Thursday, September 27, 2007

On Holidays

Christians have the best holidays.
Kill their god, do they cry?
Do they weep?
No, they hunt for eggs and get sick on chocolate.

Jews seem to like atonement as a party theme.
Even at Passover, let’s celebrate; God in his infinite wisdom didn’t snuff our sorry ass out. But first how about some unsalted five year old cracker and some horseradish and a little manachevettes to wash it down.

All Muslim holidays are based on a diet plan.

I like secular holidays, like Arbor Day.
Some day because of political correctness
Children won’t be able to celebrate Arbor Day,
Because it is unfair to bushes.

The Tail of the Golden Princess Part1

Easter Bunny Island

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Double Happiness

Captain Patches

The Hero of the Battle of Little Big Park, where he single handedly took down Thirty Eight Tennis Balls!

Monday, September 17, 2007

Cabinet Gods

I am the Evil Elvis

I am the Evil Elvis

I ride into town on a dark horse searching for underage poontang. I hotwire a Chevy, and drive the behaved waitress from the diner out to the desert, to screw on reds and bourbon. My attitude is my youth. My life’s blood is the youth of my devoted followers. I will take your children and fly to hell on a jet with tinted windows, and Satan himself will call me Mr. Presley sir and hold his sulpher breath until they announce that I have left the building.

I am the Evil Elvis

I corrupted your parents, and every chore they make you do is penance for their love of me. I am the nail in the feet of Christ. All the cardinals turned queer for me, for my swinging dick, for my pelvis pumping ass. Anoint in my sweaty towel. Christen in my hair tonic. Baptize in my unholy tequila drenched vomit. Become one with the rhinestone heart of the new hipper Christ. Become reborn in the blue suede eyes of the great pop icon God.

I am the Evil Elvis

I joined the army and the communists did tremble. I made even Marilyn swoon. I became a blackbelt in just one day, because I’m just that much of a bad ass. I destroyed the great society. I cooked and ate my teddy bear. I turned the music of the black man’s soul into hooting redneck anthems. Even as I died I shit out one last loaf on humanity and was risen by its’ stench.

I am the king,
The king is dead,
Long live the Fat Dead Evil Elvis.

Just Something Pretty

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Things other people should do.

Someone in the Andes should start a newspaper called the Daily Llama.

Monday, September 3, 2007

Shag Carpeting for Fish



Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t swallow because my teeth might be loose.


Crushed velvet dreams butter the muffin of my life.
Kicking mules out of the country,
But keeping the drugs pulled from their asses.


Spattered crouching images,
On glass and acid free museum quality board.
Fixtures of tension,
Spending limits, and prepaid gravesites.
Hark I hear a whodoo,
Like a pin dropped on a voodoo dollhouse floor.
The bird in the dust bath will die before the lead poisoning takes.
There is a shade of orange than can make your hands sweat.


I greet the day
Like an expiration date,
Fascinated by the intent on my face in the mirror,
But too lazy to shave its’ veil.

To exhale would be as to endorse breath,
And look for breath that we can believe
Has not yet been in another’s lung.
To call it fresh.
To call it forth.
To let it speak across my lips,
And be another breath
To be tasted.

And in this lingering air that fills itself
With the things I say,
I will come upon a flavor,
Built in conversation with the self,
Served on a sharp tongue
That can taste the flesh of the air,
Nourish on its vaporous tit,
And nestle there to sleep
And dream of being clouds.


Dripping lemon juice on a wound,
Sour face of pain.
Awake aware a war or werewolf like claw marks,
Signatures in scab.
As blood dries brown on sidewalk grey tile,
Hasten to the tree line.
Your shadow does not follow you,
It is sewn to you.
It longs to escape from you and run free in the moonlight,
Where shadows dance to the music of unseen yellow street light hum.


Scrape scrape scrape went the trolley.
Hate hate hate said the sty.
Pigs unite! Crumble up the antidote providers,
And eat their pudding heads.

Habitrail penis,
Jump my face like angry dogs on a mission.
Bone warriors on patrol.
Spent like energy spent to get money to be spent on energy.

Has anyone seen a small plastic brain lying around here?
Crushed dreams are spices,
To be ground over the romantic dinners
Of lovers that would sooner
Rip out their own eyes as give up stability.

The blade that cuts the deepest needs the most washing.


If I had a zipper in my skull,
I would open it and fill it full of ants.
I think it would help the itching.
The itch should be in control.

