When you're normally
an idiot magnet,
Bur for some
malfunctional blessing
you're attracting something
that is positive
ditch the downers
and go get high.
Turkey tastes
better cold,
I like to quit cold turkey.
I just worked a nine hour shift too.
The human mind
is such a powerful tool.
I don't understand why people are so stupid.
We all have minds, right?

Once upon a time
there was a young adult
who spent time on the dark web,
Searching for the most obscure and exotic substances humanity could offer.

Late nights tracking down vendors with the most up-to-date wares:
Drugs.
Research chemicals,
Novel psychoactive substances.
Illicit pharmaceuticals and exotic materials.
Pills, powder, liquid, tabs, any material one could find.
Uppers, downers, dissos, deliriants,
Psyches, anti-psyches, stimulants,
Depressants, anti-depressants,
*** drugs, study drugs,
'noids, 'roids, and
even vitamins.

There was the standard battery of illegal narcotics,
******* knockoffs of more popular drugs,
Drugs designed to evade anti-doping tests
and then the more experimental stuff.

Suffice to say this part of the internet is a strange and lawless world.
Not like the Wild West, more like the backstreets of Seoul.

The goal was nothing more than knowledge
of this rapidly evolving-world.

One night a vendor's listing flagged their attention
and on an intuition they acquired
a batch of synthetic cannabinoids for nothing.
A few days later a letter arrived
containing several unlabeled bags of power.

It took many months to even partially identify them.
The vendor went dark before the results came in.

One compound was entirely novel. It did not have a name
so it was assigned one. It did not have a history of human use
but had entered the wild human populace.

After identification they were destroyed.
The properties of that novel compound remain unknown.

What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.

Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.

So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.

Empty hands and love wasted
Wasted, the state of being wasted
Drunk on love
Or high on life
Perhaps intoxicated with the idea
Breathing in the fumes of both
Hookah and happiness
Crushed up pills meant to calm anxiety
Only calm their mind
Not the body, not the syncopated motions
Not the actions in which they're partaking
Crushed up pills, crushed up souls,
Uppers and downers so that maybe
While their mind is numb,
Their body sure isn't,
Maybe for a moment they don't have to think
About what love actually is.

i would say i’m okay
but in all reality
it’s these nine pills i take a day
four for anxiety
three for a stable shiny mind
and two mg to keep me low

all of these downers
i’m still above
i’m still above that line
that line of feeling fine

all of these downers
that are supposed to keep me stable
and there are still moments
when i feel so unable
to take on the day

all of these downers
would have some on their ***
and i’m here still finding
that my *** is playing in grass

1-When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.........

#2-The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.

#3-The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.

#4-“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#5-We can't stop here, this is bat country!”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#6-We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of *******, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of ***, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.
Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#7-“You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#8-Hallucinations are bad enough. But after awhile you learn to cope with things like seeing your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth. Most acid fanciers can handle this sort of thing. But nobody can handle that other trip-the possibility that any freak with $1.98 can walk into the Circus-Circus and suddenly appear in the sky over downtown Las Vegas twelve times the size of God, howling anything that comes into his head. No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#9-“We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#10-“With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

#11-The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

I was invited over with my best friend Ken
To play some pool , do downers , and drink some gin
Susan and Lea were live-in Lesbians
All of us real good friends
from a long time ago ,
you know , from a way back when
We had a blast playing pool
I was hot hot that night
I was wiping up the table
Made every shot in sight
By one a.m. my head began to spin
I lay down upon the couch
Then said goodbye to Ken
Then all turned quite except
for the scampering of mice
Then something else I felt as
Lea stark naked was sliding in
She started stripping off my clothes
Soon all was skin to skin
She licked and ******
scratched and pinned
She ravaged me like a beast
I could not satisfy her whims
No not in the least of them
She made me toast
Jellied up my behind
Buttered up my navel
I thought I had died
or surely lost my mind
After hours of lustful bliss
We fell asleep until when
she woke me up and said
"My car , can you fix it again ?"

