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Trevor Gates May 2013
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.
Tara Marie Oct 2015
I still can hear the drifting cars
and burnouts in my ears.

feels like it was just yesterday
where red lights lasted years

skies were full of rubber--smoked,
sun was cold and hot

a yesterday from months before
I couldn't have forgot

I feel your hand collapsing mine,
the jokes and many laughs

comradery amongst the rain,
perfume, cologne, race gas

I just had slipped up days before
and told you my heart fell

sun set and woke, so many jokes,
cars ran parallel.

a yesterday I won't forget,
you took my hands in yours

the sun hiding behind the clouds
few raindrops on our pores

while pistons move in cylinders
two cars line up somewhere

crankshafts like jacks in boxes,
and wind blows through our hair

you looked at me like time was lost
while friends sat watching speed

my heart beat faster than the
boosted car that I heard lead

surrounded by our favorite things
a few people that we knew

I saw a smile fill your eyes
when you said "I love you."
LSFest 2015
UMMMMMMMMM SAVE US FROM THESE ONLINE KILLERS

UMMMMMMMMM THEY ARE JUST TRYING TO ENJOY THE FUTURE OF TECHNOLOGY

UMMMMMMMMM PLEASE SAVE OUR YOUNG, UMMMMMMM THEY ARE TREATED LIKE TOYS


UMMMMMMMMM STOP THESE INTERNET PREDATORS, UMMMMMM FROM GETTING THEIR WAY WITH VICTIMS


UMMMMMMMMM  THE COMPUTER ISN’T A TOY, IT CAN BE DANGEROUS, DON’T LET MY OLD ME, IN ANY OF YOU

I DON’T WANT PEOPLE GETTING ME WRONG  UMMMMMMMMM I WANT ANY SIDE OF KIDNAPPER OUT OF ME



UMMMMMMMMM PLEASE COUNCIL BRETT’S FAMILY  UMMMMMMMMMM PLEASE COUNCIL BRETT’S FAMILY


UMMMMMMMMM THESE INTERNET PREDATORS MUST BE STOPPED, UMMMMMMMM  BURT IT’S HARD TO STOP THEM



UMMMMMMMMM YOUTUBE IS FUN AND UMMMMMMMMM DONE IN THE RIGHT WAY, FACEBOOK IS FUN


UMMMMMMMMM  YOUNG DUDES, BE CAREFUL, UMMMMMMM YOUNG DUDES BE CAREFUL


UMMMMMMMMM  DON’T MAKE STRANGE FRIENDS, UMMMMMMM CHOOSE YOUR MATES CAREFULLY


UMMMMMMMMMM CAUSE, THIS IS A HORRIBLE EVENT UMMMMMMM  HELP GIVE EVERYONE PROPER COMPUTER CLASSES



UMMMMMMMMMM ON HOW TO HAVE FUN ON COMPUTER  UMMMMMMM MY DAD WHO DIED AND BORN AGAIN AS ELIZABETH ANN CAMPBELL


UMMMMMMMMMM  ALWAYS TRIED TO UNDERSTAND TECHNOLOGY  UMMMMMM DON’T LET INNOCENT BOYS BE CAPTURED BY COMPUTER GEEKS


UMMMMMMMMMM  NO COMPUTERS ARE FUN, SOCIAL MEDIA IS FUN  UMMMMMM  BUT PREDATORS ARE DANGEROUS


UMMMMMMMMMM DON’T LET WHAT HAPPENED TO BRETT, HAPPEN TO YOU, UMMMMMMMM TECHNOLOGY IS FUN, UMMMMMMM TECHNOLOGY IS FUN


UMMMMMMMMM  BUDDHA ATHENA AND CROBUS, WHO IS ME, TO STOP ONLINE PREDATORS, GET THE HANDS ON OUR YOUNG

UMMMMMMMMM   EVEN IF THEY ARE YOUNG THEMSELVES,    UMMMMMMMMMM  YEAH, BRING US PEACE FROM STUPID PREDATORS



UMMMMMMMMMM  I AIN’T COOL TO ****, UMMMMMMMMMM  LIKE THE MAN DOING BURNOUTS IN THE CARPARK UMMMMMMM IT MIGHT LOOK FUN


UMMMMMMMMMM BUT IT COULD’VE KILLED THAT LADY, UMMMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT,   UMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT


