A large red elephant jumped on the trampoline.

Somewhere in the distance a blue eyed babe cried.

Rednecks clad in Paul Bunyan shirts inhaled the fumes of their barbecues.

Moving gracefully, a trapeze dancer tip-toed across the river.

My wife slumbered on our couch,

And wind blew a kite out of my hands.

                                                

I fed a goat nectar from my hands.

A crowd encircled the trampoline.

My family purchased a new couch,

And later that day we helplessly cried.

Our wailing could not be heard across the river,

Where rednecks continued to inhale the fumes of their barbecues.



Neighbors massed to celebrate barbecues.

I looked down at my blood stained hands,

Then joined the beautiful trapeze dancer across the river.

My red elephant broke the trampoline

And we were surrounded by infinite crying.

Nobody sat on the new couch.



Many problems arrived with the new couch;

There weren’t any more barbecues,

And my teeth crunched on granola as we cried.

Silky fabric embraced my hands.

Ingrid, my wife, dies on the trampoline.

She was buried across the river.



Some guy drank all the water from the river,

And started living on our couch.

Who would have thought I met lily on the trampoline,

And who would have thought I took up barbecues.

Now I felt warmth on the back of my hand

And I no longer cried.



Only the winter wind cried,

Howling over Ingrid’s grave across the river.

I slapped an elephant carcass with my hand,

Proceeding to cook it with salt and pepper on the couch.

I bored my wife with barbecues

So she went to jump on they trampoline.



Lily died on the trampoline; I always cried.

No longer did I host barbecues, the wind continued to howl across the river.

I gutted the couch, and killed myself with the back of my hand.

preliminary explanation

before i really begin the project i have a few scatterings
of thought that made me do this, without real planning,
a different sort of impromptu that poetry's good at,
less Dionysian spur-of-the-moment with an already
completed poem entwined to a perfect ensō,
as quick as the decapitation of Mary Boleyn with the
executioner fooling her which side the swing would
be cast by taking of his hard-soled-shoes -
i mean this in an Apollonian sense - i know, sharp contrasts
at first, but the need to fuse them - i said these are
preliminary explanations, the rest will not be as haphazardly
composed, after all, i see the triangle i'm interested it
but drawing a triangle without Pythagorean explanation
i'm just writing Δ - i'll unravel what my project is
about, just give me this opportunity to blah blah for a
while like someone from an existential novel;
what beckoned me was the dichotomy of styles,
i mean, **** me, you can read poetry while in an awkward
yoga position, you can read it standing up, sitting down,
eating or whatever you want - obviously on the throne
of thrones taking a **** is preferred - the point being
what's called serious literature is so condensed for
economic reasons, font small, never-ending paragraphs,
you need an easy-chair and a bottle of cognac to get
through a chapter sometimes - or at least freshly mowed
grass in a park in summer - it's really uncomfortable because
of that, and the fact that poets hardly wish upon you
to be myopic - just look at the spacing on the page,
constantly refreshing, open-plan condos, eye-to-eye -
but it's not about that... the different styles of writing,
prose and the novel, the historical essay / encyclopedia
or a work of philosophy - what style of writing can
be best evolutionary and undermine each? only poetry.
poetry is a ballerina mandible entity, plastic skeletons,
but that's beside the point, when journalism writes history
so vehemently... the study of history writes it nonchalantly,
it's the truth, journalism is bombastic, sensationalist
every but what courting history involves -
a journalist will write about the death of a 100 people
more vehemently than a historian writing about the Holocaust...
or am i missing something? i never understood this dichotomy
of prose - it's most apparent between journalism and history...
as far as i am concerned, the most pleasurable style of
prose is involved in the history of philosophy, or learning per se,
but i'll now reveal to you the project at hand -
it's a collage... the parameters?

the subject of the collage

it weighs 1614 grams, or 3 lb. and 8 7/8ths oz.,
it's a single volume edition, published by Pimlico,
it's slightly larger than an A5 format,
3/4 inches more in length, and ~1 centimetre in
width more, it has a depth of 1 and 3/4 inches in depth,
a bicep iron-pumping session with it in bed -
i was lying with this behemoth of a book
in bed soothing out a semi-delirium state
listening to Ola Gjeilo's *northern lights
and flicking through the appendix, and i started thinking,
no would read this giant fully, would they?
the reason it's a one volume edition is because
the only place you'd read such an edition would
be in a library, at a desk, and you'd be taking snippets
out from it, quotes, authentic references points
for an essay, esp. if you were a history student,
such books aren't exactly built for leisure, as my arms
could testify... after the appendix i started flicking
through as to what point of interest would spur me
onto this audacious (and perhaps auspicious)
act of renegading against writing a novel (in the moment,
in the moment, i can't imagine myself rereading plot-lines
after a day or two, adding to it - that's a collage too,
but of a different kind - and no, i won't be plagiarising
as such, after all i'll be citing parallel, but utilising
poetry as the driving revision dynamic compared
to the chronologically stale prose of history) - i'll be
extracting key points that are already referenced and not
using the style of the author - the book in question?
Europe: a history by Norman Davies prof. emeritus
at U.C.L. - the point of entry that made me mad enough
to condense this 1335 page book (excluding the index)?

point of incision

Voltaire (or the man suspected of Guy Fawkes-likes spreading
of volatility in others) -
un polonais - c'est un charmeur; deux polonais - une
bagarre; trois polonais, eh bien, c'est la question polonaise
(one pole - a charmer, two poles - a brawl, three poles -
the polish question) - mind you, the subtler and gentler
precursor of the Jewish question, because the Frenchman
mused, and not a German, or a Russian brute...
and i can testify, two Polish immigrants in a pub,
one senior, the other minor, one with 22 years under
his belt of the integration purpose, one with 12 years,
the minor says to the senior about how Poles bring
the village life to cities, brutish drunkards and what not,
it was almost a brawl, prior to the senior was charming
a Lithuanian girl, before the minor's emphasis on
such a choice of conversation turned into idiotic Lithuanian
nostalgia about the disintegration of the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth, primarily due to the Polish nobility.

10,000 b.c.

looking that far back i don't know why you even
bother to celebrate the weekend -
i mean, 10,000 years back Denmark was
still attached to Sweden,
England was attached to France,
and there was a weird looking Aquatic landmass
that would become a myth of Atlantis
in the Chronicles of Norwich,
speedy ******* Gonzales with the equivalent
of south america detaching itself from Africa...
mind you, i'm sure the Carpathian ranges are
mountains. they're noted here are hills or uplands,
by categorising them as such i'm surprised
the majority of Carpathian elevations as scolded
bald rocky faced, a hill i imagine to have some
vegetation on it, not mountain goats with rock and roof
for a blacksmith in a population of one hundred...
at this point Darwinism really becomes a disorientating
pinpoint of whatever history takes your fancy,
Europe - mother of Minos, lord of Crete,
progenitrix / ******* and the leather curtains
of Zeus's harem (jealous? no, just the sarcasm
dominates the immortal museum of attachable
****** to suit the perfect elephant **** of depth
the gods sided with, by choice, excusing the Suez
duct tightening of a prostate gland... to ease the pain
upon ******* rather than *******); mentioned by Homer
the Blind tooth-fairy, the Europe and the bull,
Europoeus and the swan, same father of wisdom to mind,
on the shores of Loch Lomond -
attributes a lover to the bull, Moschus of Syracuse,
who said earring Plato cured him of where the ****
should not enter even if it shines a welcome
in the disguise of Dionysius... revisionists bound to Pompeii
named Titian, Rembrandt, Rubens Veronese
and Claude Lorrain revived the bulging bull's *******
and her mm hmm mm, too gracious my kind, hehee...
Phonecians from Tyre and Io - so too the Sibyl of ****** -
and unlike the great river civilisations of the Nile,
the Ganges, soon to be the Danubian civilisations
and gorged-out-eyes-that-once-sore-colour-but-lost-sight-of-
colours-­after-seeing-the-murk-of-the-Thames...
soon the seas overcame civilisations of the rivers,
as Cadmus, brother of the thus stated harlot said:
i bring you orbe pererrato - hieroglyphics of the cage,
but not an owl or a hawk inside it -
so let's perfect speaking to an encoding by first
rummaging into learning how to procure the perfect
forms of counting - i say left, you say I, i say right
you say II, left right left right, what do you say?
VI. bravo! the Hellenic world just crossed the Aegean
and civilisation bore twins within the cult of a lunar-mother,
Islam of Romulus and Remus, a she-wolf
a canine of the night - according to another -
tremulae sinuantur flamine vestes - or so the myth goes -
a cherished phantom of what became the fabled story
of sole Odysseus with his ears open and the remnant
sailor's ears waxed shut - as if the bankers of this world,
revelling in culprit universal fancy than nonetheless
bred the particular oddities - lest we forget,
the once bountiful call of the sirens to the oceanic
is but a fraction of what today's sirens claim to be song,
a fraction of it remains in this world, the onomatopoeia
of the once maddening song, the crude *******
arrangement of vowels bound to the jealous god's
déjà vu of the compounding second H.

