Tiger, Tiger they all called him.
Faces marked with smiles grim.
Office buzzed with word tiger, tiger.
He was one but many they were.

Full day continued insincere flattery.
End of month 'twas, day for salary.
Then story took melodramatic turn.
Like tiger he moved, demeanor stern.

Outright he announced party that night.
Everyone attended in clothes bright.
They gossiped, danced and dined.
Happily they all boozed and wined.

He sat like a tiger circled by coterie;
And the total bill was half the salary.
I looked through magnifying glass;
And saw pack of wolves and an ***.

On a hot hot day
nothing better than
sweet sticky rice coconut
milk a big ripe mango

That, I felt, was what the fly thought
he touched down onto my mango,
it was so sweet, pouring
saccharine sweat
ripe slabs of yellow smorgasborg
endless pleasure of sugar mango flesh
it seemed good to the fly

Across the water,
pressing over the mountains,
opaque threads of rain, like
slim tornadoes twisting ash into the clouds
moved this way
things never looked good for the fly

He ate nonstop, boozed up on mango
an unlimited supply of yellow stuff
he gained weight by the second
there was no point in stopping

the more juice the mango sweat
the stickier its meat
the more mango the drunk fly ate,
the further he sank into its flesh
he was stuck, flailed his stupid legs
in the air as if more flies coming
would rather help him than eat
juicy golden mango feast

he died there, I think
the monsoon would make sure of it
I tossed the mango, sticky rice
the styrofoam plate
thinking it spoiled, fearing the rain

**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy.  As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures.  Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being.  Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the *****.  If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself.  **** your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses.  Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge.  **** sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man.  Nevertheless let this not ****-faced you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion.  Touch yourself.  To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches.  Neither be cheeky about ******; ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist.  Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness.  Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity.  But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings.  Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness.  Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself.  You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end.  And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should.  Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** *******.  With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory.  Stand pert.  Die in the attempt to be boozed up.

avenue sounds are never agreeable, ignore the drift,
ignore the hum,
ignore the suburban neophytes in the city lights (I never did care much for hipsters).
ignore rapid eye movements, the flush red face, ignore the snapshots of you that adorn my semi-sleep state

I stare at my ceiling and see the cobblestone summer streets you once graced, long ago in the eternal occident, I want to ignore but I’m so very boozed, in a blue lucid slumber:::

eyes closed::: my head spins and sleep begins with the tidal delirium of dopamine drips, your legs, your hips, I’m drowning a bit, doused in a sanguine sweat inside a fantasy (**** I’m dreaming of you)

Synaptic friction
she is a pleasant fiction  
flash/sparks segue a dormant memory ,
the two of us riding familiar highways::: she gazes at me with her usual emerald encased ocular torment, those limbal rings cast aspersions at the last vestiges of my will power, until, I’m done, done in by the divinity of her lips:::

There is no end to (your) energy
It even finds me here::: in my dystopian  dream (eternal)
now
an inescapable, myopic curse
(nocturnal):::
the nightmare of not having you near

Awake, I roll over to clutch for the pacifier of your comfort (violent midnight)
I find only a fragrance,
i flail, searching, when those flashbacks fall short
isolated into the banality of bedsheets and pillows pleats

(the retrograde nature of my reality, now readily apparent)



