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Friday, November 17, 2006

Hell's Kitchen

Hell's Kitchen

Bangin' loud, heavy on the table with an old tin pot
While the Devil's on his back, swingin' in his skin cot
The coffee's burnin' fire on the ol' linoleum floor
And the pigs are laying down outside the corner drugstore

Chicken feed and gumballs make up his inner sin
The Devil sings a laughing song, in that bunker made of skin
The metal din ricochets off the walls inside this room
Outside the orange light brings the roses to their bloom

Still bangin' on the oak slab with utensils made of steel
The Devil plays solitaire while the walls begin to peel
Now the pigs all smell like jail bait to distant fertile fish
And the figs out in the yard get picked for his dinner dish

Clankin' and spankin' in the land of crazy dreams
Satan applies thin layers of very heavy creams
All this time, the man is stuck makin' noises, makin' calls
And the Devil applies the bandaid to the bleedin' peelin' walls

-AP 11/16/06

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Black Bird Tree

Dangling from a branch by a rope of sand
Is the dancing man with the birds for hands
They squack and chirp like the kids inside
Tucked away under blankets they laugh and hide

The boards of their floors creak when it's dark
The dancing man smiles, mouth toothy, like a shark
Cloudy skies turn to mud when it leaks the rain
The bird hands are tired from the dirt rope's stain

This black tree stands strong in a field so vast
Its roots, like whale parts, grown thick to last
A body dances on every limb, swinging to and fro
And when the sky is muddy, their hands caw to the crows

-AP 10/26/06

An Ode To Old Man Flynn

Wind whispered from the window to wash back the dirty scent of gin
From the breath of the whithered lips of cranky Old Man Flynn
He laughed at the cracks in the walls every day and every night
The heavy lead curtains were taped closed to keep out the light

He would pour the warm liquor sweetly down his lanky arms
It would clean over the wounds that he got long ago on the farms
The blood, dried and crusted, remained like drugged memories
The cracks on the walls itched at him along with the fleas

At times he would laugh like a hyena being skinned alive
He would count the toes and fingers from ten down to five
The jars he kept under the bed, locked to keep out the air
Inside them, treats for The Devil with no room to spare

The wind whispered sweet Spanish songs into his swollen ears
He'd smile and hold his eyeless teddy bear to fight off the tears
Naked and bruised silly, he would stare at the wall's cracks
Hoping any minute, to pick up the scent of long lost tracks

Old Man Flynn would pace up and down the length of this big box
In his own heavenly Hell, feeling rabbid like a death hungry fox
Cutting away at his cuticles for fear of them cutting at him
Dousing his internal flames with another pint of sweet smelling gin

-AP 10/26/06

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

A Hooker Named "Blue"

There's a rat-a-tat blues jingle
That blows down the street like kitchen smoke
And she calls your name from the red room

You brush back your hair, step from the window
Her voice reminds you of last September
And you think, maybe you should call home soon

To the bed, where the neon red light is casting its color
She pats the mattress inviting you over like last Fall
And the whisper in your head makes your head swoon

Her wide eyes remind you of years gone past
The skin exposed looks like porcelain sex, illegal
Lingering in the air, sounds of a blues jingle croon

It's nights like these that turn you toward the bottle
And after the interlude finishes, so leaves this model
Left alone, under neon red, feeling more like a bafoon

With the telephone in your lap, you stare at the walls
Only seven numbers separate you and certain ghosts
And asleep you fall, humming that rat-a-tat tune

-AP 10/25/06

Friday, August 25, 2006

Ice Cream Man

Hear that rickety music box jingle melody?
Do you see the ice cream truck just down the street?
With windows impenetrable from the rocks and dust
It's muted side menu just as weathered and beat

The wheels are all different shapes and odd sizes
Its white coat turned brown and yellow in places
There's a weird noise like a buzzing of bees
That follow along with the smiling childrens' faces

The kids call and run down along clean lawns
To the Ice Cream Man just up the way
There's a trail of oil that looks almost copper red
Through the sprinklers, they laugh and play