from myth to perpetuating a modern sentiment

you can jump from 10,000 b.c. to the Munich Crisis
of 1938 - 9 with a snap of the fingers,
imitating quantum phenomenons like gesticulating
a game of mime with Chinese whispers necessary,
if Europe is a nymph, Naples her azure eyes,
Warsaw her heart, Sebastopol and Azoff,
Petersburg, Mitau, Odessa - these the thorns
in her feet - Paris the head, London the starched collar,
and Rome - the sepulchre.
or... die handbuch der europaischen geschichte
notably from Charlemagne (the Illiterate)
to the Greek colonels (as apart from Constantine to
Thomas More in eight volumes, via Cambridge mid
1930s)... these and some other books of urgency
e.g. Eugene Weber's H. A. L. Fisher's, Sr. Walter Ralegh,
Jacob Bronowski... elsewhere excavated noun-obscurities
like gattopardo and konarmya had their
circas extended like shelved vegetables in modern
supermarket isles, for one reason or another...
prado, sonata sovkino also... some also mention
Thomas Carlyle (i'd make it sound like carried-away isle,
but never mind); so in this intro much theory,
how to sound politically correct, verifiable to suit
a coercion for a status quo... Europe as a modern idea,
replacing Imperum Romanun came Christendom,
ugly Venetian Pirates at Constantinople,
Barbarossa making it in pickled herring juice
in a barrel to Jerusalem... once called the pinkish-***-fluff
of Saxony, now called the pickled cucumber,
drowning in his armour in some river or Brosphorus...
alchemists, Luther and Copernicus were invited on
the same occasion as the bow-tie was invented,
apparently it was a marriage made for the Noir cinema,
beats me - hence the new concept of Europe,
reviving the idea of Imperium Romanun
meant, somehow including Judea in the Euro
championship of footie gladiator ***** whipped
narcissists, rejecting the already banished Carthage
(Libya / Tunisia by Cato's standards) and encouraging
the Huns, the Goths and the even more distant Slavs and
Vikings to accept not so much the crucifix as
the revised spine of the serpent but as the geometry of
human limbs, well, not so much that, but forgetting
Norse myths of the one-eyed and the runic alphabet
and settling for ah be'h c'eh d'ah.
dissident frenche stink abbe, charles castel de st pierre
(1658 - 1743) aand this work projet d'une paix perpetuelle
(1713) versus Питер Великий who just said:
never mind the city, the Winter Palace... i have aborted
fetus pickles in my bedroom, lava lamps i call them.
the last remaining reference to Christianity?
Nietzsche was late, the public was certain,
it was the Treaty of Utrecht, 1713, with public reference
to the republica christiana / commonwealth was last made.
to Edmund Burke: well, i too wish no exile
upon any European on his continent of birth,
but invigorate a Muslim to give birth on it
and you invigorate an exile nonetheless:
Ezra expatriate Pound / sorry, if born in eastern
europe a ***** Romanian immigrant, pristine
expatriate in western Europe, fascist radio has
my tongue and *****, so let's play a game:
Russian roulette for the Chinese cos there's
a billion of them, and no one would really mind
a missing Chow Mein... chu shoo'ah shaolin moo'n'kah!
or a cappuccino whenever you'd like to watch
classic Italian pornographic cinema with dubbing
with nuns involved... Willaim Blake and his
stark naked prophesy, pope pius II (treatise 1458)
even though Transylvania, Tharce and Hungary
shared the same phonetic encoding with diacritical
distinctions like any Frenchman, German,
or Pole at the Siege of Vienna (1683)
to counter the antagonising Ottoman - i swear historians
do this one purpose, juggle dates and head-of-state figures
prior to entering a chronology - they must first try out
a ******* carousel before playing with the toy-train...
broadcasting to a defeated Germany public, T. S. Eliot
(1945) ****** import to into Western Germany
and talk of the failing moral fabric, China laughing
after the ***** intricacies of warfare of trade,
what was once wool we wished to be silk...
instead of silk we received vegetarian wool, namely
hemp, and Amsterdam is to blame... nuke 'em!
that's how it sounds, how a historian approaches
writing a history from the annals, from circa and
circumstance and actual history, foremost the abbreviations,
the fishing hook standards, the parameters,
the limits, and then the mathematics of history,
one thing culminating into another... contra Lenin
N. S. Trubetskoy, P. N. Savitsky, G. Vernadsky
Russian at the perks of the Urals - steppe Tartar shamans
or salon pranced pretty **** boys? where to put
the intoxicant and where to put the mascara... hmm,
god knows, or by 21st calculations, a meteor;
they say the history of nations is a history of women,
then at least the history of individuation
and of men who succumb to its proliferation
is astoundingly misogynistic.
Seton-Watson, among the the tombstones too reminded
of remarkable esteem and accomplishment
with only one gravedigger to claim as father...
as many death ears as on two giraffe skeletons
stood Guizot, men of many letter and few fortunes,
or v. v., incubators of cousin ***** and none the kippah
before the arrogant saintly diminished to
a justly cause of recession, ha ha,
by nature's grace, and with true advent of her progression
as guard-worthy pre- to each pro-
and suggested courteous of the ****** fibre,
oh hey, the advent of masqueraded woofing,
a Venetian high-brow, and jealousy out of a forgotten
spirit of adventure that once was bound
to hunting and foraging... forever lost to write  history of
a king dubbed Louis the XIV...
crucibles and distastes for the state to be pleased,
once removed from Paris, forever to Angevin womb
accustomed once more, at Versailles released -
as cake be sown so too the aristocratic swan necks
for worth of mock and scorn - and the dampening rain
rattle the blood-thirst of the St. Bartholomew's Day
slaughter, to date, the rebirth of Burgundy,
of Anjou, and with the dead king presiding, to be
of no worth in judging himself a king before god or pauper...
saluer Antoine Quentin Fouquier-Tinville!
that i might too in stead rattle a few bones prior to burial
with the jaw that will laugh and chatter least
had it been to my kingly-stead a birth so lowly.
then at least in satisfactory temperament i procure a
judgement of the noble like of a *****
for an hour's worth of pistons and jarring tongues...
as if from a nobleman then indeed as if from a *****,
for who sold Europe and said: Arabia, if not the
Frenchman, the Englishman, the Spaniard?
the former colonial conquests served you not enough?
i imagine the reinstatement of Israel like
the Frankish states under Philippe-August...
precursors to a cathedral dubbed Urban the 2nd's..
there were only Norwegian motives in the Ukraine
and the black sea... Israel to me is like plagiarism
of the Frankish states of the middle-east, with Europe
slightly... oom'pah loom'pah mongolian harmonica.
some said Rudyard Kipling poems,
some said Mr. Kipling's afternoon tea cakes -
whichever made it first on Coronation St.
some also say the Teutonic barbecues -
it was a matter of example to feed them hog
and cannibalise the peasants for ourselves,
a Prussian standard worth an army standard of
rigour - Ave Maria - letztre abendessen nahrung -
mein besitzen, wenn in die Aden, i'd be the last
talking carcass...
gottes ist der orient!
gottes ist der okzident!
nord - und sudliches gelande
ruht im frieden seiner hande.
germany's lebensraum, inferiority and classification,
inferior slavs and jews, genetics and why my
hatred of Darwinism is persistent, you need
an explanatory noting to make it auto-suggestive
for Queen & Country? diseased elements,
Jewish Bolshevism, Polish patriotism,
Soviets, Teutons, the grand alliances of 1918
or 1945? Wilsonian testimony of national self-determi

