A little more LATHER

Everyone has been reading the bullshit that this company is making itself. The Boss and shareholders see the profit. They drink cognac. I talk to users and try to get some information. This soap is a godsend is what I've been hearing. They can finally be clean without disability and its great for there kids and, the sick part, their infants. These people have been using the soap on the weakest skin possible. It won't take much longer until the cells dissolve and they look like that Treehouse of Horrors episode when then the end credits involve Dracula and they turn inside out. Enough of my past knowledge. The results are booming and it already out sold most brand products in the store. Well, other well known brands, the 3000 is a totally different ball game. It's off the shelves as soon as the back truck delivers it. People are stealing and hijacking these trucks to get more soap. It's like godliness meets a bad cocaine habit. Mothers and fathers too, not just the outlaws. The suburbanites and the bourgeois.

And then it happens, one day someone turns inside out and the media is on it like hot cakes. They actually show the teenager and his sister with only muscle and flesh hanging off them. The next day, another user, implodes his organs and dies on the spot in such a mess. Like a firecracker of flesh. Where people had hair there are only white spots left, dust, tissue, the skull has been scrubbed off completely, showing a subtle grey under the skull. One lady vomits in the streets and her entire lung has been regurgitated. People videotaping footage for YouTube until their body's break down themselves. It's chaos. Completely fucking chaos, and I see this myself. Nosferatu just wanders the halls cackling and there's a knock at my cell door, whilst I am writing my next review. The review saying that not only will the soap clean you but will literally become a Viagra for the male. This of course is bullshit, again. LabTech owns Facebook and YouTube. This footage will never be seen on these networking sites. Roman knows this. Everything will be erased once, when everything goes completely haywire and the corporation has fled to a remote island somewhere in the Malaysian seas. But that's just my foreshadowing. This is happening. It starts off with a little bit of dry skin, like you would get from a moisturizing soap and then piece by piece it all falls off. The cops are using it and so is the fire department. Three quarters of North America is using this. New York's finest in muscle tendon, trying to stop a simple bar of soap from overrunning the death toll in the city. The fire fighters too. Everyone you call 9-1-1 for is peeling apart slowly. There is no hope. Except this pod of course. This cell, this building.

And I'm still writing, and my words have become international. The soap is every where. The lather too thick. And riots over the soap still exist, some people are addicted to it they say, until the tendon turns into bone. Which is approximately 5-6 doses. Heroin doesn't exist anymore and there is no cure. People want more and more. LabTech isn't making any antidote and they don't plan to. Just one bar gets you started, and then the next and more and peoples life savings are going through the roof. Well, into the pockets of LabTech and its subsidiaries.

And I'm still writing.

Roman knocks on the pod door.

“Rise and shine, sunny boy,” Roman declares.

I wake up in a daze, did they drug me? Did I fall asleep?

My headache pounds and I feel like puking. There is a sink in the pod and I vomit into it. I feel much better now. The pod door slides open and I grab the tape recorder fast. I look on the bottom to make sure its the real McCoy. Its my Truth recorder.

"They`re on to me, I don`t know how much longer," Roman whispers as I hit record, “they don't know the precautions and they don't care about what is happening around them. If this goes live, how many people will be destroyed, worldwide.”

I sit on my bed, looking him in the eye and say “You’ve used it haven't you?”

Roman clears his throat and takes off his shirt, his back oozing with pustules and scratch marks and I can see his spine protruding out of his back.

“I can't stop using it, it's too addictive. The cells don't regenerate and it's what they are using that makes it so addictive. Stem cells from placentas they buy in bulk. Once the soap is on you, it attaches, and scrubs your skin. You know what we've been seeing is a small portion of what's really happening. They keep all the placentas in the basement,” Roman says peeling off skin from his back, “the soap becomes a part of you. Into your cells and pores and into your mind. It's the fountain of youth for a month and then, you know, the side effects.”

My tape ticks all this juicy information.

The pod door slides open and Nosferatu is standing the hissing.

“I need you for a moment mister Roman, it's of dire need.”

Roman looks at me with a face I have never seen on a middle aged man before. The look of darkness.

good morning

(what's your favorite Stephen King novel?) no pun on Scream.

He shook. He swallowed his pride for a moment before he picked up the phone. His hands trembled, his medication. Fuck, he thought, he must have forgotten to take it before he went to bed. That's exactly what it must have been. It just had to be. How many squares have I circled without genuine determination? His girls lied to him. They didn't stay up all night talking and laughing. They were playing video games instead of reading. Brad walked down to the fridge and decided to open a beer! Why not? A dose is a dose. Then why not stop there. The girls weren't home and Linda just fell into a light sleep. He could wake her up with a throb nestled on her thigh. He could predict that is what could happen but Linda was on and off with that sort of thing. When she was in the mood, she was REALLY in the mood. He contemplated on a third beer. Maybe a puff of the joint, Chad Collins, next door, rolled for him. Oh, Bradley, you shouldn't, his conscience told him. His last time drunk was when he gambled in Lake Tahoe, three-betting on young lovers and old degenerates. Mmm wings with beer would be fantastic at this point. He fumbled through the fridge but there was no hope. Fuck, I got to wake up at three am, in 20 minutes, to get the gear into the car and off to work. Hell, one more beer couldn't hurt. I'll be the only one opening the morning shift and no one will rush me much. The beer is cold and refreshing. I'm drunk. Linda is fast asleep. I shouldn't reckon with her. I get into my car, it's a cool spring morning. The car starts its guttural whine. It usually takes a minute or two to warm up. Any minute now, any second.

this is the life

Back to the basics

Sushi for a hangover is the best method to approach the situation. The screen tells me to pick what I must and go from there. New wave technology, at its finest, boggles my mind. Alien wavelengths. Untimed beings. The water arrives briefly and now my briefing makes sense.

The girl with the Platinum hair and the glasses. She tilts her glasses because she knows I'm watching. She is a master with chopsticks.

Next page. A conversation with myself in the washroom. I look in the mirror and wonder where I am again. This is the mission, get your head together. I've gone berserk. She poisoned me with her Platinum hair. The eye drops, the roofies. She's playing both sides. Double agent.

Better drink more water, shake this off. Then all the food arrives. I have to leave, leave without paying the 17.99 but I need crisp, fresh air.

I make myself dry heave in the snow. Trying to puke up as much venom as possible. All I can retch up is chunks of pink steak and rice.

The smell is awful. The poison must be absorbed in my system by now. No matter how much nausea, I seem light headed. A headache as dull as a noose. Serated like the end of a blade. Is this the end of zombie Shakespeare?

And then I wake up and it's another dream. The Platinum haired girl is laying next to me. The condom still squeezing my member. She leans over to face me and I give her a kiss. She gets up and gets dressed, takes the twenty dollar bill I left for her on the nightstand. I go back to bed and back to my dreamworlds. Back to a place where I am safe. Except for the plague of sanity that shatters through my unconscious mind.

The dream knows its conclusion. It starts with a direction. We can control it. The ending is already written, the rest is all foreshadowing.We see what we are in dreams. But at  the same time are dreams casts us into a realm of existential space.

We are numbers in space time. To survive. To over compensate. To dream is to survive. Unless your stuck in the attic. Listening to Neil Diamond on repeat and reading Playboy magazines. For their articles.

This is the life.

barbell

The wheat fields are harvested, down to the core. What's on is on? What's off is now? More questions than lancets. The heavens, they fall.

Hit the jump bar, swim up drinks, let it all go down, headache, they never stop talking. The language is foreplay. The words are for lust.

Nikola Tesla reborn. It's helpful for those who don't read the news. I haven't read in a while, must be a fool.

Cry so much. No life to live. These are those words when fed at most are indeed. Sit in a corner, talk to the dust. It speaks sirens, for those who can't hear.

The rich they cough from the cigarettes they inhale. Spit and drool all over the place. Hack phlegm and mucous membranes. The smell is terrible. Like shit and tobacco. The room is hung. I close my eyes, work my hands towards the sun. I close my eyes and wave my hands in the air. I open my eyes and nobodies there. It was my sensory perception, my new age ways. Where could I go, what can I be.

