Today is going to be the day
I turn my life around
As I pull my truck over
To load up what I just found

I see it as my destiny
Someone tossed out their set of weights
With me at the moment in the mood
To join the fitness craze

So I open up, run around my truck
As my regiment begins
Wish I could find some neighbor kid
To give this old man a hand
And why they make these weights so heavy,
I'll never understand

I drive straight home excited
Back my truck down the drive
I'll haul the stuff in later
As soon as my arms come back to life

3 hours later...

Carrying what's soon to be the new me
From the truck into the house
To late to clinch the **** cheeks
As my entire spine just fell out

3 months later...

Still in intensive care
And mounting chiropractic bills
I'm thinking of just going the new American way
And get my muscles from taking pills

I have murdered another human being.
I have murdered someone like me,
Kicking and thrashing
Until his face wasn't right.
It was sideways, wonky, part of his
Nose touching his mouth, bleeding
With his cheekbone crushed inward
All from the swift power of
These worn leather boots.
He had held us hostage for days
Killed a friend of a friend
With a purposeful chiropractic crack
Of the neck gone too far.

We had been freed.
He had stood there smiling
As he dealt the final blow
To our esteem, having kept us
All as his sick twisted harem.
All it took was a smile and
I lost my mind.
Bashing the back of his head
That balding crew cut bloodied
On a rusting sprinkler in the yard.
My tired leather boots did the
Rest of my ***** work.
He resembled a stroke patient
When my boots held their fire.
Too much blood for a lack of life.

I awoke in my bed, safe and
Unscathed by my mind's loss
Of complete control.
Genuine surprise took me, seeing
Those leather boots of mine sit
Peacefully in the corner
Never seeing battle, never
My accomplice in ******.

Now picture this... I communed with chaos and conjured up an ancient conquistador by the name of Quetzalcoatl. He called me a chickenshit coward before grabbing me by my cranial consciousness container; and with a chiropractic crack, just like that, my chakras connected and I channeled the grizzled ghost of Ol' Ronnie Reagan. He gurgled a “Hello” and grumbled “Just Say No” ... “Did you know my Nancy fancied fucktarded fantasies, or that she believed in batshit lunacy like astrology and necromancy?" ***** better know, it's bros before hoes cuz this ghost with the most is about to get gangsta with my ***** Miki-G... "Yo, Gorbachev, you old goblin goat, wipe off that **** stain on your head and tear down that muthafuckin' wall.” After guzzling a gallon of ***** Putin ****** in, he gave Ol’ Ron a wink with a glowing goat eye of iris framed rectangle dark... lowering his headgear he ran slowly while singing a slurred ***** polka rendition of possibly a ***** Riot song. The chorus went something like "******* the Bolsheviks with 11 inch strap-on *****" to which Ronnie replied, “Ewe can dew it to Nancy too!”, as his horns hit cement setting off the biggest supernova block party this side of the galaxy. When the dust settled, everybody was gone and all was right with the quarks and the gluons. The quasars aligned and spun in a symmetrical dance inducing this trance that gave me the vision of which you are reading and the bliss about to unfold here on the shores of Château de Event Horizon, my own private island. As I watch the goblin goats manufactured from the genes of Gorbachev graze the galactic grassy knoll, I’m soon seduced by the song of a sidereal siren... KA-BLAM a ******* shipwreck I endure. When I came to, at the end of my rescue, by whom I suspect to be the same starry-eyed saboteur. She whispers somniferously that to be saved I must partake in her hedonist holy communion. “Drink this neutron star wine in remembrance of my taste, distilled from grapes grown on gamma ray vines representing the lust-laced blood of salvation.” I, a blissom blind bavian obviously, find myself beneath an altar awaiting with bated breath and baculus bombé, bewitched by this bathykolpian beauty of absolute perfection, it’s made clear from my enormous ******* that I’m eager to worship betwixt her exquisite bombosity. “I come to you… er... and on you... with this sacrificial offering of byssus ******* and baptismal borborology... but before I implore... first, hit this baetyl of brume and breathe in a Big Bang **** hit of some killer cosmic kush grown on Kepler 452…. *******?”