Briano Alliano performing at jupiter moon



hi dudes and welcome to Jupiter Moon and today christmas has come early

with a whole lot of funny christmas carols that i have wrote and the first one

joy to the world


joy to the world

christmas is great

a bumper holiday, i say, mate

you see we have roast dinners

and pavlova and fruit punch

and a mighty tasty super slush

tasty for the mouth, tasty for the mouth

tasty tasty, tasty for the mouth

i rule the world with my magic wand

i wave it when i feel great

hills and plains and rocks and streams to sit and have a look

at the wonderful water, at the wonderful water at the at the

wonderful water, oh yeah, you can almost taste that wine that

jesus turned it into

joy to the earth, oh jesus birth

thanks to the might of cronus

you see as his arrival into the world made everyone happy yeah

we sing the beautiful carols we sing the beautiful carols

we sing we sing we sing the beautiful carols

with all our pride,

ok dudes, that was a great song and here is my version of christmas bells are ringing

marshmallows and flavoured milk

oh what a wonderful sight you see

opening christmas presents

underneath the christmas tree

there are gifts for uncle Tom and uncle Jay

and each kid gave each present a little play

they sang carols like deck the halls

and away in a manger, silent night and joy to the world

and then out came the fruit punch we all can share

we go

ding a ling ding a ling christmas bells are ringing

oh yeah let’s party on christmas day is coming

the party is on for young and old

then mrs ratcombe came out

we thought ‘what a mole’

ding a ling oh yeah let it ring

the christmas bells are ringing

ding a ling, oh yeah it will ring

every single day

yeah santa came through your computer screen tonight saying ** ** ** to you

and he left many presents for mark and tom and little baby foo

you see they fed their faces on  turkey and lollies and more food

and each kid told santa that they were very good

ding a ling ding a ling

christmas bells are ringing

santa coming through your computer screen

to leave your presents there

and at each house he will have marshmallow slice and beer and coke

and *** ***** and white christmas, oh yeah

oh yeah oh yeah ding a ling

the christmas bells are ringing

merry christmas dudes

hi dudes and wasn’t that a great song and now here is sitting at the mall, because there is nothing i like better

is sitting at the mall especially as the christmas tree is up, here it goes

sitting at the mall

and man, i eat too much junk food

it makes me slow

it makes me weary

you see i want to positive so let’s party from now to christmas, fine

i will go to my family’s house and listen to the carols play

you see this brings on a perfect life

i like singing christmas carols

around the table on christmas day

i want to see the christmas parade in adelaide and a few weeks later in perth

and video them for youtube, so i can push up my views

every kid and big strong adult would say merry christmas

and have a wonderful day

and i go about my life filled with junk food saying

hi di hi di **, the big fat elephant is so slow

and i see the kids playing with their christmas gifts oh yeah

they consume lolly after lolly and they will get really fat

they will look liken santa, how about that

so i can feel fit and be a cool entertainer singing

jingle bells jingle bells jingle all the way

oh what fun it is to play

on santa’s one horse open sleigh

and i am dreaming of a white christmas down here

well stop, cause in Australia it’s too **** hot

thanks dudes and now as it is coming on

a bit of summer weather


You see it's the summer weather
The barbecues are being cooked so well yeah
And the swimmers at the beach
are swimming between flags avoiding the sharks
And those crazy surfers as they surf with Santa
they drop off at the night club
to order a pina calada, yeah, that sure keeps us cool
You see it's summer weather
And you sun bake on the beach yeah
put on heaps of suncream, so cancer don’t strike, yeah yeah yeah
You see it's the summer weather
My poppy came out with a nice beer
And my two kids bobby and Toby had a coke
and they enjoyed that a lot
You see it takes away the hot, especially in ice
And it is great in the summer weather
Cause our drinks keeps us cool
You see it's the summer weather
The cricket and baseball is a playing
You see the players take about 5 hours to move oh yeah
And we see these players stand around forever
And in late of summer is the summer of tennis
watching the best players from around the world
and afterwards they go to the pub and celebrate
we say it's the summer weather cause those drinks keeps us cool
it’s the summer weather, the end of another year yeah
we lay the fireworks on the beach
so the lightshow, will be great
as midnight approaches we yell HAPPY NEW YEAR and then we say
what great summer weather, out champagne sure, keeps us cool

and now here is the song summer wonderland


The beer is chilling in the esky
Abc the BBQ is nice and hot yeah
And the kids are playing with their presents oh yeah that sounds real rad
And the swimming pool is being cleaned by your father and you can't swim in it cause the pool claurine
Can **** you well
You see we are running around
Up up and down
In a summer wonderland
You see Johnny Butthead and
Micheal Kenny and Robbie roe
And Kenny gee gee
And the superman of the heavens
Brings us nice weather and that makes us feel great yeah
Walking around singing a song
Walking in a summer wonderlsnd
On the beach we all made a sand castle and buried uncle Robbie
In the sand and then as he called
Out come on ya bludgers
Give us adults a ****** hand
You see when Robbie got out of that
He jumped around the beach
I was buried in sand
And yeah mate yeah I understand
Walking along singing a song
Living in a summer wonderland

ok dudes, that was a great song, and now dudes here is a song about santa claus new journey

you see santa claus came through the computer through the computer through the computer

santa claus cam through my computer, to give the gifts oh yeah

every time he came through the computer rolling around in cyber space

every time he came through the computer, he went up and then went down

you see tommy was a little boy trying to be good and susie was a little girl

who wanted santa to come, oh yeah

but susie was raised with santa going down the chimney yeah

and she went in and asked her dad, how can santa come here

and dad got out his apple Mac and said santa claus comes through this computer

through this computer through this computer

santa claus comes through this computer

to zap your presents there

you every christmas he comes through your computer

rolling around in cyber space

you see you can see every christmas eve you can see in your computer

a vision of santa coming through

santa claus comes through your computer through your computer through your computer

santa comes through your computers

santa will still eat lollies and cakes and a nice cold can of beer

so don’t be shy to leave them out as santa will be happy oh yeah

you see christmas day is a good day for santa to drop by

but for those families who have no chimney they will wonder how

you see santa claus comes through your computer through your computer through your computer

santa claus comes through your computer, ready to zap presents to you

here he is going through your computer, rolling around in cyber space

you see here santa is dropping from your apple Mac with a very loud thump

santa claus comes through your computer through your computer through your computer

you see santa is dropping through your computer, oh yeah let’s party on


and now here is stop dreaming of a white christmas, cause it’s too **** hot, pretty cool dude