The fool he failed when he asked them what they prizes they were exchanging.

He thought it was underwear, when in fact it was cholera. Oops!

Better try again. The green book is passed and at the moment, in fact, what to do next is the way of a play. The situation is wonderful. The jesters stop time. On truth, it has passed, involving catering to the mass.

The people fill the room, stories too tall, fat to chew, embarking the embargo, what is that you may ask. I know neither, is it white or is it red. She's red and it's Italian.

The blood of Christ, to share with the woman who speak French in  my right ear.

Wondering her course of action, no smile on her face. She distresses over victory, whoever it may be. Understand La boheme.

She speaks the language. The victory of the world, together, water turned into wine.


There are times when you realize that no matter what happens, it is meant to live and love no matter what the night may bring.

flash 1

The man looks at the mirror

He seems himself - whatever self means

he needs a drink, but what will quench his thirst

milk, no
gin, yes
vermouth, yes
tasty mix = martini
three olives

there are many ways to find drink in this town
heathens!
don't close your eyes
man, the service sucks here

the drink has not been ordered
shall i wait for her to ask?
or should i get the attention of another's gaze?

tanqueray never fails or else the riddle makes no sense

the thirst, my god, the thirst
fiend for the medicine
Quinn at my doorstep

close one eye and look upon the world,
see what they see

hallucination memory
no click. pose. cut.

you're on the runway
and China has a cameo

what else can you say to that
except that you fall off the runway at the final step

tumble, down, fall, faceflat, above ground.
the crowd, it yelps, questioning if what has been even existed

no one knows because everyone's drunk and reminiscing parties,
Oh god no! I've stumbled into a hedonist group fest. I can't see.

Anything as I run. The faster I run, the louder the music gets,
until i piss myself

then I wake up in a field, looking at the stars, lying in pig shit

crying to myself.

vomit

The man vomited

He put his fingers down his throat 

and he threw up

It came out his nose, chunks of raw tuna

his esophagus was full of tin flavored fish

his ears inflamed by the sound of retching

all he needed was to puke

puke out all the evil, all the vanity, all the lies

he vomited once more before going back to bed

but he still felt the thumping of his heart and the buoyancy of his stomach

he felt shipwrecked, rocking back and forth in the Mediterranean

he was home though

safe and sound

just one more vomit

to let the cursed stay down

He ran to the bathroom

stains of red and pink on the floor

he ran and slipped on the stains

hit his head, didn't wake up for days

when he finally came to

he was covered in vomit, luckily he landed face down when he fell

or he'd be Hendrix, choking on his own puke

That night, awake and safe and no words of throwing up

the wind cried Mary

to the man who slipped on vomit and almost lost his life

fantacular

blaring boom box in my mind
get all freaky time and time
bust a move and jump a bit
take yo time, let's make it flip

what you got, show me bro
don't be spittin when it's time to go
the words of the vernacular
make a difference, make a fantacular

i'm making up words that i don't even know
like zeolid and khalib and layon and tweeze
they are the words of my children
how i pray for them on my knees

the kids grow up and daddy's left on the dancefloor
trying to pick up a girlfriend
she ain't having any
his game just got dunked

berate yourself in the mirror beyond dawn
you could have had her, it's cold out tonight
i should have offered her my coat
a mitten, a scarf

but no, my mind don't think
it doesn't create sparks
i bounce in a cabbie
take me to central park

no one around, i take a look at my watch
midnight on the dot, i'm supposed to meet my mark
he's on time with a hat on his head
he looks at me, then i see her, jogging around

it's the girl from the dancefloor
looking for me, no doubt
she told me that I forgot my cell phone as i left the bar
she came up to me and hugged me

making eye contact in the dark
another spark
i added my number so you can call me anytime
god bless to you all
and to all a good night

ear

piles of sorrow and virtuous joy
keep dreaming of summer in days that are cold
the father never mumbles
the mother always talks

speaking to some Belgian girl
makes me want to know more about the process
of being of loathing of lust
come gather round slowly, dust off the cloth

never wander past the forest gates
for the leopard man draws near
a weapon held my his rear
the gangster in the mirror
open doors and fix steak's sear
in the world of Paul revere
to dismiss the gallantly steered
the ship at mast, swab the deck, sincere

the locusts are up in the air
taking over the house, the farm, the fear
understand me dear, don't let them disappear
the clowns on the balcony ride clandestine waves
from chicken maize, over on yonder lays

keep from keeping
on and on to the from and the fuss
let go of the symptoms, forever discuss
why one goes one way the other drives Lear
the king in the castle, looks down upon years

what more to say in this untidy room
it's small and tiny and unkempt and clear
just like Fred's dear, hey there beer
curtains close, out come the tears

a curtsy, a bow, a hand shook and shake
this movie is over
the story is clear
the mis en scene speaks names
time to go to bed
sweet dreams
farewell
your night ends here

coffee x 3

We got five left.

Five. You know what that means right?

No I don't.

Well, 5 more cups of coffee until you begin to write again.

But I'm stock out of coffee.

Well pick your own. Pick it all and it shall be yours.

How do I know if it will work? It didn't work on Tommy or Sue. Yet Sarah nor Claudes.

Trust me on this, 5 cups of coffee will help you succeed.

I'm scared. Hold me.

Not now for the coffee hath brewed. Seeping through the purcalator. Down it's vessels and into the fresh pot. Stir in your milk. Your sugar. Your soy. Your sweet and low. Stir what you must. Bump elbows with the best. And on top goes thy lid.

They come to and fro, from lands only heathens shall know. Places never been before, on yonder, in the dusk. This dark bean masks a musk. Breath it all in, the aroma, the principle. For nothing matters more in this being of time. This shroud of temporality. This veil of space. That's what coffee here is about.

And forever on this day, no matter what head office plagues, on Christmas eve down by the bay, you'll get three coffees free in this domain.


Gg

omg

Oh Overman how I need your presence! Brothers, sisters! I speak to you from the valley below into your great minds and into the realm of all conscience. Fare well to those who have forgotten, now that the mind of Zarathustra has been adjourned into our psyches. We need this man for God is dead. He lays in a ditch somewhere in the Hollywood forest, enjoying his reverence in peace and quiet. The way of the people must ask themselves question on hope and desire, pain and frustration and unlimited epistemology. For I am a humble man, I speak to you from the underground, cursing the way I am. Why can't I be like Zarathustra? A man of all body, soul and spirit. The man that is Superman based. Oh Zarathustra, heed my prayers. For I am defenseless when it comes to the opposite sex. In love, I am futile. It hurts me to speak, for the words get tangled and my theories become meek. I walk along the incandescent road and I see the people in their homes, raising thy kin and distorting their future. Are these the men you sprach of Zarathustra? The embodiment of raising an heir, but I cannot. Not yet. The prowess of my feline speaks to my libido. It is wild no doubt. Oh Zarathustra! Why have you forsaken me! Why do you make believe when all I want is answers? Not questions but more answers. It is different for everywhere I go. The Brahmins and the Aztecs. The Greeks and the god forsaken Ottomans. When will they listen?

I ride my bike to love them more but I cannot reach the pedals yet. I am stuck in a world of the wanderer and his shadow and all too human. This bike cannot pedal itself and my legs have shrunken into tiny peaches, driving forth the ability to reach none other than a biased floor. In one night it could be over, or in one night it can start anew, I saw her beside me in the mirror, a woman at my side. The martini flowed down and I stared at her with my cursed eye. I cried and trembled inside and she just sat their, admiring her chips and dip, forever lost in the world of televisions and cell phones. These are damaging devices. Made by the ones in control. The Overmans and the Anti-Christs. The heathens and the virtuous. Act now and don't be a fool. Or just the idiot in the bathroom, speaking to himself in tongues while looking in the mirror. Having a conversation that will end up as vomit at the bottom of his shoe.

News flash to 3 martinis later. Hey baby wanna come back to my place. My ma ain't home and I have the most perfect idea for a card trick. Why don't we mess around like we used to? Bring a case of wine. I will love you. Lemme buy you a drink, you know it's cool. I don't see a ring on your hand so it must be fine.

