this ain't no art, man,
this is just a careless whisper
this is just George Michael
singing in your stereo
this is just your bourgeois-blues
this is merely a bewilderment
this is not the art, you know it,
you ******
you ****
you chronic masturbator
you who dare to write on the internet
dancing with yo papa' shoes
and in yo mama' lingerie
ah, look at yourself, a human miracle
Angel of a foreign Harlem,
you who wasted all away,
speaking in foreign tongues
inside the thighs of a british stripper,
you idiot
you *****.

and when i'm done i'll come for you,
like a ****
like a dog
sniffin' and slidin' in your park
in your ***** trailer park
there with your fat-****-husband
stalkin' yo every move
you *****
you ****
and when i'm done i'll look for you,
simple as that
simple as an Einstein formula
served to you on exotic dishes
by Norma from Twin Peaks,
cars for the missus and furs for the mistress
and when you'll die you'll ****
between all your champagne wishes
and it'll be ******* ridiculous.

But that's life, babe.
Get down on thursday,
drains you in May.
You *****.

so be-my-babe
i say be-my-babe
in black and white
like the Ramones
or the Ronettes or
the Rolling Stone
- i still want to know
how your insides look like,
- i still want to save
your capitalist nature
in my mother's fridge,
- i still want to fly
high on a jet plane with you,
alone,
with or without needs,
crashing on our bridge.

I love you-
love me!

I put my gun in your hands.
I push it. I shovel it.
My bones are broken
bound by all the words
i never dared to say
- and here, my love, right here,
i put IT in my mouth,
i feel the cold steel in my tongue,
-- how much blood from
such a tiny hole, Lizaveta!--
and this, and so much more.

but please, i say please,
would you feed me?
would you need me?
i'm a little angel drowning in candies
who's eating his heart out and ******* his candy
ah, would you say this? Would you?
Just because it ain't cool?


Well if i'm not cool i'll drive my kite all night
and take my lunchbox and
shoot Panama down and
shoot Mexico down and
shoot a *** smoker down
and shoot a crack dealer down
and shoot a beer dealer down and
shoot Mexico down
shoot Osaka down
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
my love will gun down all your school
Look at me - i say, look at me!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
and don't you forget to say my name,
as i'll

****

YOUR

SKULL

I guess it was when I found the eviction notice on the front door, or when I was going on three months being unemployed, or maybe even the point where I questioned myself as a writer, is when I sat down and started writing out facts. I was a writer in love with fiction, and besides my non-fiction work that allowed me enough money to eat (mostly to drink, unless there were food specials at the bar) I was writing short stories. I never thought about writing about my life, because in my mind I was still young. I was wet behind the ears; a little **** that thought he knew everything. I know nothing.

Dr. Seidman asked me if I wanted to play a board game.
I didn’t respond, in fact I looked as if I was ignoring him purposefully, but I wasn’t. He sat patiently and waited for me to respond. The truth was that I was apprehensive. This was the first time I had been in front of a therapist, and I didn’t know what to say, let alone how to act. I found it odd that the first thing he asked me was if I wanted to play a game. I was ****** as well. Before I got in the car with my mother I sat upstairs in my bedroom, took out my “inhaler” and packed the bowl. (During this time in my adolescence I was fascinated with marijuana and also with the devices used to smoke it with. I didn’t like rolling joints, and blunts had not caught on at that time. Instead, I would make my own bowls. My inhaler became one of my favorites; it was easy to conceal). I got ******, headed downstairs, grabbed a water, lit a cigarette (my parents were adjusting to the fact their fourteen year old was a smoker), waited outside of my mom’s station wagon, finished my cigarette, flicked it at the end of the driveway, and got in the car. The car ride to Dr Seidman’s office was unbearable. Neither of us spoke, the radio was turned down to a low volume, playing music form the 70’s and 80’s; Elton John’s Someone Saved My Life Tonight was playing. It was ironic to say the least. By the time the song ended we were in the general vicinity of his office. My mother was gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles becoming white, her face becoming red. It was at this point that I realized she was just as nervous as I was.

“**** her,” I thought. She was the reason I was going to see this man. I didn’t ask to come here and she had the audacity to be nervous. She was being selfish. We could have turned the station wagon around and went back home. We could have taken care of any of our problems at home. We didn’t need to consult a “professional” and talk about our “feelings.” This was the point that I felt my life had become the stereotypical suburban life: a life that you would see on television shows; one that consisted of doctors, prescription drugs, confused youth, mid-life crisis, and of course the nervous breakdowns.

We are in front of the doctor’s office. The area surrounding us looks like an industrial park. I don’t know what to think of this, but I in any sense an exterior cannot speak for an interior.

My mother and I are still in the station wagon, seat belts still buckled, the radio still down low, when she turns to me. She looks at me, only the way a mother can, and smiles. I can only bring myself to return her smile with a smirk. I have always been known for my apathetic smirk. I’m waiting for her to speak. I know she is trying to think of the right words, but like me, we have a habit of saying the wrong thing. Our words are always misplaced even though we might have the best intentions.

“Don’t ******* him,” she said

“Okay,” I said in return.

There must be a catalogue book that caters to therapists.

Dr. Seidman’s office looked very generic, like I had fallen into a bad movie, or like the only furniture allowed in the office had to be leather. That is the one smell I will always remember from his office. Even now when I smell leather I think of his office.

On his desk was a calendar, assorted writing utensils (although he had a name placard with a golden pen inserted in the center), and a desk lamp with the customary green glass shade. The wall to the right of him, and next to the office door, was lined with assorted books; filling up the bookcases that took up the full space of the wall. I was sitting on a leather couch that faced the office door. He was sitting in his leather armchair in front of his desk. He looked at me; I looked at the elaborate stitch work of the carpet. The office was calmly lit and relaxing, even though I still looked tense. I didn’t want him to look me in the eye. They were dry and red and I was high.

“Would you like to play a game?” He asked me.

I continued to stare at the carpet. He kept silent while waiting for my answer. I was thankful for that.

When I was tired of the carpet I glanced up and over to where he was sitting to find him looking at a marble chess set. I was expecting his eyes to be on me. They weren’t.

“What kind of game?”

“What do you like? I have board games, we can play cards, or checkers, or chess. Why don’t you tell me what game you’re good at? I’ve played them all countless times, but I’m always looking for a good challenge.” He said with a subtle level of smugness. He was trying to entice me, to challenge me, and it was working.

I spotted the checker board. “Checkers. I’m good at checkers.”

“Then checkers it is,” he said brightly. He stood and grabbed the antique looking checker board and grabbed a table to put in between us. He placed the board on the table and moved his seat closer. We were now face to face and ready to start our first of many strategic games.

Our first meeting was spent in front of a checker board in silence. Very seldom did we exchange words. After three games of checkers (which he won), we shook hands and he told me our session was over for the night. He walked me to his office door, said hello to my mother with a formal introduction, and told us both that he was looking forward to seeing us both the next week. My mother asked me to wait in the car while she asked the doctor a question. I didn’t argue. I walked to her car and unlocked it. I sat and for once in a long time felt at ease.

I went into Dr. Seidman’s office with a pre-conceived notion of talking, or not talking, about my feelings and what caused them. Instead we played checkers. We watched each other’s moves on the checker board. He had a way of making a vulnerable situation bearable. He put my anxiety at ease. But while I sat alone in my mother’s station wagon I couldn’t stop thinking of one thing he said before I walked outside. He said he was looking forward to seeing both of us the next week. I was curious by what he meant when he said “both of us.”

Beat-Up Old Car
Vastly under-appreciated possession
In dull blue, a MK1, no less, with original rust
Inside lingering scents of Exchange and Mart
top-notes of WD-40 and miscellaneous mix tapes

A car like this gets into your life
in lumpy knuckle-barking unsubtle ways,
stays there in subtle ones

That long drive back to Yorkshire
in the quintessential exemplar
Clutch cable snaps.
****** and Crap.

Hardly helpful but can be accommodated
with enough thought
rough though it is
on starter motor
and nerves whenever
anticipatory powers inadequate
and we are forced
to a complete red-light stop

Brakes dodgier, exhaust noisier
than ideal or legal
Gender-ambiguous
elderly tyres flirt outrageously with slick tarmac
Showing their canvas underwear
and male-pattern baldness

Keeping this unstable, unsafe, unreliable
ultimately essential lump of metal
moving and on the road
is a fine art

Engaging, fluid and intense art;
The Clash and The Specials
Costello and The Cure in support

A distraction then
getting hauled over by plod
somewhere near Bury St. Edmunds
Thatcher's boys.