If you're a celebrity
For medications come to me
I have them all, come see, come see
I'm the devil in disguise

I sign prescriptions by the score
If you run out, I'll give you more
I'll bring your pills right to your door
I'm the devil in disguise

Dr. Robert, Feelgood too
Names I'm sure are known to you
If you're in need call you know who
I'm the devil in disguise

Uppers, Downers, oxy's....well
Imagine what is down in hell
I'll keep your secret, I won't tell
I'm the devil in disguise

Elvis called, and MJ too
They both liked pills in shades of blue
No one else does what I do
I'm the devil in disguise

It's up to you, which choice you make
I fulfill, and you....you take
I'm here all night, don't need a break
I'm the devil in disguise

If you're in need, well...I'll be there
You pay for service, and I care
I've got lots, and lots to share
I'm the devil in disguise

If you're mute, and lost your voice
You know I'm your only choice
I'll be right round in my Rolls Royce
I'm the devil in disguise

You'll end up dead, but I'll keep kicking
With pills and needles, stars keep sticking
I'm the doctor all the stars are picking
I'm the devil in disguise

I am the devil, that is true
I am around, that's not new
I'm known to them, but not to you
I'm their doctor...till they die.

I can't help but fall.
deeper,
            deeper,
                        deeper.
These little blue and white pills pull me so far down.
Into darkness.

After two, I feel my once tense muscles begin to relax.

Three more and my eyelids start to get heavy.

Four more, my mind eases; thoughts drain themselves away.

Five more, and consciousness escapes me.

A sea of medicated sleep engulfs me.
I float away, far deeper than my sober being could wallow.

Here, I can't hear the voices. Inside, or out.

No one to remind me what a disappointment I am.
No mirror to look into and think about how disgusting the thing is, staring back at me.
No overwhelming thoughts to motivate a razor across my body.
Nothing.
No one.
Just the comforting silence of sweet dreamless sleep.

Going out,
getting good.

All gothed-out,
glamorous.

Drop-dead.
Gore-geoous.

It's a curse.
Only
the truly beautiful at <3,
have it.

Talent.

Get it.
Dig it.
Dug it.

GOOD :)

I am just every drop of blood
the razor blades
made
me.

Drag downers
dragging themselves along
the skin surface
of my blood-flow
free way.
Wrists.

While,
I am screaming.
"I hate you" .

At the top of my black-tar
******
coated-codine lungs.

Yogurrrrr?
Help a ***** out.
&
go check on that crack pipe.
Uhhh.
I mean check the pipe for crack.

Cuz dem smokey rocks
make a bruthah go
cray-cray.

Welcome to the Goth Opera.
I'm just playing pretend,
anti-christ tonight.

