Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Welcome To The Food Chain

"Welcome To The Food Chain" the sign
at the entrance to the internment camp
read. It was a little more friendly than
"Arbeit macht frei", but not that much.
Glen had been rounded up with the 
other townspeople due to a "national
emergency" of a vague nature. The
roundup had been quite efficient as if
the logistics of the operation had been 
in place for some time.

"Participants" were segregated into 
sexes and removed their clothing. After
examination by a doctor, Glen was 
handed a plastic bag of herbs and a
turkey baster. Glen was bemused. At the
end of the examination, he was 
instructed to walk  towards building three.
As he approached the building with others,
Glen read the sign over the door:

"Be A Happy Meal!"

It was at that moment that Glen realized
he had fucked up.

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Soldier Boy (for Dan Meade)

As he ran through the woods
he would slap the trunks of the trees
freaking out the meditators.
He was one of the youngest, but
totally devoted to his teacher.
He drank, and he was my friend,
and he taught, and he was a 
real person. Catch up with you 
later, Dan.


Abyssness is our business, 
our only business

"it's a living"
                     is ironic 
in any case.
                     it's not
a "free sample" if it's meant
to suck you in.

If I want freedom, 
all I have to do
is look outside.

The abyss is a hole in your mind
you fall or are sucked into where
you try to "figure things out, or,
"come to an understanding"...
"take a position', or, "what is the
correct way to think about this?"
(the deepest and darkest abyss)

Don't you think you should stop 
doing that? Don't you?  Really?

Words (1)

Filter useless nonsense
allied pessimists bleak prospectus
binge glow hangover
internal freak out head case zoo
evolution waiting to catch up
making it up as we go along
bloodstained military parade
proving we were wrong.

Trying to make you understand
as useless as senseless slaughter...
"You can lead a whore to culture
but you can't make her think."  (Parker)
Barbecuing life away 
every Fourth of July...
rooting for your team...
"America's Number One!" imagination only.

Laws are for those that don't know how
to act naturally sane.
That's why there are so many laws,
and because those making them 
are themselves insane.

The chilly orthodox swarm of empire
has had many names and faces over
history, democracy the current one.

We look forward to more of the same:
brainwashed into numbness, 
not security...
steady diet of control...
paralyzing anger...

I'm not here to make you feel better.
I'm here pointing to the abyss.

Sunday, September 17, 2017


I'm listening to the music of
the sixties. I'm sure that if I
had been on the Titanic I 
would have wished the 
orchestra to play the Blue
Danube Waltz...really...

this is the flash in front of
our eyes before we enter
a new realm...our lives flash
on the internet, as well as 
all lives that ever flashed and
left a record...

all information is available, 
but you'd better look quick
before they raise the rent
or the roof of the house of
cards collapses...

the highest teachings of 
wisdom that enabled Tibetans 
to survive twenty years
of imprisonment by the Chinese
and come out saner and 
mentally healthier than their
captors---it's a fact---exist
and are available....

and I followed that path, and,
it works, (it's not the only one) 
so, I listen to music of freed 
mens' minds of that brief rare 
time when we thought we'd found
freedom and some of us did.

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Available Space (for R.C. & L.K.)

Alphabetic pyramids bleeding
to tell their story,
empirically crumbling to dust 
like dream...

all space is available...
all you have to do is wait a while.

Friday, September 15, 2017

Post Apocalyptic Slogans

We're going to need new ones 
to live by soon, so, leave suggestions 
in the comments.

Here are some for starters:

"Everything tastes like chicken."

"Scratch my back and I'll scratch
that strange thing growing out of yours."

Greyhound Corpse Removal:
"Leave the dying to us."

"Have a day."

Monday, September 11, 2017

The Third Day

Frank Bismuth woke with his head 
on his desk in a pool of his own drool. 
As his trunk rose from the mahogany 
roll top, he knocked a 
bottle of Grey Goose off. It landed 
in the waste basket. Luckily both
the bottle and basket were empty. 
This was the only kind of luck Frank 
ever seemed to have.

It was the third day of the first case 
he'd had in  months. He celebrated 
the advance in advance, which is 
why he found himself at his desk in 
the shape he was in. His office was 
a mess..not just  disorganized, but 
littered with trash. Frank felt it was 
the maid's job to clean it up. The 
fact that he  didn't have a maid didn't 
seem to upset this logic.