Tax? MoT? Insurance? ID?
No real interest shown

Any passengers in the back?
Clearly no.  Pickets?  
Pickets? What?
Please open the boot sir... Oh.
On your way lad. Drive carefully

I was, officer, I was
More than you will ever know

Well sir !
Today we have, the usual, suicidal ******, paranoid drug addicts, skitzophrenic ******* that'll slice your neck open in a split second.
All the things you'd find in a mental institution.
Theres no place like home !
Walking these halls in my robe, and slippers.
You see darling, im not insane, they just think i am because well, im all of the above, ahahaha.
I didnt mean to **** that boy.
But ! He did say he loved me.
Who the **** would say that.
Filthy little liars.
He made it so ******* easy though.
But i did mean to **** him.
I didnt.
I did.
I didnt.
I did.
YOU'LL NEVER ******* KNOW.
There was this one day, they locked me up so tight, it left bruises on my ****** skin.
Oh **** !
Shh.
Shh.
Shh.
Do you hear that ?
What did the second one say ?
Well ******* too Elvis !
He wishes.
Ah, ****.
Scars are showing again.
Oooh,theres a mirror in this room.
smash.
''Nurse !, Lunas done it again !''
****** Luna they called me in school.
But i killed them too.
Anyway, i sat there with a broken piece of mirror in my hands and carved pretty little pictures into myself.
But, i needed stitches.
Yay the doctor !
He makes me feel good, inside.
Probably because he ***** me so hard it leaves me pleasure until the next time i break a mirror.
He's older.
42 to be exact.
Im 15.
Isnt it cute.
His wife doesnt know.
Or his daughter, i went to school with that dog.
She was the first one i got rid of.
Cheerio.

ENLIGHTENED
I feel empowered..I'm here to love on me..
here to support me.
yes
love on some me..
so
after seeing how others will take me for granted.
take my sweet gentle nature and ignore it.
fail to appreciate it.
Hurt and abuse me
My time I give my attention I give.
Others may play the games of neglect with me.
After I bring the positivity.
My sunshine my smooth uplifting gift.
I've adopted a better spiritual outlook.
Not goin to lay my pearls at their foot.
My love don't belong on the ground.
To be kicked all around.
Nah nah nah no!
I'm going to say the things I've failed to let flow.
I'm going to release my tongue..
Building up my self esteem a useful weapon.
Its about me keeping going, not being injured by the tragic done.
Stop others from trappling my precious rose petals.
I realize the gift in me, some will not get my specials.
I'm seeking to stay focused.
and enlightened, Aware of my spiritual.
As the purest forms of me unfolds.
By selinasharday
S.A.M 2018

Christmas countdown has begun and family members are on the run
Looking for the bargains everywhere, and how they get it they don’t care.
All the retailers have put up their displays
As they prepare for Christmas day.
Grocery stores and supermarkets with their specials on the floor
And in every aisle there are treats galore.
Turkeys and hams, candied yams too- all the treats just for you.
Department stores and shopping malls- filled with shoppers wall to wall.
The children are in total awe as they look from store to store.
And every new item that’s on TV.  In the stores for them to see.
Yes!  The Christmas countdown has begun. And the children
Are preparing for the fun, from bicycles and dolls and all the rest
Knowing they’ve gotten all the best.
Look around; look around, the Christmas spirit is all around.
MERY CHRISTMAS TO ONE AND ALL, THIS IS THE SEASON TO HAVE A BALL!
©L.RAMS 112214

If you don't think I care
I will have to explain the way I feel then. I only been in love once in my 19 years of living and it was heartbreaking and terrible. Ending with lonely nights and stained pillows. Stained red wrists and a hollow mind. Most of it was painful for me and not a happy love at all. It took a little to really think I loved him. Nearly 7 months until those words came out of my month.  Feelings and trust are hard for me because of that interesting cheating blue eyed boy. I think I knew I was falling out of love when I noticed you at first.  You were funny and different per say. I actually liked going into work 10 mins early just to try and say hi. I never knew that saying hi to someone could feel like getting shot and falling for 50 feet. I think the first time I actually felt something for you was when you came over and we talked for 10 mins.  Not anything specials but I wanted more. I think the last time he cheated on me the day after he was at my house and I gave him everything I had to stay with me was the day I turned away and stopped trying so hard. "You can't do that anymore. Move on. Don't keep running back to a ***** piece of crap that you don't deserve." I had to replay that over and over again. Enough to make me think I was better off trying with someone who I didn't even know then trying with someone who I knew more then anyone.  If letting go let me find happiness then I'm okay with knowing your not okay. I'm okay. I'm more then okay. I feel like I'm smiling more then I have in a year. I feel like I could be content with what I have with him for a pretty long time. I feel that I need to unbreak you into believing I really do love you. If I have to be strong for both of us then I will be. I wish I could push and hide everyone away that hurt you all these years to make you believe you are a amazing guy and that I'm lucky you left at the time you so I didn't have to search for you. I'm glad I heard you were leaving cause I would of never knew if I didn't take those guest service hours. Why would you think I would leave when I tried so hard to get you to notice me? I didn't make myself up on the days you were there just to look good for myself. Im not going anywhere and I really wish you would know that. I'm not some girl who takes what she thinks she can get and walk away. I'm not going to take your heart and run away with it. We both know how that feels and I wouldn't want anything to make you feel like that again. If you ever wanted to leave you can take me with you. Run from at all. Pack up and leave. I'll be fine with that. Don't think I don't know how you feel cause I'm just as broken as you may be. But two broken souls can always find a way to fix each other and become hole again. Maybe we could become one by fixing each other. Just believe me that I love you and that I'm sorry those one word answers sometimes annoy you or I don't seem interested enough as you are but I am. I don't look up at you when we are laying down just to look up. I don't hold you for as long as I can just to hold on to something. I don't write about someone at 2am unless they mean a lot to me. It's not easy to find someone who actually understand that sleeping is hard and maybe even understand that being alive is hard for most days. we seem to understand each other more then anyone I know. It's amazing to think that things I feel you may feel too or have felt. This is a good idea You and me are a good idea. Don't leave and I'll try my best to make you understand my feelings towards you. I know you won't leave and I need you to know I wont either. If I'm yours then you are mine. And I don't want that to change.

"I wish they'd stop going on about it, the things that are unseen but for brief glimpses and shadows, and fully heard. The beings in their closets and under their beds, their voices carried in a wind that isn't there. They stand, stiff, breathing shallow and deep in the lack of light, dripping wet from the storm that didn't happen in this world, muddying up the carpet, mounting with stench. They're not there, you idiots, they're over here, in my eyes, in my head, buried between my lungs and pushing the limits of my bones, my weaknesses. Stop your complaining. If only I could muffle you." ~ Jade Day


DO: Ah, yes. Ms. Day is also a favorite author of mine.

[Anaïs smiles at Do.]

NURSE YUCKI: Really? I actually think that is interesting that we have similar tastes in literature.

DO: I know right!

NURSE YUCKI: I mean she could hook you with just one word.

DO: That she can.

[Do turns his head in another direction; Anaïs looks down as she clears her throat.]

NURSE YUCKI: So how are you feeling Do? Are your emotions gradually beginning to retract back into a more manageable state?

DO: Yeah somewhat, but they are still fluctuating a bit. I think I will be fine.

NURSE YUCKI: Would you like me to monitor you just in case?

DO: No, thank you, Anaïs. I think I can handle my emotions for now, but I will let you know if something comes up.

NURSE YUCKI: Promise?

[Do smiles at Anaïs.]

DO: Promise.

[Do’s stomach began to growl loudly.]

NURSE YUCKI: Ooh. Someone is hungry I am assuming.

DO: Ha ha well your assumption wouldn’t be wrong Anaïs. I am a tad bit hungry actually.

NURSE YUCKI: Well, considering that it is now lunch time, I suggest that you go to the cafeteria and enjoy yourself a lovely, hot afternoon meal. The cafeteria is down the hall to your left and is the third room on your right. In the meantime I think I will take a little detour and purchase some premium foods to consume.

DO: You know that actually wouldn’t be a bad idea.

[Do and Anaïs both laugh in equal synchronization.]

NURSE YUCKI: I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Do.

DO: Yes, you will. Have a great day Anaïs and thanks again

NURSE YUCKI: You’re welcome.