You see I believe the North Pole is
Great and has a lot of penazz oh yeah
And Robbie roe decided to host his
Own Christmas bash with a BBQ and beer oh yeah come on
And then Martin pence bought
100 cases of the most expensive
Wine money can buy
And his 12 year old son
Said what about the coke dad oh yeah
You see it"s ****** hot and you have for a drink so what about us
Kids we need coke, oh yeah
And Martin prince said to his son
That we will have enough coke
Oh yeah cute cause it's hot
And we need to cool ourselves down
So stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause it!'s too **** hot
And on the day of Christmas Eve it hit 37 degees and we didn't feel like doing much let alone the preparation of the party so what we did is have a
5 hour dip in the swimming pool oh yeah carn Christmas spirit right out of me, oh yeah come on dudes
And the kids kept on jumping on us
Leaving us sore but at least we were having a nice dip in the pool to cool ourselves down do we can get ready for the party oh yeah mate yeah
So stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause it's too **** hot you see you see with pretty great
Mountains  and candy cane fountains  so stop dreaming of a white Christmas csuse it's too **** hot for that too **** stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause it's too **** hot for that
The kids are playing backyard cricket yeah and the men came out
To have a hit and the ladies are in
There swearing as they cook the bird
But the ladies have an agreement
That the kids and men all do the cleaning up and talk about the sports whilst doing that
So stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause dudes
It's too **** hot too **** hot
Too **** hot for that
No white Christmases in Australia pal

and now it’s time to go, goodbye jupiter moon

that feeling when (your) finger tips clutch (my) bare skin
veiled in casual apathy
we watch the screen in silence
not knowing what to say

i don't know what went on
behind your flickering eyes
as for me, the moment of contact
sent jumpy tingles up my spine

unexpectedly
my mind reeled forward
to unspent nights in dance clubs or backyard barbecues;
the way your hands felt in mine when we leaned in
lips still intact--
unbroken

Hello Chicago
Flat carpet-town of corn meal
steel spears at the northern junction
of Cahokia and some unknown dream

No lillies grow here sir,
no tulip fields
though there are many Dutch
a little up north
Wisconsin, dontcha' know?

Family blood rains through the Chicago river
named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder
wanders
with the roaming buffalo

I sat at the top of Sears
(Willis)
Tower and peered into the foggy distance
and made out the shores of Michigan
through Indiana
the leftover rains of a continental freeze
churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries
and bowels
of today's earthly body

And when we drove in from O'Hare
in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways
counting down the streets
thinking maybe they'll go all the way to
Mississippi
just a long row of
Concrete

I saw the brick tower
of a decrepit Frito-lay plant
where they cooked their corn and potato
into succulent
can't eat just one
little snacks

for the whole of america
to enjoy in backyard barbecues
and convenience stores
and grocery outlets
All across the planet

Now with the trucks they come and go
up to and whizzing past Chicago
on to greener states with greater relief
with hills and lakes and winding streams

Different sections of the sculpture
Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts
quaking and breaking into tiny stones
a monumental David
cracked in the gallery
bird **** corroding the silicates
unpolished and immortal
words

Chicago!
oh you mighty city you
built from sod and sweat and dew
of new morning
I see your towers
you dreamer, you
But your towers are in Dubai,
and Shanghai
now

The world moved on
and forgot everything about
that magnificent mile
burned to make you earn
new toys and fancy things
from far beyond your winding river streams

But you didn't die
amazing, how much they tried
to rust you out
to bleed you dry

no,
Chicago,
you keep your ***** rivers flowing
all the way to the Mississippi
flanked by modern Roman concrete
all the way to the great green sea
out into the puddle that surronds
the Amerigo

Chicago
don't you give up that river dream

christmas concert on venus by briano alliano




hi dudes and welcome to venus where we are celebrating christmas in a big way

and our first song is, santa brian is coming to town

ya better watch out ya better not cry

ya better be good cause i am telling you why

santa brian is coming to town

ya see he’s making a list and checking it twice

finding out what kids are naughty or nice

santa brian is coming to town

brian see you when he’s sleeping

he knows when your awake

gotta make everybody be bad or good

so be good for goodness sake

santa brian is coming to town

ya better party on like ya never going to stop

the beat will go bop pity bop bop bop

santa brian is coming to town

ya see my mate bing crosby, is alive in all our hearts

and then your mate brian allan does a really big ****

ya better watch out and keep the party going strong

party like the day is long

santa brian oh santa brian is coming to town boppity boo

and the next song is


         Stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause here is too **** hot


You see I believe the North Pole is
Great and has a lot of penazz oh yeah
And Robbie roe decided to host his
Own Christmas bash with a BBQ and beer oh yeah come on
And then Martin pence bought
100 cases of the most expensive
Wine money can buy
And his 12 year old son
Said what about the coke dad oh yeah
You see it"s ****** hot and you have for a drink so what about us
Kids we need coke, oh yeah
And Martin prince said to his son
That we will have enough coke
Oh yeah cute cause it's hot
And we need to cool ourselves down
So stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause it!'s too **** hot
And on the day of Christmas Eve it hit 37 degees and we didn't feel like doing much let alone the preparation of the party so what we did is have a
5 hour dip in the swimming pool oh yeah carn Christmas spirit right out of me, oh yeah come on dudes
And the kids kept on jumping on us
Leaving us sore but at least we were having a nice dip in the pool to cool ourselves down do we can get ready for the party oh yeah mate yeah
So stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause it's too **** hot you see you see with pretty great
Mountains  and candy cane fountains  so stop dreaming of a white Christmas csuse it's too **** hot for that too **** stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause it's too **** hot for that
The kids are playing backyard cricket yeah and the men came out
To have a hit and the ladies are in
There swearing as they cook the bird
But the ladies have an agreement
That the kids and men all do the cleaning up and talk about the sports whilst doing that
So stop dreaming of a white Christmas cause dudes
It's too **** hot too **** hot
Too **** hot for that
No white Christmases in Australia pal




       Summer weather

You see it's the summer weather
The barbecues are being cooked so well yeah
And the swimmers at the beach
are swimming between flags avoiding the sharks
And those crazy surfers as they surf with Santa
they drop off at the night club
to order a pina calada, yeah, that sure keeps us cool
You see it's summer weather
And you sun bake on the beach yeah
put on heaps of suncream, so cancer don’t strike, yeah yeah yeah
You see it's the summer weather
My poppy came out with a nice beer
And my two kids bobby and Toby had a coke
and they enjoyed that a lot
You see it takes away the hot, especially in ice
And it is great in the summer weather
Cause our drinks keeps us cool
You see it's the summer weather
The cricket and baseball is a playing
You see the players take about 5 hours to move oh yeah
And we see these players stand around forever
And in late of summer is the summer of tennis
watching the best players from around the world
and afterwards they go to the pub and celebrate
we say it's the summer weather cause those drinks keeps us cool
it’s the summer weather, the end of another year yeah
we lay the fireworks on the beach
so the lightshow, will be great
as midnight approaches we yell HAPPY NEW YEAR and then we say
what great summer weather, out champagne sure, keeps us cool


and now dudes we are going to sing away in a manger


away in a manger

no crib for a bed

the little lord buddha

l;ays down his sweet head

the stars in the bright sky

look down where he lays

the little lord buddha asleep on the hay

the cattle are lowing

buddha awakes

but the little lord buddha

no crying he makes

i love the lord buddha

as i look down from the sky

and stay by his bedside

till morning is nigh

be near me lord buddha

i ask thee to stay

close by me forever

i love thee to stay

bless all the dear children

under thy tender care

and fit us for nirvana

to live with thee there


    Summer wonderland



The beer is chilling in the esky
Abc the BBQ is nice and hot yeah
And the kids are playing with their presents oh yeah that sounds real rad
And the swimming pool is being cleaned by your father and you can't swim in it cause the pool claurine
Can **** you well
You see we are running around
Up up and down
In a summer wonderland
You see Johnny Butthead and
Micheal Kenny and Robbie roe
And Kenny gee gee
And the superman of the heavens
Brings us nice weather and that makes us feel great yeah
Walking around singing a song
Walking in a summer wonderlsnd
On the beach we all made a sand castle and buried uncle Robbie
In the sand and then as he called
Out come on ya bludgers
Give us adults a ****** hand
You see when Robbie got out of that
He jumped around the beach
I was buried in sand
And yeah mate yeah I understand
Walking along singing a song
Living in a summer wonderland




