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Westley Barnes Feb 2014
I can't admit to having much to show
for all the pain that's left me here.

Worth as much as the fading of Autumn light,
or the memory of snow

Fleeting, if all consuming, the promise
of cult status
And sensitive, yet determined
(if sleepy) stands the catcher of the
Whims at the auditorium's open door.

...But it doesn't mean as much
as the first kiss of
Teenage lovers
after an ice-cream cone.

You could spend half a lifetime
searching for moments
that look like glossy photographs
And to hear your name whispered
behind your back-wherever you go.

If that sounds luminescent, it still won't solve a problem.

But what is "content"?
How far did I get?

Well...
In my prime
I was a Roadie for Boredoms
...and they were actually pretty nice guys.
Boredoms are a Japanese Experimental noise-rock band who enjoyed a substantial amount of press attention during the 1990's while supporting popular acts such as Nirvana and Sonic Youth, as well as appearing on the main stage at Lollapalooza '94. They were briefly singed to Warner Bros./Reprise Records and are often regarded as the most avant-garde music group to appear on a major U.S. label.
This poem is non-Autobiographical. However, if Boredoms would like me to do some crew work for them in the future, I'm sure that could be arranged.
The stage was  set the little untalented ***** monkeys gathred
like bizzar attention seeking ******  all for the title
of  Hello Poetry's top poet.

But enough with the weird named carbon copy poets
who now **** the charts im just saying im a little bitter.
Lets take a look at the judges you silly little donkeys.

It was a who's who of people who actully were something
that what in the real world we like to call original.
Jack  yes the loveable kinda ******* ****** who deep
down would probaly have more in common with Jack the Ripper
than Lord Byron  im just saying.

Baths  yes the queen of Hello  and i'd  be a smart *** now but im scared she'd hurt me  and not in a good way  not that im into
pain dam you Marv  Albert    i never knew the tijuanna brass were so freaky.

Chris Smith  the poet  the model  the all  around  hansome devil
with a heart of gold  you go girl.

Phil Roberts  the silent  yet  down right evil  arch enemy of
all things  sweet and pure finally off probation and his meds.
Still the restraining  order was in full effect thank God  Barney
that devil worshiping dinosuar was no where in site  and as long as the voices in Phils head were happy we were all safe.

And the man the myth the pervert drunken *******  of Hello.
Just back from his recent vist   to  Shady Pines  resort slash mental
institution.
Gonzo  along with his court ordred doctor .
Dr Jerry  Who held many degree's in bartending,Massage therapy with happy endings,And chemistry yes  he was a real busy ******* slash drug fiend okay dealer.
What a girl has her needs.

Sitting at the judges table it was the usal chatter how are you.
Nice ***'s  hey Phil  put down the knife.
Jack  wear did you get that muzzle and straight jacket?
Baths  reminding me she didnt wanna have to use the pepper spray
like at the Hello christmas party.

Gonzo pouring his wild turkey.
Dr Jerry yelling  hey just what do you think your doing?
What are ya drinking by yourself?
Good point  you silly *******  so after four strong drinks
some lines of uhh  sinus powder from Columbia they dont just
make records  to my suprize we were off like lindsy lohan
on a drug I mean  well a drug run.

The first couple of guys read there genitic poems all of which
were like taco bell food.It  pretty much  would either give you food poisening or the ****'s.

Person after person read there poetry the drinks poured
people gave there opinions  Chris well the poem was great just maybe pace it better.

Baths giving another deep comment that was always welcome
that and the contestants outta sheer fear knew not to cross her
cause **** happens after dark around here and the Hello dumpster
is filled with not just bottles of wild turkey yeah remember Drew?
Exactly.

Jack gave a long muffled  comment  that must have surely been brillant someone should really remove that dam muzzle.

Phil  goddamed dinosuar  i'll teach him for playing hard to get.
oh yeah he'll like it he'll like it real good  oh look
a puppy dog.

Okay kinda weird  but well yeah.

Then the  attention turned to the attention grabing little *****
of Hello  no not  Gary ****** man.
the only G that matters beside's spot  Gonzo.

Well I think you need to lean more into the microphone  when you
read  and um well to relax  show more clevage.
And may I say if that was a samba   it totally ******
1 star.

The room and other judges must have been amazed by my depth
for they were all silent.
Dr Jerry aplauded  dam he really knew how to fill out that cheerleading outfit   we really needed to take a fishing trip im just saying
male bounding is okay sometimes  just ask Phil.