The beaten path is hardest to go alone but it makes one stronger. One never wants to admit to oneself that misery is the predecessor to change, ushering it like the pilot ushers the plane down upon the runway.  This is a new destination you'd never have known. That is why we go up and then down, otherwise you wouldn't care for clouds. They'd be like stop signs posted on every street of every town you can't escape from. Don't you think whales like to take a dip in our atmosphere with the same exhilaration we dive down into their ocean? Marine life has it's trials, it all seems so buoyant and peacful, but its another jungle down there. Beautiful until you live it and predators lurk every corner and algae field. Everyone eating the next guy, if its your residence, it is no vacation. Its not so simple just cuz they've not got rent to pay and corrupt politics. Babies on the way while no financial burden make most species crazy. Try being a single mother just trying to keep your kids well enough hidden just to go off to find good eats for them. They have very emotional lives out there, full of pain and suffering. If whales could get drunk, mermaids would charge and set up breweries. But the ocean would dilute any profits, and two tons of blubber each would call demand too high and so whales throw themselves into our world just to escape. They could gulp the air so low key, surfacing like submarines, instead they splash mountains with their ferve, the same way we get down, tossing cares across dance floors. And we wonder why when  they take a breath, they reach for the sky, they just want to be free, where nothing of their world can touch them. And we wonder why when it's not enough, they just give up, just like us. Massive escapists desensitizing to the joys in the depths of their waters. We wonder why we find them so sad layed up on our beaches, you see it in their despondent eye. They just want to die in that memory of exhiliration. One. Last. Time. But they're not happy. Cuz they were always chasing a high that fleetingly springed them from all worry. They lay knowing its the last time and they wonder what's gonna become of them when its all over. They just figure what lays on the otherside, or even nothing has got to be better. Maybe they're right,  or maybe all the off kilter chemicals got the better of them. Full moons got them all emotional just like us, gravity pulling all their painful memories to the surface, pulling them up out of the ocean all hopeless. Shoot maybe some of them dont even mean it, they were just so tired of the krill or baby seal murda life, or sharks poaching their babies and needed longer and longer til oneday they got too sleepy and the tide snuck down too low. Like when I pass out in the shower when it's hot enough, I swear I was about to get out..then, ****. Maybe that's why they're so ******* sad. They didn't mean for it to be over, they just got caught up in that feeling. I bet the old ones though go on purpose, just to spite the sharks that took their babies out they'd rather rot in the sea breeze they loved. Or maybe they're so depressed at the loss of their child they just want it to be over. They carry their babies in their bellies just like us, I bet they get depressed like us or the smarter dogs. Being a whale, or any sober creature can be very hard, but at least if you're not running from it, you might see through the storm for the beauty of its strength, releasing fear to just stand in awe of it. You can learn to cope with pain in at least better measure to sprinting in laps, without intention, you're just on the track, even if its as vast as the pacific, adriatic, atlantic, doesnt matter all the waters you cross, they all just ran back into themselves. See, the whale can only cope, no emotional escape route, so no matter what comes, whale is miles wiser. Their calls sound a little sad but so hauntingly beautiful. Do not beach yourself humans, in your little ways everyday. Stop feeding this disbelief in yourself. You were given this brain to choose to overcome this pain, to communicate in new ways. If you get tired of something just cuz you're used to it, you've done fell off your rock, you slipped to drown in your own riptide, to get pummeled to death. Or as my Papa woulda said, you're not playing with a full deck. You drown in intoxicant, whatever your vice, liquor, uppers, downers, shopping, food, flirting, ******* to numb life's beating. You're running from sobriety, from reality, from those people you don't love anymore cuz they can't jive with your illusions. You'll look for every reason why your psyches not the problem. If you'd not only accept but seek the need to heal,  you wouldn't need constant change of scenery just to feel something, to feel snippets of sanity, mini vacations from your daily miseries. New people, places and substances are just so exhilarating, cuz you can't handle yourself. If you could, each listed above would be blessings of oneness, not necessity. Running is only blocking your life from mattering as much as it should. You squander potential wandering in circles inside yourself. I smoked **** habitually since I was twelve, it didn't really hurt me right, just my dump trucked loads of brain cells? Wrong! Sobriety is the hardest but most rewarding excursion so far. I delight everyday in the opportunities I can receive just cuz I can think so clearly. I have an occasional shot or glass of wine with coworkers and think God I feel good. Then go home and think and plot, how can I attain that joy without consuming a dollar, compromising my body?  How can I be so at home in my skin that I don't need that just to feel like this?  I'll let you know if I ever figure it out. It's the big ******* mystery, isn't it. I THINK my point is,  we would never know what's so good to be cherished if we always had it made. They call it a beautiful struggle, and i really think they're onto God with that one. Wherever your feet lay, next time you look down at them in dismay, remember your pain is the best teacher you never had to pay.  It makes you great, it makes you an epic ******* trilogy of the past present and future.  You'll get through this day, I promise you. Whatever it proves to be to you, I pray oneday you hold the kingdom. Oneday you'll praise yourself for holding on. Oneday you'll stop running. You'll just wake up and feel at home inside yourself how the wise whale makes peace with the ocean. Tempering the binges to the surface. As above so below. You just have to find the thrill within the hand you're dealt and make yourself better for it.

i'm an empty optimistic in a world where lost souls remain
we're all threaded together by birth, given the consequences
but what are we without an upper and a even worse downer
those who survive the downers, sometimes never get back up
did you feel the connection, like our roots locked together
like we were handcuffed in familiarity, but you are as
recognizable as my own heartbeat and it seems so natural,
when you sing without the blissful harmony we used to
sing together in unison, careless and carefree, and my
heart is eroding day by day, would you still be able to swim
if i taught you when i could and would you still be able to speak
if i paid attention to you as i should but you inflict your pain back
at others, is that how our world survived with the wildlife and it's fires,
burning our only chance at safety, but i tried to extinguish the devastation
and i'm a shapeless survivor with reasons to seek, ****, and destroy
in a way, does this make me the hero of the story, stripping the evil down?
if you forgave me, i would be able to forget because i'm still carrying your
world on my shoulders, and even though hearing your name makes me
sick to my stomach, my body will refuse to give in to the peer pressure
if i winded the hands of a clock, could i possibly strip your walls down still
or could i stop caring and get revenge, which could possibly be a thrill