UMMMMMMMMMMM IS IT REALLY WORTH IT, TO ****, FOR TECHNOLOGY, UMMMMMMMMM IT DOESN’T IMPROVE THE WORLD

UMMMMMMMM TO SEE ONLINE PREDATORS, GET THEIR WAY, UMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMMMMM
L A Lamb Sep 2014
(written 3-18-2014)



I just needed something different, something to think about: an alternative night, a different scene with new environmental stimuli. It’s true that if the stimulus is unchanging we will adapt, but for me, I live best being able to react to different things. Yesterday was fun for that reason.



I was going to drive, but then Alistair said Yarab was going out too and he offered to drive. I considered the gas money and how I would prefer to drink and not worry about driving, so I agreed. At this point, you and I were in amidst a discussion regarding me coming over too late– or not at all– and I was in a particular mood where I didn’t want to think about the relationship strain. I knew I was causing it, but it was nothing new, and nothing bad. I just wanted to actually see my brother since I was so suffocated and domesticated. I wanted a night away from Giovanni’s room, which made me feel like your little housewife, your obedient certainty assigned love.



Why did we stay so ignorant when we started with uncertainty? It was a beautiful stage of development, a coming-of-age stage of accepting my sexuality and exploring sensuality. We we drunk college girls, amateur philosophers and ****-smokers, confused about the world but idealizing a better world. That was the ideal of us. The truth was too tragic, but we endured it for so long that for one night I wanted to celebrate. I wanted to get away. I didn’t want to think about you. So I didn’t. It was inconsiderate of me to consider you worrying and upset, but at this point I wanted to enjoy myself and have fun with my brother when I figured you’d be sad and disappointed no matter what happened, so I may as well enjoy myself. I thought hard about it, but decided since it was Alistair’s birthday, I didn’t have work until 6:00 p.m. the next day, and yes, it was St. Patrick’s Day, I wanted to go out and celebrate. Sorry you didn’t want to come.



In the car, Alistair packed the bowl. They were smoking it on the way up and I declined but instead had a cigarette. Yarab said he was working with an artist who made glass pieces resembling scary, mystical-like creatures, and the bowl Alistair packed was one of them. It was mostly blue, and the front of it was a head where the **** would go into the top of the head. It had wide eyes, a big, sorcerer-like nose and big, scary-looking teeth. “Trippy, right? The line is called Enoch based off the book of Enoch in the Bible—which is actually removed in most but still a part of Russian Orthodox.” They packed it twice throughout the ride and I sat in the back, smoked my cigarette and thought about you and the night before me.



We were going to Harrington’s Irish Pub but it was packed (naturally), so we tried Cadillac Ranch (the bar was full there too), so we finally decided on Public House. We each had 3 Washington Apple’s between beers and conversations before getting food. I had two Yuenglings, Alistair had a Yuengling, three Irish Stouts and Yarab drank 3 Stellas. Alistair and I split nachos and a hummus plate. I’d never been there before, and I appreciated the upscale environment compared to cramped and loud local bars I was used to. It was quiet enough that we could talk and hold conversations, and our bartender, Sarah, was pretty, friendly and attentive. I thought about my restaurant experience and briefly thought about her and her life.



My favorite part of the night was when we were at Public House. The conversations were just interesting; they talked about Putin, Ukraine and Russia and how “of course the U.S. wouldn’t let part of the country join into Russia” and the proposal would be rejected by the UN; we talked about birdhouses and fireplaces and utilizing space in people’s yards, so that if the world changed for the worse and we needed to survive we would be able to; we talked about being arrested; we talked about the Zionists and the fake group of evil Northern European people who migrated and were rejected by both Islam and Christianity, so they essentially took over Judaism—and how the conflict between Israel and Palestine is a struggle for power with the Zionists and U.S.; all of this was relevant to our talk about how we don’t live in a Democracy but a Corporatocracy, and the world is determined by whoever has the most money and power.



