Meta-Metaphor Madness

what's left when you take down the ornaments

2008-09-15T07:01:00.000-07:00

When you were young
eyes unstung
advice that was wise, was effect without cause
You lived your life on a brain wave with Carl Gustav Jung
You could see no serious flaws
You were on the road to Oz.
The years have changed everything on the surface , but not your eyes,
It's still hearts you respond to, that you recognize.
And still you ignore the imperfections that are so obvious.

it's not easy to still the mind
not easy
to defy your spirit.
At birth it's what you inherit
what's left when you take down the ornaments

By your mother you were educated about your essence
Strangely school couldn't get to you
Maybe because you never stopped believing in guardian angels
hate never stuck to you
You make vows in your half sleep
You have the faith of a big city Bo Peep
When you plant a seed, you intend to reap
and have it all planned for joy to leap.
All your systems are synchronous.

it's not easy to still the mind
not easy
to defy your spirit
At birth it's what you inherit
And what's left when you take down the ornaments.

when the blinds are drawn you light a candle to light up the shadows that kindle the dawn.
The light carries stardust that disperses metaphors whenever you move.
Your understanding of morality, you read on people's faces.
You pay special attention when they make a move.
You're prepared to break the rules,
and you dazzle when you put on your jewels.
They're your tools
No one takes you for a fool.
There's some Greek goddess with whom you're analogous.

All the corrupted people congregate at the spoils
They expect the royal treatment
If you look close you'll see their educations are splattered with condiments,
but still they expect to be re-invited.
For some reason you can see through it
As long as there's light you won't quit
Sometimes I don't get it
But I guess that's just what happens when you've figured a way to make your atoms split
and in the moonlight everything becomes auspicious.

it's not easy to still the mind
not easy
to defy your spirit
At birth it's what you inherit
What's left when you take down the ornaments.

made of good timber

2008-08-31T09:14:00.000-07:00

Summer calls for the sounds that can't be made at any other time of the year
She hears the orchestration
Sounds that are repeated in her sleep down by the shores of the mighty Atlantic.

She looks both ways through her stained glass dreams
When she feels drained she changes her vista to fit her emotion.

Some days she looks plain as a leafless tree
Other days she's the Taj Mahal in a Down East autumn

and plays ping pong with words
whether bouncing in the 'burbs
or dancing for the sky and the delight in her eye.
So momentarily it's hard to tell if she's body & spirit or if she's more a phantom ship that drifts through your harbour.

She has a roving soul and has survived ship wrecked relationships
She's made of good timber.

You Don't Listen to Nostradamus

2008-08-30T08:05:00.000-07:00

From the dance floor
You give me an indication
Of your need to catch the rhythm,
To get up close to your temptations.
My head is in the moon
My feet are on the moor
But your spirit is flooding the room
And I can't make it to the door.

You don't listen to Nostradamus
The birds teach you what's relevant
You count up the pluses
Bundled up and abundant.

Your garden grows outside
You heal yourself with green
You draw out dreams from the earth you dig,
You garden what you redeem.
My antenna's up when you're around
It's my power line
It picks up what you release
I can feel it up my spine.

You don't listen to Nostradamus
The birds teach you what's relevant
You count up the pluses
Bundled up and abundant.

Its' true what you tell me
But I've always believed you should look before you leap.
But then again there's many a broken heart
that learned neither to wake up nor to weep.
What I don't know
expands like the universe.
What makes sense,
is any love to disburse.

You don't listen to Nostradamus
The birds teach you what's relevant
You count up the pluses
Bundled up and abundant.

disrobed America

2008-08-27T06:06:00.000-07:00

They call me the drug store explorer
I hunt down whatever the seven deadly sins can feed me.
I like to spice up the horror
And at the same time have a guarantee.

As a child I prayed to saints to help me find things
like socks and keys
and to protect me from adults who went flying off the handle
Now it's just automatic
I pop open Pandora's Box and light another candle

I'm addicted to magic
Logic delegated to a supporting role in a drawn out exegesis
I've developed my own cold reasoning to help me get my way
and take a pass on the tragic
I try to stay fit cuz I heard you have to jump an abyss

I defrost miracles at night
to prepare them for the next day.
When I light the match and the miracles ignite
I say what Dirty Harry never got to say.

I say I want no tricks but the treat of truth, but I've got a bigger appetite
growling in the solenoid switch in my brain .
It's always idling.
Waiting to be used for the the get-a-way into the giddy heart of
a disrobed America ,
and there have a peek at freedom sweet and on the upswing.

Anything to ease the load

2008-08-25T09:03:00.000-07:00

They prayed for music to offset the news
To keep them alive on the refugee road
it didn't matter if it was concerto or blues
Anything to ease the load.

The unseen life from an unseen world
peeks out from the underworld,
it's flags unfurled
They snap in the wind,
awaken me from my somnolence,
blow off the ambivalence
of working in a downtown coal mine,
and going down blind.

They prayed for music to offset the news,
To keep them alive on the refugee road,
It didn't matter if it was concerto or blues
Anything to ease the load

I dream of a quiet spot
Where love doesn't need to be taught
Where no one fits into anyone's slot.
And I have visions of tenderness
emitting from my bones.
And discover my touch is electric
and I'm on automatic.
Like every human being
I was born elastic.

They prayed for music to offset the news
To keep them alive on the refugee road
it didn't matter if it was concerto or blues
Anything to ease the load.

Random perceptions appeal for survival,
since the time of walking upright's arrival.
Nothing has been lost , it's archival.
Nature waits patient
and invites exploration,
a big temptation
My senses begin to leak
I don't have the words to speak
I'm witness to the accident.

They prayed for music to offset the news
To keep them alive on the refugee road
it didn't matter if it was concerto or blues
Anything to ease the load.

my soul feels like the fingertips of the wind
it touches everything
the miscellaneous in me merges with the Mighty,
All 360 degrees.
Fear comes and it goes
You have to be on your toes
to distinguish
the difference between being smited and being the life of the party.
As long as you're breathing, there's always a chance for loving,
for a breakthrough
and the shedding of shame,
for love to accrue,
to recognize in everyone, that down deep diamond that shines through.

They prayed for music to offset the news.
To keep them alive on the refugee road.
It didn't matter if it was concerto or blues
Anything to ease the load.

underground parade

2008-08-19T05:29:00.000-07:00

When you're feeling edgy
like you had to much coffee
And you gravitate towards an open window high up on a high rise
And you imagine the bottom
But it's a little too risky.
And you know you'll miss the sunshine
when it hits you like whiskey.
So you run to the elevator,
head full of Chomsky.

And take a walk through what you saw from the window
Asphalt and trees, grass and automobiles.
A little sun shining and a little breeze blowing,
And people with souls they try to conceal.
Some kind of radiation raising you to your feet,
feeling real in fields surreal.
It's as if the gods have got you by the gonads.
They want to know what you have to reveal.

Except for the traffic
everything is quiet
But there's an echo
that no one's got control over,
That strikes at your psyche
and gets you looking in the grass for a four-leaf clover.
That drives you like your stomach does when you're feeling hungry.
And you get the message your heart wants to be a forgiver.

Up on the hill, there's a good view of the city.
Everything serene,
the mind pauses
and blends into the scene.
Someone who believes it, says God bless you;
and proceeds to explain,
how the path to divinity
is spliced into the genes.

The roadblocks are obvious,
when your nose is pressed against concrete,
and standing around are guys in khaki , who with every second word they swear
and mock and stomp their feet.
They rip through bags of poetry,
eyes hard as sleet.
They follow procedure,
no small talk, not a peep.

With missiles pointed from silos,
and people eating fear and hate, with their cake and their kool-aid,
And with state sanctioned shills singing through their teeth,
I took a breath while the music played.
It sounded like Joe Cocker or Tom Waits singing Bye Bye Blackbird backwards.
I was dressed for the masquerade
Feeling jaded , I headed for the surface.
I wore my outfit in an underground parade.

when your investments hit bottom

2008-08-15T05:10:00.000-07:00

when your investments hit bottom
and it's the season that summer's at it's end
And the cosmos shakes inside your bones
And your mind's too brittle to bend
Watch your step
if you're in the mood to comprehend
what all this language means.
Just remember you're in the company of people it's dangerous to offend.

if you come across a girl with some sparkle,
ask her to point out the destination on the map,
to where negativity does its caterpillar/ butterfly act.
At the moment I'm good for nothing except maybe taking an afternoon nap
I need to dream
before I snap.
Everyone looks dirty
I can see them set their traps.

Cassandra is a bohemian
she dresses up her demons
And walks with them downtown.
She's obsessed by Adolf Eichmann
How he was so ordinary
She proceeds with her sermon
Fortunately it's in one ear and out the other
I give a look that's pure deadpan.

All the variables have been itemized
Someone says it's time to shape up or ship out
You get the feeling there's not much of a choice
and next to no clout.
If you're thinking about calling in sick
don't get caught in a moment of self-doubt
Except for the essentials , keep your mouth shut
There's nothing to talk about.

The security is ubiquitous
like ice in January up north.
The advice you get is to pray and tell the truth.
And then you're beckoned to come forth,
to reveal everything for the common good.
They say it's good for your net worth.
They take your picture
And explain the process of your rebirth.

A moonlighting pharmaceutical company rep poured me a drink,
then he passed me some pills.
He said it'd fix me up for what was to come.
Either quietly acquiesce, he said, and accept the cheap thrills
or get an introduction to harsh interrogation
and make do with fighting windmills.
I got a flashback to when I was six
felt a chill
and coughed up the pills.

bluff

2008-08-10T05:25:00.000-07:00

After the cops called their bluff
came a moment of questioning if it was worth it
The luxuries faded slowly or perhaps were quickly burnt off
The after taste of pleasures lingered for a while
with reduced zeal
in eyes that looked like they had enough.
You may detect a flashing equation
explaining the Theory for Everything
questioning whether it's really all that tough.
You get an answer when you feel the zing
And become disoriented because you've accumulated too much stuff.

Answers don't come easy
though you have a choice of a million possibilities sprinkled over the city
demanding attention
There's a paralysis
that growls and you don't want to feel it's bite.

Deception Specialists

2008-07-21T10:11:00.000-07:00

Hey you deception specialists,
with your mixed messages,
keep your hands off my perceptions.
Keep your spin in your pockets , keep your card tricks in the deck.
The way you process words you'd think you were some kind of wunderkind ---the Michael Jordan of slight of hand.
You feed the rumor mill , you're brilliant.
You use your allusions to cause head on collisions
You have a doctorate in poison
But to your well structured argument I'm not buying.
Your references don't pan out, I've checked them.
You'll have to get your rowdies to hold me down if you want me to swallow your poison.

I remember you from recess
Your pants always had creases
You knew just who to please
and whom to put the squeeze on
There's no doubt you had talent
But there was always the smell of a toilet.

Like your typical assassin,
You get a chuckle when your target comes crashing
From behind a blast wall you direct Mexican standoffs,
all options hyper and hopping on the table.
The insane poetry you write for the sound bites,
scares me like the kids are scared by Frankenstein.
You give me a pound of paranoia when what I need is an ounce of empathy.
In your thesaurus, you find words to substitute for Paul Simon's choruses,
and from the trash you pick out Bible verses
to put one over on the masses .
Things haven't changed, you love the same things as the dinosaurs who went on vacation in the Yucatan.
And as long as they follow orders,
you hold the hands of the orators who bring tossed miracles to the potlucks you administer.

