Together we probed mysteries of the dark
Though you said true love was for losers and saps
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)

You moaned like a ****** those nights in the park
As I tried to snare you with all of love’s traps.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark.

I was a way station, no more than a lark,
Though I searched your eyes for a trace of perhaps.
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)

I sought to engender romance’s first spark
In the wake of unfettered zippers and snaps.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark

Our orbit of something completed its arc;
I sang Ave Maria, you whistled Taps.
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)

One morning the truth hit—cold, brutal and stark;
You’d left unannounced, leaving me to collapse.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)

And it's difficult to remember something as the very name of Eisenhower
Or flowerbaskets
And tired movies made of silicone and
Aftersex
Or sixteen candles echoing out of an imaginary suite with cigarettes at every table
And green lawns
Barbershop conversation
The reflection of the sun in special trees
Or my best friend Jesus Christ
Or the smell of the theater that one day with the cynics who just got back from a tennis match and barbwire still laced delicately around their thoughts and
Nihilism
And automotives
And priestess Jane or Henry's gloomy doppelganger who reads alternative magazines and loves the aesthetics behind broken glass
And fine tuned musical instruments

It's difficult to remember
Lonesome Fridays smoking on a park bench trying to finish the puzzle
Or synagogues you've never been in
Or insurance
Or newspaper articles detailing the misadventures of Mr. City
(Of course of course! Take your shoes off at the door and make yourself at home)
We're tossing all our sewage into the ocean
that's far from clean as it
LOOKS anymore these days
That's anything
And everything except for the glowing mountains seen faded and wintry behind Apartments and the
"Glorious Mexican House of Spices"
Never been in there either

It's difficult to remember
Times of Mr Twin Sister
Or Joan Jett in the hallway
In a highschool who's psychology classrooms have become a time capsule in the ground/
Or the gentle skinny ******
Wearing Broadway makeup and
Kafka tattooed on his shoulder
I like his hat
He looks at me suspiciously
Or the guy who is yelling his order at the counter when it's quiet here anyways
Or the mariner who has a hobby of the saxophone
Or 1970s *******
Or the sheepskin bikeseat fad that's yet to come but I'm predicting it now!
Or two dollars and twentyseven cents at the beginning of Allen Ginsberg's America
"I've given you all and now I'm nothing"

It's difficult to remember
The Oriental
Sacramento flies
Midnight Moon
Quarter to four
"The Immortalization Commission"
Remodelled hotels downtown
Where mandalas on the floor became a
Tiger lily luminous
And the kimono is yesterday's painting/
Dearest Darling
When I was feeling down!
A staircase in reverse (??)
The sound a kiss makes
It's difficult to remember
Colleen's earrings
Or Washington State
Or air conditioners in Bali
The Indian ocean's daybreak hymn
To Seminyak
Or whatever happened to Steve from the Airplane out of Taiwan
On 3 days awake
Hello Kitty nursing stations
****** (Kubrick's version)
Cardboard taking up half my bedroom
It's difficult to remember until I jot it down and then its a sudden forever
Sunshine Superman in a cafe spontaneous
drawings with someone I just met who has some ******* attitude/
Who hops fences and has feral ideas
People! En Masse! Te Amo!
You're all in wolven liberty
And vague postulators
And holy prostitutes for the dollar
Sad eyed intellectuals
With undergarments made of breakfast cereal/
Seaferry poetry is different from
Trestle in August poetry
Or henna handshakes
Or the Napoleonic era
Sweet Cherry Pie
The tulip's tongue
Garabajal
Cloudy first day of July
Was hotter yesterday
But not too hot

It's difficult to remember
Antiquity
The pale horse Studebaker outside the clinic
With a glossy red trim and **** I wish that was my ride
Andy Warhol's exploding plastic inevitable
Nearsightedness
Angels and their ability to shower with a a snap of their fingers
Distant harp music
Better him than me
Bananas almost ripe
Green aquatic
Reclusive junkies
Palomo's appliances
Questions for the next time
How much I like what you like and how I like that you like what I like
Ahh that's not my bus
I'm trying to get to the city!
That one quote Socrates is known for about knowing nothing as true wisdom
Supermarkets being built on top of liquor stores burned down a while back
Monopolies
Tragedies
"No Love Lost"
THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL
Your guess is as good as mine
Never tried to eat Asian food in Asia
It was all pasta and good cider that tasted like pineapple
Rain hitting the window and I'm
Drowsy again
God Save The Trees!
Curly hair looks good on boys
Torn up blinds
Queer as a three dollar bill
If Bill costs 3 dollars I'm sure he's caught something better safe than sorry
Sage advice
I'm the very model of a modern major general
Golden yen and international currency
Incense in the bedroom and how good it smells
There's my bus! Applying for a better job than the one I got now
But that's how it always is right?
Chasing satisfaction
1007 apt
Porch ornaments
Unique names
Unique style le style
The extra charge on foreign ATMs
Cordoroy polo shirts
Flooding in New York!
When someone's face screams *******
"Slippery when wet"
Dine N Dash
Grass gone yellow
Confidence in dyed hair and capes as long as wedding gowns
But less expensive
Doors that always seem to be locked and I'm wondering 20 year later what's behind them?
Albino animals
White thoughts as clouds or
Abstractions
Weathers nicer in Florida but who cares
Festivities this early in the day
Automatopeia
Do sad orphanages still exist?
Just like the movies
Midnight in mirrors
That sick puppet at the shoe shop used
To know how to really hammer it down
And now he's weak and forgotten
Never heard the words of a true prophet only Oceania
Or the private temple near Apollo Bay
Like Japanese gardens behind that gate
Will I ever see it
Make a proud example outta ya misbehavior
Form without function
Exhausted spiritualism
*** Kettle Black
negative photographs of dark rooms
And there's laughing coming from SOMEWHERE
Essays on kleptomania
Had a bad dream I became a cliche
Surrounded by other freaks and there was a lovely ***** I fell in love with her
We married in Oregon by the sea her name was rosy
***** rosy
Check your mailbox for nails
And what you don't wanna hear/
If you were a vegetable you'd be organic!
Empire
Satirical bubble gum
Satori
Linda Lovelace and her special party trick
That's someone's fantasy
Diamond in the rough
Mister guy with two black eyes frequents the adult playhouse
Hes fully stocked on fishnet leggings
He's too proud to put them on himself but
Has nobody else around
Boo hoo
Swigs back the whiskey and trips down the stairs getting a third black eye in the process
Marion came by with her dog the other day
Wanted her box of clothes back but he loved to sniff them to remember her
But she wouldn't have it

"Honey I'm going to call the police!"

"Ah they don't give a **** they have bigger things to worry about"

"Yeah you got that right shrimp **** enjoy my unwashed *******"

And she never came back again
He started losing the vertebrae in his spine 1 by 1 and you know where this is going
I won't say he was a poor man because he had it all coming to him the *******
But he coulda had a better start if you ask me.

It's difficult to remember
And even more difficult to forget
After the fact

Seagull opera
Giganticism
Portrait of the artist as a young man
Losing one's pencil when the best idea of your life drops down from heaven and into your sorry head
Signs graffitied to have funnier meanings
Cruelty
Impassive
The Loyal Lioness
And Bangladesh has too many kitchens
And not enough dishes
When I was young I used to say Island as "is-land"  
Which is true it is land
But the Europeans probably stole it from somebody else anyways/
I left my future behind
And objects in the mirror are closer than they appear
Im no illusionist
I'm terrified of the cracken
Father feels the same way about
Hotels
Why bother/
This has been going on and on for a while are you tired yet
Is your patience being tested
Mine isn't because this wasn't an all-at-once kind of rambling
It's extremely important to laugh at least
Once a day
Otherwise you'll find yourself a politician
In no time at all
Rockefeller
(         ) Quaint home to die in
I think
Trains create great music
Float on
Sink into yourself
Roses in a crooked alley
That's people
Busy busy busy busy
Let's describe a situationist
I'm not a fan of bright colors on clothes
Your best shade is blue
Bricklayers transcription of Don Quixote to a skyscraper
Rocket thyme
& Garden
Erratic children's
Insomnia
The doorbell repeatedly
Vancouver riots/ I saw that live on the news!
Pictionary with the surrealists
N Dada TV set MC Escher
Antenna
You're in the Twilight Zone now
Dear Ramona
I'm trying to make it up to you
With a brightness only seen when you're ready to see it so please for the love of God don't blame me when it's not appearing
The tapestry hidden
Keep your blankets clean
And avoid hospitals unless you're fine with fishbowls & the halogen
The water gestapo
Storage lockers full of unacted plays and
Antique microwaves
Emitting the nostalgia of the cold war era
And what a waste of time that was /
Walter Wanderleys presence in Autumn universities
The opening of Vivre sa Vie
Salvador Dali's pluvial taxi
Lightbulb epiphanies
Aquariums and their protestors
Zebras in the shade
Two wrongs dont make a right
Elizabethan theater
Saloon shootouts in a fever dream
I lost and bled out all over the rustic wooden floor
A maiden reached out for me and El Paso did play I woke up and pretended nothing happened/
Funerals for bad People who did bad things
My first memory of a cat beneath the mattress
Hello Dolly!
Auditory learning
Psychotherapy
Lillian the landlady lost her ladle and labeled little Lyle as a lair
The Black panther movement
Reading symposium some years ago and
Making note that Phaedo was still my favorite dialogue/
Zen Buddhism
Xoxo xoxo
The day Gypsies were replaced with
Surface ****** appetite
And not the real thing
Newspaper clippings
Hypnotism when all other options are out
Mystical visions of sidewalks
And the love of your life stepping through a door you've never seen
Maybe Yes No I Don't Know
Creature comforts
Che Guevara's problem is that his beard made him too easy to recognize
(Also that little hat!)
Chinese cough medicine didn't work
For long I still wheeze sometimes
Domestic violence thru the wall
Ceiling fan probably doesn't even work!
Dimpled laughter
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
In skytrains to Commercial
Bermuda in her mind
And courtesy in her voice
I'm no Arthur Rimbaud
But you already knew that
Alcazar of Seville
Filling up the shipbottle
Here's your paradise
Now relinquish it as it is
False!
Hare Krishna
Nowhere Fast
El Diablo and the
Portofino loaf left rotting on the countertop
Latin children speak of the sacred viper
You'll hear of it after this but we'll never see what the ******* meant
Heads alternating round the social current
Of my lively city
There's a dog soaking up the rain
And songs are made in honor of
Recent catastrophes
Trials are dealt
Cards cast to the gutter
New York quiets down for the news of another war
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours
Skeleton key
Ballad of the last wailing zoo
THE ATRIUM
Complexity in simplicity
That's how Brainard got me!
Elderly overcoats
Hiding purest LSD
Is a fan of Hawaiian T shirts
And a communist
What if I was a Freemason
Or owned a tanning salon
Faint crimson
What did Marv look like again?
"You're surrounded by people who love you"
Coffee when one needs it
GOODBYE BLUE MONDAY
Tattoos on the wandering man
Oriental chimes and the people who own them
Bus stop regulars
Vines overtaking power lines
The hypnogogic state
Strawberry light softening
The mind
Sister Ray LOUDLY PROCLAIMING
doitdoitdoitdoit
Passing the graffiti n Pluto neon
Halal wide awake another Saturday
Where's the Karaoke
Flashing by here
Those who find comfort in a bridal scavenger hunt
Or expensive beer
And here comes the hooded clown
Clamoring about his favorite
Loudspeaker
Telling me my time is soon and the noise
Drowns out the drowsy bliss
After hour spirits the perfect time for
Writing and trying to read distant Chinese
Indecision on the tip of the tongue
"NOW WHO IS THAT KNOCKING
ON THE CHAMBER DOOR?
COULD IT BE THE POLICE?"