The people kept rolling in i slept through most of the mens readings
the women  because im a gentleman  and a scholar I had DR Jerry give my card  cause if Ican help inspire and guide maybe cuddle  fresh hot
young poets im all for it   I know what your saying yes I am  
giving back to the Hello community and not just STD's and hangovers.

But enough with the foreplay  finally  with the tension built up
like little catholic school girls waiting for there savior Justin Bieber to make a appearence   it was time.

Who was Hello's top new poet.
The short little **** *******  slash  napoleon of hello walked to the mic.
And after several  attempts at reaching it  one of his many  
assistants slash  friends with benfits of staying on the charts forever
assumed the possition.
So he could stand on there back and talk in the mic.
Get your mind outta the gutter.

The winner is  for there poem the Gentic.
There began a rumble beside me ******  Dr Jerry
stop jerking off were public man.

But it wasnt my dealer I mean doctor .
It was My fashion forward amigo Jack.
The rumbling continued slowley the straps began to snap
as his color changed to red once would have been to green
if not for copyright infrigement dam you king kong.

The red devil burst from his restraints  like a  stripper off
a four week ******* binge let loose  at Macdonalds.
tables flew  clothes were ripped.
Bathe's yelled  at the top of her lungs  look ****** I have a tazer
so if you try to cop a feel i'll use it.
Must have been talking to Phil or Chris.

I knew what to do  in this chaos i quickly ran with the special talent of Hello  to my dressing room  DR Jerry  emergency bring  wild turkey duct tape  a video camera  a inflatable swimming pool  some jello mix and  a Kenny G  cd  and some roofies .
Im kidding  I never listen to Kenny G.

The screams were that of a german shapard ripping a smurf to shreads.
Help me  plaese  mommy I almost felt sorry for Eliot.
But i did what a true gentleman slash long winded journalist does in these time's. Sat back with some cocktails and enjoyed some jello
wrestling  opps  I think  the tickle monster is loose.

Me first  me first  ******  Phil  well if it keeps the voices at bay
why the **** not.
We laughed we danced  Jack Horner  bathed in Eliots blood.
While Chris said please  stop including me in these ****** stories
Gonzo.
    
While Baths  kept her tazer in hand  and dry white wine in the other.
Much like  a bad habbit I grow on you.
Jack looked at me as old brothers in shared insanity often do.
Hey Gonzo  when ya  gonna end this one mate?
Hey amigo  as soon as ya get that  *** on stage and close the show
with a lady gaga  preformance.

The *****, the *******,  the Brits,And Gonzo,
With his doctor slash roadie slash personal man servant bartender
who could ask for anything more than a purple dinosaur's head on a platter but enough about Phil.

Untill next time Stay Crazy  Kids.
Gonzo.
Im back *******   and  back to being a true gentleman of Hello.
Okay more like the lovable **** slash drunken perve you all love
okay tolerate cheers
Maybe
it's just the first time doing *******
in order to expand my horizons; gain perspective
in great company and knowing full well
the moreish nature, as it has been purported,
of such a vice;

but, you know what they say:
"When in Rome..."

but lest ye forget;

"Do or do not, there is no try"

all the while
still maintaining moderation,
partially by habit and partially by force,
for there is said to be
no such thing as quality
in that regard
from whence I come.
and thus, as if by providence,
"When in Rome.."

So,
'twixt that personally groundbreaking experience
plus lots of Caffeine and Alcohol
in some haphazard alchemical combination
helped Reno to be a good-*** time
on Halloween
after playing a sweet-*** Rock Bar
with some sweet-*** bands.

And, to boot,
having not slept,
this morning was a rude non-awakening,
as well as an ominous first day of November,
what with the LAX shooting;
our roadie and I watched it as it unfolded
with repetitive loops of footage
and dodgy claims with more qualifiers
than actual substantial language;
but the Media is just doing it's job as usual;
play on sensationalism
especially for ratings;
okay if profitable.