You're one of the idea people
The idea is to cripple
Anything vaguely clear
you've been trained to make disappear.
Like Houdini on acid
you've got an escape plan.
While the disobedient of the world fry
you remain optimistic
and assure yourself the fallout won't penetrate your fortress,
and will most likely just give you a healthy looking tan, like you just got back from Florida.

True you're an artist,
of the smart ass genre , and proud of it.
The way you bray the doctrine
pays a lot better than plain old talking.
You've proven yourself to be the smartest.
Your smoothness enabling you to sell snow to a Canadian
Most ruthless when it comes to mean decisions that rock enemy infrastructures,
perceived to be deserving, because of something you covet,
some treasure you're in love with.
For you , splattered blood doesn't matter.
It's easily added and abstracted , just like the blood in laboratory vials is turned into digitally collected data.
You say your faith gets you through any anguish that breaks through to your emotions--just feedback from doing your duty.
But your faith is like the incantations of the witches in Macbeth,
but with deceptions better managed
and outcomes even bloodier than what followed medieval curses.

I don't know if you'll ever read this,
but if you do,
with your extensive training in lack-of-shame,
you might get a good laugh
or maybe it'll scare you just a little
or maybe even make you depressed,
and make you question your choice of pharmaceuticals.
All at the expense of one more of the powerless
sitting with a two bit point of view in the picked apart economy section.
By someone still recovering from the shock of finally getting the gist of Stalin's remark about the lack of divisions and it's relationship to policy decisions.
And police actions
And humanitarian interventions
And things that can't be mentioned
except at meetings of the well pensioned.

You don't believe in hell or if you do it's abstract and doesn't hurt all that much.
If you believe in heaven you're pretty certain you're going there for your contribution to the expansion of civilization.
I could read some Aristotle and get some quotes about the soul or something similar,
but of course you have your own conception and are better educated and more articulate and you can exhale numbers with your carbon dioxide that are capable of taking the shape of characters in a kids animated movie.
I hope you don't mind me mentioning it,
but maybe you and I are in different dimensions.
Mine may be defective
Yours is offensive to the nose.
One hundred dollars says you'll go down bitter,
still clinging for the glitter,
even when people are spitting on you,
and never get why Che Guevara preferred permanent paranoia over settling down in suburbia.

Either get a handle on the evil in your DNA
or, I hate to say it , go blow out your brains.
Your local outlet of the military industrial complex
has everything you need to know about what it's like to be dead and gone to the devil.
No one's going to miss the chaos you incant with those queries that make everything dreary for the majority,
and gets everyone riled up carrying spears.
What you leave behind will be despised like all the ugly minds that push to the front of the line.
Of course someone just like you will spin it and eulogize about your dedicated service and your medals.
Raising the hypocrisy level
But that's alright , because there's always a chance it'll all unravel,
and be driven over by a truck hauling gravel,
and of course you'll be a done deal.

delusion

2008-07-12T05:11:00.000-07:00

The same insane rule again
taking away just about everything, including the kitchen sink.
Give them an inch , they'll have bulldozers in doing clearance
Give them a centimeter and they'll give you a disaster.
Look into their eyes and they'll take a panic attack.

They listen to the gag order in their head, issued from some mysterious part of the brain without a proper theory, though there are plenty of conspiracies to account for the imbalances bouncing off the walls of the institutions of higher learning where they teach snooping with the intent to creep along the sociopathic path to enlightenment.
Many admit they are confused and try to separate their treats from the horrors done on their behalf, with varying success.

They read the headlines and get excited and whip their policies up.
The there- must- be-something- more expression as they drink coffee and silently philosophize.

square pegs in round holes

2008-07-05T06:11:00.000-07:00

this is the place to where the paradoxes undock and mean streaks peak.
similar to the effect when you pause a moment in front of a mirror and look in the right direction and get a self vision.
the words rang a simple tune and you could feel it in your bones
The narcissist underneath took it on the chin and dropped face down in quick drying concrete.
It'll make a lovely monument.

Slave eyes without the glaze looked over yonder
escaped into new vistas ,
picked their way through laws with a catch on the road to freedom.
Lost and getting loster, the girl from Wonderland doing most of the driving.
Suspicious to the point of paranoia in an art gallery with a lot of paintings by Goya
It seemed par for the course

Along the way there was a conversation with the host of a quiz show who popped trivia questions just to get you going.--- blind to the the gap with the snap between fragments of reality.
The syncopation cracked open notes and rolled Beethoven over the edge
of appreciation just under neath the normal human needs that can't be met at the mall
Now there's more than one story for each crack of the whip like it was back on the plantation at harvest time.

At the approach to the city of mirrors we get glimpses of chemical man, woman and all the family
Sedated by the doctors and the manufacturers
uppers downers
They ended up in a neighborhood where the major industry is putting square pegs in round holes.
They got jobs digging them out.

Singing Off the Coordinates to the Heroes

2008-06-25T05:28:00.000-07:00

The counter terrorism experts have a method to take care of the mental lepers they've reserved a spot under the radar for.
Where there's no oversight or lone lawmen with a mission
to right the wrongs of cultures gone bongos long time ago.
Where there's no freedom tweakers to fuck with the best of all possible
21st century fiefdoms.
That rely on 24/7 access to mineral and other millable rights just wasting away in backyards in backward neighborhoods.

Assured by the technologically nimble knights who hail down emotions made to manifest by tax payer financed lean mean maiming machines.
Hailing down on the resisters who have thunk out side the fenced off area and happen to mention to the gatekeepers that they heard something go clunk.
That's maybe an indication of a system breaking down, and never worked all that well to begin with.
The gatekeepers call in the air strikes.
They love singing off the coordinates to the heroes.

acts of a boot licker

2008-06-21T06:54:00.000-07:00

It takes a lot of creativity to sell you a car.
If you put that much and focus and dedication and vision into healing a war torn nation
or chasing the kids out into the sunshine
we could declare it a long weekend and forget about everything.

The ad is put together by artists who have passed the buck of what their vision means , to the commissars and those from the colleges who have read Kafka and liked the atmosphere
and so are useful in an administrative capacity.
The mental approval was a big part of their training.
It's a corporate endeavor, educated to attain the presented panacea
and suck on it's luxury (with hints of necessity) until you're weaned.
But the promised nectar doesn't materialize
and you know it'll require another purchase
and the taste becomes more distant.
You don't believe in freebies but there's always maybes.

If you could pause your lust just long enough to link your sorry ass
to the invisible charge on the wire running from the tip of your iceberg to the bottom where you hide your investments,
and look around for a keeper,
then jeepers creepers,
you may find a moment of peace that comes from knowing there's a place where our states all unit
so why not bring out the love with the burgers and ease off the war making habits at the BBQ and restructure the present mother nature fucker,
not to be vulgar but to shake off the acts of a bootlicker.

Now nothing seems weird

2008-06-19T05:39:00.001-07:00

the holdouts are are in the mountains
learning Morse code
singing along with the Jefferson Airplane and jumping into fountains.
Its hot down on the banks where the river once flowed.

older now, bolder now
than when they felt immortal
Now they discuss what it means to wait with the tao
and walk through it's revolving portal,
where dreams seem suspended,
and go on walks with them,
and on the deja vu cruises round each bend,
and make peace with the neighboring tribes who still get messages from the condemned.

All the mirrors have disappeared
Now nothing seems weird.

the jokes in Reader's digest

2008-06-18T05:29:00.000-07:00

The barbarians who travel with a packed tooth brush and a Blackberry
try to awaken their team spirit in order to rearrange the infrastructure.
a bit of a mental snake pit,
they say hail to the chief and are full of merit,
Some would say fill of shit.
But the mendacity they practice works up a sweat and
hides it.

I hate to get personal when it comes to someone's belief
But knowing just a little of what they believe ,
I wish I were on the Great Barrier Reef
or even eating clams on a local beach
out of cell phone reach.

I once went to city council meeting
Didn't get much of a greeting
I didn't have the capacity to blend into the agenda
But I met a girl there named Brenda
She wants to be the president of the United States
And be as rich as Bill Gates.
I told her I was trying to figure out Finnegan's Wake
and still eat my cake.
She speaks point by power point
I got the impression her favorite position is to hold you at gun point.

I got out of there with my mental notes
What I wrote down was indecipherable.
They got my goat but not my vote.
They recorded it and I promised myself I'd watch it on cable
I knew I'd need a new label.

One time I was in New York City.
I had no money
and my shoes didn't quite fit me.
I was impressed
It was when I realized the devil never blushed
and I stopped reading the jokes in Reader's digest.

lavender perfume

2008-06-16T04:21:00.000-07:00

You get the joke of your existence,
when your funny bone loses resistance,
to the interlocutor plugged into your socket,
and your head free from the docket.

The blasphemy that occurs at the office
makes me afraid to drink the brew in my chalice.
Its' hard to remember,
when you're thrown into a blender,
what's just some hand-eye coordination device,
that puts you on ice,
and what works cross platform,
like lavender's perfume.

God bless them

2008-06-12T05:23:00.000-07:00

The capitalists -- the ones that live in the mansions and get their kicks in the sticks digging up the goodies of the natives while their goons stand on guard with invading armies or local militia who know on which side their their bread is buttered .

they breath free and feel free enterprise needs the catalyst of theft to kick start it
and when someone tries to get it back that's when they reinvent the law to cover their killer instincts with petty rationalizations, sometimes pretty, that they practice and call culture--- that must be protected with violence if the oppressed get pissed
and let their adrenaline bypass the circuses and instead go right to the jugular of their oppressors.

The sun shines on everyone
The ones with the close relationship to the gun runners get their choice of real estate in which to hang out and get a few rays.
The soul's network of synapses emits gems from all of them,
said the Newfoundlander who was reading a book by Rumi.
On the radio the Eagles were singing "Take It Easy"
at that part about not letting the " sound of your own wheels drive you crazy".
An Apache helicopter crew sing along with it as they release
their payload at an enemy target in a vegetable market.

For a while the people on the ground are totally stunned , if not dead.
Many will be forever scarred with fear.
Some will read Rumi and think about it and some will come by it naturally------ the ability to love your neighbor and to express it with honesty, and so risk another attack.

The crew of the Apache are exhilarated by their success
One of them yells out : When we get back home let's start a business.
The other guy can taste vomit.
He'll take that Stateside with him.

There's some that will look for a cure.
God bless them.

Still Thirsty

2008-06-11T05:40:00.000-07:00

until the days of famine are undone

and the salmon are jumping for everyone

and the follow the leader instinct in the DNA is no longer inflamed,

the heavy betting is still on the boots on the ground,

put there by the selectively pious who will not deny themselves.

And you can bet that things will get out of hand

and someone will end up feeling rotten

and many Janeys and Johnnys will never walk home in the moonlight again,

and many homes will be blown to rubble by artillery and rockets, and rezoned, so they can build a factory and plug it into a socket.

And you can bet it'll all end like Alexander hanging his hand out of his coffin.

His funeral prayer scans through history every morning.

And you can depend upon the grifters, with well rounded educations,

to sift the science that has communicated through the senses since the beginning of nature.

Their minds are plastic , with sparks fantastic.

They take many forms to fix the economy to fantasies that scream.

They're in a war to win over believers, and make waves they can invest in.

They have thought things through, and if you buy into it, provide access to easy pleasures with consistent returns.

They claim it counter balances the stresses of the body politic backfiring.

They emphasis the benefits and are by your side to resupply you.

They are sly and

to get things straight use a lot of pliers.

Although things look normal something doesn't seem real.

I sense a simulacrum where once there was fear of a God dishing out the law for some , and awe for others.

The scheme is to dream wash what comes standard with a brain.

The overseers crack their MBAs to help you dot your i's and bear your crosses.