I'm completely off the topic
And into Apartment lobby photosets
Low battery phone calls
Confessions
Nauseated reverb
Trying to see the attachment people got with bingo halls
And moving companies
Ah no luck again
Eve is at it with her showtunes
Halfway methodology
Triage
Paisley headbands left
Distraught on the quivering
Heater
Dwindling sunsets
We're truly disciples of the moon spirit which grants us more energy
(This is according to a drunk I met one night)
Or ***** old men
When the horizon is engulfed with
A winking cinder
Suitcase at the door
Last time
First time
Magician never reveals his fetishes
(They all have to do with bags under your eyes)
Employment office dramas of my friend the one who blinded a social worker
And the one who blamed Islam
And the one whos philosophy entirely consisted of Spooky Action at a
                                            DISTANCE
Parisian riots
Queer youth
Didn't make the team! Jester
'cross the hall who's beard suggests
Ishmeal n car battery n expired vegetables n rain which crosses the line n
***** cranberry n
Poorly fitted suits n
Harsh pigment n incense shops n
Bocca     secret towns
With churches more beautiful than any you'd find in your own city
n the cultural market
Xylophone ear to ear
Soul cleansing starting at only
$89 (with a 6 month guarantee)
Sophie's birthday and her picnic at Victory Park
The nearby bums trying to sell tea mugs and
Loose wires beside gated convenience stores
I'm an Island away attempting a poem
And never bought a scratch n win
Or heard the same song more than seven times in a row or been in a column
Or escaped the washhouse
Invested in a birdcage for next year
Been to a palm reading
Visited Oasis
Smoked salmon
Told anyone else about Montana
Screamed the things I'd like to scream
** Word of the day
Or kissed a lunatic or swallowed the corpse of yesterday
I keep her on my neck until
I'm too anxious to let go
Counting streetlights
Jeans worn in and faded to be sent off to
A lonely caffeine addict
Christmas Eve I'll be reading a postcard from San Francisco
Asking the same questions
My imagination is made of a different material than last week
Now it's the same color as your hair
HEY that's a good pickup line to use in the heart of the Canadian Embassy
Drinking discarded music resembling a sweater you may have said YES to if it wasn't so unsure of itself
And now Mr. Acker Bilk ascends thru the window of an August home
Like a lazy hornet
I'm still lost without identification
Or a nice belt
As happens when one uses a quality item too casually
How did uphill suddenly seem so downhill?
I'll claim a waterfall
For SALE that inevitable Indonesia
Greyhound O another greyhound O another greyhound
I'm fretting too much about not enough
Delayed the Airport and the yellow question

????

II

What if I knew how to read the curb?
Or translate drunken droll
What if I was never tired again and could
REALLY do anything I set my mind to?
What if I was the first cigarette that cured cancer instead of caused it?
What if I could end superstition
And walk underneath any ladder I wanted?
What if I could make it with a young Audrey Hepburn!?
What if I stopped pretending to be a microphone and got on with "it"
What if the grocery store closed later
And I opened earlier?
What if parking lots werent so sad
All the time?
What if gravity simply had enough of exotic birds and specifics?
What if we stopped trying to recreate what is truly lost?
What if foreign children embraced
Wasting time instead of
Midnight starry bicycles
And the antics of a monk
Disguised as a romantic?

There are those that worship God
And those who worship the Sun
And those who worship nothing at all
But I suppose on the last bus
We're all the same exhausted
Voice who can't wait for next pay day
What is an empty bank?
Or authenticity
What is there to prove anymore?
I hope I don't die tonight and regret
Being impulsive for once
You're a smart shadow
And a dull character
Pushing the last of the daisies
Get the lamp to turn on again
Give the pavement something to look forward to with your walk
Be consistent in being inconsistent
If there's a word there's a ***** and a poem for it!
We all oughta worship
Nothing at all except
Clarity
Compassion with ones neighbor who either forgot the pay the electricity bill or couldn't afford to
We're a swimmin

Laying around
about the dorm room
Bored
Looking for quick
Stupid cash
We came upon a listing
My roommate and I
in the local paper
Artist models needed
No experience necessary
That was key

The guy on the phone was chirpy
He lived
Close by in Oakland
He gave us directions to where
He would pick the two of us up
We
Would take the bus
He would be in a station wagon
Beige

He met us sure enough
Old
Old as the ******* sea
Formal suit and tie
Maybe a hat
We drove back to the apartment
And entered
First my roommate
And then myself

A ****** yellowed set of rooms
Where we will be heading to the right
To the kitchen
I’ve noticed the battered ***** *****
Mattress
Also
To the right
Stains and an attached clamp lamp
A single stark bulb

We were greeted by an even chirpier young lady
She was like a baby Joan Jett
All rocker black and leather
Sleek hair slicked back
She seemed somehow to like
really really old men

She took over and reached
for the plastic folder
She handed it to us
“You need to look at this before we go on
This is what we do”

Obediently, we cracked it open
and peered inside
Bent over we studied
Sticky plastic pages
Of brightly faced girls
Page
After
Page
Smiling with awkward innocence
No bright eyes nor youthful effanescance
No desire
Nothing wet
Except their palms with thoughts of escape
And 100 dollars

I only remember the girls whose makeup faded around the neck to betray
the true color of their flesh
Not flushed at all with sticky expectation
They left no impression in their nakedness
Ghosts
Shades
They should have been in class or doing something else

But our Joan!
Joan was a star.
Her photos were full of sass and delight
She was more than happy
to show you her ******
Over and over and over
She said
Actually
it’s a club
The guys pay a monthly fee
And they come here and shoot
In the apartment or maybe outside
They cannot touch.
There is no *******.
Mostly they shoot
Me.

Alone.
A Pixie Star.
This was were that old man’s money was.

I don’t remember what she told us
What she used to do before
this had to be a moment
A rather short moment
She would move along because
This kink was overstuffed with
impotence
and ineptitude.
Kink that might be easier to deal
With
On a properly lit stage
Or a quiet motel room with the shades drawn
Cash up front.

But for now
She was the enterprise.
And what would he do without her?
We three giggled and guffawed
in the little kitchenette.
We weren’t game for the arrangement.
She knew that.
But she liked to talk.
Men like that are pathetic.

Seriously why would we do this?
All those faces in the book!
Four on a page
Excitedly, we thought that we recognized
One or two
I know her!
Look I know her! I’ve seen her
in the Poli-Sci Building!
I’m sure we did not know any of them.

The mattress.
I could not fathom what happened on that thing.
I don’t want to know.
I had to look the other way as we left.
Did he perform
Abortions?
With hangers and kitchenware
Can ******* be that messy?
Just opening your legs?

