Saturday, December 31, 2011

The Ties That Bind, Gag, Hold Ransom, and Torture

My mother and I are not special in that we have a very strained
and unusual parent-child relationship. We are more like siblings;
siblings who can't stand one another and yet have business
dealings. It's toxic, unhealthy, unrewarding, and disastrous.
And yet, like all good Southern boys, I don't sever the bond entirely.

At the doctor's office the other day, there was an instructional
video playing in the waiting room. A very perky announcer was
telling how one of the greatest problems leading to stress was lack
of familial relationships. It's possible I may have blurted out that
"Family connection is precisely what had stressed me to begin with."
Or perhaps the other waiters were just looking my way casually.

When people ask about plans for the holidays, and I answer that
I'll be staying to myself like always, they look shocked and dismayed.
"Don't you want to spend time with family?" they crone!
"Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good day?" I shoot back.

They say "You can't choose family," to which I reply "No shit, Sherlock!"
Cuz there would for damned sure be a continuous line at the returns
counter if you could exchange these sorry bastards.

And yet, also like all goofy redneck sons-of-bitches, I can talk shit
about the crazy 'ho all live long day, but I'll not tolerate anyone else
being a dick to her. I'd cut and bury anyone who tried to hurt her.
I've earned my battle scars and the right to talk shit about her; no one
else has.

I occasionally get some sorry moralizing mealy-mouth who wants
to wax empathetic about 'dear old Mom' and tell me that I "shouldn't"
think or speak of her the way I do. To which I say, respect due,
"Go fuck yourselves." I'm happy they ate their obedient-robot
Wheaties, but I give tit for tat. Respect is earned, not a given.
Don't start none, won't be none.

No one has done more to actively and intentionally cause pain in
my life than Mommy Dearest. That's not some childish rambling nor
an exaggeration; she's a crazy, mean-spirited, controlling,
soul-sucking, manipulative personality. That others don't believe
it true or that it doesn't mirror their own parent-child relationship
has no bearing on my reality in the least.

Why do people stay enmeshed with such dubious links?
Is it a constant fantasy that one day things will magically change?
Or perhaps a hopeful desire that we'll be present when disaster
strikes so we can witness it first hand?

Either way, it's a given that the ties that bind tend to strangle
and limit more than they support and uplift. But the commonality
of that love-hate craziness at least give us all something to 
commiserate over!


Thursday, December 22, 2011

Shitty Southerners

Redneck BBQ "Show-and-Tell";
"And then, what happened next was...."

Initially, I was taken by the idea that it was an "old people"
thang. Then I moved on to imagine it was particular to
"sick people." But as I live and learn, I now see it seems
to be (yet another) "Southern thang."

The art of talking shit. No, not 'reality' show pomp-and-
circumstance; the literal artless form of talking about one's
bowels and their private goings on.

Not for the feint of heart; beware of anyone who starts
out a conversation with great trepidation and angst and
the words "I was having trouble for days, cramped up,
constipated,...and then...."

No. No "and then." The constipation was more than I
needed to know. There is no formal invitation--implied
or otherwise-- to discuss scatological endeavors simply
because I say 'hello' to you, or, merciful mythology, ask
you 'How have you been?'  Keep that shit to yourself.

What is wrong with people? Why is it beyond them that
"my stomach's been bothering me" is sufficient? Even that
falls under the heading of personal, innermost, private,
innard-most dwellings and dealings. I don't want to know
that much about someone I am sleeping with, let alone
a stranger or an acquaintance at the grocery store.

Whatever happened to decorum? The impact of such
open-ended conversations should be clear, not at all cloudy
or hard to grasp; if you don't know better, try paying attention
to the look of horror that crosses people's faces when you
start in on a ten-minute diatribe about your asshole's innermost
workings. It's an eye-opener.

There's no Tarrantino-esque narration needed about your
porcelain time. No one wants to know a blast-by-blast analysis
of how you destroyed your bathroom. And I guarantee you
that the examination of the deployment is NOT appropriate
unless you are dealing with a medical professional....during an
appointment....upon specific inquiry. And even then there's a
time limit on the poetic rumblings.

It's probably a bit of the redneck ideology that "causing a
commotion or being disturbing is funny" involved in all of
this. But ignorance and poor taste runs a close second, in terms
of readily found traits, so who's gonna do the study to

Please. I beg you. Some things should be kept deep inside.


