Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Sociopathic Motto

"Life is an ongoing sales call."  Keith Roach

Monday, April 24, 2017

Rogan's Paradox

Joe Rogan:  "You don't want to always be high."

Yes, but I always want to be high.

Catatonic Cowboy

hemlock holy death council,
"Thanks, Soc!"
and to Buddha, his students 
said: "Thanks for nothing!"

faint phase biblical in time
caravan holdup inevitable
French casino uprising growl
extensive iron swami enforcer
social lubricant joystick cruelty

petites-fours and swamp gas
hydroponic narcissist extravaganza
in the in, so so very...very
a bunch of damned banshees in drag
cackling all the way to the bank

I'll tie up near this pool in the river
eat some grub, smoke some jack,
and watch the vast dark blue twinkle 
at night, head on my saddle, 
looking up.

"...and the alleys smelled of earth"

ancient history ended only maybe
thirty years ago, to when the world
was built up, built out, and tech
progress speed created a new
generation of humans every ten
years/ so many in cities never
seen a cow/ newyorkers afraid
of driving through Vermont woods/
woods and farms I grew up in gone/
into strip malls condos seven eleven/
oh, put a word on it! nothing like when
I was three in Chicago, lilac lined drive
and the alleys smelled of earth
like the anthem of an age.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Brave New World

I remember when I was, at most,
eight, in front of the television, and
a show came on: "The Big Picture".*
I thought: "Someone's gong to tell 
me what life is about!" When I realized
it was military documentary, I was very
disappointed. I wanted to know.

Point being, then, as now, I am in a 
completely new world that is coming about
and being revealed more and more
rapidly. Then, of course, the world was
new..I was young. Now the world is new
in so many ways...secret world government,
UFO disclosure, HAARP, Fukushima, The
World Bank, Secret Space Program, Cern,
world depopulation program, intradimentional
portals, Dan Burisch, the Antarctic, all 
becoming visible as the actual world we live 
in rather than what we were led to believe 
my whole life up until recently, even though 
this new world has been going on secretly 
my whole life. I knew I smelled something...
soft disclosure.

* The Big Picture T.V. series 1951-1964 (Wiki)

Poem For Monica

They're building a wall in my house
on top of an old wall because of leakage.
The whole family is here including five
year old Damien, who likes me. He has
a new puppy as big as my hand. I gave
both of them cold milk to drink.

This just happens when you're alive,
all of it, so ordinary, so magic...we take
for granted the magnificent dream we
wake up into every day. Everything
that emanates from our hearts and minds
fills the universe like a perfume, "immense
and living."

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Corpses....Uh Matter

A corpse speaks:

"As a chunk of post-life, I should be
respected, as I am normally in society,
but there needs to be more attention
paid to my right as a corpse to be a 
corpse and take my rightful place by
the side of the politicians and ruthless
magnates who are my natural brethren."

Jack Straw

Keep on rolling
beyond the fence
of present tense
all words mean a prison
straw men straw minds
not enough sense
to bale themselves out
of solipsistic penance...
"all thoughts blades of grass
that fly in the face of death
like straw in the wind."


We didn't think there was anything
wrong with that...
we just went along with it
so that nothing could happen...

it did, then something came out of that
as is always wont to do...

and we weren't ready
as we always are,
by anything in front
of our nose...

kinda like pigs, really.


Tell me the name
of the game that you play...
Blackwater flaming city?
barbaric pig pity?
computer capture/eliminate?
grim extravagant cartel?
consumption apparatus executioner?
New Age spellbound goofball?
dishonest pagan sorcerer?
narcotic mutant politician?
dependent snowflake?
gymnastic hogwash aficionado?
you're all f'd robot idiots
addicted to your programs.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Sandia Azul

Reyna Zochitl
Pechugas Popocatepetl
under umbrella, cool 
afternoon, overcast skies,
waiting for a phone call, or,
the end of the world.