cdh

Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true
There were kids
Sitting in the soft night's semicircle
Encased in a haze of smoke
The darkness enfolding them in a cloak
Of all mysterious things nocturnal
Making it all eternal
A superficial feeling of found truth
A white aura of blazing youth
Conquering the darkness with the fiery tips of lit joints
Puffing chimeras and golden illusions
Things left unsaid yet lead not to confusion
The substance and the glowing friends
Seems to fix everything and make ineffable amends
Lends them some heightened receptivity
With some dazzling sensitivity
To the dizzy promises of life
        *Wanted a woman, never bargained for you
There was blue bottles and red cups
Sloshing full of 21st century ambrosia
Every moment of the night
Is doused in glowing star-light
Different rooms, dark places
Different shadows, similar faces
        Lots of people talk and few of them know
There was music softly ebbing and weaving its way to us
      Soul of a woman was created below
Gleaming sequined pillows
Curtains ebbing in delicate billows
That no amount of reality could ever harden
In the black garden
Amidst the tangy, acrid scent
Boys and girls came and went
Among the soughs and the ***** and the gleaming stars
We are young; ***** replaces wine, blunts replace cigars
      You hurt and abuse tellin' all of your lies
An adagio of whispers travels with a florid vibration
Waves of words, swirls of conversation
High kids trying to touch
What has never been tangible
     Run around sweet baby, Lord how they hypnotize
These kids linger on towering stools and lush couches
Leaning back with careless slouches
Or wander back and forth
Breathing dreams like air
     Sweet little baby, I don't know where you've been
An elusive rhythm throbs in the humid atmosphere
Fragments of lost words hover on drunken lips
A stirring warmth flows
From bodies spilled together
Snuggled under a blanket of stars
      Gonna love you baby, here I come again
Hands take hold of hands
And fingers tightly interlace
Throbbing softly with fluctuating warmth
The room is electric, filled with tiny flowing currents
      Try to love you baby, but you push me away
In this wake of boozed up elations
All sorrows are aborted, all conscience is obliterated
Blitzed kisses are exchanged, transitory enchanted moments
Bemused nudges and tender embraces
Arms around shoulders, heads resting drowsily
All of this immediate and forever
        Don't know where you're goin', only know just where you've been
And the tipsy, blissfully mindless joy of youth
Gives them bleary yet satisfactory hints of the unreality of reality
        Sweet little baby, I want you again
The teens are flickering in and out of consciousness like befuddled fireflies
The sober ones roam the rooms, drifting haphazardly about
Simultaneously enchanted, bewildered, and repelled
By the seemingly inexhaustible variety of drunken fun,
The ****, adventurous mood of the night
        Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true**
We are all so young
So young and dipped in the dust of folly
And our laughs contain a hint of melancholy
The magic of nights like these,
When the spell of mortality is broken,
Eludes us all,
Yet we cling to them
Like moths to a flame.
Nights like these dig deep in the stuff of the soul
But there is still much to be learned

As it ever so lightly touches your lips
The liquid disappears
Just as your soul does.

It all turns to black.

I wonder how you are
Because my Mom asked me about you today.
She misses you, you know
I told her,
We live in different worlds.

You,
In your glitter-filled, amplified, distorted, boozed-up soiree,
And I,
In your memory.

And in case you were wondering,
I miss you, too.

It flows
    And stops
         It dies
              And clots
                  Revives
                       It thrives
                          Until I drop

As alcohol courses through me
Turning pure blood to taint
My wits are dulled
And thoughts askew

That light is rather bright
That one up ahead
Too boozed up
To find the brake

...


Awaking briefly
No pain
Talking man with his blue mask
Hooking up a bag of life

It's red and thick
I've seen it before
Perhaps it was mine I gave
My life is too pathetic for another to save

Irony of my own blood replacing
My own blood

Is it worth it
Should they bother

Let me suffer my consequences

Just let the blood stop

I can already it feel it starting to clot.

The pub under the hands of some fellow madmen and
my divorce already in the works I set out cause why sit around a place and be misreble when ya can be heartbroken and drunk off your ***
somewhere else.

That and and my new wifes boyfriends were stealing all the dam covers
dam you Dallas Cowboys.

The trunk looked as if i had ran over a drug dealer and knocked over a liquor store ****** had i been sleep walking again?
There was uppers downers wild turkey and beers chips dips chains and whips oh my.

Yes this would be a journey that would test the limits and like a boozed up college girl.
On a ******* video would expose many
things for a T shirt  and a chance to make dad proud and kinda weirded out at the same time being he was trying to have some alone time to ummm   do some deep thinking  and touch apon  well yeah.
But enough with the foreplay children.