Thursday, December 15, 2011

There Are More of Us

(art by kwonshucutie at deviantart)
“I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not
unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life,
hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves,
hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn
by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and
unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden
rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our
lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps
as great a joy as we can know - unless it be to share our laughter.

We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it
can provide. Most of all we love and want to be loved. We want to live
in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search,
nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give.
We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.

For wanderers, dreamers, and lovers, for lonely men and women who
dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful. It is for those who are
too gentle to live among wolves.”

-James Kavanaugh, introduction to "There Are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves"

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Do You Remember Who You Were (Without Your Partner Telling You?)

It's long been my contention that too much
togetherness is a horrible, debilitating thing. Even in the midst
of an otherwise healthy and mutually beneficial relationship,
too much familiarity does indeed breed contempt!

I have always felt that a couple should have at least
a spare room for one or the other to retire to for some
solitude, if not maintaining separate dwellings all together.
Ideally, a 3-bedroom house/apartment/condo would be
divided as my partner and I did it;
A bedroom for the both of us, and a bedroom apiece for each
individual (to be decorated and maintained only as they
see fit.)

See, there's too much compromise in a modern
relationship. Too much amalgamation and loss of
identity. It's an unnatural and costly social experiment.
We go along feigning acceptance of this atrocious
model of glomming on and complete bondage,.
but nobody really thinks it's a good idea.
But everyone's a hamster on a wheel, so...

Another good idea for maintaining sanity is to have a
vacation. No, not a couples or family vacation
(although those are all right in their own sense.)
I mean an actual vacation from all the
trappings of your normal every day reality--the shit that
drives you to need a break in the first place.

You, yourself, and maybe your friends you never see
anymore, take your asses and get in a car or on a train
to Anywhere that is away from the normal scenery.
Hell, even go to the next town over and get a room for
the weekend. But GET AWAY! Breathe. Relax. Do
your own thing. Have your own space. Be your own boss.
Remember who you are.

(If you have kids, you need to follow this scheme;
a family vacation with everyone (short and sweet,) a
couples vacation (to be free of chirrun for a change,)
and a solo vacation (for tranquility and meditation
and "Me Time."))

If we could talk people into adapting these habits,
we'd have a lot less depression, a lot less divorce, a lot less
anxiety, a lot less assaults, and maybe even some happier
campers at the end of the day.


Saturday, November 26, 2011

Just to Clarify, Haterz

Step the hell back.
I'm a real life, super deluxe G-D Super-Hero.

I don't want your praise.
I don't need your approval.

I'm gonna do what's right...
regardless of the misinterpretation,
regardless of the bullshit,
regardless of the cost.

Go talk some smack.
That'll hurt me...(not.)


Monday, November 14, 2011






Friday, November 11, 2011

"Who Dat Jesus Be?"

Okay, it was bad enough when tinsel and ornaments were on display
at retail stores before the beach balls and suntan lotion were off
the shelves.

Now, starting before the 1st of November, we've had "Christmas music"
playing 24/7 on radio stations and in stores.

Enough. Absotively, irrefutably, ENOUGH!

I am boycotting any store and station that plays the 'seasonal music.'

I now proclaim that it is only acceptable to hear the following 3 forms
of Holiday music! (and these only periodically, starting the second week
of December!)

# 1: Irreverent music; You know, 'Jingle Bells' played out with hands
under the armpits making farting sounds......Elmer Fudd doing "Noel"....
funny parodies...shit like that.

# 2: Angry Christmas music; Heavy Metal cover songs,
extreme liberties taken with the lyrics, renditions like "To Hell
With a Merry Old Soul!", South Park doing a raunchy "Little
Drummer Boy"...

# 3: ANTI-Christmas music; any genre of music that wants to
record an anti-Holiday song, such as ""Fuck Commerce",
"Save the World; Blow it Up!", "Who Dat Jesus Be?",
and so forth.

Even Christ only took 3 damned days to rise from the dead
in his little story we really need 60 damned days to
talk about it?!?

And, just a friendly reminder...
Not everybody gives a fuck about Jeebus or Santa Clause.

Give us a break.


Saturday, October 29, 2011

Giving it up for Lint

The anger just consumes me like a demon, and that's fitting..
it is a demon.

A snake that strikes at the heel and feeds venom. And I
was given some good advice once; When you see the snake,
you kill kill it dead. Don't wait for it to strike and then
act surprised.Same for second chances; once a snake bites you and reveals
they are one, it never changes. If you let them in, they will bite
you again. It's what snakes do.

