LEFTOVERS

Black Friday
Dirty Gravy
Dark Meat
Broken Spun
Over Done
Past Due
Running Out of Reality
Second By Second...
Nothing Other

it's funny how they promise a better
world if elected but in reality they
stick us with another fucking library
filled with goofy lies and ridiculous
artifice in a revision of history that
never happened...

Zero Point
Absolutely Me

it seems like you've got something
to prove but no one to prove it to...

Good Brew
Liquid Trance

I prefer boozing in solitude because
imbibing alcohol is an original sacred
ritual meant for transcending illusions
of the world and accessing true self
much like taking yage and peyote or
waking the mind through prolonged
sessions of extreme meditation...

Modern Perversion
Autonomous Moods

"that this is the gift
and I am ill with it;
it has sloshed around my bones
and brings me awake to
stare at walls.

musing often leads to madness,
o dog with an
old rag doll.

into and beyond terror.
seriousness will not do,
seriousness is gone:
we must carve from
fresh marble.

hell, jack, this is wise-time:
we must insist on camouflage,
they taught us that;
wine come down through
staring eye,
god coughed alive
through the indistinct smoke
of verse.

the light yellow mamas are gone.
the garter high on the leg,
the charm of 18 is 80.
and the kisses, snakes darting
liquid silver have stopped:
no man lives the magic long.

until one morning it catches you;
you light the fire,
pour a hasty drink as the psyche
crawls like a mouse into an empty
pantry.

if you were El Greco
or even a watersnake
something could be done.

another drink.
well, rub your hands and prove
you are still alive.
walk the floor. seriousness will
not do.

this is the gift,
this is the gift...
certainly the charm of dying lies
in the fact that very little
is lost."

Bukowski, The Gift

WASTED

if it weren't for the void within each and everyone of us what would the inter-network connect to from snub to snog it's all been pre-conceived choreographed by the masters of illusion responsible for circulation of empty information a virtual shangri-la in google we trust truth be told I should've been gone two weeks ago but I've put my extended life on my credit card holding at 7.24% APR and I can always flaunt bankruptcy try collecting anything from me when I'm floating face down below Big Sur spoken ocean imagining a space between Bogart & Hitchcock the good old days of white lies dead flies black ties and dark skies we've seen the picture from a rear view mirror just in time for a Walter Cronkite news bulletin smile as if Kennedy had expected what was about to happen envisioned it coming out of Cuba Israel Moscow Khrushchev bathing in butter fried foie gras and human caviar blessed by the holy hammer & sickle one in the nose sticks and stones may break my bones but names tickle my balls one in the gut the other in the Bible is not without value but isn't it funny that it is taken word for word literally by the most illiterate among us why learn how to read when its so much easier to be deceived? "I'm pretty sure I can hear someone screaming in the house next to ours down the canyon and I close my window. I can also hear the dog barking out in back and KROQ is playing old Doors songs and War of the Worlds is on channel thirteen and I switch it to some religious program where the preacher is yelling 'Let God use you. God wants to use you. Lie back and let him use you, use you.' 'Lie back' he keeps chanting. 'Use you, use you.' I'm drinking gin and melted ice in bed and imagine that I can hear someone breaking in. But Daniel says over the phone that it's probably my sisters getting something to drink. It's hard to believe Daniel tonight; on the news I hear there were four people beaten to death in the hills last night and I stay up most of the night looking out the window staring into the backyard looking for werewolves."

Easton Ellis, Less Than Zero

END UP 3

not so much the stuff of Shakespeare
Baudelaire
Whitman
Pound
Elliot
or even Keats

no my friends this isn't poetry -
this is street rag:

the gritty stuff of back roads and
empty alleys where night meets
darkness and quiet souls wreaking
havoc amongst battered shadows
like sheep being led to slaughter
choking on laughter -

it's a bad world
it's a mad world
we create and sustain if for but to
ask forgiveness from some oddly
absent deity who remains distant
until at last Judgement Day -

as always as it is this world we live
you must be nuts not to think of it
crazy such every aspect has been
contaminated with mutated forms
of synthetic energy passed around
like fallout in a windstorm flooding
consciousness with impossible hope
dead dreams lingering upon metallic
sky a new conspiracy theory trilogy
spliced and re-engineered before the
beginning of Time "When a growing
individual finds that he is destined to
remain a child forever, that he cannot
do without protection against strange
superior powers he lends the powers
the features belonging to the figure of
his father; he creates for himself gods
whom he dreads, whom he seeks to
propitiate and whom he nevertheless
entrusts with his own protection. Thus
his longing for a father is the motive
identical with his need for protection
against the consequences of his own
human weakness. The defense against
childish helplessness is what lends its
characteristic features to the adult's
reaction to the helplessness which he
has to acknowledge- a reaction which
is precisely the formation of religion."

Freud, The Future Of An Illusion