This clown car, it comes every day now
Never stopping to hand out the goods
The song seems so god damn familiar and friendly
At night, it disappears out into the woods

One may wonder if what lurks inside driving
Was not meant to quite ever crawl out
It's broken record lullaby song forever off key
Never stopping while all the little ones frolic about

-AP/MH 08-25-06

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Mr. Dirt

Mr. Dirt

Them voices they won’t go away
Ain’t no matter who I done kill
Can’t eat my morning flakes in peace
Without ‘em disturbin my breakfast meal

They kick me in the head to listen
And I plead and beg them wrong
Still keep their barkin’ & complainin’
After dozens of dem folks are gone

Still, they keep a gabbin’ & blabbin’
Pesterin’ all damn live day long
But I keep the red crude a runnin’
Yep, still flowin’ & goin’ strong

So I just keep on goin’ by the dirtside
Til there ain’t no road left to kill
Them voices won’t sleep or go away
And I’ll never seem to get my fill

-MH/AP 08-23-06

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Another clown poem


The clowns! The clowns!
How they come always around
When the weather is angry
And the sun long gone down

Taunting at my plated windows
With their wrapping on it’s glass
Under cover's quilting, I hide
In heaven's hopes, it will pass

With a knock knock
And some tap tap taps,
Each of them pull trinkets
From beneath colored caps

The fat one bears flowers
Big orange and fat red
Pointing it smiling, he squeezes
Petals wilting, soon dead

The thin one brings to you a doll
With one eye knocked clear out
From the socket, crawl maggots
Begging to enter fresh lipped pout

And lastly, is the tall one
Whose head is bald and grey
He tosses worms at the window
Warm and sticky, yearning to play

The clowns! The clowns!
When they come back around
Someone always comes up missing
Never again to be found

Only through the long winter
Dancing bone crazy in the rain
They gnash all about madly
Whispering softly my name
-AP/MH 08-22-06

Legends Wander

Redheaded Ralph was swiftly travelling South
On a rickety train being pelted with rocks of rain
His destination was a crotchety dust bowl cut town
Where the atmosphere was vermooth dry and rust brown

His straw hat pushed low to cover his furrowed brow
He chewed on thin sticks made of redwood and oak
Arms folded and rocking to the beat in his head
Heavy breathing, heavy heart always fighting a stroke

Remembering the woman he left behind with the years
The canteen to his side filled with whiskey and tears
Skin wrinkled yet tough like the bag on his back
His record is long yet was derailed from the track

The whistle blew long and hard like a banshee's wail
He laid back in the freight car, eyes cold on the rail
To sleep is to conjure the memories and great glories
Future books will be filled with his many true stories

-AP 08-22-06

The Tale Of Box Spring Susan

Her name was Box Spring Susan
She was used to the bruisin'
That Carl inflicted at night

Always awake and scared
Her pink flesh laid bared
She gripped the bottle too tight

One day she done well snapped
Too many whores had been slapped
The drawer was open, under the light

And when Carl came on home
He took three bullets to the dome
And Box Spring Susan felt high like a kite

-AP 08-22-06

Monday, August 21, 2006

Building Grounds

The monkey is on the pipe organ
And the dogs are at the gates
The fire is striking down from God
And the scraps lay at their plates

Inside the box, lies something
Darker than the dead
It's bleeding like a stuffed pig
A shade heavier than red

The chattering man in the corner
Howls and barks at the mortared brick
His face mishapen like a baseball mit
Plaid shirt covered in days old sick

The clutter amidst the rocky ground
Consists of cans, toys, and dolls
The chattering man's face is bleeding
A skull cap covers up his balls

The mountain men are busy hammering
In the spidered corners of this place
Nail upon nail into the wooded planks
To make room for the hangman's space

The air is tired from the old rope's burn
Ragweed burnt against bare feet
The dogs at the gate are whining
Hungry for the taste of living meat