[Anaïs smiles and winks at Do on her way out. Do smiles back. Do then leaves the black room and exits through the entrance. Above Do’s head were signs that helped to direct him to take the proper route, but there was no need for him to read it as Anaïs had already instructed him on how to get there. Do continues walking down the hall until he reaches the third room on his right. There was a big sign above the entrance that said “CAFETERIA”. Do then entered the cafeteria to handfuls of laughter and patients talking amongst themselves while eating the meal of their choice. There was a moderately long line of which Do joined as he waited along with the rest of the patients to receive his lunch. Do noticed that a girl with *****, blonde shoulder length hair was standing in front of him. She was wearing glasses with square black frames much like the glasses that Dr. Nightmare often wore. She had beady eyes of an exceptionally moderate size and her skin was pearly white with a smile that was naturally inviting. She then spotted Do and appropriately began speaking to him.]

SPORE: Hello there. How are you?

DO: I’m doing okay. Yourself?

SPORE: Yeah, I’m alright but I wish this line would move just a little bit faster. This is driving me bonkers. So what’s your name if you don’t mind me asking?

DO: My name is Do.

[Spore reaches out to shake Do’s hand.]

SPORE: Spore. You have a pretty cool name you know?

[Do lightly laughs.]

DO: Well, thank you.

SPORE: You are certainly welcome, Do.

[Spore smiles at Do.]

SPORE: So where are you from?

DO: Like what country am I from or like what city?

[Spore chuckles.]

SPORE: I meant in general silly ha ha.

DO: Well, I’m from North America. I was born in a small town called Springfield, Illinois but I was raised in Memphis, Tennessee.

SPORE: Interesting.

DO: How about you? Where are you from?

SPORE: I am from British Columbia, Canada although I was raised in a small city named Abbotsford.

DO: What was it like there?

SPORE: At times it was weird and some days were worse than others, but I somehow managed to pull through.

DO: So how did you end up in here?

SPORE: Long story short I nearly decapitated my former friend’s head off with a chainsaw then attempted to slit my wrists with it.

[Do looked shocked as he was laughing at Spore’s statement.]

DO: Oooh brutal are we?

SPORE: Hey, ******* be trippin’!

[Both Do and Spore began laughing in equal succession. The line had continued to move forward. It was finally Spore’s turn to select the portions of her meal.]

LUNCH LADY: Good afternoon and welcome to Black Wick Cafeteria. Today’s specials are pizza and fish and shrimp. Today’s sides are coleslaw, biscuits and baked beans with your choice of cocktail or tartar sauce. What would you like?

SPORE: Um… I guess I will take the fish and shrimp with a side of baked beans and cocktail sauce and tartar sauce.

LUNCH LADY: That will be six dollars.

SPORE: That’s fine. You want anything Do? Lunch is on me today.

DO: Yes, I think I’ll have the same thing you are having.

SPORE: Alright then. Excuse me miss but could you add a duplicate order for my buddy Do here.

[The lunch lady nodded and began preparing Do’s order.]

DO: Thank you so much, Spore. I appreciate this more than you know.

SPORE: No problem.

[Spore smiled at Do. As Spore and Do were departing from the lunch line they heard a string of insults follow them as they were searching for a table.]




TABLE #1: Continuez à marcher baiseur. Vous n'êtes pas le bienvenu ici!

TABLE #2: C'est le tableau est réservé pour la belle et que l'intellectuel. Vous êtes trop stupide pour être considéré comme l'un de nous!

TABLE #3: Ahem! Excusez-moi, mais je n'arrive pas à reconnaître le potentiel de développement de la beauté ou de la popularité en vous. S'il vous plaît revenir quand ce jour est arrivé. Merci.


SPORE: Pay them no mind, Do. Just keep walking.


[Spore softly grabs Do’s hand as they are walking.]

WIFI: Hey look guys! Spore’s got a boyfriend.

WIFI’S TABLE: Oooooohhhhhh!!!!!!!

[All of the patients at that were sitting with Wifi began to mock Spore with several fake smooches and hugs. Spore blushed.]

SPORE: You see this is exactly why we never worked out WiFi. You were always so self-centered, narcissistic and desperate. No matter what we said, did or where we went it was always about you.

[Wifi got up and stood in front of the table behind him as he spread his arms out. WiFi had long, wavy, red hair with hazel eyes, and pearly white skin. He wore a black leather jacket with denim blue jeans and leather black boots.]

WIFI: Do you even realize how stupid you sound right now? If it was truly all about me we would have never dated. Think about what you are saying before you speak.

[Spore blushed again.]

SPORE: Yeah well…. Even then still it was about you.

[Spore gently wiped the tears that were streaming from her face. Her nose had turned bright red in response.]

WIFI: Eh what does it matter now? We’re not together anymore so we are wasting our time talking to each other. I’m trying to eat lunch and chill with my peeps. Beat it.

SPORE: *******, Wifi! I am leaving on my own terms not yours!

[WiFi balled his fists as he got up and began running at a speed believed to be faster than Superman. He was about to hit Spore but Do stepped in his way and blocked his punch.]

DO: You will not hit her or you will suffer the consequences.

WIFI: And what if I do? What are you gonna do? Punch me in the face? Are you gonna kick me in the *****? Ha ha I am used to that. Learn some new tricks and then we’ll talk okay. Now move out of my way.

[Spore screamed very loudly as WiFi tried to take another swing at her. Do blocked WiFi’s punch yet again only this time taking his arm and lowering his head as he slid under it. He then stood in the same position as WiFi while still holding his arm and began ramming his right elbow deep into his his nose breaking it upon immediate contact. Do then took WiFi’s wrist and arm and twisted them until they snapped breaking both areas of his arm instantly. He then picked WiFi up and slammed his rib cage directly on his knee and let him drop to the hard, marble floor.]

SPORE: Do stop! That’s enough!

[Spore was crying again as she stood there in shock. Everyone was watching. WiFi was laying across the floor in a fetal position with a small puddle of blood leaking from his broken nose. His eyes were barely open.]

WIFI: Ugh… Ugghh...

SPORE: Come on, Do. We’ll eat lunch outside.

DO: I think that would be a good idea.

SPORE: You and me both.

[Do and Spore grabbed their lunch trays and walked outside. It was sunny and the trees were still without leaves as it was still winter. The breeze was very cold. A musically digital sound began playing in the background. It was Spore’s cell phone.]

SPORE: Oh, and I just got a text from my friends of whom I’d love for you to meet. They want us to come and sit with them.

DO: Alright, I’m down. Where are they sitting?

[A girl with bubblegum pink hair was waving at Spore with a smile on her face.]

SPORE: They are sitting right over there against the brick wall.

DO: Ok then let’s go.

[Do and Spore walk over to the table where Spore’s friends were sitting. They arrive at the table and set their trays down as they took a seat.]

SPORE: Hey guys I have someone that I would like you to meet. Gum and Sweat meet Do. Do meet Gum and Sweat.

GUM: Hello, Do. It is a pleasure to meet you.

SWEAT: Sup Do? Glad to have you.

[Do shook both Gum and Sweat’s hands.]

DO: Hey. It is very nice to meet the two of you. Thank you for introducing me, Spore.

SPORE: No problem.

[Spore smiled once again.]

DO: So how did the three of you meet?

SPORE: Well, first of all I arrived at Black Wick on November 2, 2013. I met Gum later that evening as we were assigned as roommates. It wasn’t until about a week later that I met Sweat. He was fencing when we met and he finished then took off his fencing mask to greet me.

SWEAT: Ha ha yeah, I remember that. Those were some pretty memorable days eh?

GUM: Indeed they were.

DO: Where are you from Gum?

GUM: Oh, I’m from Oklahoma but I was living in Las Vegas, Nevada before I got here. Let me tell you I got into lots of mischief during that time. The parties were crazy and the night clubs were always packed. I hooked up with numerous guys and girls. I even did coke and **** do I regret that. I am never doing that ever again, but drinking is acceptable.

DO: How about you Sweat? Where are you from?

SWEAT: Oh, I’m from Memphis, TN but I was living in Cordova before being dumped in this hellhole.

DO: Dude no way! I live in Cordova too.

SWEAT: Really bro? That’s dope.

DO: I know right! So Spore who was that guy who was harassing you in the cafeteria?

SPORE: Oh yeah I almost forgot about that. The guy’s name is Willard Fike but everyone calls him WiFi due to his extensive computer programming and networking skills. He even knows how to build and send viruses to computers. Me and WiFi used to date which was long before the two of us ever ended up in here. One day we got into a very heated argument.

[The scene flashes to a black and white filtered memory. Spore and WiFi are standing in the middle of a living room arguing really loudly.]

SPORE: So you think it is ok to mug someone late at night as they are walking home?! What if somebody had saw you?! Do you have any idea what happened?!

WIFI: Look I don’t give a **** alright! I don’t have a job! I needed money! What the **** did you expect me to do?! Huh???!!! Answer me!!!!!!!

