Reading upon reaching
over-sized sunset
half-empty goblet
half-filled with tasteless franchised vomit
overflowing with suspended senseless confusion
guilty of the innocent sensation
like a plaid sawdust lumberjack suspender
covering a blood-stained wife-beater
bottleneck moonshine
boxers sticky with semen skid marks in the front
party in the rear
tears
rhymes with piers or pears
who cares
no one's there
nonsensical poems about underwear

American Dark Side Horror Story

It starts out looking like one of those cute YouTube videos of an adorable creature being fed something, most likely a sweet fruit, and eating said sweet fruit with a gluttonous gusto normally only seen in humans. In this case, we have a semi-attractive (and busty, of course) blonde zookeeper cradling a tortoise in her left arm. She is telling the audience that we’re going to see if the tortoise would like a star fruit. She adds some scientific dialogue that sounds believable about how we’re not sure if this particular tortoise will eat a star fruit. You see, this is a rare tortoise that because of blah, blah, geography/science-ey stuff, we haven’t had a chance to observe yet.

So, she picks up the star fruit with her right hand, & offers it to the tortoise. It slowly, but surely, strains its neck a bit to take a bite. “He’s eating it!” she exclaims. Then with a comically uncharacteristic swiftness, it takes a second bite. She laughs with the sort of “Aww, isn’t it cute. As a human, these clearly inferior creatures amuse me” disrespectful patronizing bullshit fucking tone that all of the animals secretly hate. Catching her breath with a big smile she proclaims “I think he likes it!” Again with the mocking & the condescending. The juice of the fruit runs down her fingers, hand, & wrist. The tortoise slowly strains its neck a bit further, and takes a 3^rd bite, which finishes the fruit, her index finger, her thumb, and the part of her hand that comes with the digits. She screams, holding up her gushing right arm & dropping the tortoise with her left. As she does, we see the front claw of the tortoise dig its nails into her flesh. It is clutching her collarbone. As she screams and bleeds, the other claw does the same: sinking its sharp reptilian nails into her skin. Now it has her collarbones gripped like handlebars. Now its rear claws do the same sinking into her ribcage. Keep thinking handlebars. As she falls to the ground, consumed with horror, the turtle takes a bite out of her neck. The sound is a wet crunch, like a child chomping on a celery stick. She inhales, but as much blood as air is pulled into her gaping esophagus. Exhaling, the sound is equal parts death rattle & bong hit. The tortoise finishes the neck. The blood runs fast, you can hear it like a running brook. It removes its claws, and starts to crawl away. As it walks past the head, it turns around, & takes a bite out of the top of her skull: hair & all. This comes with a sound effect that really needs to stand out to reflect just how much effortless force the sharp beak of the tortoise possesses. Then it reaches its head in & takes a squishy bite of brain that sounds like a slurp. Fade out: the head is gone & the tortoise is taking a bite out of her shoulder, zoo uniform & all. Fade out all that is left is the sole & the tip of one zoo-issued boot, with the tip of the bloody foot as well. The tortoise eats the thick heal of the boot’s sole, chomping its way towards the last bit of flesh as the camera fades.

Heaven, Hell, etc.

I'll be damned, & I have been. These damn long gone days. Days alone, fruitless as a dried up vine, & they're all mine. Prolonged sunshine before the solstice. Damn long days. If hell is fire and the absence of god, then you know it must be bright, & lonely. So I guess I've been damned, but with bird chirps & neighbors. Damned with a roof & a thermostat. Damned without shade from the tree that they murdered. Damned to the season of spring. Damn these long days.

So, is this hell? It could be heaven for all I know. Everything's relative in this dimension, just ask Albert. Although even Einstein only had a theory. Here it seems that heaven is fleeting and hell holds steady. It has its moments. It also has its eternities. Like loneliness. In prison they have "solitary confinement", for the people who need to be put in a prison within a prison. Here outside the cells and the walls and the barbed wire, solitude can confine as well. Without love the world is a cell. Home alone in hell.

Bottle o' Wine

I just got back from a drive, a drive without a destination, just four wheels and a radio station. I was hungry & thirsty, but I couldn't pull over until the show was over. I was busy falling in love with Rickie Lee Jones.

It was a lonely night. No night is a lonelier night than a lonely Saturday night. So I decided to use my empty stomach and thirst to my advantage, & drink a bottle of wine, for a buzz that strong & pure. It's not like I drink to solve my problems, I just drink, and sometimes the problems just happen to be along for the ride. Mmm.. this wine is dark & dry, just like my sense of humor. I don't drink a lot of wine, & I don't exactly know why. It's a great buzz, a body buzz, a buzz that hugs you when it says hello & holds you close like a lover or a touchy-feely friend that you don't see often enough. The wine is in my big Bugs Bunny coffee cup, which is white on the inside & stained by black coffee with whiskey & red wine with more red wine.