This is the part of the job he hated: 
the work. He'd made his fame a few 
years ago by saving a child  from 
some kidnappers. The papers made 
him into a hero, but the actual story 
was quite different. He was apartment 
hunting, and he went to the  wrong 
address. When he knocked at the door, 
he heard sounds of a commotion and 
a girl crying.  The man who came to 
the door looked like Bluto, and told 
Frank to scram. A small lightbulb 
went off in Frank's head, and he 
called the police.

This was a real case...a dognapping. 
An expensive dog. How expensive? 
When he asked the owner,  she said: 
"If you have to ask, you don't need to 
know." The insurance company made 
her hire a detective as part of her due 
diligence. The client didn't care if he
found the dog. He didn't care as long 
as he was being paid. There was only 
one party that cared.

There was a knock at the door. Frank 
went over, opened it, and peeked out. 
"Good morning, Sir. I'm Stan Smith,
agent for Heartfelt Insurance Company. 
I'd like to speak with you about Mrs. 
Sherman's dog and the  progress you're 
making on the case." "Hey, Stan, 
where's Ollie?"  "What?" "Never mind....
say, let's go downstairs  for some coffee...
we can talk there."

Frank took Stan to the diner downstairs. 
He listened to the adjuster with his special 
face that made it seem like he was 
paying attention. He was merely waiting 
for Stan to stop speaking so he could 
lay on his detective spiel. He knew how 
to lay it on thick. At the end of their 
conversation, the adjuster seemed 
somewhat satisfied and somewhat 
confused. Frank knew he wouldn't be 
seeing him again real soon.

Frank wondered how he was going to 
solve the case. A ransom note gave a 
figure, but no other instructions. He 
thought of finding a similar dog and 
making it up to look like the lost pup. 
He thought of finding a road kill dog, 
putting it in a box and taking it to the 
lady. "Sorry, Mrs., but this is all that 
was left of him." Frank was a lazy 
bastard, no doubt. But he was clever, 
and it had saved his ass. But this 
time he was stumped.

Frank had a brainstorm. It was a crazy 
idea, but it was  the only one he had. 
He telephoned Mrs. Sherman. "Miz. 
Sherman, I have a lead on your dog. 
It seems the kidnappers wanted your 
dog as a trophy. They're wealthy 
Brazilians and to get close to them, 
I'll have to appear as a rich American 
businessman, stay in the best  hotel, 
throw some money around to get 
information. If you want, I can be in 
Rio in a day."

Obviously the woman wasn't worried 
about the money, because in four 
hours Frank was on a Lear jet sipping 
Crown Royal and eating lobster tail. 
He had no idea what he'd do next, but
he was enjoying the ride wherever it was 
leading. When he arrived at the hotel, 
a letter was waiting for him with a 
platinum Visa card. He immediately 
went out and bought a new wardrobe. 
He wanted to look like a cross between 
a businessman and and a high society
pimp...something like Donald Trump. 
He dyed his hair black  and slicked it 
back to a glossy arrogance. He figured
the people he was looking for would be 
at the casino, so, after a lunch of steak 
tartar and champagne, that's
where he headed.

The whales at the casino didn't liked 
to be bothered. They had their own 
private rooms and staff to keep lesser 
people away. Frank had a substantial 
credit line, and he had hired several 
young actors and actresses to play his 
posse. With his innate bullshit swagger, 
he managed to seat himself at a table 
with some high rollers. His intention 
was to lose...a lot. In an hour he was 
down several hundred thousand. Frank 
could make people laugh, which had 
saved his life a couple of times. He 
played the crowd and got a few 
chuckles out of them. There was one 
player that the others seemed to be 
paying attention to. He was the biggest 
fish in the pond, Frank reckoned. He 
kept playing until he found himself one 
on one with this man. They were playing 
Texas no limit hold 'em. The table had 
an obvious flush going, but Frank had 
flopped a full house. They were betting 
heavily. Frank folded, and the man took 
the pot. Frank got up and said: "Well, 
looks like enough fun for me  tonight!" 
He tipped the help generously, and 
walked out. The other players 
just stared as he left.

The next morning Frank was having 
brunch and a well dressed man walked 
up to his table. He introduced himself. 
"Sir, my name is Thornvold Arnquist. 
You were playing poker last night with 
a gentleman that is my employer. Do 
you mind if I sit down?" 

"Please" Frank responded.

"You lost quite a sum to my employer 
last night, and he was concerned after 
your well being, that you were alright,
and that there were no hard feelings."

"Well, it's not a big deal, but I did have
to kill my second wife...NO! no! That's
a joke! tell him not to worry, I'm a big 
boy. I wouldn't have been there if I 
couldn't afford to lose."