Needless to ******* say,
it's been a crazy ******* day.
Needless to ******* say,
it may be a crazy ******* month.
We stayed the night in Reno
so we could party like a proper ******* rock band.
Another starlit Hemetucky night,
Finds me listening to one of my many,
Many Bonnie Raitt CDs.
Metaphorically speaking,
We must lick her ****.
Give her the recognition
She indubitably deserves.
10 GRAMMYs?
Listed as number 50 in
Rolling Stone Magazine's
100 Greatest Singers of All Time;
Number 89 on their list of the
100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time!
Lists? We humans love lists.
The HUAC loved lists also.
And while we’re on the subject of lists,
What list has your name been added to?
A statistical anomaly worthy of further
Investigation by our Big Brother in Bluff, UT,
Those guys tracking anyone goo-goo,
Googling my name, my poetry,
The poetry of Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto,
My UNpublished poetry, i.e.,
By definition, nothing in print,
Nothing between book covers,
Nothing you can get your hands on.
Merely cyber-effervescence,
An Off World ether,
An ether although vaporous,
A digital fingerprint, nonetheless:
Quickly identifiable,
Easily reducible,
An entirely redacted,
Boiled down, cooked down roux.
A roux you’ll rue? Perhaps.
Not to mention the kanga roo,
ROO as in secret, offshore
Kangaroo courtrooms.

So know, know you’re on a list.
One of numerous Watch Lists
Watched by the Watchers who
Watch people like us.
So, if you’re reading this online,
Don’t say I didn’t frickin warn you.

BONNIE RAITT:
Of particular interest is her brilliant cover of –
Her complete musical reupholstering of--
Del Shannon’s neonatal 60s-era classic:
“Runaway.”
That twang slide-bass intro.
That harmonica squeal hovering above;
Those long, pulsing instrumentals
Punctuating her grit.  Her heart.
Her dark & lonely childhood
That drew her to true roots music.
Like me, born in 1949--
Unlike me: in Burbank, California.
Daughter of Broadway Musical Star
John Raitt: a true Roadie,
If ever there was one
Bonnie sent to private Quaker schools,
Banished to pricey summer camps.
Routine experience for any child of
Successful entertainers on the road,
Again. (Sing it, Willie!)
Bonnie: denied nothing but
Parental time invested.
Consumed by a drive to
Get the man’s attention,
Daddy’s little girl,
Addicted to ******. Fade out:
“I wah-wah-wah-wah wonder.
If you will stay, my run, run, run
My little runaway,
Come back baby,
My runaway.”
B Young Feb 2015
Figure a trigger
pictured fingers
scratch the brain
pick it ****, exposed;
******* minds only craving one more dime.
Insane
vein blade
neck noose
she drinks some to feel loose.

creeping
convulsions

chills christen me a martyr
King of the opiophiles
Christ of the smackheads
Conquering coconaut
Hero to heroinites
Majesty of the methodonians

Glitches in systems revolving
rebel against or kiss them
Ring the bell to bring out the MOB and roll your future to face the dice
who are they ask for advice?
You draw towards these demons while behind you attempt to bask
a mask
Cody raises a flask of poison resentful regrets
Brody the roadie is always on the move
that ****** basement edm dub scene sure did become crass
which only leaves you, alone to groove
and we drink my flask our flask and bask in romance and death
Sorry Sir that you asked…but wait I have one more thought before the session reaches the inevitable conclusive aspect. Listen to my
Unexplained Law
Of
Academic actualizations
Basic casualization
Capital causes compound connections only resulting in casualty
I am orbiting you
Blazing comet
A simple sultry satellite
cold convoluted
Sad
at my farthest reaching far flung Aphelion
Warming and safe at my closest approach to You
Blazing life bringer
Holy holy holy art thou oh Eye of all
Allow me to forever remain at Perihelion
The laws of Keplar could not keep us from colliding
in the end
fire
will be all dividing
Icarus Dec 2011
the silence of this room
fills my hollow soul,  
crawls  into this forsaken space
where we once frolicked shameless,
leaves me muted, staring oblivious
wondering why you had to run away with your laughter
when you could stay with me
with your tears...

i feel left alone without my consent
like a light switched off just like that,
and asked to bear.
the roadie has moved on
this groupie is left to find
another show...

i don't hear the music playing
i don't trust my resolve
while you were hiding,
i lost my train of thought...
undefined Aug 2018
Made a right hand turn in Witchita
met a guy named 'wrong turn' and headed back to the bar
woke up in Austin, slept in a van
sang "happy birthday to me" and got drunk again

******* second hand air through the countryside
busking here and there, (I'm) just along for the ride
traded time for a place that smelled like ****
loaded up the band, here we go again

Lost my mind,  a little I know,
pieces of me scattered up and down the road
some left in Georgia's July, others off the coast on an acid hike

........

