Homo-No-Prospectus

Title says it all...evolved out 

of existence...too much sap,

not enough sapiens...give the

monkey a banana and send

him on his way.

Apotheosis Forty-Four (for Johnny Winter)

I am Jesus Christ...

I'm the Son of God...

Oh man! Oh man!

Got a forty-four,

gonna shoot some more...

Oh Lord! Oh Lord!

I am Donald Trump,

looking like a chump...

Me-la-ni-a! 

I am Hillary

on a pillory!

It's hot! It's hot!

I'm the Buddha, Joe,

ego's gotta go!

It's not! It's not!

Saw a UFO...

Oh, I wanna go!

Go-go! Go Go!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zVkAU5VOorI

Pretty Soon!

Pretty soon, I won't have to worry 

about that anymore...

the past is just the future left behind.

Rainbow in the corner of my eye...

no one can tell me why...It must be

just one of those things.

Oh, I stopped making sense, yes siree!

Anything comes out of the closet!

Adorably adorned!

Since everyone's stopped talking to me,

I don't know what I should be worried about

anymore, but, let's not talk about that now.

Getting back to the soda fountain,

Betty in her poodle skirt is now living,

toothless, in a trailer by the railroad tracks.

Biff died at work, crushed by an

hydraulic press...but the kids are

doing fine. This is the sixth dog in 

a row they've had named Candy.

And so it goes.

Bikini Droppings

Bionic fuzzy puzzles

divine blushings

imprint elsewhere.

Fashionable goldbrickers,

plastic human flytraps

haywire on the fringe of

hallucination.

Dreamless cultureless children,

berserk, carnivorously searching

for existence's blurt adventure.

Popsicles, Icicles

The joy of the fifties and early sixties

when we thought life was simple

and went on forever. Drive in movies, 

sock hops, teen romance, protected

by daddy man, mowing the lawn, ice

cream while watching Jackie Gleason,

hot dogs at Dog-and-Suds, the blond

girl that walked past my house and 

drove me crazy.

People were dying in wars all over the 

world, but we had no idea. We felt 

special, protected, privileged, and we 

were....the USA had won the lottery

of who's on top and we thought it was

heaven.

Look at it now...just another dream.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Xo_EKpyP0w

Projectile Vomiting: A Memoir

Let's see...(of course, as the man said,

first you have to look...then you can see.)

...I can't be serious...not at this point...

after "who looked at whom first, anyhow, 

dancing" it's all just a somewhat pleasant

memory...distorted and edited to be sure...

and perhaps the whole thing wasn't just a

complete waste of time...no one's about to

give me the "Presidential Medal of Freedom"

...now that's a waste of time...

...and so it goes...even the mountains begin 

to disappear...a magic show...big mistake

being trying to capture it, edit it, market it,

manufacture it somehow which was never

successful...even Santa's elves don't give

a crap anymore...and the monkeys at the

zoo  don't throw their poo...they might need

it someday...a magic tamasha meghilla 

only predicted by...Everyone! 

...I remember hearing the train at night at

the house on Keystone Avenue...rain on the

window and lilac bushes in the spring...

...I remember going to Thomas's apartment...

absinthe and martinis...steak au poivre...the

video we made...the poem we wrote...trashing

his poor table lamp...his wall full of paintings

he did of his friends...watching his art videos...

...I remember my landlord is coming over 

today...maybe his whole family again...his

three year old boy likes me...I'll buy them 

beer...they didn't seem upset I broke that

sink...

...I remember a dream I had as a child...at a

zoo...in front of a cage...a man in uniform...

a woman and child...the child had three

balloons; red, yellow, and blue...I said to them:

"When I raise my hand, I'm going to wake up

from this dream." ...and I did.

There's no way to get anything back...it still

lives within anyway...the vibes we got from

everyone and experience still resonate like

pool balls on the cosmic table..."all options

are on the table"...even weird Uncle Harry...

even love we think lost.

It's weird...you never really had it...any of it...

you get older and it's like waking up from a

dream you had as a child...I was sitting at the

dock of the bay and now I'm in a museum...

take a look..."he did that"..."that's pretty 

incredible"...."so, what happened to him?"

"he died."

It's not a downer...it's a yoyo you know...

that's why we called them "straight people"...

linear thinkers..."Welcome to Blinderville"...

if they're not a Johnson, they are to be 

avoided as if they were wild animals...which

often they are...it's natural selection and I

chose not to be friends with some fool to

put it mildly...let them have their baseball 

games...hot tubs...you name it...they may 

be going up, but the string is still attached...

...a pretty endless subject, like sex...so, why

get started?  ...too late for that thought...good

luck with that...even the end is the middle

of another beginning.

Haiku Gesundheit

The paranormal

seems quite normal to me now.

Who needs Disneyland?

Haiku? What to do?

Is there a muse of haiku?

Muse is not amused.

When the parachute

doesn't open, in mid air,

beautiful freedom!

Freedom from on line

poker...the freaky feeling

the chips are still there.