We said goodbye to her!
She was wonderful.
She would sparkle forever.
Joan Jett!
Piling back into this hoarder’s
station wagon amongst
the musty boxes and newspapers
strewn all over the backseat with us
He drove
to the bus stop
A waste of his time
Disgruntled
Failure

He asked
How should this ad read
so that
this doesn’t happen again?
We offered no suggestions.
It had been fun
However idiotic.
I don’t remember
how long it was that
we kept our bus trip
secret.

night is
a jett black panther
with
whiskey yellow eyes
sitting
on its
hind legs
silently
waiting
for its pray

An eccentric free spirit
A major let down, no one understands the blunt sounds
A neighborhood built up by the ****** society, half naked puffed out chests
I'd rather pick my lilacs and dance to Joan Jett then deal with their meetings
I will celebrate my homemade life with a button stating,
"Save the wine who cares about the rest"
Freedom from the voices that screech

Left bank beards
in Beat hotel rooms,
a boulangerie breakfast
down the street and to the left,
and for lunch fresh baked bread and brie.
Letters sent home to fathers and mothers
singing sweet serenades of Paris
dressed up in autumn shades,
cheques for the royalties that'll
get them to Belize to write and swoon,
chat up ladies in the early afternoon;
where hotel fees that are treble those in the 5th,
bookshop stalls that'll never be found
another closing-down-establishment myth.

They were climbing with oxygen
long before we came along,
base camp poems written under
floor lamplight right before
the eyes of others.
Jett powered prose and wine in the light
sleight-of-hand punctuation and uptight
editors looking for finer narration.

i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
          **** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water  and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton  and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor

Mama
These girls
Here in Jamaica
Are very pretty
Them got
Long jett black
Curly hair
Butter brown skin
Ivory white smile
I think I am
In love with them
Them bodies shaped
Like a glass coke cola bottle
Them walk around here
Basking in the yellow sunshine
Mama them girls here
Too good for me
To let them go home
Me wanna pick some fruit
On this island of Jamaica

yes i have to admit it
Black is beautiful
ya **** right it is
not just
"The Black People are beautiful" but
**** it "Black People are Beautiful"
we have a everlasting Black beauty
that live inside of us
say it with clarity and
say it with gusto
say it like you really mean it
ain't no shame in my game and
ain't no sunshine when she is gone
you gotta work on your
pronunciation phraseology and semantics
to truly represent it
listen i know what
the hell i am
talking about because
Black Folks have their own
definition of Black beauty and
it ain't in no **** Webster dictionary
its more spiritual then anything else
most Black People know
what i am talking about
Cleopatra was a very beautiful
Black African Queen
even the Roman emperors
feared and respected her Black Beauty
(Mark Anthony for example)
the ancient Romans had a real crush  
on this beautiful jett Black Women
thus made a man drop to his knees
with the power and glory of
her Black Beauty
unfortunately in the mass media
Cleopatra is always portrayed or depicted
as a Caucasian European woman nevertheless
so wonderful is our true blackness
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Black Beauty is our reality and
we own it until the end of time say amen and
thus we are still admired by the world again
we control our Black Beautiful souls
we must create our own
Black Beauty Products and
stop given our money away
to other people that misrepresent us and
don't give a **** about
how we look on this earth
Stop taking our stuff
make me mad the way
they treated Michael Jackson
you know about the derogatory
insensitive racial jokes
so we shall be the judge and jury of
all shades of our rainbow race
don't be scared anymore Black People
its ok to be Black and sometimes
words hurt but we must hold
our heads up high with dignity and respect
i know just how you feel and
i know we got some real Black Sheep
in the family tree claiming to
be something that they ain't
remember this Black People
we are the Black Roses
that shine for thee
in the Garden of Eden and
the true reflection of God's light

Two tall, spotlessly white pillars stand in front of me,
looking through, blue sky and white clouds come into view.
Sitting on a wooden bench with faded paint,
Thinking, dazing, confusing.
Looking up, the dazzling sunshine leap to my eyes,
Reflecting the flag waving in the middle.
A few sparrows fly across the sky,
Several squirrels ran across the lawn.
Taking a deep breath,
I can taste the cold breeze.
Suddenly the calm was broken by the rumble,
Looking down, turned out to be a car passing by.
These remind me of something,
That spring is far away,
Deep and unforgettable.
Memories will not fade,
Stories don't get old.

In a town just up the mountain
straight out of an old John Wayne movie
where there's no parking lots
just places to tie up your horse
and the jail has one cell
and you'd expect to see Billy the Kid
breaking out of it any minute now
joshua trees
and tumble weeds
and all the bars have swinging doors
and there's a coffin leaning up against one of the walls
of the bar with the swinging doors
that's where you took me to your favorite place in the whole world
a restaurant
where a different band plays every night
with a different sound and a different look
from ones composed of old hippies and cowboys
playing their accordions and mandolins
singing old folk songs that everybody just knows
you don't know how you know
you just do
and then to the band of kids
straight out of suburbia
singing songs about ******* and heartache
with their hair slicked back
and their pants rolled up
and their moms are sitting right there
in a table right in front of the stage
eating burgers and salads and talking about the burgers and salads
then there's the girl from New York
she spells her name real weird and keeps her hair long and flowing
just like her dress
and she sings about empty motel rooms
and the Bhagavad Gita
and she tells stories in between songs
and there's writing all over the bathroom walls
little gems like
"what would Joan Jett do?"
or
"punks not dead, punks sleepin' drunk"
but mostly
just names of lovers in hearts
sometimes just initials like a secret code only they know
and the dates that they became lovers
there's paintings on all the doors
horses and hookers and cowboys under the stars
and all the walls around the stage
are covered in license plates
one from California from 1939
one shaped like a bear from Canada
one from Saskatchewan
wherever that is
and all the drinks
come in mason jars
and all the candles on the tables do too
and none of the chairs match
but that just makes them all unique
you're sitting in a one of a kind
but the whole place is really one of a kind
and that's why it's her favorite
she finds all these things to be just beautiful
not to mention the bartender keeps giving her free drinks
because it's her birthday and they take her word for it
and she's making friends with all the hippies
and she's dancing under the strings of lights
and we're kissing under the dark black sky
and I've never seen her so happy.


*s.mndi

.well back in my days (2 years ago)... you could groove to Patti Smith sing her rock 'n' roll ******, and listen to American Head Charge cover the same song... you could actually listen to Die Krupps Nazis auf Speed... back in my day - you weren't deemed a 70 year old nostalgia steam-train... while still in your early 30s; good luck finding that Patti Smith track... might as well resort to róże europy: kości czerwone, kośsci czarne (european roses: red bones, black bones)... and to think the *** pistols got away with their shenanigans... 40 years prior; Patti Smith! come on! it's a great tune! or tuning... whichever.

racial slurs... so the suffix in
schwarze-negger is
a collective private property?!
Dr. Dre can say it,
as urban insult,
and i'm reduced to a colonial
past that isn't even mine?!
can i say the names
of countries like Nigh-ger-ia...
or Nigh-ger?
          can it just be an urban
slur these days?
   compared to spawn,
yes, black panther *****...
***** on a lemon before
******* on ***...
          what's next:
yo... walking *****?!
      the ****... well... if we're
in the interracial Olympics,
i once ****** a bony black
girl with a Kama Sutra slim, tight,
that it wouldn't require a 12"
to penetrate a Ghanian lard
yo-yo...
               pulverized
the soft pouch of flesh where my
***** originate from
using her coccyx...
   ****...
          even i didn't expect
finding out the riff...
   on joan jett & the blackhearts'
song i hate myself for loving
you...
      i'm with the Ire on the topic
of racial slurs...
   instead of "offense"...
we resort to head-butts...
   like the two Posen bucks...
running headlong into
a bare canvas...
            comment section?
well... obviously i take off
my Francis Bacon mask.

one thousand
blackbirds
peppered the
magenta blue sky
with their
jett black wings
crisp skylight
and
the
voice of the wind
something so beautiful
that
make all of
the
blackbirds bend and sway

My heroes growing up
were golden-haired princes
and gun-toting superspies
that would crash through my bedrom windows
and whisk me away
to a world more beautiful than this one.

My heroes as a young, ***** teenager
were the scruffy rebels.
Sid Vicious. Joan Jett. Amy Lee.
Gerard Way. Brendon Urie.
who would scream their ways through my bleeding ears
and pierce my heart like needles,
And stir my pre-pubescent *** drive like a raunchy letter to a middle-aged, dissatisfied wife.

My heroes changed as I grew older
As my standards became lower for them.
because I thought i didn't deserve anything.

The man across the street who smiled at me.
The man who offered me a towel when I threw up on the bus.
The classmate who gave me directions once.

Then I met you, and you saved me.
Like the golden-haired prince
and gun-toting spy
from my dreams.

But today

One came in the form of a lady who bought a necklace from my mother.
And now we can afford two coffees instead of one.

Modern-day heroes.
****, I need to learn to save myself.

the
soul of night
a
jett black panther
with
fire and brimstone eyes
ivory white fangs
stalked
its prey
through
the
black panther night

August 2012
I see her
Walking to class.
She doesn't look at me.
But I could feel  my life change
in 1, 2, 3

September 2012
I meet her
On the top of the stairs
Her fingers combing through
Her brown hair
They had to take a break
To introduce mine
With a more than friendly shake

October 2012
I talk to her
It felt surreal
She likes Joan Jett.
So do I

November 2012
She walks me to class.
"Do you like me?"
I waited so long
To hear those words
Roll of her ler lips
And now, I don't feel it.

December 2012
We stopped talking..
Although she tries.

January 2013
She stopped trying.

May 2013
I miss her.
But I don't have the
right  to say that,
Do I?

July 2013
We're talking again
I miss her

August 2013 P. 1
She's trying to get over me
I saw it coming
But I was so close
To having her
please

August 2013 P. 2
I saw her
She held my hand
I missed her so much

September 2013
I'm confused again
I lost my feelings for her
again
And I cant imagine why
Why this is fair?
My life, my brain, gives her back
To tear her away?
This is going to break her..
I don't want to break her..
Its not fair.