Raged a bit too hard last night,
tried to destroy anything of meaning in life
Everything will **** you, I suppose,
sooner or later it's how we all go .
When I first caught glimpse of
that jimmy-rigged
thirst trap insta-photo with your
bobble-head
leaning alongside the lowest
base note piano keys
I considered you a casual medium
invoking with the guileless eyes of
the deceased once-was heat of a
surly yet
casual Pop Star

I couldn’t help but notice
that your flame, if you will,
as his flame before you,
was
OUT
Like the last embers
of a campground fire in
Yosemite National Park.

Depleted
Discarded
in a basement somewhere
in the San Fernando Valley
shoveling coal like Cinderella,
You
Never to be allowed near a stringed instrument
Nor a mic.
Nor an amp.
Not even the littlest sister’s
Cowsills Tambourine.

I’m not the only cuddly toy.
I’m not the only choo choo train.
I’m not the only cherry delight.
I’m not the only
I’m not the only

Stage 8 hosts
a gathering
of dem dakota witches
and while they tried to concur,
Rosemary screamed
into her chocolate mouse stupor
“This is no teen dream of 1974!”
“What about the 60s?”
a naked old witch
encircling her bed
inquired tentatively.

You could be absolutely mad
Which would explain
the kooky
flirty-fishing
cultish
eyeball thing
but what’s the success rate
after all this
photography,
I reckon?
Who would take the bait, anyhow?
“You’d be surprised,” sneers another witch.
“Shaddup” snaps Castevets
Fozzie Bear just told you to **** his diseased ****.
Roman stands behind him
holding his own,
limp,
between clammy hands,
hopeful and
biding his time.

!

Funny it should be
Me
who would be the
One
to make
You
feel
Sad.

“I think the terms are about to change, ” screeches another witch,
this one standing by
the yellow curtained
shuttered window,
Which holds within its folds
the electric air-conditioning unit
Whirring
Like Mary, Mother of God.
Or a corpulent and rotund
Laughing Gelatinous
Belly of Buddha

So, it would appear,
that in just one year’s time
or perhaps just a couple of months
Trapped in your household
With audio and visual stimulation
of all
permutations
keyboards
delivery services
and real-time isolation
Within an mise-en-abysme of
traps upon traps upon traps,
thirsting,
that you’ve become perhaps madder still.
Mercury in the lining of the top-hat mad.
“And who hasn’t?” asks that naked witch again.
I’d add that you’ve put on a few.,
Which a lot of people have done lately,
No judgement
But I doubt you are baking a lot of bread
And you look a lot older than you should.

So I wonder,
how do you get to that
vibratory chi
when you’re walled off like this?
Once you get to the real stuff
you’ll look
so much better.
This quandary engages me enough
to indulge in a whirligig
which can incorporate, if I want it to,
Courbet’s L’Origin du monde,
the envy-soaked diamantine stares of a *****
yet perpetually ignored roadie,
Vampires
And street-level prostitution.
It’s a crisis!

I would have thought that you could just
Draw it all straight to you
Without actual flesh
Bring it through the stucco’d walls
Or down from the ceiling,
quickly and upon demand.
Sub-molecularly.
No traffic and clean air make haste.
But no.
That’s not working right now is it?
Magician Reversed.
johnny solstice Jun 2019
Eck Ramsay, a retired underwire manufacturer,
bought a boil in the bag cod slice at his local Spar shop.
Upon removal of its cardboard outer garments
he was surprised to find it contained a small book.
The book titled the Plaice of Cod
(a philosophical treatise on theology)
contained many essays on the ancient rites of summer,
several of which were wildly inaccurate
and a few that were accurately wild.
In the appendix there were twenty-three songs
attributed to a medieval troubadour,
who led a travelling medicine show called the Rollwrong Stones.
  
William Lancaster Blake built himself a chocolate castle
on a hollow hill and sold it to his mate Bill,
a scribbler of worthy words who wrote of the hills and lakes
and how long it takes for the ghosts of soldiers to cross the fells especially when led by centaurs.
  
Self-proclaimed king, My Other Pen drags on,
took to haranguing passers-by with tales of dancing seals
and Jewish fiddlers who wouldn’t play marriages on the Sabbath, and how the wedding guests always got ******.