Greta, sleek damsel,

her solo improv side show,

her mom died, her dog.

Now, the big ending...

boffo with sparkles and chintz...

let the curtain down.

Another ending,

Another beginning flowers...

mother nature knows.

Cut off the poem

like taffy, no end, no beginning...

just like one big note.

How To Be A Poet

 Give up on accomplishing 

anything in life...for starters.

Expose yourself to the world,

let the world get inside you.

You have to love language

because words are the 

doorway to the truth, and truth

in whatever form is the poet's

muse.

Drink, take drugs, enjoy ecstasy:

as Wallace Stevens wrote; "The

eccentric is the basis of design."

Besides, straight people are the

problem, their own and others 

worst enemy...they will always

be afraid of you. 

It's not your fault that you're a poet

if you can't help but write. It's like

being gay or something. 

Once it's written, it's no longer yours.

If you write something great, don't 

think it's because you're a great writer.

The writing only happens when you're

not there.

Poetry is the music of your mind...poetry

is like walking on water...poetry is proof

of life, written when there's nothing left

to lose....poetry made even Gregory Corso

seem beautiful. The Beats didn't write 

for fame or money...they just couldn't 

help themselves.

Poetry, music, art...the only things on this

planet worth saving. Humans need them 

like oxygen. What endeavor, what thought, 

could be more important than joy of life?

Midnight Blue

glittery flavoring of a gone world

gland swindler beefcake Arnold

a bellyful of creepcakes...crazy

dynasty finally freed, no more

marble logic! /anyways, junkyard

hogwash, pulse of a generation's

blistered carcass, bloodsport of

going to Target Sale...everybody

wants a piece of americana...Save

the Phantom!

Clairvoyant golden warrior! 

Bareknuckle Protean Diamondhead!

Primitive noir clubfoot! 

Brave agonizing Kachina!

Where art thou?

Civilization served as imitation!

Who can be the best 

at being the same?

Flinch with gladness, humanlike!

Life is trying to get to you!

You heart doesn't just mean meat!

It already has a reason!

Repeating Infinity Eternally

Amoeba god energy

grunting ghetto swarm

ghoul blender episode

Ask a kid why they did

something and you get:

"I don't know', which, at

that age, is a correct

answer.

homicide...ghost extra

pig....optional mutation

swallow everyday aftermath

basking sharks paradox

fundamental pneumatic hangman

metaphysical coleslaw coda.

Watermelon

Eggfruit

world of seeds

egotist's head

Vegetal copy of

the universe

laughing all the way

to compost

This poem was not 

supposed to be 

about you...

you see,

how your green

veil hides lush

red mouth slurping

wonder. No one,

having tasted your

freshness, can forget...

Oh, fruit of summer's shine!

How can we lose your simple

pleasure! Water shaman!

Ferocious glory fully carnal!

Deliciously obvious!

What jihad would it take

to declare you unholy?

"So what" to pompous, Pius

philosophy Machiavelli-ing

existence beyond recognition:

get your face wet.

Descarteswheel

I think, therefore,

I am too preoccupied 

with thoughts to be, 

therefore, I am not. 

Last Paradise Battleground (random word poem)

perverted adorable crucifier

homemade connection promised

guaranteed immunity baboon

daylight genetic melt

national smile forgotten

chunky teen absentness

femur desire allowable

blond decadence torpedo

invisible glider feeling

rastled apocalypse hooves

ambush academic jerk

mindless carnal beat accessories

dirty cannon baster crucifix

Wouldn't You?

If you could save your life,

but then an hundred others die,

what would you do?

If your neighbor's 17 year old

daughter came over, and you knew

she was fucking Tommy anyway,

wouldn't you?

First time in America, in California,

fierce first time, Monterrey Pop,

wouldn't Who?

What happens when all the animals

are dead?

Wooden zoo?

Yeah, I might have killed Hitler, if I

was alive then, and I knew...

so many Hitlers now...I'd like to

frog walk them into the ocean.

Wouldn't you?

Homunculi

Very small, in spite of our generation...

all of us make up a made up nation...

living in a desecration

homo sap prancing mind dance

reeling with the oldies

same as it ever was

nothing new nothing new.

Nothing knew, but then forgot...

a double take confusion ever since

trying to figure it out in "no spin zone"

words melt into flapping lips flaming zip.

The Sixties were a warning last laugh...

if you'd paid attention, you'd be home by now.

Never mind the  lifetime lost; your heart is

somewhere, just not in the right place.

Dr Pinecraft

Dr, Pinecraft in his BMW riding in the

early evening, down slinky mountain

road, clouds and flashes of lightning

getting more frequent, no guardrail...

...his thoughts convoluted...he felt like

he was getting away with something,

and it felt good...

...top down, half a quart of Southern

Comfort his passenger, but, oh, do

the Tuscan leather seats feel good

after that massage...and his foot slips

and hits the gas and his car goes 

quietly sailing into the mountain valley 

air...a bat made out of hell.

He woke up a spring day in April, scent

of flowers and birdsong...Gibraltar,  

He'd been taking some time off....