The pine box is close to breaking
Inside it, the drum beat screams
The shards of fish bones come flying
Waking the monkey from crazy dreams

-AP 08-21-06

Saturday, August 19, 2006


She wakes up again soaked in thick angry rain
Her mane of hair is fiery like burnt red grain
Delicate thin wrists scratched dry and bloody cold
Bound tight to a crazy oak tree, bent forward and old

Her makeup is stained like broken body parts
Homeless men owned her like rusted shopping carts
Tattered up clothes and bare legged wet sex
She's open and inviting to the hot muscle flex

Hogtied like a circus freak against this bark
The severed limbs near her memory fire sparks
The beast was here with that salivary drip
She stings at the bite mark fresh on her left hip

A howl at the moon and a twitch in her cheek
Her bones slightly move like the water in the creek
Beastial moans groaning inside the lady's chest
This cover of skin removes easily just like a vest

The beast returns with crimson flesh fur
Her feminine ways make this forrest for her
On all fours now, she sprints as daylight comes soon
Stopping briefly on the cliff to howl at the moon

-AP 08-19-06

Saturday, August 12, 2006


I wake up and find myself here: leather seat, cigar smoked and coffee stained. It’s night or it’s black, I can’t tell. I find that I am in nondescript clothing and they aren’t mine. There’s a music playing that sounds muffled. I hear babies crying and I see blood dripping from trees as they move past.


I’m moving. Where the hell am I? I stand up and find that I am in a pretty small room. My feet find their balance and I feel like I am surfing the bus. When I was in high school, I’d surf the public transit. Meaning, germs were on the handles so I didn’t dare touch. So I surfed. Make sense? Good.

A scream comes from somewhere. Or is it the whistle? Whistle? Wait, am I on a train?!? How the fuck did this happen?

Memory loss.

I open the door and find the hallway packed with people. But they seem to be in a frozen catatonic state. It’s packed like sardines in here. It smells worse. I hear flatulence and I see death. I squeeze through this mess and feel random fluids on my skin. Someone’s breath becomes part of my neck and my hair. Urine is the cologne I smell.


The room I pass through is the dining car, I believe. There are empty plates and scattered utensils on the tables and some on the floor. I see dog men eating from a dish on the floor over there. And over here, there’s a half naked fat lady and she’s cutting his arm and letting the blood drip on her bare breasts. She looks at me and tells me it’s art. I look down and I find the nondescript clothes I was wearing are no more. I am dressed in stripes. Black and white. Red, all over?

Steam engine.

There’s a man in the back of this next room and he is shovelling coal. Shoveling coal, to where? Steam engine? Feeding the beast. Making it move through the night like a comet with a purpose. He looks at me and smiles. His breath reaches me in a dream like cartoon state and it motions me forward. His clothes are dirty and torn. He has an oily essence and he speaks in Portuguese.

Eyes close.

I still feel movement but suddenly all is lost visually. Hands are on me, covering me. Jerking me and poking me. I feel my clothes removed. I feel invaded and I feel pursuaded. Laughter and babies cries and scream and bloody tits. Cigar stains and coffee scent. The man shovels coal to keep the moon happy.


I wake up and find myself here: leather seat, cigar smoked and coffee stained.

It’s night or it’s black, I can’t tell.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Family, Valued

The farmer in the Dell, he went straight to Hell
He didn't pass Go or collect that dollar bill
His hair was wet and matted to his face
A lifeless pet remained upon the window sill

His overalls spotted red from the hot Summer stain
Dug up soil and grass from the yard near the barn
The skinny cows lean against the tired oak trees
A permanent haze in the air felt thick like yarn

The burbon breath exhaled from the sky like rain
Pouring dryly upon the shallow horse graves
Little Mary was left in her room upstairs sleeping
In her mind repeating the words, "Jesus Saves"

Lined against the walls were porcelain dolls
Eyes never blinking while watching the girl
When she dreamt at night of unicorns and daisies
They would find laughter, dance, and twirl