Stan Tony and Drew made up the crew
which some say numbered sixty-nine
or seventy-two, but no-one could swear
how many were there especially
on the Whispering Nights……… when nothing seemed right
and the cattle lowed on their knees.
And the slightest breeze on a pewter plate
would vanish the seed that couldn’t be seen,
and dreamers would dream
of jumping through flames
that carried the names
of those who were soon to be dead.

Goats head soup
with yarrow root
was served to the guests …..whose favourite request
was Wort of Sacred Johnny,
they'd dance all night …..till the Isis light
sent the Oak root bones …..scurrying home
to the place where the days are shorter.
When the dew on the grass  …..comes to pass
and the herbs have been nailed to the doorway,
when the heron's been kissed…and all are well dressed
and the False ones only moved slightly
the cuckoos will sing. "a new day I bring"
and the treetops will shake with the dancers
the day is but done and the Knights just begun
to get a little bit longer.
   But stranger than this was the wish of the dish that had it away with the spoon. "hey.. kat play that fiddle"
And riddle me no riddle
I need to get high as the moon….
"which moon?" enquired the hare "Kieth or the very Reverent moon?"
"Oh either will do…. Their just different shoes
to the ones I'm currently wearing"
and with no more ado…… Stan Tony and Drew
the Stones roadie crew
withdrew
for the next seven years
their horses drank tears
and everyone's fears
were fried up for breakfast
with marmalade toast
two sausage
mushrooms
and beans
eggs over easy
rashers done crispy
a fried slice or two
and a teapot of glue
to ensure it stuck to the belly.

The mushrooms of course enjoyed these proceedings to such an extent that they were inspired to compose poems praising the nights adventures, these were subsequently published in the society pages of the Lost and Found trade journal.
haint gonna mock ridiculous science
     asper to be bled
dark practices to leech out mailer daemons,
     not so laughable nor in cred

double, when oppressed diabolical  dread
oompah loompah fealty l'chaim fled
as hand grenades explode within my head
mettlesome monsters

     make mercuric chrome dome feel like a led
zeppelin with fractured stairway to heaven in stead...
delivers me zombies, where angels fear to tread  
cuz, the devil and psyche did wed

shotgun Swedish crow did house mafia style
wrenched, wrested wretched
     mental state most intense (no croc) dial
shattered, slewed, splintered sanity,
     thus practitioner with "FAKE" know how aisle

apprentice Aunt Roadie,
     who will skewer me evil spirits den da deuce
till I beak home one sacrificed overly cooked goose
a burnt offering shish kabob

     no longer able to raise cane on the loose
like a red bull
     rocky on the shoals of a frantically angry moose
livid with rage
     (akin to diary of mad a housewife)
   entropy written, where death will be only truce

pyromaniac qua ramshackle shanty (tinderbox)
     unleashes wicked zeal
hellacious incendiary juiced ride
     up plies noisome rubbery odor,

     sans hot wheel
along the outer limits of functionality explosions
     precipitate like drops of molten steel
routing hunger, searing nostrils,
     tearing tenuous fragile tethered tendrils

     self cannibalizing via tooth and nine inch nail      
     linkedin with nauseousness as thine meal
exemplary asper full blown panic attack
     lodged within mine genetic blooper print deal.
fdg May 2015
lol
hey i know we're playing by ear,
but if you ever start a band can i be your main roadie,
can i help make your lame t-shirts
can i call people for gigs
even though you'll be nervous to play?
i had a dream things got started
i had a dream i was backstage
Living out of bags thrown on the floor
Different numbered doors on every tour
Rolling up my baccy to release the stress
These band days are over, oh what a mess
Loading amps from Orange onto a Marshall 
Setting up the phone, the singer a two-timing rascal
Soon to hit the papers, from The Sun and onto the Fleet
Pregnancy is something you just can't keep discreet 
The rows will soon tear this love apart 
Now kipping on the bus where the guy's belch and often ****
These days will soon be over, give me my kids and a day in the park 
As life on the road could soon be a non-start
Just one more tour
A quick line to secretly score
As years of carrying this load really has left me quite sore

Roadie

JJB
Tom Shields Oct 2020
I don’t understand
Gravitas, perhaps, natural tendency to gravitate, toes pointed as I am pulled by gravity
By the tips of my fingers, gently by the hand
Brevity bereft of me, levity, I levitate, barely, I scrape the floor
Forward, toward the never, come whatever, forget-me-forever more
Living is not always not giving up, a chalice is not chaste based on the contents
For then each sip is just from a cup