SPORE: You could try checking the job ads in the paper. You could try job searching within the city. There is no valid enough excuse as to why you mugged that innocent pedestrian.

WIFI: Well I don’t like being broke you can ride with me or you can go and **** yourself. Pick one!

SPORE: If money is important enough to sacrifice your dignity then perhaps you are better off broke because you deserve a dime and you sure as hell won’t be receiving a cent from me.

[WiFi one-two punched Spore deeply in her stomach and then punched her squarely in the eye before delivering an uppercut. Spore was laying on the floor crying as WiFi began searching the room for cash.]

SPORE: WE ARE OVER! DO YOU HEAR ME????!!!!! OVER!!!!!!!

WIFI: I DON’T GIVE A ****!!!!!

[WiFi begins searching around the room for cash. He searches for about 5 minutes before settling on a sum of $500 of which he found in Spore’s mother’s purse. Spore picked up her cell phone and attempted to the call the kkkkkpolice when  WiFi suddenly placed  a pistol to her temple and pulled back the trigger.]

WIFI: I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Put the **** phone down now before I **** you.

[Spore did as she was told and dropped the phone. WiFi took the phone and threw it into the fish tank behind him.]

WIFI: Now you won’t ever be able to make calls to anyone.

SPORE: You know you are never going to get away with this.

WIFI: Technically, I already have. The question is who is going to stop me?

[WiFi left right after he asked that question slamming the door hard as he walked out.]

[The scene flashes back to the present.]

SPORE: I never was the same after that night.

DO: And he got away just like that?

SPORE: Well word got around fast and the cops caught up with him two days later following a string of police reports. I filed the day following the event so I guess you could say that I set it off.

SWEAT: Still, that’s sad though.

SPORE: I know and as Do and I were looking for a place to sit, a bunch of patients started hurling random insults at us in French and that was when I came across WiFi. Him and his buddies were mocking us and saying that we were a couple when that couldn’t be further than the truth.

DO: You say that almost as if you are ashamed of me, ha ha.

SPORE: I’m sorry, Do. You know that’s not what I meant.

DO: Yeah, I know.

[Spore gives Do a hug.]

SPORE: How do you feel now?

DO: Better.

SPORE: Anyway me and WiFi got into another argument while in the cafeteria and he tried to run up and attack me. Luckily Do was there to protect me. He basically ****** WiFi up. I seriously wanted to laugh at how much of a ***** Do made him look. The guy was lying across the floor in a fetal position whining. I couldn’t have asked for a better picture.

[The four them laughed together in equal succession. Another loud noise overlapped their laughter from behind the wall. It was the sound of two voices moaning. Both of the voices were female.

GUM: What was that?

SPORE: I have no idea.

SWEAT: Don’t know. Don’t care bro.

DO: I think I’ll go and have a look just to see what’s going on.

[The moaning continued and became increasingly louder as Do walked around the edge of the wall and behind it. He found two Caucasian girls completely half naked. Both girls were laying across the grass in the sixty-nine position eating each other out.]

DO: This is going to be fun.

[Do chuckled and smiled as his ******* grew.]

free internet 24-hour
Johnny Cash radio station
-all day long
the general listens-
plasma tv on the wall
silent bombs in Gaza
orange blossom specials
-they need plasma, don't they-
burn, burn, burn
-Cry, Cry, Cry-

r ~ 7/29/14

If you drive down route 235,
the lonely parallel line of route 5,
running through St. Mary's County, Maryland,

between the intersection of Old Three Notch road
and St. Andrew's Church road,
and the liquor store at the corner of Mattapany--
you must do so with a fat wallet,
and a growling stomach,

who barks at the flashing signs
of the sparkling chain restaurants--
wafting their familiar scents out the windows
and onto the busy street.

Utterly beleaguered every which way by these olfactory factories,
your mouth waters and your wallet lightens
as the tantalizing sensations
permeate your vehicle.

So you cave;
another lost soul vacates the street at Restaurant Alley,
under the prowling searchlights
and the intoxicating smells lingering like a dense fog;

You linger in your purgatory with glee.

You exit satisfied, patting your abdominous belly
and lifting your smiling face to the sky
in thanks to the gluttonous gods
who rain down these chain restaurants
from the heavens.

A satisfied sigh seeps out of loose lips,
barely hanging on to your fleshy face,
so ruddy and fat.

You act like your stop was something novel,
like it wasn't routine to acquiesce to these temptations;
you return to your car to continue your roamings
down restaurant alley.

Sadly, a full stomach won't stifle a querying nose,
and your senses are soon at it again;
just as the waiters and waitresses,
cooks and busboys--
are back at the window, leaning outside
with their clamorings and bustlings and cookings--

You pretend to entertain willpower as your copilot,
but even if that were so,
your senses would still be at the wheel,
with your mind bound and gagged in the trunk.

Restaurant Alley goes on for miles and miles and miles,
seemingly endless in the permeating fog of
burgers and pancakes and pasta and chicken and fries and burgers and soda and ice cream and beer and pasta and wine and America and pancakes and steak and appetizers and desserts and entrees and specials and kids menus and burgers and chicken and pasta and fries and burgers and ice cream and salad and burgers and soda and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat!

There's nothing to eat;
there's nothing to do but eat in Restaurant Alley,
on route 235 in St. Mary's County, Maryland.

So fasten your seat belt,
and loosen your waist belt,
and take a doomed trip down the endless roadway--

where you are dragged, shackled to food chains
that haul you from the perdition that is the lobby's waiting room
to be seated with loved ones at the mercy seat of Ambrosia.

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Ads for Christmas specials
Litter magazines and such
Oooh another Christmas Carol
Tiny Tim has a new crutch

A Christmas Story musical
The Rockettes on TV
I'd rather watch old re-runs
Of Andy Williams 'neath the tree

The stores are stocked, the lights are bright
There's tinsel everywhere
There's Romney and Obama Christmas tags
I mean is this really fair?

There's Kingdom of Thrones nativities
And guess who plays the baby
There' s something wrong inherently
When you stop to buy it...maybe.

Christmas got away from us
It's more commercial than I've seen
There's more crap on the shelves these days
Than there is at Hallowee'n

It's only just September
and I'm already done in
by my Christmas Season overload
I can't believe the state I'm in

What happened to Goodwill to Men
And Seasons Greetings at the mall
They've been replaced by anger
And gift cards that are given out by all

This year I have decided
to change how I celebrate this silly thing
I'm going home to bed right now
And I will Hibernate till spring !!!

The Gods are money sound these days.
and priests have marketing degrees -
The faithful, called to worship
by giant plasma screens,
in mega-shopping sanctuaries
selling salvation through merchandising.

At the Church of Holy Consumption
all denominations are welcome –
hundreds, twenties, tens.
All the hymns are sung by Muzak -
the readings daily specials.

A sister spritzes us with holy essence
(The bottle's 40 bucks an ounce).          
Leave your offerings at the till -
major credit cards accepted.

When worship time is up,
sign the dollar across your chest
and bend a knee to the talking head
cooing soothing benedictions,

“Go in Peace, my child. You’re worth it.”

*January,  2007

.the better part of a Friday night

grim.. times... what better way to pass a drinking session than to translate some Horace... i see no other worthy time-consuming scoop of any events to follow, this:

humano capiti cervicem pictor equinam iungere si velit et varitas
inducere plumas undique conlatis membris, ut turpiter atrum
desinat in piscem mulier formosa superne,
spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amici?
credite, Pisones, isti tabulae fore librum persimilem,
cuius, velut aegri somnia, vanae fingentur species,
ut nec pes nec caput uni reddatur formae.
scimus, et hanc veniam
petimusque damusque vicissim;
sed non ut placidis coeant inmitia, non ut serpentes
avibus geminentur, tigribus agni.

some first reading... sounds like chasing a chimera...

with a human head on a horses' neck: should a painter
tie the two together on a whim, and other limbs
collected from everywhere: puff up duck feathers into
a pillow or a bed cover - from "nothing"... hey presto!
that a beautiful woman from the torso up with a
fish's black tail below to boot...
on exhibition: would you, friends,
not burst burst out with laughter? believe: Paisans!
similar to this image will be the book:
in which as in an ill man's dream, in delirium,
the head and the feet belong to different
forms
i use this law and i recommend others to use it too,
but not to equate gentleness with a wildness:
with a bird a serpent, a lamb with a tiger...

angels and mermaids... what is no less or... no more:
improbable? perhaps neither...
but in the guise of monotheism... everything is still
somehow sensible...
where there was: half and half...
what angel of monotheism is a half and half
when contending for existence among unicorns...
mermaids or centaurs?
a chimera and a cyclops... **** with a minotaur...
but... such events of monotheistic grandeour are...
supposedly the better respected...
for all the respect i gave unto Knausgård -
because it comes from monotheism:
an angel is to be seen as more than a mermaid...
perhaps... if the angel is of my form...
has the wings... but for its mouth?
a pecker mask... a 50:50 share ratio of...
what a racial "mongrel" would otherwise burden his
shadows with...
a pecker mask akin to those masks
worn at the Venice carnival:
doctor doctor black plague masks...
with a muffed-up speech... as if shouting into
cotton puffed up...
esp. cotton candy...

and this is a sort of friday where i'd much prefer
translating latin... god... where did all these modern
prepositions and conjunctions from from:
into the fore?! there's only one song of worthy summary...
the specials - ghost town.