"from what?" 

He wondered. He remembered seeing a

billboard in India with the Dalai Lama on 

it, holding a Coca Cola, captioned:

"The Dalai Lama Takes A Break". 

"from what?"

He always was curious what the Dalai 

Lama  did, as leader of his people....

maybe he just needed to take a break 

and sit down, stop leading for a while.

He knew the feeling...he'd been leading

the "Lost Boys" for so long they had to

change their name...now they all had 

families...

...But he was getting distracted...he had 

focus...pull up his socks...man up...put

his moisture missile in it's holster and put

on a new set of spurs....

...so to speak.

He didn't like the birds so well...terns...he

knew they were gulls, but he liked to think 

of them as terns because he didn't like gulls.

The birds weren't that distracting...it was 

more when he went went for a walk among

the cafes, the women at tables with friends

or alone, the way they presented them-

selves, their colors and perfumes, highly 

cultivated gestures and body language that

would make men sway like cobras to a flute.

At least, he recognized that he was alive.

His targets felt alive because most of them

realized they were probably going to die soon.

He liked to give them  notice because their 

behavior then became erratic and created 

opportunities.

But that was just his job. He spent a lot of 

time fishing...his last expedition off  California, 

he didn't catch anything. Gibraltar was near

enough to everything, every place he needed

to go. He had a pet monkey. He liked to knit.

MSM

The MSM is the result of several

generations of inbreeding in the

media, engineered to refine the

ability of the media to lie to the

public according to the deep state's

interests. Stalwart types such as

Cronkite, Huntley and Brinkley, were

replaced by bobble-headed clones.

That people trusted what the MSM

said has been assumed until the

last few years, and the election, that

exposed the MSM as the propaganda

machine created by the CIA, among 

others, that it is. Newscasters today  

resemble the early Terminators that 

were made of plastic and easily 

detected. It's not uncommon to see 

them choke on their own words, 

unable to convey any conviction 

behind them. We see behind the 

curtain.

The Last Waltz

Forget about whether Trump is successful...

forget about the neo-cons defeating him...

forget about radical Muslims taking 

over the world...forget about the third
World War... forget about pollution,
over population, dwindling resources...

only forget about nuclear war, because it

would be redundant to what's already
happening.

There are 450 nuclear plants worldwide,

60 are under construction.

Japan has 43. One of them has melted.

This melting of three reactors has destroyed

the pacific ocean...so far.

Multiply that by 450 and what do you imagine?

"Oh, that won't happen.....humans won't allow

it." Yet, Fukushima happened.

Seven billion people, and yet, the birth rate 

is declining in most industrial countries. As the

quality of life declines, this trends continues. What 

happens if there aren't enough people to maintain 

these nuclear facilities? In the case of any large 

scale war, the possibility exists. In the case of 

nuclear war the probability is exacerbated. 

This is not crying wolf. Oppenheimer was correct

in equating the release of nuclear power to Kali, the

destroyer. Humanity is doomed on this planet in the

next few generations. No wonder NASA is looking

for habitable planets....you think they don't know?

And, do you imagine they would reveal what they

know and their plans to the mass of marching 

morons?

There's too much circumstantial evidence....
just as there was too much circumstantial evidence
to believe that Oswald was a lone assassin....too
much  circumstantial evidence to believe the
commission's lies about the World Trade Center...
and the list of lies goes on. 

What did one NASA official say publicly? "If you
knew  what we do, you'll never sleep again."
https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=n72JUK1ahtk

The clues to the truth are out there.

If time was linear, you could call this
doomsmanship. Since time is cyclical, you
could just consider this  another heads up....
don't be surprised, even though surprising
things are happening and that will intensify
in the near future.

Wake up while you have a human mind
and can  understand words. If you know
what's coming, it will, at least, be less of a
shock when it happens.  Ignorance is bliss
only until the light shines.

Same Old Beginning

"Play it again, Sam."

(beginning in the middle)

When I act in the play anew,

I get the strange feeling of

deja vu. 

The perfect starter home.

The Grateful Dead never played

any song the same twice, but they

always started in the same place.

Square one, 

ground zero, 

first thought,

reboot, 

singularity, 

cosmic attractor,

center of the mandala,

genesis,

all point to the incredible, potential, 

infinity of....

Yes, you got it.

Just got off the visualizer...

Mac Book Pro visualizer...

listening  to the Grateful Dead...

almost as good as acid...

especially if you took it before...

study the Sixties for real...

a mystery, a revelation, an unfolding

captured in film and words...

no social movement ever 

so preserved...

"500,000 halos outshined the mud and history

we washed and drank in God's tears of joy

and for once, and for everyone,

the truth was not still a mystery." 

Jimi Hendrix 

...unless you happened to not be there,

or someplace like it...`Millbrook, Mill Valley,

Stanford LSD tests, "The Bus"... Fourth

Musser...Naropa...Berkeley...Madison...

Ann Arbor...

...memories lost like tears in the rain...

even my sadness escapes me...

the only thing left is stupid joy.