Thursday, December 9, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
With half a roll of toilet paper shoved up his ass,
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Or, you could go home with me to-night,
And, we could ride this bull-market
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Filters in the tobacco
Smoke dances a
halo around her crown
Her lips are espresso
Her tongue, forked
Narration of the last 23 years on skin
A pen rests between the pointer and the thumb
Today's canvas, still vacant
Today's mood, frustrated
He will never call again,
Left side of the bed, a ghost town
It's not fair
Breakfast skipped since,
The kitchen has too many memories
There was once love here
Every morning, she sits
If it wasn't for a 9-5 she would stay in bed
Zombie on the a.m. drive
Zombie on the p.m. drive
Ignores the 2 missed calls and 4 text messages
Through the cafe doors
She is not a regular
Orders a double espresso and a cup of ice
She tries to write
She tries to fight
If I could offer anything
staring at her pain,
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
i am to spoken word
what ham is to cured,
my infectious lectures bust
nuts inside of aural guts,
my tonality trumps your banality,
infinitely create hyper-reality,
with just a tongue-twist,
i've never missed your sun-kissed
tits, digitally enhanced 64-bits,
you give analogue monologues,
but mine stream clearly
like mp3, a b c, baby you know me,
i interface with the Gods,
5-star rated rhymes on ipods,
sick as a cancer ward,
the illmatic 21st century bard,
so, forget what you heard,
i'm reinventing the past,
painting my own future:
but, undeniably eclectic,
shit, i feel hermetic,
sealed like a word ham,
or, canned like verbal spam...damn.
Friday, September 3, 2010
I know what's in my heart, but I gotta make my way through the maze of days like everybody else...
...I've built up walls and judgements and opinions out of my experiences.
I have an open mind to the most unexpected of things, and close it up quick to the things one might think I would be all for.
I have been the only white kid in all black neighborhoods in Northern California.
I have been the only Californian in a high school full of rednecks in Central Oklahoma.
I have been the only poor kid in an upper class town in Massachusetts.
I have seen shots fired, been knocked around. I've knocked fools out and felt great remorse.
I have been judged for my thoughts and screamed til I was hoarse.
I have been locked up too many times to mention, and I've argued with Republicans about the importance of a pension.
I have disagreed with Democrats on some liberal hippie bullshit. I've memorized prayers then heard them preached down from a pulpit.
I've spit in her face. This other woman spit in mine. I've recited the same poem over a hundred times.
I've bragged about accomplishments to anyone who would listen. I have felt like a failure while considering a possible new mission.
I'm just like you, we all sit down to poo. We all gotta eat, sometimes we all face defeat.
I've smoked meth in crack houses from Hollywood up to Reno. I've hung out with hookers and been at knife-point outside the casinos.
I have been clean and sober for over two and a half years...but, still I have been known to bring a loved one to tears.
...I love myself like crazy, and I've got a lot of work to do. I love the rest of you too, even though you all sit down to poo.
...still, I'm confused.
Oh yeah, one more thing: I always know what I'm doing.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
i'm this way Occidentally,
that is, Western Culture fashioned me,
which is why reluctantly
i am plagued with that malady
with a hunger characterized by insatiability,
post-modern non sequitur train of thought,
immaculately conceived, divinely begot,
my soul was raided by barbarous germanic tribes
my thoughts written on papyrus by scribes
my love for life was never requited
and, though i've danced with devils
i was never delighted,
but tonight, i gotta get my mind right,
forget about hindsight,
focus on the lime light,
take my cue in this theatre of the absurd
and, prove to the world that,
in fact, it is possible to polish a turd.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
has arisen from the precision
of my mis-managed decisions,
too many times i made the booty quake
with the familiarity of a hand shake,
never thought to do it for love's sake,
but, what's love anyway, hombre?
nothing more than emotional souffle!
so don't let that admixture
become a fixture
on your dinner plate,
keep them shady ladies a la carte,
where they should've been from the start,
instead, they became the only item on the menu,
but, instead of ordering them they ordering you,
so, turn around,
affix that crown,
'tis better to be profane than profound,
and deafened by the sound
of their heart hitting the ground:
Monday, August 30, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
When all it takes is whimsically perserveranced prayers, and meeting my maker half-way,
these things work out.
Some may say a whole bunch of shit about it, but those who stand true, aligned, and awake,
will continue to give props.