- Autorank Total 10 ( higher is reduced to 10 ), professional similarity 10 (of 10), concrete vs abstract 2 (of 2), noun/verb/etc order -0.7 (of 1) -

poetry and order... yes...
yes... very much akin to rhymes...
and very formal language...
but this is hardly a "micro-aggression",
on my part...

it's funny that i never paid any attention to this detail...

hoc erat in votis

i was never into brian jonestown massacre, more of a dandy warhols' fan, but then brian jonestown released the album aufheben and pawns of the palette started picking up not only seminal citric acids and kashmir's spices, but sharp grooves of some distant geography, which of course, all in all: to my liking.

there's nothing like listening to the opening
track of the aufheben album (panic
in babylon, instrumental) and reciting a
bit of horace; should i be accused of sounding
pompous, here's horace himself

    hoc erat in votis: modus agri non ita magnus,
    hortus ubi et tecto vicinus iugis aquae fons
    et paulum silvae super his foret. auctius atque
    di melius fecere. bene est. nil amplius oro,
    maia nate, nisi ut propria haec mihi munera faxis.

    it was the aim of my wishes: a snippet of arable land,
    a garden, in the vicinity of my house a source of
    fresh water and a grove upon a ***** of a hilly eminence.
    the gods beyond their intentions bestowed upon me
    the loot of my thus lived fate. i have enough!
    i do not implore for more either in this heart of mine
    or among incense or blood of sacrificed bulls at the altar
    where worship is prescribed unto them, but only give me,
    son of May, the chance to use these bestowals.

(translated from polish, and, as would be expected of me,
involved in translation, adding something of my own,
as you can see, the latin prepositions and conjunctions
are reflective of the number apparent in the english language,
but it's hardly a concern with other words,
awaiting a unanimous - not necessarily an N between
two vowels, or because of H, as is exampled by
a great alphabetical distancing of the vowels,
or simply because of the latin tongue-twisters of
the grapheme æ and œ - awaiting a unanimous
decision of the compound words stalled by the hyphen
form, e.g. light-bulb / lightbulb (underlined as a spelling
mistake) by the oxford dictionary committee...
but let's not get as crazy as german spelling
glue... it would make james joyce pale even by finnegans
wake standards of the 100 letter word... i know... english
is a language spelled like shotgun shrapnel, and german is spelled
like a wedding cake or scottish fudge, thick and bulging;
what was i going to say? i took a step into the heraclitean
river and the river took me elsewhere, the ice cubes
in my whiskey citric barley are melting, and i dream
of venice being the modern atlantis along with the maldives).

elsewhere in a grammar lesson:

people think the pinnacle of poetry is coupling
adjectives with nouns, but of course,
given adjective & verb coupling is commonplace:
and when they say poetic v. practical,
they then say the hidden practicality of poetry
via, e.g. 'nicely said;' but of course!
we need a sombre musicality of the tongue
with so much dead machinery around us!
the elders complain about headphone "zombies,"
marching like urban myth lemmings on zebras
toward death... but have you actually listened
to those mechanical sounds on concrete?
horrid! when was the last time you heard an owl's
call in the dead of night in a forest? me!
about a year ago: three by my count.

- Autorank Total 9.9, professional similarity 10 (of 10), concrete vs abstract 2 (of 2), noun/verb/etc order -0.1 (of 1), cliches -2 (of -3) -

the Cyber Pavlov Experiment

and my favorite "poem" in this ranking system,
which, i guess is an a.i. calculator...
i'm most interested in the professional similarity,
i can understand the concrete vs abstract ranking...
but the noun/verb/etc order?
in poetry? again... this is not a "micro-aggression"...

so, i'm on this page, and i meet my ****** pusher,
sure as hell he's pushing ******,
although it's digital, the site / street corner?
allpoetry.com i get to publish 2 poems,
but can't publish more, i have to comment,
and comment positively,
'allo comrade Stalin! then comment on
2 poems, and get this message:
Congratulations, you've achieved level 2,
and are now an "emerald cat"!
To reach the next level you need:
7 x comments, 1 x enter a contest, 1 x favorites,
1 x edit an item. • What are levels?
i am not playing candy-crush saga!
i'm not! i'm not even kidding you,
what is this ****?!
we've been ****** by paedophiles
anonymous?!
                      please get me off
this ****** grid of the Cyber Pavlov Experiment...
likes and comments and saliva and cookies...
    or premeditated minority reports -
  akin to Orwell's thought crime gestapo -
    god it sounds **** when said: g'eh'sh'tap'oh.
                    or how to use the internet
akin to deciphering and censoring established
media outlets...
                              obviously social media
can't replicate socialism, it's a media outlet,
                  but it can for sure ******* with
all the little capitalistic mind games that lead
to nothing but the Pavlov experiment -
            and that was with dogs...
try that with a ******* Gorilla and i'll watch you
cradle prosthetic limbs while
he rips your original limbs off like he's playing
                a harp:
            then you can rhyme: twinkle twinkle little thumb,
    how i wished you were attached to my hand to my arm
to my torso...
                        that's the same story
we had recently concerning a Mr. Kumbuka...
  who escaped enclosure, and proved the a.d.h.d.
        complex correlation with exposure to
sugar... ****** drank 5 litres of concentrated blackcurrant
squash replying: i'm mad at the keepers for keeping
me on a diet! i do king kong and you do the frenzied
blonde maiden.
              it's still a concern for me that they herded the poets
into an area worthy of zoological inspection,
                meaning that they base their worth on
    deplorable points system: like they're immigrants
waiting for visas to Canada -
                          comment, like, blag and blabber your
way into that new country, known to all of us present
              as Si S / Silicon State... by my count that's
the 51st, or the secular version of the Vatican.

- Autorank Total 2.3, professional similarity 1 (of 10), concrete vs abstract 2 (of 2), noun/verb/etc order -0.7 (of 1) -

but now... i'll just post the most "pop" poem from
here-on-in there... for that hard-on autorank...

clues as precursor:
- Strong words: army, audience, beef, box, brick, canvas, cubes, eating, fan, fares, football, lines, match, minced, outside, people, poem, poets, river, scrabble, scroll, short, slab, song, steak, striking, stripes, tartar, tomatoes, wave, writing  
-Weak words: albeit, always, answer, any, bad, be, become, bothered, circa, coherency, could, critic, deliberate, effect, eh, elsewhere, enough, escape, event, form, gather, get, had, happen, hardly, impact, intent, international, invent, long, merely, mind, modest, national, never, nice, nothing, perhaps, personally, presume, question, rarely, reason, recluse, repeating, repetition, somehow, sometimes, started, subconscious, subsequently, succumb, tender, thinking, translation, treat, understand, version, very, want, was, well, what, will, worth, would
- Cliches: to be a, i want

****... too early for an autorank...
so here's a pre-scriptum i wrote for...
what i wanted to feed the autoranking system...

this poem has circa 11 thousand views, "elsewhere"...
and i just... would like... to see the score for it...
the very and repeating: twist on the rotten tomatoes' score
"leverage" between audience and "critic" scores...
i gather that the autorank on this canvas is not...
somehow "deliberate"... i presume i have this slab
of minced beef... and when i put it through...
i'll get... a nice cubism version of a ripe steak: medium rare...

then again: i was always a fan of rare...
mind you... it's never raw, it's not tartar cubes...
it's rare... like the person eating... a rarified recluse example:
like a recluse of a rarified worth of all examples given...
this noun/verb/etc. "coherency" score...
perhaps this a.i. scrutiny hasn't bothered to answer
to no asked question... people can still "un-scramble"
or... un-scrabble bad grammar and understand it...
nothing ever has to be: brick on brick like a long
winding river...
it sometimes can arrive at us...
"lost in translation"... some people speak some
languages with no ill-intent...
they just can't escape the pedagogy rubrics of
subconscious grammar layer upon layer upon layer...
is this... a reason to subsequently rhyme?
personally? i treat rhyme as a phenomenon...
a phenomenon that has to happen rarely...
and when it does: it has to be a striking "pose"...
but enough of the pre-scriptum...
i want to see how this poem fares in the autorank filter...
albeit, this given: this pre-scriptum will have had
an impact on the score...

