timeless

unknown for so long i forget what my face looks like
i shatter mirrors with my false teeth and orange berry mouthwash
drinking coffee and talking to myself as i talk a piss in the commode
when will sorrow defend honor? when will the righteous be commemorated by the quantum spectrum of timeless leaps
we sit waiting for the time to come when the asteroid hits the bungalow of a swanky LA director
the man inside sells it for 16 million to the highest bidder and then the asteroid turns into gold
theirs nothing left except empty money and clock ticking madness of what was once a unicorn work shed door you had to clean up to get a check that bounces anyways
the door didn't open itself, the man opened it, he had a mustache and lost wages
he was upset that his children weren't going to be fed for the next week and i directed him to a place where groceries were affordable
farmers working hard to create a sustainable crop, urban, make it
pylons on the side walk, they must be making a movie out there in space somewhere where i can direct in the moments of the lunar eclipse and cut scene make it look like the rocket was shot in the moon's eye, a trip and the rich take out their checkbooks
i do not wish for art to form, only to flow in essence
i want to see television in the night time, when the signal is off and it's just a blank screen in an abysmal, unkempt den of a basement
back to the literature, Sartre is looking at the light in Camus's window
Mathieu needs to get Marcelle an abortion but the old lady doesn't trust Mathieu so Marcelle has to go with him
what happens next is not known by me, i have to keep reading to understand my collection of ladies underwear and eye shadow
not for me, but for the other, another, the other
he whispers, like they all do, and the next day it's fine when the looking glass breaks and you see your shattered existence in a nutshell flowing down the steps of your chic Broadway condominium
the door is open, just walk right in, the people there are kind and they serve you conversation mixed with sangria
water flows through the taps of the men's washroom and there are no men in the room except for a black gentleman who is offering a spray of cologne
i give him 5 dollars and he sprays a little cologne on me
thank you i say and he nods in understanding
these moments in my mind seem endless and i forgot where i first began
i guess it was the start, or the end, and the endless opposite start of the futon bed in the darkness of sinful Armageddon that will plague the poster boy for the next fashion show headliner
Armani kisses to his audience at the end of the run way and is snapped in pictures as he leaves into the limo of cocaine and wild child, newly printed, one of a kind, models, beautiful women and men
they are not one of us, for we don't know they're struggle or their delicate genes
all i do is type this message i have in my mind and go from there because the bastards might think i'm viva loco without any words to say except nodding and smiling as they snort the cocaine and i look away
they offer but i say no and it's understood
let's take a different path per se
just say i do snort
would my life be better or worse for explaining myself in times of gladiators and unwrung elle facelifts
haunting me at my chamber door
knock knock knock
i twitch and fall from exhaustion
i make a drink before that and spill it everywhere
no more fun here, just buffalo breaded with carrots and celery on the side
my addiction calls me, i'm not answering the phone
i have no phone, i have nothing, i have leisure and the event that something may happen if i'm a good little boy for christmas
ho ho ho, the bells used to ring
and i have no date for New Years Eve

i'll be kissing the floor when they count down the clock

two minute cardio

The red diamond looks into my eye
i am the diamond eyed poor boy lost kid
never been so scared before
counting the sheep in my sleep
drooling from the mouth like a wry dog
can't believe this is happening and it's so soon
the quartet is on cue
the gambler opens up, the only deuce in the deck
he's going to be a doctor soon, they say
or maybe just another player in this game of ours
this world spinning ten forth and forth right
i can't believe my hands are doing this
making words out of air, is it the mind or the extension of man
or both, one with the other, or just one and the other watching
the other is always watching
better be on your best behaviour
cause he ain't swinging Singapore slings in my direction
take a drag of a cigarette and he nods
this is what he wants, for he will get it eventually
being in the world is tough enough as it is
and the other watches me create

where it all belongs

ouchie wow wow wow

i gonna be back to the beats

find myself

look til my eyes bleed venus starshow

gotta find her so bad

i need some lovin'

i gotta find my baby

into sometime find her give her some love

lordy i say you gotta help me

i got to get back

where it all belongs

sitting at the tombstone blues

find out what's right and wrong

living the fast life

no thin strips

all adrenaline

come back to me baby

i give you more of that lovin

i gotta find her lordy

in the morning time, until the dusk strikes near

i just gotta find my baby

brut man

what honor do you have left after kin has fallen?
brut man, simple enough to let the cattle follow
can there be nothing said for a man who relishes the crops
a man who tends to the bale of cotton and the corn
this is my father
my mother rapidly follows
she brings the bread, he brings the first born
in repetition, day in and day out doing the same activity
we liberate through the streets of anarchy
for there is no joke in a crumbling capital of economy
idiots at bay for they believe in what is above us
our spirit, it is real, and there are no longer no more idiots
only the spirit guides us now, and then forever

catered cigarette

I inhale the smoke, the smoke inhales me
the cigarette flickers in my hand, and then into my palm
the sensation is quivering, unjust, foul play
i can't sense a minute of the self righteous day
the mothball hides in the closet
hoping one day it will be found among the fur dress clothes and jackets
it is a quiet mothball, then there's nothing left
trying time to find hope in time of lesser causality
what causes this emotion?
how come we never faced it before in our own time
sitting down the stairs of 5th avenue, the man asks for the cigarette
i don't have any, i lie, for a catered smoke is hard to find
remember the time you don't remember anyways
oi, the punks and the droogs at your doorstep ready to play
iron in our blood, flowing through our veigns
the monument falls over face first, fuck stalin
the fear has overcome me, for i am not scared anymore
too many the's not enough if's
my lisping foul mouth unwell to be said
have i donkey'd out of reality?
where is the goal and what do we achieve in this moment
just smoke says the teevee i cannot watch anymore
there are whispers in my door shed for without it we are unkind and not merry
back to inhaling the cigarette
the smoke is still inhaled, the smoke still inhales me