-kra

- - - there are the days when
i savor my isolation,
i savor my freedom.
in this state is when
Urania came forth
to lift my chin,
to lift my gaze
from finite walking-path
unto Eternity of existence.
She placated me, brought me
to surrender of my Self.
and i lay staring at the ceiling,
longing for a little rest knowing
i did this to myself, and
i don’t complain to you.
- - - there came a conclusion of
self-destruction as
the only thing to depend on.
and i destroy myself
through entertainment
while
fighting tooth and nail to survive.
- - - Sunday 5.30ante.
began Friday 9.30post,
Saturday 9.30post is twenty-four.
i am four short of thirty-six.
and my turbulent stomach awaits
the imbibement of a hard benzo –
(shorten’d word to be hip.
[also the reason i used an infinitive])
by this point i am deranged
and trace mildly. not just
a fancied flight alongside a reality
my mind deceives me of. not
just an insaned delirium
i perpetrate. maintain. sustain.

disdain.

space to insure emphasis,
- - - have i been outward too long.
i sweat naked in the snow thanking,
no Deity,
but instead handful of
multi-color’d, shaped, strength downers.
and i smell’d on death
perfume of flowers as
its figure look’d me over –
naked freezing wretch –
and extend’d claw with
rotting flesh no where
in pace with this vessel’s.
i began to blue, and the
shadow of my end
falter’d in my mind.
lungs, in impulse,
heaved air within themselves.
stretching frozen sternum.
- - - let’s take some math,
how about:
zn+1 = zn2 + c
i am patient,
please explain in detail.

I am one of three –
Shadow, skin, and light.
A triplet split from the same egg and *****.
**
Make it 3 and you’ll have me
Explicit.
It’s so ****,
Being cleaved into thirds.  
A ******* with myself –

The shadow is morose.
A needy, demanding *****
Begging to be cut up.
I want to,
So I can see the blood wring around my –
Her
Wrists like shackles pinning her
To my bed.
I know it’ll shut her up
But I can’t bring myself to do it.
I’m not that *****.  

The skin is boring.
A virginal flower
Dreaming of understanding.  
She’s too wholesome,
Always waiting for the right
Version of herself to come along.
Saving myself –
Herself
For the right time.
My tastes aren’t quite so
Vanilla.

The light is adventurous.
A psychotic, brilliant ****
******* herself into the ground.
Necrophilia just got a whole lot hotter,
Bodies piling up thanks to her STDs –
Stupid, thoughtless decisions.
Protection?  Ha!
That’s for normal people.
There’s no need for me –
Her
To slow down;
We like it fast.

The skin doesn’t participate.
The *****, virtuous ******
Fidgets as the others 69 –
A disgusting yin yang
Of low and high.
The shadow drinking downers
Until she can’t remember
All the bruises covering her heart,
Too distracted by the bile
Smeared across her lips.  
The light popping enough uppers
To strip herself of her
Consciousness,
Naked and raw
She often wakes bitter
Of her restored senses.  

This ******* takes place
In a womb,
An amniotic ocean
Swaying toward the shores
Of existence.
Two will drown –
Vanishing triplet syndrome.
Only one may be pulled from
Mental waters and placed on the sands of reality.

The labor takes 33 hours -
Finally I emerge.  
Who survived?
There is no way to tell.

.oh, i almost forgot, a post-scriptum as a pre-scriptum... what's the difference between Nero and Caligula? why does the bible defame Nero, and ignore Caligula? Caligula was a psychopathic ***-addict in comparison to Nero... Nero, a troubled soul, an emperor-artist... i could never lay my hands on a critique of Nero... Caligula was much worse, yet the bible doesn't cite him as a spawn of... wasn't Agrippina... who i think she was? Caligula, teased as a child for a nickname with regards to the legionnaire boot... could be worse, could be ****** made fun of his surname... as i was when i was younger, and then much older... but Nero, the fragile soul of a poet... mad, sure... but at least overcome with all, if any, emotional response... aren't those guys at Linux autistic? you know, the ones rebelling against a code of conduct? oh... i see... time to pick on the autistic kids then? fair enough!