line repetition, eh? the lines are too long or too short?
what was that poem... when you could somehow
invent: "thinking outside the box" of any form,
or when tender poets started to succumb to the cascade
effect of writing - to merely fill-up scroll speed and space?
it's hardly an event like the mexican wave at
a football match... or how...
the white stripes' song: seven nation army
has become the international... well... that's modest...
the national (english) football clubs' anthem...
when a goal is scored... or whatever you like, otherwise...

or cliches... really?!
how about... oh... i remember this one most fondly...
visual poetry...
fallen... by... jörg piringer...
and unlike any modern painting...
this one really does require a description,
as cited on poetryfoundation.com:

/jörg piringer works in many forms, including visual, digital, and sound poetry, as well as music. In "fallen," piringer combines a visual sensibility with computer programming skills to tumble text from the English translation of The Communist Manifesto into a pile at the bottom of the page. The result is a mass of letters stripped of their original meaning and representing the failure of an idea./ Geof Huth

and no, by no kind reprint...
perhaps modern painting is what it is...
because... there's an alternative, like fallen?
if you can "paint" with words in adverts...
and paint i imply: stress the psychological impact
of coca-cola written in circa: formal scripts -
(why no italics? you can't... just can't,
write a colon and in italics after...
the colon represents emphasis,
as does the italics... tautology or something -esque)
derived from 17th century handwriting...
or... say... volkswagen... written in blackletter &
lombardic scripts... esp. circa 1935...
while all the propaganda posters were on
display...

given all of this? well... do i have to somehow:
bemoan how terrible modern art is?
cubism is not cricitißed - but dada is -
or let's call it... the most bloated
menu of culture citationand)
Barnett Newman painted this masterpiece,
‘Onement VI’, in 1953.
it sold for close to US$44 million...

i can't say such painting is "good" or "bad"...
after a while you just have to call a spoon a spoon...
a knife a knife, a table a table...
onement vi? blue canvas with a straight line
down the middle; form? rectangular...
and that's when thinking can take place...
i gather than modern art is trying to depict:
primodial man acquiring geometry...
after all... only recently i cound the difference
between the western man and slavs...
how the afro-european now lives in germany
and the west... including italy...
and how the indo-european lives east of germany
in some parts of scandinavia and greece...
a totally new discovery...

but... but... i can compensate for modern art...
with what is visual poetry...
if jorgen schmoorgen can do an abstract of a communist
manifesto... here's my take on...
John Constable... because... frankly...
i have yet to properly deal with this particular piece
of writing - as it's fresh... to subsequently aspire
for... a j. m. w. turner... not yet... not yet...
as ascribed to Juba...

the poem itself is... good grief...
always the same with me...
i go to kenya and i'd want to **** all the ivory
beauties...
a mother is in hospital and all the nurses
are black and i'm like...
what a clean and sterile environment this
is... unlike my today which began
finding an acne dot on my little richard...
(i get the joke... spotty ****)...
having to defrost a fridge freezer in
the shed because:
'z przybytku głowa nie boli'
oh yes it does...
not when what someone deems to be
"enough" do you have to count the trivial...
unnecessary things...
which is not a shame regarding my ***
winning a pulitzer price for... never mind...
i claim lack of sun...
black privelege... impeccable skin...
and... ivory beauties...
n'est ce pas?
alternative i have found an outlet to...
it's become brutally boring...
*******...
i found it... in... japanese gravure...
i had to... esp. when 1970s italian *****
classic died... and everyone is doing
this act older than beer and the giza
pyramids... phellatio and you're like:
so when did the ice-cream dream go away...
the peeling the banana...
and all this ******* gagging begin like
there's everyone with their third tonsils
removed... where mouth is no different
from *** or **** to be RAMMED!
lucky for me i still have my third tonsil...
which means i can drink cold beer in winter
and not get a soar throat...
- lucky for me i still have my *******...
god... if i didn't... i don't think i'd have
the "moral compass" to "get away with it"...
unless i was a woman with a web-cam...
in which: it almost becomes akin to reading
a book... it's like: it's there for the sole use of
pleasuring yourself or... as i like to call it on
throne of thrones (the toilet)...
first you do the no. 1, then the no. 2...
then you start doing the no. 3 to see...
whether you've done no. 2 completely...
it sometimes happens that having an *******
dilates the **** to the point where:
there's a shady **** loitering in the "back"
somewhere... which would explain ****-erotica...
in reverse to the act of ****-erotica of being
penetrated... i.e. in this scenario...
finishing doing a no. 2...
after that? downhill a quick side-step for
a no. 4 in the shower - baptism...
but... yeah... the men that shame men with
regards to *******?
they must be circumcised men...
shaming other circumcised men...
i think to think how a circumcised man
could shame an uncircumcised man for this act...
that's like... circumcised women...
shaming uncircumised women...
for jerking off with a web-cam...
uncircumcised women and...
explosive libido... whatever the stereotypes
are... circumcised men...
uncircumcised men...
there has to be a: a priest a rabbi and an imam
walk into a bar joke around here somewhere...
i'm trying to find it...
but i have found that: circumcised men
shame other circumcised men over *******...
while the uncircumcised men are like...
if only i were a woman and had a webcam...
if society had a niche consumer base for that...
"sort of thing"...
i'd be making money from one
genocide of a fraction of myself ever so often...
i.e. it's killing when the ***** is owned
by a woman (sensible... sensible...
i don't mean the former chinese 1 child
state policy of: statistics at all costs...
even at 8 months old)...
but if that's the case...
then a session of hanky-panky...
sterile... washing under the ******* etc.,
i'm practically doing erotica-genocide
slim film no. 3890... ever since it started aged
8... when i discovered Onan...
way before the white nation army came out
from the hades of the *******...
how the ******* of ***** has nothing
to do with the ******...
the muscles and nerves are wired so to the brain...
that i'm pretty sure a castrato feels
the same...
**** chicken shaming...
it must be circumcised men against
circumcised men: ******* missing olympics...
no wonder... you peel a ******* potato...
you have to throw it in some water
to prevent it from darkening...
that's of course: prior to cooking...
so you have to find the ****** cushion
brigade from time to time...
a "sword" without a "sheath"...
rust or egomania or: motivational talk talks...
because Kant was never going to be my:
bachelor of the year for the 215th time in a row...
kierkegaard famously didn't marry...
erectile "dysfunction":
not a real problem in my own company
or in the company of prostitutes...
but a serious ******* problem among
the "free women" of western europe...
it's like one of those vague "superpowers"...
women speak of turn-ons and turn-offs...
yeah: i too have my limp switch too...
somehow... this "thing" is not automated...
it's not like spam-mail... it doesn't always:
"rise to the occassion"...
the mood swings of my *****...
i'm starting to think that perhaps neurology will
explain more about my brain
than my suma summarum will ever tell me
about this excess of the 21st digit (which
of course includes the 10 precursor toes)...

as i haven't read marquis de sade in a long while...
and i'm not touching any modern erotica,
and ******* bores me
and how japenese gravure is the next best
all-spice of brain fever...
and how: if this little harlot went to sudan
for her nitty-picking a tartan lover,
or if she decided for rwanda...
i have to guess the fiction and fantasy...
for me, at least... has to rely on...
a bull in a porcelain shop...
or as the kama sutra says:
a rabbit **** is hardly going to ****
an elephant ****... lengths and depths...
all round!
which makes you wonder...
genghis khan must have been...
or has to be... the ***** envy shitlord
of a whole lot of people with the surname
Khan in pakistan.