The coin tossers track the odds of someone deferring their obligations.

They give instructions on how to balance the pain of the ball and chain with the call of the saviors.

They have a compulsive desire to lock things up.

They knock over anything that wobbles

and put it in a database that gobbles it up.

You can see the results at the Friday luncheon and hear the words between the munches.

This information is utilized to keep societies from experiencing the disruptions that could trigger a long overdue process.

They let it be known to anyone who's dared to take the pledge--- to ease off that look of fright ,

that they are capable of even more severe measures,

in which they take great pleasure.

The other night after watching a documentary,

I said a prayer to String Theory

I'd been looking to check out a parallel world

to get some relief from this dimension's logic.

But after seeing the documentary it seems the other probabilities probably have problems with the same odds as this one,

Set up by the gods of Las Vegas who have connections and like the action.

And are dependent on department heads who have training as prophets

and know how to utilize deep pockets

and do linguistic tricks as they lick their chops.

At least one of whom claims that slaves, no matter what you call them,

will always choose escape over pizza no matter what the class honchos tell you.

A prophet who hooked up his evil streak to an alarm clock.

It wakes him up every morning to the sounds of heaven having an earthquake,

but, so goes the joke, Saint Peter won't let him in.

Still I imagine a change will come with a crash bang.

My eyes try to follow the movements of the chameleon over the house plants while I wait for Erminia.

On my tongue I taste a tang

Must be still alive cuz I'm still thirsty.

Not Just Joking

2008-06-09T06:23:00.001-07:00

The ebb and flow and the roll through the shipwreck rocks.
Coming home for the view of where the heart is layered with insights and second sights
Serendipity setting off fireworks in the sky, and then come the after shocks
Humans perceiving and then taking flight.

Mirrors mounted up in the hills from the crossroads
Reflections fill the gap between future and the past.
People coming in by the bus load
It'll be a blast

Summertime and the kids jumping into the fountain
Time slowing down and doing a somersault
No clouds no rain
Free fall from fault.

The seeds are sprouting
Not just joking.

Maybe Iran

2008-06-07T06:07:00.000-07:00

On the ground observing , with some trepidation, the microbes
as usual with the munchies for anything organic.
I fit the bill but my inorganic part, what swept Keats off his feet,
called for another round.

That probing into what even when visible is rarely understandable when you try to put the divisible parts back together again.
I've plenty of sunsets recorded on my camcorder but no sunrises
But still time flies with or without the memories that could always use some editing.

The killer ants are digging up the lawn
The tip of their colonization is observable
and for a moment I let my imagination join them
It's an invasion
They think my back yard is Iraq, or maybe Iran.

apropos before it splits

2008-06-03T06:09:00.000-07:00

apropos the sun shined , it was paradise
the buds of my senses were about to burst.
I had a thirst for it.

There's talk of a wedding
But beware, in the glare on the hill evildoers are deciding

The ultimate outcome has been defined.
It was all arranged when the third eye of foresight went blind.

In many ways they are like kids in a candy store
Filled with resources they don't intend to pay for

They knew vaguely of Machiavelli's name
and subconsciously carry his flame

They make claim to all and everything in the ground
As well as the best views where undesirables are chased away by hounds.

They hire professors to ghost write op-eds,
to proclaim the superiority of how they were bred

It gives the impression they're almost angels
But there's always a hint of not so fresh mackerel

They claim characteristics celestial
But a peek at the spreadsheet tells the bottom line is bestial.

All their wonders too numerous to fit,
but they were freshmen when they last sharpened their wit.

In these erudite rants
They advise the masters to give the slaves two minutes to chant.

For strategic reasons
And to alleviate their conscience.

In secure areas of course
And an out of sight drone wouldn't hurt, in case there's a resort to force

A technology that would have been loved by Adolph the Chancellor,
Mobile thunder for the underfunded in love with their own valor.

Meanwhile on the other side of paradise I had a thirst for it,
getting into it before it splits.

big sellers

2008-05-31T07:46:00.000-07:00

He was saying what could be interpreted as sweet things if you read them on a piece of paper or if you did a Google search: LOVE PEACE DEMOCRACY HUMANITARIAN. The sweet links appear... and you can read yourself to tears with the words of intellectuals who write more effectively than did the Goebbels headline writers or the Pravda robots.

But it's understood that these are mere code words to to go over the heads of the ignorant and to piss off the knowledgeable. They are from the method acting school of propaganda -- no cynics , more Tony Blair sincerity please.

I was once at a barbecue where many of these types were in attendance --- I had to get drunk of course , and over ate the rich finger food --- it took me days to recover.

They were a patriotic crew --- their comfort level was acceptable to them, and all had a plan to increase it and naturally liked the sounds of cool jazz on a warm summer night. I would have preferred to be in Hades-- the place where anti-depressants have no effect. I'm not sure how to describe it -- the vibes very visceral---- perhaps at one time you could describe it as being locked a room with the devil-- or Jesus bearing part of one of his forty afternoons of temptation.

When the sweet words weren't sweet and turned to chopping up reputations and they moved in what could be best described as a numb like state, they lost their power but the poison of their positions(dripping from their cognitive systems) gave me a rash and for a moment I imagined they were all Monsanto reps demonstrating their big sellers.

Very Electrical

2008-05-30T05:52:00.000-07:00

Confusion hung in the air--- thick and jumpy
Mountain high and valley low but many missed the symmetry
of eyes cognizing on a road less bumpy.

Allusion threaded by string theory dynamics
Something's got to straighten out or something's got to snap.
On the whole I'd rather be swinging in a hammock.

The bureaucracies and the institutions and similar tooters of true and tried
depend on shady shots in the dark.
There's a fine line for the good times and they apply it.

After the crash, erstwhile and lying on the ground,
so quiet you can't hear a sound
to tell whether you've contacted another dimension or if it's just a built in derivative kicking in.

The information comes in spirals invisible.
Very electrical.

Healing With Orchids

2008-05-29T04:50:00.000-07:00

The orchids of the green house are being transported to those who love fragility with only beauty for protection.
They give off a glow from
their inflorescence.
They grow through the cracks in chaos,
mindless to the mayhem.

Inflorescence allday,all night
Heaven suspended from nowhere,like a spider building it's web in mid air.

There's an orchid on the kitchen table.
I think I'll go have a look at it.

need a new stylist

2008-05-28T07:37:00.000-07:00

the undertones spoke to the under dogs
it was the whistle of the nihilists who always say never
They played in a band and acted insane.

They spent too many years in schools -- studying and then teaching as the fizz went out of the wisdom they had to impart.
Cultivating shells of ignorance occasionally disturbed by a rebel yell when they made discoveries such as garbage in, garbage out.
The spectacle from a distance looked low-budget and they weren't fudging it
In close most played out a Shakespearian scene with lots of emotion but nuance hard to see.

They work for the state of grace that comes from being synchronized with the lawyered state.
Nobody whistles while they work.
Even the promised effects of coffee won't switch on the brain.

The under dogs under the influence of something ignore the nihilists
They're going to paint the town and need a new stylist.

Information Overload Blues

2008-05-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

The elite and elite-lite give their endorsement to the candidate.
They recognize him as a soul mate
They pass the plate
They call the investors to go good for the hors d'oeuvres.

The control devices are now mostly digital
An alarm goes off in case of something accidental
Something that could affect the state of capital
Like murder, it takes nerve.

Rosa's 's in the conference
She's talking to the audience
A guy who read every book by Noam ,
his mouth begins to foam.
I'm in front of a monitor
Expecting another slaughter.

The girl next door,
She's gone hardcore
She's the kind it's hard to ignore.
For work she target markets for corporations.

Sadie--a nurse on the 7th floor--- stays detached,
She mends the broken bodies she's dispatched
She gives out the medicine and sends them home patched.
It's shift work but she's always up for a celebration.

Rosa's on the street
She can take the heat
A guy up to his ears in financial tension
is wondering which-a-way went his pension
I'm in front of a monitor
Expecting another slaughter.

The Elvis impersonator looks good in uniform
he's in the middle of a brainstorm
he goes right to the chairman of the board--- a real worm
it got Elvis thinking about changing his religion.

The chairman is counting his bonuses
and says to Elvis, "sing a new version of Heartbreak Hotel to sooth the masses"
But Elvis forgets the words and instead recites the Wasteland--- up to the part where Himmler's deciding on gases.
A light bulb comes on in the chairman's head and he continues with his addiction.

Rosa cuts to the chase,
The cops are on the case.
A guy who's visibly bored
says the internet's been whored
I'm in front of a monitor
Expecting another slaughter

The bureaucrat who knows how to scratch a back
Uses a spread sheet to plot counter attacks
At home he's expanding the deck out back
If you're his neighbor he'll haunt your view---to him you don't want to be beholden.

The leaders and their sycophants plot the next war.
But polls say people want no more
They'd rather work on rapport.
And plant a garden.

Rosa makes it to her hideout
She's worn out
A guy who's wondering where's God
gets the nod.
I'm in front of a monitor
Expecting another slaughter.

Algebra can't keep up with chaos theory
And that's fine with Gerry , he lives in an allegory
He's constant , doesn't change his story.
For him the bliss of the moment is worth it.

Jack, who likes to suffer
has a demeanor like he's been worked on by an animal stuffer
He'll 'll cry you a river, that's his buffer
But even he is sometimes affected by a sunset.

Rosa gets banged around by the cops
They don't like her look and don't want to stop
A guy who yells out "hey"
gets a splash of pepper spray
I'm in front of a monitor
Expecting another slaughter.

At the Cross Roads where Robert Johnson is said to have sold his soul
The police go on patrol
They keep their eyes peeled for any movement that could start a craze, and get out of control.
They stick any relevant points in a mobile junk drawer, and shoot off tear gas shells.

In black and white
the usual no-strangers-to-treachery creep through the night
But the daytime has more fright
with it's many more combinations and killer syllables.

Rosa's at a conference
She's talking to the audience
A guy who read every book by Noam ,
his mouth begins to foam.
I'm in front of a monitor
Expecting another slaughter.

Duffy

2008-05-25T08:25:00.000-07:00

Duffy wasn't worried
He knew it was illegal but all the same it was framed legitimate
It came down to fire power , and more than that , obsessive repetition of sadomasochistic vignettes at the synaptic interchanges in his and his compatriots noggins.
He had given his pledge which allowed him to live without being regularly ruptured even when he revealed the dirty little secret that he had no street sense.
For he was dedicated to the profit motif.
Plus he had a good imagination.
He later was pleased to learn that everyone in his circle were all just as obsequious as he was.
Without the hive, all jive.
He felt safe in the company of polite button pushers, who had discovered his abilities early on while taking a poll at school to check the pulse before the next scheduled plunder.
All the corporate armies and all the corporate technology could roll over cradles of civilization but had trouble getting them to rock again.

Even with the truth he heard in the blues when he got boozed or stewed on other substances, it had proven difficult to reach a consensus under the conditions of concealed talking points tempered by every day evil.

At college Duffy had learned that nuclear holocaust could be avoided
---as had all said button pushers---
by munching words , and numbing numbers with the opiate of Reason cut with brazenness.
He took steps to stop worrying and love the boom time that resulted from the threats that a nuclear arsenal begot to them that got them ,and to those who suck up to them.
Avoided , or isolated to the undeveloped regions of the globe,
to the designated suckers who live in huts and spend their days scrounging for something fill their gut.

One part realized the progress that had been made scientifically.
Developed by beautiful minds who as children learned to solve quadratic equations while the sun shined.
And his inclination was to believe that beautiful minds made beautiful things.
If you follow the logic, the more deadly the weapon the more beautiful the creation.