oh come on man...
the internet used to be so much fun
a couple of years back...
these alternative journalists
are becoming... droll...
  same ****, different cover,
i'm almost happy i'm not asking
people for money or selling
stuff to viewers...
   i don't like soap opera,
never did, never will,
esp. English soap opera...
****'s so fresh it hit the fan
and the fan is spinning and
the **** is getting coverage by
exfoliating its supposed,
perfumery into the air...
that's done...
    i just like my westerns from
the 1960s...
my sudoku...
  my Jack n Charlie
  (enough of caffeine in pepsi
to leave you riddled),
my Julian Windig -
the moon, the stars,
and all the space, visceral,
but somehow un- breathable
in the gloomy thickness of
the night...
      but... given this whole
charade of the cloak of anonymity...
i can give you my home address...
and i know a decent part
of a reduced forest made into
a park...
  we'll have a few sly slugs
of whiskey downers...
  then we'll face off
burning cigarette stubs on our knuckles
till we reach the soft pouches
of our flesh, and wait for a month
for the skin to grow back...
and we'll talk...
   i'm currently reading
about the Ellie Soutter tragedy...
suicide, aged 18...
prettiest girl in the whole wild world..
snowboarder...
          i'm serious:
you want certain aspects of a DOX?
but my rules...
we go into a forest and
have a drink...
and then we put out the cigarettes
we're smoking on our knuckles...
hell: what's fun if the fun
doesn't invoke a pain?
****'s still stuck to the fan...
i'm getting whiffs of: strawberries,
and Coco Chanel...
   maybe both...
   but then again...
i guess i'm the one with the *****
to propose this meat-ing...
      such a pretty girl:
devoured by the world...
  shame, really...
   and all these girls who cut...
****... you want a tattoo and self-harm
at the same time?
putting out cigarettes onto
your body is the way forward!
am i attempting to inspire
the practice? NO STUPID!
    but i guess we men always
were more willing to... EXPLORE,
variant avenues...
    i can't believe the internet
was fooled by focusing on an introversion
of its content creators...
   but, hell...
i'll post you the address,
then the coordinates to the spot
in the woods i like to frequent
when winter comes...
  a few whiskey slugs and a few
cigarettes later...
  and we'll be... CHUMS...
hé hé!
    Michael Jackson style of that variant:
he said, she said...
  but from what i've seen...
no chance in hell, some mutt,
will take the offer...
                     i only hide:
behind a mirror,
   and with that:
that's hardly hiding to begin with;
but no, i don't like urbanized areas...
throw me into the thickening
darkness of
               a deforested wood
made into a mark...
  and tell me to walk blind...
   it's as if...
                   my pupils dilate outside
of the iris, and consume the sclera.

Life gives my stomach knots
Dread conquers my thoughts
I am weak, for I can take it no longer
As life goes on, it gets wronger and wronger

I look to the pills; I look to the bottle
They are kind and act as my throttle
Uppers and downers
My friendly encounters

People: my enemies
Hates and jealousies
They are all better than I could ever be
They have more than I could ever see

So what will I take today?
What will make these thoughts go away?
But they'll be back, just  like a pest
What I need is eternal rest

You told me so young that pills make you better, I'm thirty nine and still not better
From seizure medicines, to Zoloft, to sleeping pills, and downers my head is unwinding

I became an introvert, paranoid. That girl is smiling, want to go home where it
is quiet. Sent to a program to cope with interpersonal relationships

The only thing is the medicines make me gain weight
Sleep is the only thing that I do right


Check ups are always fun, are you taking your medicines? The right answer is always yes.
How are your moods? I have none Yes I'm taken my pills add this and increase this.

At home always nagged for forgetting my pills so I do as I'm told.
Have some Lithium it likes to eat the liver, have some Zoloft, Effexor and more.

Another day, Did you take your  pills? Yes I did in fact I swallowed them all
I filled my cup, made a hysteria soup. Did you take your pills?

These downers have me laying in bed watching light flares float across my room like the ghosts of my past float across my eyelids.
And I’m convinced these drugs aren’t going to get you out of my head anymore.

The rooms too hot and I’m too cold and I’m crawling towards the kitchen begging for someone to get me some ****** water but then I remember....
it’s just me as usual.

I get up and take control of the situation and find some uppers in the hall and ask myself if maybe we can work through this or maybe I’m just high enough to think you’re still around.

I’m drowning in a bathtub full of rose petals I found under the sink and I’m staring at the water drip down the shower walls as I watch my inevitable breakdown drip down my eyelids.

I guess I’m convinced these drugs just made things worse and I’m convinced I gotta get my **** together... I gotta get myself together.

