This is a long one Ladies and Gents, so strap in!

IF you asked what the biggest evils are in this world,
any rational man,woman boy or girl,
would answer its things that bring us too much harm,
talkin bout Alcohol,Tobacco and - Firearms
forget about illegal drugs and mafia clans,
its time to focus in on the Government plans,
to cause mass confusion in the minds of the sheep,
keep us all in our pens,disoriented and weak,
only a danger to ourselves in this struggle of life,
its the subtlest cut from the surgeons knife,
that emasculates us wholesale,money for blood,
three opponents to the death in the war for good,
run by corporations with no frontiers,
profiteering on your misery,they're milking our tears,
legal taxable killers that shorten your life,
and not just YOUR life man,your children and wife,
and leave you with no fight in you to cause some strife,
for our overlords and rulers,in the neverending fight,
to bring truth to the truthless and sight to the blind,
its a high stakes gamble and the stake is your mind,
but the tables rigged,and the dealers a shark,
whos only happy when you're ignorant and kept in the dark
and fed **** like fungi,think you're fun guy?
cos when your dumb fat and happy then its easy to die,
24without reaching any truth,time to read between the lines-
and learn the truth about these ****** end times.

Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms

1.8 million people a year,
go straight from here to the valley of tears,
with the help of a bottle,its our friend alcohol!,
its a double hit,taking both your money and soul,
its like Futurama having suicide booths,
just have a few beers man,your troubles to soothe...
while it gnaws at your insides a rat in a cage,
like 1984 and the worlds a stage,
well its more like a circus,and guess who's the clown?
its a never ending pratfall like "falling down",
how many mornings can you wake up feeling like ****?
before we ALL decide that its time to quit,
and how come science hasnt found a way?
to render it less harmful in these amazing days?
simple,cause its perfect. - *Its doing its job
keeping billions of people in deadend jobs,
leaving social meetings with a dark undercurrent,
just look at any News Source,stories stay current,
about the constant madness and daily strife,
another drunken encounter that ends in lost lives,
and more zombies walking on our city streets,
looking for a confrontation,just someone to beat,
in 20% of interventions by Cops
the trouble would stop,if the bottle was dropped
so take the beer goggles off and start taking names,
of the companies we need to name and shame

cough,cough cough,its the daily song,
its the people nailing down their coffin too long
cigarettes cause cancer...and there I should stop
(sample penny dropping)
to let the penny drop...
in the first few seconds that this verse just took...
another poor dumb smoker just ran out of luck,
its an incredible figure for our global deaths,
that are pure homicides,people stealing your breath,
its like paying a murderer to stab you in the chest
when it comes to mindfucks man smoking's the best,
while tobacco company lobbyists still write checques,
their customers are choking in a haze of death,
govt. warning's man the ***** too late,
while you're staring at the package your eventual fate,
is slapping your eyeballs with a message of doom,
but you're still a ****** Addict and the profits just zoom,
the glory days of the deathgame until 94,
tobacco company tales for many years before,
using bogus science for a tissue of lies,
never giving two cents for the people who died,
testified to the senate man the God ****** Nerve!
when they die I think their souls will take a downward curve,
to an everlasting hell,their own sweet special doom,
to be greeted by a sign, welcome to the smoking room.
so drop the ash and stop dropping cash,
and start saving your life for a better re-hash

I've saved the best for last,you might be surprised,
when you hear me breaking down another tissue of lies,
you see guns don't **** people people do
disagree if you like,its still a universal truth,
you see to me a gun is only a tool,
it all depends on whether it is in the hands of a fool,
and guns save lives too another headfuck,
they also take them too in the hands of the rough,
I'm not thinking bout the crack dealer packing a glock,
I'm thinking of the group that sold him the lot
running drugs AND guns its the CIA!
all protected by the might of the USA!
dont believe me? just google it,its easy to find,
although the facts may not sit well in your mind,
its funny,maybe they should have used ray-guns?
then their actor president would have given MORE funds,
to the contra rary of the public story,
while the truth at the bottom is much more gory,
but its back to the future now the latest plans,
acted out in the future in a global land,
and its only the start of the endgame plan,
to take away the tools from the everyday man,
**so he cant cause trouble its machiavellian,
cos their plans for the future are so Orwellian

The first time a man ever pointed a gun at me and asked me to love him was at Granny's Kitchen in Greensboro, North Carolina.