Another part questioned the sanity of a God so buddy buddy with militaries
that put the kaboom to enemy economies , with its chaotic progression ideally suited for rubble regions outside the bubble in the suburbs.

With it came mental flashes as unpredictable as lightning,
frightening
His doctor recommended a prescription drug.

Black Comedy

2008-05-20T07:25:00.001-07:00

The outsiders and out-of-lucksters keep trucking into trauma,
going off the deep end.
The trauma units are manned with heavily degreed masters of mess you up methodology,
trained to emotionally and mentally muscle those who can’t get it mustered up.
Meanwhile reps from watch your step institutions get ominous eyed and ludicrious ,
blitzkrieg on their breath
blazing psycho paths in Homo sapien land
Coming to knock the potluck out of the picnic.
Conscience knocked unconscious.
In a state that's better to eat you with.

A deadly dumb mental illness.
Spreading faster than aids in Africa and amnesia in Amerika
No known pharmaceutical know to relieve the shrillness of the unfulfilled

Guys in suits of wool and venom,
sucking lemons in closets
Beyond satirical treatment,
They lobby their insane game--- circling the market square.
And from rented trucks,
rolling out the welcome weeder.

Seeming to be a variety of slime,
but with an enigmatic patch, an etching of empathy
flashing occasionally like Las Vegas trimmed on your your Christmas tree.
Overall tho’ , seeming to be of alien orientation,
humbug gone to hell in some 50’s horror flick.
The walking dead lead by an Evil One with an Elvis haircut,
the ones you wanted to see zapped by the ray gun
or or discombobulated in the lab.
They plow through the peripherals promoting the vendetta of fallen angels,
Machiavelli on a stick.
Its function: nab the neuroses and the noses of the disgruntled and noose their funk until functions are finalized in that-old- time-terror blend .

Gestalt without a fault or a release valve, therapy with a theory for everything,
preparing all the unprepared for their Cinderella shift up angst hill,
where they get to bite their bitterness with the bottom feeders.

Beyond the Trance

2008-05-19T07:51:00.000-07:00

The tanks came rumbling crushing everything in the street---
the cars and parking meters,and drivers and passengers who couldn't flee
no time to bless
No time for happiness.

Life feels more priceless for those who've escaped and wait shaken in safety,
breathing heavily,
their eyes in shock, their ears ringing from the shelling so they can't hear the howls of the injured.

As the the mind re functions they try to re sooth the bloodied bodies and the babies.
Thoughts shredded , one woman , the one with the shattered thick glasses, is only conscious of the taste of ginger

and she remembers a Shakespearean tragedy
holding an old man looking beyond death beyond fear, to acceptance

taking slight breaths lying on a dusty street,
breaths to delay the unexplored beyond the trance .

an un-trapped moment

2008-05-18T06:03:00.000-07:00

The physical is getting spiritual
perceptions increasingly make no sense---
and then attacks of paranoia.
Luckily they pass
and I want to hug someone.

Yes slurred words want to go surfing on a big ocean
across universes
across the bows of heaven navigating to nowhere
Then maybe a word I can enunciate
a word worth an un-trapped moment.

God is alright when in your pocket
Love is a light that shines up your face
Ask anyone who meets you on the street.

the impression you get

2008-05-15T06:52:00.000-07:00

Dr Phil and Oprah present the world
from a studio inside a crystal ball,
and all the anxiety driven audience
have hope, they hope Oprah hears their call.

The producers and the technicians make fantasies come to life
They need the job and make believe is what the market wants
They follow the trends, now it's snake oil for soccer moms
They're sane about the numbers and wise to the ways of establishments.

Sometimes produce
sometimes consume
the impression you get is
it's time to transform.

it's worth a try

2008-05-14T05:51:00.000-07:00

The investors hoot and holler-- they got an answer for everything -- if it can make a dollar.
They got that Humpty Dumpty smile that comes from some inner grease they use to lubricate their sense of decency.
They keep busy putting up and tearing down walls
creating a global maze in which to keep their money.

Merchants who would as soon charge you for each breath--- it's on the list , right after water---
than have an equitable clean existence for anyone lucky enough to make it through birth.
It's a mean business for a species that's supposed to have evolved , or depending on your epistemology, just flashed here by the Lightning God.
A dumb God in that case , or perhaps an un-evolved God, for creating masters of the Earth who roll along the time line step dancing to the jolts of wars.
War the constant factor , for when Johnys go off to war something happens at their core.
Watch the geometric progression,
paranoia taken to it's ultimate conclusion.
Makes me wonder what kind of God would conclude that.

On the other hand where is this evolution going?
Did it take the wrong turn somewhere, freaked where it should have mutated?
Where's the science to explain the brains twisted by the lust for power?
There's not much evolution going on in that area.
The evidence is on the table.

Take the leaders to the lab, study them,
others will replace them
but from what we learn we may catch a clue on how to conduct a multi billion people meeting.

All the leaders and the legislatures and all the members of the board.... or as many as can be rounded up
And don't forget the generals and colonels and intelligence specialists
Give them all a Blackberry so they think they're busy but the IT guy loops their electronic
decisions and actions through a microcosm so they're more like delusions -- un- actualized
At some place like the American Embassy in Baghdad
Send in the professors to do experiments and take notes
One or more may be able to identify the process -- biochemical, or other --that happens
there maybe a cure.
Pull the patriotic thing on them
offer incentives
it's worth a try.

Cold Cold Parking Lot

2008-05-09T06:23:00.000-07:00

We walked across a cold cold parking lot to a sleazy restaurant
My companion was still humming.
We'd hardly touched the hors d'oeuvres earlier in the evening and we were mighty mighty hungry
and by the pallor of her her demeanor I could tell she was deficient on some essential vitamin.

We ordered burgers and fries but when it came time to pay I couldn't get my card to scan
(I get caffeine poisoning and the coffee must've scattered my brains)
The azure eyed girl said: "Doing the same thing over and expecting a different result is a sign of insanity."
She put in her card and got approved, she was handy.
I promised that if she ever went into politics I'd contribute to her campaign.

We ate greedily and went back outside.
Parked in the eery dawn was the older sister , idling her 8 cylinder.
She offered us a ride
I was so tired
I got in beside her and she enabled the child guard locks.
She couldn't wait to reveal all the gossip we'd caused and it would take a long time and she didn't want us to leave.
That was the first time I ever prayed to the spirit
guides.

Breaking News

2008-05-05T05:55:00.000-07:00

No one deserves a miracle that backfires and micro manacles you even for a short duration
No, or relationships that suck the spleen out of your splendor and diminishes the appreciation of the color green so it's tough to be tender.
Miracles that have been mangled and mismanaged and dropped into the mud with not enough paper towels to wipe them off.

Miracles: Nature overruled, suspended, or modified.

how they occur
none of the experts concur
Some say it's in the heart that does all the heavy lifting
but that can be easily refuted by anyone wearing a suit.
Some say unconvincingly that the old thunder god just had a good day
while the masters of scientific method let the chalk do the talking.

The hostage taker sees only hell and feels only paranoia ,
holding it back with an AK 47 and various pistols stuck in his pockets.
He took to heart the talk of the silver worded wizards
and was damn disappointed.
The next thing will be the rifle pops
and the breaking news.
No mention of what his heart needed to discover.

dissemble

2008-05-05T05:45:00.000-07:00

What with the way they dissemble the golden rule,
you'd think they'd turn a shade of blue.
Lying and deceiving while still remaining charming must take it's toll.
The hell of John Milton must surely await them.

The pundits speak by means of a self preservation mean streak-- same as a snake
They like the game the way it's played, the way it's depraved--
bullies without borders refereeing.
They cheer on the heroes from the academies who don't hesitate to keep disparity a law of nature.
As you can no doubt guess, they are mostly creeps.

I detect anger ---that's when violence is easy---
through the medium of the market.
Another in a long line of sacred cows and golden calves categorized by crafty rats
with advanced degrees for hire and quick access to high speed keyboards.
It's doses more deadly than Agent Orange
for through it fear is researched by well funded professionals and applied in target areas that,
if done right, can turn a mind into a bouncing paradigm and rationalize the necessity of bombing peasants
and impoverishing just about everyone who hasn't learned to reconcile lofty rhetoric with the tools of empire parading in the naked present.

funky city rhythm

2008-05-02T07:56:00.001-07:00

I can feel that funky city rhythm
going 120 clicks between the blue and the green

the city easing into the outskirts
the predictable tripped up by epiphanies at the peripheries of perception.

I can feel that funky city rhythm
I do I do

there's my stop--- dropped off into a memory
the air fragrant-- it must have been May--- and time talks to me,
shuttled in by the sunshine, its colors burst my bubble, giving a taste of the rainbow,
giving a rest to the complexity in the senses plugged into what's out of the question,
some with no answers

which has it's side effects and neuroses,
but as sure as each day decomposes
everything one supposes
goes into that funky city rhythm.

Erin on Sirius

2008-04-29T06:09:00.000-07:00

Erin looks cold
She could use a hot bath,
and if she can afford it,
a week's vacation--she's doing the math.

She saw a comet when she was 17
Nowadays it's somewhere between her eyes and her brain.
She needs someone to talk to about it.
If you sit and listen it's like spending the afternoon in the star system Sirius.
You'll see her eyes brighten and the atmosphere notch up it's oxygen count.

It's a place where war hasn't been invented, she surmises,
and children awaken to Sun rises.
Each day filled with surprises
like the comet she saw when she was 17.

Pun-able

2008-04-26T04:56:00.000-07:00

He was condemned to live unenlightened for reasons that could not be enumerated until eventually forgetting to duck and getting hit by the Big Bang on it's return flight.
That put the kibosh to the theories that the world had to function as either a tear jerker or a chain yanker.
But he hadn't ruled out practical joker.

Up to that point he feasted on bait placed where his nose could detect it.
Then the atmospheric pressure shifted
and he wound up ship wrecked and shacked up with a goddess playing a guessing game with his gamble.

He could still hear the traffic from the old neighborhood , but his vision was blurred
so he beheld with his ears
until his words spontaneously broke out in song.
Giants who couldn't stop laughing picked him up and tossed him,
and then caught him.

For a time he thought he was invulnerable,
but even blind with a mind out of alignment
he prepared himself for paradise recyclable and perpetually pun-able.

could trigger

2008-04-24T08:12:00.000-07:00

Oppenheimer's ghost tries combinations on Pandora's box
He still believes you can break into infinity.
He makes the rounds in a greyscale Hades,
still symbol crazy
carrying a laptop with a key board, but minus a monitor.

He quotes the Bhagavad Gita to anyone who will listen
but they all stay clear cuz he never showers
He wants to be rescued
and watches the sky for flying saucers.

He's gone down hill with his box of prescription pills
dreaming of the days he wrestled with wave forms
and those mornings the sky came down to meet his eyes---
the days he felt just one more calculation could trigger a transformation.

An Old Flame

2008-04-23T18:11:00.000-07:00

Right from the start you went straight to my heart.

We meet
You smile , your eyes instigating,
touching me with light, lifting me off the floor,
a stunt I never tried before.
I loved you on the spot.

words make it to my tongue's tip,
get stuck
my eyes had to tell it all.
You read me
We immix in elements only evident to lovers.

We touch and tell and take a tumble
time blind ,
for me the first time rhythmic on an arrhythmic sea
on a slow boat on a surging sea.
It moved you and me.

Right from the start I went straight to your heart.

