Fuck following
the guidelines
on these, as well as
other things.

Grab a wrench and ditch
the training wheels.

The things you remember
are not the smooth
coats of paint, but the
textured mess on the
kitchen wall.

Let’s do something nebulous.

i’d photograph you
with the lens of my eye
in megapixels deluxe
if i could find a place
in my brain to store you

AFTER MEDICATIONS ARE
PRESCRIBED, AND ALL THE
PILLS ARE POPPED AND ALL THE
JETS ARE COOLED AND ALL
THE STUDYING IS DONE AND
ALL THE Mental Breakdowns HAVE
SUBSIDED, THE TRUTH IS FINALLY
MADE PLAIN BY ALL THE WEIRD
BASTARDS MAKING MARKS ON THE
WALLS AND SHOWING THE REST
OF US WHAT BEAUTY REALLY IS.

NORMALCY IS JUST AN
EXCUSE FOR
MEDIOCRITY.

breaking marijuana into an aluminum
coca-cola can feels much better with
Cherubini in the background
today is Helter Skelter day
somewhere south it is gloomy
right here it is mediocre
fat girls getting out of their
first day of school
people walking their domesticated
animals on the cracked
pavement behind my
apartment
complex
men in the background
from centuries past
playing ballads of
beauty and sex
all lost to us now
and the men walking their
fury dogs
and the fat girls on their
bikes
they get get to the bottom
then stop
turn
then they go for a ride
till they get to the bottom…
just like Mozart
but we don’t speak that language anymore
man
and we don’t hear those stories anymmore
man
Helter Skelter

They’re drowning in their own
Alcohol
while the rest of us are
watching, screaming
bailing just as quickly as
we can, trying to save a
man,
or two.

But they’re in over their
heads in it,
and none of them can swim,
so, well,
so they’re floundering in
self-prescribed madness,
Drowning.

And there’s only so much
the rest of us can drink.

i’d cough to get your attention
but not really want it
just to assert my power over you
as you get more and more
uncomfortable
and finally yield
to my absurd will

At Four in the morning
I stop and wonder what it
means for the future, that
I’m stopping to wonder
at Four in the morning.

Profitable
Is a term I state
With some trepidation.
For it would be profitable
To knock your block off
But rather unfortunately,
The consequences
Would outweigh
The revenue

as much as I love singing other
people’s songs, it’s time to get
together on this jam I wrote,
I’ve got a jump-sheet, here’s
some notes, we’ll fake it.

I mean,
not trying to make memories,
just music

and while I really like the parts
I made, I think you’re better at
the base than me, so if you see
a better way to play it
then just do it

I mean,
don’t try and play the melodies
just make music

I can only gaze upon you so long
Before I begin to stare
And it would be a shame to think
That I’ve been here all this time
To finally look away

There are beetles
skittering
about the floor.
The low lamp’s
what they’re
going for.
I’ve not a
problem with
insects but
Beetles?

Where did you come form?
what do you
want from me?

Well, my friends
the beetles,
Fortunately
the light is free
but alas, the dog
is hungry.

searching the skies
i fail to find
a single cloud–cautious,
yet certain, that when night
falls we’ll see galaxies.

He should have joined in
with their circumstantial hellos
and uncircumcised halos
a circle of unwholesome crops
even hungry crows dare not
scavenge through their ripen tortuous minds

My highschool geography teacher,
with the emotional temperature of the antarctic,
the bareness of a desert,
an unrotating mind of exactly 2 seasons
(the first season raining abuse:physical and mental violence
the next season, creepy niceness punctuated with creepy smiles)
and a sens of self-worth bigger than all planets combined,
was a true psychopath,

the sort of psychopaths who roam the halls of catholic schools
intent on scarving students into mini jesuses,
on infusing into their minds the turn-the-other-cheek teaching
except that everyday is the Passion
they cannot sustain it
they are weak in faith and rooted in sin
they were not born out of virginal conception
Still they long for different verses,
compassion and salvation.

He should have sought the pig that would carry his demon
he should have kept still, for the trumpet has yet to sound.

love drew my wings into life
so that I may fly higher in the cage
yet,sadness moves heavy and fast
encroaching on my movements

let tears fall the sorrow out
let the day come out, and
bit the fog of its tail
so that I may brush up against the sun
and scatter through infinity