"My employer...let's call him Bill...was 
very impressed as you left the room 
that you didn't seem at all upset. He's
not only an avid poker player, but he's 
an astute reader of character, and he 
would be pleased to have dinner with
you this evening at his hotel, if you 
would be so inclined."

"Sure! At least I can get a dinner back 
from him!"

"Fine. Eight o'clock at the Empire Hotel. 
You will be shown to his rooms."

"I'll be there."

The man left. Frank finished his eggs 
Benedict. Something had happened. 
Here was his opportunity. What about 
the dog and the old lady? They were 
somewhere at the back of his mind on 
a shelf labeled "to be dealt with later." 
He couldn't wait to hear what this rich 
fat pig wanted to tell him.

He arrived at the hotel punctually. This 
was the best hotel in Rio, five star plus. 
He gave his card to the concierge, who 
led him past a bank of elevators to a 
private one. This took him to the 
penthouse,  where a butler ushered him 
into a vast  drawing room. "Would the 
gentleman care for a cocktail?" "No, 
thanks...lemonade or something."

"Very good. Drugs? We have hashish 
and the finest sinsemilla. We prefer to 
serve opium after desert."

"Well, yeah, a joint would be nice."

"We have a water pipe I'm sure you 
will  enjoy. Please make yourself 

(That was a surprise! Maybe the old 
toad  is more hip than I thought he 
could be.)

Frank sat down at a grouping of three 
chairs and a mahogany coffee table. 
There was an ash tray there, so Frank 
took out his Delicados and lit one up. In
a couple of minutes the butler returned 
with another servant carrying a tray. The 
butler placed a small water pipe in front 
of him, and beside it a silver bowl of green 
herb. The water pipe itself was a work of 
art. It was blown glass encased in filigree 
sliver work depicting some kind of plant. 
One smoked from a tube that resembled 
a vine. The glasswork was colored to 
appear as foliage. Lemonade in a crystal
glass was also placed in front of him. 

"Your host will be joining you in a moment. 
If you should need anything, there is a 
button on the table to press." 

"Thanks for everything....uh...what's your 

"You may call me Reggie or Reginald, 
Sir, which ever you prefer."

Not far. Reggie and the other 
servant disappeared somewhere at the 
other end of the room. Impeccable 
furnishings...not antique, rather built for
the space by master carpenters. A duel 
could properly take place in this hall. The 
formality of the butler along with the 
familiarity of calling him Reggie felt...
good...wholesome somehow. He took a 
toke from the water pipe and wondered 
how his host did business this way.Then 
he remembered that salesmen always 
soften you up before they go in for the 
kill. But, really, Frank didn't have much 
to lose. He was on his client's dime...he 
might not "find the dog" for a while. His 
host could make him disappear, he 
thought, if he'd wanted to. But he wanted
something from Frank. What was that?

"Good evening, Frank. I hope It's alright 
to be familiar."

The fat man, looking eerily similar to 
Sidney Greenstreet,strode into the room 
and took Frank's hand in both of his
meaty paws and shook it firmly.

"Of course it is. But, what do I call you?"

"I want you to call me Shorty for now. 
Partly to keep my identity private for a 
while until we see if we have business
together, and partly because I think 
it's funny."

"OK, uh, Shorty, but forgive me if I smile 
once in a while."

"One is supposed to smile, Frank, and 
laugh. Why do you think I have all this 
wealth? So I can be miserable?"

"No, of course not, but I don't know 
many rich people that aren't still obsessed 
with money...and miserable because 
of it."

"Absolutely, Frank. But you hadn't meet 
me yet."

"Yeah, well, why am I meeting you? 
What's this all about?"

"First, Frank, I have to tell you I know a 
lot about you. I know you're on an errand 
for someone rich...perhaps you're looking 
for something for them. I know you came 
to the casino to look for information. I know 
you joined the game to scout out the 
players. And I know you lost that hand to 
me to make an impression on me because 
you think I'm the one that might be able to 
help you. You think I'm the big dog. And, 
you're right.

Whatever you need for your client, I'm sure 
I can help you. What's the problem?"

"She lost her dog."

"All this because she lost her dog......?"

Frank took a photo from his wallet and 
showed Shorty. 

"It's rare and expensive and she's rich 
and she's paying me. What can I say?"

Shorty took the photo, took out his cell 
phone and walked about ten feet away. 
He made a couple of calls. At one
point, it looked like he was scanning 
the photo into the cell phone. A couple 
more calls.

"Alright, we should know something 
shortly. Now we should get to what 
you're wondering: what could I
possibly want from you?"