October 2013
I kissed her
Or maybe she kissed me
Either way
Our lips touched
It was so fast
So short
But it was a kiss
And I srill feel her soft lips
Linger on mine

Tender wife
And I rest where the blue's are
Rocking rod, Joan Jett
A night to remember
To never forget
**** light
A cigar of maroon
The night was our entrance
For the next honeymoon

His old guitar is where he left it,
Still strung and tuned as on that day.
I remember he would play for hours.
Rock and roll he loved to play.

He never got to hold his grandson
or sit with him in his rocking chair
He's not a name that most remember
but fans of Joanie Jett still care.

For all you who love rock and roll
He wrote your anthem, he penned your prayer
I'll play a cover on my Fender
as the old man rocks up heaven's stair.

her hair is longer than I realized
and it smells familiar
my stomach feels off as I
stare at the posters on the walls
because I’m not sure where to look
(she’s so naked as am I)
I decide the top of her head is fine
then I decide to let my heart
murmur which I've been
avoiding since they diagnosed me at 7
but I'm exhausted and orgasming
really takes so much out of me
I decide I’ll only do it three more times
then I decide just this once

I do it all again the next night
because I’m trying to live my life
that doesn’t fully explain my reasoning but it’s all I have to offer
there’s dozens and dozens of
different versions of her and I
want to put it into writing that I
only ever liked two of them
I’ve never before liked each and
every part of a person
I've also never even been
close to admitting that
so I think this is at least one
part progress poem

she’s playing with a kid and I know
it’s supposed to turn me on but it’s
just making me feel physically ill
I wear my bathing suit bottoms
as underwear
she texts me that she’s not
even ******* wearing any
I’ll sleep in her bed if I want
to only because
there’s not really a point to
sleeping in mine
it'd be nice if I wanted to,
but I don't
so I go home

she chain smoked her entire
pack of american spirits
lying completely naked on
her ***** nylon carpet
I realized about halfway in
that I didn't want to touch her
I turned to my left to a shrine
of Joan Jett and then
I choked on her **** piercing
for the very last time
she got upset and tried to
question what went wrong
for the first time in my life
I just shut the **** up
because blaming it on her
star sign felt too insensitive

I woke up in love today
I wasn't in love late last night
In fact I went to bed alone
So, something just ain't right
Cupid shot his arrow
But, he'd better check his sight
'cause I woke up in love today
And I wasn't late last night

I figured I'd go drinking
To the bar, scene of the crime
Nothing felt that different
Hit the jukebox, dropped a dime
Joan Jett hit my eardrums
Grabbed a beer, and nothing more
Then I saw her hair a' flying
As she danced around the floor

An angel in a flannel shirt
High boots and tight blue jeans
She was dancing with no rhythm
To a song from in my teens
I wasn't gonna join her
I can't dance, and I won't try
I just waited till she spun around
Then I'd try to catch her eye

The waitress brought another drink
I paid, and she was gone
And my dance floor angel
Disappeared after that song
It must have been more lust than love
At least that's what I think
I looked around the bar for her
And I had another drink

The waitress took her bar rag
She wiped my table off for me
She put her hand on top of mine
And said this drinks for free
I thanked her, and she smiled
Left her number by my phone
She said why don't you call me
I'll be off when you get home

A few more drinks and smiles
And I left without a glance
But by then I had forgotten
The dancing angel and those pants
I can't remember calling
I don't remember much at all
But I woke up in love this morning
And I don't remember it at all

The literal worst.

Some might say Nixon- the criminal in charge

Martin for the tear he let the native’s tread

Hoover for the shanty towns that rose

Fillmore who let the escaped and finally free be returned to captivity.

John Taylor the whig who wasn't a whig but manifested his Ideas in us going west.

Warren G Harding and the Affairs

James Buchanan who started the war.

But the worst were the ones who never got to be.
The literal worst because I got to see a world that will remain unknown to me.
And they are:
Jessie  
Charlene
Victoria and Shirley
Belva
Elaine
Carol ‘n Patsy and
Cynthia McKinney
And who can forget Joan Jett Blakk the black Drag Queen


Because Despite what the winners want you to think WE do not look like James Buchanan!

Warren Harding!

John Taylor and all the other men who have persisted to reign.

And still, we sit here and watch as all other make strides in the field we claim to have created.
Brazil
Germany
India
Israel
Iceland
Ireland
Liberia
Norway
Pakistan
The Philippines
Sri Lanka
South Korea
And the UK

I hope I live long enough to see America rise to the silent challenge of its peers.

To see a woman at the podium
To see a woman at the desk.

To see

The black woman
The trans woman
The bisexual woman
The old woman
The unmarried, unmothered woman
The minority woman
The asexual woman
The not so average American woman woman.
The bleeding woman.

thousands
upon thousands of
blackbirds
pepper the
royal blue sky
with their
jett black wings and
words they
dream to sing

drinking a kalimotxo gives me the blushes...
and if i could... substitute... my dosage of "terrible liar"
*****... or ms. amber... and i would... gladly...
give my mind and body up to the wine and coca-,

but who's up for...
       recycling wine bottles...
and standing in queues... we're talking...
     8 x 2 =...             16 units...
your typical bottle of wine
is 9 units... circa...
      roughly 2 bottles of wine... per evening sitting...

- clearly someone was busy...
reinventing drinking and...
a "time-machine":
more like... the cameo cinema of memory...

or... candyfloss...
             i never liked drinking with
people...
too much conversation and...
"idiocy" of stressing the moment...
or whatever moment...
evens out... smiling... having a head filled with
a hebrew definite article that's
also... one of the H's
in the tetragrammaton:
i call it... the vowel-catcher...

but if one is the vowel catcher
equivalent to: ah... (a sigh)
   and eh?! (the question being
reiterated with an already presumed faulty reply)...

the laughter: ha ha ha ha...
  beside the point...
       who the hell desires to drink
wine for the taste: a connoisseur...
i'm pretty much sure that i've subsribed to: to drink
a wine... one mustn't "deceive"
oneself with: a spartan detail of a body...
or a spartan body of detail
              (coin flip on in)...
"free will": but still a reminder
that there only consists an argument
of choice for either A or B... etc.
"free will" and the constraints
of choice... give than... eventually:
only two revolve around pushing a vector forward...

or the "thinking thing": i think to **** the sponge...
the brain that i trust to be guided by
its unconscious: nerve central...
and also... a proto-life-form...
i need it to be: an... "empty thing"
    (res cogitans / res vanus respective)...

i drink... and... wait... for pinching
this sponge-life-esque-and-form...
******* flushes of "in vino veritas":
good that the ancient romans
didn't taste *****...
      talk about giggles when being
trapped to crucifix stilts...

  still... the baptism of poland: 966...
the baptism of lithuania: circa 1400...
the emergence of islam: circa 960...
complicated: well sure...
it didn't spread like "wildfire"...
                     only in place where:
prior to: rome left a footnote and mark...
the germans converted...
with the promise of being the revival...
or whatever...
            
                   that's the difference
between a confederation... and a simply: federation...
                    it's a work of ingenuity
that by export: there's the united...
    which isn't exactly "united" at all...
i digress... the wine the candyfloss...
and... the vanguard...
                nibbling on history while
journalism is asleep...
and this is very bad nibbling...
this is how you don't eat a drumstick
of chicken... unless...
you are fond of your dog...
or you entertain the idea of vultures...

journalism and history...
                and something of a poetry in between...

how was the "united" implied...
                         the circuit... and d.c. stresses
that there be no confederacy...
   like... it's a nice chant...
        u.            s.                    a.!
       finally h'america opened up and
we stopped hearing the music and stopped
watching the movies...
and no one really cared that much
about walt whitman over "    'ere       "...
truth be told: or better still! no truth!

here's a lovely bunch...
                  meredith brooks...
                            alanis morissette...
                  cheryl crowe...
                                      sarah mclachlan...
                          suzanne vega...
                    
         oh i'm missing my: have to find
the proper hound to shoot down these angels
from the sky...
                            
             something new: something's always new...
something to be it in the bottom drawer...
to settle for the niche...
to be the better grieving when the tsunami
politely asks for the key to the lock:
bursting forward...
              it was promised... some time ago...
that jack johnson was going to be the next
bob dylan...

                      yep... a hammer is going
to be a "new" hammer and all those... stubborn
nails... and all those... stubborn clouds...
mmm... yep: and all those stubborn constellation
of stars...

to drink: is to giggle: and keep the truth
as a postcard: pushing it into a mailbox...
without a stamp or somehow underpaying a
fraction of the stamp:
having the receiving end of the "matter"
to cough up the... "details"...

           perhaps this part of history is about...
being resolved to having a period
of: history as nostalgia...
perhaps it's not exactly: a repeat mute button
of groundhog day...

perhaps this part of history is:
nostalgia as history...
      outside of a refernce pointer:
          joan jett or susanna hoffs...
                      all that and the posit of:
well... d'ugh... no **** sherlock!

exhausted or there's still that flicking
of a flame a lacklustre fling for a / with a past...
               as ever: a portion wakes up: while the rest
are gladly falling asleep in the forever dreamworld...

pour the wine! choke on the bloke jokes!
pour the wine! we can fathom the idealists...
we can fathom the romantics...
but we'll sooner come to grips with:
gimp masks and snares of the idealists...

that ol' case of love: in theory...
never muddled: never muddied...
never to be exhausted... by the already available:
grey: elder world of people making
happiness from an unobstructed commute...
nor that: emblem: of tapping a stand-still
"perhaps" dance of a bus arriving late...
minor conflicts: that most certainly
become major elevations to
transcend the day...

                     a questionable narrative...
of all thought: no pen put to paper...
a "questionable" and "narrative"...
  "thinking" and... all of that baggage: shucks!
into the aether it goes!

      as ever: a welcome goodnight...
with christopher young's: hellraiser II soundtrack...
and... for all the ***** that... a rod stewart...
he's still mostly adamant on...
his train-set...                with that sort of reality...
i can, with ease... check in and out of...
for: however many years rod still has in 'im'
consecrations and bull-sacrifices...
and a yawn of moloch... a good night's bargain
of sleep.

