Shine Your Heavenly Body Tonight

May 25, 2016

All matter does
from Tylenol™ to cat shit
come from the heart of a star
and to see that pill you’re popping
that crap you’re scooping
you do so by energy from the sun
by celestial power we are made
by it we illuminate ourselves
bathed in the light of our maker

Salud

May 23, 2016

There comes a moment
either in gentle solitude
all peace and tweeting nature
lime slices and tequila
at hand
lazily lying back
or else it is
roaring multitudes
screams and shouts
overcome by the crowd
pressed into a lonely
desperation
among the many
this is when
the time arrives
sinking into the universe
and your place in it
this comes
and comes to nothing
there is no place
for such impermanence
as yourself
there is no place
for such impermanence
as your place
the Earth, the universe, you
after the end
it all was
as if nothing
as if nowhere
if you walk away
from your quiet
or your riot
with enough sense
to enjoy the tequila & chaos
then at least
your moment
had a purpose
and now maybe
you may too

Hold Back

May 21, 2016

Always in conflict
the skeletal recalcitrant hand of the past
grasped timorously upon the present
an anchor upon progress
festering tradition
clinging desperate failure
a deadness held
in contemporary minds
longing
for an “again”
a return to an imagined
heroic greatness
of a neverwhen, indefinable
subject
having never existed
to whimsical misinterpretation
mutation
wholesale invention
so the facts of history
suit the will of the living
as they seek
to engender their power
over a society
whose natural course
is forward, yet
now shackled
to a stubborn ideology
fearful ultimately
of the unkowns that lurk tomorrow

Cleaver Redeemer

May 19, 2016

God & Jesus – they’re one
kind of the same except not
then there’s that third Guy
but in this argument
He’s irrelevant
all we need to agree on is
Jesus, to some extent
punishes human beings
punishes them for their sins
sends them packing to Hell
a soul’s eternal torment
I’m not judging Christ’s judgment
His use of excessive force
the eschewment of a jury of peers
we’re not critiquing the methods
not questioning the validity
or harshness of this justice
all we need here
is establish
that this is the way it is
furthermore
whip Him, beat Him
pierce Him abdominally
nail Him to a cross
deprive Him of food
of water
leave Him to die
send Him
the judge, jury and executioner
Himself
to Hell
and back up He pops
none the worse for wear
we are talking about Jesus
but could we not also
be describing Jason
as in Vorhees
the unkillable killer
of teens out misbehaving
is it not safe to declare
Jason Vorhees cuts
a compelling Christ figure
alas, there’s no forgiveness
a crucial element
we’re not afraid to face up
to this thesis annihilating contradiction
unless the one he lets go
she-who-survives
doesn’t defeat the savior
but in fact earns her life
fights for it
on a long dark night of the soul
it is not enough not to sin
from Jason’s perspective we’re born stained
cursed for all time
by that camp counselor who humped
contentedly as the little boy drowned
by battling against the sin within
our “hero” (she-who-survives)
is in fact
reaching out, begging, praying
opening her heart up to forgiveness
and Christ forgives, Jason saves
and there you have it

HDS

May 17, 2016

fuck, you know
speaking nonchalantly
it’s been bad
not it, me
with the drink
black-outs have been
and are
not what one would call
per se
uncommon, however
there have been such
overly hyper-stimulated
inebriation events
in which the brain
more specifically – mine
mine the brain
wasn’t content
to simply elide
the time from my life
but worked
as if a bricoleur
using the fragmentary
chaotic jetsam
washed up on the shores of conscious
and assembled the sundried
into a memory
thus filling in the gap
like a fresco
plastered over a crumbling wall
so that a mundane moment
such as
staring glassy eyed out the windscreen
vaguely aware of pressure
building in the bladder
is transformed into
a carload of shrieking women
aghast
as I jump up onto the hood
drop drawers
and piss all over the front window
hell, I even called the next morning
to apologize for my boorish exposure
only to be informed
that, “what? that didn’t happen
you didn’t do that
my god I would have liked to have seen that!”
and it’s this
that makes me think of America
we’ve gone beyond cultural amnesia
and escalated into
wholesale historical derangement
but it’s not limited to singular calamities
what we have is a full-blown syndrome
unbreakable and unshakable
a fatigue of fabrication
infiltrating the fibrous fortitude
of our society’s fabric
so, suddenly – slavery wasn’t all that bad
the founding fathers based our democracy
upon the bible
and ALF was a quality television program
well-regarded enough
to merit remake
as a major Hollywood
big budget blockbuster
this is a fucking sickness
and the only cure
is to drink manfully
in epic volumes
and pray that someday
we’ll wake up
having forgotten
all the fuck about it

Cockcentration

May 12, 2016

What is it like for the average western man
is the greater worry
running out of ideas
or running out of boners
is there a bad thing to be
metaphorically, analytically
said about me
by which I am most distressed
do my erections feed my mind
or is it vice-a-versa
mind giving rise to the arisen
I know of course
cock and thought unite
no Cartesian dichotomy
separates dick and philosophy
however, yet and still
there is, remains concerned
values need be measured
morals need be weighed
had-on or hard-headed
in a head to head match up
who comes
out ahead
an endless problem
no doubt
without solution
now excuse me as I intellectualize
and justify
porn, promiscuity and prostitution

