stood sentry
as the pigeons
picked at the
ground around
them.

I looked past the winos
through the palm fronds
and the eucalyptus.
A hulk of a container
ship slowly made
it's way along the
harbors main channel.
I thought about the
history of this place.

Where once sat a
library,a place to
seek out and to learn.
Now sits two winos
with their own
kind of knowledge.
And what was once a
YWCA a place for
recreation and youth.
Now serves as housing for
those whose minds have
wondered too far.
Those who dance on
Beacon st.,
alone.
To no ones music
but their own.

.

I awoke to a day that had been overtaken

The curtains were closed so I opened them .

I stood there in a pair of jersey shorts and a little bit of a headache.

The phone rang somewhere in the other room

I couldn’t pull myself away

I waited for the light to come in.

I stood there like a fool.

Thick black clouds had all settled into a part of the sky

No birds flew in this kind of weather.

No light to remind me its day.

I awoke to a day that had been overtaken .

Hopefully tomorrow it wont be the same

I'm against everything based on Fear.
Propaganda in this country has hit an all time high.

People don't even care about the Truth anymore.

The Truth is all I Care About.

I will make enemies and be ridiculed
while protecting the Truth.

Protecting it from all those who wish to smear their
Fear based ******* upon it.

The louder
the
music.
The quieter
the
screams.

Cars, Diesel trucks Motor bikes and Transit Buses, rebar and structural steel beams, sounds like fading sirens in the distance. Freeways and black topped school yards, city streets without enough tress, jails without enough beds.

Tents blocking sidewalks, cardboard castles where the forgotten go to smoke their prize.

You got millionares next to transients all waiting to be served. 6th and San Julian on another friday that happend to land on the 1st of the month.

Cops killing everybody, not even the innocent stand a chance, courtrooms sit silent as judges all retire to go play golf in the desert. Another innocent man awaits his execution, it'll be a grey day in hell when the blood of the wrong man soaks its entry way.
Beautiful girls and I mean Beautiful girls, start dancing as soon as they learn to walk in heels.

They know what works those filthy ******* who own everything and don't mind if you know it.
They want it this way.
They want her that way and her and her and even him.

City full of *** shops and not a dam thing left to smoke.
Cops still bust down doors like looters in a riot.
No ones has told them Nancy and her War is dead.

Leave where you left off right where you left it.
Lies don't deserve another chance.
I got a new way for you, I got to take some time to fill you in while pulling you out.

We are'nt going anywhere, this place wasn't built to explore.
See the mountain, see that tree stump, giants once ruled our world.

THEY SATURATE YOU DAY IN DAY OUT
EVER WONDER WHY IT'S ON EVERYTHING
EVERYWHERE YOU GO.

PEOPLE ACTING OUT
ARGUING OVER A NONEVENT.
DOING EXACTLY WHAT
THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO DO
LIKE RATS IN A MAZE.

.GET SCARED,GET ANGRY
BLAME THE GUNS
THE VERY THING YOUR LEADERS
CAN'T AND WON'T LIVE WITHOUT.

BUT YOU THE DANGEROUS
FOOLISH PUBLIC
SHOULD'NT HAVE THEM.

DO'NT ASK ANY QUESTIONS
JUST CARRY ON
GO TO WORK
EAT YOUR BURGER
AND PRAY.

THERE WILL BE ANOTHER ONE
PROBABLY TARGETING THE OBESE
AND WE'LL ALL WATCH
THIS SAME THING
PLAY OUT AGAIN.

KIND OF REDUNDANT.

The orderly runs a silent dust mop across the masonic checker board hallway floor.

Sounds like machines beeping, a voice on an intercom calling for someone by their title, silent muffled weeping, elevator doors ringing your floor, the rise and fall of a mechanism keeping someone alive.

The small chapel no bigger than a large pantry,
two rows of oak carved pews.
Italian made cedar crosses and small stain glassed reliefs adorn each of the walls.

Candles burn and flowers die and nothing we've done here means anything where we are all going.

The Jaguar sits still and unfinished in the carport.
None of us can bring ourselves to finish what he started.

We get but only one chance to live, one chance to experience love.
So many of us end up living a full life of pain.

He asked how I felt the night that he gave in.
I told him I felt cheated and that nothing here will ever be the same

Trudging onward
with my sorrows
in tow.

Pursued by these
burdens that won't
let me go.

On the brightest
of days their presence
is known.

They hide in
my shadows,
I'm never alone.

Skipping ahead
like a child at play.

Attempting to flee
if just for one day.

There's hope for
tomorrow perhaps
a new start.

There's never
an ending to things
of the heart.

Crude signs painted
with the blood of the
living denounced
their latest decree.

Standing at the podium
spreading more lies.
All the world be your
theater and
nothing here is real.

Daytime cocktails under the
shadows of the palms.
Blood thinning and
running cold.
Cold like the serpent in the
summer sun.

You left your dreams in a
waste basket a few miles
outside of Vegas.
And all there is to do
is turn the music up
and lie to her some more.

Black draped youth
waving flags of
revolutionary red.

Pock scarred and some beautiful faces
all aimed up towards the waters.
The sound of  millions in the know.
Voices echo off the firmament
and cause ripples to race across
the very fabric of the heavens.

All of them screaming
"We KNOW!!"

And the Gods remained silent
as their secret held no more.

Nothing is
Truth.
Until you've
accepted
the fact that
its all
been a Lie.

Please
Wake Up.

There's a low rumbling deep in my gut.
A still silent void where my heart had been

Scars so many scars most of which nobody will ever see .
Cork topped  bottles filled with homemade  Ointments made with tree resin , white sage ,mint leaves and bitter root.

They're closing down the Walmarts but the Pharmacies and the Security shack will both remain open.
Prescriptions are more like recommendations .
Is there truly any kind of cure.

They'll come for you when the water rises and ship you off like rescued cattle .
If you're not on the team they won't accept your help.

A drowning child won't look at your uniform or lack there of one.
There's power in numbers , strength in the ability to get along .

I started this thinking about my loneliness.
It's just enough to try and help you remember .

All my thoughts aren't always about me .

With so many lies
and so much deceit.

I began to question
this thing called truth.

This glorious thing
that so many have
been deprived of.

The lies have ruled for
so long now most know
no other way.

The truth has become
what so many refuse
to believe in.

Who are we
to look to
once they've
killed our
Major Tom.

They educated us in a scientific,
reasonable world
full of scientific
unreasonable lies.

Now that we are adults
we can go back and question
the things they told us as children.
And realize that they were lying to us.

We were deceived.

We live in a supernatural world
created by God.
There is a spiritual war going on.

Men act as Gods
As God stands silent and watches
as we destroy ourselves again..