Fuck You Pangea! (Ibogaine For Every1)

Wires pull from
one way
and another
with
a skylight
out my window, the only view.
There’s a clown
one room over.
Honking…
and
Joy Divisions songs
keep running through my head
one after another
each speaking to me
in their own way.

“Your too young to be in here!”
.
“Yeah… Well, I’m old on the inside.”

Outside, on the deck,
are two squirrels.
Frolicking an fucking
in the sunshine.

Fuck you Pangea.

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Hundred. Pushing.

I wonder if the ‘real world’
(Used with a heavy dose of cynicism)
IS STILL OUT THERE.
I see the tip of the iceberg
… Just the tip…
and find symbolism
and allegory within.
Like two busty,
tattooed maidens
fighting in a patch of grass
Between a Perkins Family Restaurant
and a dirty, sleezzy
rotten bar.
They’re fighting for something,
some sorts of offense was committed
or maybe it was over a lover…
Its not really clear.
And it apparently dosent matter.

The call each other bitch…
They pull each other’s hair…
They claw at each other’s eyes and face
with their manicured nails.
The ‘chick-fight’
Checklist is filling in
“Rip her shirt off” sez one spectator…
Then another and another
in a super-special poetic way…

Is a sickening sight.

No one try’s to stop the fight
They record it on their mobile devices
and shout approval and guidance
for their specific pick
Behind the standard calls
in approval for clothes tearing.
For blood.
For more of each.

This isn’t good.

This country and it’s
Pronoun-less toy beast
is never satisfied.
Needless to say
This is not a
Family Restaurant sort-of moment
The American family
is dead and given live flowers.
Escorted to, then aboard,
a plastic boat with a visible tip
of an iceberg closing in.
The knowledge of its
damaging potential is identified.
The captain stays
on course.

A Symposium of Disenfranchised Factory Workers

Post my daily dive…
The twisted vine
of frustration intensifies.
Yet still, I wrestle the beast
and keep it away…
Fighting beast with beast.
Gaining no ground.
Being lonely
when your never alone…
Trading/passing diagnosis
back and forth
like two punk-rockers
in a precious yet menacing alley
and one forty
of malt liqueur between the two….
Everything is a game show.
Questionmarks are hooks to draw you in.
Everyone’s waiting to be a millionaire
as if it will just instantly happen.
Life is a board game with missing pieces.
You can’t stop the bomb
from falling once
it starts falling.
Just etch it and clap along.
Text your favorite hero
and say ‘fuck you’
to see their response.
We are surrounded
by open-air shopping centers
and weather forecast.
Smothered by good deals.
Smothered by pollution.
You will get nowhere
without a toothy smile
so show your fucking teeth
and snarl.
It’s beast-eat-beast-eat-beast
and the last time I looked
this plastic city
had a lifetime guarantee
despite it’s negative population
of walking, beathing talking
dead.
Here, with thorny memories
of the past
and how we,
the collective mess called humanity,
have ruined the basic meaning of life.
Nothing’s straight.
Nothing’s for certain
It’s lost in beaurocracy yo!
And commercial gingles.
Don’t forget the gingles.
Nothing last forever.
Every empire falls.
This town needs directions
out of here.
We are lucky to see
the cracks and fissures
and whoever survives the fight
are the ones who controls hindsight.
Hope
is hoping
everything works out…
Even though it rarely does.
You find that spot…
Where it seems to fit
and a just a little,
or most of it,
works out…
After finding belief
in something with a truth…
A truth that you never
experienced before…
Realization.
I may not get
what I want
but I get what I need.
Thanks for thinking of me.
No response for the wicked
nothing’s free
except excuses
and bullets.
I don’t need more heroes…
I need a good bottle
of cheap rye
and a long nap.

The Day of Seven Billion Nightmares

He said:
“Flowers come here to die.”
I laughed.

All the best Tragedies
Arrive in threes.
… with dreams of shattered trees.
Fuck your holidays.
Articles of the sky’s rebellion
bit by bite.
Attack in spite
Of today’s forecast.
That’s not rain fck-fce

The confession of deep-sins
in the past
precede newer, fresh sins.
These sins compound one
upon each other.
In every pocket in your pants.
Remember when everyone
woke-up and had a nightmare to tell?
Seven billion nightmares
and seven billion stories.
Not one of them good.
None of them interesting.
No more dreaming in color.
No more choice.
No more difference.
It’s no longer your priveledge.
It’s your bourdon.

An old man at any age
is a man that realizes
that one day he will die.
He accepts the terms and conditions …
and varied requirements
of the grim reaper
and his intentions.
“It is what it is”
… Please hit me with
a ball-peen hammer
and surrender my body
to the crows!
Commence taking inventory
of available weapons
and their accessability…
No knives. No bullets no guns.
…well now…
jst.fck.me!

A young man thinks he is immortal.
They walk tall and strong.
They smile and hunt pussy
They drink cheep beer
In well-lit back alleyways…
Alleyways (without menace)
in their fucking flip-flops.
They don’t love that alleyway
like they should…
Young men are fools.
Ive been there.
Done that.
(Except for the flip-flops)
I was a fool once too.

Driving 175 miles an hour
Bumping fist
To those I wish
to keep at arms length.
Your pathetic prophet,
I someone else’s god.
This is my nightmare.
I implore you, stay away.