And people, snakes, demons...they don't change.

If it's a choice between me and someone else, I fucking
guarantee you that I will be left standing.

In the case of anger though, it's the thing that dwells in you
long after the other is done. Shitty people don't care about
the harm they cause. They don't care about anyone or
any thing but self. They break hearts and ruin worlds and
trod on disinterested.

They aren't kept awake by troubled conscience.
They don't feel guilt and shame.
They don't feel connected or obligated to other living things.

I can't fight the entire world; popular people are popular
because they have found an 'in' with others and they can
twist them to their will. The biggest liar, if charming enough,
can have everyone eating out of their hands. I can't educate
the world.

So, I don't want to have my mind on a loser asshole.

I don't want to be obsessed about things I can't change.

I don't want to waste energy on people who don't appreciate
or have souls.

I don't want to hurt because of evil things said by meaningless
snakes and demons.

I don't want to be distracted from what I want to do by the
misdeeds of others.

So, I am making a decision. I'm giving it up. Giving it back.
Not playing the Game any more. Not inviting the Snake in.

It--the memories, the feelings, the angst, the bullshit, the
anger--it's all as useless as belly button lint. And I sure as
hell wouldn't hang on to that, so I'm giving it up (as if) for
lint. (Yes, it was a play on words. I can spell.)

I don't understand, and I have to accept that.
Some things just aren't meant to be understood, and people
certainly fall under that category, especially those under the
influence of demon possession and snake totems.

Sociopaths will charm and lie and connive and manipulate
and use the souls of whole people to try and sway them.
They will take advantage of every thing possible. There is
no reconciling that.

Get away. get far the fuck away....and at least metaphorically,
Kill the beast.

I disallow you power over any aspect of my life.

I know you for the Shit you are, and I dispose of you.
But I don't foolishly forget, and I don't forgive because that's
passive victimhood. I purge you, whole, from my system.

Not worth a thought. Not worth a word.
Not worth a second of my time.
Now, I'm only mad at myself; What took me so long?

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Time for a little Lashing Out!

There's nothing about me that says
"Please Use and Abuse Me", or
"Tread on Me",
not any longer,
not one little bit.

The Nice Guy has departed;
Naivete and pandering are not
in my lexicon any further.
I don't apologize for living.

I will not sit in the back of the bus,
I will not listen to ridiculous prattling horseshit,
I won't misname a spade just to appease you.
I'm here to be Me, not a mini-You.

Your approval and acceptance and amelioration
is of Zero Concern to me.
The fact that others are hurting, too,
is great for philosophizing,
but it doesn't necessitate me taking a backseat.

"Step back--heart attack--
Stone cold sober, as a matter of fact--
The bitch is back."
No more slack.
I ain't taking flak.


Saturday, September 10, 2011

"I Wish I Knew How To Quit You"

Erich Wolfsfeld's "The Bound Man"

I know better.  I really, really do.

I break free, and then somehow, surreptitiously...
as if lured by a serpent's gaze or a siren call,
some remote thinking on you mires me down.
Takes me back.
Reels me in like a floundering, snagged mack.

I get caught up in casting aspersions, but really
I'm angry at myself. For being so vulnerable,
so foolish, so soft. So hurtable. So willing and compliant.

Truth be told, thoughts of you are always on my mind.
I have just done well to keep them at bay and host
the pretense of being over you. After all, it seemed
the only civilized thing to do since you moved on so

I don't want to be sending you well wishes.
I don't want to hold hands and act like all is well.

Freedom is what I desire; the same cool ability
to sever all ties that served you so well. I want
to manage my emotions efficiently and business-like.

But this is a drug, harrowing and relentless in its
pursuit. You super-charge me like no other.
It's all flat line until you bring my pulse into the range.

Emotions rage and fall. Heartbeat quickens and dies.
I normalize and then...POW! Right in the kisser.
A flash, a notion, a glimpse. A remembrance.
A whisper.
Lightness becomes lightning bolt.

I crave release.
Complete distance seems the key.
Burn it to the ground, salt the earth,
erase all memories.

It sounds good on paper.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Questions to Ask Before Taking On (and Taking Over) the World

Who is it that told you
   that what you want can't be had?
Broke your spirit, condemned you,
   made you feel bad?
Who crafted a soul
   afraid to speak up?
What caused all this trauma,
   drama, and domestic dust-up?

