January 2012
1 post
11:07 AM - Jan 1, 2012
Mornin’ waves
Are the aftermath
Of middle night terror
Awake
Bedside beauty
Uncover the day
Reveal the times to come
And I’m famished
So please, let’s get some breakfast
December 2011
5 posts
“Silence is argument carried out by other means.”
– Che Guevara
Beware You Are
behold the fearful marching home “beware you are the constable” create the enigmatic folds to eliminate the robotic flies paint the past with lightning bolts and enter this life with future signs raise the stillborn alien forms let them cultivate a plastic heart a box with which we persevere a wall that traps the insincere a cancer of mediocrity a vial of subhuman clay stave the...
Songs of Praise
we’re singing songs of praise to please the overlord we’re singing songs of praise in spite stitched up in radio waves to seize the bottled light we’re singing songs of praise in spite dancing on soldier’s graves that we might steal their eyes we’re singing songs of praise in spite we’re barking songs of praise to harvest the moonless sky we’re singing...
The Arduous March
restrain the warriors detail a lovers’ breach set them free and disappear
Epochalypse
when the fire burns letters of death in your mind that black hand of doom grips the ocean’s divide fruits bore from soil and glass bore from sand creatures of fortune but victims of man when the water spawns demons of grace in your mind the triangle leaves churn the spirals inside papers of excise and proverbs of old teachings of danger but fears of below
time, the evil is time
November 2011
3 posts
Cult of Children
death in the underground
and so I walked beyond the marbled gate of enchantment followed by a mist of exhaust and a limp handshake from god himself treachery and chaos explode from the benevolent creatures filling the cave with echoes of applause and mindless confessions set me free and let me die in peace, atop the razed kingdom of artifice and emotion alone at the edge of the world...
Flesh & Blood
blessed is the flesh and blood blessed is the broken home blessed is the widow’s toil blessed is the path we take alone blessed is the shame of hope blessed is the beggar’s voice blessed is the trail of tears blessed is the path we made alone blessed is what never was blessed is that one true love blessed is the wayward son blessed is the path we rode alone
Muertos y Catrinas
a powdery kiss nonsense for the heathen streetlight romance on 19th place come to my door let yourself in ignore the kettle’s cry morning birds sing your song a march of medieval light the fleshless friction absorbed and your brown eyes pierce this dance of death brings us to life
October 2011
7 posts
Note to Self
the fear of removing flesh with teeth from tip of finger is not as scary as squeezing leg with hand at half strength
Hidden
he walked down the hall that front-facing eidolon crept in his shadows creaky structural bones watched him enter our room and touch her face under her shirt, raised my hand a winter voice rattled below leave her be so she might not know the alchemist’s surprise the mess of holy water ungrateful little rodents
More Makeup Please
up tight and out of control frat boy bee-bop skull fucking honor student first class middle weight iron clad destiny pick ‘em: losers flip the table and scream she’ll never say yes to a man with a penchant for explosives
“You say, I’m stale, small, gooey, bruised, and brittle, and at home you...”
– Dear Dead Person, Benjamin Weissman
The Current State of the Union, For All It's Worth...
jibberish with a capital ‘D’
White Roses
crystalline skies and a secret obsession with romance the monster is dead at the hands of the sailor silver waves striking back with a fear from below bristling and lonely the silence ain’t golden when the children they don’t make it home and the poems that are read at the side of the bed are manifestos to murder their own
glory, glory
raise up black hand of doom return the...
Communique No. 1
take off your head and assimilate please cautious child standing tall on a river of bones skipping dreams o’er flowers of freedom we are your suicide we are your last call queens
sensations sensations sensations sensations
September 2011
10 posts
The Heir Apparent
you were told to save tomorrow put your pants on your head smile at the camera black and white humility i can’t help but think we’re doomed i’m pretty positive i left the oven on why is there blood on the calendar marking days of wrest these two nickels can’t make me rich but that junkies promise has made me feel proud this is a psalm dedicated to the only girl i never...
Written for My Dear Friend E.B.
reckless is the child
who believes chaos is warm and fuzzy
serpentine the dances behold
an artistic freedom better left to church going midwives
lonely is the king
who preaches of bloodless conquest
horsemen on wheels brag still
society acts the void, swallowing again the thieves parade
desperate is the drunk
who counts the alley way lights
hooded fury - paint covered hands
we all...
Another One of Those
the morning light glazed dictating focus in the first degree a magnificent plume of the artificial “call me the prodigal son” or your first kiss after the rain tumultuous and wry the last stop never came riding in circles of plaid regret losing is the new questionnaire just don’t pay for the soundtrack
7:7
I’m doing what I do today because of what I didn’t finish yesterday.
Only Knows
i meant to paint the pilot red, for passion ‘n despair with a gold shadow and to mark the fertile nature of the beast legs crossed and hungry i meant to clean her back the dance beats didn’t help that carnival is my everyday i meant to paint it black because why not?
“There are ‘similarities’ between my mother and Jeffrey Dahmer....”
– Steve Albini
8:24am
wild eyes and cliff notes rollerblades and south water leaking a middle earth depression heaven isn’t what it used to be
Moment of Silence
Thank you.
Don't Eat the Chalk
“crash and burn” i said to the doctor shivering and queer he laughed “i haven’t seen one of these since Nam” his nose started bleeding i put on my shirt and left anyone know a good doctor in the city?
