Monday, May 8, 2023

Passage to Spring

Everyone has fallen into a stasis field 
put spring on hold 
fooled by a cheap cinematic trick setting off fireworks 
on a summer night 
as the dog lay shaking 
wrapped in her thunder coat
A newspaper
A database scrapper

number five 
when your fingers can't wait 
won't work and why should they? hitting it hard resending from position 
receding there's a little chart 
at the top of a daily paper 
let's get them all stirred up superhuman geriatric types 
and 
overwhelming scent 
of garlic and developing fluid
the mysterious phasing of giant gnats when you least expect 
SURPRISE!
an election panel with pills 
and pills and pills....

At a particular time of each and every violent day 
the vanishing point lives
in a force field projecting such overwhelming chatter video clutter audio chatter without guitars or paper lights 
forget about scripting 
reflecting the shadow play magnetic forces are polarizing microcellular movement 
much the way you'd use a crowbar on a molecular level.

In just about every way under the Sun every day every way every wave crashing against every adventurous ragged zig-zagging shoreline 
wave wave wave 
where the water meets the Earth their lives can be run 
and put that in the poem 
to be scribbled inside 
cheap little poet notebooks waiting for that heavenly inspiration to flow like Hollywood cinematic magic 
into the this crumbling world 
stay true at all times, stay true

Mine is not the world to spin as a roulette nor to be waited on hand and hoof as some sacred cow turned blue with centuries of worship in a far vast developing world where online voices prove you can build a luxurious patio and pool was strenuous labor time lapse function in a day or two to spend before tacking it on the wall in cyberspace

When it all comes down and the subject comes up lines will form for the necessories we speak don't get too hot or take it to smugly think of it as a bagel or a transfer for the unsalted

There is an hour inside each of us when the head is splitting the wolf is howling where we all each one must answer the most difficult question lying lying in a pit of our stomach noising the sinister knowing of the waves of the hair in the in the hair of the harpy in the howl of the engine the Great and grading crush of humankind

Of the stone wheel wake up but don't pretend that your world is real that your hopes are anything other than a posture toward pretense of ego propulsion into the slow dive following deep in the painful pit of the place where all the titans 
Wound up world 
Including the gnashing of teeth 
the day is too gone infomercial awards committees have nodded off over and out,  good buddy even the rubber duck wanted out 
by the end of the flick knowing that every road runs out of ground when it hits the coast  
went to waving you off
as I've been from to coast to coast to coast and Coast

It's a brain jacked attack 
to jam as much info 
as can be shared 
at first blush it seems 
Amid the great uncertainty 
is washing us away 
Strewn along the violent shore 
with all the fire; 
all the smoke, 
all the crazy lighting tricks 
of course the devil has always been screwing around in the details 
of all the detritus virtual 
or not sunken off 
a floating island planet 
in and atop the bottomless deep blue sea.
Check your local listings 

oh what could the trouble be?

The market gets timid but you mean 
it scared you 
can make up who is positive and who is tested negative

 time for time to move time

to run 
I can't get a thing done 
have to get all the time 
in the world 
I'm not getting worried 
tired or uptight 
just taking in the light's noise 
yes, lots of noise when you don't 
intend to 
share deep dark secrets...

Which are really no secret 
to anybody at all who has known been known been around the block 
kick the tires 
broke the rules 
just because you could 
I could voice it 
upon useful stupidity  
why would I and you shouldn't feel shackled to that stereotype things 
I did, I wanted to do 
nobody gives you a guarantee 
that you'll ever be able 
to do 
again. Right?

New day rising! New day rising! 

Rip off your pajamas
Strap something sturdy to your feet
Assume the position in the full armor of God
Everything
The whole of it
To defend against the slings and arrows
To defeat the corrosion of complacency
The conformity to bow your head and kneel in truth
To the revelation
To the truth

A slight and slender five lined skink
Came to visit me this Saturday
Should have waited 24 hours
For the feast day of Saint Francis
Wouldn't have noticed her
If Lulu hadn't been preoccupied with her daily sniffings
For rabbits and field mice
You stupid skink - I huffed
I'm trying to put you out in the sunshine
So you can enjoy your life
She slinked down the fence

And away

The cruel winter hinted by diabolical agents trying to incorporate miserable lines stitched in like your mouth stapled shut with metal staples shards jammed in with a surgical staple gun
if you ask for me 
you can ask glorious 
who saw me wandering alone 
who knew when I was hungry 
I didn't have to learn no damn euphonics 
to write my blues 
on the far horizon 
with tangerine 
thinking horizon 
in your perspective 
from the prosecutorial 
it is only personal background 
the politician will never 
tell 

Attempting to speak to you in a cryptic antiquated language over a breakfast of d'anjou and black coffee
Across the pond you giggle
To you, I feel, my language no longer travels
On the ears 
Of doves

More the soundings of rocks and shattered storefront displays no finesse, capiche?