I was loose apon the highway bound for the place of true insanity
home to killer thieves perverts and the rest of my family.

Knotts Island N.C. is but a small island off the Virginia border
but remeber kids it's not the size of your island that counts.
or at least thats what your girlfriend tells ya cause secretley she's
******* half the state of texas  but hey who's bitter.    
  
Yes there was a smell of outdoor fires corn whiskey maybe
some organic  umm tabaco  that was green and Dr Jerry  had prescribed to me for my vision although i still couldnt see ****
but after awhile who gives a **** I never liked that guy anyways.

So after dumping the body in the marsh i had arrived.
Home where i could smell the microwave pizza burning cause mom
was to busy  helping 16 year old Brain  with his homework.
Yeah public schools ****** good thing Momma Gonzo loved to teach
and who better to teach *** ed than the town *****.

After there session had ended there we stood.
John how the **** are ya  you little *******?
Well it was a moment of only true gonzo  understanding and after are usal  conversation like hey did ya bring a bottle? And hey are we related?
And hey mom do ya think ya could  put on some clothes cause its kinda awkward im just saying.

We laughed we cried we turned on the tv and watched are family reunion on jerry springer ahh memories all alone in the moonlight.
Hey mom great left hook you really showed that ***** although
grandma did put up a hell of a fight.

We drank my mother knew her little Gonzo was hurting
and so we spoke over ten, tweenty cases of wild turkey.
Well son did ya pay her after ***?
She wasnt that kinda ***** mom.
What a stupid ***** hell she could at least made some money i mean really though look at you.

Thanks ya heartless *****.
Your welcome honey.
Going home it really reminds ya why ya left and went in the witness protection program to start with.

And looking at my okay kinda perverted lush of a mother I relized
****** no wonder im ****** up.

We drank talked I relived the old times as i held
her hair as she puked.
then she spoke to my heart once worried me that just maybe she had finally drank herself sane.

Ya know son sometimes people's are just a plain pain in the ***
but no matter what mom always loves you.
But ya gotta leave cause the Hells Angles are coming over
and you know your uncles Skull and Eightball still are a little sore
over the whole   you turning state witness thing.

Yes the thought of getting drug behind a mottorcycle for a few miles till your flesh was ripped from your bones really did sound like a downer.

So as I hugged my slighty weird kinda crazy okay perverted demmented  hell of a gal i called mom goodbye.
I realized the journey had just begun and Mexico was a calling i needed a save place to relax  and where better to than a semi insane drug cartel controlled  country  hey but other than that it was swell.

As I herd the chopper's apraoching
And had to ask for my wallet back now mom.
Really i havent fell for that since highschool  when we were on are double date at the prom.
i know what your thinking the Gonzo clan are nuts and momma Gonzo really shouldnt had me at such a young age but she was very mature at 13 and corn whiskey and football teams  happen.

Hey she said suprized looking at the pic thats Skeeter?
Umm  yes.
Hey can I have her number?
Ahh family moments.
And as I sped away like some
hyped up teenage girl  after there God Justin Beiber.

I thought well no matter where the road takes me  
as long as I have the blood of that  lush, perverted,kinda insane,southern bell in my veins it will always be second nature to forever stay crazy.

the day i let go of everything
i began to rise slowly,
a million red balloons
tied with thick satin ribbons
to the back of my favorite orange flannel

and the tinge of sadness i felt
as i floated over a city
where the glasses can't decide
if they're half full or empty
began to drop from the tip of my nose
down into my toes
and finally into the pipes of crack heads
and mouths of puerto rican mothers
yelling at their children
to come home for pastalillos

i watched as nothing changed

the falls still fell
hipsters still biked (pretentiously)
bums still begged for change (in more ways than one)
hood rats still skipped school
20 somethings still boozed

and i realized that as much as this city felt like my salvation,
it wasn't

gulls came along
and popped each balloon,
as i dropped closer and closer to the earth
i panicked

i clung to the remaining balloon
and begged the birds to carry me elsewhere
but i already knew that the only way out of this place
was the way that i came in,
alone