Her 2nd drink. What's this asshole on? He can't shut up. Anything I say might make him think I like him. He's kind of cute. Nice smile. Big lips. Probably a knockout in the sack. I'm lonely too, it's not just men who feel the urge of bonding. Let's see where this goes.

Last martini. Sorry if I said something wrong. These gin baddy boys makes a man go cuckoo. Makes me tawk in tungues. If you need a place to talk more, we can grab a coffee. I need to sober up anyways. There's a Tim Horton Hears A Who down the street. Maybe grab a bite to eat. We can do whatever you want to. I need the fuel to make my fire bright.

Her 4th drink. Fuck, I'm supposed to be meeting my friend. But he's genuine and he can hear me think.

Let's go to Tim's and come back if you need to meet someone.

How the fuck did he know?

He scratches his cheek. I'll get you my phone number, just don't be a prick about it.

I won't. I'll call you in the morning. See if you got home safe and sound.

I leave with her number on a napkin. I wonder what she was thinking. If I made any sense at all or just speaking through headphones my senses have created. The inner ear of the undead. I walk in the snow and it's cold outside. I get home fast and I look at the napkin. Finally making napkins worth the weight of the world.

delivery

late at night i dream of waking
the words turn into pictures
the pictures become objects
the objects form dreams
then i wake up
and the dark man beside me
oh how he stones
locked up in a tiny room
with a tiny mirror
for hours upon end
up and down and more and more
when will he stop
his friends say no
they give him the go
for the more oh so more

the dance party

Reap what you sow, the bastards said. I need more drink, hard drink to get me through this disco nonsense. What is it your playing? Well, songs I never goddamn heard before and they're up at dancing. At this hour? What are the bongos doing in my brain? They beat me up like I've never seen before. Jumping and raving at noise that is made through nothing. Just thought. SWINE! I curse the day I set foot in this jungle of depraved beasts, the maniacs and the mantras. The silly waddle and the circus drones. Where does it all start? Hell, where does it end up? HELL, what am I doing here anyways? I pissed on the floor and made a puddle. Then I tipped toed around it and let the party people reek their havoc. Oh how they danced. The songs. The moment. Fuck the moment and fuck this song nonsense. I dribble harder than this band and I don't sit down when I shit, I squat. But you wouldn't know that unless someone told you. Someone tipped you off, the quarters in the jukebox are futile. I can't believe she cocooned me in some web of deceit and merry mischief. Bask ye all in the glorious fight of the self versus the id. The Freud fuckers and the Jung jumpers. The Dostoevsky and the Howl. Oh retched beat generation with their rancid smells and their porcupine limps. Slobbering on what was once reliable news sources. And there they dance. Like it's nothing to them.  My shirt ripped halfway through and she noticed, she banged the table and I let out a screech and bellow. My heart dropped into it's cockles and I found myself  denounced at the dinner table, asking Ma to pass the cheese after her factory laid her off. And this was just one night!?

doomed

Holy godforsaken cat pussy we need to get out of here gawdammit. The beasts, the sauvages roam the streets looking for fresh meat every five minutes. I've completely gone egads man. Shit is literally being thrown at us from the balconies oh high and my footing is directing itself. The poor bastard beside me is crawling on the ground, twisting and curving, slithering like some amphibian beast. Get up you poor fool, I say. He only hisses and tries to grab my denim jacket, fucking who wears denim anymore. I guess me, this poor hypocritical pestilence. Run god, let me run and I swear I'll stop fucking. I'll just stop fucking. No more fucking, just get me out of here alive. Celibacy is the only worthwhile thing I can give you and it makes me fear. But shit and giant amphibians make me fear and sorrow. I'm hung like Pinocchio after his polygraph session with the woodpecker. How long? I dare count. Madness tonight, and in the day you will stare. Utter voluptuous manic madness. I find shelter, but it's not safe. The walls are caving in. I'm doomed. Doomed I say. Did you hear me!?

receipt

the receipt is just like a condom, or no, not a condom, like a phone number, or a condom, depending on how it was placed and where. it's a flirting mechanism. you know what i mean, hell, i didn't until i started thinking about it. she was beautiful and someone said something silly so i counteracted them and got a laugh. "do you want your receipt" is what she was going to say until i practically begged it from her, because, you see, handed by hand, it could be a phone number or her employee number or the time when you were in the moment of a moment. the easy ones, the receipt givers that would love to go hanky panky, rather than a hand to hand phone number. they put the receipt in the bag, ya know, in the sack. what happens in the sack? we all know. you roll around and kiss and touch and it's in the bag, just in case you change your mind.

i'm still not sure if i want the receipt by hand or in the bag. oh! what an existential flaw.

playwrite (ANEW)

“Oh, sorry. My name is Mik. My friends called me Mike. I have no friends.”

“That's too bad to hear Mik. I, on the other hand, have many friends, but also many enemies. They take my good deeds and turn them into rubbish, claiming my good fortune towards them as hostile. I don't know how much more stress I can absorb from it.”

“You have such grand pronunciation. You must have gone to the gymnasium haven't you?”

“Aw, my dubious wit amazes even I. You are a smart man, Mik, maybe too smart for your own good. I like that in a man though. A sense of danger, yet meek and mild. Like a tiny mouse who yearns to be a rat.”

“I can assure you I am no rat dear. I work very hard for my knowledge. I read a paragraph everyday and I write three once a month. Some would call me a scholar, if I wasn't so pre-occupied with my work,” Mik looked at Sasha, hoping for an admiring response in her eye.

Sasha looked down at her hands. That diamond did sparkle, it was no joke. But, what did it mean? What did that tiny little stone mean to such a versatile woman, one who would judge another so vicariously about their own presentation. She saw Mik before on the elevator but never dared speak to him. She was married at the time but now that she was closing on a hefty divorce, her inhibitions (and her libido) were on the prowl.