Should attempt to borrow the pen
Mediterranean
Or loot from Dante

My small Soul tremors from Paradise you'd think the world, including e.e. & all his furry freak bros
From sea to uproarious sea in updating style books  setting American tongues free!
Who hepped you cats 
to the once upon a time brand new deal
For the real musical lyric of the Love American style we are in the middle of a revolution
For crying out loud

Now the world can see 
but cannot hear the monstrous megatech overlords and major media co-conspirators are attempting to brainwash the rest
Into concluding complacency into the fraud and races vice that we are a divided people just not true.

Yeah, yeah
Everybody's got their own opinion
Or the same opinion
Or however you wish to spin

If standing against tyranny
We jump on our horses and make it to Philadelphia with a declaration by and from the people of the great state of North Carolina or South Carolina

Poems rushed in from the periphery of the Mercurial edges 
the pool side 
the city side 
the curbside

Open up the timeline 
let's go frame by frame 
slow it down 
speed it up 
do it over again and again reverse engineering
The difference engine

Friday, November 18, 2022

Toxic green inlay of zigzag notebook

Page 1:

Toxic blemish disaster
My fans are doing wrong
Intentionally
We've set up a helpline
To discuss fraudulent fees
An electric plug unplugged
Finally to the point of being sick and tired
A wealth of noun
And they're darling adjectives
Bygone and pulp scented
Tomes of verse
Upon verse
Upon verse
The corruption of which
Up with I shall not put
The turkey/lobster holidays approach
As a way of welcoming
Thankful aliens from all corners of the globe
Come feast at our table
Wearing your audacious headwear
Pass the damn can of cranberry sauce
Jellied
Kicking under the table
With your uncomfortable high heeled shoes
You're square leather toes
Or as the Indians have told me
Why do you want to give it to us now
After you trashed it out.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

No Reason to Get Worked Up About It

without truth you have nothing // less than nothing // really // 
what do you have? // a lie? // a lie you can believe in // 
will that make you happy? // 
ultimately?
after living this (my life) to its fullest // i am neither shocked nor dismayed // 
to find the truth of lies crumpled up and thrown on my porch // 
as that robin who flew into the door // on a windy spring day //
Your deceptions aren’t earth-shattering to me // I, too, was living through the darkness // 
before i was called away // 
it can make you happy for a moment // 
take it!!! // Take it all!! // RUN! FLY! SAIL! // 
on these our memories are built // and all else be damned // 
go ahead // cheat, steal, and lie // 
gather your miserable baubles // 
clutch them tight to your chest // 
close your eyes 
as the world winds down // 
to find itself 
some rest

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

7 Fractals (Travels Through the West) - AKA-Resolution #4


====================================  


Who’s Barrette Is In My Pocket?- 

 Last Night (North Beach)... These Are the Things that You Do These Other Things that You Do- girlfriend smash! bottle of wine...

These Are the Things that You Do
when you do other things
you know you will do

bottle punch!
Streetfight right

‘...right down the middle, baby! Right down the middle!'

Down the middle of Columbus
these are those things, too
These Are the Things that You Do

When the ocean runs off to hide
gonna bring down that boy
from up the Northside
gonna spill that tongue
go for a ride
you know there’s no poem
that’ll get you that high

These Are the Things that You Do
When you do Other things
These Other Things that You Do

these things you do
i thought you knew
there’s no ocean @ the end of this road

keep stealing things
your bound to get shown
ALL THOSE OTHER THINGS
you knew you would do
These Are the Things that You Do

Grant Street holdouts
* got a job in the Morning *
if you roll out of bed before noon

These Are the Things that You Do
As you do OTHER things
 you know that you do

gonna take all humanity
* roll it in a ball*

maid cleans the carpet @ two
Audio-corpse hiding in micro-cassette

These Are the Things that You Do
 * you know it’s only written for you *
for these
 * Are the Things that You Do * ========================================  