Yarab talked about tolerance for other cultures and intolerance, telling us about the other day when his stepfather was at their house going over notes with a woman from Sudan. She and her company wanted to use a product (he was a rocket-scientist and worked on a greener product in 1967 which weapons would have less of an environmentally hazardous effect) of his, but before going over the professional aspects he basically insulted her culture and country, criticizing how wrong they were. Yarab said he was in the kitchen getting water and had to leave because he couldn’t help but laugh, saying how his step-father was brilliant but very opinionated and could be rude. “He’s a buddhist-atheist,” he said, and I thought of us chanting. I brought up Niechren Buddhism and the lotus sutra, expressing how nice it made me feel after. He said any way to get peace is a good one, but atheists shouldn’t be ignorant when talking about their non-beliefs because that’s just as bad as religious people talking about their beliefs. Alistair commended him on never forcing his beliefs on Alistair, and I asked what he thought of God.



He described himself as polytheistic, saying that there wasn’t just one god but many, and because of how everything in the universe connects and resembles each other there must be something to cause it, because it can’t be explained. I thought about the mystery of life and how it’s developmental to wonder about it, and felt secure in the fluidity of my beliefs which has a general principle, that life may not be a coincidence but it is comprised with a series of coincidences and connect factors which cannot always be explained or determined, but rather appreciated and analyzed to create a memorable life in which existence is valued. I didn’t ask further about his gods, but I figured the idea he held was similar to the atheistic view Alistair held and the scientific-spirituality I held as well.



It was interesting talking to another person about it besides Alistair, and the discussion changed and added to the one we had the night before, when Alistair and I were drinking ***** with ginger ale (while I tinted with green food dye). I’ve always appreciated drunk talks with Alistair because they were some of the most real conversations I had. I brought up the hour-long documentary “Obey” and confessed my frustrations about the consumerist-capitalistic society we live in, where it’s nearly impossible to change the system as we’re being monitored. Big Brother is among us, I noted, and I praised George Orwell as a prophet and how we are living in 1984 even though so many people fail to realize it and don’t care or consider the bigger consequences of it. There was something so mystical in our depressing little talk, and I felt empowered to reexamine my life and work towards something with meaning.



While maybe more spiritual than existential, I knew Yarab could understand these ideas and provide even more insight to the social issues which confined us, the same ones we were so immersed in. We toasted to Alistair’s birthday; we toasted to being Arab; we toasted to Franklin Lamb; we toasted to Palestine; we toasted to peace.



Alistair was in the bathroom and I asked Yarab whether it was possible to live outside Capitalism without rejecting social conventions, being isolated and living off the Earth away from society. He replied it was very hard not to feed into the system, and explained how even he felt like a hypocrite for living in the U.S. and being American when his family and people were in Syria enduring the hardship of resources, lack of employment and political regimes. He explained that it was necessary to be a part of the system but not buy into it, to use the system and eventually work towards changing it. “Like Robin Hood,” he said. I told him it was hard because it seemed so easy to get ****** into it, and he said work towards what you believe in. “You’ll have a clear conscience.”



Alistair came back from the bathroom, and he talked about going to Lebanon toward the end of summer. “I could study Arabic at AUB,” and I supported his idea. Yarab chimed in that he deeply respected my father because of his work. “He actually cares about what’s happening and he speaks from the heart.” I was proud of my father for his work, despite everything else, and thought it interesting that the one Syrian we happen to encounter in our small town was immersed in politics and actively followed my father.



“You should take over what your dad is doing,” Yarab said to Alistair, and Alistair agreed it would be a good thing to do. Alistair mentioned Fatima Hajj and my time learning about Palestinians and spent in refugee camps. “She died a week after Louisa interviewed her.” “Three days,” I corrected him, and I felt my insides turn as we reminisced on my accomplishments. Almost two years had passed, and I made no progress on my activism, besides an article. Two weeks was not enough to change the world, although from my feedback it was clear I had inspired many.