So I'm about to the bottom of my 2nd cup. I think I'll top it off. Once the bottle is done, my night will begin. The plan is for my shoes to get reacquainted with the road. There are taverns within walking distance, and from there, cabs to call. Going out solo is a fork in an unknown road. You might run into someone you know (good thing) or you might run into someone you know (bad thing). You might turn strangers into friends, or strangers might turn themselves into people you wish were still strangers. Strange is a two-way street. You're never more alone than when you're alone in a crowd.

Well it's been awhile since I uncorked this bottle, & the last of it is in the cup. Bottoms up! Well, in a way: I'm a drinker, not a slammer. A marathon man. On my first stop tonight, I'll order something white & boozy & bubbly: like me! Perhaps a vodka press or a gin & sweet. Oh yeah, & maybe I should eat something. Or hit the titty bar. A man has appetites.

"Stay, & help me to end the day. And if you don't mind, we'll break a bottle of wine. Stick around, & maybe we'll put one down. 'Cause I'd like to find what lies behind those eyes." - Pink Floyd

Writer's block? I guess if you're blocked, then you're not much of a writer, at least not at the time. If you wanna write, then think & start typing. "When you hafta shoot: shoot, don't talk." - Tuco  

I used to work with a lot of well-meaning dumb-fucks. Not horrible people, just annoying, and expendable. The kind that remind you how much this planet needs a plague. Now I may come across as an angry bastard, because I am, but I'm not an idiotic shit-storm of halitosis either. I remember this one walking fossil who used to dismiss rap music by claiming that he could do that, as if it's just some dude talking. As if anyone wanted to listen to this bass ackward cracker under any circumstance. Gawd.. why don't people just die?

"no apparent motive, kill & kill again/ survive my brutal thrashing, I'll hunt you 'til the end/ my life's a constant battle, the rage of many men/ homicidal maniac!" - Slayer, "Kill Again"

So if I don't have anything good to say, should I say nothing at all? Maybe those seemingly peaceful monks who take those vows of silence are secretly rage-filled fans of Slayer.

So you speak softly, but carry a big stick? "Oh yeah? Well I speak LOUD! And I carry a BIGGER stick!! And I use it too!!! - Yosemite Sam

Oh man, I do hate people, but there's lots of things that I love. I love my family & my cat & my girlfriend & my friends. I love chicken, and television. And I fuckin' love music! And I fuckin' love fucking my girlfriend!! I love baseball. Oh, & oh hells yes, I love sleep. Sleepy sleeps. Sometimes when I sleep I stop breathing, & someday I"m gonna stop breathing altogether & sleep forever. And I'm gonna love that more than anything.

riffing

• alright I'll riff for ya
• spill it
• as you kill it
• you're never gonna fill it
• the void
• paranoid
• anxiety
• separation from society
• who claimed your rights?
• bought your propriety?
  

  • claimed a stake
  • through your hear
  • t
  • sold your art
  • as chicken feed
  • to the sheep that breed
  • the virus
  • inside us
  • that we are
  • a scar
  • on the smooth beauty
  • of what could be
  • but isn't
  • & you know what rhymes with "isn't"?
  • nothing
  • so die
  • useless
  • irrelevent
  • self-important
    

    • scum
    • you're cum
    • that should've been swallowed
    • hollow
    • be your name
    • overflowing
    • be your shame
    • your game
    • is over
    • bend over
    • you're fucked
    • you suck
    • die
    • die
    • die

Shit Fuck Death

Ahahaha.. shit, fuck, death.. this came to me as I sat and contemplated life. Complicated strife? Constipated knife? ahahaha

I was sitting/shitting here thinking/stinking about how fucking clever I am. Life has three stages: the evolution of shit from "in your pants" to "in the toilet", the evolution of fucking yourself to fucking other people, and finally the devolving back into the nitrogen cycle: becoming both shit and cum all at once, rotting into fertilizer and food. Well, not really, since humans have made it their mission to be as worthless in death as they are destructive in life. Assholes to ashes, detritus to dust. Heaven forbid the trematode should feed the earthworm. Too self-important to rot, unworthy of mummification; the modern human fills cemeteries just to prove that they didn't stop with strip-malls, suburbs, and golf courses. "Drop the bomb, destroy them all!" - Colonel Kurtz