Definitive Naked earthquake Surf -(poem)-

Naked roof surfer rides it down
just out of Sleep’s tender fingered clutches
Rides it down
Naked Roof Surfer does
‘pon cresting red bricked waves
Building blocked up in the 1920's by West Coast Scotsmen
lugging buckets of mortar ‘cross Cascadian ranges
‘cross Columbian riptides
[Also known to be the future site of the former Grand Coolie Dam] (Finally realized by the early 21st century (by the by) to be the natural predator of many endangered species of sacred fish spirits) nudge nudge wink wink THIS... only after they mastered spawning upstream which still does not negate the fact that bricks are heavy especially when you carry them over mountains Naked Roof Surfer riding the roof down Where news casting clown stands vociferously chickling paints on fish pants Which fly fishers may be seen wearing this spring @ better mens shopping outlets in truly hip chic urban areas Roof Surfer Naked riding roof down @ perpendicular angles to Earth’s angry plates Shuffled by the muscle of machine built by man powered by alternating current inspired through secrecy via guffawing celestial conspiracy The chickering clown points North by Northwest from the corner of Pine & Melrose -Lucky our LIVE camera is locked & loaded... SHOOT ‘IM, ME BOYOS, SHOOT ‘IM! LIGHT ‘IM UP & SHOOT ‘IM! Joe & Sally HighDefine are really gonna love this one.- Naked Roof Surfer downriding the roof -What could you be thinking Naked in bed @ 10:45am when the rest of Amerika is hard @ work you worthless bum?- You are the sole impetus the reason for this godly wrath so ‘his’>>>(are we still calling the angry vengeful all-seeing all-knowing ‘his’)>>> SO.. ‘his’ target- ing system is a splotch off kilter... Maybe ‘he’ doesn’t want to spend the C-note on the upgraded version... & who could blame ‘him’- without shaking their respective fists @ that mansion ‘cross the largest lake in Washington? Naked Roof Surfer when you ride it down you must ride it out of town in order that hardworking bastards may build more mansions acquiring hourly wage slave whoredom gigs @ 4 star downtown open air strip malls paying exorbitant rents buying expensive imported shit with credit cards set to stun online overnight next day delivery sit in their bars + sit in their cars + sit in cafes +++((pretending their once & future stars))+++ for the love of all that’s secular... Can’t you catch a wave headed towards Mongolia Naked roof surfer riding the roof down? What if there where no FREEZONE? Then where would you be? Still asleep on caffeined overload, i bet They didn’t write those freelove songs for you roof rider/ boat rocker 35 years old & not one clue in your bag of tricks so what if the sidewalk kisses the ground? so what if the roof kisses the sidewalk? so what if everybody sez ‘It’s all about you isn’t it?’? Naked Roof Surfer riding the roof down naked crumbling onto naked sidewalks of naked pavements in naked cities serves you right Roof came down the Naked Surfer on the roof was riding stumbling upon descent over broken concrete broken ‘NO PARKING’ signs broken freeway exits Doing the long-haired cafe scribble just one more reason your not making banco on this whole schematic here get plugged in- jacked up- downloaded put a damned plot in the play & keep that camera still! I want bandwith broadcast quality art from artists & write from writers You’ve pissed off too many powerful people NAKED ROOF SURFER so ride it into the Bay & down the Sound & get your skinny ass out on the myster-ee-ous-o Sea all the children sing scapegoat set afloat use a rooftop surfboard for a boat &Laughing MANIACALLY @... US?! Hardworking Liberty-loving economic foodchain souls... BUT... if you can find it, roof surfer, naked as you are if you can find that elusive illustrious golden day sunshine dawn Naked Roof Surfer riding the rooves of the world down to transmission soaked Earth concrete won’t you show us all? @ least you could sell us a little hope... Before you go

========================================


SLIM JIM METAPHYSICS

SUN MOON RAIN WIND STARS & FLOWERS
- Flowers?-
- Flowers too-
-Remember Seattle, Jim? I remember we decided we would stick with the American Heritage definition of ‘condensed language...’ but Flowers?-
-SUN MOON RAIN WIND STARS... & also.. FLOWERS-
Ah,... Jim?
- Yes, Slim?-
Remember that Spec of a sud jockey, Jim? Very critical of anything slightly resembling this This... ‘Soul Unleashed’ style of which you speak
- Critical minds resemble the consistency of flabby baby bottoms. We will NOT speak of this critique again, Slim.-
But, Jim! What if the peoples don’t like us, Jim?
- SUN MOON RAIN WIND then, Slim.-
No Stars & Flowers?
- No Stars & Flowers. If they don’t play nice, they get neither STARS nor FLOWERS-