The waitress, a soft spoken white woman with her hair pulled back in a bun, had just dropped off my plates --- a simple mix of scrambled eggs, two pieces of greasy bacon, and a short stack of pancakes. Now, no matter how cheap, I always feel like I'm cutting loose at breakfast places for the sheer abundance of plates. While I'm sure the eggs and bacon could have shared real estate, each component had its own china.

The waitress lingered at my table, her fingers fidgeting with straws in her apron. I made eye contact. Well, my eyes contacted hers; she was staring at my lips.

Sure I can't get you something to drink? she asked.

This was approximately the tenth time she'd made sure. She was uncomfortable that I had supplied my own beverage -- a Big Gulp. But even more than that, she was uncomfortable by the deep red stain taking over my lips. Contents of the Big Gulp: merlot, boxed.

(That is an unnecessary detail. I've only written it so I never do it again.)

Before Greg hopped up on a table and announced to the restaurant, If I could have your attention, my name is Greg and this will only take a second, blah, blah blah, I poured a copious amount of syrup on my pancakes. Then I moved the bacon to my pancake plate. In my experience, very little in this life is better than syrup on bacon.

I shut my eyes for that first bite, just like the commercials. The syrup dribbled a bit onto my beard, and when I opened my eyes, I discovered it had also landed on my shirt. I grabbed a napkin. Heard a chair slide backwards. I started with my beard, peering around the diner, making sure no one saw. I think I heard someone gasp. But I was busy, working that napkin then against my shirt. Jesus, I thought. My grandma, who's got a splash of the Parkinson's, could eat with more grace.

If I could have your attention, my name is Greg and this will only take a second, a very official voice boomed behind me.

I turned around to see if I recognized him as one of those cuffed jean-sporting, wild plaid-loving NPR hosts. He wasn't one of those. He was a sunburn with mop hair in a black tank top and hemmed jean shorts. He did, however, have a cleft chin. That's actually worth noting. Don't see a lot of them these days.

I know you guys are busy, he said. I know that like me, you guys are probably broke as hell. I mean no offense Granny's, I love this place, but it ain't exactly four stars. Or three. Anyway, all I want from each of you is five dollars. If you ain't got five, give me four. Ain't got four, three. And so on.

He started with the stringy Japanese couple on the west side of the restaurant. Nobody really seemed scared, not the freckled brat in canvas sneakers, not the liver-spotted gentleman with a copy of that day's paper.

My old friend Jerome used to say that white folks are the only romantic criminals. He tacked it up to that whole Bonnie and Clyde crap. Greg, it seemed, was privy to that information, too. He smiled and thanked each person as he robbed them of a few presidents. The victims, smiling back, seemed to be thinking of their names tagged at the end of some newspaper dialogue. A few even gave more than he asked.

Here, take fifteen. Times will get better.

Aren't you just a charmer.

It was all very moving.

So he gets to me, and of course, I don't have any cash. I carry a debit and an arsenal of credit cards like a normal American. I don't know how he made it to me before running into this particular problem.

No, I don't have one of those iPhone card swipers, he said. Well, you gotta give me something.

I offered a gift card to Harold's Clothes for Men, it had like two bucks on it, but he wasn't interested.

What's your name?

Henry.

How much do you weigh?

Enough to keep me prohibited from most amusement park rides.

I like you, Henry. Well, let me ask you something. Have you ever loved a man? he asked, pointing his smudgy revolver just past my ear.

I shook my head no.

Me neither. I've always been curious, though. You been curious?