Might as well eat first.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Just Label It Thinking

I've been listening to Debussy,
"Afternoon of a Faun", so, maybe
that means something. Why have
that thought, or, any other for that
matter? We give our thoughts a
great deal of importance, but we
really don't even know why we 
have them. Trains of thought make
sense, of course, choo choo...but
if you look at thoughts you can't see 
or experience through the senses 
where they came from, where they 
go. If you've listened to any
testimony from congress in the last
six months, you know that nobody's
memory is any good...can't remember 
what they did, let alone what they 
thought. Don't tell me what you think.
Tell me what you know.

What About Now?

Are you ready yet
for anything?
Is now just a moment
that gets lost on the
escalator of daily life? 
Can you really tell me
what's so damned 
important? Are you
busy because you have 
to be, or, because you
just can't sit still for a
single moment? All
distressed up and 
going nowhere.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Hill Of Beans

King of the Hill
of beans
wearing a beanie...
propeller turns.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Scorpio Rising

an enigma
tragic or fortunate
concussion karma
chiaroscuro emo
knowing you have 
a secret...not knowing
what that secret is
melting in passion
limousine struggle
in concept of
never an arbitrary 
discord sacred fermentation
memory imprint of
broken lost glory
agony soup
drenched in limitless spirit
haunting on my fingertips
ecstatic devastation
donut perfume emergency
don't say I didn't wake you.


I want to punch a guy and I want
to make love to a woman and haven't 
felt either of those in years...the I Ching
just tells you to suck it up. I'm a bit 
excited because it would be as if I was
doing both/either of those activities for
the first time because of bad memory.
Neither may happen. So I'm enjoying
the delightful throes of emotion, like
watching a tsunami, riding a roller-
coaster, skydiving, finding treasure.

The Way It Goes

That's the way it goes, which means
we are only in limited control of our
existence even David Rockefeller is
gone and what do you make of that I
guess for lack of words to describe
the ineffable...we don't get frustrated
because we can't touch a rainbow but
everything else including emotions is
questionable so much time wasted in
meaningless activities we'd be better 
off doing nothing Buddha did nothing
and freed his mind we should be so

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Leavin' USA

(To Beach Boys "Surfin' USA")

If everybody had a notion
across the USA
then everybody'd be leavin'
like Cali-for-ni-a
They'd all be pakin' their baggies
all their money too
pushy pushy bad karma
leavin' USA

You'd catch them runnin'
for a county mile
Santa Cruz and Oakdale
Chicago's lakeshore drive...
all over Manhattan
and Tallahassee way
everybody be leavin'
leavin' USA.

We'll all be plannin' out routes
we're gonna take real soon
we're burnin' all our bridges
we can't wait for June
we'll all be gone for forever
we're on hiatus to stay
tell the people we're leavin'
leavin' USA

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Trungpa Dharma

"We've been told to develop and be
professional and everything has a 
philosophy behind it. That all boils
down to one point which is being
uptight."  Chogyam Trungpa

The modern 'scapes of Fenninger,
DeChirico, Eliot's "Wasteland",
Hopper's "Nighthawks"
echo the haunting reality of man
losing himself by taking on a
pattern, a persona, a code
that defines him and to which he
must conform to secure success 
in the popular world.

No Respect For The Dead

Fuck 'em,
(not necrophiliacly)
they're dead...on the
karma express...deceased...
no longer breathing...daisy
fodder...bit the bullet...cashed
in the chips...passed away...
folded their hand...bought the farm...
took a dirt nap...

...they get one good send-off
party they can't go to, and that's
it for eternity...unless they're
famous, meaning only someone
else makes money off of their name.

"The only good corpse is a dead corpse."
Does that actually work?

In Mexico, they treat the dead as if they
still hang around somewhat, which
kinda makes more sense...of course,
any excuse for a fiesta!

I have no problem with the dead...my
problem is with the living...because too
many of them are not dead!

A lot of them kinda act dead....wish they
were dead...by all rights should be dead...

...something different than the sanctity of 
life, which includes death as natural...

No, our dead are stupid dead, make-up
splashed puppets, like worshipping
garbage...just feed the sucker to the
coyotes...the corpse won't mind, and it's
better for the environment.

No Adze To Grind

Taking it in stride...
today, nice...reading some others'
no need to make a mark, mar 
this generous moment...
raga-esque, in situ space,
ancient beginning always discovered
at end of long journey...
(and they call it "life")

Ah, Basho's pond is everywhere!
And light prisms into color just as
music is the expression of 
The Big Note...