“What if I were to bind you up with a sash? Byssus bound with blindfold, and belayed beautifully as can be. Blissom confinement is liberating when not meant to abash. Bestowing to you a masterpiece in *******, a most exquisite ligatured apogee.”

Exhaling miasmic veils of woven haze blindfolds she blows, until we are unable to see. Instead we let our lips caress each others flesh in search of the treasures buried just below. The ritual begins when I go down to taste your nectar of the gods, feel my fingers scrawl spells on your flesh in hieroglyphic haste, Anubis awakes when I invoke he to weigh my heart and become Osiris resurrected, manifested as broken pieces tossed and lost by the tempest of temptation. To traverse this tribulation and emerge triumphant, invoke Isis and find the 13 to complete the puzzle of my psyche. But if you want your toes curled and that shaking sensation, it’s 14 you’ll need to complete the capstone of my ******* obelisk. Then we can transcend by the touch of the tongue, ******* ritual recitation through unspoken glossolalia until we complete our journey to become the Gods of our own creation. Why should we not manifest through sensual sidereal sexuality? Orchestrating a galactic glowing mass of groans from groins grinding in tune with the pulsar powered music produced by Love, Lust, and Longing. Our libidos vibrate as sine waves in harmony with strummed string theory, for we are the Cosmic Conductors controlling this sonorous ****** symphony riding gravitational waves that will forever ripple throughout the fabric of spacetime. Cosmological carnal knowledge collapses and condenses our atoms, coalescing to produce photons of pure light to illuminate the encroaching dark void of loneliness which desires to devour it all.

Now picture this... I communed with chaos and conjured up an ancient conquistador by the name of Quetzalcoatl. He called me a chickenshit coward then grabbed me by my cranial consciousness container; and with a chiropractic crack, just like that, my chakras connected and I channeled the grizzled ghost of Ol' Ronnie Reagan. He gurgled a “Hello” and grumbled “Just Say No. Did you know my Nancy fancied ******* fantasies, and that bedlamite believed in astrology and necromancy? ***** better know, it's bros before hoes cuz this ghost with the most is about to get gangsta with my ***** Miki-G... Yo, Gorbachev, you old goblin goat, wipe off that **** stain on your head and tear down this muthafuckin wall.” After guzzling a gallon of ***** distilled through Vlad Putin's ego, he gave me a wink from a glowing goat eye of iris framed rectangle dark... then lowered his headgear and destroyed the blockade like a supernova midnight pool party for Gremlins and grenades. When the dust settled, everything was gone and all was right with the quarks and the gluons. The quasars aligned and spun in a symmetrical dance inducing a trance; showing me it was gonna be a great day here on the shores of Château de Event Horizon, my own private island. Where I will watch my goblin goats with genes of Gorbachev, graze the galactic grass while I wait for a companion to come. Another cynical cosmonaut to converse with through this and partake in this holy communion. Where neutron star wine made from the grapes grown on gamma rays represents the life force of beautiful bombshells of red, brunette, and blonde. Lust-laced blood we bathe and become baptized in; breathing from the baetyl of brume taking Big Bang **** hits of killer kush grown on Kepler 452. The haze making it hard to see, when we feast on the flesh force fed to each other; for we are the Gods creating our reality. Leading to a galactic gathering of groans from groins grinding in tune with the pulsar powered music called Love Lust and Longing. Our libidos sing the sine wave sounds and strum the string theory, for we are the Cosmic Conductors created from stardust now streaming the vibrations of this ****** symphony throughout the fabric of spacetime. Cosmological carnal knowledge collapsing and condensing, the coalescing creates pure light from new stars being born to illuminate the darkness dwelling within us all.