Wake-up with the pill bottle next to me
Other side is the girl that had *** with me
I know she doesn't love me
I just flaunt some of the money
Then they wanna come see

Get out of bed when they start to kick in
So amazed how I got all these prescriptions
Pill caddy because today I'm on a mission
Driver is out front
Time to put on the front

Get to the office, bursts of motivation
See my partner do it-with no medication
But things are fine, no reason to whine
I got it all

But when I define all, it's where I fall
Money, drugs, mansion
And no hugs from a honey or some laughing
Who will I share it with?
My computer I just stare at it

Give my tasks to my secretary
Because, that's why I pay you, Sheree
I'm just the founder
With a bold face to motivate

No more brown nosing
See, now they brown nose me
But as the clock hits four PM
Look at all our profits, yeah I see them

Time for my downers so I can mellow out
All the guilt, time to throw it out
Let's go out, Sheree
She says yes, not to me...but to the money
Yeah I admit it kinda hurts...
But its all in, A Day's Work

You told me so young that pills make you better, I'm thirty nine and still not better
From seizure medicines, to Zoloft, to sleeping pills, and downers my head is unwinding

I became an introvert, paranoid. That girl is smiling, want to go home where it
is quiet. Sent to a program to cope with interpersonal relationships

The only thing is the medicines make me gain weight
Sleep is the only thing that I do right


Check ups are always fun, are you taking your medicines? The right answer is always yes.
How are your moods? I have none Yes I'm taken my pills add this and increase this.

At home always nagged for forgetting my pills so I do as I'm told.
Have some Lithium it likes to eat the liver, have some Zoloft, Effexor and more.

Another day, Did you take your  pills? Yes I did in fact I swallowed them all
I filled my cup, made a hysteria soup. Did you take your pills?

This for the little brothers
And the widowed mothers
To the Sunday morning snoozers
And the gamenight losers
To the wimps in the schoolyard
And even the bullies just down the boulevard
Shake the dust.

This is for the shopfront greeters,
The youth group worship leaders,
For the early morning joggers and the late night bike riders,
And for the boy who's crush loves someone else
For milk crate ball players,
And for the wallflower haters
Plant the forests.

To the sleepers and the dreamers,
And to the bed-wetters,
As well as the lonely love letters
To the broken hearts who write poems
And the broken souls that stole them
To men who work for a family they never see
And girls who want a lover but they'll never be
Split the seas.

For the heavens you have lived and the hells you felt you have gone through,
For the demons who have overcame and the ones yet to be overcome
For the ones who have stuck with the Lord all the same
And the ones who don't yet know His name
For the fair-weather friends the friends 'til the end
The overnighters and the stories told at campfires
Move the mountains.

This is to the poet, and lovers who don't yet know it
To the writers but it's just a hobby,
The Debbie Downers who can't stop me
This is for the authors whose books is left unread on dusty shelves
And the girls who hate the look of themselves
To the ones, that when it rains, they choose to sing
And the winter you must endure to reach the spring
Shake the dust.

This is to all of you,
and I will say it again: shake the dust.
Because from the dust you were made,
and to the dust you will return.
So let this poem not be mere words that barely flow,
may this poet not just be another kid,
too quixotic to change the world.
But might my poetry be the notes
which your words are carried by.
Let them swing and sway,
a piece to our battlecry,
some sylable in your life story.
Because from the dust you will rise,
so carry the dirt with you
and take the world by storm,
for the ground you scrape from your palms
is the story you form.

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.

Shooting up the uppers and downers
To relieve your life away

Taking care of you was your number one priority
Having your children start a new life
In suburban Ville
Only to grow into the fakes and cowards that you present yourself

The water gradually never
Being too shallow for you
The sparks and whirlpools
Surrounding this family
Engaging us in a ball of hate towards each other
Never seems to fail

Mike Arms--1 day ago
write a few lines, I'll match em. Can you do it ?

david badgerow--14 hours ago
banjo strings frayed by broken fingernails
fistful of downers to sleep this night away
i open my eyelids out of dream, singing ladies'
eyes downcast thru fear & tobacco smoke
wake up, roll joint, get this day started.