Days of Ones and Zeros

2008-04-21T07:02:00.000-07:00

there's a purgatory side effect rising over the neighborhood,
getting near to a collision with
the breath of spring--- which you can hear when the hissers run out of stings.
Doped up on ignorance
they don't get the zing

the measures they inflict, easily predicted
but the cost of ducking for cover can push you over the credit limit.

The functions needed to get synchronized with the human hum---sounds you don't hear from the dead--
severely restricted by hornets nests coded deep into emotional intelligence.
Here comes the utopia crashers who can't read road signs
and usually miss the exit to where you are known by your sub-cellular flashes.

The apple of the Earth's eye bigger than the hole in the ozone
but the appended delusions jump for psychological cover stories
and miss the blooms circling the days of doom.
They're busy practicing poses.

Blooms competing with the purgatory hues as seen by mad scientists who've taken a tumble into the moving parts of the abstract ones and zeros they continuously fumble.

Lineup at the Coffee Shop.

2008-04-17T05:48:00.000-07:00

after the car crash we were frazzled and unfocused
so we went for a coffee
i told the waiter 2 cream 1 sugar
he got it mixed up
he had a face that reminded me of vinegar
underpaid underclass and not hiding the
humiliation of wearing a two tone beige shirt and hat
so I tried to make a joke about the mundaneness while deciding on a donut
but the lineup was long and there was no time to chat.
The azure eyed girl paid and took her coffee and blueberry muffin
She sang under breath that line from Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
That just made the server more sour.
The guy behind me gave me an evil looking query
I imagined he was carrying a concealed gun
and got out of there in a hurry;
spilt half my coffee.

Driving in a Dream

2008-04-13T08:20:00.000-07:00

In my head was the echo of Sigmund Freud saying:"America is a mistake, a giant mistake."
I couldn't disagree and added it to my list,
but I had to watch the road before I went into a skid.
What point Sigmund was making I'm not exactly sure
so I googled it in my head and got pop ups galore.

I looked over beside and saw the girl who'd made the trip with me
She looked different, her eyes more azure.
I thought maybe someone at the party had poisoned her
but then she came around telling stories about her older sister.
At that point I happened to look into the rear view mirror

I saw the sister in a Lincoln coming up fast ,
looked like her hair was on fire.
Needless to say I hit the accelerator,
ended upside down off the road
and I could hear the choir.

Threats

2008-04-13T07:29:00.000-07:00

The attempt to understand the meaning or rather relevance of the soul when those who brand themselves as civilized turn out to be the savages,
well that can be a shock right out of Alfred Hitchcock, questioning the logic of existence
questioning the the essential qualities that feed our visions
trying to get a handle on what deformity, what mental twist keeps minds smirking
pleased by the mental processes
pleased by the threats of experts in and out of uniform.

All those organs thrown together, toned by modern technology, but with a few missing theorems,
resulting in troubles for the attributes attempting to network into a human being.
And on the tongue an unsatisfying after taste reminiscent of eating too much candy and still obsessing for something sweet.

it's hard to maintain any good will when, when what's called for , by the leashed minds of academia and the trickle down second guessers
is more flag raising and wrapping in 24/7 manipulating,

manufacturing morals with a steely eye
and the mechanisms of myth as hard as steel tipped toes that don't trip softly through through the hinterlands with the resources required for the obsessions pounding like a migraine in the heads of the assigned bureaucrats.

yes something is missing and given directions by slippery lipped doctrine,
something that defies the magic of the markets,
unless you want to consider polarity a market mechanism, which you probably should.
Its as plain as the mind mapping that lingers in the nose of those exposed to policies taking a fascistic journey through their neighborhoods.

Take our own home nurtured Napoleon
Under educated in everything except how to release the hatchet to the head of the opposition
Get close and you'll be maybe overcome by the paranoia emitting from his pores and applied to the laws jingling along to another mini Apocalypse.

This ignorance is heart breaking and gets the tumultuous results expected
Greed sold as sound economic principles , hate sold as national security that a mature Jesus would have initiated
They got the stats if you got the bad habit of believing the numbers issued with the threats.

that at least is clear

2008-04-12T07:04:00.000-07:00

The big ogres down in Washington
and the little ogres in Ottawa
they shower daily
careful not to give off the essence of outlaws

they've kissed the law books
and they got kissed back
living a lie like taming a pet rattlesnake
but there's no getting rid of the venom grins before the attacks.

I avoid them when I can
but their agents are everywhere
doing their duty
that at least is clear.

transformation dreams

2008-04-08T06:07:00.001-07:00

They're wearing T shirts with quotes of Thomas Jefferson,
in the casinos they've lost track of time
security is beefed up at the airports
on CNN they debate what's a war crime.
The bankers are in the background
they have the legal tender touch
switched on and digital
well dressed and flush.
The security captains keep the apparatus clean from deviation
and give the word to beat it back to the norm
but some people are natural born abnormal
with heads they'd like to transform.

spring morning

2008-04-05T05:51:00.000-07:00

this is is place where the plotters all gather
and put a face on their bitterness
But that doesn't sync with the spring morning with the birds chirping
the song of a new season.

inconvenient bloopers at the Nato Conference

2008-04-04T05:59:00.000-07:00

Aiming to project a heavenly image of the high minded, hinging on holy,
the deciders on what's civilization, and what's not ,
elegantly sit discussing troop levels in the war zones.
Their high moral values (especially obedience to the basics) , they believe,
make them somewhat better equipped to indulge in the Earth's treasures---due either to the touch of God or the mutations of evolution, depending on which books they've read---

more so than the wage slaves un-evolved or untouched by God's special touch
burdened beasts
yes they have eyes and walk on two legs , and presumably have a soul,
but lack the will to triumph over those feelings that make them weak kneed
and lacking in the temperament for stepping on toes that's needed to keep on taking ---and giving just enough to maximize your return---
and so carry trays and collate messages and whisper protocol in the ears of the the illustrious who lead us into where only temptation can take us.

They talk democracy-- the word puts them in a trance and they do a war dance to prepare them to spread it's practice
but these are practical people and they know dictatorship with a wee bit of wool pulled over it works better.
They wait in the conference room to speak the assumed wisdom of their nations,
they hear silent hallelujahs in their hearts to the beat of Louie Louie,
words long in the tooth but still with enough bite to pass for truth as long as you have enough boots on the ground and in the air those technological whizzes readying the lasers and accessory gadgetry, loaded up and feeling lucky.
This encourages the status quo boosters putting up the posters and well planned spam campaigns promoting the glory of the greatest story ever to be spread by a chain letter.
Few ever get a chance to leak any vital insider info' that might put a kink into gears of progress without having a preliminary chit chat with those guys who would sooner be knotting a noose or chasing crucifixes.
Well that's what the Bible tells us about local politics and the creation of kingdoms.
Tune into a room like that and you start believing hell and heaven have just had a head-on out on the highway

In the resulting chaos there's no shame in revealing flashes of a proficient prickish personality
From the look in their eyes I get the sense they're all carrying daggers-- unlikely but still there's that look.
Their decisions and positions fawned over by gathered assistants and the eagle eyed chicken livered journalists there to spread the word of the predetermined attributes of the civilized thrill seekers,
but remember, no peeking.

The rabble barred for they let loose inconvenient bloopers that make these gatherings feel stupid.
If they get a chance they will speak with unsifted words about things done by those who will stoop to any level to cajole and roll you for all you're worth,
and then deny all claims that they're totally bonkers like the kings who sent the boys into the trenches.
They notice that the self made emperors sit naked as a whip on flesh.
The rabble who would tattle try to get this perception across and so are banned and barred and busted up and preached to about from dust to dust
or whatever measures are necessary to protect the leaders(and loving it) created by academic factories that fix facts to perpetrate the Pollyanna perfection of my-way-or-the highway analytics.

Sensitive lads and lasses
with brains as slow as molasses.

the children realized it too

2008-04-01T06:51:00.001-07:00

the children realized it too
the walls were dirty and streaked with blood that wouldn't wash off
his son's blood from one night the liberators came calling

he had procured some paint and moved the furniture away from the walls
but he heard the aircraft and the explosions in the distance
and hesitated and considered just putting the can of paint down and sitting in his chair in the corner to wait for paradise to come to him.
In another corner his grandchildren cringed frightened
There was no better place to hide
The rockets could get you anywhere.

the color of the paint was mauve
he opened it with a nail and dipped the brush in
he went to the wall where the the blood was streaked and began painting over it
Stepping back he had a look and realized he'd need to prime it
the children looked up
they realized what their grandfather realized
and they were frightened.

--------------------------------
Now when he heard the word liberty it made him queasy.
Equality and fraternity,
concepts his cousin who'd been a student in Paris got hot about,
like the stories of paradise he'd read to the children.

whenever there's a lull

2008-03-31T06:18:00.000-07:00

the real artists today , are the financial packages sector deep thinkers , greased with the numbers to make them twice as frightening.
They have their sights on being trillionaires if-- they want to be able to count that far , digitally of course--
if they can talk up and then knock up the big payoff and soothsay the suckers to buy if the figures are bright enough to blind them,
a phenomenon that was first registered by an ancient Greek or Chinese geek sick of the same-o same-o where the sun don't shine.

Soon compromised by gangsters with a positive attitude who know that violence on behalf of them waits like a faithful lover when their schemes scream like Chile's economy screamed just previous to 9/11 '73.

These self-made executives and executioners with an over abundance of balls on their beach and every variety of mate at home writing out shopping lists whenever there's a lull.

riding into Jerusalem on a donkey

2008-03-31T06:11:00.000-07:00

I feel just like Jesse James*
you know the outlaw who robbed trains in Missouri after the Civil War
Jesse was fed up
with the monopolies that ate up the little guys and girls who wanted to raise a family
and eat regular with a roof that didn't leak.

I feel just like Robert Ford , who is the guy who shot Jesse in the back.
An assassin who infiltrated Jesse's gang
services purchased by the railroad big big wiggies in New York City and environs.
Ford liked greenbacks.

I feel just like Jesus
the time line is confused
sometimes crucified , sometimes riding into Jerusalem on a mule.

* thanks to B. Dylan for this line

everything is boom-able

2008-03-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

the successes of horror have been many
and nobody has to tell you about the terror
The Neocons and their neophytes are nice Nazis who never knock, dress well and articulate calmly the holy word of the day and prepare for the heist with the blasphemy rationalizing sword they reserve for the depraved.
it's a post modern condition they teach at post-graduate school.

the holed up and dirty know its going to get even dirtier and there won't be any lingering over death beds when high tech goes violent
The targets are innumerable
everything is boom-able;
and it is good, it is good and the nodding of heads.
The whole world is under development by the Pentagon enablers and their fable tellers

please please leave me some greenery and some oxygen just in case things work out OK in the Apocalypse down the block,
just before the bitter pill and the weakening of the knees and that one last hug of a tree.

the 24 hour art gallery

2008-03-28T06:35:00.000-07:00

There's a guy in an art gallery .
Suspended in front of his eyes is a cartoon balloon with code inside
It blocks his view of the woman leaning out of an open window across the way
The woman has a similar obstruction in front of her eyes.
On the roof of the woman's adobe sits someone hunched over and looking lonesome on a bench..