"LewdLove" scene, GEORGE/DARREN

So whatever happened to George anyways when Caroline died? There must have been a will or decinding factor on the house they shared. A lawyer approached him and had to talk to George about the “remainder” of funds. Darren was there too, to sign the papers and each man received 100,000, George owtned the property to the house and Darren would be in charge of the Mercedes Benz (which he sold shortly after the meeting). Hell, George and Darren hadn't spoke in over 2 years and now both meet again in a place they would rather not. Signing a will. Her life. What she owed to this world. Both men took it gracefully at the signing and George suggested that they go back to the home and have a drink of sorts. Darren agreed. Darren go to the house first, driving the Mercedes. George would arrive 10 minutes later with a bottle of bourbon. A 26r. Which means, approximately 26 shots in one bottle. Darren thought that would be too much but they decided that it was a fair amount for the night. They were both staying at the home til morning. It was a goddamn Friday anyways, who cared about patients on Monday morning. This was before Darren met Sarah. So both men hugged and opened the door. George started crying and so did Darren and they we sitting on the sofa (the one Norm put his life on) and they just held each other crying and sobbing and bawling their eyes out. It took about 15 minutes to calm them down and it was definitely a hearty 15 minutes. They rubbed the tears of their eyes gently and George suggested they open the bourbon. Wild Turkey was the choice and both men had glasses full of ice. “You think that's gonna be enough,” asked Darren, “this could go on all night.” George said he was sure, that “we'd be sick after this bottle was finished,” and Darren smirked a little smirk, assured. They didn't measure they just poured that tasty bourbon, filling up their rock glasses with little chips of frozen water. No one seemed to mention Dave's role in the will and there wasn't one mention of him at all. Darren found this strange, especially after his second drink, because Dave was her flesh and blood as well. He thought and came to the assumption that Caroline figured that Dave would spend the entire amount of his settlement on hookers and drugs, and Darren didn't judge her opinion. She was right. The men sat down in front of the television and relaxed. They were both nursing their second drink, the bottle ¾ full still and no one was drunk enough to break the silence. Then there was the shot time. George motioned Darren to come to the kitchen and Darren walked over, with a glass of ice chips in his hand. The bottle was poured and the shots lit up to the tip and there they saluted and drank that yummy, scrumptious little bourbon. Darren yelled into the air, a war cry, and George frowned at the pure essence of the strong drink. “Wowsa.” George said,”Your mother would have loved this.” He started to tear up again and looked at the bottle, it was half full still. “Fuck man, your mom was the best. You never got to see her in her prime, but she had it all. The body, the looks, the fucking way she used to talk to me. She would know what buttons to push and how and I would never lust for any other woman ever again. She had it all.” “I know Dad, I know” Darren saying dad was kind of awkward because he wasn't really EXACTLY his dad, but a step father. He didn't hang around George enough to say dad and usually, at this mother's request, he would just call him George. And it worked, ever since they met, it was formal and professional. George was no prankster (unless you count tickling toes in the morning as prankish) and he held himself, and his business together well. While Norm lived off my mother, George would demand equal sharings on anything they would have to choose in life. Whether it be a car, or a trip or anything in the fridge, and on so forth. But George never made decisions about Darren. Darren was only Carolines foredoing and she ensured that by actually telling George. “We can settle on most cases, babe, but let my son into my soul and I won't ask you for a single thing.” So, George played that role and he played it very carefully because he didn't know exactly how to approach Darren as a genius but more as a friend. A friend they both really needed in life and that would progress both men into a sacred bond as family. So there was it. The shot glass full and the men cheers again and teeter totter time approaches and its already 2 am, but fuck it it's Friday goddamn. This is when the truth speaks.. And Darren ran to the bathroom to puke. He ate Atlantic Salmon that day, with a side of broccoli and onions, with a glaze of seafood brand seafood sauce. It was tasty going in, and somewhat tasty flowing out of his mouth and out of his nose. Darren finished puking and took a Kleenex and blew his nose in it. Chunks of pink salmon, green blobs of broccoli. The smell would last for hours. Really think about it now, smelling fish and brocoli all day, and falling asleep and waking up and so on and so forth. Darren returned from the toilet and asked George how much he drank. George shook his head and lifted up an empty bottle of bourbon. “But that was between two of us, right,” Darren asked and George shook his head. “Hell, all I had was about 10 shots all togther, those 16 were all up to you. Fuck, Darren thought, that was the most amount of alcohol thzt he had EVER. Even through school, he never drank THAT much. And George laughed as he looked in the toilet. “What the fuck you eat today? Salmon?” George continued laughing. Darren shrugged and all he could smell was salmon, flown in from god knows where, gently marinated and pan seared. Well, at least Darren didn't have to worry about calories. So, at 3am, both men took to the couch and Darren's limp head would nestle on George's left shoulder and George's head would fall to his right side. The men slept like this for 10 hours, George waking up first. “Rise and shine princess,” George laughed , tugging at Darren's shirt. Darren woke up and didn't even know where the hell he was. “George?” “Yeah, brother” “Is this heaven?” “No, Darren” “Fuck, George, this feels like fucking hell” “And you'll be feeling that way all day.” George began scrambling some eggs and spinach and Darren didn't know what the hell to think about. There was one last shotglass on the table and it was full to the brim. Darren thought and stared at this shot glass, this poison that destroyed him all last night, and his dad all his life. He carefully picked up the shot glass, not to spill any, and he made a quiet toast “to his mum” and drank the hair of the dog who bit him. He inhaled the fire, layed back on the couch and would say only one thing in the utter silence that was the house, “Stride on motherfucker, stride on.”

"Lewd Love" scene, MEETING JOHN

Johnathon was Kelly's friend who suggested the condo in LA. He had everything set up for her, because, Johnathon had made it already. He was officially almost kind of a SAG member, give or take. “Hunny, it's so nice to see you” John said. Kelly, still shaking, her legs twitching. “Baby, I looooove this place, you were dead on” Brett just sat there in the tub looking at the two as they hugged each other. “John, this is Brett Golding. Brett this is Jonathan Seyski” Brett gave an exhausted wave of his hand and got out of the hot tub. “My god, he's big. You better keep a chain on him or I might have to get a little libido savage on livin la vida loca” John and Kelly laughed. Brett just sat there, puzzled. “Babe, it's okay. John's gay, well bisexual I guess. We did have sex that one time when I was really drunk at his aunt's wake and things led to the coatroom and yada yada. He's not a threat to you babe, unless, ya know, you wanna try something new.” Kelly explained. “No, it's fine. I'm satisfied enough for one day” Brett replied. “Okay, so here's what's the plan is for today. You all get dry and sexy while, I, on the other hand will drink most of this champagne and the two others I brought. God, I'm such a lush. But, and theres always a but, we have to audition, well you guys do. I'm you're champarone for the day. And tomorrow and probably for the week until this sitcom I'm on starts shooting. You guys could be extras! But they cast already. So, I'll show you the set and your on your own till I get some time off. Baby Kel, does that work for you?” John looked at Kelly and she nodded. “I totally love the Soprano thing you've got going for yourself Brett, it's hot, and with a body like that, my god, this should be easier than imagined. Connections people,” John snapped and took a swig out of the bottle of ice cold champagne. “The cab's waiting” And Kelly and Brett kissed and John led them down the stairs and they both jumped into the cab and the first set they stopped at, according to John, was a new reality show they were taping “They always need a gay guy” he said, “kind of even out the alpha males.” Brett had never been in a studio before, let alone in Hollywood. “Okay kids, this is my spot. Kel, call me later. Do you have my new phone number?” She shook her head. He found a receipt in his pocket and a pen and wrote out his number and kissed it and gave it to her. “Loves ya” John waved and disappeared into a studio. Brett looked at Kelly and they both smiled. “Doesn't it feel great to be in love, Brett, if that is your real name, Kelly kissed Brett on the cheek. Love time was in session. Hot, steamy sex on the floor session.

our apartment "LATHER"

I drove home and decided to read a little. We had a law book in the basement about everyday law and it helped me understand what happens when a company goes bankrupt. The chapter was torn out. The kids must be in the zoo by now, looking at all the wondrous animals that appear in tanks and in fenced areas looking for a way back into freedom. This house, my daughter, and my wife was all i needed. Well, I can say that now. Before Cass was born, I don't know how Shelby put up with me. We didn't live in this small town for quite as long as we lived in the city. New York City.

*****

We had a small condo on East 42nd and I would write. Shelby would snort lines (what a beautiful model she was). I would drink anything, wine, beer, bourbon. Sometimes I would mix them together and just inhale the mayhem in drink. She'd pass the rolled up 20 dollar bill and I took a snort. Good old fashion cocaine. A song sung in my mind. “Cocaine for horses, not for men, doctor say it kill ya but he won't say when. Well, hey hey baby take a whiff on me.” I knew all the songs back then and the coke helped me write all night. Mostly fashion and fitness with a little bit of romance for a local magazine. It wasn't great pay but Shelby was travelling with modelling and she was doing well. She was well and I let her do what she wanted. We were dedicated to each other. I looked around for more work and ended up finding a part time job as a dishwasher in a swanky bar called Bourbon Avenue. Half the kitchen was run by drug addicts. There was Tommy the Percocet, a dishwasher. Larry the 8 ball suis chef. Moonshine Mick, in training. Donnie, H-man with his shirt rolled down, waiter. And finally head chef, Heartbreaker Sex addict Jerome. I wouldn't really talk to anyone because we all knew what the job meant. Another way to get the next high. Jerome would fuck anything, but his dick got soft from the opium and he couldn't fuck any bimbos until he stopped opium. But opium was his love and he didn't give a fuck about sex, just the race of the horses, smoked, through his pipe.