Mike Arms--10 hours ago
being pure ether ain't no ****** picnic
this september looks right at ***** smearing
its pale arms reaching clearly into murderers
lungs groping mute celibate
if you beheld her whole form means silence

david badgerow--10 hours ago
lying back on the car seat, her eyelids heavy
she breathes diamonds and pure electricity
in an endless velvet desert, radio warbles over a hill
"oh, if i were young again, legs spread leaning against a table."
hard labor, aluminum tubes between
continental divide
echo chamber vibrations plunging
their tiny lamps in and out of her eyeball

Mike Arms--8 hours ago
Hard Luck Man
crossing floods
inanimate intelligence

is assassinated
they cross themselves
a world deaf

*** revolution
worst gamble
you remain

When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things
I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms
Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings
The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times
Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing
Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes
My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings


My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings
I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms
To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings
Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms
Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings
Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps
Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings


My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings
It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp
It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings
Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs
Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings
Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps
For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring



Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved

He has the heart of a tattered harlequin
Patched and re-patched with rags of broken times that were once good.
The cloth of its chambers is worn and threadbare
Held by the shreds of borrowed nights and comical stolen mornings.

He has the heart of a battered harlequin
And regret has turned his blood to the colour of rust
Unanswered questions congeal and clog his pulse
When he is lonely and aching, time - not isolation- is his worst enemy

He has the heart of a knackered harlequin
Kept moist by whiskey and gin, and uppers and downers that he pops like candy
He has a patchwork sack of a heart
It can never be filled and often feels empty.

I wake up and feel something is askew.
Then I remember what I heard last night on the news.
Then I push it aside and turn on the TV.
I’m sure someone can deal with it better than me!
Our politics are failing. Society’s flailing.
Getting’ crushed under the weight of our own pompous detailing.
But I don’t mind, there’s nothing I can do.
I’ll just grab a bite, get another tattoo.
Maybe by the time I’m done, it’ll have worked itself out.
If it hasn’t I’ll just shut my eyes and think of something else!

I guess I could try to make a difference,
But I’ve got more important things I have to deal with.
Like the season finale of my favorite show,
A bottle of Jack to finish and a party to throw!
I guess I can try to help out, if I’ve got the time. We’ll see.
Hey, look! Beer over there is buy-one-get-one-free!
I gotta stock up for the big game tonight.
Gotta go. I’m sure you got the problem covered, right?

Drunks and liars and posers, you’re fired.
Idiots, *******, worldwide mob masses.
Outcasts that walk alone, self-loathers, homophobes.
Jesus freaks. One more drink. Intelligence levels sink.
Dumb jocks and ******. Gangbangers. Guerilla wars.
Drop the dime, save the time. Pretend you’ve lost your mind.
Uppers and downers. Immigrants, minors.
Emos and cheaters, and ******* wife-beaters.
****** ex-girlfriends, freaks, frauds, text message sends.
Alcoholics relapsing. Governments collapsing.
Oil spills, anything for thrills. Hold on, just one more ****.
Suicide bombers, no mothers, no fathers.
This world’s so ****** up, how will it end up?
I don’t wanna know, don’t wanna see.
Don’t make me face reality!

She is "The Monarch" of her own little world
Makeup applied and drowning in pearls
She walks down the halls of a house long abandoned
Regret stays beside her, her only companion
Memories play out like an opera before her
She went for the gold but ended up poorer
One foot is forced in front of the other
Each step an echo of lost sisters and brothers
To protect what matters a wall must be built
Brick upon brick, fear stacked with guilt
Exit the house, exit the dream
Enter a reality of conflicting schemes
Lucky for her she's loaded with downers
Schizophrenics grab both above and below counters
Trembling fingers clutch at the rim
Of a toilet containing this girl's ****** sin
She drowns her pain in colors of joy
Pinks, yellows, purples, to her mouth they deploy
These soldiers are saviors, without them she's dead
It's getting more common, the scream in her head
She tried to fight back but her will was too frail
The going got tough and everyone bailed
But what happens to the general that loses an army
"Perhaps ask the girl that's apparently self harming
For she is a veteran of wars never won
Invisible scars from invisible guns"
Call for a truce, wave the white flag
Nobody sees that the Queen's wearing rags
Somebody save her because God is long gone
She may not be breathing, flame extinguished come dawn
Her enemies draw near, they sense she's grown tired
Dragged not just through mud but also through briars
She can't ask for help with a lock on her lips
Ropes around ankles and chains around wrists
In a life filled with ultimatums, lies and distrust
Ashes are more than just ashes, dust more than just dust
The air becomes pain, each inhale near torture
Her Highness doesn't chase the things that can scorch her
So back into the dream, back into the house
Never the lion but always the mouse
Clean up the pearls and apply more concealer
Confirm the next order with the local drug dealer
A wilted rose with all its petals furled
I am "The Monarch," this is my world.