my next christmas song is joy to the world, here goes


joy to the world

the lord is come

let the christmas party shine

let everyone party on

and let heaven and nirvana sing

let heaven and nirvana sing

let heaven and nirvana and nirvana sing

joy to the world

the saviour reigns

and party right till the end

let everyone prepare him room

let all buddhas creatures grow

let buddhas creatures grow

let everyone belonging to buddha

let the spirit really grow

party on every night

   A cold for Christmas means PARTY PARTY


Oh yeah on the first day of XMAS
My coke bottle said to me
Buy a coke at the supermarket oh yeah
On the second day of  XMAS my coke bottle said to me get your cousin in the USA a present and a nice card to boot
On the third day of XMAS
My coke bottle said to me
How about inviting all out friends over for a slap up XMAS party dude
On the third day of XMAS my coke bottle said to me I need to give my
Grandmother some rioses to put in a vase on your toilet
On the fourth day of XMAS my coke bottle said to me  slam me down ya
Get ready to lift ya party spirits right till the day is long
On the fifth day of Christmas
My coke bottle said to me
How about we see the arrival of
Santa in the big Christmas parade in
Out gracious city
On the sixth day of Christmas
My coke bottle said to me
Yeah we need to give Tom and Benny a hand with the annual Christmas lights ok outside his house how delightful dude
On the seventh day of Christmas
My coke bottle said to me
Give Australia a present by booting
Abbott out oh yeseree
On the eighth day of XMAS my coke
Bottle said to me
How about you see the kids play in their Christmas play
On the ninth day of XMAS my coke bottle said to me how about a nice bit of bourbon in me to lift the family's spirit oh yeseree
On the tenth day of XMAS
My coke bottle said to me
How about we go to the nightclub
And party all night my dear old friend old pal
On the eleventh day my coke bottle gave to me a new clear head to get normal visions rather than stupid
Allan family delusions I know they help but ha ha ha
On the twelfth day of Christmas
My coke bottle gave to me
A lot of information saying coke is still a medicine don't listen to skeptics they are too much into the real world yeah on every day of Christmas my coke bottle said
No matter what ya do drink plenty of me I will make you XMAS sweet


ok dudes briano alliano says merry christmas

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

When my father was young he mowed lawns for money. He pushed a second-hand spinning blade in the hot Florida sun for spare change.

With dull coins clanging in his pocket and crumpled bills in his palm, my father fought to escape home.

To him, home was synonymous with scary southern suburbia, where late-night television  was replaced with screaming matches and loud fists. Angry eyes with children's cries. Barbecues bombarded with apologetic looks from neighbors. Pretending not to hear shatters and shouts of supposed 'baseball black eyes'.

And so he pushed. Pushed the rusty lawn mower down strangers' yards, pushed away the sniggering snot-nosed kids calling him '****', and pushed at his father's demons, crawling down his spine, whispering that he was no good.

Years later he kept pushing
Pushing
Pushing
Pushing towards whatever came next. Yet no matter how much he pushed, he was still the same boy with the lawn mower. Angry, mad, pushing violently ahead.

The smoke of sanity is inhaled now, as my father's blood-shot eyes try to suppress the angry boy within. The residue of stolen innocence is not left unnoticed. A touch of tone on his once sunburnt neck and the man he has made instantly flushes away, leaving his father's demons. Calmer than before, a dying star, burning bright before collapse.

Like a strong jaw, his father's anger is passed down to him, and I, his son, am now born with this seed of destruction. Smaller than before, but still seething.

Constantly reminded, I sit in a leather chair surrounded by white walls in carefully controlled climate, plastic pen perched on my palm, I push.

I'll keep pushing.

Talk-show queen
Oprah Winfrey with her entourage
is going to Australia
and it’s timely now for a quick Colbert Report
on the state of the colony of Australia
Colony?
Yes, that’s right
Australia is still a British colony -
How else do you explain it?
as the Head of Government in Australia
is still the British Monarchy
and her Majesty, the Queen of Great Britain,
has her representative
a Governor-General in Australia;
and the Aussie national media faithfully reports
that Prince Philip is a God in some remote island
and the TV stations broadcast visions of
which British Prince kissed which of their latest fancy
And so, Oprah, welcome to the Colony
Ah, yes, and the Chinese migrants coming in
are surprised to learn of Australia’s status
at citizenship ceremonies
and the young man explains to his grandma:
“Oh, Foreign Devil still control Australia;
sad, Chairman Mao did not Liberate Australia.”
And Indian migrants, much to their disappointment
are heard to remark:
“Oh no – does this mean we still have
to go through another fight for freedom as in 1947?”
But then they are consoled by the fact
that a Gandhi only comes once in 200 years
so we can all still get on with our lives
and the nation will continue
to eat burgers and enjoy barbecues and hop like kangaroos
until such things may happen…
Ah well, dear talk-show Queen Oprah Winfrey
and her entourage
this ends our report on the sovereign nation down under:
Happy Stay in Her British Majesty’s Colony

Condolence Cards Poem (Spoken Word)
5/19/2014

Congratulations: On landing your dream job!
Congratulations: On buying your first house!
Congratulations: It's a beautiful baby you brought into this world!
Congratulations: Marriage is so monumental, see you at the wedding!
Condolences.

Can you measure the amount of acknowledgements we forfeit,
to cheap card stock and cheesy colorful cutouts?  
Like each event in life is a round in sports,
requiring an announcer to stand on the edge of the arena,
shouting the play by play.  

We play pretend that cards can say what we feel.  
But I feel like unless if those purple, blue, vanilla,
or pink for valentine's and mother's day envelopes
can enclose an entire paperback novel,
I know that my feelings can't possibly be enclosed inside.  
As if feelings could surmount to anything less than a lifetime of experience.  

For when has then phrase, "I love you" ever conveyed the entire message intended, but without the soft gestures accompanying it, or perhaps the longing gaze of eyes and 'I Do's' entrenched in one another.  
For when has the phrase, "I miss you" offered up the subtleties of staring out your window on rainy day, listening to piano symphonies sinking into the sofa sipping away sorrows on wine?
For when has the phrase, "I am sorry for your loss" ever actually meant sorry, as if it was you who were the perpetrator of a ****** and were seeking exoneration through a sorry excuse of a phrase uttered by people who just don't quite understand the meaning of the term 'sorry.'
Condolences.

I stare at the Hallmark Sea in front of me and I wonder.  Are life's memorable moments so easily categorized?  Into baby showers, bar-mitzvahs, and birthdays?
What about cards just for barbecues with random neighbors?
About cards just for breaking your precious vase?
Cards just for being a ***** the other day?
Just for breakfast you made me in bed?
For binge-ing on alcohol with me and not leaving me almost dead?
What about cards just for thanking you for buying me a stupid ******* card?

Tell me where is the corporate branding on cards for being broke?
On cards for broken homes?
On cards for being homeless?
On cards for getting cancer?
On cards for cutting?
On cards for self-loathing and depreciation?
What about cards for being in the moment or sharing a cup of coffee?
Instead what we get is the catch-all, Condolence Cards.

Condolences - an expression of sympathy with a person who is suffering sorrow, misfortune, or grief.  
Condolences - an expression of sympathy with a person who is suffering sorrow, misfortune, or grief.  
Condolences - an expression of sympathy
Condolences - a person who is suffering
Condolences - sorrow, misfortune, or grief.  