I'd get home around 2am and hit the bottle pretty hard. I never really knew what sleep meant. The book was of the utmost importance to me. This little old red typewriter was all I needed to type a new story. Any story, whatever came into mind. I was half way finished a novel about two brothers and their lover. It was fascinating to me. I'm surprised we could keep up with the bills, but Shelby modeled, and would send some money back, in wire transfer, to keep me high enough until she got back from wherever. I really missed her. But then there were lines, and I just snorted away until I could see her in my shadow. Her voice in my mind. Her presence in the condo. So, I took some time away from the novel and created a one page story about a ghost. A ghost that was barely there but only I could see it. I called it Shelby Specter. Then I took a swig of bourbon, snorted a line and fell down head first into the floor. My skull reverberated into the floor beneath me. 

bead bracelet

He waits for the bus in the terminal. People there look at him, they stare, they judge. He had just finished his act and all he wants to do is get home and read and eventually succumb to his beauty rest, awake for a new day and a new task. The bus arrives and he shows the driver his slip. The driver nods and he walks to the back of the bus, not sitting directly at the back but behind a young woman who is about his age and she looks at his reflection in the window. She wants to see if he's looking at her. He is, but he blocks her gaze with dark sunglasses. New sunglasses, Twenty dollar sunglasses he bought when he was on his date with chopsticks and tequila shots and kisses and grabs and caresses. But now he is on the bus, and the date is over and the acting night is complete. He wears a bead bracelet given to him by an old Asian woman in the market months ago. She made him sign something, but he didn't know what it was. Today he decided to wear it, after months of looking at it on his desk. The young woman opens her purse and takes out a leather case, a wallet. She looks through her bills, in front of the young man, knowing his eyes see each fiber. --120 dollars-- All 20 dollar bills. The man is poor, but he could woo this young lady perhaps. But how. He has had enough talk for the day and enough thinking for the month. Does she want sex? Or love? He reacts fast and takes off his bracelet. He holds it over the seat like a used condom and asks "Do you want this?" She looks away and says "No" abruptly and he reprieves and says "Sorry". She says "it's okay" and after about three stops, the young lady leaves the bus. What did he do wrong, he thought. Isn't that what people our age do? And then a revelation. He wraps the bracelet around his left ring finger, over and over, until it is tight on him. He looks at his palm with a overlapping bead bracelet ring on his finger. A tear hits the dirty bus floor.

scene from "Lather": MEETING SHELBY

******

We met at her parent's place. In the fall. They were having a dinner party and my friend Gail suggested I come along. She was driving, and the drinks were free.

“Maybe you can meet her daughter. She is absolutely gorgeous,” Gail said, driving her BMW.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said staring out the window. Something loveable would be nice in my life right about now. Even if it’s just a fling, does it matter?

I didn’t wear a tie and my shirt was tucked in. Casual.

Gail knocked on the door and a 50-year-old answered the door. She greeted me and said her name was Winona and there’s wine in the kitchen. I introduced myself, but I had to get to that wine. It was the only thing that would help me talk without having anxiety. I met about five middle aged guests. Everyone had a drink in their hand. Then I saw her, Winona’s daughter, the only child of the home, the beautiful, tall, intellectual blossom. I learned not to stare in my college days when I would literally use all my eye power to gaze into the soul of someone. I still had a stare and in this case, I couldn’t stop. She had such a presence in the room that was lovable. Everyone adored her and I was sipping on a red wine. I swished the wine around, smelled it and then took a sip. She was standing right in front of me.

“I’m Shelby,” she leaned in to shake my hand.

I shook her hand and smiled. “I’m, not supposed to be drinking wine.”

She laughed, “Neither am I. But when you have a party like this, half the ladies obsess about wine. I drink Mateusz. Sweet.”

I looked at my glass. Almost empty.

“Let me get that for you,” she smiled.

As she went to get a glass, I see a man about my age 26-27 and he’s joined Shelby in the kitchen. I could hear them talking and a part of my impulse guided me to join them. They seemed to be arguing. I walked in and said the first thing in my mind.

“Is there any water?” I had to cool down the situation.

“Yeah there’s some Evian in the fridge. Bottom shelf beside the broccoli. I opened the bottle and took a small sip. The man’s name was Leon. He looked as if he was angry with Shelby, something silly and she winked at me.

“Am I interrupting something?” I said.

“Mind your own business, man,” Leon said, terror in his eyes.

They couldn’t have been fighting about anything too important. Shelby had a dry smile on her face. As if the whole thing was just some joke and Leon shouldn’t be taken seriously. He left the kitchen, mumbling something under his breath about “going to his car.”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s a speed freak and a total asshole. Everything revolves around his car and fighting. We’re just ‘seeing’ each other anyways. He spends half his life in the gym and no job.” Shelby admitted.

“Well,” I didn’t know what to say, “I’m a writer, I guess. I read a lot. The job is what I make of it, I love stories and I work on many. It’s my thing.”

She smiled, “So you dream. Finally, someone who can dream. I’m not going to stand that asshole anymore, and there’s something about you that that’s fun. A sense of adventure.”

“I don’t stay still for long,” I laugh, “I’m just making my goals happen. I need to know that I can make it through life on my instinct and knowledge. What are you reading right now?”

“Oh, ya know,” she made a thinking face, “mostly literature, bold Russian epics.”

“So, like Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy?” I said.

She nodded.

She’s an existential baby. I haven’t read anything like that though, mostly fiction. I read fiction so I can write fiction, makes sense. She took my hand and led me to the basement, her room and she started kissing my neck. I have never met a girl that was so forward sexually. She kissed my neck and my ear and she sat on the bed. We just lay on the bed, French kissing. Then all of a sudden something tears at my leg.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Leon said, with terror in his eyes. “Get your fucking hands off of my girl.”

“I’m not your girl, Leo. I never was and I never will be. You’re an idiot, get off him.” Shelby raised her voice.

Leon let go of me and raised a fist. I closed my eyes and heard Shelby scream. She kicked him in the nuts and slapped him in the face. She got in his face and spoke her mind.

“I’ve had enough of this bullshit. Just leave, leave and don’t come back. Forget the month we had and just leave me alone. Never look at this fucking house ever again,” she said, looking in his eyes.

What a dragon, I thought.

Leon got up and hunkered up the stairs, defeated.

She lay on the bed and looked at me, “You gonna finish what you started?”

I started laughing. She started giggling and I knew it. I knew this was the woman I would be with, the woman that I would marry, the love

I would adore.

We made out more on the bed and her limits were set, knowing the possibility of a future happenstance. We walked to the kitchen and I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was getting long and I had lipstick all over my mouth. I told her that I would be back. I went to the washroom and cleaned off all the lipstick on my mouth. I closed the door and walked into the back yard. She was on the patio smoking. I asked for a cigarette.

“They’re Dhjarum Blacks. Clove cigarettes. Do you dare?” she asked.

“Of course, I used to smoke those in college. Tasty.” I answered.

She opened the pack and I picked one. She handed me her Zippo. If you’re going to smoke, you might as well smoke professionally. I took a drag and the taste of clove engulfed my senses. The kretek crackled. I haven’t had a kretek in a while. My phone alarm went off, meaning it was the night before a deadline. I was working on a piece about a new novel that hit shelves at the end of the week. I didn’t quite finish the book yet, and with this deadline, I had to be sure to criticize it.

“I have to leave. I’m sorry, I have a deadline.” I told her. I was waiting for her to ask me out on a date.

“Do you need a ride?” she asked.

“Are you good?” I asked.

“Yup, I’ll take my mom’s car. It’s not a Rolls Royce, but it gets our family around.” Shelby smiled in my eyes.

“Works for me” I said.

We walked out of the house saying our goodbyes. I waved off Gail and Winona. They were kissing Shelby on the cheek. And I left with a smile on my face.

Shelby grabbed my hand as we left the house and she unlocked the car.

She gave me a peck on the cheek. We sat in the car and she put her hand on my thigh. This couldn’t get any better than this. Again, making out. She never asked me what my story was about and I rather not tell her. We arrived at my apartment and I was going to ask her if she would like to come upstairs for a drink but than I realized how sex would affect the situation if I really wanted to be with her. I directed her and she stopped perpendicular to my door. I kissed her and she smiled. My phone was dead so I found a receipt in my pocket and my trusty Sharpie and asked for her number. She wrote it down and folded it.

“If you really want it you have to promise me something,” she said.

“Which is?” I asked.

“You promise to be the man that I always kiss goodnight,” she smiled.

Wow, she’s thinking like I am. I took the number and looked in her eyes, kissed her and said “I promise.” And she laughed and drove away. I promised with all my heart, forever and I promise, til death do us part.