What about FIRE & BLOOD, Jim? If they don’t play nice... What about FIRE & BLOOD?
- It’s FIRE & BLOOD that’s dam bursting floods-
How now, Jim? How now & what ho?
- That’s angst exposed to win mediocrity a minuscule modicum of notoriety. Have or have you not noticed, Slim, how everybody’s been flooding that dam?-
With FIRE & BLOOD, Jim?
- Yes, Slim... with FIRE & BLOOD.-
Who do you speak of now, Jim?
- Sitting naked in my mynd... i threw the STICKS... i cast the RUNES... i rolled the EYEBALL of a Goat,... & let me tell you... you would be shocked @ what was exposed-
What was it, Jim? What was IT?!

- SUN MOON RAIN WIND STARS...-
& Flowers, Jim?
- But of course, Slim,... & FLOWERS.-

========================================

DER SCHIMMEL RITTER IS WRITING FOR HUMANITY
Sometimes... the crying rider - der schimmel ritter- is riding for humanity... On a yellow horse @ 10:32 p.m.- that’s Seattle time -past the grunge stations... the S.U.V. parking here on I-5 * heading very south as i am with a -left-turn-green-arrow-... THE GREEN ARROW! THE GREEN LANTERN! The greeny green green to make the world go ‘round... these are all the greens i see in this Emerald Town... the freeway entrance... lanes merging, other lanes joining... That’s sixty miles an hour, pal. Do you want me? Do you wanna let me over? Now that i’m using my patented -left-turn-green-arrow-? NO! You don’t want to let me over... because you’re a very important person... you’ve got too much on the ball to be worried about DER SCHIMMEL RITTER riding his yellow horse in the moonlight... The Moon hanging over downtown... very small/little/tiny downtown... such a little pearl- especially when seen from the water... from the ferry... from the westside... from the industrial concrete man-made bunker island out in the harbor... amid the halogen floods & magnetic cranes [matters not whether orange or white]... YES! YES! i know it’s a ‘tow-away’ zone/// that’s why i’m going 70 mph... I don’t want to be towed away, get it? Here i am driving further south with my love for humanity {AHEM} hopefully i will be able to give them- ALL OF THEM -everyone of them a ride on my yellow horse TONIGHT! They in turn shall pay my rent... shall buy my videotape... for i need my raw product... Just... way out there raw product... That’s what it is...
Lady said i should go to school... i should take a coupla classes in... ahhhh... ART!
This is a class in ART, Lady! Lady, look @ me!!! This is a class in ART! This is how you make ART! Driving around Lake Union...
Oh, smarmy Lake Union... used to be the home to thousands of hippies... only had enough money to buy a little houseboat... rent a houseboat... feed a cat... live on the water... no playground/// no soccer mom training gear/// no playground... no nothing... NOW>>>
you may as well buy a beamer for the price of a houseboat... & why not buy another car? Wouldn’t that make the world a much better place? In the long run? If everyone owned an infinite amount of cars to travel the freeways... to piss off
DER SCHIMMEL RITTER...
who are going down desperately towards the Regrade... on the ‘graveyard shift’... (cough, cough!)... we can pull out all the dead bodies & make it respectable for everyone... get it? DER SCHIMMEL RITTER! Past REI i ride... past the business machines... Turning on Eastlake... Here i am! Who’s gonna hit me? Nobody! Noone would hit the rider... you don’t want to get any on you, that’s why... & there you have it! The Suite Cotswald Port Dances... Five people in the Regrade five lonely riders... mostly Ethiopian... mayhaps an American... but i.. i am THEE SCHIMMEL RITTER on this yellow horse... late @ night... i see the young boys in their pullover shirts, wondering if they should walk against the ‘Don’t Walk!’ lights... wandering to do a little disco dancing in their sandaled feet... they decide... ‘Let us do do that disco dancing we’ve been planning for so long... meet some women... have a few drinks... Chill out with DJ Soupy Soup Soup... Chill out with Mack Dad DJ Baby Baby Baby Wipes... ‘ There’s the Moon! So beautiful... silhouetted against Pike Tower flapping giant American flag... i don’t know whether or not it is truly an American flag [ i prefer to think it is instead of some major corporate cartoon spending money to plod the boot stomped backs of the downtrodden masses] (so i’ll just assume) it’s an American flag waving over the Moon... Under the Moon’s ever watchful cratering eyes... original skyscraping hotels made out of brick... Your days are numbered... stuck up from the 1920's... you had best get as much use as you can out of that neon green title... braced above your penthouse decadence tongue kissing candy dreams... pretty soon it’s que sara ! It’s BAJOOM! It’s BOOM-a-LOOM! They’ll sell your bricks online smuggled through the yellow barrier tape by scavenging salesmen on skateboards riding razors in their suit & tie... Low income housing turns top dollar condominium when those times do strike... DOWN ONE WAY STREETS... Meaning: as long as you don’t go two ways @ once you’ll be doing fine... down Terry Avenue... there’s that Moon again... this time it’s hiding behind a tree as if that were the safest place for it to watch me & the others smoking in the twilight... there’s a lot of construction going ‘round these days & they’ve been throwing things off the roofs again... actually... pressing the zero-four-five buttons we find that Steven Potteroy has not been moved by these machinations for evidence of recorded messages remain... ‘Hello you’ve reached Steven J. Potteroy @ zero-four-five please leave a message & i’ll return your message as soon as possible.’ to which DER SCHIMMEL RITTER responds with micro-cassette technology recording the syllables sounding through the Night’s time ‘i’m recording this message so don’t get any funny ideas... i’m standing outside your frontdoor.’ -click- this across from the wordpit where Drunken Writer’s Collective collected in the wordhole far from the astral noodle... in the shadows actual... after readings-greetings-meetings-beatings of the nuevo cyber-pop-media movements & self pithied soliloquies... Yet... only to mount the yellow horse once again... to fly around town... flying, Flying, FLYing... the madness of constant motion... hoping to get something out of all of this mess... hoping to learn to love to live... i win a bronze medal for my exploits @ least... a bronze medal... i’m #3!... that’s something, huh? #3 @ the Dog- called the Greyhound -called the bus station to the uninitiated... cruising past all the people the greyrider smiles off prancing pony beaded massaging seatcovers ‘i’m #3! Me! The outrider! DER SCHIMMEL RITTER! The crying rider... writing for humanity on his yellow horse!’
SONG-: Schimmel Ritter... where are you going? -*- Now that the night is done... Oh, Gimble minder... Put your yellow horse to bed -*- after all has been said & done... Imperfect Binder... How you shout those Chinese baby laughs -*- better get your ticket -*- board that train never looking back -*- only headed for the... Sun

