hope broken

I feel like I have climbed this mountain. I have scaled these cliffs and fallen on some long sought shore. Ocean of wisdom. Tides tugging heart strings. Naked moon bathing. Beautiful love and life all around.

I am lost I think.

Laying in a coffins lined with pink slips and canceled rent checks. Fuck off letters from lost friends. Eviction letters on christmas. All the long lost loves of my life attend. Half bathed in spit and half bathed in lipstick but still clenched fist and no last wish only wishes for kisses never meant for me...and they stand and applaud.

Forgotten.

Angels breath on my neck and sunday mornings. Breakfast all day and pj's. Enthusiastic loafing. Making love potions with glances. Making the most out of chances and consumed in the passion...and it will be all this until the last breath

Home.

Pissed off and hurting cursing spitting at me. Heart broke and stoked about it. Songs I would never sing. Places never been. Fisrt times I have never seen. Broken glass in picture frames of me. Mom and Dad I am sorry.

The Love.

Perfect sunsets. Warm wind at my back and your timing. Hands ease. Too many cigarettes and black coffee. Tacos wagons and liquor stores. Pool tables. Gingerbread men. ABC's. Knowing the moment. It happened.

No hope lost or found.

Disasters distraction. Who will buy the flowers. Who will pay the mortgage. The Daughters are homeless. Less fed. Lay out feast on death beds. Welfare checks and bad deeds. Dad fled. Unmade beds and hopeless but he still leaves.

Lost topics.

Warm rains in August. Neck kisses. Your smell. Heartbeat. I will never leave.

ode to a toaster

The relationship is simple. Utility and function. Our needs are met and the timing is perfect. If only every love could be yours. The beauty of the simplicity.

I love you.

past to port

You come home strong sailed and black mast and I am humbled, I admire your strength and that you are genuine. I stand back as you take deck and display for all to see who this Captain is, they know who runs this. I will step off this ship. In your path lay warm grass, warped glassed and ash, ground beaten down and soaked in warm blood. Black palms overshadow this paridise I am searching and their long shadows grow the longer I search into the sunset of our lives. I have grown old of our long days at sea and the longing for home I could not discribe or no longer know. Yet frightened and fickle I crawl on this shore thinking, "stones unturned." Trying to remember back from birth if this mother birthed me or if I am just a lost soul belched from this sea, so deep, a bastard child from the broken heart of logic. Unknown depths and secret monsters, ebb and flow slowly eroding all your white sand beaches. A sunken treasure resurrected, washed ashore. I snap to and feel the sand beneath washing away the dreams from under my feet. No land, no solidity. and this was all a dream, no safe port onward the sea

Plato's Dream

"...it is true that you have given this last animal what you call reason; but in all conscience, that reason of his is too ridiculous and comes too close to madness. Moreover it appears to me that you set no great store by that great two-footed animal, since you have given him so many enemies and so little defence, so many maladies and so few remedies, so many passions and so little wisdom."

as spoken to Demogorgon, creater of Earth in "Platos Dream"[1756]

-Voltaire 

life just isn't fair...

...and you want to know why? I don't know. I am more concerned right now that the Korean owned store around the corner sells 36 inch swords but there are no black pajamas to be found in this store, and they have EVERYTHING! All I want is a 36 inch sword and some black pajamas to go with my 40oz so that I can drink my self to ninja...

whiskey sonnet #731: a gentlemens affair

enjoying a fine whiskey is like enjoying any fine thing
it's fine, so long as you enjoy it

there are few rules that must be observed
first. when drinking a shit biscuit whiskey,
drink that shit cold as can be and drink it fast
doing this will ensure that you can do anything to avoid the full flavor of the whiskey
and the unsolicited images of poorly paid barrel matrons alone on a ranch with Mr. Ed

when imbibing a more precious horror of the soul
be polite
take your drink as it is served.
neat, rocks, water, warm, cold
refusing or criticizing a given drink will immediately expose you
Saddam, Osama, El Diablo or Obama
this is not the desired outcome
only Fascist, CEO's and punch drunk lovers drink whiskey
don't get yourself confused with these other malcontents

when serving such rye, they must gulp it freely
like some Roman bath
drink it in
suckle on me

clever

the clever people climb downstream like
white fish
through the blue water,
past the rapids,
the clever people
with their clever throats and eyebrows,
their clever nostril hairs,
both shoes laced,
all dooms erased,
teeth white,
the clever people slide cleanly,
even their deaths are one-tenth deaths,
clever clever clever
they have better walls,
better cars,
a better way to laugh.
ever their nightmares are ringed with
tinsel,
these clever ones,
they sit across from you,
whitely smiling,
full of it,
even the the hair on their head
glints cleanly.
how long have I lived and looked
upon them.
do you know what death really is?
it's one of these clever
cocksuckers
shaking your hand and
embracing
you.
you know what death really
is?
come see me
as I slip the Gold Card
to the waiter
while
disliking
you. or
worse.

-Charles Bukowski

97801

home from the long road.

still.

scent. 

of your body still lingers. 

lay with you again tonight.

wash you off in the morning

mangle sentences in slurry sleep 

a laugh now and then

full speed

reverse 

come in

let's begin

     In an attempt to maintain my sanity without going full on Luddite on people this I hope shall become my mumble and murmur in place of what has become an dependence on social media. The lines are blurred and worn thin, as am I, from the constant interaction and maintenance of relationships made more complex by constant interaction and attempts to interpret intimacy through 150 characters or less. It's a farce to think that with the click of a button a person is immediately enshrined within some circle of me regardless of context, content or contact. With the absence of real contact comes confusion, and I am tired of trying to read peoples dreams.
 
  So now I return to my books, I have returned to my writing and have the rough outline of "Zen in the Art of Dishwashing" under construction. Plucking away on a broke neck, cracked nuts 5 string guitar making the dogs howl and wearing the vinyl thin. A more intimate conversation is necessary. and so we proceed. let's begin



"Gates is saying, 'Hey, don't worry about making your soul grow. I'll sell you a program and, instead, let your computer grow year after year after year...'-cheating people out of the experience of becoming."

-Kurt Vonnegut on computers, from "like shaking hands with god"