*******

capital B bullshit

psychic is the brain
numbers numb the pain
cadillac in gear
hell, i got the fear

bitches in the room
singing songs about some broom
i don't know what they be saying
all i know is playing shady

just words in my mind
tumbling back and forth
webster's dictionary is my mommas teat
how does it get so sour?

bringing it all back home
underneath the thunderdome
braking in my coup de ville
let's make a naked thrill

now the moment that i said
when a playa plays da game
says what you mean to say
contemplate the bullshit within

you laugh while i cry
i weep while you sigh
just another cup of coffee
let's time go half past nine

now this rap writes slowly
like my teeth, gold, peachy clean
ali bubu and alladin
love lifts us up where we belong

hell, i got no one
not a friendly shoe or dime
only monumental words, they fly
ekstastic moments in my cry

i know it don't make much sense now
with the clutter of junk that hangs around
drink the liquid, drink the tea
everything is herbal

ain't life a dream

a tidbit of "Soap"

The limo arrives and the driver is staring me down. I hop in the back and it's a bar. Bourbon, scotch, rye, decades old. Hand pressed vodka. The sugar cane. Joints and bongs. Pills. Lines and lines of cocaine. Mirrors everywhere. An escort sitting in the middle of all of it. Her legs built, her pussy naturally wet. She's snorting a line and passes me the straw.

 Shelbs would kill, destory, impale me if she knew I were dabbling again. I made a promise to her that I wouldn't coke or chug or high or fuck. She is a strong woman for putting up with me. Oh, god. And I haven't even started work yet. Cassandra would leave with her, but this job works enough for me. That's just the addiction talking, fight it off you fuck nut.

The escort was smiling at me and she wanted cock. That's all they ever want is cock. They're all tight bite body goodness, with just fucking on their mind. Daytime, nighttime. Fuckin' cock. She started to lean over me and hands me a mirror of white lines. I tell her no, as I look at the crevice of her fake tits.

“Driver!” I exclaimed. “I'm ready to go home now.”

The driver drove to my bum-fuck old house. Everyone in the town was outside, watching me leave the limo, well, I guess my taxi. Sand got in my eyes as I saw the mystical limo drive off to god knows where. Shelbs was at the door.

“What was that?” she asked, furrowing her brows.

“I got the job.” I said.

“Which is what exactly?”

At this point, I didn't even know what the actual title of the job was. I just said the first thing that came to mind.

“I'm a copywriter, writer and, uh, they will take care of everything.”

We sat down for dinner awkwardly. The tension was rising and Shelby wanted answers. Cassandra sat at the side of the rectangular dinner table and was oblivious to our conversation.

“Who was in the car with you? Tell me.” Shelby demanded with a chunk of turkey on her fork.

“She was an escort,” I said without thinking.

“Cass, go to your room please,” she said, spewing out like fire.

Cassandra walked up the stairs to her room, shut the door and began reading her homework.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN ESCORT?” Shelby burst out, “are you fucking her?”

“God no. Honey, it's not what it looks like. This company wants me to be their head executive writer. They try to feed me with caviar and diamonds. I swear, on my Cass's goddamn soul, I am not fucking, snorting, drinking or ingesting anything these assholes hand to me. They're just perks for those who stray, and I ain't fucking straying.” I explained.

“But,” Shelby said, gently opening her mouth.

“This is not happening right now. They pay well and I don't even know how to approach this place but I well as enough grasp, they want me on their team, and so be it, I am a team member.” I said as my tongue swelled in my mouth, “so don't worry about me or our lives, because WE, as a family, will be okay, HELL, we will be fine, HELL, we will be walloping in god forsaken glory when I work this job. I love you and I want what's best for us.” I took my empty plate to the sink, washed it, dried it and put it back in the cupboard. Then I went to the bedroom and just laid in bed thinking, what the hell was going on here. I never raised my voice, or talked down to Shelbs before. I didn't feel right and she was the one sleeping on the couch. After about an hour, I went downstairs and she was still awake. I put a blanket over her and said nothing.

“I don't want to turn into that again,” Shelby said.

I knocked my fist twice on the wooden staircase and fell asleep about an hour later, 1am, how did I let this get so out of control so quickly. And I remembered the redhead with her fake tits on my arm. And those lines of cocaine on the mirror. I looked at the ceiling and just closed my eyes and fell asleep. No pills for me tonight, no liquor either. I bared no dreams.

gaffer

"it may be the devil or it may be the Lord/but you gonna have to serve somebody"

the reckoning is upon us
lighting those storms
drinking tequila at night
living life in a haze

you may be living in a hobo shack
living mouth to foot
crying all night long
for something you might have done wrong

listen to the liars weep
across a standard plank that sweeps
drive thru freedom, business men
our great cause, united til then

no money no money
in the honky tonk bed
lighting matches for Jesus
lighting matches for the undead

eyes glowing on a teevee screen
yelling numbers and letters at you
making you listen
to the garbage brought forth, how do you do?

no more til then
i'll see you there
drinking herbal tea
in my underwear

if you like what you see, please tell me so
i'm at the end of a piece of yarn
don't please, don't give it a throw

jurist

changing faces no matter what
the man in the picture, or even in the rock

the inkblot indepth, show what your cognitive sees
making madmen crazy since '73

the shroud is there and so is the tomb
the jurist makes sense of the flu

you see god but it's only a shadow of a doubt
the cat it purrs, where thou art and where thus from

we all see it, especially the screws
unbolt dear Frankenstein, make Notre Dame new

Journalism will come I promise you that
life as a novelist, publish, the mascot at bat

the dark it clouds the mind and the fair
take off your pants, sit in a chair

take pictures of love and disgust and vomit
i just puked up a penny to the lawman

poet, mystic, prophet, son
am I sitting there as the only one

sit still, I can't, I've done it enough
no more decks or lies or quarrels above us

the jurist he knows where the fish does stand
get ready for the project at hand

underground

idiosyncrasies plague my mind

putting in place, lost time

the revenge of the many, weak and unbound

stay with the method, forget the trailer plough

the kids are starving in the kitchen

asking for food from a wildebeest bear

the man answers, no shirt there will be no sale

now where do you suppose these jack-o-lanterns r' from

the man in the hat with his pants at a crack

being forgetful, ain't that what is frowned

the two of them, both, so beautiful and fair

one worked for the mind, the other loves railroad gin

these women i love, will i see them again

searching for answers, camus writes the plague

the young man asks, what do you read sir and why

the mother she cried,  her funeral wrong time

the stranger he waits in the darkest of depths

strange days upon us, no word of a tale

i look in the mirror and see maggie's farm

the slur makes a  movement, forever in charge

the people keep voting, pathetic at best

they'll find ways to win, no matter the truth

they'll do it in Florida like they did with the junior

money doesn't talk, it swears, says Zimmerman's twin

Gemini's in motion, the bongo, the gin

babies eating food off the ground, mamma don't care, her kin

the warden rubs his palms, waiting for his Big Mac

Joey and Kelly on their way to the big time

asking for words, big words, like lethargic and mindswept

this poetry is over, the poet paddles above breath

mercury

the pressures getting to me
so many pretty girls I can't kiss
oh lord help me
gotta find a savage mama
listening to air when no ones around
double check the door
make sure it's locked
left right and center
the thimble balances the board
all we have is monopoly
is anybody really keeping score
i'll show you where he bit me
the vampire like chameleon
it itches in the moonlight
so i stay indoors til noon
peeling the tape off the kitchen floor
the whole teams here, let out a roar
into darkness it flashes
the lights have gone down
the people still talk around it
lookin like so working clown
stretching and jumping and stealing cigarettes
it's been a long drag
work upside and downside
ways to go from here
just i hope you are reading this
so clever, sometimes in fear
the list goes on and on
no mercury in my hat
freddy mercury on stage
in a little corncob hat
leather jacket all decked out
find the nonsense in the meentime
this really could be no doubt