I told them both how I felt so stagnant and unintelligent, boring and unproductive regarding any progress of working towards something of importance.”Do what you can while you’re able. Even if you don’t see it grow, you can still plant the seeds. You can be a sheep or you can be a Lamb.” I was grateful that my brother had a friend who could think about the world in a way differently than the normal crowd of friends he had who just focused on losing themselves in substances with no thought of life beyond their boring little lives.



Alistair suggested I visit Beirut for a month to see visit Dad, make connections and see what else was happening in Lebanon, Syria and throughout the Middle-East, and my heart sank with nostalgia and the prospect of a dream. I could see us going to Lebanon, and if I went I would feel inflated with purpose, the way I felt when I went before, the way I felt I could change the world. Yarab agreed with Alistair and supported my journalistic endeavors, while Alistair mentioned Mediciens sans Frontiers. “I don’t know if I’d be able to,” and I thought about you, Camino and Arizona. I thought about ASU and AUB. “Rachel would understand if you went for a month right?” I didn’t want to listen what I knew would follow.

After finishing our food we went outside to smoke. Alistair drank his beer, I chugged mine and Yarab left more than half of his second Stella. “I have to drive,” so Alistair picked it up and emptied the cup in two stealthy gulps.We went back to the garage and the plan was to drive back to a house party in Accokeek. I didn’t know Elton, or what to expect, but from the company I knew they kept in Accokeek, I expected a drastic change in environment from the bar talk with two like-minded Arabs.



Alistair packed the bowl again, and I was offered to smoke but again declined. “We stopped smoking.” “Rachel smoked with me while she was waiting for you to get off work one day.” “What? Recently?” “Yeah, like two to three weeks ago or something. I was in disbelief. “Are you serious? We were stopping together! She didn’t even tell me!” I was angry, and resented feeling like a fool, believing that we made a decision together—only to discover my efforts were stronger than hers. “Don’t ask her about it though.”



“No! I’m going to. Here I am, not doing anything and she does it? Doesn’t tell me about it?? It’s not that she did it but she didn’t even tell me. Typical *****. We talked about it since and she just chose not to bring it up? And she’s here accusing me of things when I’m not doing anything wrong?”



“She’s probably projecting her guilt on you.” I thought about other times I didn’t know about something and remembered finding out and feeling so stupid. “Do you want some?” “Maybe I will.. but no. Not right now.” I didn’t want to talk about it anymore.



But I did. I asked you and we texted about it, and in the car I felt annoyed and unincluded, rejecting the **** that was offered to me. By the time we got to the house, I left my phone in the car. I was there to spend time with my brother, not get into a text fight over something that didn’t matter anyway. We went inside and I didn’t recognize everyone. I suspected I was the youngest, and I couldn’t help but observe I was the thinnest girl. People were playing beer pong and sitting at a table. Someone offered me a beer. I sat down on a couch. Alistair was getting hugs from girls and handshakes and fist-bumps from guys, and I made brief introductions with no real effort of talking to anyone. There weren’t many seats, and the most comfortable couches were facing the television where rap videos were playing. I hadn’t heard any off the songs that were on the playlist, and felt uncomfortable by the blatant sexuality and objectification of girls in the videos. The drunk girls were dancing to the music and singing along with the degrading, raunchy lyrics. “Can we smoke?”