There was a time when I was thirteen -- Blake Hinton was changing after basketball practice -- and I remember thinking, that is an incredible chest. These lines just sprawled from his sternum, lines leading to these almond *******, and I specifically remember wanting to eat them like, well, almonds. But that hardly counts as curious. So, I said, No.

To which Greg responded: Get curious, boy. You're coming with me.


In the spirit of honesty, I was in a bit of a haze before Greg made me climb into his beat up Cavalier. Not just from the Big Gulp brimmed with merlot, no, I hadn't slept in two days prior to the whole gun-in-face incident. Reason being, I was, as Greg would say, broke as hell, and the rent was due. I stayed up both nights conspiring (and drinking). So, really I was pretty thrilled to be kidnapped away from the whole situation.

I had visions. I guess from the lack of sleep. Maybe they weren't visions, maybe just dreams, or fever dreams, I don't know. All I know is I blinked, and we were in the Appalachians. And there was a grey longbeard in the backseat rattling on and on about how change is easy, movement is easy; it's that whole nesting thing that takes courage and strength, blah, blah, blah. I told him to be quiet. Greg told me to get some sleep. I blinked.

We were in a karaoke bar in Madison, Tennessee. There was a gin and tonic in front of me. I took a drink. There was a water with lime in front of me.

Greg asked, Where did you go?

I told him, your dreams, trying to be cute. He turned and asked the bartender for a Yeager bomb. Reaching for the server in -- granted -- an overly dramatic gesture, I said, Make it two. We made it three. We made it four. Seven. Then some vague, but perfect number, because my head rang right. The words came right. And I was a journalist, asking Greg all the right questions.

I'm not a criminal, he said.

I was just bored, man, he said.

You see, I was in a rut, he said. Last month I put up a personal on Craigslist. I know, it's pretty ******* desperate. I've read the kind **** people put on there. But mine was different. I just wanted some time with my ex-wife. Some couch ***, you know? We hadn't done it on a couch since I dropped out of college, and I hadn't even really thought about it until a couple weeks after the divorce. Then it was all I could think about.

A black woman, whose teeth glowed under the black light, began singing "Wild Horses." Then he read my mind, I think.

Yeah, she answered it. Did our thing on her sofa. It was nice and all, and like all nice things, you just want more, but she said I couldn't have no more, this was a fluke, a one-time, or no, a one-off thing, she said. Had to relocate, so that's why I did that whole thing at Granny's.

You ever get it on a couch? he asked.

No, I said. I've see a bra though --- two actually.

He took that as a joke, which was good.

Though wild horses couldn't drag me away, a gasoline horse could.


He handed me a courtesy breath mint after I finished throwing up. The Nashville skyline looks perfect, he said. Especially at night.

My stomach was gravel in a washing machine. Masculine love. At gunpoint, I had agreed to indulge it. I was going to make love to a man -- not just a man -- a criminal. Not something to write about on a postcard.

Mr. Winters, my esteemed landlord,
Apologies about the rent. Got kidnapped by a *******, and I'm presently banging and being banged by him in Music City, USA.

I blinked.

We laid on opposite ends of the queen-sized mattress.

I always liked Super 8s, Greg said. I don't see the point in spending so much on a hotel. A bed is a bed.

And I tried to be funny with something about the confidentiality of dark bedsheets, but it fell flat.

Greg cried. I love my ex-wife, he said.

Can I help?

Will you hold me? he asked.

The air conditioner kicked on in the already freezing room.

I'm sorry. You don't have to, he said.

I scooted against him. He smelled pleasant in a family-vacation-kind-of-way, like a fresh pretzel covered in salt. I put my arm under his neck. He buried his face into my shoulder. I blinked.


The front end of his Cavalier was held together with copper wire and coat hangers. It was a two-door. Both doors dented from, according to Greg, hit-and-runs. It had a Vermont plate on the back. It was red. I mention all of this to say: if we kept moving, we were bound to get pulled over.