Like a beer can crushed on a boozed up frat boys head,
It hurt
Even though I said it didn’t
Even though I pretend I’m invincible
Even though you all think I’ve mastered this
I haven’t
It hurt
Like a teeny tiny paper cut from a loose leaf sheet it paper,
It burns
Even though you can’t see the scar
Even though it happens to people every day
Even though I didn’t even know it happened until it was over
It wasn’t over for me
It burns
Like the eyes of an innocent bystander the first day of pollen season
It stings
Even though I’m used to the pain
Even though I should have seen it coming
Even though I’ve been taught how to prevent it
I let it slip my mind
It stings

I am a stubborn creature
I do not learn well from others mistakes
I guess hindsight really is a *****.

he's a much sobered man
when he's drunk

words then flow with elan
he's a jolly hunk.

he's a much sweeter pal
tipsy when he is

nice and warmly liberal
he puts you at ease.

does it so smooth
each inspiring peg

no more uncouth
he's no more a dreg.

when drunk he's at his best
never was a kind sweeter man

unburdened of his heavy breast
he kisses long ignored woman.

when boozed he's passionate no doubt
the hidden emotions are in spate

his heart freely speaks out
opens his secret's floodgate.

next morn he can't just recall
why stands an empty goblet

he lies in smell of alcohol
worries aren't light on his chest.

it comes from casual phrasing of / off something, the known pride & joy of any intellectual: coining a phrase. most stick to the cliche zeitgeist, i invented zeitreich (empire of the times, rather than a holy ghoul)... anyway...

so i'm reading this article about the L.A. dating scene,
it's better than a binge on horror movies
in a thunderstorm - the pictures aren't there,
but the words are, words, such is their nature,
the awkward silence amplified with encoding -
pristine ****** and any other -ism you can
think of - amateur psychology for starters,
Nietzsche made psychology so pop as if
it were the once despised arithmetic reinvented
that the calculator looks grim reaper-ish
(and everyone's a psychologist these days) -
writing extended maxims (i.e. aphorisms)
is a chance to avoid dialectics, i trust the rigidity
of the systematic approach, limited vocabulary
and the act of juggling, set parameters, known
formulae, and off we go into the labyrinth of Hegel
or Kant or some other German and his morose boozed-up
persona of a Minotaur - but this article, it just poured ants into my
underwear about the iceberg conundrum (i misspelled
that first time round, the English language, due to
its lack of diacritic marks and too many particularities
cistern, cat, crow, kettle, camomile... chamomile...
cheap... has an inherent dyslexia in it, very natural, this,
it's the least bit surprising, never mind mentioning
text English as written by one girl in the news
at her English G.C.S.E. exam - i can't write it properly,
but it involves the Pandora of U w8 4 me @ th-     -θ
school gates - oh right, the ****? chew but you say ski
resort paraphenelia, paraphenalia, paraphenilia, para
**** **** ****... dictionary! paraphernalia... thank you!
nwt the origin of the negated-ease (disease), what two
compounds am i not remembering to use? etymology,
scalpel nurse, cut open the syllables, technique:
para-     -phernalia...     well from chemistry para-
using the benzene ring is a location, i.e. para meta ortho-,
medieval latin! of course! no wonder i'm dyslexic with
this word, if the origins aren't pure Latin or Greek
then i'm sure to be dyslexic and burn witches at the stake
and believe in omens and hell... this is hell, resurrected,
-phrenalia: cut up further into a derivative of
pherein (to bear, modulated into a dowry), and
the ς-suffix of -al, like et al. i'm guessing, but this is
kabbalistic territory right know, -al doesn't exactly make
aqua sense unlike Al (aluminium) - that's when
chemistry picks up language, and other sciences, picking
up from the little nits (knit, gnome, knife... hush the first letter),
in the end paraphernalia means:
to have bearings side by side, or beside, at one side...
daydreaming? having a meal in a restaurant on a Saturday,
but realising you have mortgage obligations from
Monday to Friday? well, i guess something like that.
anyway, literary coinage, coining a phrase, a catchphrase
moment, so this article about the L.A. dating scene,
horrid mothers of artefacts in the woman's psyche,
the unflavoured Freudian theory of the Madonna-*****
complex... and all the ladies say... it's easier for us
to call these men schizophrenics and shove them into
the hyphenation than acknowledge either Madonna
or ***** in us... i get it, men watch too much *******,
but... here it comes... women watch too much
romantic tragedy (romtra), men go out there and they're
like... this is turning out to be an R.E.M. song
the one i love* - props! too many ******* props!
it's not exactly **** culture, that's about five minutes
simulating an **** with your hand (or if you prefer a
bony ****) and a tissue but no tears... it's not exactly
RomTra culture either... it's the dating culture per se...
and this whole self-profiling like we're all F.B.I. agents
spying on ourselves with either authenticity or lies.
so there, you have your literary coinage, a phrase, a word,
the most belittling quest to some El Dorado ever
invented.