I hesitated and held the bowl in my hand, staring at the green. I thought about putting it down. “I haven’t smoked in two months and twenty-one days,” I vocalized, and some guy (who didn’t smoked) responded “but who’s counting?” “Come on Weezee,” and after further hesitation I decided it was nothing new, and nothing bad would happen as a result. I brought the piece to my lips, lowered the lighter and inhaled. It was smooth, and I held it in my lungs for several seconds before slowly exhaling. I couldn’t feel it at first. It was passed around, and I took another hit. I thought about what you might be thinking about me, but pushed the thought from my mind. A guy made brief eye contact with me, and something about him seemed familiar. He had a beard and was wearing a hat, and I thought it was impossible I could know him. The other person who lived there asked if we could smoke in the room because the guy who asked me who was counting, and others, didn’t smoke. So we went. I hit the bowl once more and as we were standing I felt the high come to me, the surreal feeling of being and experiencing. In the room was myself, Alistair, Yarab, a guy with a ‘fro, Elton and the guy with the hat and beard. Someone packed the **** and handed it to me, but I refused; I was pressured and still refused. “I haven’t done this in a while, so no, I’m fine, and I’ve been drinking.” I think some were taken aback by how adamant I was not to push my limit, because it was so clear many people there viewed partying as pushing the limit.



Alistair introduced me to the guy with the beard and the hat as Mat, who worked at Chevy’s and now McCormicks, and I instantly recognized him. “Oh hey!” I said and hugged him, and he said “I thought you looked familiar. How’ve you been?” “I’ve been pretty good,” and I explained to Alistair that he worked with Alex at Bonefish Grill and was our server when we went in to her work once, years ago. They continued to smoke and I stood among them, half paying attention to conversation and half thinking about anything and everything else. There was a familiarity being among these people I’d never met, and the surrounding of burnouts. I wondered if everyone there was a server and that was all they did. I told Mat I worked at Buffalo Wild Wings as a server, my first serving job, yeah I like it okay, I guess, and he told me he knew Alistair through McCormicks. “I’m serving there too,” and I wondered how many restaurants he’d been through so far.



He told me he graduated from tech school and I congratulated him and asked, “which one?”, where he replied Lincoln Tech. I wasn’t surprised it was that type, and I told him I graduated from Salisbury with a degree in Psychology, which he congratulated me for. I felt it necessary to disclose I was taking the GRE in May and imply that, yes, while I am serving in Waldorf and my college degree doesn’t give me much to do in this area, I am going back to school and I am going to do more than stay around serving, like you. I was reminded of a poem I wrote and th
party zone with johnny brown

pictures on brian allan's Facebook page profile tapestry

johnny’   hi dudes and welcome to party zone at the royal canberra show

and we have just been entertained by the team d max and boy were they

exciting and the two wheel wheelies were pretty cool as well

and now we have people with some jingles about the show

here is the first from young peter

peter’  i like the show ever so much from the side show to the

fun in the arena, i really like the cars, yo it’s fun and the whip cracking is the the coolest around

you see we have barbecues and chips and chips on a stick and fish and chips

and mate, there is plenty to drink and later there is more fun in the arena, yeah mate yeah let’s party

dude, yo let’s get down

johnny’  thank you peter for that great jingle and now here is harry with his jingle

harry’   party on yeah party on

the time to have fun is now

with show bags and side show alleys and stuff on the arena too

i saw the cars, ahh so rad and i saw the heritage area too

that is the most exciting thing i have ever done

canberra canberra canberra

show show show

the best show in oz

johnny’  thanks harry and here is josh morgan with his little jingle

josh’  oh come to the canberra show and enjoy the rides and ****

and enjoy the cars doing the dirt burnouts, yeah that sounds so cool

and don’t forget to watch the fashion parade

and we can really enjoy that

you see i won a teddy bear and i will give it to my missus

hoping she will really like it, i think she will

this is the best show on the east of australia

come on and party from start to finish

at the royal canberra show, yo dude

johnny’   hi dudes and now we are around the young farmers for the challenge heats

and they all sing their little jingle, here it goes

young farmers

we are the greatest my friend

we will show who will win it till the end

and we are about to play in our challenge heats

and each one will be pressing to win

and mate we are the young farmers

and we will triumph over all mankind, young farmers

johnny’  this is a great day at the canberra show and here is john with a jingle about the young farmers

john’   you see we throw a boot in the bucket and we do it well

and we plant our own seed and we must know the seed

and we unwrap the swag and then we milk the cow, yeah that is cool

as we grab the potatoes and we hammer the nail

and who does it all first wins the battle wins the battle wins the battle

yeah, now we have done all that

we should party hardy dude

johnny’  thanks john and now we see the presentation and it is a good team who won