Gather.
Your strength…
is a microwave oven
set on high.
Beep-beep-Beep
You are soooo done.

Slough (Prince of Assumption Strikes Again)

Preface:
(Definition)

Slough (slŭf)
necrotic tissue in the process of separating from viable portions.
To separate from the living tissue; said of a dead or necrosed part.
Gel-like mass of dead cells, dead/living bacteria, fibrin and tissue-destructive enzymes at the base of a chronic wound (may also adhere to underlying tissues); slough prevents normal healing.

Poem:

Trailing blood thru the house.
Every step I take becomes
a whispered lesson of life…
Every step– a lesson of misery.
Complete and total.
My body…
Slowly filling from my feet upward…
Im loosing it…
The next step is the outrageous
non-associated brain-rage…
Cryptic messages that
I don’t understand that also scare me.
Messages I refuse to understand…
I’m taken over, by assumed command.
I don’t know how much longer
I will stand so join me for a sit…

My addition becomes a subtraction.
The day I learned about the passing
of Philip Seymour Hoffman…
I was watching a documentary
about the cannibal warlords of Liberia.
And no…
I’m not watching the Super Bowl.
I’ve been busy…
Fighting off the nightmares
of that catastrophe
all morning and afternoon long.
I was left with one nagging question:
Are we running to
or from a sixth mass extinction?
Why ami listening
instead of singing
a song?
Both answers
are visible in the darkness
if you look hard enough.
Swallowing the minutes,
one by one by one.
Surrounded by vacant suns.
Broken hands holding
a bouquet of razors.
Broken minds…
Seeing daggers and sabers.

We are slaves to the past
and targets of the future.
A series of veiled threats
and shining blame.
A serious collection
of dangerous infections.
Another bruise at the end of a game.
We learn to kill again
looking in a mirror
for an objective renaissance.
Cutting away the bad
it’s the new fad!
Win?
When?
N
O
W!
Times get tuff for all the slough.
Someone’s always to blame…
The Amercan game.
Waiting for the kick
has never felt better.
Push the button,
Pull the lever.
Your heroes are
wiring demo-grams.
The next step is the last stop.

Babylonopolis Must Fall (Static Exile)

You.
If only we had you during the war.
If only you were around
when there was war…
Which war?
All of them.

The plans for assassination start now.
You are a patient accomplice…
Let’s wait patiently, together,
while we remember
AND subsequentually
put into words
how we remember
‘real’ television static.

Static isn’t free anymore.
You never realize you miss something
like that good old fashioned TV static
until you see it again
after it’s been a while…
Hello old friend.
Your patience awards you
with what you soon forgot
It’s ok to cry…
It makes you a stronger person.
It makes you a better person

I walked in on myself
from a distant place asking you
if I could watch you drip-dry
after a shower with our eyes meeting…
mine in the sweet valley full of flowers.
Yours with mine.

The distance measured
in well-fitting camoflage.
Capturing the emphasis…
the past, the current and future….
What will be… with surprise.
Confidence and humility.

Picture it if you will,
dream you motherfuckers dream!
That’s an order not a request.
I pressure you to do your best
this dripped dry rhetoric is for you,
it’s a test
to wait patiently.
Your best is good enough for me.

Patiently
at the outskirts of Babylonopolis.
“What happens if it hits? It could kill you.”
“I have no faith of it ‘hitting’ but if it does
It plays nicely as one of those decisive moments”
One of those decisive points.
One that builds or kills.
“All they can say is ‘no’
and my apathy,
as always, is my weapon…
My choice.”
“Hey, me… Is that you?”
Sure it is.
We can call it a suicide run.
If you want to…
Whatever your patience will allow
I will kill it or
it will kill me
one sore, one seeping wound
at a time.

The War of Minds part one
fighting with thoughts, not guns.
Wielding new concepts
and constructs
we’ve been holding out.
Patiently in our verily worn ruts
Verily broken dreams
are traded for the by-product
of all the times you rushed
and failed to keep the food bowl full.
Some of us are dying
faster than others but I assure you
‘We’ ARE dying just the same.

Patiently the thought war erupts.
First a bang then a whimper
followed by a fist,
sword,
arrow
and then a zipper.

We are all action-figures on static.
Filling vacant eyes…
Survival is becoming an art form.
Translucent insects
Judge and multiply
Forcing adversaries into
Believing the saturating lies.
Heroes fall, victims rise…
I just have to find
Where I am
And where I will be.

Surrounded By Maybe Smiles

We are survivors.
Representations of our forefathers
and ancestors durability
and constant struggle
to survive plagues, wars, brutality
and every different form
of eradication.
We are survivors.
~
I’m at Big Lots…
Again.
That needs to be recognized…
or
I feel that needs to be recognized.

Over the intercom there is an announcement.

“Today is friends and family day everybody.
Get 20% off your entire order including
all merchandise in the store including
furniture AND previously discounted items…”

They sell cases of beer
at this particular location.
That needs to be recognized…
or I feel that needs to be recognized.
Miller Lite…
Budweiser…
‘Race Car’ Beer…
The announcement continues:
“It’s official too; The Bengals just won!
Who-Dey!!!”
I can hear approval cheers surround me.
I look around.
Im surrounded by smiles.
Smiles laced with
a special kind of hate.
I want to tell them all to
“Fuck off and die”
as a knee-jerk reation
and I wonder…
Am I smiling too?