thoughts

Another dreary day at the den. It's cold as hell and I've taken a sobriety oath for the next 48 hours. Nothing will warm me up unless is spiked eggnog and even then i can't get my hands on that. So i tend to my pen and decide to try to understand that bastard Trump in a nutshell. Trump is as if Nixon took high speed Valium to conjure up his make belief, ego maniacal plans. He's just leaving bread crumbs for the next poor bastard who takes office. Hell, he could go two terms if we let him. And America is beginning to a lot of interesting nihilist actions that are sliding. There's no room for editing the man, he just goes straight to the media itself. No press release, just wake up and twitter is a campaign i would have loved to have followed if i was a fellow jet set monger, but i could come up with the funds in time. That bastard horse only ran thus fast. Now I'm fiending for drink and a heads or tails competition with the fireplace a la den. I hope the son of a bitch coin is tails. If not, then we'll move on to Russian roulette, which Trump is slowly looking down the barrel of. Unfortunately, Putin likes to play with a fully loaded .45.

excerpt from Branches

"Listen up class, today is the journey of a lifetime. You will find all your needed gadgets in cage 390 and you will find the dossier in the left side of the mailbox. It's homework so study. Remember that headquarters is every single salon in the city. They will help you guide your path to insurance just in case you need to misdirect other spies. We are not spies, we are revolutionaries, don't you forget that. It's about the benefit of all, so clean up and read the news. Each mission will be in the death notices under Escobar and Wilson, the first the words of each sentence will give you a description of the next locale you will need to progress. If you get tagged, revealed or honey potted, i don't know you and this organization expects you to commit yourself over to law enforcement so you can PI with them. Otherwise, you are dead in the water. Above all, you are ghosts for the federation, good luck and god bless your souls," the man on the big screen told us, a group of 7 rejects, closely knotted together at someone else's expense.

philosophy

Existentially we believe in three things. Our body, our soul and our spirit. Our body is a harbinger to stay well in shape to notice the signs-out-in-society. A keen eye will know the sign in nature when travelling either outside or a dense environment. I find personally that the signs are in my home, when the sun peaks through the clouds and a shadow appears that make sense. I suppose our cogito acknowledges the signifier and thus the sign. The sign can mean different things for those who interpret it visually at the same time. The sign means something, we must find what it means. The sign, no doubt, represents the Truth. Something we can believe in that is almighty and, from a religious point of view, never obtrusive or demanding.

Our soul is something we garner in our consciousness. We interact with one another verbally, saying words and pronouncing gestures to those around you and somewhat in the immediate vicinity. Our soul can make the signs more noticeable, but there is room for error in the judgement. Soul is our charisma, what we physically show and act towards and in-the-world.

The Spirit is another form of phenomenology. You hear what is meant to be heard, not what is actually being said. Leaving information in the air, so to speak. In my opinion, a strong spirit is one that is well read and observant and allow themselves to be thrown into the world when a certain time has occurred.

redman

The three versus each other in a battle for common decency. Sword and chainmail. Halbreds and katanas. You'd expect bloodshed, but there was very minimal. The men fought til there were two left. The third left limping into the shaman shed. Bang wang bang, the men inserted both their katanas into each other and twisted heavily.

The three men versus til the honorable survives. He is the Red man.

bookmark

gin drunk marie was at the peak of her sexual prowess
she knew she loved it, the gin, the men, the passionate nights without borders
it was 1930 and the only way to express yourself was through emotional conversation
there were no video games
only conversations at the cafe, the remarkable ambiance of the streets
where a man can drink a bottle or two of white wine and wander the crosswalks aimlessly
with no boundaries. People necking in the alley way with half a hand up her skirt. I am the Marquis. These words come from a vocabulary not quite as delicate as yours. I speak up, not down, and i fight with the Sartre's and the Camus's and Poulet.
I am trapped in a cell, all I'm allowed to do is write. It's strict policy. On every telemarketing wall.
Who will make more calls, who will make more profit, who will get the bonus, whose working for the CEO who stomps his suede shoes over the copy i just made. There's no coffee and I'm sent away. I didn't care. Just another bookmark for the needy. 

hullo

speaking out of story, I just would like to address television viewing as well as itself as a whole form of medium. Flow. What is flow? It challenges both space and time. We hear or see flow as occurring consistently when listening to the radio, or the television, flow is the constant movement of visual learning. From my studies I have realized that while a television program is on and you are in another room, the message may be geared towards your psyche and ideology by the airwaves. These misjudgment by the listener leads to factual information by the viewer to subconsciously try and gear them into propaganda paid for the advertisement to deem the content as appealing to them more so in another than by the visual distraction of the television programming itself. The real message is usually verbally spoken near the end of the ad and is spoken very fast.

lift leg lucy

Lift leg lucy

sat on a deucey 

eating her porridge and milk

along came a spider

who limped right beside her

and vomited junk in the trunk

she bled from the waist

her body a waste

but her soul was too strong to give up

she left town one morning

to happiness gloating

i'm free, now leave me alone

the bus driver said

with a tulip in his head

your baggage is too much for this ride

so lucy walked on

she wasn't going to stop far

her home had shining lights in autumn

it took her not too long to get to her home

ooolala LA bound in the heat

made a desert weep

so thats what happened to lift leg lucy

she was lucky and mild, no time for a child

until one day the right one she meets