Monday, November 28, 2011

Push Me Away

Life has turned dull and acrid,
Dust replaced blood; still becomes my bones.
Weeping women wail all over town.
I can’t be awake.
I walk steady in dreams.
The comfort I had once been given,
Had bathed in and glorified,
Is ripped away, leaving only the thick ink.
A substance so revolting that it fills me up.
My throat is black and oiled;
Brain submerged in shadow.
Let me speak to that once mortal man.
I will tell him all the wonders about all the sparks
Lighting up the world in rebellion.

Three words:


White as Diamonds

Demonic voices croon out to me. Venomous words rolling off tongues as black as Pan’s shadow. The pine forest smothers reality, reducing the now into grain.

As much as I want to fight back and to feel my fists caving in their skulls, my own rebel thoughts linger towards the vulnerable. I cannot begin to expend myself around building an opposition against the foundations that have raised me to such despicable heights. How unfair and how cruel; how terrible my thoughts seem.

Tremble beneath the ghoul’s verdict. Grant me one last choice before the world succumbs to fire and deep heat.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Svefn G Englar

The selfish block of humanity saying, “we got you,” but really no one has anyone. How could they? They won’t catch you as you fall back into the crowd, arms crossed over your chest in a sign of absolute trust. It’s a kill or be killed world. Eat or be eaten. They’ll drop you.


The world felt light as a balloon, helium filled and taking me higher. I had a bottle of vino in one hand and a sawed off shot gun in the other. Most of my time on the faery coast had been spent shooting empty tomato cans and arguing with the Chief. He was just as stubborn as I was, surprisingly, if not more iron-willed than I gave myself credit for. Short like I was. Perceived with eyes akin to mine and a consciousness that jumped to petty conclusions.

Rescue wasn't an option. Beached as we were on the cusp of the worlds, only faith kept men alive. Did the spirits even exist? I was lost at sea with a group of scallawags, most of whom smelled like construction site potties. 

I was ready to abandon the metaphorical ship when the mermaids began to assemble. They were beautiful. Earl shot one. Then he shot another. Another boom and the rest of our crew lost their minds.

Ever wonder why no one today has ever glimpsed a mermaid? It’s because Earl killed them all and mounted them on his wall in the ghost ship. Begging led not to mercy yet instead to cruelty.

Friday, November 4, 2011


Killing time, killing the sun.
My skin stretches, stitching along my breast
and the king pin smiles then I catch my breath.
The day bleeds while I breathe smoke.
Coughing takes you deeper, brings you blind to the hearth
That lights our nights with hooded eyes;
Sets rules that bind over turf.
My friends are dead underground.
My stars are lost, like Tootles' marbles, 
And our lady prayed:
"My Blood is warm within my skin
Stretched, stitched, along my breast."

Listed, List, Le liste

A list of things I thought would make me a better person:

1.) A Ukulele
2.) Paintings
3.) Black stones
4.) Indie rock music
5.) Ironic tea
6.) Darth Vader Clock
7.) Fake gold Buddha
8.) Happy pills
9.) A cactus named Lance
10.) A new home

Thursday, November 3, 2011