La Familia
in the order we wanted there was nothing so we bought the ideas and separated the soil we went to bury the bones dressed for a Sunday drive singing songs that never were and at exactly 63 mph threw our hair through the glass we walked away with minor wounds and a better understanding of life
August 2011
17 posts
Spikes
swollen and sorry alone on the road jack-knife pants down targeted you surrender when I surrendered
open but empty the signs on the wall trigger finger past lives and happiness you pretended that I pretended
we are nothing without our failures
New Year's Revolution
i wanna swallow the sun i wanna sell your disease i wanna climb into the underground and start over
i wanna, i wanna go i wanna rename my friends i wanna be your slave and dance all night
Wilted
like i told you before… black clouds can’t ruin your party if you don’t invite the town
Searchlight
that smokey haze made it awfully hard to hear the buzz of compression and literary genius captured, baffled and bound who’s fault is it now? the 9 o’clock news highlights last night’s dialogue but fails to compliment how good her shoes looked from the next stall
Divide & Conquer
fed up with the same joke what if? Whatever… last call for that midnight train i’d rather play alone i’d rather sit at home where the past doesn’t matter noisy cracks in the window still i’d rather play alone while I sit at home keep wishing without will and i’ll see you sometime.
Untitled #4
soul proprietor earthly visions of love reading between the lines in between the paper might off the screen, those back-lit woes under fading northern lights she’s slithering sexy blues
Sunrise
i saw a child in the mirror giggling in furious fit spiked hair and dotted face twinkling eyes crossed under chiseled brow angry at the middle class angry at his mom growing up in camp concentrated on being bitter only to end up happy watching re-runs of life choices projected onto other people’s lives
i washed my hands as he washed his so I smiled but he laughed and ran away
“your kids are fucking in your garbage, they’re waiting for your job, got...”
– Spikes to You, Drive Like Jehu
Weir
I imagine the afterlife offers better memory services and top-notch pocket combs, I want to apologize for not visiting and I really hope there’s no squirrels on the other side. Blessed is the man with few teeth and a killer smile.
Together Alone
sweet is the crooked vine her eyes open and brown soaked by tears her mother cried ink stains the hand she told me once to not remove the sheets before when the word is set in stone the heart will never forget pink eye and good byes we made it together alone
Kid Crash
it’s inevitable the morose details of a life growing older amidst the winds of trend measured out in a science reflecting images of splintered duct taped backwards ideas when the crash comes there’s no reason to fight prepare excuses and flee head to the city’s garden child lost roadmap from here to content highlight the bridges x marks the spot but not your grave ...
Those Communist Freedoms
calibration hesitation designation design automation navigation proclamation benign amputation radiation hibernation resign fixation dictation one nation blind
“I think writing is desire not a form of it.”
– For Jordana, Eileen Myles
The Rules of Tajweed
Remember when you wake up thinking king that you’re just a single language jester and your jokes aren’t even funny.
24/6
Keep up that stubborn flow of venom and pain and one day your son will wake up loud and uncover the history of how you treat other people. He’ll pick up golf and hire out and he’ll only visit when you don’t have your face on.
Snow Hill
i thought i saw the alligator wake
in the swim by the house of the dead
i thought i saw a ghostly teen
in the swamp by the house of the dead
i thought i heard the captain bark
in a boat passing the house of the dead
i thought i felt removed from life
in my head at the house of the dead
Route 17
breathing sea foam shame
through paper drugs
vile clouds and wet air
circle the razors
hypnotize the breeze
it’s the white sand dreams
for you and me
July 2011
10 posts
Nüisance
bore me miss america last in line at the butterfly fair square shooting proper two-hoofed float tranny ghost bore me mister radical
Selfoss in Song
We mistook the smoke signals as an open invitation to join the rebellion, discard our skin and start anew. Lost in the amphibious transition was the flute, sneaky and camouflaged, a reminder of the golden ages spent in basements scrawling charcoal on pimple skinned matrimonies. The further we pushed the brighter the blood shown, glistening on the smoke stack written like a psalm in reverse. Until...
“…it’s not who you kill but it’s who you left”
– SW, Blonde Redhead
Dreams in Open Tuning
i dream i woke up crying aimless in skeleton frame again i dance at dawn in virgin light with feline spies i dream i woke up smiling singing afternoon praise but now i miss the morning thoughts quietly in shame i dream i woke up dying inside outside wrong and if it means anything at all i left my guitar plugged in
Man's Best Friend
blind men climb the concrete rough edges tripping rope barking at colored x-rays marching into unknown’s womb injected frail and beyond numb to a blinding generation counting backwards again the steps to freedom sound louder still trust the crotch-nosed bear humble and well aligned serving well the prison guard walked owner to the grave
Catastrophe
wilted child and the broken phone mild restraints, depreciation reckless abandon for science and the study of nomads lost dogs, finger tricks homemade rock n’ roll the super sonic silence paving jungle walls with sparks of golden blue and grey jovial head blob, confusion the age old question claims another win chalked up to the NRA Lemmy is god, his brother able midnight walks lead stale...
Angelhead
warm water flows under Western Ave. at midnight, alone the wind blows dry eat the lips of passion eat the dreams they said watching from the roof she touched herself another song started and it’s only music