In the parking lot of 3B's Breakfast, Burgers And Beer, Greg asked me to retrieve his revolver from the glove compartment. You kinda have to uppercut it, he said. And I did.

I don't want to do it again, but we have to. I'm not staying put, not until I hit the ocean. But don't worry, I'm not going to hurt anyone.

He showed me the revolver. No bullets. I nodded, in approval, I guess.


The second time a man ever pointed a gun at me and asked me to love him was at 3B's Breakfast, Burgers And Beer in Bellevue, Tennessee. Of course, it was the same man, Greg, but the circumstances were a little different.

I went with two orders of biscuits and gravy --- or B & G as my dear friend Chance affectionately calls it. Four bites in and I'd yet to hit biscuit. For a moment, I wanted to tell Greg, C'mon man, ***** the ocean. Tennessee does gravy the way God intended. Nobody would find us in this suburb. We could be sharecroppers. Do they still have sharecroppers?

Do you like fresh corn? I asked. It was the first crop that came to mind.

Greg didn't answer. I noticed his plate of hash browns and eggs -- sunny-side up -- were untouched. You okay?

He was, he said, trying to get in the zone, that's all.

Alright.

Our waitress looked like a poster child for ******'s Youth. She couldn't have been much more than sixteen. She had blonde -- almost white -- hair. Her eyes changed color with the intensity and direction of light, a gradient between seaweed and dark ocean blue. She appeared to be an amish girl gone defective, and I was about to inquire into that very supposition when Greg stood on the table, and said, If I could have your attention, my name is Greg and this will only take a second.

Tennessee is not North Carolina. In North Carolina, they got a healthy aversion to firearms. In Tennessee, however, once a babe can walk, the *******'s got a BB gun and an endless supply of empty soda cans for target practice. I say that, to say this: when Greg stood on the table, so did three other men. Their three guns pointed right at him.

Lower that gun, brother. You ain't gettin' any money out of us.

Hate to shoot you in front of your boyfriend.

Coffee spilled and ran off the tray our waitress held. She shook so hard, it wasn't clear how many women she was.

Greg's cleft chin centered on one gunman, than the other, than the other.

Just drop the gun, *******.

We don't want to ruin no one's breakfast.

Fellas, I said, he doesn't have any bullets in his gun. We need a little money that's all.

That ****** is just trying to protect him.

I'm calling the cops, a purple-haired old woman yelped from under her table. Silverware clanged against the floor. Then the buzz of a fly. Then the pop of fries drowning in grease. Then the bell chimed as some idiot walked inside.

Greg's arm was shaky as he pointed the gun at me. Do you love me? he asked.

I blinked.

And I was at 3B's in Bellevue, Tennessee.

I blinked.

And I was at 3B's in Bellevue, Tennessee.

I blinked.

And I was at 3B's in Bellevue, Tennessee.

I put my arms up. Slid my chair back a ways. Stepped on the chair, then unto the table.

Do you love me? Greg asked.

His breath smelled like last night's alcohol and that morning's coffee. He was a child, a sunburnt child with a cap gun. He wasn't going to hurt anyone.

I put my hand on top of the revolver and lowered it. He crumpled, as if I were scolding him. They still pointed their guns at us. But for the first time in my life, I felt secured, tethered to a space.

I lifted Greg's chin up with my index finger. Covered his eyes with the palm of my hand. And I kissed him. I kissed him, keeping my eyes closed tight.

The shortest distance between two points of travel.

The fastest method for achieving a result.

Quickest answer for a resolution.

Marrying equals.

  All terminology meaning essentially the same thing; synthesis. That is what the two-party system is meant to be doing. It is the point of checks and balances. A check is a stopgap. A balance is a measure.

  No one wants to ban personal firearms. No one wants mentally-ill people to own them. No one advocates violence by school teachers to assuage future potential violence. No reasonable person wants children to grow up in a police state school system. No American believes that State and Federal government can agree on what should be done in all states.