untitled

the mind outlives the body
the soul enters through the gates of all time and reality
in another lifetime, we say
but what else can we bring forth to the gates of eden
saint jacob and his song are at a loss
the wobbly way to the wicked dismay
live a life of destiny, just to find out your in a box
boxed in, more like the boxed inn
shelving drawers and paper bags
living off plantation sands
the water all comes down when the sun shines
on a bright sunny day, the rain does fall
into moments whisper, dead, so calm
a scuffle in the back room
a basement leading nowhere
how do we get from place to place
our perception at hand will forever fill our grace
he's slow you think but you do not know
the man said perseverance
the wobbler, to and fro
beggars cash, a monetary worth
figure the numbers
no people, less dirt
wadding hundred dollar beers in their hand
the beers mean bills and the eye of the tiger
shot of whiskey forlorn
only wiser's, jack, jim, jimmy, parade
let the trumpet burst for you reckon the day will come
to speak the words on set in illusions of the dusk
minded times to see the muddle
ask the kind folk about their struggle
the gates of eden are yonder now
back to the grind
a new story to tell
so tired no sleep bang on the drum
tick tock tick tock the time has come
ready your bags and lock the door
the future is about to take you bye storm

wino

there's a teardrop in my whiskey
geminis on teevee
can't comprehend what i believe
the whirled it goes in circles
the penny train has lost
fighting with the house wives
to determine the cost
freezer burn in april
cool as calm in july
i open the door, there is no shed of  a lie
the night it waits so patiently
not even thoughts inside my head
going around in circles
hell, the showboats dead
peering through her vaccum
the lumber lady has said
no fault of mine dear
i'm just selling bread
the kindest treat me nicely
the 1% is a shame
what i do without my honey
makes me literally go insane
the theatre opens daily
for noon and midnight drinks
only opened for the scrooge
who sits back and thinks
money made of paper
dollars made of sand
this ol' boy will make it
he just has to stand
so cry, cry, cry
a virgin mother does portray
think about the loss we have
never let go of dismay
the winter months are heavy
the time of the month is near
when all the way goes neither
and the absence has been made
little words in Paris
shining down on me
the french they have the lot of it
sometimes they get things for free
a wino in a pulpit
praying to the words of God
appreciating his being
until once again he's drunk
but the wino is society
drunk off power, lust and fame
walk down the street in the morning
find out what's really been made
hold back so patiently
the end is coming soon
i count one two three
and then the words are mighty obsolete
carefree shopping in the malls
the money spent
the curse has fell
a family stays warm
we pity the poor
they've been saved
the country doesn't hold back
this is all too much sound
i need to record an eight track

antidote

i gave her a pumpkin
she dyed her hair
i took her out for coffee
she polished her nails
i went crazy over her
the antidote was heartbreak
too bleak to answer why
will our paths cross again
i hope they do and i hope you are listening
for i have listened to you
your music, your joy, the cds found indoors
two and not one while we cleverly knit
sleepless nights without you
will they accept me again
i tried my best, but failed you most
does a miscreant deserve a second chance
a walk in the mall
a foot in a picture
this one's for you
the one i loved so long ago
the one i love today
the one i will never stop loving
the one who reads this rubbish

pabst

the night has been forgotten
where is the love?
the one you speak of
the one in the tower
you miss her so much but cannot feel your own feet
speak to me, dear woman
from the bed to the floor
is that all i'm good for?
a quick tuck, a gentle push
do i squeeze you in lust?
where do you want me?
a band on your finger
a tool in your shed
a toy in your bedroom
a curtain, less kept
i try to envy you, i try to understand
these moments of virtue I cannot discard
for the words are at the tip of thine tongue
forever fluid forever at risk
i need to tell you this
i love you, don't you understand
where do i go from here?
where will i stay?
you honesty is mine also, on display
find coffee and drink it, no shame of mine
i wish to be with you still
but you must find, true love, is a cry away from sadness
a whimper and a kiss on the cheek
the alter boy for Abrahams son, will he survive the wake?
i leave you now, just for this short time
i will be back soon, with a pack of cigarettes, too harsh to smoke
yet i call it mine

wilderness blues

the road it rages in the wilderness town
the kids laughing, they just make frown
little ones speak with a glowing flame
it won't let go, it's poison

now the man in black erases your brain
while the  schoolmarm teacher tries to contain
the bubble gum machine on the penny lane
why wait for it when it happens

singing in the rain, weeping at night
lies every morning, a terrible fright
living la vida loca in the trailer suite page
it's alright, i'm only frozen

children in the gutter wondering what to do
parents doing cartwheels, expecting  to sue
complaints from above,the trial awaits
will you just go to sleep until one mates

quiet time is spoken in the words of  a few
lying in solitude, handle to loo
keeping time still until there's nothing left to crude
you will not cry, it's just rude

living in the shadows you viciously wait
a new pair of sneakers,  at best at take
events of meaning, they quintessentially sate
keep your head up, it's now over

lies told by song, the memory traits
leaving a lesson, no fool can take
stop all this bleeding, forever to quake
in free fall, you are limber

gg

could-have

when the time has come
to begin as ones son
you fall down bleeding
it's alright ma
i do not cry
nor do i faint
this song we play
this mole we make
this landslide is impeccable
the words  of the vernacular
the common man's quarrel
the loop in the hole
the cigarette blows smoke in your own face
fall down gently
for the the's are not as important as the could-have's

thoughts on isolation

is this a dream? are we awake when we are not? or have I fallen ill  and perished amongst the greater masses? There is no thrill in solitude, nor freedom in the outer world. What we produce is what we commence, what we trade, what we thrive on. Help deter the construction of evil and force good upon those who have deserve a better life in times of trouble. Let thou be layered to savour the fruits of the land. Incredible, as it were,  to leave isolation and join a broken society. A plague if you will, that haunts us til dawn approaches.This is where we stand. You just have to hold on, and expect the greater good, the karma, to apprehend that which has been unmarked, unstained, less dreary and less pungent. Have we abandoned ourselves to technological advances, the CEOs and the great ones, the engine gears. They have cast a shadow and we must find holy land. Away from the unknown. But what is knowing the unknown is not worth believing. For the absurd has taken us by the hand. In the books, on the couch, in the shed, on all fours like a dog. Barking at the moon and crying in the limelight. When will this shadow move us forward, except into pain and envy. What else are we trying to do except lead a life of modernity, in a time when free thinking is only allowed by the ones who can afford it. Alas, take what you need, but only come back once, for time is more precious then any ore or mineral a dilly dally drunk can mine.

questions

I woke up this morning. She wasn't there.  I went to bed at midnight. She wasn't there. Does she exist? Is she real? I ask myself these questions every morning and every afternoon and every night I fall to slumber. She was here everyday before and now nothing. Zilch,nadda. Is this my fault,or hers? Am I talking aloud in my dreams or have I just gone made like Nietzsche.I read and she's not there. Where is she? Can she help me? Have I lost my ability to think, to love, to hope? More questions, less answers. I close the blinds, I drink my tea, I take my pill, I fall asleep. I awake. But she's just not there. And it's just me, poor hopeless naked me.