Sitting in a run down bar
Toasting Christmas' once again
Making New Years Resolutions
That in eight days I'll amend
Watching Christmas Specials
On what happened this past year
All the while waiting
For another glass of beer

Commercials for electronic this
and battery powered that
Pill that **** your acne
Machines that **** your fat
Little plastic whatzit whos
That vibrate and make noise
Not one **** ad of one **** thing
For Christmas...girls and boys

Where did Christmas go to?
When did Christmas die?
When did Amazon take over?
Telling us just the things to buy
Where is Christmas spirit?
In a movie or a play?
At an office Christmas party?
It's all saved for Boxing Day

The beer arrives, we look about
The bar is filling fast
Most talking of the better days
The days of Christmas past
People on the tv set
On that **** show TMZ
Reality folks, who don't know real
At least not like you and me

I harken back to days of yore
When Christmas was so real
When there'd be fifteen aunts and uncles
At our house for a meal
When charity was normal
Cynics..few and far between
When Christmas trees dropped needles
And all had a slight lean

Where did Christmas go to?
When did Christmas die?
When did Amazon take over?
Telling us just the things to buy
Where is Christmas spirit?
In a movie or a play?
At an office Christmas party?
It's all saved for Boxing Day

It's getting on for closing time
It's time to get on home
Where, I am not sure of
It's nice...I'll think I'll roam
A bench, perhaps, inside the park
I think I'll be all right
I'll pick one near a walkway
By a nice and shiny light

Oh, most of us are homeless
We hit the missions for our meals
We drink some down at this old bar
We just like the way it feels
We spend Christmas Day together
Our extended family grows each year
But, before I go and find a bench
I think I'll throw back one last beer

Merry Christmas

Stupid Kohl's commercial
Poking fun that she's not here
It'll be a lonely Christmas
Without Mrs. Claus this year.
They decorate the woman's house
With golden garland, lights
Hang the diamonds from the tree
For when she comes home that night.
It's like they knew she wasn't home
But I guess her home is now up there
She can celebrate with Grandpa now
I just wish they were still here.
No more Santa ornaments
Or stockings hanging low
No more fruit salad parties
Or reindeer food  in the snow.
I can't seem to fathom it
That I must make another wreath
That this year you won't be helping us
No more Christmas specials to see.
So when I have the jingle bear
And I play the song for kicks
J-I-N-G-L-E Bells
I'll cry at the memories that stick.
I really love the holidays
I'd love them more if you hadn't gone
Enjoy your Christmas with Grampa, please
And play me the jingle song.

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You know those questions that you get
Like why is the sky blue?
The ones you can not answer
But, try to pass off that you do

Well I got one the other day
My son came up and said
What with Jesus and with Christmas
I told him...go to bed!

It's only three o'clock he said
Well...then...go and ask your mom
Dad, I already asked her and
you're where she said to come

I thought, my god, she owes me now
So, I told him, grab a seat
I figured I'd go down in flames
But, I'd fight in my defeat

He said, all the Christmas specials
talk of Christmas and that stuff
But, Rudolph, Garfield, Frosty
well, I think I've watched enough

Some talk of baby Jesus
Others talk of shops and toys
Why is Jesus linked to Christmas
And I answered him.....with poise

Jesus Christ, the son of God
came to earth in all his Glory
Now, go and read you bible
The games on...read the story

He trundled off, I thought I'd won
In an hour he returned
With that face, you know the one I mean
Dad...there's something that I learned

If Jesus Christ and Christmas
are tied together, as we see
Did they celebrate on Christmas Day
Before Christ turned thirty three?

I mean, was it Christmas for a reason
Or did it start once he was dead?
I thought, that's a good question
And it came from my boy's head

His mother brought hot chocolate
She still owed me, and she knew
that whatever payback I devised
would be multiplied by two

I said, son, the idea of true Christmas gifts
Dates to 313 A.D
Back to someone called Saint Nicholas
Santa Claus to you and m

The wise men came with presents
To celebrate the ****** birth
They celebrated the fact that God
had sent his son to earth

So, what does that have to do with snoopy
Rudolph, Jack Frost, my son said
I told him, read your bible
The story's there, no go to bed

He smiled and he hugged me
He said I think I know one part
It's that Christmas isn't presents
It's something you feel in your heart

It's a spirit of goodwill to man
And to all who you may meet
I said, yep...that's it
You've summed it up, maybe I should have a seat

So, Christmas isn't retail,
It can't be bought, it has no box
It's a feeling deep within you
though...this year I need some socks

It may have his name attached
But, true Christmas is defined
By our love for one another
and the love for all mankind

Everyone knows its a bad part of town,
no one lives there by choice.
Its this place called The Heat
down at the corner of holy gate
and 1-deuce-deuce.
There a girl there,
her real names Lucinda,
they say friends call her luci,
which is short for Lucifer,
and she works in The Heat
which is slick for hell.
They say she's called bass
"cause it look'a like a wide mouth bass
smell 'bout da same"
Nicknames and false alibis.
Luci works the Heat on taco Tuesdays.
They say she'll serve it hot for ten a song.
Fish taco Tuesdays.
They joke that it always smells like tuna anyways
even without fish taco Tuesdays.
They say on a good Friday,
The Heat almost becomes bearable
and every body watches old bass
swinging widemouthed and tasseled
around every pole in the bar.
But I can't bare it,
the kind of sadness in places like this
where they serve up breakfast
and Tuesday specials
for ten dollars a song.

Here's one shot for giving up 
And one more for giving in
Without a fight
When nicotine and alcohol
Can't dull the sense of the end
Trying to win with a losing hand
The cards I've been dealt never stack
Quite as high as the sky
The stars look so bright alone
That empty space magnified
Do we know that we're truly alone
Or does it take the bitter taste
Of one more rejection
To cross the line
A photo finish that no one read
Care is a concern for the snowy trees
The mysteries of life hold nothing
For an ant like me
Grind me under your heel
Grind me, a nuisance with my heart
Left longing for what
I look for answers in the moving train cars
But the perspective is only a blur
Colors flash by in meaningless shapes
To love or to live
That is the question my dear
With only one answer
And it is nothing, nothing that these ringing ears
Want to hear
The burning bridge can only moan
Under the weight of this heavy soul
Weighed down with too many years
Of beating half empty
The blood is oxygenated
Sparkling wine will only go so far
Before the chill sets in
Marlboro 27 specials kiss my lips
And lead me down this path
One step closer to death
If only I could inhale
You

I put away the tree and lights
I packed the tags and wrap
I was doing Christmas a favor
I was not giving crap
I chose to make Christmas simple
the way it should really be
This year for our dinner
There was only to be three
Instead of "pop trance" singles
I played hymns instead
And I didn't hang a stocking
At the end of my old bed
I didn't watch the specials
That were all over my tv
I just spent time this Christmas
That's the most precious gift to me
I treasure the things I'm given
I treasure what I earn
But if you do this at Christmas
There's something you will learn
Christmas doesn't come in a package
On a tree or from a mall
Christmas comes from inside us
And it makes you feel quite small
I could feel the Christmas spirit
With every box I packed
It was there inside my being
I had found what Christmas lacked
This year I'm going simple
And I must say one thing more
This year for Christmas dinner
There'll be us three and one more
The Christmas spirit joined us
We had a simple, hearty feast
And although I'm going simple
I can say Merry Christmas...at the least.

Merry Christmas

She wore a knee-length skirt. I like them a tad shorter but for some reason this didn’t bug me. Her smile was bright and cheery. Her hair looked soft and came down to the top of her back. She was beautiful and her teeth were white and seemed to pop out of her mouth. I liked her a lot.
We decided we wanted Italian. I told her about Acario’s, a good-quality place up the street, and she said that it sounded fantastic. I opened the door for her and we drove away in my car. It wasn’t the nicest one on the market but it went fast. When we got out on the highway I pushed the accelerator to the floor and weaved between traffic. Some girls get nervous when I do this but she seemed to enjoy it. She looked over at me and grinned with those bright teeth. I don’t remember much except those teeth until we got there. I opened the door for her again and held the small of her back as we walked to the door.
There was some native Italians singing in the corner as we sat down. There was very electric light, only candles and occasional flicker as the kitchen doors swung open and shut. The waiter seemed a natural at his job. Sharp clothes, slicked back hair, good smile that didn’t seem full of contempt. He greeted us in Italian but quickly reverted back to a more common tongue when we began asking about their specials. She ordered Rigatoni a la pesto. I ordered Linguine a la Bolognese. We shared a semi-expensive Merlot that the waiter recommended. It was all very good but neither of us ate much. All I could focus on were her teeth. Their movement up and down when she talked. How badly it felt to see them go when she plucked a single piece of pasta into her mouth. We stayed for two hours. I paid the bill and left a generous tip. The waiter seemed grateful but I suspect he gathered this was our first date.
I did not want the evening to end so I asked her if she wanted to go someplace else. She suggested a park about a fifteen-to-twenty minute drive away. We both got into the car and I sped down the highway, looking over when I could to see the white gems she kept tucked behind her lips flare open as I revved the engine.
When we arrived she took my hand and led me to a lake a small ways away. We walked around the lake for a while until we found a bench. It was old and wooden. It had seen many people’s ***** and absorbed the sounds of children calling to their mothers, old women throwing seeds to the birds, and even the sounds of young lovers hungrily snarled in each other’s faces. She sat down quickly and smiled, looking at the quiet waters first and then into my eyes. Her eyes seemed full of life but I could not help to be drawn slightly lower, to the confines of her red rim.
I leaned in for a kiss but she didn’t lean back at first. I opened my eyes and saw her grinning, her teeth seeming to say, “you don’t think I’m that easy do you?”
“No”, I said in my mind, “no you’re not that easy. You know I want you. You know why I like you. Why I desire you. Fine. I’ll earn it. I’ll make you want it. Just come here. Come here once and I’ll win you over.”
I leaned in all the way and got my lips on hers. She didn’t kiss back. She wanted to see me try. She wanted me to impress her. I did everything I could. I moved my lips up and down. I ran my tongue on hers. I touched her teeth for the first time. It lit a fire in me. I fought harder than I ever had. I tried things I didn’t know could be tried. It felt like hours and I think it might’ve been hours but that one kiss was what did it.
When we separated she was still smirking. It was different this time though. She was satisfied, not disappointed. Approving, not taunting. She agreed. She was going to give me a shot.
We finished out the evening. I dropped her off at her house around 4 in the morning. We barely talked the rest of the night. We didn’t hold-hands. We didn’t kiss. I don’t even remember what we did for all that time, but it was wonderful. It was enough for me just to know those white, gleaming, wonderful teeth were mine.
That date led to another, the one after that to another one, that one to a fourth and so on and so forth. Weeks turned to months. Months to years. It was years and years and years it seemed to me. I couldn’t remember the days of the week, the hour, the month, the year. It was all about the next time I got to see those teeth. Until, one day, in the blink of an eye, it was the last time I got to see them again. The last time, the very time they warped to fangs and breathed fire like a dragon upon a now useless play-thing.