Why did you listen?
Why did you believe?
Why did you ask?
(You're not theirs to conceive.)

What law is in place
   preventing your good?
Who gives a flip
   if you're misunderstood?

Is anyone invested in you making right?
In how you survive the harrowing night?
What part of alone do you not comprehend?
We were not meant for our wills to bend.

When will you start deciding for self?
Stop sitting around unused on the shelf?
What sign from above are you waiting for?
It's all up to you to open that door.

Monday, August 29, 2011

The Sweet Spot

Sometimes I wonder if a castration would just be easier.
A chemical one, like they give sex offenders,
perhaps, in lieu of all that mess.
Or a lock box...what did they call them?
Chastity belt. For a man.
Or just go in for neuro-surgery and
cut out the response centers in the brain.
At this point, it's like an appendix or a little toe;
it serves no purpose, so what're we keeping it around for.

Really and truly, I am Over It.
Gone beyond the mountain and come back again.

It has been so incredibly long since I have
known the touch of another,
and I think everything down there has gone Turtle;
it has slid back in, honey.
"You're not gonna pay me any mind? Screw you, I'm leaving
this party alone!"
Kiss it; don't miss it.

Some things increase the pain;
like, just for instance, the fact that my decrepit 75 year old
mother is knocking boots more often than me.
Yes, I wish I didn't know either, trust me.

I think if I saw a live-and-in-person naked man
at this point, I would do one or all of the following;
A. Fall out laughing
B. Pass out from fear and confusion
C. Stand gaping and drooling, unable to interact
D. Start screaming hysterically

I shit you not; I am a fagging basket case
at this point. I am so socially gummed up now,
so out of practice even talking to other guys,
certainly out of habit of knowing any gay men...
it has become a cluster fuck.
Or, a cluster non-fuck, as the case may be.

I know that pornography has kind of
ruined the whole sexual connection of the
average workaday world, but really, I prefer
porn with its pristine and unrealistic images,
it's ability to be 'muted' on a whim, the
ability to lay where you're at when through and
not have to entertain (or rate, or listen to)
another person.
No 'when are we getting together again' horseshit.
No obligation.
No feelings.

No unexpectedness or pain.

Maybe I'll hang on to my junk for the near future.
It's one of those things; not easily rectified once
done, so perhaps some discretion is in order.
Like anything else; the minute you get rid of it,
that's exactly when you'll find a need for it.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Lions Between Contentment and Contentiousness

only those who wish to use you

as a doormat will tell you

that being a doormat is the way to be

anyone who wishes you to believe

that they have the absolute answers

has obviously already pegged you as a sap

giving up your own mind and insights

is the first step

on a very dangerous ride





domestication are all very subtle shades

of the same prison.

Lack of Humility

is not most men's trouble;

it is their Salvation.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

It's Okay That They See Me Comin'

Yeah, it's totally cool that I sound the horn
and alert my arrival. Let them see me coming.
Bull in a China Shop, clanging that bell for all
Hell breaking loose.

It doesn't change things in the least.

Let other, lesser men be thrilled with their
school girl deceits and Trojan Horses getting
them "in the back way" so they can secretly
praise their own 'smarts.'

Puppet Masters be damned; the strings are
getting snipped.

Wait til they get a load of me; I want them
to shout my name in fear, to have all speak
to the damage done. Let it be named, and
feared, and unavoidable.

I am  the Devastator. I am Undeniable.

The Rainy Day has come a-callin', and all
that was saved up quietly and especially for
a good cause has come to pass.

They don't have to wait to get a load of me;
Unlike the rest, my Game is Fierce, Out,
Visible, Open, Honest, Direct.....
and all together Unstoppable.

They rationalize the taunts and then condemn
the repercussions, but it's all good to me.
No one will remember anything of the excuses
and the history; just the Victor's arrival.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Put it Forth

i'm strong because i say i'm strong
i'm courageous because i have to be
i don't allow tears til the day is done
cuz there's no time to waste

i'm a fighter or a lover
depending on what you bring to the table
don't let the smile and good looks fool ya
I'm sure nuff more than able

i'm mudhole-stompin' fit
i'm hardly a simpleton twit
there's no use debating what's what
just see what's going on
and don't worry 'bout what's not

make friends with the facts
don't depend on any pacts
there's no one outside of me
who's been put forth to be
defender, believer, friend, or more

i'm everything i need
it's a blessing, not a curse
without self-preservation and will
things are always worse

strike first, ask questions later
if at all
look out for self
store it up behind the wall
trusting in others leads to a fall

it's brutal combat
whether you play or pray
so stand up, strap up,
strike out and save the day

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Dancing as fast as I can

Keep busy, distract, work fingers to bone.....
Avoid, go a mile a minute, try my best to atone....