Martyrdom in suicide is not such an achievement despite the cause
It is far harder to live in prison, unbroken, undeterred, and give no pause
Slip not once, sink no ship, your waves wash you out to see
That execution or rebellion are the options if you cannot be buried from sight and memory
They must **** you, or they must set you free

Truth is I put myself on suicide watch and amped up the difficulty in isolation, I adjusted for escalation, planted my flag in my own planet and passed aggression on from an alien nation, I am the success story of self-destruction via denial hoisted on self-worship, self-desecration, idol and with idle hands I carved a jigsaw puzzle to cover this sham up under, I own two handguns and two rifles, so many sleeping pills I could be writing this with my heart scaled up while my pen is dipped in Nyquil, how did I ever age? I hit the page with more free time and enough pent up rage to form a blockade with protesters who sit on the road, and I lie still, I don’t believe in the voiceless, the language is keep away and you’re being victimized, profit off it when you call it, every four years, but the circus tent has long since been pitched, it’s people who are not fit, when I pass a background check, enough melee weapons alone to arm a small riot, I write it and if there’s a hint of calling for help, everybody better stay quiet, I’m as petty and sour as I enjoy verbal fighting, a radioactive depression that gives my toad brain more power, calamities to call tragedies, stricken by maladies we laugh at misfortune from safety like they’re comedies and then when it strikes back we cower, that’s karma, it’s not a ***** it just reminds you that you are, I punch a clockface out, glass in my hand, dry blood from the witching hour

I don’t care about any debate, destroy me, there’s nothing of human value left to depreciate
I love writing
I think because I know it’s killing me at a speed I can live with
My agreeable terminal, I punch in and tick moments off right quick then,
Swap a topic, fall into a moral quandary over whether or not I’m any good if nobody online actually follows me
This alone is a hybrid, abortion breathing, free-form and hip-hop influenced poetry
To actually get in verse I ride a coffin in the back of a hearse, dead seriously
I’ll cross the room and switch the instrumental in my mind, bass’ boom for bass guitar and guttural vocals heralding doom
Shredding razors in the throat, spitting blood on every line, metal as all hell, and then drop both genres and just be me, because honestly
Writing in a style other people want to see, it’s their baggage and it’s a lot to carry
They want the quotables, make it short and breezy, digestible and pretty
To not have to think before they put my text against a background for their socials, to say that’s deep, or fake awe at the beauty
I want to unravel your brain with chopsticks, eat it from your skullcap, steamed on rice, I want to **** you for wanting to **** me, contain me, making me marketable, I do not adhere to a public relations strategy
I’d go barefoot if we walked in each other’s shoes, some of youse would go blind in an instant if you had access to my memory
Swap back, I for another I, if I had to live your life I’d likely die, if you couldn’t master the nuanced pressure of mine, you’d think this cage is made of gold before we said goodbye
Suffering on the surface, plain, at least that I understand, there’s infinite ways to hurt each other, we haven’t even reached the surface, the worst year so far, let’s see what time has planned
Mass appeal would require something like bending into an unnatural shape, I still hit subjects that make my most dedicated go, “Who asked you how you feel?” I’d rather give a thousand words a lot of hot air than fix you four lines for your timeline so you can have a pretty meal, my chum for thought is that we’re going to fight for the plate, you takeaway whatever you ate; now that’s a steal
I’m not making food that’s visually appeasing, it’s never meant to be
You better eat your ******* vegetables before I chase you through the woods
Like I’d be(an) stalk you through the mist and steam off the broccoli,
Restrain you to a chair and table and make you apologize to Gaia while I record you eating every tiny tree
That was corny