And may the props flow circular, connecting and raising the consciousness of the warm...
infecting the cold and the calous ones with our sickness of grace and compassion...
well, gratitude can apparently transform a tough guy convict bad-ass loud mouth, trash-talkin', judgementally-inclined type-casting pigeon holing, elitist fuckin wannabe music snob...
...into a real poet again.
Thank you Spoken Views, I'll come back around soon, stronger and cleaner than before
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Fool me now and watch the strength drown
And there is no real reason,
I guess you can blame it on the season
Growing pains cause strain
And my fucking brain is getting the best of me
I thought we were suppose to be homies
Show me a light,
A flicker of hope so I can cope
My scope is now cloudy,
How'd he do it?
Threw rocks at the negative
Threw the head off balance
Now the aura leans with a mean disposition
Depression tag teams with anxiety
Anxiety has a pact with panic
And this is just the way the universe planned it
My shoulder blades frame my motto
The skin sheds and the meds may numb
But this is no time to sit & act dumb
I'm from a starship that still has steam
And plenty of reasons to peddle these dreams
Screams on silent
Put demand on vibrate
And my ringtone is my breath
Learn to say no more often,
But say yes to beautiful energies that embrace
Expectations are there...grind gradually to exceed it
Always ask for help because you never know when you're the one who'll need it.
Monday, May 3, 2010
still paused and flowing slowly...
...with the vibrations unseen
and the busted perceptions of a lucid daydream.
willful thoughts, old and moldy...
...in a mined basement, come clean
while a trusted connection spun a musical crazy scene.
it's hot but cold and lonely...
...kissed by my angels under wings
until those muddy collections uncovered a hazy sea.
wishes got bold for only...
...a second or two...
who would've guessed it could move?
the simplest gift was lifted once or twice...
for only a second or two
like every golden dollar thrown into a fountain filled with shining wishes.
speak nothing but whispers when you are so far away that only the wind can carry it to me-
secrets of barren hearts that were robbed empty of color when worn on a sleeve in a black-and-white world.
show me your favorite colors so i can paint myself in them and you will never feel grey,
i can be every hint hue tone of hope in your day if you let me.
the train tracks that kissed the landscape of your beauty, gritting metal to rich soil, left more than rusting steel
and i know this and i can see this and i hear it in every cracked syllable of your exhausted speech.
but let me be your dream catcher.
i will wait by your side to collect every cloud atop your head and pop it until you see nothing but rainbows.
the pot of gold at the end will be my arms filled with every drop of love you never received when you should have.
i'll kiss your wounds into scars and your scars into
so distant memory because these hands will stitch you new.
if you let them,
if you let me.
let me be the thief of your darkness,
i will harness every act of war the world will try to lay upon your smiling face.
shadows will no longer dance around you, sprinkling defeat along your path.
they will bow to you and fear your light.
all the screams you sequestered that tore at your tissue will leave and become music for dancing feet.
you will dance, dance,
dance until dawn and dusk both applaud you.
until the stars demand an encore.
until the moon's face glows with tears because in all it's years
it's never seen anything come close to such wholeness as you.
believe this promise song i offer you.
believe i would die for you if it made you happy.
believe that my hands can't hide every hole in your soul,
but they could damn well try.. they could damn well try.
if you let them, if you let me.
Monday, April 19, 2010
1.) sweaty palm electricity
stutter, stumble over words hormone
jaw dropped and drooling mouth prone
imaginary fairy tale brain land
working out scenarios your hand could, should
brush against mine
affection growing as a tumor benign
infecting smiles, causing shakey knees
melting me to the floor in heaps
2.) concrete convulsions
crumbling quickly to cover up
the lower level black asphalt lover
sediment and dust caress it's worn places
red bricks looking like chapped lips
roughly and hastily kissing
the forlorn and lost other half
3.) unwanted lips
touching the back of my neck
insistent words fall somewhere between
the cracks of my poor communication
and your hands groping to be fed
the weight of your boflex body
pressing against the back of my small frame
crushing cleanliness out of my skin
heavy breaths fill my ear
and i know what it feels like to want to die.
4.) the light projected onto the crowd
strips away daily facades worn on our faces
the beat drops and dancing hands
float through the top of the mass in unison
elbows bumped and toes stepped on
go unnoticed as eyes are glued center stage
see the knowledge being dropped out in rhymes
into the mic that serves as a weapon.
we're all aspring to be inspired.