Paint
Glitter
Highlighters
Water
Glow in the dark
Sharpie markers
Canvas
Red Bull
Cigarettes
Lighter
Sparklers
Feathers
Chronic
Uppers
Downers
Middlers
Extravagent
4th dimension
hyper being
Nocturanal Drug Fiend
Best Friend to the Speaker
Bass
Middle Fingers
Breakdowns
womp
womp
womp

I,
Art,
Pointed vocabulary.

You,
Me,
Or I,
Combustible,
Inexcusably,
Irrevocably,
Unattainably,
Plated,
And jaded,
New years faded,
We,
Are geometric.

Mathematically methodic,
Periodically pinning,
Hot and heated,
Razor folds and sharply pleated,
Fascist fad,
Plaid,
Bellbottom dreams,
Up do uppers,
Down right downers,
Freedom from freedom,
Morals for the meat grinder,
Hamburger politics,
Methodic politics,
Periodic politics,
Political politics,
Politics frolic with a devil,
And an angel by its side,
For a fast food meal,
With hamburger policies,
And fascist fries,
Supersized and supervised.

It's sad that as we grow up the brightness in our eyes dims,
Our faith and hope gradually slim.

The stars disappear, they aren't as bright,
It all becomes opaque, the caliginous night.

Our voices get softer, our fear louder,
We prefer to be lonesome, oh we're such downers.

The last of our emotions drip out, the color in our skin drains out,
You don't hear not a sound out of us, though trust me, we want to scream and shout.

Our hearts expand but get quieter,
Filled with sorrow- heavy yet at the same time lighter.

We become so very lost,
We yearn for happiness, though we all know it'll cost.

Can't help but feel scared, paranoid,
We'll do anything to help fill the void.

We feel an emptiness in us- start missing nothing,
We want to learn how to trust, give us something..

It's sad that as we grow up the brightness in our eyes dims,
Our faith and hope gradually slim.

They pull the strings behind the scenes, they think themselves queens and kings controlling everything.
And we're the poor pawns that fawn on and on and on, day to day, from dusk til dawn.
We need to stop the cycle. No, we HAVE to stop this cycle. Get off the bike, though, we might not like to, Because we're prisoners and though we're lacking actual shackles, our rights are *** backwards, and the rulers are money-hungry psychos.
We the people pay the price,
The price for living paid in pain and constant suffering,
Nothing's really what it Seems,
And no one Sees because We numb ourselves through drugs and Vicodins,
Pill-poppers, downers, uppers,
Blunt-puffers, paint huffers,
Wrist cutters, coke snuffers,
Methamphetamine intravenously-injecting stupid *******.
Drug smugglers, crack stuffers,
Mother struggles, baby suffers,
Speed lovers, glass crushers,
We numb it all so no one bothers.
but sitting comfy at the summit,
Watching the planet plummet,
Are the ones pulling the strings behind the show.
The ones without a soul.
The ones behind it all, yet few of us do know.
It's time we all wake up, stop confirming to the rules, it's time we cut these strings and put the people in control.

My friend has stage four Hodgkin’s Lymphoma
and is barely three decades old.

He is part of my generation.
He updates everybody about his cancer

on Facebook.
He posts pictures on his blog

of the sterile beige plastic machines
that take pictures of him

and scorch his insides with radiation
and burn all but the strongest of his cells

with chemotherapy.

I haven’t actually heard his voice in eight years
but it was just nine years ago

that he and I both sat in a booth in a ***** Greek restaurant
in Downers Grove, Illinois, just off of Ogden Avenue,

and smoked cigarette after cigarette
and talked about god knows what—

stupid ****, probably.  **** that only young, invincible people
would concern themselves with.

The truth is, I don’t know what we’d talk about if I saw him today.
Maybe we’d talk about how he is dying of cancer

and I am not, in spite of the fact
that I have smoked more than he has,

exercised less than he has,
eaten worse than he has,

and made all the wrong decisions,
while he’s made all the right ones.

We could talk about the cruel irony
or the cold indifference of life

or how plans never go according to plan,
but my guess is that he wouldn’t care.

He is in another place.  A focused place:
He is in the bottom of the ninth inning with two outs,

and is one run behind the opposition.
The treatments haven’t worked yet, but he knows the stakes of giving up.

“I am Kirk Gibson,” he writes to everybody online.
“I am Kirk Gibson.”