Frank Rictus: Detective

Frank Rictus put his legs on his desk

opened a drawer, and pulled out a pint

of Vat 69. He lit a Rothmans. After a long

pull on the bottle, he opened a different 

drawer and picked up the Ruger .44. 

He laid in on the desk, pointed away.

He blew smoke rings and drained the bottle.

The phone rang. He picked it up, put it down,

picked it up again and left it on the desk. 

After a couple of lines and half a handful of

bennies, he was starting to feel a little better.

Had it been worth it? He could’t decide. It 

seemed to have gone on forever. Good things

had happened, as well as bad. In balance, 

Frank considered he was about even. He

vaguely remembered the strong emotions he 

used to have…just that he had had them, 

but, there was no hangover of their intensity.

He was amazed he had been able to function

during some of those times, periods of his life.

He was amazed at some of the things he’d 

accomplished, as minor as they were. He 

couldn’t do any of them now. 

“What’s next?” he thought. His mind didn’t 

come up with much. “What’s left?” This too

didn’t offer much. There were some loose 

ends, but none of them amounted to anything.

Frank never believed in God. He felt, if you had 

to come up with a tag for the Absolute, It was

probably due to insecurity. He had a deja vu

that he had had that thought before. 

It was going to be a long night. He had to make 

a few phone calls. 

Three days later, the police broke into his 

office. Frank was still at his desk, a 

cigarette burned down to his fingers.

"Oh no, you don't!" (for Patton Oswald)

Passion escalator debauchery…you want

to make pedophilia fashionable?

What’s next….cannibalism?

Yes, folks, don’t laugh because 

this is no joke.

Grim bloodthirsty fog clouds the eyes.

“When you get on the wrong bus,

every stop is the wrong stop.”

Disneyland America tragedy…

a jar of flies…

how do we get out of here from there? 

Everything you know is wrong…

everything I was taught is a lie…

the mask will be ripped from your face

and you will be forced to see

the illusion America has become.

It won’t be pretty, but, it’s the only way.

Your re-education by wake up call.

A revolution is happening, while you

eat your sunny side up. 

Hillary a cannibal child killer…

Obama a Muslim fanatic…

What did you think was happening

while you were asleep?
(You can't make this shit up)

“If the truth can be told so as to be

understood, it will be believed.”  William Blake

The Purge Of Evil (written 11/19/11)

For everything there is a season.
This is the time of hell on earth.
This is the time of the flowering of evil.
The Lords of Materialism have seized power…
It is their time.

The karma they accumulate from their evil deeds
Will rid the world of them for a long time….
They will not be reborn as human.
It is the time of the purge of evil.

Remain human!
Don’t get sucked into their trip!
This has to happen now!
Remain human! Remain human!
Don’t give into their bloody game!
What goes around comes around!
Cultivate compassion!
The leaders are lost in lust!
Their self-destruction is inevitable!

Apparent Emptiness

Nothing is solid, nothing lasts,

except nothing.

Even the universe is temporary.

Apparently, most think there must be

something real…otherwise, 

we wouldn’t be worried about 

change and death.

That nagging feeling, that hole inside

we cannot fill,

mocking like Ozymandias,

is, really, where it’s at; 

the source and the return.

What we can’t understand 

we call God.

Our minds are trained to think

so we can go to the moon,

whatever that helps.

Bravo! 

The monkeys got off the planet!

Now what?

People can do so many things!

Why is it so hard for them to just be?

Many old people realize it’s all a wash.

Why would they have anything to say?

Our lives are a swinging door between

the senses and internal space mind.

No wonder we get nervous…there’s

nothing, no me, in between!

That nagging feeling that we missed 

something…that there’s something

we need to know, then, we’ll understand.

Omniscience is merely having nowhere

else to go, that magic feeling!

“To know is to get lost.” Nanao Sakaki.

The only thing unique about us is

we have to realize that ourselves.

Poan 2/11/19

There a big “if”

between true life and a lie…

do you know the diff?

The Birth Of Something Old

Who’s kidding whom?

Each birth unpacks

the same set of problems,

the same joys.

It’s the same old story…

haven’t we heard it all before?

Only each moment is fresh…

not the hangover.

Sure, the young have to go 

through it all to become the old…

bravo.

We look at them, and the world,

and wonder how we ever survived…

how they will….heigh ho! Heigh ho!

Into their lives they go!

Doing the redun-dance!

Open Your Eyes

The truth is in front of you.

Stop trusting the little voice in your head

that turns you into a puppet…be brave!

Through the senses we get the sense

of things…

even children know good from evil!

Everything you think you know is a lie.

Life is not a nine-to-five and then forget

about everything and turn on the telly.

The dharmas of Buddhism are only there

because there is so much ignorance!

You can’t train your mind with pills!

Wake up and use your noses

to smell the roses!

Heart To Heart

It’s time we had a talk.

Art is communication through perception.

Art shades phenomena to bring out facets

that are otherwise obscured. Dancing 

brings out the joy of movement, 

for example. Painting shines light on 

different views…theatre shows the reality

of hypothetical situations common to all…

literature and poetry use words to show

worlds beyond words. Real art is the 

furthest thing from distraction or 

entertainment, though art is used for both. 

That’s why a red wheelbarrow is so 

important; because what’s in front of you 

is as close as you’ll ever get to the truth.

Belief is just icing people put on reality

to make it look like a piece of cake….it’s

an all purpose flour you can bake into any

shape. 

People who find my poetry…or any poetry…

are looking for something…anything that

strikes them as real, true. Finding the truth

is relief from confusion and uncertainty.

Poetry showed me the way, in byte sized

increments, to see existence with surprise

and wonder; that another mind could 

actually articulate what I was experiencing

when I didn’t have the words. So, if there is

a universal mind, it is expressed through art.

“If you’re not busy being born, you’re busy

dying.” That’s Bob Dylan. That’s art. That’s

all you really need to know, if you can get

the message. 

"It's not over 'til the fat lady sings."

It’s not real unless it’s in front of you…

even then, be careful.

It’s not new even if nicely packaged…

nothing new under the sun.

It’s not wisdom if everyone thinks it’s true:

“No one is thinking if everyone’s

thinking the same.” Patton

It’s not over ’til the fat lady sings,

but, look; she’s waiting in the wings.

I Feel Good (for James Brown)

Old age subsides for a moment….

it does that, it comes in waves…

old age, sickness and death the

ultimate diagnosis…

it’s nice to be in remission.

Old age means soon no more poems…

I wrote thousands of them…

better than a sit-com…

better than a serial movie…

better than any entertainment…

you can read them while there’s still time.

Poets, those divine goofs,

filled the twentieth century with their troofs,

and people noticed, for a while…

while thinking was free range,

not herded into troughs fashioned by media,

not blared over loud speakers the way

CNN dominates airports…

people used to read.

Public fantasy,

made up scenarios wilder than imagination

have doped/duped many into unconsciousness.

just as Orwell said.

Who needs chains when you can just tell

people where to go, how to live, 

what to think? 

You’d better revolt, folks, because

these are the reasons.