(it looks like dusk has set in )--- or maybe early morn

the housing is all integrated like ancient half-cave mountain housing , but it's a modern city

There's a harbour down below with a ship coming in or going out, but she's not looking at it.
She's looking into the 24 hour art gallery

in the direction of a curly headed thin shouldered young man who is looking in her direction.
Romeo and Juliet in a science fiction setting

they look for each other across the perspectives that tangle and untangle the city

but the symmetry can't save them
even when running parallel to it
there will be no ringing of bells
no holding of hands
until the freeze frame is released from it's mathematics

They look across the divide
One desperate for art
one desperate for air

educated that way

2008-03-28T06:16:00.000-07:00

There was no stopping the invasion
There was a lust for it
minds had gone mush for it

A caveman with a club could give you an analysis of why the brain has these moments of paralysis,
same as a saber tooth tiger and those crows with a wing span of 10 meters,
humans doing their thingy , like a bee but a million times more stingy.

violence renamed but still remains that raw drug to get the go getters goofy
and grouped together
wearing over sized alpha outfits and doing maneuvers
that a little later behooves public faces in front of the cameras
talking about the necessity of the dumbness done.
If you looked closely you can see the look of a slave making love to the chains.

a sure sign of rational people with rotting brains educated that way to be in on the pay-off.

iniquity

2008-03-27T05:40:00.000-07:00

iniquity

iniquity sweeps through the offices of the on-duty mind mappers
They listen to 90's grunge rock and rap
and other stimuli traps -- the live bait of the culture--
to walk the the long walk of post hate.
Some are post spiritual , some are post medieval
but they get together on the issues that matter most to them-- control --for which they have rented out their souls
based on both the unexplained abstract and the memory of hunger sometimes going back generations.
Iniquity is the trick behind train wrecks.

The Present

2008-03-23T08:14:00.000-07:00

I debate the pros and cons of saying I hate the weather and am working on making a million dollars
and pop vitamins and stay home when it showers
and mentally spend many times a million dollars.
What would help is a little sunshine coming softly
through my eyes
from and to infinity

I continue the test of God , but should I talk about it ?
That could offend someone with a better theory
someone sensitive in the area could get teary
someone on the edge could take a fit
if too much truth be told at one sitting
about politics and religion and the words spoke by the lightening
and other taboos
of which people are leery

The gift of precognition comes with science fiction
but still there's some recognition of the present
wrapped in the laws of thermodynamics.

looting with honour

2008-03-22T12:49:00.000-07:00

the carte blanche exhibitionists have the cunning down
and are running things their way

they have what amounts to tarot readings to explain the bleedings
of humanity stuck with the bad luck of being on the receiving end of
the asymmetrical shock treatments in the streets

the alligator smiles are a permanent fixtures
no fad
of wicked religions
or the smart hooting of professors good at guessing and bursting
with the learnedness and lethal paraphernalia
needed for looting with honour

all legal according to the tank crews taking a break but still shaking with the paranoia
programed to send a message
that it's either sweat or blood that will be your primary contribution.

it's your pick
but accidents do happen

Wishing Isn't Living

2008-03-20T04:42:00.000-07:00

It felt like life was lifting off
the ingenium of the genus escaping the menace of a death wish
one wish that would eventually come true,
but wishing wasn't living.

visualized guesses
synapses that haven't quite cut through the chains of the senses,
filled with fantasies with handles, but heavy.
If you can get them on wheels welcome to the traffic.
But wishing wasn't living.

take a circumferential spin and
check the brakes
watch for the exits
to where the wishing is easy
but wishing isn't living.

everyone needs love

2008-03-17T06:02:00.000-07:00

The question arose,
unspoken
invisible like electricity
about how to keep the power turned on

the electromagnetic mind seeming to be going thru a period of mental instability...
the receptors , these people with their antennas so obvious,
the message trying to get through---
like the guy on the Titanic pounding on the wireless.
They walk into walls and get bruised
it's like the dimensions are clashing
probabilities floating around but who can see them
except as walking blurs trying to shake off nightmares

if you can catch hold of one
give it a hug, everyone needs love.

Tony

2008-03-15T10:17:00.001-07:00

Tony Blair will be teaching how to attain reconciliation rather than polarization,
at Yale
he's learned a lot of words to dissemble his tale

Tony could tell you why in Fallujah they used white phosphorus
and the necessity of other messy necessary evils

4 million refugees threw away their keys
Tony sees an Escher painting that demonstrates infinity

hundreds of thousands gone to the dust of history
Tony coped by getting holy

The shock awfulness of the quid pro quo
he's got a silver tongue that reframes it like a carpenter puts in a window.

Billions of dollars bursting out of a boil
Tony uses mind mapping to explain how it's about values , not oil

The irony of
the agony of the many
and the ecstasy of the few,
Tony's got religion to help him through

Tony always wanted to be a Beatle, Let it be, says Tony
He's teaching reconciliation and how to avoid polarization ,
with special emphasis on how it pays to believe your own baloney.

Queen Day by Day

2008-03-13T07:10:00.000-07:00

When your mother's dead and your feet feel like lead
and your clan has resorted to pounding sand
and promises don't pan
Won't you sit down and listen to some random jazz
and let loose your pizazz.

When the politicos who rule lose control
and world peace is dependent on pharmaceuticals
and you need to get existential as well as physical
won't you listen for a second
and just beckon.

It seems like the bureaucrats have blessed you
But perhaps it's deception
Time will tell who's who and where is hell
And then won't you sing to me
then won't you be by, be my baby.

the time will come when everything will be framed by Zen
and your zeal's your only appeal
and you re-invent the wheel
to prove that doom doesn't affect you
That's when I want to get my neck close to you.

the music affects the lover's lane in my brain
the sun ignited doesn't scare me
linguistically I'm prepared for anything
Then won't you listen to me
then won't you swing with me in the hammock between the trees.

who knows how many seconds

2008-03-11T06:07:00.000-07:00

All the VIP people and their zip assistants gather
and are seized by an urge to get greedy.
They have no experience with tornadoes,
but they long for a spin like the one Dorothy was spun in.
Blissfully richer they they check the websites for space tourism

They sparkle with talent and charisma like some room Andy Warhol painted on a weekend,
dizzier than a neighborhood crow in your living room
looking for an open window.

Riders of the wild wild glitz
most will make it through and then go into withdrawal
and find an empty hell
and try to find a replacement for it,
something similar to a moment hiking above the clouds on your favorite Asian mountain range
or maybe just at a look-off in the local highlands
when you need to stretch your legs
and you get a good view and linger
and biochemically or maybe magically(if you can't nail down the methodology)
every part of you simultaneously pauses,
and when the pause lets go
hearts of stone roll
like you've merged with who knows what
for who knows how many seconds.

The Way You Forget the Past

2008-03-08T07:16:00.000-08:00

If you don't get
the connection
between the past pissed up against a wall and the present dipped in the possible
that's OK
you've got some qualities that are commendable.
Like for instance, your strong back and the quicks when it comes to having a laugh
Like for instance your ability to look at a little gadget and figure out how it works when nobody else in the room can
Like your predictability when it comes to getting ready and looking pretty.

the way you cringe when the talk is of wars and violence,
you don't want to hear about it
you take it personal
not so pretty

The way you forget the past
when just minutes before all hell got loose.

may as well be fear

2008-03-07T07:00:00.000-08:00

Early on they had
Scarlet letters and stars of David pinned to their conscious-ness-es .
They self-chill when the ruffians take out their checklists,
saluting and barking orders.

They think about how low they can sink living this lie
They're queasy from swallowing pride while the doom deliverers
shake up the infrastructure.
They're sick of the directives from king's courts
in the capitals cutting up justice and using it for poker chips.

They have vague feelings about freedom
They hope from within for a miraculous solution
a non-violent love-in
but they know history
and they're weary.

They know they have to give up something,
some dark shadow they've never had the wind or will to blow off,
some invisible cancer.
It may as well be fear.

Maiko Wants to Be a Lover

2008-03-05T06:05:00.000-08:00

Maiko Wants to Be a Lover

Maiko is made up
her senses fired up
her insights interface with what looks like cherry blossoms
and just a touch of a breeze.
She's interested in seeds
they help her visualize beauty
but she's unsure of some things.
Her heart is so open she doesn't know if it's falling out or falling in
but she's got the skills to investigate.

She' got that hard to be alone look in her eyes,
yeah she's all eyes and elegance
dressed up so her desire is unrecognizable from biology.
She seems a little sour about the whole ordeal
but when you zoom in close you can see she has as much sweet as she has bitter,
and except for a few secrets,
defenseless.

She's wraps herself in rainbow colors
which mostly keeps her out of trouble
but underneath the cover of her colors
is where she can avoid being a lover.

Her head looks twisted
She needs some deep massage in the neck area.
She's looking for the brand of love that casts spells,
half magnet , half madness ,
to spiral her through the RGBs,
but in her clear moments she knows that won't help her to become a lover.

She'll soon have to change her style
and slip into something more functional,
she could really use some roughing-it outside the gardens
to toughen her up,
if she wants to be a lover.

O, her favorite color is crystal.
She hopes to use it for good someday.
She wants to be a lover.

addicted

2008-03-04T06:39:00.000-08:00

overcast skies are predicted
by those who are addicted
to plaintive blues
of which i am afflicted,
one of the rules
of which is to start thinking
about scenarios that'll bury you:
like the moon suddenly slipping
and the menfolk all taking to drinking
and the stars just stop twinkling.

Things to Jot Down in Your Journal

2008-03-03T06:48:00.000-08:00

The side effects of industrialization are indeed damning
You notice it when your mind reacts like a robot
and you say things you don't really believe
and under your breath you're god-damming
and then you remember there's something you forgot.
This is most evident in Spring
when everything opens up
and vague memories ping
both the internal and the external,
going through dimensions
like convicts out of detention.
Makes you think about
those things you wish you'd jotted down in your journal.

Civilized Thrills

2008-03-01T08:16:00.000-08:00

the snake charmer entertains the tourists
the snake would rather be out in the grass
but the charmer needed some way of making a living and snakes had hearts that seemed purest;
and an appealing way of moving their ass.

Day after day he would make that snake dance.
The charmer told people the snake was venomous,
that the music from his flute put the reptile in a trance.
Except for a zoologist with a clue the truth was anybody's guess.

One day the charmer had a massive heart attack,
the snake hissed ,
the crowd moved back
and pretended the act didn't exist.

the ambulance and animal control arrived at about the same time;
the tourists were long gone , checking out the local civilized thrills before mealtime.

Still Pending

2008-02-29T06:39:00.000-08:00

let's go for a drive
and until we arrive
watch the rolls of the land
and roll with them.
Let's leave early to avoid traffic jams,
take a short cut through the chaos
and observe the wilderness patiently waiting to retrieve its losses.
Let's take a breath
of fresh air here in the year of the nth
and stay unrattled
by an ending
that's still pending.

the benefits of astronomy

2008-02-24T08:21:00.000-08:00

The constellations were dim last night
They couldn't penetrate the haze
All night long the earth was rotating
and the moon was in a phase.

I'm glad the earth has an axis
Without it things would get dull
Even at the risk that it all crashes
I'd prefer it to eternal lull.

The sky holds a mystery
My heart says take me
Thank God I don't need to understand the theory of relativity
to enjoy the benefits of astronomy.

Easy

2008-02-22T06:20:00.000-08:00

It's in-between pays
summer seems far away
but it's okay,
we all have those days
and tomorrow'll be easy as
spring relieves winter grief,
easy as turning wheels carry weight,
as easy as lovers meet
and the bud lets loose the leaf.

No Time To Be Intruding

2008-02-21T06:28:00.000-08:00

Wade MacDonald Lived outside a college town
Wade MacDonald never went to the college in the small college town.
Wade MacDonald never liked school or being ruled around .
He lived estranged from his wife and kids but he sometimes had them 'round.

He worked with a chainsaw in the woods and sometimes drove a truck.
Things never went smooth.
As far as money and love he lacked luck
Things never went smooth.
He worked like a slave some days and on others he could hardly move.
It wasn't often he'd get thunderstruck.