Grandma Betsy was in the rocker, we hear
Eyes glazed, watching the old picture shows
Her skin greyish blue, matching her hair
Which was tied back with ribbons and bows

In the kitchen, once said, was Bill the young butcher
The well mannered son of this family, so troubled
He hung himself up on the old rusty meathook
At the corners of his mouth, his life left crusty and bubbled

It was all said and done when the house closed shop
The barn is said to be cold and hollow
Think of this next time you pass by this place
Others have entered, but you should never follow

-AP 08-05-06

Ferris Wheel Turning

The sky is afire with noise and technicolor signs
Sweat beads on the faces of carnival workers
The show is busy and long are the lines
Diamonds gleam like the eyes of shadow lurkers

Calliope dances in the childrens' playground minds
Hobo clowns on stilts, hop along drunk and singing
The air smells of sugar, beer, and stale pork rinds
Kids swat at the air, the mosquitos are stinging

The beared ladies convene behind the old red curtain
One Armed Jack smokes a cigarello beside the orange shack
Tophat Tim checks his watch for an hour, uncertain
A tattoo of a no faced Jesus stretches long down his back

Funhouse mirrors bend minds like aluminum spoons
Music, like cotton candy, linger dirty and sweet sticky
The dusty floors are covered with pieces of animan balloons
Your pockets are empty but the children stay picky

The night's at an end and the goat man waves and smiles
Laughter and cries lay muffled behind the heavy drapes
The carnival freaks hustle like happy slaves down the aisles
To their wooden cages, to dream like tired human apes.

-AP 08-05-06

Start Up

I wake up, tangled in a sea of wires
Swimming through electrical currents
Sinues of light and energy
Flight patterns, assigned
Caffeine intake, inevitable
Jumpstart the human heart
The mechanism is now online
This sea of wires is alive

-AP 08-05-07

Saturday, July 29, 2006


Though the man without eyes was blind
Oh the magical things he would see
Visions and thoughts of otherworlds
Not appropriate or right for you and me

Visceral plains of carnival creatures
Shoulder blades cut the fog filled air
Inbred monkey men with feminine features
Crowd like sardines inside the humid lair

The winged skeletals hover above this city
Their screams come out like a baby child's wailing
Eyes, like fire, light up the dark sky so pretty
They prey on the weaklings in ships below, sailing

The weaklings, made up of scales and fishbones
Wash ashore on the black sanded beach in pieces
Skulls and fins and eyeballs in black tones
Mix in with the sand and water in creases

And on the land set far away from the water
The man without eyes sits whistling a soft song
His mouth full of teeth and lizard tongue's slaughter
Commiting crimes inside his head against the human throng

-AP 07-28-06

Friday, July 28, 2006

Zombie Love

On a concrete slab sits Undead Ned
His veins emptied, hollow and dry
He carries with him a stone bone head
Tears of dust drip from his baren eye

He walks along with a sideways tilt
Stifled and sore like a grudge fucked gimp
Always hungering for the flesh of guilt
Whoring out zombie girls like a feverish pimp

His tophat askew and moldy old
Turned down quick to sheild the skies
His heart is grey stone and winter cold
Empty cracked holes exists for his eyes

In a three piece suit, he gleefully walks
Eyeing the night for his next prize
And with his bride, he partakes the waltz
Never flinching at the buzzing of flies

Undead Ned and his blushing wife bride
Lay beneath the blanket of grass
The sun has risen and here they'll hide
Patiently waiting for the new day to pass

-AP 07-28-06

Thursday, July 27, 2006


Lips Twitch
Sickness Glitch
The House Fell On
The Wicked Witch

Hopped Scotch
Skinned Blotch
Blatant and Obvious
Kick In The Crotch

Broken Sweat
Kitten Pet
Murder Falls
Without Regret

Sticky Mess
Godly Bless
Souls Will Ride
On Ghostly Express

Lights Dark
Blackened, Stark
In Big Empty
Godblast Massive Spark

-AP 07-27-06

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Reverend Herman's Whiskey Sermon