5.) on these dirty streets of reno
one man positions himself in the same place
daily during summer on virginia st.
in between the silver legacy and the golden pheonix
preaching the words of god
he placed his palm on my forehead,
prayed for my lost
and told me that i was saved.
that god was watching over me.
seconds later a friend and i were
hassled by four or more bike cops
that placed us in handcuffs
for breaking curfew.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
They look like mythological creatures,
Stout faces burned by time and the sun,
Their eyes shine like a trash-filled cauldron
Burning at the end of an expansive snow laden lot,
They have the mouths of a carp,
Slowly aspirating in rhythm to the inflation and
Deflation of their corpulent bellies,
Which are contained by faded plaid shirts
Stained with BBQ sauce and whiskey
From misplaced sips from the bottle,
They emit an ungodly odor
Vaguely reminiscent of urine and bile,
Their matted hair hangs down from their foreheads,
They bounce on the train
Like hooded figures swaying in tandem the Southern breeze,
Suddenly one grumbles, a surprise on my part,
As he move as though a stone figure has become animated,
“Gimme your shoes, honky!” says the drunk Indian,
We are alone on a the train that’s headed toward downtown,
Just we three and the two drunken Indians of mythological lore,
The comment is directed at Drew and his gray Chuck Taylors,
“Gimme your shoes, honky!”
I know that to fight these drunken Indians would be a losing battle,
Not only do they have tree trunk arms
And pissed-off expressions that twitch in a fumy cloud of Jim Beam,
But, we are all beginning to feel the effects
Of Psilocybin invading our collective conscious,
Only minutes earlier I was telling my buddy Paul:
“These shrooms are making me gassy, man,
I think I’m gonna puke that Margherita pizza from earlier!”
I was saying this clenching my belly
While Paul looked at his fingers, which had become
Flaccid as wet noodles and were swirling as though in a sea before him,
“Gimme your shoe, honky!”
This time the drunken Indian attempts to stand
When he says it, but he sways like statue unlocked from its base,
He tries to right himself but his grain-soaked brain
Still thinks that he is sitting down,
Suddenly the train comes to a halt and the Indian topples over,
The doors swing open and we dismount the train
Leaving the two Mythological creatures to rot in their mobile tomb,
The world outside is just as hellish
As the one we’ve just departed,
There is something weirdly chthonic
Implicit in the environment outside,
Hoards of empty-eyed pedestrians stumble about
Like the walking dead with their mouths agape,
Office buildings tower overhead
Like the ominous tombstones of fallen gods,
A once verdant and overgrown park
Is now littered with skeletal trees and ashen snow,
And, at the heart of it all, at the Galvin Center,
Lies the Budweiser Beer Gardens,
In which the multitudes shift in and out,
Mindlessly filling their plastic red cups with a sort of golden death,
At the entrance to the beer gardens are monolithic columns,
Celestial spires or ziggurats
With corporate sponsorship that read: King of Beers,
It is like the gates of heaven, only instead of St. Michael
There is a DJ spinning the most unbearable house music,
He is like some long forgotten general from the Third Reich
Reanimated so that he can once again bring havoc upon mankind,
Who wears a headset whence he is seemingly
Receiving telephonic messages from Satan himself,
And, the most horrifying part is that the crowd just loves him,
Or, maybe they are hypnotized by the pulsating drumbeats,
Will these lemmings follow their leader to the precipice? I wonder,
But, Paul wakes me from my reverie
Handing me an Anchor Steam
That he has just wrestled from my backpack,
The beer will calm me down, I think,
Perhaps, retard these fleeting notions,
I look up to see the group has proceeded to march on,
Check this shit out, Paul says, motioning toward
A giant picture of a figure skater draped over a skyscraper,
The city has draped many similar enormous
Photographs over the buildings downtown,
From a distance the appear still,
But, standing underneath them now
I realize that a bit of air separates them from the building,
And, a breeze dances just below it causing the
Ice skater’s figure to wave and ripple,
Suddenly a notion dawns on me: the closer you get to
Any still object, the more you realize that everything
Is in constant chaotic motion,
This shit is really tripped out, says Drew,
And, I feel no words better articulate what I am feeling,
We trudge on, going through Anchor Steams like
An Escalade goes through unleaded fuel,
We roll joints laced with Opium,
And, blow clouds of billowing smoke into a crowd of missionaries,
We are lawless, we are vigilante, and we are stoned as a mutha,
We get locked into port-o-potties, and ogle beautiful women,
We offend young children with our crass tongues,
And make little girls cry with only our grimaces and pig-snort laughter,
We have fire burning in our eyes, and make demon-possessed expressions,
We talk endlessly, our subject matters cover the
Width and breadth of human knowledge:
Metaphysics, Epistemology, Ontology, Genetics,
And, with each passing word the world becomes
Even more harrowing and less familiar,
Suddenly, Paul and I are staring through a window at
A lithograph of an old couple, titled: The Lithographer and her Husband.