I'm slinkin out,
puttin a future behind.
My thoughts are in a scatter
How can i decipher all this chatter?

I just wanna float by in a haze
Leave my mind in hope for some sort of praise,
One moment of peace.

I can't take the accusations
I may seem lost but it's all in the creation

Boozed up, no judgement to spare
Wouldn't have even bothered on a dare
Am I the only scumbag?
Nah, you're all ****** in the head too.

I let the shell crumble
Gave into the demon.
No ***** left to give,
I'm in this alone.
My mind knows its truth,
My heart ignores its signs.

Make me smile and maybe my
Legs spread, knees bend.
Seek your truth,
Have you found mine?

Little fingers
making dresses

I put pleasant things in my mind
for living's sake, for beauty

high on Halloween
drugged up, boozed up
practically living in the ring of mushrooms I heard about as a child

when I checked out
every fairy book in the library. And then they weren't real.

Pretty thoughts are like los aves, the birds.

They fly in around in my caged mind until they are shot down
forcibly taken down

and used for food in winter.

I once was an real mess, Broken and Wrecked, a huge Mess.
But Little by Little Christ took away the things that I cling to.
The Things that I ran to when I needed to escape My Life here.
A wrecked Life that I wished that I was not Living in anymore.
So first thing that he took was Drugs, then the Boozed and Gambling.
Because it was Him that I was suppose to run to when I got scared.
But I was running to an escape the terrible Life that I had Live in.
For it was His job to Heal Us not any worldly addiction here on the earth.
For they were little gods to me , to escape the Life that I had messed up.
For no longer do I need to escape, but to become a Healed Man here.
He also took away cigarettes from on December 10, 2010 as well.
Revealing to this here world the Presence and the Power of Christ too.
For only He can Heal and Repair People Lives here on the Earth.

Dylan Thomas boozed
the great belly of his muse
drowned after Milkwood.

Months have gone and the pain does not pass
Friday was pretty harsh, maybe I missed the mark
It was life all in one glance, ours lives happened to crash
I can't say right now, but we met, and I was happy to leave the dark

Friday we both left our shells
We both shared our pain, but what did we gain
I feel like I brought us both to hell
I cannot say right now, but we met, and it still drives me insane

After our Friday thy continued into the night
she kept on crying, while I boozed mine away
I awoke wanting to speak of all the things we said in the light
I cannot say right now, but we met, as I slip into the dark, to my dismay

Honey I said we'd talk on Sunday
Am I ready to speak or should I wait till Monday
One past Sunday can't change much; should I wait till Tuesday
I cannot say right now, but we met, is it Sunday?