My first love was a boy named Zebba
He was really sweet
My first kiss was a boy named Rainbow
Magic when our lips did meet
My first date was with Woody
We went to see Joan Jett
I'm still looking for the love of my life
But I haven't met Agamemnon yet

in all fairness, it was one of of those simple overcast,
English sort of days...
i love such days, the sun's lazily hiding
behind the clouds: no chance to implement green
energy via solar panels...
very English... very islander...
     hell, chances are these might just be the Faroe Isles...
it'll do...
weather like this makes me: miserably happy...
or, rather... happily miserable...
   you spot a crow paired up: why do crows in England
tend to fly in pairs?
over on the continent crows congregate...
they antagonise the sky with a presence equivalent
to a Messerschmitt raiding party... horde...
black crosses casting shadows from high up...
in England... the mythological kingdom of crows...
they pair up as if... Odin himself is peering on this land...
what's it like in Scandinavia?
i woke up with a thought, though,
i put it to the back of my head until the day's chores
were over...
what the hell happened to women?
where are the women a boy or man would put
up on the wall on a poster?
what the hell happened to...
women like Joan Jett...
Rachel Weisz (notably for playing a role in
a Stendhal adaptation with Ewan McGregor)
my hot... the archetypical blonde
for me was not Marilyn Monroe...
it was Cameron Diaz after seeing her in The Mask...
**** me, do i have to mention Morgan Weaver...
what's that other one
the really: fit as hell brunette...
oh... right... Alex Morgan...
                   Olga Smirnova... Diana Vishneva...
don't even get me started on
the tennis...
Eugenie Bouchard or... Garbiñe Muguruza
those Spanish "sad eyes" when
smiling... horiziontally:

   (
               )
   (

odd... isn't it... if you pair up two ( ( brackets like
that... and associate them with eyes...
while doing the opposite...

    )
                (
    )

) ) those down-cast eyes... but i guess it all comes
down to... a variation of rereading hieroglyphs...
hell... even further! it's archetypical...

who else is on my list... Paula Badosa...
Monica Puig...
i don't even know why i like the actress
that played the incel Christine Chubbuck...
point being: never shoot yourself in the head...
if you have to... stab yourself in the heart:
as Kafka prescribed... unless you have
a shot-gun available to get rid of the whole head...

i saw it in the movie... and... since i have eclectic tastes...
Christine Chubbuck shot herself in the head...
films make you want to think that she
died... instantly...
ever hear that urban myth about a decapitated
cockroach... it apparently died 2 weeks later...
no... not from missing head:
from a missing mouth... the cockroach's body
continued to live on, even though the head was...
ahem... "missing"...

i think i've touched upon this once already,
the infamous Ukrainian serial killer:
Andrei Chikatilo... it's very much that quote
from Batman... Resurrected... the one with Tom Hardy
playing Bane...
the quote, verbatim:
perhaps he's wondering why someone would
shoot a man! before throwing him out of a plane!
from the film about Christine Chubbuck's attempted
suicide on air: agony of an incel...
she didn't die, immediately... from the head injury...
she died later down the line:
on life support machines...

so i'll re-quote, concerning the execution of
Andrei Chikatilo...
why would he be marched into an empty prison
cell and be shot in the back of the head...
oh... now it makes senses...
he didn't die immediately...
he was brain-damaged...
he didn't bleed out from this head wound...
it must have taken him about... 2 weeks to die...
from either dehydration or from lack of food...
but the movies will never tell you that...
some do, thought...

why would you take a serial killer into an empty
prison cell and shoot him in the back
of the head: if you weren't expecting him
to pretend to be dead for... a little while, longer?
would the Ukrainian prison guards subsequently
**** him with arrogantly looking
objects?
******* ****** and what not?
i expect they might have...
i like entertaining myself with such scenarios...

but like Kafka said: aim at the heart...
you're not going to die from a head-injury...
your might not be aware of it...
it would be otherwise pointless to make a film
surrounding poor, un-****** Christine...
leeching off support-machinery...
kept alive...
ergo? ol' Andrei was shot in the back
of the head, in an empty cell...
left to partially rot away...
probably getting ****** on, ******* on...
well... did he deserve any better?!

yet i woke up thinking...
why do all the pretty girls... become prostitutes?
the most beautiful ones i ever caressed:
prior to scratching my fingertips on some pavement /
brick before touching their bodies were always
the prettiest of the whole lot of them...
but in general... with the advent of post-brothel
simping... paying for nudes directly
rather than ascribing oneself to:
i'm *****... i'll take the 3rd person ****-show...
fair enough...
but i'm not paying directly for: directly nothing...

they could have been football players,
nurses, ballerinas, actresses...
they turned to ***...
sure... of the 3 or 4 Ps...
poets, priests, psychiatrists or prostitutes...
they're in line...
perhaps it's for the best...
every, single, time...
of the times i visited a psychiatrist,
psychologist... after all: a psychologist has no
power to prescribe you the required pharmacology...
i have my own reading list...
so...
to hell with a priest...
i can't be a god-fearing man when i am supposed
to churn out a regurgitation of a:
benevolent all loving god... not in my part
of the woods...
so, prostitutes!
less talk, more touchy-feely...

yet so many women have decided to take up
this route... hardly professionally...
only via the easy way out...
it's not like most of these girls are capable to touch my
own body... i go to the source...
Turkish... plain in sight... Romanian...
i'm not paying for a ******* video of her
*******, body on body contact...
better assurance to what a date might provoke...

but it's not like they're aiming to be ballerinas,
the minority always will...
sure: and i'm also not a car mechanic...
****** poet, events steward...
a few clues to a upper IQ also missing...
not right up there with the opera singers... either...
i like the middle ground, though...

like today... i was walking to Collier Row to buy some
spiced ***, some orange peel,
some currants, for a Christmas cake...
beard's all bushy... the moustache has taken charge...
i have a date on Monday...
one sip of coffee and i pick up extra foam...
this ****** jungle needs to be trimmed...
so i went to the Turk...
now... if i really love a piece of clothing...
i'll repeatedly wear it...
a Fat Face brown shirt... thick enough for winter
to only wear a dark brown t-shirt underneath...
crock-coloured material trousers...
cotton? brown leather shoes... ankle high...
and... a new addition... a brown-green...
baker-boy cap...
maybe the bushy beard readied for a trim...
or the baker-boy cap...
a green & grey shawl...
one female, two female, three females down...
smiling, giggly... the: oh i love the pretend
curiosity / nervousness... excitement...
best i love myself: the last loved-up curiosity
left me... with too much nostalgia...
in as quickly & out as quickly as a ******* allows...
i'm out...

KORA: the lead-singer from this ******
band Manam... where are these women gone to,
all went to *******?
impossible... given can compete... compliment
men's addition to civilisation
they reduce themselves to the meat-market?
seems like a waste...
while they could aspire to sing,
to dance ballet... fair enough...
a ******* does the work of a psychiatrist...
yeah, sure, watch me complain...
but i'm not going to pay for frivolous expenses...
i need the touch: i'll get the touch...
no ******* free-rides...
people that talk during ***...
people that aren't mute or onomatopoeia prone...
can't understand them: i don't wnat to
understand them...

a more complex schematic i had in mind...
on the 14th of December my mother booked in
this pedicurist...
i hope she comes with her 1 year old daughter...
it was most fun the last time she came,
my little Frankenstein...

last time i clucked, she clucked back...
she implored me with the knowledge
that she was hungry, she also had cold feet...
i took her up in my arms and cuddle her...
i was being scrutinised...
this pedicurist had a friend in tow...
apparently i had all the advantages of a Scandinavian
physiognomy...
a darkened beard, a darkened brow...
yet illuminating moustache / soul patch:
blonde...
   the leftover of my childhood colour of hair...
i wish she brings this little... critter back into my arms...

it's not mine: less heartache from a perspective of
ownership... this little babe... i own bonsai tigers...
coming into staged ownership of a baby girl...
not my own... how fun it becomes...
i out on some vinyl record for her...
she tries to memorise me...
she puts a finger into my mouth...
she tugs at my beard...
i wink, she winks...
             i give her an onomatopoeia...
she gives me one back...

little Frankenstein...
that's why i should have children, they'd be too experimental...
following the schematic:
i'd ask the little critter:

  e  i
a  M o
    u        (y)

English alone... Y... why... alias of "iota"...
            
Y: to... także samogłoska, nie?
i guess there are more vowels in ******
than in Anglo-Saxon...