The credit card companies keep calling
The the cable's gone, the electricity's next
The credit card companies keep calling
The the cable's gone, the electricity's next.

His children's movements dance in front of his eyes
They're the only reason he'd get up and put his truck in drive.
His children's movements dance in front of his eyes
They're the only reason he went through the motions to survive.
In his mind he flipped through snap shot memories
That would be his last and his only good-bye.

On some lonesome nights he'd look for God in the quiet country sky
He wanted to know if there was a magic remedy.
On sweat filled days he'd curse cuz the sun didn't deliver what the nights implied.
Real and imagined enemies
He could easily sensationalize.

The kids were going their own way
They got used to not needing him.
The kids got part-time jobs and played soccer
They got used to not needing him.
At first it was a shocker
He'd awake from dreams with muted screams
In the dimness he could see his chances were slim.

He was often alone but it was not the loneliness
He could always toughen out the dread.
But it was not being alone, it was the hopelessness.
Maybe it would be different if to Alberta he had fled.
That last afternoon he went looking for a gun
But found a length of rope instead.

In the country where he lived
He could hear coyotes howl
In the country where he lived
Wade was never known to be a wise owl
But he picked a strong beam to make it quick
And for the last time he hit the ball with his hockey stick.

His heart was pounding
He had a sorrow that would see no tomorrows
His heart was pounding
To cart away the sorrow you'd need a wheelbarrow.
As he tied the knot
He tried not to think about not seeing his children grow.

There's one last gasp for breath
There's self hate to go with the regret
There's one last gasp for breath
And his mind began to drift.
Just before the end
He mumbled "oh shit".

The door to the shed was open
And the coyotes wandered in.
The door to the shed was open
They saw Wade swinging.
But they held their howls
They knew it was no time to be intruding.

Horsesense

2008-02-20T03:51:00.000-08:00

The fade out at the end of the movie is inevitable
but so are the pleasures when stardust binds itself to flesh;
as are the tribulations and trials by fire
as are the contradictions knocking heaven but still hoping.

Napalm was invented during WW2
Two Harvard boys using their ingenuity.
It was designed to stick to the flesh of the enemy
and followed the rules of spontaneous combustion.
Jelly from hell.

I was reminded of this after I microwaved a gelatin heating pad and a seam split.
Out burst this lava hot gooey stuff on my neck.

Follow the threats to find out what's being protected.
Follow the loops of your heart to find out what stretches and what contracts.
But not only that, follow your horsesense
when you find yourself up against a fence.

mind mender

2008-02-18T07:12:00.000-08:00

The basic units of life ironically
derail the finite's train,
thundering into the rough and untouched using dynamite for a crutch,
getting giddy on heaven on earth, lying in it for a sec with no aim,
becoming a human target for more of the same such and such
that delivers up wishes
opening up windows, airing out swindles---
philosophies and psychologies getting
too loony for their prescriptions--
but regardless performing a refresh function as time dwindles.

The maybe way to inject the genus holding the joystick
controlling the mine fields of remote possibilities:
joy as a human right, buy a ticket , there's the wicket,
gotta keep it in your sites , don't count out any proclivities
that might tap into the tender,
a mood mover and a mind mender.

habits of the morally depraved

2008-02-17T07:24:00.000-08:00

many of the morally depraved have the money to hire pr flacks
many know how to dress
they have twisted their god given linguistic systems out of whack
so what comes out of their mouths is pure bullshit
but they have no regrets
until maybe they're down and out in a cancer ward
and the only thing that appeals to them is living for another breath
of which they have a little left
maybe then they feels some regret

greed and sprinklings of the other 6 deadly sins
is the policies you get from government..... beholden to corporate interests
who've shown these government guys how to steal and call it necessity
and then seal it with a philosophy.
It's hard to get anyone to be straight --
some just dumb , some on the take.

Higher up the food chain you get the bombs-away boys and girls
educated and dedicated to decimating any resistance to the West Knows Best principles,
much learned since Hitler, who played Cowboys and Indians as a kid, taught them a lesson or two about being haughty with a muscle bulging military.

nothing that wasn't know before -- but he showed them how to mix looniness with ruthlessness to make everyday seem like Christmas.
Some just dumb , some on the take.

the knots of yesterday

2008-02-16T07:06:00.000-08:00

The culture encourages worshiping idols both when idle
and when actively seeking the riches of Mammon and his favorite brother-in-law Marty.
Only to find dissatisfaction , and you want to leave the party.
To know that you don't need to read no bible.

All on automatic
in daydreams and night dreams and dreams projected on walls
seeming to be as real as a statistic stuck
down by the dreamy side.

its epistomolgical roots growing through the walls of biology
seeded by a passion that won't take plausible deniability for an answer.
it's not that gullible

Perhaps there's no soft landings when you find yourself at the fountains of truth that come at you like Niagara
free falling through a space the imagination can't fill up with either good intentions or research and developments.

A lot of time is spent untying the knots of yesterday
while time whistles by.
Time that's on a tight schedule in the here and now.
And how.

dark little corners of the world

2008-02-15T07:22:00.000-08:00

I happened to learn about the plot from the sister in law of one of the getaway drivers-- who was really a decoy.
She was a non-stop talker and everything came out-- everything she had heard about the assassination of the union organizer.
Any gaps she filled in with her vivid imagination.

The authorities caught up with him, suspected him , but could prove nothing so they just tortured him instead of killing him.
Besides there were people on the inside looking out for him
and he got his old job back.
From an organizational point of view things were fracturing .
Any time now you can expect a coup.

The sister-in-law had loose lips but it seemed almost everyone did
So I expect the the proverbial excrement to hit the fan.
Some of the odds makers are are predicting an old time bibical dust-up with tactical nuclear weapons
used surgically like concealed knives in dark little corners of the world.

What goes around comes around hums in the background , but I can't seem to locate the source
other than it comes from rundown suburbs where former art students have stopped painting pictures of despair.

To The Exterior

2008-02-15T05:12:00.001-08:00

They refocused and realized their brains needed some ventilation
But were afraid of the poisonous gases reputed to be drifting by the sealed windows.
They didn't want to take any chances by being flippant about the dangers of thinking.

The monitors watched their every move.
The watchtower security guys were part of the package.
You wanna sniff some of that air then be prepared for the sharpshooters.
They've been practicing in the soundproof area.

They refocused realizing the guns were loaded
But their lungs rejected the stale breaths and were drawn to the exterior.
Their bodies were being cued to take action from what their autonomous nervous systems were imaging.

it was the month of June
it was the end of the full moon
it was time to make their move.

It's All Because of Love

2008-02-14T05:30:00.000-08:00

To see your face,
I have no notion of what it does.
To see you smile and walk on stage,
my molecules won't stay in place.
To hear your voice stops the discord in my head,
my ears choke to understand
and my heart pops when my thoughts get stopped.
It's all because of love.

Never really felt this way before

2008-02-12T04:46:00.000-08:00

Never really felt this way before,
legs so loose
old ruins booming alive,
traces of inner space expand through my eyes.
Never felt this way before.

Never knew there was such a thing
as hand heart coordination
that could change the conditions
faster than an eye blinking.
Never really felt this way before.

Buried Treasure

2008-02-11T07:20:00.000-08:00

The sojourn from and to Eden has been filled with unpredictable tidings.
But for the moment it's safe to walk along the sandbar and forget about sales pitches.
For the moment the vista has been deleted of fakes.

Out here with the wind biting you can forget the movie analogies.
Your soul separating from your embodiment but still hovering around you like the blowing sand.
The ocean and sky expanding in synchronicity.
There's realization I'm only a few steps from Eden but not sure in which direction.

On a little Island off shore they're digging for buried treasure.
They hope to find gold plundered from the Americas by the Spaniards and in turn plundered by English pirates,
Creating the capital to jump start the British Empire.

Their theory is that strong currents and hurricane winds drove them into this bay.
There's even speculation that it's not gold, but that Francis Bacon buried some of his more controversial and unpublished works there ,
buried in elaborately engineered shafts preserved in a bath of mercury.
Hiding the evidence to hold off the Ax Man.

Deadly politics tightens up the brain.
I give myself up to the wind and sand and horizon
and an ocean that needs no name.

They Need a Good Exorcist

2008-02-10T09:36:00.000-08:00

The links sputter with feedback
Brahms comes through the speakers,
it sounds like he died of a B Flat.
This is not a place for beginners.
stay back.

Down in the Middle East , in the expanding holy lands,
the old testament's brutality gets a shot of adrenalin.
The rapture romance readers cheer the bust up of the dusty infrastructure.
They sing hallelujah from their pews
They want the fossil fuel.

The jingo jungle in their heads gets thicker--
they believe there's a time for bombing.
They're modernists when it comes to the Ecclesiastes
They sing-song it til hate comes to the surface.
They need a good exorcist.

They seek the return of a Lord who who won't veto their vanity
A lord with a sword who will take them back to the beginnings of the Word
and give a nod to modern crucifixions.
They need a good exorcist.

weeping in puddles

2008-02-09T08:32:00.000-08:00

Weeping in Puddles

Blue on blue
tears on rain
She's looking through to another world
where there's no hue of blue,
where Eternity uses tears to water Forever.

Her weeping erodes the distortions that stymie her anima.
A child of the universe with a predilection
protected by gestures projected from her DNA.
She prepares to take another swing at the pinata
she can see through the aperture of her reflection.

tears in progress
fears in puddles
despairs go to who-knows-where

Monju in a Space Suit

2008-02-07T05:09:00.000-08:00

Monju in a space suit can't get the mojo working.
The live action in the leaky nuclear facility greying out the facts that were taken for granted---
those blue skies for the eyes to look up to,
and an earth as seen from a satellite with the color green percolating;
since before the time the Earthlings landed.

The imagination choking on the terror of a what-if.
Specifically what if outside those suits the astronauts use in space
the blue and green take the Thelma and Louise route off a cliff.
And what if wisdom has become a process that has devolved into what can be extracted from a Microsoft data base.

As minds grow soft it's easy to flip-flop into the hidden hate traps
randomized according to the instructions
of markets determined by shooting craps.
Here and there and you can find people praying for alien abductions.

The ink in the brain is fading fast
Monju's out in the moonlight digging through the trash.

The Soul's Active Ingredients

2008-02-03T12:12:00.000-08:00

The Soul's Active Ingredients

TS Eliot just paid me a visit.
He was tapping on an African drum.
He described the wasteland that he left in '65
and the wasteland in which he nows resides.

The drums , he said , contained embedded rhythms he didn't learn at Harvard
or in the litanies of London.
Rhythms that never made it into any of his poetry or criticism.
Rhythms, he said , that would stun Rimbaud and Donne.

He's been drumming ever since he stopped breathing,
and if and when he re-incarnates
he says he 'll teach the poets a thing or two about how the senses interface
with the soul's active ingredients.

Money

2008-02-01T09:30:00.000-08:00

The distribution of money sure is funny.
You've got the luxuriate card and the living-in-a-sewer designation,
Some too plump , some too bony.

You've got your jet setters, then you've got your refugees.
Some can get credit from a rock , some get the turn-to-dust denomination.
The distribution of money sure is funny.

Some live in the Mc Land of Milk and Honey.
Some have somewhat more slummy accommodations.
Some too plump , some too bony.

Those residing in hovels read those books for idiots and dummies.
That's how they deal with the indignation.
The distribution of money sure is funny.

The mansion dwellers turn the other cheek to tyranny and say: How uncanny.
They close their eyes and visualize vindication.
Some too plump , some too bony.