Great Shamrock specials
walk around town with a sandwich board ringing a bell-
if music be the food of love -
PLAY BACK!

Alex Pike
Free Camping
A half price indulgence now open
plant identification skill for
another wet weekend of cricket.

"Hi, I'm Steve your carpet care man!"
"Well the skies cleared and the game started,
didn't look good early, but that is what happens in Dorrigo."

Last week the Eastern Wall of the Catholic Church was vandalised.

Chan's Chinese Resteraunt
beyond the rainbow.

Loving partner of Lance (Dec.) Aged 91 years.

The complete lifestyle package.
FREE!

Glad that Fall is finally here. Not because of the pumpkin spice specials, nor the chilly weather.. Not that I enjoyed the summer heat anyway.
But what makes Fall important to me, is the beauty of realization. The eye opener of change. The hot weather becomes cooler, the leaves begin to change colors, the leaves start to fall.
Amazed by all of this, yet not seeing the true picture. If the weather, leaf colorcolors, & trees start to change, to show beauty, & rebirth. Why can't we?

Fred’s a peddler of dreams
Between caked on make- up grins
And a dime sack of ****
He puts holes in logic
Like gaping buckshot wounds
While he sells his wares
To a corrupt, pretentious, college indie scene

The kids who sat in the back of high school dances
“Jesus I wish they’d play some Rooney!”
Are now ******* on the tongues of frat guy’s
Who’s favorite songs are narrowed down to a lists of hits
Played by Journey!

The same girls who dressed for cold New York days
In a California heat storm.
Who listened to Bob Dylan and The Doors
But now they’re covered in the sweat of a ******* without the hope
Of *******
Listening to Jay-z
Not because they like it, oh no!
They need to dance
And at least he sings
On key
While kids who made
Wordless promises
Sit in the back
Dropping LSD.

Fred’s a peddler of broken dream
Reach your hand in his satchel
For a fist full of glass shards, and rusted cutlery

He speaks in Biblical urban
Like “Thy shalt not give in, give up, sell out, buy in, peace out!”
And fred is a prophet on E
He’s the only holy man who’s ever meant anything to me
Or spoken a word more then the lessons I learned on Sunday’s PBS specials
I need Fred like a savior needs second chance
And I can find them at the bottles of these sugar coated alcoholic
Drinks.

And I’ll fade to a dim reminder like the scars
On the wrists of the girls and boys who wore the
Nightmare before Christmas hoodies, and understood so well
When they were younger that the only way
To achieve anything
Was to slice themselves under dull razor blades
In bathtubs payed for by parents
Who’s love was occupied by a 200 $ pay cut.
But now the bloods dried and the scars are gone
So 200 miles away and they haven’t learned
A thing
Or done
A thing
And when anything was possible
They need a multiple choice, with an E
For all the above

Fred these are my sacrifices, no love
These are old and weary so now I can sit
And watch the girl drown herself in alcohol
Fred to you I give her.
Put her in your bag of broken dreams
And sell her back to me as a blood alcohol
.40

Fred these are my payment in things I don’t own
The guys in meaningless vintage clothes
Dropping acid
And convulsing in chairs
Until their nothing but blink stares
And steady green lines
With the white noise swan song, and the time
4:40 am
Put him in medicine bottle
Marked “Lysergic acid diethylamide- For mild post college depression”
And Me and you Fred can share a nice chuckle.

Fred’s a con artists
He’s got an empty bag of *******
He’s got all the money he needs
He’s the **** all poster child
He’s the God I always imagined
He’s the best part of the week
He ‘s a lie caught between
Some tongue and cheek
And if I only knew what he said
Was a cautionary tale
And not some well thought out pitch or sale.

Well then Fred’s a messiah
Handing out second chance
In his knapsack.
But his advice
Is deafened by the constant hum and irritating beat
Of a floor drums that’s moving the youth into an early graves.
-Kevin T.

the first thing people would say upon our engagement is show me the ring like some bling is an ode of your love to me. i am not a homemaker i am a homebody. i excel in colombian coffee and monday night pub specials and cheap wine with expensive labels. i excel at being one of the guys and by being one of the guys i mean not being your wife. i filled the crevices you scraped in me like some kind of sculptor smoothing over past mistakes like being your wife was some kind of placebo pill i can sweat out with half-empty pizza boxes and grease stains on a couch that was never mine. when i first tell people about us about what i've done they say
but you two fit so well
but i liked you together
but you were going to get married
but but but
but they don't see your knuckles almost shaking hands with my jawline or the time i stared at you deadpan i'm not scared of you and i think that's what scared you that i'm no battered wife that i'll take you all bleed you dry then smile from the corner.
i am no battered wife like the woman who raised you
whose christmas-gifted blanket i'm currently curled under but whose 4 a.m. whispered words i cherish more he can't make you forget what you felt like your lies would forge me into the bat **** crazy ***** you christened me but what i felt in your *****-stained breath amaretto-sweet words ice-diluted eyes was i am no battered wife
i am no laying next to you in bed at 30 with kids i couldn't convince myself to want and bruises that fit your fingers on my ribs. i'll take my tuesday tequila and too-loud laughs, my scrounging for quarters for just one more cup of coffee over your stability smirks.

"Angels can't be black, stupid" she said to me
And she said it so matter-of-factly
To the eight year old boy with a figurine
That his mother gave him, looking so kindly
And I didn't know of her words nonsensicle
But everywhere I looked, in books, store windows and tv specials
I saw that angels in serenity with floating halos
And all of them were white

So I was down, not surprisingly
Because think of how mad or sad you'd be
To find Heaven's hosts had no minorities
And that an angel could not be made of me
And angrier I became as on tears I choke
To be the **** of that little girl's joke
And to find all the words my mother spoke
Might be only lies and fairy tales

And with my head planted on my desk
The angel next to me did rest
As my teacher saw my distress
And question my obvious bitterness
I shrugged her off and her query grew
"Nik Bland, what in the world's eating you?"
And I told her what that girl and the whole world knew
About the fable of my figurine

And she listened to my childlike woes
As tears streamed down, sobs did grow
And she nodded as I said I did not know
A single place in the bible where minorities showed
A trace and she went up to the class
And spoke that, scientifically, in the past
It's been shown that the brown skinned and blacks
Were the colors of the first of the human race

So that sparked a fire within my mind
To realize that if humankind
Found a way to travel back in time
They might be seeing an ethnic Adam and Eve
And she showed me on the map the Middle East
And my heart rate slightly increased
To see it held Israel and Bethlehem, doubts then ceased
As I saw the mixed skin color of their people

And as the class pondered this, she came to me
And told me very quietly
Of her and her Christianity
And of Jesus, whose chose his mixed coloring
And with tears in her eyes, she put that angel in my hands
And to me that I must understand
That God looks past the color of the man
For He painted us all

And Christian or not, you must admittedly
Say that the world is a piece of artistry
That is incomparable to any man has in the making
And that we are all living here equally
And show we pass on, some soon than most
But with belief in Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
That eight year old boy could proudly boast
About the angel, so serene... and black