Johnny'.     Welcome back to party zone and we just had

The ford v Holden ute challenge and here is Daniel is giving

Us a jingle about what he saw

Daniel' gentlemen start your engines

As the ford is going to splash all the stones on us

The Holden does the same thing on the other side

You see as the burn outs and then trying to get around

The witch's hats without knocking them over, they fail miserably

Then as you are in the crowd trying to enjoy your ice cream soda

Yeah mate yeah the car kicks all the stones all  over you

And now after doing so many laps to please the crowd

They go off and burnout once more past us,

And I will tell you all on party zone, yeah it is the right time for partying oh yeah

Johnny'.  Thank you Daniel and now let's find a decent party somewhere, dude

Johnny'.  Welcome back and we are currently watching the harness racing and these

Horses are fighting fit, as we are waiting for team d max and Showtime fmx and there is

No rain, which is good, and now here us young Toby Mitchell with his jingle

Toby'.  It is getting darker and we are preparing for a great night ahead

You see I am sitting here with my fave food, banana bread

It is not too hot nor is it too cold, and we are never to old to enjoy ourselves on this nice Canberra night

You see we are at the Canberra show soaking up the atmosphere

I am at the start saying Canberra show is the best fun you can have


Johnny'.  Ok and now it's time to go, from party zone

From the Royal Canberra show and the fireworks are lighting

Up the sky and weren't the Utes and motorbikes great, yeah

And here is Fred to do a poem about

Fred'.  You see the motorbikes go up and meet

Each other, and then they go down the other side

And they chuck wheelies and so did the ute

Yeah mate yeah it is so fucken rad

And I really like the ute doing a two wheel wheelie on the side

And I went away to buy fresh lemonade and fries

The side show alley was just as cool

You see I chucked up all over little ole you

You hated it and you gave me a wollop

And I gave you a lemonade with ice cream dollop

Johnny'.  Thanks Fred and now here is another act for you

From ken

Ken'. You shook Canberra all night long

And you partied all fucken day

And that's the truth

Johnny'.  Good bye from party zone catch ya later dudes
Marshall Gass  Apr 2014
Burnouts
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
Tyres and fires burning
circles of rubber
Rolled down  black tongued roads
Heading to  city centre
Where  others meet
To greet the mighty ruler
With sword and soldiers dressed
In fibreglass shields, green helmets
truncheons with spikes backed water cannons
snipers on rooftops searching for vipers
to drill bullet holes

The tyres rolled in and rounded in a circle
Cutting off escape routes and
Dividing believers and  non-believers
Piled high, pulled tight with pitchfork  patience

The leaders orders more tyres.
Anything from cars, buses and bicycles
that could hold up the  chains of freedom.
Last desperate attempt - not to escape but die
In the ring of fire -soon lit
Underneath the tyres
Which created bursting black flames and bluegrey smoke
Rising above the rants of leaders and shooters
and crackling. Sparks that dulled the day
And lit the night with sparklers of power.

The paratroopers soon retreated into barracks
and the rioters took hold of the city keys,
And over broken glass and burnt buildings
settled in for the long haul to freedom.

The pawns moved on the chess board
  knights moved in the night,
The queen was cornered
and checkmate came when the hollow president
flew  the palace with his coterie of
ear chewers and shoe polishers!

The tyres burned slowly
the fires  burned down slowly.
Freedom came at dawn on the 21 st day
when the rubber factory churned out again
many new models of tyres with tougher treads.

The circle begins again today.
Author Notes

The Revolution continues. All common day gadgets that could burn and blister the new agenda is rolled down the road into the city centre where the
protesters gather to set fire to ambitious policies, unpopular with the people.

The fires from tyres will rage all night and day.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Trevor Gates Apr 2013
VI.