Television and pop-ups echo chamber easy money
selling infatuation but brewing revolution.
The distribution of money sure is funny.
Some too plump , some too bony.

pumping up the hate

2008-01-30T06:00:00.001-08:00

Things that happen in the Gaza and Indonesia can starve the brain developement of infants.
pumping up the hate
It's a tendency of the human race that's all too frequent.
pumping up the hate
It's like a never tamed sucking instinct, and it'll cost you.
Each week on your agenda you include at least one person to screw.
It distorts your good looks til you resemble something Goya drew.
pumping up the hate.

That Time in Tel Aviv

2008-01-26T06:34:00.000-08:00

Without any real power,
the kind that holds you up like a tree you used to like to sit under,
and without the unseen electricity , you won't hear that sweet sound of the engine kicking in.
And you get all hot and start nodding and need to be watered
and then for a while things will sour
because you've been suckered.

Choose your poison and keep an eye on the fuel of your person.
Choose and don't renege
on the integrity ,
That is to say, the way you talk to your self and how self takes a crack at you.
The synchronization between them , tucked up the instincts sleeve.
And learn to land without breaking the eggs.
And don't forget that time in Tel Aviv.

Or your copy of Raison d' Etre for Dummies,
Dog-eared and highlighted and packed with the brownies.

Something He Only Did Occasionally

2008-01-24T04:58:00.000-08:00

There's grandpa with the kids on his knee.
For once he's not playing the boss,
There smiling, something he only did occasionally.

The photograph mirroring his emotion through the family tree,
But hanging unseen outside the frame was his albatross.
There's grandpa with the kids on his knee.

If it weren't for Hitler and his version of Manifest Destiny,
The paths of he and my mother weren't likely to cross.
There smiling, something he only did occasionally.

The kids on his knee sitting free.
They too are part of the paradox.
There's grandpa with the kids on his knee.

Photo albums are riddles to some degree.
If I look long enough, I see through the gloss,
There smiling, something he only did occasionally.

Something happened that kept him from the glee,
So he spent his life examining his loss.
There's grandpa with the kids on his knee,
There smiling, something he only did occasionally.

They Find God to Be a Real Bitch

2008-01-21T06:39:00.000-08:00

The devil worshipers are getting their costumes together for Mardi Gras.
They have their rules and they constantly remind each other of them,
on cell phones and email and instant messaging.

This year's theme is the worshiping of the Caesar-in-Chief
and an attempt to bring daylight to between the ears of this deity.
It's a safe way to let the masochism part of of your being say: I love sado as much as I love juicy money.
Safe way to laugh off thoughts of equality and reach for an equivalent of a drink any where near the smell of squalor --- one of the rules you're constantly being reminded of.
The get-ups are ridiculous enough to last a long weekend,
or even a month in the Yucatan at a resort that's part of your penny pinching.

Religion plays a part but it's pretty well post-modern,
and like computer operating systems, constantly updated and upgraded.
And very hackable.
They find God to be a real bitch , thus the reason for prostrating to the intellectually feeble reasoning of the experts
who assist those who were born to conquer.

Apples in the Orchard

2008-01-20T08:22:00.000-08:00

Every evening , no matter the time zone,
My mind shifts to the unknown.

The question often arises : Why was I and all the others born ?
I see where evolution is taking us: people growing horns.

The more elegant the fashions ,
More obvious the protrusions.

Apes with ideas
planning how to get the most bananas.

The brainy and articulate
accompanied by the brawny carrying big sticks.

A combination that will get you a holocaust or an inquisition,
with all the latest gadgets, and a fine tuned vision.

Cleaner and meaner hate,
Spread like a virus by servants of the State.
Mentally preparing for the slaughters
that won't disturb the consumers.

See it some time at an art gallery.

There's a live one and some dead ones.
There women praying,
or perhaps just trying to hold down their terror.
Anyway they got their heads down.

There's artillery in the distance,
But it's become as common birds chirping.

I'd say the guy with his hands up
will be shot within 30 to 60 seconds.

Either that or tortured.
It's that hate virus
growing like apples in the orchard.

Fireworks Fly

2008-01-18T07:55:00.000-08:00

I've been alternatively wistful and and party wild,
but for the moment my emotions are on hold,
so I got to pull up the thoughts of you I've compiled
with regard to those moments that peaked.
It gives me a quiet buzz
thinking about the day that was,
about the time that twas
I saw your silhouette move towards me .

Coffee in the morning is getting mundane.
Bourbon straight up at night just numbs temporarily.
Why is it I get giddy
and the fireworks go off
every time you come to town and say howdy?

Some people take substances to help them stay sane,
but there's always the chance you could freak.
So I just wait for the blues to bugger off
when you come around and set the fireworks off.

I get uncorked whenever I dream of you.
That's why I'm sending this report to you.
I don't know if you know what you do.

I don't get fired up by Cuban vacations,
Hot spots burn me up
and I eventually get bored by the view.

But the fireworks fly
When I think of you.

Wars on Paper

2008-01-16T08:08:00.000-08:00

Some people still care about the possibility of nuclear war,
like they did in the '50's, when the school kids practiced taking cover under their seats.
Other people believe that the pursuit of power has no limits on the manipulation of science, morality or linguistics.
Around the bend and beyond the pale
they don't get freaked out by the agenda's exterior ennui,
like Buddhist monks they feel the unseen and say it exists for its own sake.
Monks go in and mind their own business-- like lying on a beach for the day.
these guys are natural born pick pockets and of the cloth for violent thought,
bringing nirvana's resources to the surface to puff them up, primed to make war to make a point.

They believe their toughness will make the other guy eat his anger and get choked up with cancer.
They have a my-violence-is-better-than-your-violence mentality
and believe that any blowback will not affect them personally because they keep their asses tight with security apparatuses to protect their vain glory and pathetic luxuries---what shock and shut-up in Iraq was all about.
And all that was got was blood, mud and the dust of the dead.
And that was no where near the Big One ,
The big hate maker keeping the heartless appear as if they have something pounding in their chests;
pumping faith in the big numbers of wars on paper.

the dead may come

2008-01-15T07:35:00.000-08:00

The dead may come out of their statues like they come out of these projected 8mm movie pictures on the wall.
They'd dwell with us if they could put their old molecules back together like they were at the beach that day when the past was the present.
Whether it's a good thing or it's woe that makes you want to walk out into the waves,
that depends on which side of the bunker you wake up on in the morning after the foggy revelations of the night before.
Whether seventh seals nail you to the nearest two-by-four or whether the rhythm in your feet feels the street's treats
is covered in a chaos theory introduction on Wikipedia.

They move around invisible with the toes of one foot testing the tempature of eternity , the other foot dragging around the mall gathering up supplies to make it through the winter.
They say dying is easy when you hear the kaboom somewhere inside of you.
An auditory bloom
like what you might see and hear and feel if you took a hit from Muhammad Ali in his heyday.

The dead may come and I will welcome them.
They may have search results from the Google servers on the other side,
or they may be zombies like people who have worked too long in an office with bad air performing repetitious acts that hold bureaucracies together like a communal sin.

Fear and Loathing in Nova Scotia

2008-01-14T06:56:00.000-08:00

I was riding through a snow storm
when I spotted the Xmas lights,
So I pulled into the driveway and shouted out a cheer.
When I got inside and started feeling a little warm,
a guy they said was a high school principal
stuck a prayer book in my hand.
He said he didn't like the fact that I didn't fit his norm,
From something I'd said he got the idea I was some kind of atheist,
and kept yelling about sin and such like he was suffering from a malfunctioning gland.
Well I've had some funky Christmases but this was the absurdest,
So i tried singing an uplifting Christmas carol.
But he didn't like my spirit,
So I put on my boots while he pointed me in the direction of the coming eternal peril.

Well I have to admit that he scared me,
And was just thankful I wasn't at a convention of principals in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Cold Sweat

2008-01-14T06:25:00.000-08:00

The days of dynamite and gloom are upon us,
pulling out all the dumbness like drunken punches in barroom brawl.
That would be the practitioners of the ancient art of keeping the mind in the gutter and holding the nose high until they try to shower it off.
They made their first appearance in the nightmares of the prophets of the preceding generation.

Weeds of knowledge growing like ginkgo trees on properties the developers would like to rezone.
They love the sound of the backhoes they own.
But they gotta keep the dozers temporarily on hold until the authorities can be sweet talked and if necessary greased, or else hogtied.
An area that looks nothing like paradise , and as they see it, could use a complex of condos with adjacent bank and pizza joint, and enough other conveniences, despite the low dollar, to make it a done deal,
ready to be promoted by an aggressive sales staff.

The days of gloom-sayers and self servers first into the safety net.
You can see it on the news and feel it in your wallet.
Makes you want to go to a GI to get checked out for polyps.
It'd be a distraction from the geopolitical cold sweat.

Unclear But Absorbent

2008-01-13T08:33:00.000-08:00

The eternal verities have changed their vestments for the weekend
but still there's no let up on the acceleration coming from under the hood.
The power sources can always find a technology with which to transcend,
With which to get out the message that it's safer to have a head of wood.

As far as the stars are concerned,
makes no difference if empires come crumbling down.
Everyone knows everyone must be burned
and prepared for the black hole phase-down.

The same thing that's inside a mountain is inside a person.
Nature unplugged.
For everything that worsens
there's a parallel universe where everyone, kicking and screaming , gets dragged,
Where cooked concepts get dislodged.

What follows is sometimes clear headed moments,
Fear falling into something unclear but absorbent.

Newton's Third Law

2008-01-11T04:59:00.000-08:00

Out of the womb and introduced to the bombs and saturated by the minds that want to drop them.
History movin' on like a blues song , moving through the pass-me-downs of birth and death.
History that gets confused with Satan's website marketing the benefits of Hell.
In the sanitary zones Reason stands still.
Our society dependent on the pharmaceuticals and their side effects to keep us stupid and blinded while our favorite idolatries get shilled.

The senses addicted to convulsions on roller coaster rides,
stumble through engineering marvels that expect you to navel gaze if you happen to figure it out.
Down on your knees or up against the wall you schmuck.
Just click next to take you to the Holy Grail page
Have credit card ready
Concentrate on what you know about Newton's Third Law
Forget what you saw.

Thailand Fluorescence Revisited

2008-01-10T06:31:00.000-08:00

Thailand Fluorescence Revisited

the eyes are looking in and out simultaneously
beauty meets poverty.
Light penetrating flesh
arms in neutral
lips in drive
caution akimbo,
the shadows failing to cover her humanness.

the lights make her look cold in a hot land,
where power is brutal,
pleasures frugal.
She sees a ghost she cannot quite hold:
as her senses drink it in,
as her lips accentuate and position themselves for a kiss that resists the poison of fate,
as she hungers for patterns of paradise to permeate the street.

her eyes mirrors in need of mercy
reflecting whoever's soul happens to look in,
following a momentary trajectory of beauty.
The light making it easy to see
that the shadows fail to cover her humanness.

very managerial

2008-01-09T06:22:00.001-08:00

Suffering under the bombs of the pilots,
putting the terror in the War to Make Horror,
putting the drama into the swollen vignettes.
The pilots accessing their hits with Internet Explorer.

In the rubble the the numb ones stumble,
like a morning you can't find your keys
reaching the exponential
where what's left is best described by Noam Chomsky.

Raised on ego enhancing flim flam,
the bombers maintain their gruesome innocence.
Clocked into a clinical environment,
Clued in to the necessity of silencing lambs,
it's bombs away until the scanners detect the look of acquiescence.

The war strategy historians are excited by the new material,
They make recommendations , they're very managerial.