========================================

Across the Midwest, On My Way to Mongolia

Writing on a train, rolling through the midwest... No! i will not start this off by way of romantic lie! The train is stopped to load passengers @ the St. Paul station. [THERE i said it & it is true with no embellishment. HA! Didn’t think i could do it, eh? Write a sentence of truth so plainly bland that no one in their right mind would dare to deny it. If you’ve got a problem with a little truth you may as well close these pages right now/// wrap them in that gawdy paper you’ve got in the closet from a dozen holidays ago/// take that wrapped present throw it in a paper bag/// go down to the local postal hole/// tell ‘em to put it into one of those empty refrigerator boxes we always hear the homeless people love sleeping in sooooo much {this by the top pop jocks & jills as Big Daddy Warbucks foots the bill for their fastfood drive through plasma tans [[[which (((REALLY))) just keeps gaining in erotic appeal & gets more sexy looking the older you get & the more your flesh starts sagging } & send it to that person who everybody thinks is some sort of mutant just BE-cawse S/he is not attempting to be part of the disinfo that’s being pedaled by a mass media glad rag]]] Not even halfway through the trip & ALREADY i’m putting false images on it! The silver train swallows it’s cargo. Kathryn is looking for a handi-wipe...er.. some form of antiseptic to clean a cut received somewhere (more than likely Wisconsin --[taking into consideration all the paper shuffling she does as a Fed...]-- maybe an old paper cut that worked itself a little worse when she got to her childhood hometown of Amherst & started slinging packages into the loft while i got real dizzy.) this//////[[[i stay herbal that’s why... only carnivores seem to have a problem with this little conspiracy of mass slaughter being a WAY unkind thing to perpetrate upon the surface of a GI-GANTIC living entity trapped out here in a quadrant of space () millions of par secs from anything that even resembles it merely 2222 miles into the first half of our journey. This journey’s purpose? To move all extemporaneous belongings to a safe storage place. The safest storage place in the United States of America being >>> Amherst, Wisconsin (the family fishfarm)