Remember ol’ Reverend Herman
and the power of his whiskey driven sermon?
Casted out the devil more than once, occured
Question him twice about existence, obscured

He brandishes a smile and flask of metal
The voice he breathes tastes of wilted rose petal
Slamming the good book while screaming a preacher’s prayer
Reverend Herman’s new nickname: “The Devil Slayer”

The church is filled to the brick with those
Who would give up their children to keep their clothes
They praise the Reverend before them, seen unflawed
To them, he is the incarnate of their almighty God

Reverend Herman lays awake on his musty bed
Whispering incoherently from his wounds, that seep blood red
Cavity ridden decaying toothy smiled grin
He knocks the whiskey back to keep the Devil within

-AP/MH 07-26-06

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Lunatics Lymerics

The tired bafoon sits humming a tune and spits in the hungry mexican saloon
Asleep and deflated like a brother unrelated, he hisses like a rubber baloon

There's the dark room joker throwing cards like poker
Aloof in the midst of the smoke breathing toker

The flimmy flammy shamrock Sammy drinks bottle after bottle of irish whiskey
He skinny dips with sharks off the coral reefs of sadness without the thought being risky

And alone and tired, the robot boy is rewired and stands in the corner in trouble
He remains unheard like a mute humming bird, awaiting for God to pop the bubble

Thursday, July 20, 2006


Peg legged Al
Has a sassafrass pal
And they live on a ship at sea

He eats shelled up fish
Yet never uses a dish
And his nails sting hard like a bee

There's whispers in his head
There's odors of rotting fish, dead
And the seawater is black like oil

The boat rocks like grandma's chair
And creatures live in his hair
They'd be at home, buried beneath the soil

-AP 07-20-06

Friday, July 14, 2006

The Coming Storm

It starts off with a rumble as the edges of the sidewalk crumble
A weed may take a tumble but the bumble bees still sting

And the crowd of people seem to be thinner than your hair
As the parked cars' horn honks become louder in the air

The rumble turns to shakes and behind you comes the marching earthquakes
Their fangs are mashing along with parked cars crashing as their mass moves forward

They are tall monstruous brick house ogre beasts with death in their eyes
Their bellies aching for a feeding and your flesh is the prize

Cars become crushed metal like bike petals in a junkyard pile
The fang mashing giants edge closer like a storm with a smile

Your feet are brick and mortar along with the bent concrete mass
Lay down slowly, bleeding air from every pore and become transparent like glass

Before you know it, the world is succombed by this dirt smoked death blast
Rumbling like the tumbling teeth mashers amidst the emptiness mast

Everything grey black and full in it's emptiness as the blood train moves on

Tuesday, July 11, 2006


I'm creating new scars with these thoughts in my head
Ripping open my flesh to let the heart faucet drip
Tangling sinues and ligaments alike
Swingling like wires I'd want to stick in the spokes of a bike

Unconnecting my bones and throwing this skin jacket away
Sloppily moving through the haze of the day
My muscular structure falls apart at the seams
And it feels to me like another one of those glaring red dreams

Burning fire amongst the occular slate of my eyes
The heart faucet seems to be losing it's needed suppliment
I try to hop, skip or take a flying leap
But I soon forget what the hell that even meant

Brain juice inside a bottle necked man
Trying so desperately to calculate his life span
Seeking solace and love is a futile condition
And there's a growing life puddle beneath his feet

The scars I've created have all got their own names
Like those obscure and sleazy beer drinking card playing games
It seems like I'm close to the end of my twine
And the thought of sleeping without dreams suddenly seems so divine

With a flash and a smash, everything seems to crash
Bones, blood, and muscle lie together, like potatoes in a mash
And my mind seems to be the last functioning being in the sludge
Just leave me alone here because I'd be happier not to budge