And, staring through the window into this ad hoc art museum
I realize that this is what I want; what I’ve been searching for,
To be re-rendered, to be recreated; reborn…to be made a work of art,
And, so I wander away from the group, bewildered,
And, in my Psilocybin-laced thoughts I think
I must move on, but I know not where,
And so, I meander onto the street, walking toward the train tracks,
My arms are raised in the air,
My friends are yelling at me, telling me that a train is coming,
The lights form the train trace my figure,
And, this moment becomes frozen forever as I stand on the tracks
Like a life-sized snow glow,
Marvin, the fucking train!
But, I my mind wanders on, transfixed on something far beyond,
Something just out of reach,
Snow swirls around me,
But, I look on,
The train’s lights paint
And everlasting picture in the minds of my friends,
But, I look on,
The train honks and flashes its raging lights,
But, I look on,
Overwhelmed by something that burns dimly over the ash-dust horizon.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
...so, now that we've identified an enemy, we can rectify the symmetry with our own tantalizing taste bud stimulating tea party.
...except tea tastes like shit to me. I foolishly prefer highly caffinated coffee. But, you know what I'm sayin.'
...I'm sayin' Kiss my nuts, you punk motherfuckers, chuckin' a bunk over-stuffed muffin' full of nothin' worth mentioning, but hurled strong enough to wreck our scene. Mess with me and my crew again, and we'll bless the breeze with our energy. We got some shit up our sleeves that y'all can't even see, and come summer, we'll be up in your shit with our pleasantries.
See, you all fuckin' pissed me off. So I'm gonna come at you with eloquence and grace and a fat load of nut for your face.
...k, maybe not the skeet, but we'll take to the streets. You will experience defeat. We will spit freshness through our teeth. We kick knowledge to beats, and empower the weak. We created a scene and our leaders shine clean.
oooh wee ooh, y'all done fucked up now.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
You’ve been dressed well tonight,
little shell that sold herself to see the light-
See how the light has left your eyes
Blank face, and your jaw keeps moving,
Your mouth streams fallacies and your eyes lie fallow,
the organic matter of truth
became the fallow fields of ignorant dreams
Unceasing movement from which your subconscious streams,
That began rotting early in your youth.
You see, they’d rather dress you well,
Cover the patches of dirt with what they want you to be,
Tuck flaws under tight jeans,
Insert credit cards where there might have been meaning,
Then admit that what they are taking
is more destructive then what they are replacing.
Still, her corpse was half price, and you dressed her up nice,
Took her out for the night, and danced with mannequin hands
Until the patches of dirt under her skin began to hurt,
And she is layed in fallow lands, the fields of failures and dreamers
who could no longer refrain from haunting the empty eyes,
And return to the land where thoughts have been banned,
Collected, canned, and kept in whorehouses
for the next narrowly escaped apocalypse.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
blasted with a passion to create a foundation that's long-lasting
...i'm askin' for some compassion to keep our heads out of our asses
and live for the light that we can celebrate and bask in
...now that's not to say that it's gonna be an easy process
buncha punk motherfuckers wanna spit out fronts and nonsense
...i'm a hater of haters, clowns that say shit like "check ya later,"
or call every dude "my brotha," it's a magnificant conundrum
...so I gotta watch my mouth, cuz i'm startin' to judge again
who knows, maybe those clown-ass bitches can be trained to be a friend
...maybe they have no idea what it means to be true to self
just like me...fuck you. I love you. I hope this rant finds you in good health.
.........man, I need to switch to decaf.
Monday, February 22, 2010