And when the itching takes hold of my thoughts,
All the scratching will finally yield results,
Beyond the skin caked beneath my nails,
It will be a satisfaction,
Those are few and welcome.

Skull and bones sculling teams of knaves and knights
Shouting back across the beams,
“Row, row, row, attack!”
Above the waters gleam,
The peaceful river broke,
And held its’ waters back.
And cut the sculls like cleavers did,
Across the water’s back.
The knights and knaves had at each other,
Attack attack, attack.
The sculls here broken right in two
With a thunderous crack.
The knights did sink in steel skins
While knaves float on their backs.


As things come apart around you it is important to decipher if they are unraveling or disassembling.
This is for your own safety.
Screw the nuts, what have they ever held together.
Not a sense of safety, or security, certainly not a sense of reality,
That is a machine with too many moving parts for my taste.
I would prefer a hamster in a wheel to intelligent design.
I want to evolve now,
Mankind invented the boot to put people under it.
Mankind put that boot’s print on the moon so that we could say that we could do anything,
When the truth was we couldn’t even stop the guy we sent from playing golf.
Mankind is unkind to mankind all the time,
And to everything else when we are bored.
And if I get a chance to end every kind of mankind I will,
But don’t worry, as individuals you are safe around me.
Your fur is ugly,
And you don’t taste good,
Or so I hear.


Ever since god raped that poor virgin girl
Mankind has sought revenge.


Mystery dust and pixie cups
And a hell of a hello to you
Mildly persuasive pick me ups
Well if that ain’t a how do you do

A fresh fit filter
taps the well
That springs forth a wealth of information.
By the time we find out what is in it,
We’ve drown.


Grinning bear sitting there
Why do you flash your teeth?
Is it because my lily skin
Has crimson underneath?

Will your smile leave its impression
Etched into my brain?
Or will that grin sink deep in
And come up full of veins?


Oh you worm, you wriggle red,
Wriggle through my flower bed.
Give me many daisy heads,
To lay a wreath around my bed.


Freight charge
Freight charge
Short pant soldiers riding hard.
Spacious thoughts of
Ocean drives,
And the pastor’s pastel paisley dress
With diesel stains.

I dry humped the motherfucker, as a favor.
I came to my senses for a little while yesterday,
Unfortunately it was the sense of smell.

Pain is constant pain is dear
Pain is present when you are near.

Shamoo was a whale
Shampoo was a movie
Shmoos were a cartoon
Shmoes are everywhere

Come, Cum
Came, Cum
Have come, Cum

Fissle was a pimply whiskered festival promoter.
He had no heart and he had no helmet.
Every once in a while he would spit out of his left eye.
And make a wish, for a new left eye.

One day he came upon a prostitute with a heart of gold
She was in serious need of a transplant.
He couldn’t help her
Cause like I said he had no heart.

She got better.
They both died of head injuries.
The end.


I said to the sky
Why they got to fight me?
Why can’t they just like me?
They do it just to spite me.
Why they got to hurt me?
Cheat me and desert me?

And the sky said the rain
Gonna wash it all away.

With a thunderclap,
The world fought back.
Sometimes reality bites,
Sometimes reality attacks.
This ugly town is full of clowns,
But I still smile when I see the clouds.


I’m just an average savage
and since the baby carriage
there been a disparaging gap
between what I want
and what I get.


I feel the flesh of a fool pressed against me,
And I feel my steel resolve dissolve.
With you I feel like a blue hot flame,
Like a diving plane.
Cherry blossom snowstorms make me smile.
If we give them what’s fair they will still want more.

Form follows function.
Reason follows facts.
Faith follows ignorance.

Half of what I do is undoing.


Fit into my savage mouth
All that you can afford to have pulled from you.
Cave into my hole of nails
Hammer down the head that rests on the shoulder of the road.
Lathe my heart into a stake
Drive it into your own unbeating muscle,
Till it gurgles in your throat
Like an apology that you don’t really feel.


I have a recipe for dirt.
I will share it with you after the stone harvest.
Leaves are green and leaves are brown.
If they’re brown on the tree, then the tree should come down.
If they are green on the ground, then there are varmints around.
A door knob is a handle I can handle.
In my hand it will turn to my will.
I will will it to turn and in turn it will open,
A way to be on my way.

Fighting the truth is the most noble of lost causes.
Denial is a moat filled with crocodile tears and alligators,
But alligators don’t cry.