Kathryn grew up on this fishfarm but since has travelled this country & the world searching out the holy grail of her passions. You could call that ‘romanticism’ if you wanted to. I really don’t think Kathryn would mind that too much. She lives by certain concepts she picked up out here in the Heartland & if that’s all right with her then that’s all right with the world. Comes from a lakey prairie home type setting where the younger brother (the baby of the family) could be working on a spaceship in the basement out of AOL CDs & Mom’s making that ‘Cheesy Potato Hotdish’
{that sounds fairly humorous when you say it on a full stomach but just wait until the late night cable stations start running all those sleepers you never wanted to ante up for back in the 80's { those Cheesy Potato’s don’t sound so silly now do they, mister? ...Or maybe you would prefer>>> trekking through the 40 below drifts ALL THE WAY to Steven’s Point (that’s the nearest 24hr convenience store, huh?) For some crappy junk food after you’ve been drinking beer & brandy all night (not to mention the Vodka... No... let’s not mention it)
She hooked up with me six years ago... Jesus! Six years ago... i told myself i was on my way out of Planet America... WAY OUT... couldn’t deal with the greed, the wholly unAmerican concepts of stagnation through dinosaur ideologies, nor the overly consumptive nature of the prevalent *ownership/purchase/might/& right* square cornered four way circle jerk... on my way out...
Gnawing voice behind the brain asks ‘Where ya going, Mr. Smarty-pants? Somewhere better? HA!’... Anywhere i don’t have to hear lies being professed as truth in any one of the multitudinous dialects. That’ll be good enough for me. As anyone familiar with my work would know>>> i have previously lived along the Mexican Border... ‘Bordertown, Baby!’... loved being some freaky alien where i couldn’t understand the words the people were spitting over their shoulder... smirking & calling me a gringo... No comprende, Amigo!... insults don’t ruffle the alien... the alien didn’t pull his scales out into feathers when that was the ‘in thing’ to do the funky def dope slamma jamma thing the disco hustle thing to do the yuppie coke freak thing or... (hide the kids)... this 'freaked out', paranoid, dilettante, politically correct, soccer mom road rage wannabe apathetic condescending thing to do... NO! Aliens do not do those things you do... insults bounce off of aliens... yellow jello shooter shots bounce of your windsheild ... your psychopathic Uncle bounces off the walls of the sanitarium when he finds out that money is a lie... the unregenerate priest bounces off the pearly gates when he sees all the angels have tattoos & they say it gives them nice dreams... but still i felt crappy...
I finally decided to go to Mongolia [[[of all places]]]... to live among the memories of the beautiful savage hordes of my ancestors... America ain’t so big compared to what Mongolia was back there... before the modern convenience... the generations of easily swallowed lies... well,... i guess that’s it everybody gets a shot sooner or later.... they all get a shot to really screw things up for hundreds [[[sometimes thousands of years]]]... until one day a bigger screw up shows up with hat in hand... illiterate... can’t even speak the language... & just takes everything for him or herself... one of the world’s most successful forms of primitive empiricism... MANIFEST DESTINY... ME:::&>>> no money, but what i could scrape out of taxicabs, willing supporters of my rather socially unaccepted forms of artistry, & the inevitable odd job. (Always odd. Always a job.)... i’m going to Mongolia...