  ą   e  ę
a  M  o
   i y u/ó

in anglo-saxon Y is not considered a vowel,
it's considered  a consonant:
a... spółgłoski...

i lent this pedicurist some albums:
pablopavo - telefon
wooden shjips - west
vomito nergo - fall of an empire
hanzel und gretyl - uber alles
biran jonestown massacre - aufheben
dead skeletons - dead magic
electric wizard - dopethrone
spirit - 12 dreams
ryan adams - s.t.
u.n.c.le. - war stories
om - adviatic songs
trentemoller - lost
the soft moon - s.t.
allah-las - s.t.
uncle acid & the deadbeats ,
naam,
chromatic - will for love
in extremo - verehrt und...
tame impala - innerspeaker...

just bring me your little Frankenstein!

tending to a babe, via keeping a makeshift...
listening stream of...
Masquerade, oh beloved little kitty:
of a would be Frankentsein...
speak me some assurance!

.surprisingly, poached cauliflower tastes so **** good in between pouring drinks... with a little bit of dill... well when you're drinking, and haven't eaten anything prior, other than about six cinnamon biscuits, makes sense to make an interlude with vegetables to fill you up, rather than settling on a meat, or a carbohydrate... the seagull effect... filled stomach, with a low calorie count, before ms. amber fits the spot.

eureka! i found it, the old jukebox
that was once the youtube of
the 00s...
              and early 1-zeros...
**** right i'm proud,
   i had to fiddle the algorithm
a bit, but i managed to return
to early jukebox formality...
all it took was listening to a few
pop songs and other familiar
cross-genre songs...

it began with
uncle acid & the deadbeats'
song dead eyes of London...
the whole trick is in how far
the suggestions extend...
       obviously the first suggestions
look like this:

         now that we're dead - metallica,
  U2 - hold me, thrill me, kiss me, **** me
joan jett & the blackhearts - i hate myself
                                                  for loving you
lady gaga - alejandro
                 bon jovi - blaze of glory
   the prodigy - one man army
                     roxette - she got the look
megadeth - symphony of destruction
   the jimi hendrix experience -
            all along the watchtower...
a jordan peterson video... what the ****?!
ke$ha - die young
   **** - blue monday....
etc.
  
but then you scroll down,
and find what youtube used to look like
as the prime jukebox...
bands like:
w.a.s.p. (wild child)
   ****** jesus (i am the mountain)
spiderbait (black betty)
   pat benatar (love is a batterfield)
    jace everett (bad things)
    king dude (pagan eyes over german skies)
ghoultown (drink with the living dead)
all them witches (the marriage of coyote women)
halestorm (do not disturb)
the pretty reckless (take me down)
with (seer)
                  death (you're a prisoner)
1000mods (electric carve)
red fang (wire)
        lucifer (izrael)
   beastmaker (evil one)
   boys noize (1010)
   church of the cosmic skull (evil  in
your eyes)
     sleep (giza butler)
   the flying hat band (lost time)
kadavar (die baby die)
    valley of the sun (the sayings of the seers)
hexvessel (teeth of the mountain)
   hallas (astral seer)
  jess and the ancient ones (S/T, full album)
high on fire (electric messiah, full album)
elephant tree (elephant tree, full album)
    acid mothers temple & the cosmic...
                      (take me to the universe)
acid king (middle of nowhere, center of
                   everywhere, full album)
radio moscow (magical dirt, full album)
    borracho (atacama, full album)
               fu manchu (daredevil, full album)
somali yacht club (the sun, full album)
elder (reflections of a floating world, full album)

i think that's a decent diet...
well... not that i've listened to any of these,
yet...
but given how the jukebox is
behaving, i thought i'd write out all the new
suggestions and return to them
in the search...
                          OM i already know...
but ****...
    it took me so long to penetrate
this new ****** algorithm to find
the old thesaurus selection search result...
i mean... this new algorithm
has no notion of the synonym...
all it fires is...
   a miser variation of...
     it's not exactly antonym either.

i hope this selections helps you
                in penetrating this new algorithm
to find new music...
      it's wide enough...
apart from OM... all these bands are:
i was born yesterday new.

i'm trying to think of a greater joy than that
of: drinking cheap wine
in the form of kalimotxo...
i'm trying to think: so much for thinking:
let alone trying...
i was doing some gardening today
since the weather allowed it to be done...
trimmed the evergreen bush...
this other Japanese bush of tenderness...
mowed the grass...
and by some "miracle" of absent-mindedness
i managed to cut the cable...
the fuses in the house popped out...
flicked them back on...
i wasn't "there": had to cut the cable
expose the copper wiring
and "connect the dots"...
   absent-mindedness: guilty of cognitive
negligence...
why? well a wire usually has two streams...
one encased in blue rubber
one encased in brown rubber...
what did i do?
technical man... ha...
i fiddled the two streams together...
the arteries with the veins: as it were...
the fuses popped out once more...
mind you: rarely can an appliance break:
if you first check the plug fuse...
the **** thing comes back to life:
regardless...
an unbelievable faux pas...
first encase the blue copper wiring...
exclusively... then encase the brown
copper wiring... and then...
bundle the two together...
but... since this was a demand of chores:
i was most probably thinking
about the joys of cheap wine...
i've tried it: the more expensive the less
joy in it...
perhaps i was thinking about that
Turkish ******* and... how...
she'll be gone in a year's time... perhaps more...
will i wait that long...
another hour with her:
i'll even bring her a signed copy
of a book of verse i published...
i'll get to the bottom of knowing her name...
drinking cheap wine
is a bit like riding a bicycle in the night:
or walking into the forest: also at night...
esp. when it's autumn and its dry
and the leaves murmur a polyphony
or rustle... crunch... hell: if ol' baldy is there
too in the sky... and you catch glimmers
of him through the branches that
begin to resemble cobwebs with your
one eye squinting...
just now, though...
i came across a video...
'the great gaming crisis' - thinking-agape...
not judging: men still in their 30s playing
consoles...
my last memory of gaming came
in the form of PS1: final fantasy seven...
tenchu... metal gear solid...
i wanted a PS2 so badly...
dead end...
eh... the odd spell of Rome Total War...
or Medieval Total War...
but even that fizzled out...
having invested in vinyl...
and more music... it's all music...
an old mix tape: where i surrendered
to "guilty pleasures"... mostly pop...
i'm a sucker for pop:

manfred mann - doo wah diddy diddy
the monkees - i'm a believer
joan jett - i love rock & roll
the rembrandts - i'll be there for you
phantom planet - california
sixpence none the richer - kiss me
suzanne vega - luka
madonna - beautiful stranger
eagle eye sherry - save tonight
leonard cohen - take this longing
belinda carlisle - heaven is a place on earth
deep blue something - breakfast at tiffany's
the cranberries - dreams
the connells - 74 75
4 non blondes - what's going on
leonard cohen - in my secret life...

drinking cheap wine might be deemed a guilty
pleasure...
for all the riches in the world...
give me all the emptiness of the head
and all the stone-grip of the heart...
what's the alternative?
stay sober: play video games...
it's hardly a reciprocation within the confines
of backgammon...
i tend to never touch chess:
su doku... that's me:
no room for crosswords...
i'm playing a game of stalemate with words
as we speak: i don't need clued avenues of
dictionary / encycloepedic entries...

no... i don't want to be a Buddha story:
to have it all and then give it up...
me? i want a trickle of having it all:
but at the same time: not having it...
a rare injection of: the banality of the carnal...

besides... what scene of horror gripped me
most?
in Amsterdam i spent an afternoon
with two Germans...
we went back to the hostel... an Egyptian armed
with a bottle of Absolut ***** and a joint...
i spent the next day with him...
he smoked... i drank beer...
he introduced me to Le Trio Joubran
and gave me a single **** of a joint...
while putting headphones into my ears...
my jaw dropped and i sat there
mesmerized by the abyss that my self
had become...
i must have looked like a ****** *****
i saluted a girl with a V (not for 5 or peace...
V for: i'd like that oyster... very much)
she sat there in awe:
no bigger awe that i was in...
we walked back to the hostel while i laughed
in the street...
those two Germans?
me and this Egyptian: an architecture student:
great at cartoon doodling...
we looked at each other with horror...
in the dark lit room...
the two Germans just ingested some
mushrooms and...
   ended up... watching American Dad cartoons
on the t.v.

- you heard stories from London about stabbings
and idiotic cyclists playing the wild card of
solipsists en route to something unimportant...
headphones in...
eye in the back of my head...
the thrill of the roundabout... always looking
out for a speed ticket...
usually an ambulance...
or just gagging for something than might
**** me... the momentum of a large
truck... always exposing myself from
the thrill of the blind-spot... swerving into
the eye-sight of the driver in the mirror
on the outside of the lane...
large gear into 3... small gears beginning at
3 working through to 6 for a sensation
of cruising in a convertible at night...

the bulging sensation of having a pulse...
in the legs and in the constraining sensation
of the torso being endowed with muscle...
watching the first proper summer
lightning and thunderstorm...
watching how the rain turned to hale...

underworld: born slippy...
if only i had the sort of chemical nostalgia
surrounding the end of the 20th century...
lucky me if she'll offer some angel dust
to sniff... she'll disappear in a year's time:
i'm not going to give up
that sort of ******* any time soon...

it's all true what William Burroughs is known
for having cited:
never a wasted moment with cats...
they'll dream for me...
dogs? that ******* leash...
and... toilet hours...
cats like plants: they can entertain themselves...
they don't need to be recognised
as cats... as pets... as hierarchical cretins...
although: children should be raised with
dogs if they don't have siblings...
cats come later... much later:
when the peers have hammered in
a preservation construct of their genes...
waiting game before child becomes
the automated self-fulfilling will:
how soon: sooner than never those...
happy pictures of having offspring will...
fizzle out...