Saturday, July 08, 2006

The Letter S

I woke up reminded of being the other man
It's a syndrome that makes my eyes itch like ivy
It's become sort of routine and trivial
Like brushing teeth and then the mouthwash
I don't like it but don't know how to operate without it
It's a feeling like a hole but not that cliche
And I know it's happening and I can't stop it
I can acknowledge it and pet it like a cute little cat
Make fun of it from afar and disown it in the company of others
But the feelings still exist there behind my back
And they like to smack me in the back of the head at times like this
They whisper and scream words like, "STUPID" and "foolish"
It's a Saturday and it's a She and it's a name and it's a place
I know things I wish to not acknowledge but they root like gofers beneath my soil
These carrots of knowledge are being plucked and I'm trying to not pay attention
Come tomorrow I'll pretend like I never even wrote this
Come tomorrow I won't be the other man, at least I'll be the actor pretending
I'll smile and nod and be that silly guy
But it will all eventually come back to this thing
This Saturday and this She
This name and this place
Pull the plug and let it flicker
Toss it out the window and let it smash
I need it to be purged but I need it to stay with me
Keep me company and break the walls
Take advantage of me and keep me safe
Pluck my eyes out like grapes and feed them to the monkies
Without these itching eyes, perhaps these feelings will go away too...

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Clown Goes Boom

Face caked makeup
Place baked with stakes up
Dirty sheeted tent town
Juggling rotted fruit
Dirty deed doing sad clown

Eyeballs a blaze from smoke and booze
It's really hard to walk in those big red shoes
Juggling fruits from the neighbors yard
Just like the Joker from the Devil's card

Hopping robotic from toe to toe
Much obliged to the average Joe
Makeup dried with dirty lips
He wears those gloves to keep a grip

Tossing fruit and throwing knives
Watching the clouds move like passing lives
Hopping robotic from toe to toe
Much obliged to the average Joe

Sunday, July 02, 2006

The Belt Buckle Floor Show

Welcome to the Belt Buckle Floor Show
It's a place where the folks like to dance their dance
Naked in clown makeup and feathers
Adorned with bells and whistles
It's a crowded place, full of booths and popcorn
There's a place in the corner too
She likes to hide there
It's where she does the thing she says she doesn't do

It's the Belt Buckle Floor Show, of course
A place where he likes to giggle like a sheep
His belly is filled up with butterflies and beer
His nostrils flare like Fridays here
There's a toothy grin appearing on his gritty face
His teeth, brown and golden
This place makes him shine like an old fashioned movie marquee

You'll find it here at the Belt Buckle Floor Show
A plethora of corn syrup and jewels
The children run a plenty
Sugar highs and monetary lows
Their laughter, screams, and cries blend together like smog
Unfulfilled wants and needs come out like burps
And before they know it, it's naptime
This place makes their bellies ache from shoe shine saccharin

It's closing time at the Belt Buckle Floor Show
We hope you enjoyed your stay
Please man the doors and wipe the floors
Purchase your saturated pocket fillers now
May your ego feel temporarily boosted
May our cash registers feel boasted too
For we are closing at the Belt Buckle Floor Show
Thanks for the friendly invasion, please come again.

Thursday, June 29, 2006


I feel like I am residing in a monochromatic world that I tend to create for myself. All greys. Color is actually lacking. At least today it is. Sleep induced day. Tylenol PM looked to be a bad idea in the long run. Old habits. I tend to enjoy sleep more than waking consciousness and productivity. Or at least, maybe just for today this applies. My words are coming out weird. Gramatical errors? Or am I speaking in a Yoda tense? I don't know. I'm sad but I'm not. I feel stagnant. I feel like days old bath water. Acting career seems on a stand still. This script I am writing is stopped at a block I can't seem to hurdle around. This loneliness that comes and goes is like a welcome unwelcome blanket that is itchy yet comforting. Reminds me of a blanket I had when I was a kid. I'm so used to this feeling that I don't know how to be without it somehow peeking it's head into my life at random times. But it sucks. And there we go again with the sucking comment. I miss sex and sucking. But whatever. It's been too long that it all somewhat seems like a dream or thoughts and nothing more. Fantastical images in my mind that remind me more of a porno movie I once saw way back when as opposed to experiences I've actually added to the imaginary notches on my bedpost. But I don't have a bedpost. And here I am looking at the time and it is 6:35. I need to get ready for work. I need to snap out of this funk. I need to not be distracted by pussy or the lack there-of. I need to have some coffee and be happy I am alive and have this job as well as the friends I have. I need to eat. I need to crap. I need to smile on occasion. I need to write. I need to write. I need to write. I need to w r i t e