"It had crossed my mind."

"I read you at the poker table. Nobody 
else did. They bought your story, and 
these are serious guys, serious players, 
like me, but for some reason you were 
invisible to them. I want to hire 
be around when I need you, because, 
if you can fool them, you can also see 
through them. Poker, business, 
markets, it's all a game. You see 
through the game."

The butler approached with a phone. 
Shorty walked  away a little again. 
A five minute conversation. Shorty
walked back. 

"OK, they found the dog on the black 
market and it's on the way back to it's 
owner, who has been informed. The 
casino has graciously cut your losses 
at the table, which have been paid,
and your dog lady has deposited
your fee in your bank. Hungry?"

"Now that you mention it, I do have 
the munchies. Say, I appreciate the 
intoxicants, but I thought rich people,
besides alcohol, were into stuff like 
cocaine, meth....what gives?"

"Frank, I'm an old hippie. When the 
CIA infiltrated the San Francisco scene 
and began exchanging pot and LSD 
for meth and heroin, I saw what they 
were doing and got out. When I sit 
across from a guy at a business 
deal in a silk suit gritting his teeth, 
I know exactly where he's been."

Dinner was steak au poivre, asparagus 
and baked, stuffed potatoes, served with 
a 1959 Chateau Lafite. They retired to 
Shorty's study for majoun and brandy.

"The human species is in decline," 
Shorty started. "Common sense no 
longer has the value it once had. 
People are led into believing 
absurdities because lies are continuously 
beaten into their heads, just like Goebbels 
and Orwell said they would be. It's rarer 
and rarer to run into people you meet 
for the first time and feel here is an honest, 
down to earth person. This is a symptom 
of the social engineering project that has
been run by the sociopaths in charge of 
the system since, at least, the time of the 
First World War. Freud, the cocaine addict 
that gave us useless psychotherapy
and barbaric shock treatment also 
planted the seeds for Madison Avenue 
which convinced us of our brave new 
world. And the result is we live in a Ponzi 
scheme paradise with the rent coming due."

"Uh, ok. So, what are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to do what you did the other 
night. I'm trying to infiltrate their poker 
game, their power and money game, 
so I can disrupt it...perhaps even destroy 
it from within. To do that, I need people 
with your skill at being invisible. That 
night you were invisible even at the end
when you lost and left so nonplused. 
Invisible even when you were visible. 
You can get to their center, get information, 
plant seeds of doubt and discord. Did you
ever see the movie Yojimbo? It's a 
samurai movie where a lone ronin defeats 
two opposing clans simply by pitting them 
against each other through rumor an 
innuendo. It's really as simple as that. 
Frank, these  people are wrapped so tight. 
But they're insulated. That's why someone 
needs to get close."

"So, what do I get out of it?"

"For three years of work you get a 
first class ticket to Alpha Centauri, the 
New Colony, a beautiful retirement 
home and income for the rest of 
your life, before Nibiru destroys 
the earth."

"Why go to the trouble if Nibiru is going to 
destroy the earth anyway?"

"It's a living."

Saturday, September 9, 2017

Good Morning an editorial

"It is no measure of health to be well 
adjusted to a profoundly sick society."
--J. Krishnamurti

I just wanted to post that again at the 
top of the screen. Who can argue that
American society is not profoundly sick?
Who can argue that those that have 
adjusted to the status quo of crime, both
white and blue collar, are not profoundly
sick themselves? Who can argue that 
attention seeking, whether it is sex 
change for fame, filming idiocy for U Tube,
staging billion dollar fights for entertainment,
huge men bashing other for a few million
and brain damage, activists paid to scream
and fight for money...who can say that any
of it resembles sanity? 

This is your USA, the world you live in, 
right now. No wonder you do everything 
you can to ignore it. But it's not going away.

"Making future plans is like closing your eyes
on the edge of a cliff."    --Longchenpa

Friday, September 8, 2017

Macho Haiku

Hurricane, earthquake, 
I'm from Chicago, my friend;
we don't scare easy.

Thursday, September 7, 2017

Poetry War

Let's all write poems.
They don't have to be "good".
Let's write them and send them
to all politicians, Atifa activists,
lobbyists, agenda trolls; bomb 
them with poems about anything...
your anger...your love...that tree...
Hungarian cheese..anything that
suits your fantasy. Bombard them
with images they can hardly 
understand to juxtapose anent their
beliefs they think they understand.
Let's blow their simple minds they
cherish as complex. Their only
solution is greater confusion, so, let's
give them something to be confused

Not how many more traffic lights
are needed; not how to relieve 
tensions in a psychotic world;
not whether the Super Bowl
would be good for Miami.