Oh right,  
White people always compare their lives to the struggle of such,
How do they know, among this entire pigment, who has ever felt the true oppressive touch?
My own family hates my own family for being Catholic, for being percentages, excuses for their nature to come out when the reality is as simple as this much
If history has a villain, they cast a white man to play the role
In America, what can be said that hasn’t about any single part or the country as a whole?
Culture is a beast with many different heads, it’s a tapestry, a quilt, with so much reality, so many woven threads,
That we forget what some of our revolutionaries have fought, killed, and sacrificed their lives for, the marches and tears, sweat and wars, what has been done and said
We’re all one race, all people, and I believe this
If everyone gave each other respect, they could give each other love, and if everyone felt love, we could have peace; on at least one front of our faults
But we would rather **** each other and record it, or be the murderer, or those who stand by and watch a murderer and twiddle their thumbs behind their uniform rather than stop them instead
The KKK, Proud Boys, white supremacy
In order to believe in any supremacy, of an individual, even one who makes up a group that lends itself to the supposed supreme status of their people as a whole
How many of your own people must you anger, terrify and drive out of your life first?
Racism is the useless paradox imposed by man on man, it’s a testament that a human can fly to space and still represent a species so profoundly dumb, break down the population it stems from, they say white people, perhaps that’s not all so true historically, I’ve seen the news recently, but white supremacy targets a universal majority, it seems less prevalent, the sheet-wearing bigotry, these immortal-initial-colonizer sheep, they bleat and I spit at thee, I have a theory about the sideways growth of hatred if you’ll listen to me, torches and Templar’s misappropriated crosses set aside, they stake their claim in nationalism and pride, in costume the mob is easier identified, malignant ignorance is never done yet, so it has evolved in these diluted and polluted hotbeds to infect, infest, spread through these hotheads wherever it can get, by rifle toting idiocy, violence at idle decree, hate crimes change with the times and take on society to challenge the system legally, where the woken minds sleep, there’s the backwards-open minds, narrow but in their own eyes they’re wide, seemingly, they pick convenient history, the bad parts they forget, no questions without the right answers on their ears do they ever let, basically you don’t need a burning cross and robes because it’s not your skin, it’s your mindset!

In short within the races are people who hate their own people, racists, activists especially, serve an agenda that encourages the hatred of an umbrella, and it falls over the heads of most of the world, no matter their race
If you were the devil’s advocate you might find it hard to help a group who won’t include their own people, they make us all look bad enough that the term “white people” doesn’t even apply to people who are white so much anymore
In short, in the fight to establish white supremacy, white supremacists have established white people as a joke, an insult, because their actions are extreme and radical and reflect on all of us
In short, I am a white man, I condemn not only white supremacists and racists, pedophiles and rapists, but if a group is so counterproductive to acknowledging that we can all coexist in peace in harmony if we only work for it, strive, want it, and give up what stands in the way
If we only give respect to each other there can be love, and if there can be love, there can be peace
In short, if all else fails hit racists in the head area, they aren’t using it for much
In short, I support the death penalty for pedophiles and rapists
**** a **** and it’s good for your soul, **** a ******* and it’s like cleaning a stain left in the fabric of the universe

And white people, even I’m sick of it, don’t talk about a pie-chart of how many places you’re from if you’ve never left the continent, I’m just a ******* Texan, I don’t care what anyone says, just be a white person, be a good person, and take back some of the dignity we left in shreds
I never loved my roots, I never understood the interest in picking through leaves at your ancest-tree, my heritage is as old as I am and I want to let the dead be, but the stories, I never turn them down whenever they tell me, that my grandfather, Ted, dad to my mom, he was a tragic figure, a tortured war hero, an alcoholic, immigrant, a father of six, third in line of the men in his own family for what I call the curse, his father and his brother, fatal heart attacks, a coal miner, a rambunctious cook, an abusive and explosive bottle of rage who killed real Nazis, who threw bottles at my mom and said he’s keeping a corner of Hell warm on RSVP, all I think of when I remember him are these horror stories… because that ******* used to beat my mother, she would shield her sister even though she was so tiny see, my aunt was even younger, and he terrorized my uncles so they were scarred for life, four older brothers, I can’t tell if my family even loves each other, he made people in his home duck and run for cover, killed enemies overseas and sent all his money back to Vietnam families when his own was starving and he didn’t answer to them for their supper, he would let them suffer, drink his cheap ****, swig and swing blind, if you couldn’t outrun him falling over, you’d get hit, steal my mom’s whole paycheck and make her taxi him around, the only shame is I know him so well, and I never got him to save me a seat in Hell with him while he was above ground, I inherited the curse, the genetic predisposition to explode, heart valves and fly into a blind rage mode, I hope I’m lucky enough to die before I ruin too many lives like my uncle Buck, **** talking about kings in the past, I talk about my branch of the artery, this bloodline spurt being the last, when I see my ancestors I’ll tell them to kiss my ***, dismiss them all and gift them all with the graceful presence of stooping low enough to graduate the class, grandpa you spent so much time trying not to be an Irishman that you became Alabama white trash, get disowned, dethroned, be alone, make my dad’s family’s teeth gnash, they know I know their idea of buying trust involves transactions with literal goods and cash, if they ever leverage my nephew or my brother or my sister-in-law, I’m gonna be gone, manifesto blank pages, plans in my head drawn, vest on, we’ll take confession, and I’ll give the toxins their poison communion, they’re already dead to me, just match the image with the reality and call that **** a family reunion