Wednesday, June 28, 2006


There's spiders in the shower
and I can't think without blinking
I have an inkling of something
Much bigger than this

And the spider is dancing
While the water is splashing
And the drain seems to be growing
Like a grape eating elephant's gaping ass

It's a moldy midsummers morning
The spiders are forming
Something almost resembling a chain

And the water that's pouring
Almost sounds like it's snoring
And it's coming out shooting like rain

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Day After

Tired isn't even close to how I feel. It's more like a limbo between conscious and comatose. Drank large amounts of hops baring drinks last night. It was fun. Good party. But now I am at work and all I can think about doing is staring at the wall. It really is soothing, the wall staring that I tend to do. My brain seems to be rebooting itself.

Hammering hungover headache attacked me at about 7am when I woke up to have a orgasmic piss. I had to quickly down advils and drank a whole bottle of water and passed out again.

I met a really cool writer/director last night who is well known in the business. I was so fucking drunk that I think I might have made an ass of myself. He kept saying it was ok and I should be drinking and partying for my birthday. But shit....I was all blubbering about like a little fanboy.

Work. There's work in my inbox. I am sitting here typing a frickin blog instead of working. I just drank coffee and I feel like if I have another liter, I may be able to keep my focus on the task at hand. And speaking of that, I just had to rebrew coffee. All of the carafes were empty but one that was full of nasty Vanilla Nut. Fucking weak ass flavored coffee.

I have some ham and cheese sandwiches with someone's name on them. And all I want to do is spank it and sleep, spank it and sleep. Not really, but it sounded funny.

Too tired....if I last the night I'll be surprised.

Monday, June 12, 2006

It's all Fire

Everything is fire right now
Explosion and flames
Destruction, dismemberment
Bringing the buildings down to ash

The red becomes grey
The grey soon clears
Out from the ash, comes something anew
But what it is has yet to be seen

Friday, May 19, 2006

Caffeinate My Mind

My veins are like tributaries, stretching away from the gulf of my heart. The coffee I'm drinking helps the river flow. Steady beat. Steady beat. Bang the drums with bangle tigers. And my eyes are opening wider. Awareness creeping to the forefront. Ready for action. Draw your weapons, soldiers!

Draw your weapons.


Aggravated screaming
Convoluted dreaming

I feel like ripping it up
From the inside, outward
Flesh and bone, inseparable
Placenta smile

I want to fire upon everyone
Trench coat and mafia anger
Shotgun blasts and smoke upon fire
It's times like this I feel I am alive

I get this itch like I'm ablaze
Red hot coals dwell within my gut
My ribs are white hot lava
Red, yellow, orange bursts lick my lungs

It's an impatient kind of hurt
The kind that makes you tingle in anticipation
Awaiting the final outcome
Soon I hope to combust

Monday, May 15, 2006

First and Foremost

Welcome to my blog.

Does anyone else think of Lincoln Logs when typing the word blog? And while on the subject, does anyone even remember Lincoln Logs? Like kids want to even play with such a simplistic concept of a toy. A box full of logs that you can make into a cabin, or house, or porta potty, pile of logs being hearded together like cattle. Only to be taken to the fireplace abattoir for a burning.

What the hell am I talking about anyway?

Yep...that's usually what I would like your reaction to be upon reading this. Of course, that is if I am not ranting about politics, stupid people, giving you movie reviews, sharing cool videos,or sharing my written works of genius.

Other genius types will be sharing their own thoughts, opinions, points of views, and works here-in.

So welcome to my blog.

Be sure to take your shoes off and rub your toes all in it.