One Step Beyond

May 9, 2016

Non-comprehension of omens
a vacuum cleaner
violently dismembered
cast into the gutter
catches my eye
a horrific crime
witness to the horrific aftermath
I cannot look away
which means I do not see ahead
my foot steps into dead space
and I plummet
hot coffee crushed and gushed from its cup
between chest
and concrete step
who put these things
in the middle of the sidewalk
I land on my back
legs to the sky
at the bottom of thirty-one
grimy stairs
I blink up at the square of daylight
above and sluggishly
get to my feet
glad to be able to
bruised, a minor limp
a left arm that refuses
to raise overhead
an insignificant red scald
on my neck
but nothing that can’t be
walked off
but I do not learn
the yarrow sticks were cast
portents granted me
and ignored
sore and sorry
back home
I do what is obvious
I should not do
inside the closet
the door opens
the Dyson vacuum
guests arrive tomorrow
work must be done
out it came
unspooling miles of hose
bristle duster accessory attached
I wrestled the python into position
suck-swallowing whole
corpses of musca domestica and dust
dust of my skin
my blacked & blued tissues
greedily sipped
like rye through a drunkard’s straw
but I was weakened
that brutal stumble into Earth’s bowels
no match was I
for the anaconda in my mitts
it wrapped around my neck
strangled out the sun
airless, gasping
second time that day
I go down
skull to hardwood
striking inexplicably
upon the head
of one of those nails
leftover from a time
when wall-to-wall carpet reigned
inward the floor it drives
no
that’s what I expected
instead
it cracks me open
all the light and joy and jumping beans escape
sunshine, lollipops and light refracted through the mist
pour out of my head
it’s blood on the floor
but it’s a double helix to me
of butterflies in flight
twin intertwining waves
crowning me
a halo of fluttery wings
former crawling worms
so much more
as I might be
transformed
by an omen
misunderstood
inconstrued
yeah, you guessed right
Twilight Zone ending
Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge
I’m dead at the end of a flight of stairs

Empirical Controls

May 3, 2016

What if we, the United States,
did not win the war
but we were allowed to
by collusion
by illusion
appear to win
a war that never was a war
British subjects of the colonies
conspiring with the crown
using enlightenment philosophy
as a shroud
what if.. what if…

And so the USA
became but a tool
a weapon in the armory
of Empire
how in WWII we waited
held like a hammer
hidden behind England’s back
waiting to come to the fore
to wallop the Wops
and crack the Krauts
fresh to the charge
always ready to agree
the whole world pretending
Thatcher and Reagan
weren’t twins separated at birth
as if
under any circumstance
we wouldn’t back the Jolly Old
everything a Machiavellian maneuver
starve the Irish out of Ireland
let them flee to the States
and pit them
against the Italians
a check and balance
on gangland power of the streets
and cheap grease
for the cogs of industrial capitalism

The revolution was a façade
parliament’s gambit
to further drive a king mad
and strip the crown
its authority
and it works still
culturally, we’re closer than ever
swapping entertainment
back & forth
tit for tat
American Idol for the Apprentice
fair trade – twin peoples
garbage fed
on mantras of merit and ruthlessness
the red coats never came
we were them
as they were us
and Canada
don’t get me started
on those Canuck cunts
and please, sister
non-violent resistance
Gandhi didn’t win
who could be so gullible
to fall for that horseshit
look at India now
low-cost labor and poached
of their brightest minds
no one would call that winning
there are no winners
not against Empire
the sun never sits

Hitchcockian

April 30, 2016

If you place
your ear to my ear
as to a shell
holding the roar of the sea
then you will hear the rain
the screeching violins
and the sound of the blade
punching death’s timecard

Too Much Travelled By

April 27, 2016

Delusions of fame
distort and bloat
the paranoiac ego
ever certain
in its small appeal
of the total
adoration of the people
believing that everyone
who passes by
does so
due to love and respect
a desire to be near
such a remarkable talent

Maybe this is so
or maybe it ain’t so much
but as I walk through
yet another shoot
at the intersection of Fig & 56
the most overly shot
location in all of Los Angeles
I overhear the star’s
distinct Jersey by way of Boston
nasal honk loudly say,
“For the second time today!”
and I wonder
is it me
I am going past
“for the 2nd time today”
not out of design
once going home from coffee
next going out to a movie
but surely
it’s coincidental timing
certainly, he doesn’t keep tally
like some bureaucratic bird of prey
keenly observing
each little mouse
who scurries along the street
and how many times by they go
that would be crazy, right?

Or is it me
does it speak
to the sorry state of my mental health
to harbor such screwy suspicions
am I the paranoiac ego
and not Marc Maron afterall?

Is this how John Hinckley Jr. got his start?

Perhaps I am in need
of paying greater heed
to down which roads I travel


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