There’s something very wrong with me
I’m comfortable with the idea of dying suddenly and dying, suddenly
The notion is like Kevorkian,
It visits often and the offer never befuddles me
The danger inherent to someone of such low-tide mental stability
I know why she wouldn’t tell him yet, why would she?

I’ll tear a thought of thin air and plant it on my descendants in the form of an aneurysm like a Death Row pendant, when they drop everyone will stop and wonder how it got there, I’ll **** the conception of an idea in your very head, while you dream it up in bed, and black out the lights across your country so even satellites can’t figure out why it looks like the sun is out at night, I’ll raise my white fist for black power, shout it and dive onto a riot shield with my face so full of mace I come up in online footage looking like a disgrace, more a threat to getting snot and tears all over cops even after the protesting stops in the first place, I’ll say it for real with no joke, black power, and choke on the smoke from California to Australia, if the Navy can figure out where to drop me off, I’ll clear my cough, I’ll be pale and pallid with the heart of darkness and love without respect for anyone or any culture, I’ll never let authority **** me, I’ll unleash a jungle cat caged inside, pacing back and forth, knowing the flesh and ribs holding it have no worth, a spectator to an infrastructure devastator/orator, a tyrant king on a militant fling like Malcom X Boseman, cut off a speaker and throw sonic waves so hard they break every other spine that’s weaker, spill my guts and crush you until you’re ashes and a puff of smoke like cigarette butts, a roadie but believe me I will throw bose, man, and if they’re twenty feet off the ground I’ll frog splash you, just to toothpaste your stomach and laugh when you stand up with whiplash too, jump into a mosh-pit and **** you so fast the police will arrive on time at the scene of an active crime, **** a Pulitzer, I’m a howitzer, I want to break the Geneva Convention with a rhyme, my plan is to go to archery camp and throw bows, man, get ******* when I can’t hit the target, jab an arrow through the counselor’s heel, arteries, and nose and grab fifty fuel cans, fill up a reservoir with gasoline, spray it from a hose and light the whole world on fire until I can sit back and admire how it all looks from the frying pan

When I can, I sit with both legs crossed, straight up in bed
Always late at night, and I close my eyes
No new thoughts in, only old out
And after I take that in, sometimes
I ask myself:
“What do you want?”
“As a writer?”
“No. As yourself.”
“In general?”
“In your life. A partner? Career?”
I look at this, stripped of all the logic and side-details, the painstaking instantaneous processing the human mind can comprehend to create existential anxiety
I reflect in a negative manner
“27, newly licensed, single white male owner of four firearms. Not employed, not published, history of mental health issues, poor student, unattractive and uncomfortable in general, and I am only distantly okay at my one main hobby. My ‘art’ my writing.”
I heard a knock on the door that woke me up and screamed at it, in a condo, while I was by myself, I’d never woken up midscream before
So, I worried if I was late and someone in my true family needed me
I was just scared, alone with what I am like for a few seconds one day
Now I close my eyes and I know they have done everything
Without them I am not even a real person
If I had no assistance, there would be no living with my head
They would need to cut it off
I shamble on, bleary eyed and without focus
Starry dreams of what I could and can accomplish, walking dead
I am so casually dismissive of all the red flags, I don’t care,
I have not left myself, something has retreated into me, and I must go and find it
For when I search myself for some dire components, they’re not there.
write
please read and enjoy
Michael John Jun 7
it is funny how
you can buy a musical instrument
and their is wisdom and hope
passion and love

or death..course the guy in the shop
tells you none of that-
you will want a book..?
(patting his pocket..)

in your eyes are their stars..!
yer womans a groupie
dad´s a roadie
boy,you will go far..!

ii

next thing you know
your studying the rules
white of visage upon
the re-hab wall..

-your brain a kind of
demented-dumbledore
going:
oh god..oh god..oh..

— The End —