  We will not be arming teachers. Nor will we be banning guns. There will never be armed guards at public schools. States and the Federal government disagree on so many levels there will never be consensus on change when it comes to this issue. So, change the issue in a way that offers a stopgap as a measure.

  The President of The United States issues a proclamation that all land directly adjacent to the front of all public schools will be bought by the federal government at today's market price. That price will be fixed provided the states do two things. Use state eminent domain laws(every state already has them) to file a claim on said properties and assess the value thereof for the federal government.

  Secondly, establish police precincts on said property.


    Ask yourself;

"How many children would die if the local police were directly across the street from the school at the time of the shooting?"


And,

"Would Conservatives or Liberals be against this proposal?"

  
Also,

We should all remember that these shooters plan their attacks and would have to plan around the police being there immediately after they begin one.


  Problem solved...
                             ...and no one touched a gun(right) to do it.

Spt 5-- domestic dispute inv alcohol + firearms Hawkins Terr. area-- Spt 7-- burglary purses stolen from 3 cars Wipple St-- night of Spt 18-19-- vandals untied shoes of large statue Center Park-- Spt 20-- mugging homeless suspect young woman cheeseburger Rt 8--

i am the melting sun beams dripping from the children's running sneaker...creeping slow into the ocean of nose hairs sparkling with iodine and rosemary...father farther to the cosmic goop of motherhood and magic mounds of twirling gases...rancid beef so evergreen as if the princess is licking loudly on the frogs back...green of colour my third eye melts her fantasy into rainbows of toxic firearms...leaking valuable oil all over her wedding dress...come into the third eye and hammer away the truths of 1000 years...to fowrad this message is to embrace all that is the third eye...magic and numbers spiral towards the center edge of my reason...pure and criticized like goblins with tiny feet...reach up into your third eye and pull yourself into it with all your power and all your might....stay with it for just one night and reach for the spare tires in the third eyes trunk...don't forget to fill it with melting bubbles of fantastic hot sweet golden ratios where infinity smell like dust bunnies and dust bunnies smell like crystal salts and volcanic ash...spew forth third eye and share the vision of ecstasy and freedom...never cover the third eye with hate and regret only wash it with happiness and fullness...let the third eye rule your heart and towers will melt into concrete and paper will fill the sky...only the can the third eye truly be the way to see your path....spiral softly third eye and forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and forever see with the third eye....

i.
we spent the autumn day wandering
above the great river the woodland
of the bluffs as dusk fell, shots echoed down the
river canyon, we had completely forgotten
the deer firearms season had opened
down the old logging trail,
a glorious stag eyes wide with confusion
lurched from the wood

ii.
despite our noise, he stumbled ahead
down the  road, and toward the hunters,
we could not turn him into the safety of the park

iii.
as the black night descended we
were surprised by a glow racing towards us
a man on  a bicycle, brightly lit, not with just a
headlamp, but a whole string of lights,
wrapped around the tubes of his
bike frame, like a Christmas tree,
he nodded at us and rode past

iv.
as we sat around the fire back at camp,
silent, pondering the odd events
we had witnessed that day,
and the stag we had maybe sent off
to be killed by some hunter,
i wondered at the strangeness
of it all, this day, and all the days
like it, and all the days to come,
would they have been strange
without my being there to see them,
or, was the strangeness my seeing
              them,
and my being, at all
              stag, still, i am so sorry

Forget You is just ******* spelled backwards
Or looking deep into a mirror

I stood by and watched
As your birthday bled out in the kitchen sink

I've only ever cauterized my own wounds -
Pavement burns and those of the like

I think that maybe I know almost everything
I know that trees are apology letters from the Holy Ghost, mangled in the travel from afterlife to certain death
And I know that January is two boys sleeping in the dark
But I don't know what the sidewalks are and my mind keeps getting stuck in their cracked cement

Cleveland was a corpse
After the river had burned