Sometimes when I talk to people I feel like I’m fighting the urge to kick them in the head.


Campaign of numbers,
Human error, take your base.
Why aren’t there any letter crunchers?

Funny how the tips of things can steady them.

I have tried to get bitten by radioactive animals on several occasions;
In order to gain super powers.

I found that getting bitten was not a problem,
But radiation is hard to come by.

I wish I had a tail,
Or scales, instead of my head like a nail.


Take death,
Add life,
Grind to taste.


I was in a place that smelt like cotton balls,
And tissue crinkle steel gurney cold.


I am not a number,
And if I am a number, I am not a 4.
A zero maybe,
But then there is an argument as to whether zero is a number,
Or just a place for numbers to hang out if they want.
I really think there is nothing to that.


What is value, that which is desired.
Desire equals knowledge.
We can not deny what we know to be true,
But we can suppress the evidence.
You are only as sick as your secrets.

The mirror is a construct,
But that is still the truth.
The map is not the land,
The bite is not the tooth.

Somehow it always gets messy in the middle.

Leonardo’s short daughter,
Touch your knee to the floor.
I wasn’t with the insideriary goldfish tenders,
Buy them a puppy.
They’ve been living at the picnic.


Tire not of the mundane.
It is a bored mediation that shall get you through life.
The mind is absent, the head detached at the chin.
The hair can have its day.


Coffee colored flesh tastes of salty honest work and handcream.
Smile like a slipcover,
Stress remains in the digits as they press on soft hot lovely.
Never let those dark slits blink.
Confined senses hold on the second,
The breath,
The falling drop.


The iris unfolding is said to be the botanical equivalent of the vagina,
But with a better fragrance.
In art there are two pursuits,
Beauty and truth.
Beauty is often found at the expense of truth.


It’s made by cowboys so it has to be good.
Cowboys make beef.
I like beef.
I like it bar-b-qued.
I like it fried.
I like it baked.

But I don’t like it corned.
I don’t know precisely what corning is,
But I don’t think you should do it to a cow.
And yet I like a steer when he’s been jerked.


I think the hooker across the street started a day care today.


He wakes up earlier then the grass.
The fumes coming off the alyssum are a powerful antidepressant.
Unfortunately they are also a muscle relaxant.


What you are saying may be the only logical explanation
But many deeds are perpetrated by illogical individuals,
Therefore the logic of an explanation has no bearing on its validity.


I had a hatchet and a fork.
It was going to be a long evening.
There was a tap at the window.
The tap was empty.
Hollow eyes and flat lined lips,
As the blood rushing to the base of my spine got nearer,
I could hear the tapping less and less,
I could hear my own pulse more and more.
At least I still had a pulse.


All play and no work makes Jack a poor boy.


Gilding lily white teenage breasts
With little gold rings, as if they didn’t have my attention already.
Why don’t you just hang bells from them?


Oh you worm, you wriggle red,
Wriggle through my flower bed.
Give me many daisy heads,
To lie upon me when I am dead.
Around that time you will be fed.


Twisted into fist like faces,
Empty heads in empty places
Raging love like chocolate on a mink.

Tell me how you brew your brooding,
Interlopers interluding
The bones in your skull are thinner than you think.

And if your idiot id is vexing,
Teeth are gnashing muscles flexing
It is only because you are dancing on the brink.


I put my leftover microwave popcorn in the bird feeder.
I think I started a war.


Lickity splickity, sploosh splash splish
I wish I had the eyes of a fish.
Calamity bammity, bong bang bing
With the eyes of a fish I would see everything.

I wouldn’t have to blink,
And I wouldn’t have to cry.
I wouldn’t sit back blind
While all the shiny fish swim by.

I’d look out at the reef,
I’d look up at the sky,
I’d end up on a hook with the first worm I spied.


The squirrels in my yard are digging things up they don’t eat.
They are not hungry they are bored.
I should not put out poison.
I should put out tiny unicycles.


Of course it’s a word.
Why would I make it up if it weren’t a word?


Liquid on lupine leaves
Chrome plated droplets
On deep green fronds,
On tiny palms.
Hover and wait for sunlight to take them to the clouds.
Papyrus meadows in the sky,
Silken barges
Like geese fly by.
Diamond flaw colored marbles roll
Over sleepers in their robes of frost, and gold.
Please be well my nearthewells
Snow has covered us in our sleep,
And deep beneath the drift we turn to blue and hope,
And red seeps from our cheeks.
Those that lay like ice be still.
In frozen chill and fog white breath
Sit still and wait for light or death.