========================================

Chronicleer
The Mother of All Creation still rising, she is still blindingly pulling eyes towards a-blinding sleepy eyes sleepy red white & blue eyes, redder than all the beer bottle labels even more than that funky salsa musico, that mellow calypso, that reggae beat EVEN MORE than those massive Persian couplets so brutal in the early morning hours no doctor worth his weight would/should/or/could prescribe more than two before sunrise with a clear conscience heavy heavy are those sunrises a leader striking heroic poses against telemetry backgrounds a young girl who still believes in fairy tales dolls her self up The music shifting so much & often neither are able to grasp the face of reality They walk off hand in hand through silvery veils of mystery dawning They share the mutual understanding they are both out of time A voice booms from Heaven’s public address system ‘YOU ARE NOT ROBOTS! Time is ending soon!’
COCK-A-DOODLE RISE! COCK-A-DOODLE RISE!
RISE-A-DOODLE DOO! RISE-A-DOODLE-DOO!
COCK-A-DOODLE RISE! COCK-A-DOODLE RISE!
RISE-A-DOODLE DOO! RISE-A-DOODLE-DOO!
...THIS ECONOMY WON’T MOVE ITSELF! We need product & service. That’s what we’re paying for... A woman walks slowly in conjunction with the planets. The sound of planets connecting in the ether. Liquid rings mark the table. A strange blue/print is formed. Steel grey blankets cover sun rising skies. Somebody’s been transmitting again... GO AHEAD>>> cry on your sleeve/// the monkey’ll force it out @ that point you connect to the link. There’s a youngman walking his road alone. After the trauma. After the Drama. Disconnected from the freedom he felt in Philadelphia... back East... somewhere in Amerika. He drew the FOOL card, pulled it deep from his own deck before this journey started. Now he’s got himself a special form of torture,... slow & sweet he sings those hang dog blues plucked from the flowering of his dead end youth... tossed by the zephyr of passing semi-rigs... he’ll know this is what it means to be ‘alone’[[[if it doesn’t kill him/\he’ll never be able to leave]]] the only hope which he can’t possibly know is that he could land in a box labeled alien by those who stay put, keep their mouth shut & locked as if to conceal some ancient mystic wisdom gleaned in the fiber fine print whispering
Novus Ordo Seclorum
COCK-A-DOODLE CA$H! COCK-A-DOODLE CA$H!
CA$H-A-DOODLE DOO! CA$H-A-DOODLE DOO!
COCK-A-DOODLE CA$H! COCK-A-DOODLE CA$H!
CA$H-A-DOODLE DOO! CA$H-A-DOODLE DOO!
He’ll stumble among the monuments they built for themselves to prove their not as bad as all that. Those visions dancing on his retina. Atlas is shrugging ‘What?... That?... forget about it.’ His brain bound the moment the image is stored deep.. Deep.. Deeper still further back in soft tissued memory... stored in the crawl spaces... a fingerpainting taped to the refrigerator door of a whorehouse,...way down south... somewhere in America...
He’ll return, chances are, one strange day to the wet asphalt of his spawning ground... On that glorious day to see he’ll notice a woman walking slowly in conjunction with the planets. If he’s extremely lucky, on that day, a semi-rig will rocket past blasting an old blue eyed version... listen... you can hear it in the rubber rolling the pavement...listen,.. under the temporary umbrella cloud of diesel exhaust... listen,... that’s life... that’s what all the people say...
Cock-cock-cock a-doodle TIME! TIME a-do-do-doodly-do! Cock-cock-cock a-doodle TIME! TIME a-do-do-doodly-do!
Time to come up for some air now, Charlie. Still cock-cock-cock-a-doodling... still blowing that brass godmouth... still watching years slip triptych into colors, ya know? Colors LIKE Colors yellow, orange, blur, green. Regular colors. Normal decent colors. Noone has a problem with colors right, Charlie? Welcome to the 21st century! We still burn crosses,... burn crosses in our minds everyones’ predjudism is of the highest most holy city concillatorally ordinancary ordained with a couple amendments added for those mean tortured love children jumping up to wrastle talk show security guards flat on their respective asses... We.. Still.. Have.. Sneaky alleys don’t trick yourself into believing all is sweet & Low & fat-free. It’s the 21st century fer crying out loud! Charlie! It’s the 21st century!
COCK-A-DOODLE- GENERATE COCK-A-DO-DA-DOODLE-GENERATE GENERATE A BETTER DOODLE DOO
GENERATE A BETTER DOODLE DOO
... the voice of the majick rooster trails off to the other side of the planet The Landscape asks our young coxcombed Rooster
“What is it you try to tell? Are your passion so enraged screaming through the sunrise must you awake every sleeper must blast through their waking pull them back to dirty streets to remember they are living of this time/\/\/\this place Your maudlin stare/\Your rapacious voice Your cocky strutting/\Your dodging snide From weather vaned perch you scream your sermons both manual & pious attempting to pilot human nature from their naturally destructive course Did you awake the shahs & prophets? The Emperors & Architects? Either Fascist or Politically Correct? Your roosterings have had no effect on ways the money’s spent All your harems, All your hordes are thrown back from another time. & Sir!”
Our Landscape turns on heel “I won’t waste my Time!”
The Landscape walks off to fill the horizon.