Have a heart, give a hand, try to get ahead....
Tune it out, scream and shout, be happy instead....

Pretend, fixate, stay focused for today....
Let it slide, keep perspective, get pride out the way....

Never slow down, never deviate, never be alone....
Always dancing, always smiling, no space is my own....

We juggle and posture and run for our lives....
We fixate and silence and stay in our hives....

Denial and illusion and fraud pave the way...
we survive, but who are we...
at the end of the day?

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Rolling stones gather no moss.....

They also have the propensity to stomp some
serious ass, too, by the looks of things.

I've discovered the perils of knowing too much.
I have no further desire to be illuminated as to
the trickster abilities of any person....I value
no packaged presentation of their 'life thus far'
or their facade.

No, it's all 'Streetcar Named Desire' and a
life of "kindness from strangers" for me, thanks
very much.

Not that I am expecting kindnesses, but if
they are to be forthcoming it's only from strangers
that I'll be receiving them. Less fuss. No muss.

No disappointments. No missed dates.
No bad gifts. No estrangements. No inconsistent
emotions. No repetition. No routine. No masks.
No identity to maintain. No limits. No score keeping.
It's all wide open from here on out.

Strangers do for you because it pleases them
or because they have the time; they aren't
especially concerned about winning brownie
points from you, a stranger, since the intent is
never to see you again. (What notion they may
have of pleasing a bearded elderly gent in the sky
is their business. Let's not engage long enough
that we have the need to discuss such trivialities.)

What a pleasing conceit that you don't have to
care for someone's mood or feelings, don't have
to recall their anniversary or their Aunt's name,
you need learn or know or remember ANYthing
about them.

Conversation can be sparse or effusive, it can be
superficial and safe or it can be forward and very
ballsy, or it can even be nonexistent. You are the
master of all in those few moments.

Strangers can be found everywhere. Sitting at
bus stops, waiting in line at the store, picking you
up as you walk the highway, making use of the
bathroom stall next to yours, riding on the bus,
or wherever you would normally find yourself
pretending not to notice someone because you
don't already know them.

Instead of being disillusioned by the fact that
it's impossible to really know anything about anyone,
be liberated that it means you can know a total
stranger just as well as you have known 'friends' and
'family' all your life.

The possibilities are staggering.

Losing the routine and pretense of knowable
souls opens up a whole new world.


Friday, March 11, 2011

Cover Your Ass

('Zeus' by Genzoman)

Batton the hatches
and cover your snatches
cuz the bitch is back
and I ain't playing....

It's been smiles
and forgiveness
and Kissy-Poo,
good looks and
a little bit
of Jesus, too.....

but the dial has spun
back around,
you're about to get stomped
into the ground,
gonna burn all your shit
completely down
and piss on the ashes....

There's gonna be a day
of  reckoning,
gonna put your lying ass
in a sling,
gonna make you bow,
make you sing,
you ain't shown me a
goddamned thing.

Paybacks are a Royal Beyotch, Mildred.

The victim has left the building.


Wednesday, February 23, 2011

"Silly Faggot" THROB

What is it about straight boys and stupid posturing?


Even left-wing, non-religious, ultra-liberal, laid-back, broad-minded, Metrosexual types

all break down to the "Silly Faggot" level of response

when faced with homosexuality in a personal venue.

Did you feel threatened? I don't understand why; I made it clear I wasn't angling for you.

Betrayed? Understandable; I kept something from you.

But the anger...the dismissal....the criticism; it came from somewhere deep and guttural.

A primal rage finally released from captivity after countless P.C. suppressions?

Obviously, the level of judgment reflects something built up over time;

subconscious disgust and discomfort, perhaps?

Do you feel better now, at least, after getting it off your chest?

Is there a sense of persecution and paranoia that accompanies your presumptuousness?

Or was it merely a passing notion, similar to our friendship?

It all works THROB

In a few short hours, all that I had believed
from ten months time
came crashing down as false
upon my dense yet fragile skull.

Were you a deft deceiver?
Or I the gullible fool?
All the heart, compassion, and love
seems yanked right out of you.