I didn't realize most people's sympathy being expressed equated to blank stares like paper on paper, means nothing but thin and flimsy papers, feelings forfeited, grounded up like big beautiful trees teeming with life, chalked up into tiny pieces of toilet paper for you to wipe your crap on, leaving behind a Hallmark - Condolence Card.

you are right to not believe

for you
the silent cries
that carry into the night
do not existence the volume
of your tv is adjusted
& everything becomes
a mute apparition
illuminated
but not heard.

you are right not to believe

for you
the sounds of gunshots
are the popping of fire crackers
after holiday barbecues
& the screams
come from parades of people
cajoling down side streets.

you are right not to believe

for you
the only hanging you know
exists in laundry whites
bleached towels are a must
for wiping hands
clean
& unstained
from the bloodied bodies
of loved ones.

you are right not to believe

for you
the world doesn't exist
beyond these bordered white picket fences
& bakes sales
until your mexican comes
to clean

suburbia
when will you realize
the war to be fought
runs beyond 5’o clock rush hour
& taking away your son’s ps4?

I SIT in a chair and read the newspapers.

Millions of men go to war, acres of them are buried, guns and ships broken, cities burned, villages sent up in smoke, and children where cows are killed off amid hoarse barbecues vanish like finger-rings of smoke in a north wind.

I sit in a chair and read the newspapers.

I got tired

Of proving that my dreams are valid,
That the diameter of the me that you see in no way predicts what exists inside

I got tired

Of whispering my words so that those around me could feel tall
Taking up space was a sin and

I got tired

Of hearing my sins repeated back to me

I got tired

Of the burning in my heart as it became ash
Because they like their barbecues

I got tired

Of distracting myself from what I hated most
Because I was scared they might be right

I am tired

Of holding on
Because I forget how to let go

People with plastic smiles
wave to me over their
white picket fences

I avoid their gaze
but they just smile as I drive
past

Back and froth
twice a day
every day
at minimum

I fear their cheerful greetings
there invitations to barbecues and
parties where I'll only be singled
out

I do not need the hive mind,
the men who we envision
in dark suits with red
eyes but who are really
just you and us down deep
inside

I drive by the
face of evil every
day

And as it chuckles
and laughs as I drive
by in my old beat-up
Volvo I avoid looking into
the empty-pits where
a soul is supposed to
be

to me
Niagara is represented
by the seasons

it starts off
as a new year,
fresh snow on the ground,
endless possibilities

you step out of your house,
maybe on Devine Crescent in Thorold,
and that first breath
of crisp winter air
fills your lungs
and freezes you to the bone
and reminds you that you are alive

everything is always
so still
on January 1st

like a clean slate,
an empty canvas

and then movement begins to paint the beginning of a detailed picture

[migrating geese,
the rustle of a tree,
a car alarm going off,
the sun trying to peak through the grey clouds,
a friend shouting your name]

and the moment shatters
and the new year officially begins

maybe it starts off
with breakfast at Lester Dees
and quickly, but silently,
unfurls into a whirlwind
of school and work and birthdays and holidays and movies and dates and a trip to Niagara Falls and a stroll through Niagara-on-the-Lake and a hike through the Escarpment in Grimsby and joy and happiness and sadness and laughter and tears
and moments

spring blossoms
you feel drenched by the April rain
and weighted down from melodramatic February

but you also feel that sense
of hope
that tingling in your toes
that something good is coming

so enjoy a drink
on a patio in Port Dalhousie,
and crank the volume up
a little bit louder
before a concert at Mansion House,
and take in the scenery
as you run along the Welland Canal

because spring is here

as the days get longer
and the sun gets hotter
summer, lazy as a sloth, engulfs Niagara

Crystal Beach is in full swing
and summer becomes home
to barbecues, camping adventures, road trips, hiking at DeCew Falls, late night laughter, reminiscing around a campfire, the reuniting of old friends, dips in ice cold pools and water gun wars

and as slow and nonchalant
as it entered your life
summer slips away,
like the golden sunsets that it harbors

the leaves change to brilliant shades
of red, yellow and orange,
we wrap ourselves in scarves
and hats and mitts

the world quietly changes around us

fall gives us
warm nights by the fireside
and hands locked while walking along the Escarpment, the city stretched out below

while the squirrels scrounge for food,
we, too, scamper around,
wondering where the year has gone

some will exhale,
a sigh of relief
and some will allow
a large, satisfied grin to stretch across their face

and fall is just that,
a time to reflect
on all that has gone right
and all that has gone wrong

what resolutions did we keep,
and what did we let melt away,
with the humid summer heat

Niagara changes every year
but it is consistent in its ability
to mold new life, to stretch itself, to immerse itself in every season, to provide outlets to enjoy life, to be that friend that is always there to fall back on
and to provide those memories that bring a smile to your face
and leave a warm feeling in your heart
Niagara is home.

Her eyes, your solemn witness
are so unlike mine

I am untamed!
a loose humanoid chained
in gold
always spinning
under high beams
like it's no big deal

(while you reside
in your mind)

but why
can't I dream too?
I wanted you
to stay
you energized me

(every contact
left me broken yet intact)

Hallelujah!
You're outside!
Traced your face
in refracted light
Stand-still silhouette
Crop her
out
Fill the void
with blackened foil
while she makes nasty
public announcements
(and loves the attention
creating irrelevant banquets
and barbecues)

This was never my war
so hold fast to us
or crawl or
meet me at the door--
Wherever the blame feels
a little less
and confess
I was the one
you were looking for

Coffee and cigarettes. Barbecues and ball games
An unordinary lifestyle. Is this the aim?

Doing 9 to 5's and friday nights with friends
Eating, being merry, drinking away weekends.

Routine is good. Routine is healthy.
This is the right thing. This is becoming wealthy.

Financial success. A roof over our head.
Three well balanced meals and an inviting bed.

A partner to care for and who cares for you.
So grow up, you dreamer. Get over your post grad blues.

The hundrum existence of millions of lives suddenly ceased
as did their obedience to the drudgery of habit -
taking to the sea, to their gardens, to boats, cool drinks,
sun-tan lotions, ice-creams, cool dresses,
to light and shade as dictated to by desire.

Sand scorching to the naked foot glitters like gold for the having
and every square of every town shelters under a haven of umbrellas
and lazy liquor assisted sensuous talk.

The farmers work on a Sunday too
and weekend traffic jams sweat it out
to the blaring of radio cheerfulness in the extreme.

Spotless blue skies progress to star-lit canopies
and barbecues are the dominant feature of the early hours.

Sun and good humour, honest abandonment, salads and heavy foliage rule.

here they go again , these experts
telling us things to sadden the heart:
game may not be that safe to eat
running river water is never a treat
for it carries upstream decadence

here they go again, these stuffed-shirt experts:
water is two to one hyydrogen and oxygen
boiled, the oxygen steams away into the air
and your cappuccino has a hydrogen flavour
we endanger our lives when it we drink and savour

here they go again, the learned heralds of demise
they tell us that nothing we can ever devise
can avert the armageddon that's surely coming
the entropy or second law of thermodynamics
transforms physicists into latterday prophets

here they go again on prime media, the erudite experts
talking about free radicals, anti-oxidants, titanium utensils
and the havoc that excess proteins, fats and carbohydrates can cause
it’s time to go puritan and vegetarian in this new poisonous present
where fun is frowned upon and barbecues are a deadly pastime

in this age of dietary enlightenment and forced moderation
we must eventually go raw in our cuisine and be natural about it
or perhaps be as creative as possible before the nutritionists come in
to tell us how not to cook our food and how not to eat it
living was great fun before this age of detoxification and cancer!