"Who put that watermelon there?"
"Why is a clown asleep in my bed?"
"Since when did it snow in June?"

That would be best.


There she stood.

"Hi, my name is Eve...what's yours?"

"Adam. Hey, what say we get out of 
this joint and go populate the planet?"

"OK...wait while I go powder my nose."

She goes to the ladies room and 
dusts herself off with cocaine.

"OK, I'm ready...let's go."

Seven billion people later, 
and you ask me why.

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Black And Noir

This beautiful rain sound
lying down
in darkness
even the dogs know better
than to bark.

Sweet and sour
dark and darker still
Noah's Ark of Dark
across Disaster Styx
'cause the fix is in,
and you ain't in 
The Club.

This rain can't be soured
even darkness is sweetness
sound of heart pouring out.

Those that died in war
blood on the shore
transfusion for the world.  

No death if not life before.
Life had to come first;
confusing the chicken
into tenure.

Haphazard Hurricane

Bubbling babbling magical dread
hurdling boundaries sparkling death
joyride wet-work immense foible
earth showing off a little disaster...
imagine what it could do if it tried.


The kind of woman you'd die for,
if you were at all a man. All she
needed to do was cast her spell,
her Indra's net, and whatever man
was helpless, gone for good. She
was Mother Nature in Kali form.
Biker Momma with notches on 
her pussy. You didn't have to be 
concerned about equality of the 
sexes with her. She was better 
than you in every way. You could
see her, walking away from the 
Nuclear mushroom cloud in a 
new long green silk dress, bottle
of Southern Comfort in one hand,
automatic shotgun in the other.

"Where's the party?"  she smiles.

that girl.....

Monday, September 4, 2017

Decadent Noir

"You can't fool me with your mirrors.
I know what I see when I see me in 
your eyes. Your husband was right,
and that's why you killed him. That's
right, I know. Because you read like 
a condensed version of Life in
Reader's Digest. You might as well
have a shot of my bourbon and one
of my morphine, if you really need
relaxing. Then, you can tell the whole
story into my tape recorder, nice and
slick, like the hose you're wearing."

"I might as well. There's enough of his
blood on me to open a bank. Nothing
they could do to me could be worse 
than living with him. I thought i could
get you to do it for me. I guess I was 

"You were wrong alright, and two of 
those make a....hey, wait a minute!
Don't start with your mystique on me!
Don't make that mistake!"

"Well, OK..."  And she told me the 
whole story leading up to and including
the murder of her husband. I think it was
the morphine that loosened her lips. 

I didn't call the cops for two weeks. By
that time, we were both ready to go to 
jail, Switzerland.....where ever.

Decadent Poem #1

No one would be proud of me..,
which makes me proud of myself,
you see... hanging in ecstatic echo
memory halls drug infused...languid
lingering smoke entrails uncoiling
in mystic air, organ music, spectrum
of color, sound, shattered to shards
of diamond glimpses of real...
                             you don't need
to explain.   

Is just is for once.

That's why you paid the ticket.
That's why you took the ride.
That's why I highly Heidi high,
Heidi ho!

Corazone Zone

Ghostly smooth synchromesh
cybernetic chrome shackles
slick as ball bearing mirage
dance floor movement massage
message of unforgettable sweet
serendipitous sensual slip stream
slipping through the cracks, 
rendering defenseless, open, 
naked, the welcoming universe.

Aftermath Of A Stoned Pony

pretty good
transmission adjusted
into the world again
to the beat of the Stones
clipppity clop
off I hop

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Two Mescaline Haiku

Xanadu Haiku

My shipment
                     has come.

The boat departs 
                           in the fog.

Sweet pipe smoke rises.

Number Two Haiku.

I asked my teacher:

"Where would you like
                                    your rebirth?"

"In Hell, please."
                           he said.


So, part of my encrusted toilet got 
so disgusted with itself that part of 
the crust just sloughed off to reveal
gleaming porcelain beneath as if
it were a natural self correcting
mechanism of miracle. Which makes
me appreciate not just when something
is clean, polished, looking it's best, which 
is splendid, but appreciating the whole
of how the fourth dimension, time, affects 
everything and that rust, filth, overgrowth,
are just planting wonderful possibilities of
new discovery! And If that's not a good 
enough excuse I got a better one.

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

You Can't "Just Say No To Drugs"

Aspirin to Xanex, we take drugs
constantly, so, don't be a hypocrite,
and pass me the pipe.