Politics and world events like waves
on the surface of bottomless ocean...
(don't forget)...
don't trip over your own tamasha.

Monday, April 3, 2017

Parinirvana of Chogyam Trungpa 2017

Thirty years, and still a part of me.
What a miracle you continue to be.

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Blueberry Hurricane

Blueberry hurricane
hurricane hot sauce
hurricane catsup
hurricane insurance
atomic hot sauce
atomic insurance
atomic daisy
conspiracy theory
conspiracy hot sauce
conspiracy orchid
atomic conspiracy
atomic hurricane

Blueberry skoan


Cheap Trick

Reality is a cheap trick,
in fact,
it only costs your life...
so...whattya gonna do
about it, citizen?
Go on, as if nothing ever
Go on, as if whatever 
happened, it all 
makes sense?


I had my forty four under my coat
when I walked into the bar that day
to give my girl's lover a violent
deformity, a liberation torpedo.
Did he deserve it? 
Depends on who you ask.

Under The Volcano

I read Lowry during the first few
years in Mexico...I fancied I was
like him, romantically and obscurely
drinking myself to death under the
looming metaphor for the end of
civilization. I quit drinking due to a
vision I had...it was a miracle, but I 
can't prove that. Meanwhile, the
metaphor has expanded to the 
whole world about to blow. He
probably wouldn't have finished
that book had it not been for his.
wife. A modern novel about an 
end time.  Writing the book same 
as drinking himself to death.
You notice there are no more books 
of the Bible after Revelations

Saturday, April 1, 2017

April Fool!

I Do Not want all the Under Uber
State collaborators...whether
Clinton, Bush or Obama lined up
against a wall and shot!

I Do Not want the MSM pundits
and shills chained to sharks!

 I Do Not want the parents of
P.C. children be forced to work
on hog farms while their spawn
are forcibly re-educated!

I Do Not want the Deep State
Deep Fried!I 

I think America "is more the way
it is now than it ever has been"!!

That Burning Sensation

That burning sensation,
where you feel you want
to climb out of your skin...
have you ever had it? I have 
it every time I turn on the
television, but I've learned
to control it, because I know
television is good for me.


I'm writing this at my desk...
not much time and got to get
it down before they get here...
if it hadn't been for that bad
lobster dinner and missing the
train, I wouldn't be in this 
mess...the key's in the mail 
box, and the timer is set for
two o'clock tomorrow afternoon...
that's all I needed to get down. 

A few minutes 'til they get here...
I could write down a few things...
my last testament?

What's worth saying? Besides, 
soon it won't matter...only 
a very few will even see this. 

Glad that bottle was still in the 
drawer...always enjoyed the view
of the shore from this window...
nice breeze today...I can smell 
a little salt. I'm sure they'll 
find the boat in a day or two...

The shakuhatchis were a nice touch...
and, you have to admit, the timing
of the assassin was impeccable...

someone's at the door..


Not off the shelf...
broke the mold...
clown iconoclast
troglodyte trickster
imp impersonator
soap box orator
mirage muralist 
naked space man.    

Afternoon Of A Meatstick

Mechanical, orthodox and brutal
from point A to point B...
(no point in anything else),
God autopilot beacon blares
directions...Meaty listens:
"God told me to get a hot dog
with relics and mustard...
hold the mayo." ...preparing a face
to meet the faces made of meat,
airtight and indomitable,
chattering lethally noir charisma,
at home in an isolated, heavyweight,
fathead maze.

Friday, March 31, 2017


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...

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!


Tuesday, March 28, 2017

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

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

Look at it now...just another dream.


Saturday, March 25, 2017

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

...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

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?

Monday, March 20, 2017

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!

Sunday, March 19, 2017

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

homicide...ghost extra
pig....optional mutation
swallow everyday aftermath

basking sharks paradox
fundamental pneumatic hangman
metaphysical coleslaw coda.

Friday, March 17, 2017


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.


I think, therefore,
I am too preoccupied 
with thoughts to be, 
therefore, I am not.