Welcome back

To the greatest show on earth

Well

At least your earth

Your world

Your mind
Your brain and skull and cartilage
And blood and guts and nails.

Your ears and your nose and your eyes
Your mouth and your fingers and your teeth

The bile, the pus, the plasma, the snot, the discharge

The everlasting, physical being of our callous calamity:
The flesh of dehumanization;
The soul of debauchery;
The mind of maliciousness;
The avarice of mortal delusion
Forged from the blade of segregation

Titans of industry
Gods of ******
malcontent youth
Diseased from each other
And their mentors

The masters
The hands
The hands smothering your body in mud, caressing your skin with a lovely touch.
Fingers smooth out wet clay on your chest; on your *******
Coming around to feel your goose bumps
Your *******
Your aroused body
I can feel your heavy breathing
Is it getting hot in here?
Fog up the windows
Let me unbutton this shirt
Or maybe I'll just rip it off

Suckling on my finger.  I feel your hands wrap around my belt
Pull it off

Open your mouth
Let me enter
Pull me closer
Deeper
Let me know you want me to please you
To satisfy you
I will

It's getting bigger
Harder

It's getting warmer
Hotter
Wetter

The sweat around your *** is the sweetest

Pull, squeeze, moan, beg, roar, toss, push, ******, finger, lick, bite, drool, eat, play, ******, moan, ****, ****, touch, ****, turn, harder, faster, moan, slower, deeper, longer, push, pop, rush, ***, stroke, slither, bite, lick, ****, roll, eat, ****, gasp, ****, moan, ******, ****, bite, push, ****, ******, ****, lick, squeeze, moan, faster, ****, deeper, again, again, again, and
Again.

Rise

Rise

Again

The Neon angels
The paranoid androids
The singing kings
The screaming queens
The velvet demons
The glorified burnouts
The occupants of netherworld Los Angeles
Of upside down New York
Of abstinent Paris
Of Leather clad London
Of **** chum *** Boston
Of nuclear Moscow
  
Of this and that and another one of those and a round on the house!

(applause)



Dedicated to: Milk, shampoo, James Dean, Pink Floyd, Feudal Japan, Terry Gilliam, Rasputin, Marquis De Sade, Archangel Gabriel, Shiva, Gary Oldman, USB cables, Staplers, Converse shoes, California license plates, George Harrison, Jaguars, Quantum Physics, down syndrome, Jason Lee, Lily Allen, Indian women, Multi-colored rain, manbearpig, Pandora Peaks, Dethklok, The Evil Dead and of course all those that need no introduction.  

We'll see you soon.
This is part of a free-formed writing exercise I developed to cope with my "Creative isolation"

long story.
enjoy
Ders  Jul 2018
Aura’s color
Ders Jul 2018
What is artistic expression how do put my soul on a page
How do I stroke my aura’s color if I can’t see it  
How do paint my humor and intentions
How do I draw my unbalanced chakras back to balanced and write the energies surging through channels
How do I chalk out my thought process when I am reminded of you

Walkie talkies hidden ontop my chalkie chakra blocked like telephone lines hit by drunk drivers or blackouts during storms
Sunshine burning mustard seething weekend breeding burnouts coming out of retirement like

My soul color bleeding rainbows with big blocks of grey in between Needing the contrast Needing the depth and blurred complications the world is not black and white we all bleed the same rainbow sparks into the same riverbeds breathing and exhaling with the time ticks of our existence of light reflected on the glitter trickled surface of the vibrations of our soul speaks ricocheting through galaxies for eternity.