i could sometimes be bound to watching old
movies while admiring the beauty of
seemingly ancient actresses...
then came a moment in my life where:
i stashed enough memories
for them to become a cinema:
while i played the leading role...

and as i aged: i became less and less angry
with youth... i stopped being the
"angry young man":
my anger was rooted in youth: per se...
perhaps i'm tinged with melancholy now...
but i'm hardly the repressed-depressed
reflex symptom carrier:
i like the romance of the melancholic
reflection... i don't know the i.q. scrutiny of
my sense of humour:
given i'm inclined to laugh at impromptus
that don't deserve much thought:
innuendo... or whatever you want to name it...

a scuttle for truths from advertisement:
this is why i don't like international football...
this is why i prefer club football...
i don't want to belong to some "whole":
so "entirety" when all it is: is a game of 22 ballerinas
kicking about a guillotine dead of
****** into: sensibly done...

now... me sober occupied with gaming or me...
drinking scribbling this...
best case scenario:
i'll be choking on my ***** of happy Cheerios:
oh look... here's a loop... here's another loop...
here's a cut-back...

come 2am i will leave life encrusted with all
the necessary impromptus:
because... this load of bollocking (on my part)
will still preserve itself as being: best left alone...
unscripted...
which is why i wondered: what of the tenacity
of these actors... their gargantuan gloat...
oh... right... they're only so because
they have been... scripted...
i am the antithesis of actor...
i'm looking for my whip-tongue from time to time...
i can't find it... if i were an obnoxious woman
in need of soap-opera company i'd be on
the ready...

       last time i heard...
a small dog barks...
a large dog... bites...
a wolf can't bark...
what am i... a barker... a howler...
or a biter?
never mind...
i see it as follows:
i'll cycle and spare myself the excess
calculation of the 20 odd mile
from the outer-reaches of what's
considered London...
into Hyde Park...
i'll drop to the height of pansies...
wrap my legs around my bicycle frame...
and drink a bottle of Merlot lying
back... sipped through the side of my mouth...
like a drip... drip... drip...
i've... had enough!

i'll expect myself to be peered at...
better that than... imitating
voyeurism not expected in a brothel...
to be seen is to be:
in some, questionable... heights of Frankish thought...
well... let it be known that i might be seen...
to hell with the whims of pissy-pants ms. chastity
who later feigns a lost "free-will"
among the... Pakistani abusers...
to hell with her:
give me the ol' raven haired Turkic woman!

wine wine more wine!
i don't want to hear another iota's worth
of a woman's whining!
and now the grave warm with
her expectations...
you bring women to the fore...
you can't expect the war to end:
any time soon... esp. this... "culture war":
death by proxy...
to hell with it...
           a war: a supposed war
where: no one dies... but everyone else
i numb-skulled senseless seeking out
positively-passive narratives...

i like the idea of cycling behind a greater
momentum than i can ever have...
behind a truck of concrete behind a truck
of ash...
behind a truck of solipsistic dunces coming across
the altar of sacrifice...
so far so good: concerning my wedding with
death... tight grieving ***** with tattoos of dates
and all her: crocodile tears...
almost as if a mother that...
no... sooner a sister i'd want to ****...
because: all that's good feels false...
and all that's evil is a conundrum of thinking
too much about, it...

all that same **** different cover
moral lingo...

mistletoe: a variation of: cancer:
botanical cancer...
i'll be feeding my sleeper cancer cells
some poison a while...
all those trees coming up to Warsaw
equipped with afro-bundles of
jemioła...

unlike dogs: dogs recognise drunks...
dogs don't allow drunks to get: tender...
cats? eh... a drunk will pass them by
with smooches...
my grandfather was a drunk...
and a solipsistic fiend...
my grandmother knew...
now she's happily widowed:
but my mother has this pristine
effigy of her father that...
boils under my skin...
that's simply not true...
the problems started when he retired...
and the entire shift of
the satellite-state post-Soviet
metallurgy industry came to a halt...

for the love of dogs: but not the leash
or the muzzle...
i can disown a concern for either
in the domain of the bonsai tigers:
i can: and since i can: i will!

cheap wine... nothing comes close:
except... relapses into spineless love
being adorned with an hour's worth
with a *******...
two bottle of red wine...
lord of mosquitos: nameless...
give me more!
between the cling to climbing mt. Everest...
and second sights of looking
at a naked body of a woman...

chase the tides!
put a stick into a river and will
a change of flow!
i'll go twice mad
looking at this altar before
i'm even once alive: therefore twice dead...
it's not her raven hair..
her ****** contorts when she follows
up on ******* with a kiss...
may i sacrifice her hands:
before the ice and the fire...
hands: one knuckle "short"...
it took me 4 years sleeping: bypassing my libido
to "somehow" suddenly wake up...

that old thirst for... underperforming yet
all that body that's heat...
toward Hyde Park...
drinking a bottle of wine while...
reclining: i'm not denying the fact
that certain words rhyme...
ancient Roman poets weren't lyricists...
they were: prosaic masters...

   scurror ego ipse mihi, populo tu:
rectius hoc et splendidius multo est.
   equos ut me portet, alat rex,
officium facio: tu poscis vilia -
           verum dante minor, quamvis fers te
nullius egentem...

utrius horum verba probes et facta, doce,
vel iunior audi...

i, joker unto myself i am,
but you unto the people;
i live better, moreover lightly,
a steed by the will of the lord lifts me :
the king feeds...
you, thus... begging...
        lash out and so tow horribly...
you are the sire... without...
needs...

no one is expected to sing these words...
2000 years from now:
i presume them to be cited:
once... the English tongue comes across
an impossible transformation:
that this here: now... tongue...
becomes... unrecognisable...
like Latin is to the modern amore! amore! Italian...
no?

  between the sight of the mountain:
or the sea... my death... and the sight of a body of
a naked woman...
i will forever cling to the latter:
starve me some more!
more! but don't expect me to be the pawn
in the supposedly sufficient "games"...

that i grieve these stones
and a softness i hardly begin to fathom as:
welcome... that my words are the illuminations
of a chapter lost...
a paragraph first written...
i will not allow time to be kind...
i will want time: to... shackle me toward
an unforgiving tide...
drown my sorrows in the croaking
of the priesthood of crows!
come i resurrected:
with any eye that's worth a
clepsydra's libra.

life has becoming exciting, once more...

well **** me, i really wasn't expecting that...
i only met this girl, woman, single mum(?)
at Wembley, two weeks ago for our training /
induction...

i just sent her a text on whatsapp
confirming that it was me sending her a text,
nothing for two weeks, why?

last Sunday i just sent her a text asking
her whether or not she was working,
she said she already took up a different
job, catering in a west end theatre,
eh, oh well... so i sent her a photo
inside the stadium....

'it's empty!'
well yeah, we can't take photographs on the job
came my reply only today...
then some chit-chat about work...
she said that i should be looking for
something else, getting an SIA certificate
blah blah... to which i replied:
oh don't worry, i have always something
to do, i write poems & so-called poems
attaching a picture of my hand holding
a physical copy of a book
i published...

Mateusz Conrad - Πoετιc Oπτoμετρy
you want a copy?
'is it a pdf file, do you have a pdf file,
or is it one of those: REAL books'
oh yeah, it's a physical book,
send me your, ahem ms. Evelyn... ?
and your address...

she didn't send me her address, i commented:
well, that's healthy, no need to trust me
outright like that, even though, me?
stalking? hanging around some woman's
house? **** that...

- would i like to meet up for coffee?
oh, sure... the 12th of December, 10am...
too early? oh no, no...
by the station?
well... that's a date then...

for ****'s sake... that was easy...
coffee: date? it's not exactly me coughing up
money for a meal,
but being a hermit for so long...
i can't remember the last date i was on...
no... wait... i do...
terrible idea... she picked me up in a nightclub...
worst place to meet women...
we ended up going to the park...
i was drinking a bottle of red wine,
she tried to keep up...
we went to a pub and i drank a pint of Guinness...
she bailed: she was apparently meeting up
with some girlfriends for food...
my god, i was lucky... i hated her company...
she wasn't frigid: just nervous...
i can appreciate excited nervousness
but not nervousness when you know
something is awry... when you haven't clicked...

good, she ****** off while i ordered a second pint...
and basked in drinking alone
looking at people... apart from going
into a forest, or a graveyard: watching people...
it's up there with my other fetish:
for the deutschezunge...

some other date... we were supposed to go to a gallery...
we ended up just having coffee:
i implored her: stop playing cat & mouse with me...
you're late? i'm early, blah blah...
in a cafe i pulled out a spoon that was still
lodged in her cup: you'll poke your eye out...
i don't think she liked that...
but who the **** drinks anything from a cup
with a protruding spoon still lodged in the cup?!
for ****'s sake: a straw, fair enough...
the girl was going to poke her eye out!

ugh... i never heard from her ever again...
we went on a date prior, with this other girl i knew prior
from knowing a high school friend...
this Lebanese girl... hmm... Alicia...
in school i once asked her out to go to the cinema:
RE-JECTED... i suspect: nervous middle-eastern, Levant
christian goody-girl...
but when i invited her to visit me
for Hogmanay up in Edinburgh
with my first on-and-off girlfriend
  (circa 2005) she came along... my then on-and-off
also brought a colt... a little Aussie...
annoying as ****... had a nickname... sponge?
something like that... the three of them slept in
my bed while i slept on the floor...

a year prior my then on-and-off g/f came...
days... i remember spending a lot of the time
suckling at her *******... nothing happened down south...
i can still hear the echo of her moans...
a year later... she lost her virginity to me
while Alicia was sitting in the living room reading:
the Hours... Michael Cunningham...