Today I am slickly coated
with the sheen of a long walk,
only holding hands with purpose;
the goal to find it.
The destination that holds promise
according to the latest yelp reviews-
promise worth remembering
while bearing the heat of the summer subways,
the morose and lonely feeling
of watching a couple cling to each other
as the trains swing our bodies around.
When the stench of the city streets-
the receptacles for those
who can't wait any longer,
invade our noses like they were home.
The promise that morphs into ringing
in my head when my stomach grumbles
next to the carts on the sidewalks
with the burning flesh they call halal meat,
smells warm and familiar
sharing shish kabob kisses and chicken knishes,
but I've left those days behind me.
Now I'm scouring the streets of Brooklyn,
for that new chic creperie sans animals,
things with faces, or friends if you will,
screaming "Find me!"
whilst dodging the heady scents of Popeye's,
and bacon egg and cheeses,
meat markets, fish markets, bright moving ads,
of women ******* clad eating burgers.
Would you like lox or sturgeon with that bagel?
and when I do get to the little mom-and-pop
of a hole-in-the-wall cafe,
I think of the carnivorous brothers and sisters
that have had the meatballs to join me.
The countless nights I've had to explain
where I get my protein from,
that yes, I can eat pizza.
And no, it's not a travesty
that I want to give up cheese.
Because the real travesty is in the this country's handling
of living things, and by animals- I mean all of us.
And carnivorous brothers and sisters,
when you're feeling threatened and defensive- and you've got
guilt and entitlement coursing through your
friend-fed veins and thus you claim,
We're shoving our vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian
efforts down your throats.
Think again and know that we're only doing the best
we can to help what we believe in.
That we eat and live
with purpose and promise in mind.
Real women can eat vegetables too.
You can take vegetarians to barbecues.
Trust me, we're good at co-existing,
Are you?

I'm sorry courage took a longer time for your hair to grow out past your shoulders

Maybe I regret the coveted gazes that took residence in the threads of your muscles now precinct, hardly noticed nor remembered

You're the seventh page of my diary, as well as the eighth, the ninth, the tenth and it goes on till the edge of this cliff you call home

There are things I don't know why I do

Like the time I gave myself bruises on my shins just because I liked the colour

Has anyone ever thought of how bruises are actually a metaphor of everything unsaid?

Capillaries bursting under the surface of your skin and not flowing, like the words that ride in submarines in your head but never brave enough to say them out loud

Things sound nicer when they come from your lips anyway.

I laugh too much

Is the passion carved on your skull as deep and carefully thought out as the things you say?

Warmth from you is as untrue and synthetic as your boxing gloves strapped tightly on

Punches with the soul of death, you pretend your stares are empty

I’ve watched sunsets more times than I have seen your smile

The darkness that swallows the harbor isn’t something we’d talk about over steaming cups of coffee

I don’t drink coffee anyway

I heard you make lovely icy rainbow popsicles and hand them out at barbecues

But nothing’s colder than your hard gaze, as hard as your cheekbones

I wish you’d grow your hair mid-back so you can finally braid it

I am not so sure what waiting is supposed to do except breed hope and a whole lot of misery

Silhouettes are me and you and everything intangible, just like me and you and black and white, just like me and you

I am in love with you but I do not love you.

Home for me is somewhere over the rainbow, at my great grandparents
house. Well it was once my home before I left the family gathering place. When I
think of home it's the place: I can rest, feel the best and live life without stress.
Today I do not come home without stress because I don’t feel the best or get
enough rest to help my days go by. There are days I come to this house where I
get no reply, it even gets to the point where all I can do is cry. Where am I at, this
house is not a home, its just like I'm trapped up in this dome yelling to these four
walls “there is no place like home. There's no place like home.” In this house I
do not feel the protection I seek, if anything I only feel weak. Is this disturbing,
can you picture it now? Well guess what times up, time to go, see you later, ciao!
I got to find way back home, back to the place where me and my cousins use to
roam. However where are we now, separated trapped in this house with no
where to go, no family to see, OH HELL NO! I can not take it anymore, I really
have to go. Tic-Toc Tic-Toc, My brains about to blow! Get me out of this place
take me away, I want to go back, not tomorrow but today. Where are my loved
ones? They have gone to soon, now to a better place now up in the sky with all
the balloons.
Its been a long time since I've walked through doors of this place I call home.
Home is much less than it used to be. Where is all the laughter, the joy, you know
the family? Come on, jokes over you've got to be kidding. What happened to all
the barbecues, the 4th of July's and all the thanksgiving? Is this what we have
come to, a family with no more tradition. Just because Grandma and Grandpa
aren't here we start to lose our ambition. This is not right, this separation the
divide that only leads to total deprivation. I scream to up beyonder “Grandma and
Grandpa you've got to come back come help before the foundation you’ve
created begins to crack.”
Was all that had happened just a lie? The tiny voice in my head keeps
screaming who am I? Is my home today, what it used to be or is it just me? What
am I to believe, when I sit here just trying breathe an process the thought as to
where my expectations should be in reference to the place I call home. Its like I've
become so numb and its hard to look in the mirror to see what I have become. Its
hard to believe that the place I once called home is no longer what it was, and
just by looking at me you cannot tell the damage that it does. Remember when I
said, “ home is where the heart resides,' I left out one part, its for you to decide. So
to me I am homeless with a heart in search of a place. Now all I have to do is
figure out how to keep it on a stable pace, because without a home there is no
safety. All that is left is for me to walk alone bravely.

We met on a street out in the middle of Brunberry.  Often times, we'd sit on the curb, watching the middle aged man in the corner house fix up his boat-of-a-car.  Or, on Sundays, the chubby, bakery-esque woman would walk her grandchildren down the road to church.  We were young, then.  I still visit that street in Brunberry, and, in fact, it is called Feldspar Road.  The man on the corner, with the old car?  His name is Charles North, and he's a retired mechanic.  The grandmother is dead now, but her daughter and grandkids moved in a couple years ago.  I still come back and check up on those people, and I still watch the leaves fall in autumn and watch water pool around our favorite bench in spring.  The air is just as crisp as when we were children.  Feldspar Road is just as it was when we were young.

--

Just off of Feldspar Road, there is a park.  Really, it's just a wide, open field, with unkempt grass that the neighborhood has picnics and late afternoon barbecues on.  Do you remember when we stopped by the Feldspar block party on your twentieth birthday weekend?  It was warm and the sun was blinding; a perfect July day for grilling out in the park.  You pulled me down onto the dried grass and we watched all of the familiar people gabbing and gossiping with neighbors.  Charles, grandma and the children, that young couple that had recently moved in.  These people were like our family, even though we didn't live here.  They made us feel at home.

--

It's October, and Feldspar Road is coated in bright yellow leaves.  I haven't heard from you in a few months, but I'm sure you're doing okay.  You've been busy with your new friends at your university a few states away.  Feldspar misses you, as do I.  Charles is getting old; his car sits, rusted, in the driveway.  The young couple got divorced, and I'm pretty sure the girl kicked the boy out of the house.  Things are getting dark, despite the turning leaves.  I do sure hope you're doing okay.  The park has a playground, now, and the few children in the neighborhood play there after school.  I've memorized jump rope rhymes, patterns in cat's cradle, and the hardest hopscotch courses.  I know you always loved kids, and watching them play makes me wish you could be here to laugh along with me.

--

I moved out to Kentucky this April.  I needed to get away from home, and away from Feldspar Road.  I visited much too often, and after Charles died, and all new people lived on the block, I felt out of place.  Whatever made Feldspar feel like home was gone.  It's been years since I saw you, and I can only assume you've found someone to love, someone to lay in the grass with, someone to marry.  Me?  I'm starting to meet new people in the area.  I like to spend my time out in the fields by the border.  It's quiet, unless you count the crows and crickets.  It's peaceful, and standing there in the breeze, with the wheat up to my chest, watching the sky turn bright orange in the evening, makes me feel a bit happier.  A little less lonely and a little more at home.

The Stop & Shop strike v. Game of Thrones.
In Game what’s not made plain
is the condition of the people
compared with warriors and queens.
There’s no mention of land-clearance, tree-felling,
pruning, chopping, digging, hoeing,
weeding, branding, gelding, slaughtering,
salting, tanning, brewing, boiling,
smelting, forging, milling, thatching,
fencing and hurdle-making, hedging, road-mending and haulage.