I wish my forehead was made of windshield glass,
So I could watch myself think.
I would need a mirror to see it.
So everything I thought would be backwards.


I wonder if I have ingested enough spiders in my life to make a burger.


On the bus, bus,
Well there are crazy people there,
They got flowers in their pockets
They got boogers in their hair.

On the bus, bus
Those nuts need some company
And if you don’t ride the bus
Well then they might talk to me.

On the bus, bus
Well it smells a bit like piss.
If your seat feels wet
You better find another place to sit.

On the bus, bus
Well it smells like more than piss.
And if you don’t take the bus
Think of all the aromas your going to miss.

On the bus, bus
Well it never runs on time.
And the fares too high
You know it’s really just a crime.

On the bus, bus
Gets you there slower than walking will.
And if you don’t take the bus
Think of all the time you will have to kill.

On the bus, bus, bus
“I’m sorry; we don’t go there on this run.”


I want to place a kiss on both of your eyelids
And every bump along your spine.


The butterflies in the clover are friends with benefits.
The bluest of jays is pecking under the fern.
He flies up and lands on a point of the stockade fence,
And looks out at the war zone beyond,
Guarding his garden fort,
From the barbarian starlings on Bergen street.

The garden has the protection of the chickadee syndicate.
They run the seed cartel.
The starlings used to run the turf,
But when the Chiwawa rats lost the trashpile
To the big green bins, the territory was up for grabs.


Machines say things to me
In clicks and whines and buzzes.
They always tell the truth
Cause they don’t know what love is.

You can’t lie to a machine
Because if you do
It will take your arm
And hand it back to you.


That frog he come a courting
With a genital a warting
And I know he’s been cavorting
With an unsightly sort
In a swing.
I don’t think I’m going to kiss that frog.


Chivalry is not dead.
He is lying, bleeding on the side of the road,
Where the bitch ran him down.


With a spotty reliance on the truth I plunder through my day,
Being pulled by deviant regularities.
I usually succumb to myself.
My inner child has been eaten by my inner demons,
And I am not saddened by this but nourished.
My innocence was rotting on the shelf,
Past its’ expiration, a product nobody wanted.
What in this stupid life has not transpired a billion times,
And yet is unique in every aspect.
There is, in life, a seeming need for purpose,
But of what purpose is purpose?
Even if a goal is reached, it is but a speck in time,
Made obsolete at conception.
In the real world there are no conclusions, because nothing ever ends.
Everything is temporary, and eternal.
But don’t worry.
You shouldn’t ever worry.
Fear is pointless,
Because pain is inevitable.
And in the end, mortality is really the only reason for living.
It’s just what you do till you die.


To go where snowman has gone before.


The lamb begins to bite like a goat,
And sink teeth deep in tamed wolf’s throat.
The young goat’s dripping crimson maw
Smears leopard spots with blood and gore.
Gnaw on lions bones the ox,
And rabbits hunting down the fox.
Roses drip blood from their thorns,
And fattened calves grow pointed horns.
The scent of orchids turns so foul
It heaves the stomach and twists the bowls.
And fowl shall eat their own laid eggs.
And slayed men rise on rotten legs.

The army of the pit shall march,
Make war with all on blind God’s watch.


I was talking to Stinky’s left headed niece,
You know, the one with that thing on her tooth what won’t come off,
No matter how hard you scrape.
Well she set me up with work for the day
Helping these two clowns move.
You wouldn’t believe how much that little car weighs.
But I wind up pulling my back out moving
This big ass crate of rubber chickens.
You should have seen the looks on the faces at the workers comp hearing.
Yeah, decision pending my ass.


I noticed today that the Stella Dora daylilies in the front yard
Are pointing the same direction as the satellite dishes.


Cold steel compromise
To stave off the paper tiger’s claws.
Your soul becomes like cloisonné,
Bright and delicate, detailed and finely lined
With shining gold trimming florals, but in truth
It is made from metal and enamel,
Hard and slick.

Let those set against you sound their horns
And charge.
Let their arrows loose
Till quivers empty.
Your walls will not crumble.
Your gate will not break.
Your heart is a keep.
Your love is a towered damsel,
With hair too short for climbing.