I can understand a shock--
seems I caught you quite off-guard;
Confusion derails the best of us
but your assault seems fairly harsh.

I'd glimpsed Angry words and diatribes,
criticisms, moods changing on a dime,
judgmentalness is part of us all,
even in the best of times.

I had overlooked any signs of this
potential side of yours,
in favor of the brighter, kinder, gentler
version that typically shone through.

Accusations and cruelty blew my mind,
I really had no clue,
since your self-promoted tolerance
I'd accepted as being true.

That's the part I played in the mess,
in addition to my 'ruse,'
I was foolish, naive, trusting;
I should've seen right through.

Maybe the Holy Rollers are

the perfect group for you. Happy Trails.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

When I actually look.....

Suddenly I looked around--and within-- to
see that I had, in defensiveness, judged too

Of course the behavior I had allowed to provoke
me was not correct. But as I stopped to notice
what must be behind all the criticism, the need
to have the approval of others at all costs, the
unconscious seeking of conflict and confrontation....
it became clear only a pained mind and spirit
would drive such a person.

As I saw past my own pain and story, I found
I could have compassion that other people have
their own pain and story, often with the same
less than stellar outer representations in their
current life. "Don't believe the hype."

All the things we consider 'character defects' in
others, are not ours to evaluate. Don't I give a
free pass for my own issues knowing the hurt and
cause behind it? Don't I imagine others should
cut me slack for the things I have endured?
Why, then, can I not apply the same to another?

I get caught in the immediacy of being annoyed by
bossiness, or offended by attempts to control...
I scoff at easily wounded hypersensitivity, and
shake my head about the constant striving for
popularity. I shrug a superior nod at the notion of
how easily traceable the roots of OCD and
devotion to image. But who am I to judge?

There's a real and hurting soul behind every
facade and every label; a story behind every
human face.

I need not allow myself hurt or drawn into the
web of someone else's patterns any longer, but
I can withdraw in a loving way. I need not guard
myself with a hard hand or cold heart.

Let's stop the cycle of contempt, here and now.


Thursday, January 27, 2011

Oy Vey!

Living as The great pretender is a worrisome detailed directive.
Mimicking and foretelling and imagining desired responses...
posturing for false posterity, immodestly boasting nonexistent
skills lying about well being and excusing inabilities with elaborate
fabrications we invent ourselves normal and illustrious
for the truth is too much to bear.

Not just for me.

Master illusionist seems to be in high demand.
The truth sends people skipping and stammering and
running for safe hiding.
Avoidant glances and excused absences and
hastily curtailed conversations ensue.

Your words confuse and leave me, so I nod and smile a lot
say what is expected of me, lest you see my lost eyes.
The more I try, the less I understand,
the more people speak, the less I want to know.
I see revulsion in your eyes but I'm to keep playing saint
while you sneer in disgust and move away from me.

Every molecule of mine tightens and is stressed
by life nor its participants care not a thing for my feelings,
I just can't seem to get on the same page.
I wish I could act them right out my temple,
but they always take center stage, ushering out
instinct, perception,
Even superficial distance nor disinterest does not assist
for my fears are an avalanche,
and there are no rescuers searching for my buried body.

So I dance, as fast as I can,
suppressing anger and rage, and their predecessor, hurt,
lest you laugh at me while I share,
barely hidden behind your cupped hand and lowered chin,
you snickering into the good graces of another who would
bash me too.

I perform well and emote and entertain,
because I couldn't give tickets away
when I was keeping it real.

Everybody loves a good story.

Maybe that's why we're all playing such convincing parts.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Nemesis Energies

The rhetoric or unexposed truths
chimes deep in my sensing ears
My knotted, diseased gut holds tight
to plights of unknowns, neighbors,
and even the departed

The vagaries of insults
both real and fictitious
imprison my creation

Ecstasy occasionally threatens
to do a drive-by
but really it's just movie trailer expectations
manipulating my naive and tender gullibility

Hold cautious desires close,
low expectations closer,
and let fly unrealistic dreams
to pave way for the

"Oh what a joy your pets must be,
hold longingly to gratitude!"
The stench or urine and shit
and processed rotten fish is
embedded in my nostrils

My carnivorous expectations
never sated, never dwindling,
up-ending carts in my mind's temple

We are all of us
a moment away from
jails, institutions,
and death

Perhaps the realization
can serve as protection
in the waning hours of hope
between 3 and 4 a.m.