As for the strike, most of us
supported the cashiers and clerks—
cutting benefits and pensions
when CEOs make millions.
A few pennies more
for ice cream and tofu
a leg up for our neighbors
and comrades in labor.
But don’t get greedy, power-hungry—
we don’t want the supermarket to go out of business
or the Army of the Dead to extinguish us.

A red-tailed hawk observes what small mammals, birds are in the
     clearcut,
awaits the moment to strike.
Three *****, two strikes, full count. Aaron pitched carefully, slow
     strikes and the opposing team scored.
Transit strike. Part-time tutor,
food deliverer, illegal immigrant,
school bus driver, supermarket bagger.
Let labor flow like capital! Full tank of gas!
In your dreams, you kick ***.
In your daydream, you’re breaking bones, killing mean dogs with bare
     hands .
In my childhood dreams, I fought side by side with my best buddies
against the Army of the Dead.
I wake up to a lightning strike and my dream incinerates.

The strike is over, like a thunderstorm.
Still a half dozen or so episodes of Thrones
before it sinks into the past.
Will women save the world?
Anything’s possible.
Nothing changes in Williamstown, Willie, except the seasons.
The wee hours, the bored minutes, the second guesses,
the town sewer department, the collector of taxes.
Pitcher’s elbow, runner’s knee, reader’s eye,
you live until you die.
That’s no answer.
Without the Mexican and Canadian borders
the White Walkers would dissolve like an aspirin in seltzer water.

The sun is up, the strike is over
next episode of Game is Sunday
the White Walkers attack
some of our favorite characters croak
but humanity survives
though the weather is ominous.
The habitable zone around the sun
is moving outward as the orb expands
getting hotter as it grows older.
Earth a billion years ago
was smack in the middle of the turf
but we’re now half-in, half-out
exposed to the sun’s ardor, agony,
a dragon eating its babies, torching cities.
We’re gonna hafta outsmart it
hold Labor Day barbecues on Mars.

you see i went up to saturn on the 23rd november 2015 and i got ******

as i sang these songs


summer weather, the barbecues are lit together

and each of santas elves, man, having a party with plenty of alcohol

and it is the summer weather, the esky is the place to be yeah

and we swim in the bay, avoiding the sharks

ya see we party all night, without much of a fight

then my mate pat comes in and bes a big strong man

and i sing your big and strong and you like to carry on

ya see it’s the summer weather, and the coca cola is the best drink oh yeah’’it refreshes you up

just drinking from a cup

ya see it’s the summer weather cause we have our drinks to keep us cool

you see i am ignoring the big man, by sitting here relaxing in this house with flowered carpet

i am dreaming, and it’s almost christmas, i can almost see your christmas gifts

what the hell can it be, ya see it’s the summer weather

cause we have our beers to keep us cool

you see i am in my bed singing old cold chisel tracks as well as twisted sister

we’re not going to take it, no we ain’t going to take it

we’re not going to take it anymore

and i sang it’s a long way to the shop if ya want a sausage roll

but i still went to the shop to buy s sausage roll

and pat the big man said, come on kids let’s tease him

but as a natural fact, when i was young, i thought pat liked the idea of being a daddy figure

because he wanted to tease me with the kids

and while he did that, i was in my bed ignoring the little teaser

because i am not a shy person, i am a nice person, nicer than patrick anyway

cause he think it’s cool to make people utter and he thinks it;s cool to keep smiling at me like a daddy would do

you see before dad died and when i was still working, i visioned dad smiling at me while he was swimming and i was working

you see patrick wants to tease me with the cool kids, i don’t want him to, but he wants to

and as i am writing this, the forces of evil are making be a shy boy writing a story

but i am not a shy boy, i am a writer and artist, and i entertain some people on youtube

i hear people say, shut up up woosey, but i hate being called a woosey

because i am smarter than patrick, in every stretch of the imagination

and i can tell you another thing, i am a big rich man, and i am more powerful than poor little patrick

i am mental, and mental beats being a hooligan anyway

you see i vision people telling me that they don’t want me to express myself

i want patrick to look worried, so i can be a cool person, like mike from the young ones

brian the cool person

and all this was going on, when i was dreaming of being on a deserted island

with a beautiful woman, a mermaid so to speak, and rather than listen to patrick rivvel on like a old man

i went over to the mermaid to have *** with the mermaid

and i pumped my body on the beautiful mermaid while patrick was attempting to tease me with the cool kids

i told him, i am a family person, sure mate, i am completely ignoring you to have *** with a mermaid

patrick said, don’t ignore me, be like me, and i said, neh, i don’t care how i look to to you and lyle

if i want a beard, i will keep my beard, and if you hate it, you can kiss my behind

because i am a family person, sure mate, i am ignoring the stupid hooligan

i was pumping my ***** into her ******, and patrick was so jealous of me

and then i got up on stage in saturn and sang

silent **** holy ****

all is quiet till the old man farts

sleep very soundly before you let it out

like water coming out of a water spout

**** to bring nirvanaly peace man

peace from nirvana yeah

i woke up and patrick said, why don’t you have a shave, i said neh, i love my beard, it makes me look like a real man, dude

and i said, i am way cooler than you, dude, my beard suits me, to my point of view

Firework explosions dance
across the midnight sky
sparklers swirl about
lighting up the air

The night is spent
in the back of your truck
with the blankets from my bed
and your body to keep me warm

Barbecues and fancy drinks
and atrocious amounts of food
everyone laughing and drinking and singing
and right by my side is you

The sparklers and the fireworks
of red and blue and white
cannot compare to the light
that shines from you and I

And in those moments
it seemed silly to me
that this holiday was spent alone
so many years before you came along

I hear the breeze of days gone by
with the whisper of long days, long nights
   and with a sigh,
I strain for the echos, the signs
of loves lost, of games played
of all the grass and dirt and grimes.
   Remember the times?
Merry-go-rounds and nursery rhymes?
That one first kiss that opened your eyes?
To the world of our minds, our maze
couldn't make out the beginning or the end
    of those days
To no surprise,
They're comprised....of swing sets and slides,
    jump ropes and bikes
and just when it was the end of the day,
the wind blows the smell of freedom your way.
Barbecues, fires, and the onset of night
to remind us of the times when everything was right.
   What a sight!
As the grass and trees rustle in the wind
   remember these days,
Of coloring books and crayons, markers and paint
paper planes, plastic trains, and origami flowers so quaint
running around so long that the blue in our jeans had gone...
    faint.

Back then, our friends lived close and the games we played
   in the sandbox and blacktops left us drained
So we sat on the hill and let the wind give us chills
under the trees, in the shade, from the heat we were saved
   So much time was killed!
And yet, we were thrilled...
when our birthdays came,
and our family came,
and our presents came,
And we never felt lame, playing the same games
Making silly names, growing pains
Kissing Jane and dancing in the rain....

And as the wind blows through the silt
and the echos pass us by,
Cry!
For the whispers of the wind have taken flight
Reach out and hold on with all your might
as it is on these memories that your spirit can again fly

Snoozing quietly on a sunny day,
with eyes half closed, breathing relaxed,
listening to the sounds the sun brings out.
Children screaming with play, lawn mowers cutting,
bees buzzing and singing birds.

Languidly lost in time bemused at the thoughts
running free in my mind. I start to muse on
ridiculous things:
Why liquid soap?
Why a date of birth but no date of death? (That would be helpful like a use by date on food, fit in that bucket list or miss your deadline)

Why do ice lollies only come in packs of three like condoms?
Why are children so ultimately free?
Why does the sun make us feel so safe?
Why does road rage come out in the sun?
Why do we insist on eating burnt carcasses and underdone chicken?
At barbecues that take forever to organise with people you'd rather flail alive?