My bed is double functional
I use it to make love on
And it is where my mind becomes extracted from my body and goes to planes of potent virtuosity
Where the sheer sound of self-reflection is an incredible pleasure
The body, a conveyor of material wants and superfluous desires is left behind in puzzled abandonment
But the mind does not lament
It blasts out of the squaller of the western world and all of its heavy reliance on demystified theatrics and the attempts of restoring a cleavered generation gap
The mind’s finesse and savage grace carry it to a hypnotic river of awareness and comprehension
The river bed is self-continued
The latency stage is over, all indications point forward to end the played out injustice of self-deprivation , run with fluidity and quit the life of a spectator
Then, pool into the communal crown
Where we are all holy royal
Where we are all enrolled enthusiasts of freedom from one’s own shackles of doubt and shame
The corrupt coercion is out of favor and now we've assembled without the fear of involvement
For we've been in play since we crawled out of the womb
But it is now that we have decided to speak
And this drastic turnover is first and foremost and idea, no more no less
Not a law
Not a war
Not a religion
Not and organization or a political party
It is an idea to let the mind wander and find independence
Independence from the body, the world and all the smoke and mirrors that pollute it daily
Then grab the vibrations of positivity in terms of thought and action then touch with an extension of personality
So go, live in your uptight, delightful, tangible world and dispel this theory
I’ll stay here sitting astride this moot point
      -Tommy Johnson

I am a demon within the meek and fatally wounded
There is no innocent blood
All that is spilled is the red liquid of sin
Killing is no joy but a necessity
But all is well
For we are all mad after all
Let us dissect our insanity
Puncture the jugular of fear
Feral children’s muffled cries for mercy
We’re all in on it
Hypnotic insomnia
Open eyed moonlit wanderings
Spectating the impending doom is the ever diligent, all knowing entity
We’re all on the clock
The chopping block
Alone and startled
Exercising the eternal devourer of souls
The flesh of Beelzebub
The ones from under the bed, in the closet within your head
With the expressionless faces and evil eyes
The omnipotent offspring who has visions of the undead
Urging it to join
A noose, how romantic
Lovingly and creatively carving out your innards
Neglect was the cause for this uproar
And now no one’s safe
Next in line to be spat out of hell
Laughing
Laughing, whispering what little they can
Piecing together fragments of the soul
Brain bashing nightmares and legendary agony
Squealing sacrifices from burning webbed chambers of torture
The tearing your skin
Flowing of tears
Followed by the pursuit of death and its arrival
It’s here

Who am I?
Who am I?!
I am the one who sleeps naked
I am the one who sneezes two times after I awake every morning
I am the one who ****** for at least a minute straight
I am the one who measures my water by the quart
I am the one who cracks his spine, his neck, his knuckles, his knees, his ankles, his toes and his writs
I am the one who can’t breathe through his left nostril as good as the right one
I am the one with an oddly large tongue
I am the one who the good lord has mockingly withheld a pair of full eyebrows from
I am the one who put ketchup on everything he eats within reason
I am the one who can play bass, some piano and four chords on the guitar
I am the one who loves The Doors unconditionally
I am the one you will see attempting to eat fast food and then shortly after ***** it all back up and wasting my money
I am the one who does not wear undrwear
I am the one who picks his nose, his teeth and his ears
I am the one who is insecure about his image
I am the one who is horrible at math
I am the one who works out two hours at a time
I am the one who will roll you joints, pack a bowl and get you higher than you ever been
I am the one who will do a shot with you then another and another
I am the one who will **** freely anywhere
I am the one who lights incense
I am the one who searches for answers from history, philosophy, music, literature, metaphysics, psychedelics and art
I am the eccentric expressionist who writes in poetic prosaic streams of consciousness
I am the one who tries to sing
I am the one who aims to sleep for eight hours but never does
I am the one who needs two cups of coffee and then a cup of espresso
I am the one who looks for enlightenment, progress and success and spiritual, physical and mental healing
I am the one who doesn't give a ****
I am the one who cares deeply
I am the one who confides in his own contradictions
I am a complete person
And I am the one who is ending this drawn out repetitive poem that’s been in my mind for months
But I leave my readers with this question...who are you?

******* there’s twenty dollars down the *******
Five cartomizers for this electric cigarette
Why am I even smoking?
I quit five years ago, so why even put this in my body?
Where is the logic in that?
Because I like what it does to me
I like the relaxing hush it puts over me
But ******* it!
These five little cartomizers full of nicotine ain’t compatible with the battery because they’re for the rechargeable e-cigs
The ***** at 7-11 didn’t tell me that, why would she?
It’s her gain and my loss.
That’s her logic “this clueless kid doesn’t know any better, he just wants his nicotine fix.”
****, just ****
So now I either go buy the rechargeable kit for another twenty dollars
Or I just buy another disposable one for ten dollars and make the twenty I already spent completely worthless
Well
I’m not spending the other twenty, forget that right now!
I’m gonna buy another disposable one, then smoke the five nicotine cartridges, then the one it will come with then the first one I bought if it still has some juice left in it
All before the battery runs out and I gotta buy another one
Goodbye lungs!
Logic

I have caused my own agony
All on my own
Brought about
All this suffering

She will never return
Played with fire and got burned
Here is my sincerest apology

All the memories, a slide show in my head
Words can’t be unsaid, the dog done died; the dog is dead

I hope our paths meet again
Not as enemies, not as friends
But as people who know loves is a fallacy

All the memories, a slide show in my head
Words can’t be unsaid, the dog done died; the dog is dead

I hope our paths meet again
Not as enemies, not as friends
But people who know loves is a fallacy

Abandon the calamity
That was you and me

This poem indicates my scatergorized pattern of thought
We are a generation of gas masks and 3D glasses
Now we are a nation of bullet proof vests and USB drives
Grotesque regurgitated shallow sympathy
Universal imagery
I’m no type of Sadducee
In medicated revelry
Mood disorders and bipolarity
Inspiration
Found at the bottom of a decanter from Macedonia
Truculent truths and the opposition of common place thought
Andy why am I so indignant prey tell?
Because
I
Am
Drunk
Ha ha ha

Because man made spheres of synergy are treading on the verge of life support
No cooperation within the conglomerations
Perhaps we need brotherhood outside the cubical
The economy failing
Middle class working heroes about to **** themselves
But they have no money to buy a gun…out the window it is!
As insurance men and tax collectors and bill collectors beat a smile from my face with overturn fees and late fees with interest
And are all my reactions just misplaced projections?
I say **** ‘em I have no money
I’ll pay you when I can
What more can I do?