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American Road Trip (up & down the coast)

What was it?{four people in black car rolling North I-5 to come back down 101 heading south} THINK! THINK! THINK! Amazing!- simply this-Nothing more A suicidal possum opted to take it’s life today- Eyes throwing Starbeams- High-speed love stories are very subtle- running freeways littered with tears- that gasoline on your jeans- smells American to me- Somebody’s dark eyes in the rearview- keep the ocean over your right shoulder- Maybe... don’t try to figure it out- if the possum had lied- very verrry still- the clearance of the carriage of the car would leave a happy possum- how happy to be happy- prismatic optical contrivance blinds the mind- the Moon’s contagioned lips over your right shoulder- her protector is a salt water junkie- Back in town the walls of Saturday Night resound happy screams- The more you give... The less you have...- out on the Highway- to be robbed & stolen- Any heroes save possums?- Just a bloody brainscrew!- this is nowhere near truth- i lie- possum flat- the best intentions of noble intent ring of overly stated redundancy- Was there a kiss?- How the junkies dress their pigs- the question remains still- Was there a kiss?- The pain is untrue- unlike falling down drunk- the possum’s eyes kissed the driver’s eyes- they were both very afraid- the possum lost- the pain was stored in the driver’s brain- memories play damnable poignant- EUREKA!- beautiful people are ugly, too- EUREKA!- ugly people have beauty unknowable- EUREKA!- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- Charlie blowing out the Black Rabbit past hordes of ‘heavier-than-thou’ motorcycle enthusiasts- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- a lady chases napkins down a cigarette littered sidewalk beach- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- ‘... but we’ve got a Mingus- flavored Black Rabbit racing down the coast- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- rental people will wash possum blood off the Black Rabbit- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- Better replace that ‘No Smoking’ decal, too- $ell it again for another North American Junkie Road Trip- ‘Oh Yeah!!’- ‘... but... they don’t have a Mingus flavored Black Rabbit!’- ‘Oh Yeah!!’ maybe no possum blood- no contagioned kiss- no snorkeling platypus- [sic = spelling is correct]- unlike the exquisite pain of kissing- can’t buy it @ a ‘Blue Light Special’- anything you want but not that- poor sad sleepy dream after possuming the Road- can’t hold Beauty down- it get’s Road colored- Even the most noble of Thieves can only displace it in Space- it was actually a Japanese Black Rabbit w/ roots so thick, ‘they could never cut ‘a Spaniard’s’ hair’- but... the possum was American- as is the Beaver- industrious enough to teach us ‘how to...’ build dams- The Beaver & The Spaniard teaching... Industrious Thievery- You take one economical sized Black Rabbit of Japanese decent... Mix it with a possum south of Gold Beach on PCH- It’s a recipe.- You see?- BUT the ART... Is a culinary sculpture- of Light & Smoke- of S.F. firetruck songs- there’s more than that- really- some people refuse to give anything- some people don’t give you enough- to work with- only tears- or keep their secrets locked away- the possum knocked on my floorboard- it was a secret possum knock- there was a Spaniard- a Possum- An American- A Junkie- a lot of Pigs- there was a Black Rabbit from Japan- the Green Tortise had already given up the Ghost- there was a kiss- there was an end- an end to this American Junkie Road Trip

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Wednesday, April 16, 2014

& Early to Rise

What to do?
What to do?
between the blinds
Sun seeps through
The next day finds us
Without a clue
But harried as we are
So terribly busy
To prove
Our lives are more
Than a mere collection of breath
Passing from this hour
Into the next
Everybodies poetry
&
Everybodies photograph
Is part of the app
Producing a song
Swelling as the credits roll
They roll on & on
An infinite train rushing through
Past slack jawed riders
Filling their cases brief
With cheques
And billable hours
Oh, someone's going to pay
You know they've got to pay

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Morning Brings the Songs

Thank you
for the songs
you sing me
early in the morning.

For the images
you impart
through sonic means.

Sounds of nails creak
sliding into the flesh
of wood.
Birds outside
the global warming
of my air conditioned
photographic lair.

My God!
There are even beautifully photographed
birds on the calendar, 
across from the desk lamp,
on the wall.

Who should ever worry
over the poetry of spring?
Only salesmen worry.
Whether real or imagined.

Spring? NEVER!
Birds? NEVER!
Music? NEVER!

For these,
it's just enough
to be.