Can’t phrase anything right
In come spiraling thoughts stories of me stories of we can’t help but trip I fall into thee mother Luna romanticizing the waves of the sea you rub my jaw with your hipster b

Crown king we’re being free
We’re trying queen
Forgot the beauty in the cold
Blackened hearts should walk boldly
Frozen on mountaintops trying to keep our souls warm
Broken and torn plastic bag in the wind escaping entities that block their flow

Exhausted on faking
Keep breaking from trying to make it
Ain’t no fun to be around
I keep all my words in my mouth
The devils got my tongue
I’m feeling numb
All my existence is to ***
I can’t get up out of the ******* ground
Years go by
I’m not feeling myself
Tears come out of me like a leaking spout
No drugs can bother me
My head belongs in the clouds
Ramona Argo  Aug 2014
Romantics
Ramona Argo Aug 2014
I know we may never be one of the dream people
who make their faces and words, world symbols.

writer, actor, 
filmmaker, photographer:
These are things we say we are. You and me.
We need no one to define us. 
our minds keep and align us 
cozy in our deception like wigged-out mothers. 
But we need others to believe that we are what we are
in order to make us reality.

An artist without proof is an empty box.

And we go unfed, 
though we ache like ***-hungry puppies.
Unable
to do a **** thing, but weep,
yearning to **** on a whopping heap of the good-life.
But we go
unfed.

Early twenties, and we're burnouts already, you and me, 
about the meaning of life and the government and *******.

We met in college
my adorable Humanities degree
cupped in hand with his.
We found solace 
in our disappointment because when we kiss
our sadnesses take root into each other.
So our rough, restless, god-angry loving
never stops
metaphorically, that is.

His desire puts me in a box, and he comes in with, 
and we talk.
My desire sets his box full of flames
so he can climb out, and get free again.
But he knows life puts us all in a box 
and you have to do things people want
in order to win the green paper you got just to keep
that box. One day
I hope to live in the same box as him.

Until then 
I'll be in a foreign land, passing out the alphabet and bandages
and ignoring the world of green paper, 
as I live in a box without a lid.
And, as the hot rain drops, my brain makes a fist
and I picture him.

We are now becoming quite a beautiful film, you and me
as he keeps his longing fastened up to mine 
like a pair of overalls.

All the books I needed to write since I was seven years old will,
kills to say, 
never happen, quite possibly.
But still
I am attempting this thing, this poem 
for you and me,
because
of the feeling inside to throw buckets of paint at the door.

The feeling I get at 2am 
to cut holes into my fingertips
in order to string out an art piece from them.

The feeling that long, sunny Sundays give
to drink tea and wine and go canoeing while
a novel ***** out of me like a bleeding baby.

The feeling I always forget to jot down
after being ***** or mugged or misjudged or beaten to bruises 
when everything is as painstakingly raw and red as poems 
are wired to be.

The feeling that comes when it's just us, 
he does things to my body that makes it crack into smiles
fantastic enough, it can't help but shatter like a mirror
all across the floor. You and me.

We exchange our hearts like gifts, and they are 
empty boxes.
And it's all

I've ever wanted.
Cné Nov 2017
T'was a month before Christmas and lights needed hanging.
The tree needed trimming, (my headache was banging).

"The stocking were hung on the chimney with care..."
While electrical chords, were strewn everywhere.

I unloaded boxes of tree decorations
And listened to carols from old AM stations.

"When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter...."
I hurried outside to see what was the matter.

Over-reaching the hedges, the ladder gave way.
And then I saw, in the bushes he lay.

After shocking himself with a faulty light socket,
His tootsie roll'd melted, inside of his pocket.

He stumbled and bumbled, untangling the strands
Replacing the burnouts and cutting his hands.

The ordeal was finished. At last! What a feat!
(Then one strand burned out, as we watched from the street.)
Tis the season
Meg B  May 2014
Cruising Altitude
Meg B May 2014
Gazing down
on sleepy towns,
transparent sky,
high above

Down below are the workers,
the daughters,
the smokers,
the bank robbers

On I soar,
hearing the jet engine roar,
and thousands of feet beneath,
the partiers are still drowning in
deep sleep

Flying by
as lovers exchange a kiss,
a lonely man cries,
a doctor mending a broken wrist

Downward gazing,
burnouts blazing,
artists creating,
blooming vegetation,
streets full of
imagination, fascination,
devastation,  miscalculations,
faces, races, places, nations;

Peering down from the heavens;
the view is
amazing.

— The End —