personally? i preferred Virginia Woolf, herself...
lucky me: not losing my virginity to a ******...
the sensation of trying to scalpel past the thin layer
of protective skin of the ******...
i don't know... pleasant, weird...
thank god i'm not circumcised...
i can have the capacity to ******* without inhibitions
but during the act pull the "excess" skin back...
ergo? no need to pay back the added "luxuxury"
of circumcision with the advent of
either Judaism / Islam...
n'ah... i have my "excess" skin attached...
**** the kippah **** the payer 5 times a day...
fasting? i do that do secular reasons...

i feel sorry for the circumcised brood...
jerking off must feel rather impossible...
plus... all that sensitivity: ****! gone...
well... that's the price you pay...
i'm a free radical: while the circumcised ones attach
so much attention to: payback...
woman... wear a niqab, woman: the patriarchy...
hell... i prefer prostitutes to begin with...
clear as day... no need for dating...
i'm there for only one thing and one thing alone...
bypass all the usual chit-chat
"job interview" types, the table(?)
sure... i cook for myself, i clean the house...
now that i'm working... i'm going to have
a confidence booster... when i was really in
a state of: de profundis... no one was there...
i picked myself up... self-help par excellence...
now?              *******...

i'm going to listen to joan jett & the blackhearts
whether you like it or don't...
reading Kant, Heidegger, Kierkegaard is finally
paying off... now... now... women are starting
to take interest in me...
sure... without any additional psychopathy:
let's play...
after all: i'm not a woman... i'm not the one with
children... but hell... if i have to fill the role
of father, i'll play... i think of
the historical anomaly of ancient Rome...
how readily the men would
take up fostering... i'm likewise...
i don't care much for Darwinism's arguments
about furthering my DNA...
DNA can go **** itself...
i'm thought prior to body, firstly...
i know that's counter to what's "expected" but,
so far... the ought-i complexity has allowed
me to navigate with more freedom than
i-will could ever satiate me with...

- even though i don't believe in reincarnation...
why? what... only an elected number of actual
people... who migrate from body to body of...
the rest of the people are what? solipsists... zombies?!
reincarnation is inhumane...
but if i were... from my given names &
as a diviner of the Hebrew deity...
three names stand out...

St. Matthew... (calling of st. matthew by Caravaggio)
Konrad von Wallenrode / Konrad I of Masovia...
ha ha... who else might the third
if not Balaam?!

- it's good to have a self-deprecating sense of humour,
i never thought myself as attractive,
vaguely curious,
i would stand before the mirror
and focus on my green eyes...
my beard... oh god: me and my beard envy...
thank god i have height covered...
but beard envy? what a plague...
sort of thin in daylight...
filled up... volume excess in artificial light...

i sometimes wonder: Antichrist or... Paraclete (ref.
Jung, in his Answer to Job)....
i stopped caring... a stolen identity crisis
that began with Nietzsche in the 19th century...
Marilyn Manson... so many people
with the avatar / moniker-666 attacked...
what horrors are to be avaited,
since our present times are so bountifully
soothing?
why am i so lucky, to have so so much freedom
as to follow Voltaire's
maxim from Candide:
England isn't my home...
but the people, the things around me...
i feel implored to tend to them,
i feel implored to care for them...
there's no reason beside reason-in-itself...
i need to... it's a duty... it's a sacrifice i am willing to make...
because it would break my heart should
i be deemed slacking...
i reconfirm this attitude by shying into
ejecting a tear, or two...
this must have taken place... i must be here....
i must do this...
i must write this...
i'm insignificant compared to a heart surgeon...
but i am nonetheless unavoidable...
i can't just magically wish myself away...
i have to stand firm...
i am: feet... i am gravity...
i am: if the most allows me: the least being
the reciprocation of experience...

oh how i wish i could give up!
oh how i wish!
so many ******* idiot! so many ******* solipsists!
so many ******* eager piglets! at the trough, are we?
so many, little people, belittling people!
if i could only allow these people an inquiry
into the basic standards of expressing manners...
of inquiring into tact...
perhaps... i wouldn't have to conjure up...
a fetish for Robespierre!

no, i can't... leave these people... that's the best
you can... let one lesser psychopath come into contact
with a psychopath that might overcome them...
let us allow reality to be: as harsh as it's necessary...
people don't learn via giving them candy...
they learn... by allowing them to imagine a carrot...
then whipping them across the head with a stick...
education is not somehow formal:
education needs to be forced...

it requires someone to be erudite: however it might
be specified...
i lament... so many people circumstance
themselves as these: self-entitled pseudo-beings...
pseudo-humans... they are so self-entitled...
what shock, when they are robbed of their
status, or when their status is undermined...
what pitiful creatures, what has time allowed,
what, has, time, allowed?
what have people in their own capacity, allowed?

i wish i could be firmly cynical when looking
at man... by way of cynicism i could
fathom a work-around: a schematic...
i'm not a cynic though... i'm just hopeless...
for the time being: i'll just pretend that everything is
somehow: obliterated within the confines
of a rainbow future...

i'll keep the orchestra surrounding the sound
of falling rain to myself...
as i will keep... the sight of snow falling
in a graveyard at night: to myself...
here i am...
                        alone, aloof... blessedly content
with both circumstances; to further mould me,
while i await my exit.

- oh, **** me... i'm working a 20th & 26th shift
at Craven Cottage...
it's the 9th today... Monday's the 12th...
i'll have to see the Turk over the weekend to get
my beard trimmed!

a teenage bedroom above the estate agents
across from the Synagogue
               on Beehive Lane, Gants Hill...

either playing Age of Empires II,
or the Sims (briefly) -
becoming freaked out by the wormhole
effect of being ****** into
a Hindu belief in reincarnation
(limited no. of people)
when i made the Sim play
the computer in the game...
wait... i'm playing the computer...
**** that...
and the walls lined with
posters of bands... all the walls,
infringing on the space
on the ceiling...
          and a poster with all the dog
breeds...
  well... what can i say...
   my siblings were dogs,
my would-be brothers and sisters...
were dogs...
      for the love of life after
owning a Doberman:
      i dream of somehow owning a
rottweiler...
               but what i really should
have had, three posters,
of 1980s music pin-ups...
      joan jett...
       susanna hoffs...
                          marie fredriksson;
well... if that Hindu stuff is
still in play...
   i want my future reincarnated self
to remember this, current self,
and have a teenage room
   with these three pin-ups on the wall
somewhere...
   along with... you know...
the usual, 1990s "nostalgia" bonanza.

Step by day by slow
Troubles come and go
Solamente yo
Chuck Berry's Kokomo

The little way xie xie
Watch my children play
Forever and a day
Mother Mary May

No I can't control her
Lord Shiva bipolar roller
If I could I would console her
Joan Jett should rock n' roller

A little ocean motion
Quietly devotion
Brian Katz kept coachin'
Music is love potion

           Verdi Cries!

A Wah Wahhh song

Punch drunk
By my oh my...
funk
Oh the cold cocked

rhythm and these blues

Uhm...hmmmm... shaking my dropped
Dripping head..

Shook my smile yesterday
It took two to take...

Quick flick.. tick again...
she slid right off
Like turrets
Flying a ****

Like a cheap date
Tossing a Marlboro

Quickly
Carelessly

What a monster
This new normal
And its contrary Benefits

I ***** a Joan Jett curly lip
Circa Runnaways angst
Leather jacket
And serious strappy heels

That kind of contrary
But filled with Rock n Roll
Lust and undercurrent

A whiskey’d throat to my silent
My oh my...

Icky Thumped lick to its rip
(Hear that guitar)

So you know, I probably appear pretty cool here..

But my future is bright
(I gotta wear shades?)

I might just get...
Cool as black ice
Tattooed on my hand

I might just get...

Over it

Solitude is best
But friendship is better
1987
Still cannot forget her

Beautiful sunny day
My son plays video games
Often, very often
I am obsessed with names

She's gentle, caring, pretty
A diamond in the rough
Joan Baez is ethereal
Joan Jett is tough

I'm gonna sleep late
Call my son and talk
A little basketball
A little late night walk

her hair is longer than I realized and it smells familiar
my stomach feels off as I stare at the posters on the walls
because I’m not sure where to look (she’s so naked as am I)
I decide the top of her head is fine then I decide to let my heart
murmur which I've been avoiding since they diagnosed me at 7
but I'm exhausted and orgasming really takes so much out of me
I decide I’ll only do it three more times then I decide just this once

I do it all again the next night because I’m trying to live my life
that doesn’t fully explain my reasoning but it’s all I have to offer
there’s dozens and dozens of different versions of her and I
want to put it into writing that I only ever liked a few of them
I’ve never before liked each and every part of a person
I've also never even been close to admitting that
so I think this is part progress poem and
part backpedaling

she’s playing with a kid and I know it’s supposed
to turn me on but it’s just making me feel physically ill
I wear my bathing suit bottoms as underwear
she texts me that she’s not even ******* wearing any
I’ll sleep in her bed if I want to only because
there’s not really a point to sleeping in mine
it'd be nice if I wanted to, but I don't, so I go home

she chain smoked her entire pack of american spirits
lying completely naked on her ***** nylon carpet
I realized about halfway in that I didn't want to touch her
I turned to my left to a shrine of Joan Jett and then
I choked on her **** piercing for the very last time
she got upset and tried to question what went wrong
for the first time in my life I just shut the **** up
because blaming it on her star sign felt too insensitive