moving back blues

now when you walking to talking blues
wonder what you think about in Duluth
simple ways are done so  right
just about time G-d, his might
'
living on the edge of a homesick blue
maybe you're trying to hide the flu
living on the barrel of these monkeys of tin
always pass to the left, right back to your kin

now ladies quirk and liars lay
they speak in words to your dismay
invent yourself and think some more
hell, holy mamma gonna make you a bore

injury jury judge and court
a little boy looks out through his little fort
weeping whistles, sing so speech
that man Jeremiah is the one whom preach

four walls cave in and the message grows
the eternal body forever flows
the willow of the night time takes a mare
wondering if one even does care

i'm back again blues
don't you remember that
feeling all sickly
this songs too prickly

hell, i got the moving back home blues

knave

in the event of happiness
fall through the gates of joy
a gentle, loving caress
my gentle baby boy

to ask is to tell
in the event of a sale
events under the well
alas we are in chain mail

the future so bright
the river flows round
take all of your might
just don't make a sound

the professor has sprach
without a doubt
hiding into the wooden crack
tending to feed a shout

petunias and marigolds for a lover
in the course of a week
we shun our own brother
what is it you really seek

needs

she's there again
in the back of my mind
waiting, lurking, adapting to my mood
it swings up and across like a pendulum
where have I been this entire time?
has the dream world engulfed me?
am i out of time?
tell me oh being of this realm
or lord of yours
i can't take much longer
i need release
i need excitement
i need answers
needsneedsneeds is all we ask for
our cells change every 7 years
and for what
to wake up on the couch with a potbelly
hairs of gray
teeth yellow and frail and shattered
ask us what we need
we might just tell you

uh

everywhere i go is orange

der-dam-doo

sangria on the couch
you thought i'd say patio didn't?
ashamed
disappointed disapprove
just say dis-a-dam-dam when shit
der-dam-doo
make a song out of it
smoke a joint, hell it's the goddamn weekend
none of it for me though, my drug is love
love me love me
loser me loser me
just another loser me

how did this song start?
it's not a song but a proverb
a verb that pro
when the verbs get weird, the verbs turn pro
*chuckle*
i hope your snausage is ready for your flight
i'm back to the vegetarianism
no stop now, bales of hay and cornbread
and i think i'm a mongoloid, or a hun.
all in all, with down sundrome no doubt

canine

two bottles of mateusz in my hand
this is going to get messy
i break down the wooden door with my shoulder
they're after me and gaining
i don't know if i have a chance after this
a bottle smashes
fuck
i open the second and drink
ice cold, flares my senses
these fuckers are faster than i thought
i see the one canine gain speed
the area is shrubbery and it slows him down
slows me down too
canine number two is lost
just this one is all, if i can only make the jump
one building to the next
i drop the mateusz in the alley and make some running room
i run
the canine at my ankles

i wake up in handcuffs
losers way any way you put it
if it wasn't the dog or the fall
it was the concussion
it was just the fucking concussion

linen

denim jeans
jockey means
and
corduroy is opaque

suede is fluff
angora breeds too much
and
cotton balls
and cashmere mate

oh, wearing that old bathing suit nonsense

ExistenzMeh part 2

Adding physics to the equation of being-in-space, The same concept applies. We move naturally yet we are stuck in one path. They way it is known and it guides you to wear you are supposed to be.This way, or Ching, allows us to break through the mold of just being but choice being. The being-in-space lets you move to what magnetically and naturally and historically we are meant to up. We are just a subject to what the way allows us to become.

Look at this in an example.

You sit at your office at work and notice the diffenent objects on it. What defines you and the space that is being taken up by clutter or the such.? You can always remove the clutter or leave it alone for the future. It stays on the desk as a being-in-space, it connects to your desk and becomes an extention of it. It makes you feel more homily while at work, this give what space in being is being placed upon. It inhabits your livelihood, and it makes you anxious to either clean it or let it be. Either way an action is involved. Every step we take, we are apart of the being-in-space, our being is pronounced and takes up physical and our mind moves with the generalization of how to comprehed by taking that one step. At least in a existential stay. There is no space unless there is action in energy of the individual.

We are energy by constant movement in space-in-being. The world around us. We can revolt, talk, joke around, live, truly live in a area which we have created, or our mind has created. We occupy. But you alaready know this. However, think of animals and trees and waterways being through space-in-being. And that's it for now.

ExistenzMeh part 1

Existentialism, a term coined by the media after a brief discussion with Jean-Paul Sartre, in France. But who started what we term as existentialists? Writing in the walls of caves the primitive man would use rock and chisel to create pictures of what was happening with themselves and the world around them.They asked questions but didn't know the answer since their ideology was very hunter gatherer. The writing on the wall led these ancient existentialists to leave the cave intact for future generations. Neanderthal existence. Through the course of time, however, existentialism became a just natural occurence, we don't really ask questions like this on a day to day basis, yet it's everywhere among us. In the sky, in the cafes and even in the kitchen. How do things be? We are Beings, but how do elements of our world connect to philosophy.

Unlike the questions chose i earlier generations,I find being very mucho so today. While Sartre saw people in theworld as beingf-for-itself,in-the -world etc,I have come up with an idea that involves paranormal being. I look into an empty vehicle and I see emptiness, no one driving, no one there, except the mind imagines an entity there. This ideaology is space-in-being. The space is taken up, but not quite exactly the same point as when you see it. You know that there will be someone there one day but for now, it is only open space-in-being. One could almost see the futre of what is being in that space and in time, there will be someone filling the spaceness. One could almost imagine what that other may look like as they walk by, and with that information, being-in-space creates an entity that only ththe invidual on his own, can interpret. It is very mystical like Huxley's work, The Doors of Perception, where no matter which direction we turn there are a cause and effect. In one motion, beings-appear rather postive or pessimisstic. The choice is a natural and it involves, forming ourselves in a situation we sometimes can't control because once that route is taken it becomes the only guided portion of the being.The other door disappears in the, psyche, or that it forgets entirely.

timealone

The carpenter creates the image through a piece of wood and a machine

The musician makes classical music on two garbage can lids

The mother is in bed, all tucked in

A writer falls down some stairs, drunk, allowing the carpet to guide him

The cop looks around

The vendor makes a sale

cash or credit

all in a days work

The woman nurses a baby

a father beside her

cuddling and nurturing

yet stern and disciplined

daddy didn't leave

The bricklayer lays his bricks

the men work for the foreman

men in the factory, left without jobs

men working in the factory trying to find jobs

Keeping track on his pocket watch

the squire speaks no words

a pint in hand

never knowing what it really meant

that's for the day we thought about

but in the morning

that drunkard writer

will write a masterpiece

_________________

A tempest so lust stricken

she spends timealone in here domain

thinking with the bullshiting

fighting among herself

Her baron husband returns

carrying bread and cabbage

no meat til he weekend or special days

they are broke, restless, out of place

we forget our home days

G<>W

cork

The cork coaster lays on my desk

it holds up my drinks

it rhymes with steady flow

now check it:

Sitting there on my baby

I love you so

You hold me up when I say hello

You never fall

a courage of 4 men make the water soft

they drink from the kettle

a hot tea in hand

this is happens for many countries

and for us

it's a cork

just fast

lw

Back when dad was smooth

and mommas leg hair was cut

when uncle Joe made him known around

one stayed on metronome

and your bros car ended up in the muck

these are how the methods each and everyday

our bundle of joy, our hope for the future

we love you baby, no what anyone says

These feelings will always be there

now just mutliply and go to school

cw

code white
ems what power
top of the tower
let it ring
let it fall
lit it all open
this here
that there
code white everywhere

yelling and screaming
this shit got real
my last known best friend
got down on the floor

i can't believe this shit got real
the doctor opened the door
just keep flossing
do your work this time
brush and rinse some more
you'll never need dentures anymore

hawk

(southern accent)

when there is a hawk in the sky
you be warned
i tell you have got to understand
the meaning of that bird

it goes back ot ancient times kid
something in the sumerian time period
and that's before you and i was long born
my father told me he saved on that hurt himself

right in the bush near our cars
and he found him
in the summer day
and i nutured him to health, they he flew away

never did damn dawned on me
but the certainty of the bird leaving my hands alive and well
that gave me the feeling that everything will be okay
and he'll have suns and daughters

and many more, because a my dad helped him out

our place

The carpenter creates the image through a piece of wood and a machine

The musician makes classical music on two garbage can lids

The mother is in bed, all tucked in

A writer falls down some stairs, drunk, allowing the carpet to guide him

The cop looks around

The vendor makes a sale

cash or credit

all in a days work

The woman nurses a baby

a father beside her

cuddling and nurturing

yet stern and disciplined

daddy didn't leave

The bricklayer lays his bricks

the men work for the foreman

men in the factory, left without jobs

men working in the factory trying to find jobs

Keeping track on his pocket watch

the squire speaks no words

a pint in hand

never knowing what it really meant

that's for the day we thought about

but in the morning

that drunkard writer

will write a masterpiece

_________________

A tempest so lust stricken

she spends timealone in here domain

thinking with the bullshiting

fighting among herself

Her baron husband returns

carrying bread and cabbage

no meat til he weekend or special days

they are broke, restless, out of place

we forget our home days