I just want to know what hold this town has on me
why it won’t let me go
and why it breeds such pain

We used to sing barefoot with shooting stars
your lips boozed and my heart fluttering
taken sun tea or sun kissed
always drenched in river rocks
Your hair changed like the moon
and my heart stood strong at your feet

but where are we now
I’ve let this heart free
But it will always chose you
and I’m not sure I can sing with the stars anymore
they just remind me of what was

Actions don't dictate my behavior
let me latch onto the next bottle
sitting across my vision
settled, calm

Let me drink and word *****
on your shoes
leaving a stench that will remind
you of the hazy days
spent, boozed up

Let me smoke till my lungs
beg for a molecule of oxygen
to freshen it's dank corners

Let me wobble on the sidewalk
reminding my feet which one goes first
let me sway, cursing whatever
injected my heart with a dose
of forbidden feelings

Leave my vision of tomorrow
the same, swallow the the changes
like an unwanted gag
drown it with that burning liquid

Let me be, as if the next encounter
is just seconds away
let me
be

Troubled kisses and these hickeys are covered, I thought we were just going to cuddle.
Subtle moves and you were pretty boozed.
I don't need to book you, you're already there.
We stare and dare, I cant bare.
We went to Target and time wasn't really a factor.
Time dies, we're alive and I'm letting go of my pride.
I was just talking about time and I loved how you listened to my theories.
We shared a Gatorade, I gave you the first sip because I think it'd be gentlemen of me.
We wore robes around the store.
Parked somewhere dark and talked about everything.
"I want to be the one you dream of"
I don't understand the simplest things.
The normal always confuses me.

Someone is staring right back at me.
Through the side mirror,
I see a boozed woman with a devilish grin.
She's luring me in and inviting me to ecstasy.

She looks familiar without the piercings and tattoos.
She reminds me of a dork I once knew.
But as I shift my gaze on to the rearview mirror,
the blurry resemblance becomes a lucid.

I am the girl with the devilish grin.
I am the dork from the past.
And currently, I'm a woman inside a car,
surrounded by ****** lads caught in euphoria.
They're tempting and enticing me into their bait.

Out of the blue, an image of light and dark takes shape.
Angels and imps clash.
They're fighting for me,
wanting me to join either one of them.

The white light offers me purity;
it wants me to resist temptations,
but the dark glow has so much to offer.
It promises jubilation, bliss and pleasure.

My judgement is hazy,
but I've made my choice.
I've been high for quite sometime now
and I don't see any reason for me to quit.

Once more,
I glance at the side mirror.
The reflection tells me,
I have made the right choice.

It’s hot and you don’t feel
Like sitting down to write
The postcard to the parents,

But it has to be done or they’ll
Worry and Father will have
One of his turns and Mother

Will be flapping round like
A **** hen with no head, so
You take a chair by the window

Of the Hotel Cuba and think
What to write, what to put
Down in the limited space

Allowed, and not to write
Anything that’ll stir Father’s
Christian sensibilities or

Mother’s little world of tea
And visits and afternoon naps
And speaking to the canary

Who doesn’t speak back.
You wait for Humphrey to
Come back from the bar

Hoping he’ll come up with
Things to say, but he doesn’t
Show and its getting late

And it’s been a busy day and
The night looms large and
You want Humphrey at his

Best, not too boozed, not
Distracted, and on the whole
He’s quite a fair catch, knows

How to please a girl, keep her
On her toes and back and that
Thing he does with the…Dear

Father and Mother, Cuba’s quite
A place…there was this man
Who kissed my hand and Dear

Humphrey said…the sun’s warm
And the food is out of this world
…I can dance the latest dances

Here, nothing that is suspect or
Need worry you…I will send this
Postcard in the morning, God I’m

Tired, keep on yawning, must be
The heat… You sit back and put
Down the pen and look up as

Humphrey returns doing some
Movements with his feet to some
Music playing and he smiles and

Winks and does a twirl…Sleep tight
Parents…it’s going to be one of
Those night for she's a naughty girl.

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