Thursday, February 11, 2016

An Open Letter to My Friend

I wonder about you
and I miss you

I know you have children
I'm glad

And a husband
and a wife

and a dog
and a cat

I will risk my life
To save you

If I have to

I will kill everyone that wants to kill you
I will I kill their friends
their love
their mother , father
their brother, their sister, aunt and uncle

If you fall
I will catch you

I think of you
and I love you

I am proud of you
whoever you are
wherever you ware
whatever you have become

I am your friend

Remember this

An Open Letter to My Enemy

You run around in the wasteland
the littered remains

And you hold so close
to your heart the law of god

You're the reason why people are afraid

Here is my open letter
a prayer

That enough of what we are
the virtues we hold in our heart


And I hope you can stop
and just breathe

and see
a world where everything eats
and feel at peace
that I will kill you
and eat you

my hunger

I will crack your bones
then feed them to my dog

In this world, enemy mine
You die.

It's going to be nice
living at last
without you

But I will miss you
it's just the way it works
I've been here before

I will miss your drama
the jerks
the little things

Like how you behead
innocent people

how you put your kid
into a jesus camp
because she was gay

how you went into that party
and instead of getting high
you shot everyone

What's left
will lay in my garden
and pray
make my vegetables green
in dark earth

and all I know is that it makes me feel good now

I have you

Where I want you

In the quiet morning of my life
while you sleep

Where you eat your lunch
your food will be poison
and when you vomit

There will be blood

I had a dream

We were all in school
still I can't escape the ghost of you

A place in the woods
where concerts
and picnics
play on the hills between trees tall

And then the men in white and black came
and they hurt us all

Broken heart

I sang
The ode to joy

Oh Freunde

feigned interest
in civilized evil
and lies

And then
opened my eyes

and the cold of night
wove its way into the quiet

I wanted to hold your hand
and tell you

That I would give my life

For you
and that I loved you

And that love means
doing everything

You can

And that it means sometimes
giving you the freedom
to do everything

You can

There's no point in sorrow
when something is hunting you

If it catches me
it won't just kill me

It will eat me.

I had a dream.
That I survived.

and you healed.

Life's What You Make It - Talk Talk

Sunday, February 07, 2016

How to Read Social Media Comments

In order to be able to read social media comments you have to understand a little bit about life in a small town.

My grandfather's name was pops because I used to laugh and say he was so big it looked like he was going to pop. I liked how he laughed, especially the day I told him that - he smiled and said it over and over again and the name stuck. I think we both knew I was imagining him on a lonely alamagordo test range detonating at sunset. We always tended to keep a wary eye on each other.

My grandfather was my only true and worthy chess opponent. He was a man who strengthened his game by playing the town minister, or maybe it was the local bishop, I'm not sure which. A small town minister can rise up to the papal ranks if he does his job right. I think he was bishop at that point. And apparently , those two strong men would really go at it .. I came to learn that he'll do anything to beat a ten year old kid. Anything. He wants you to memorize the board. But at the same time, he wants to hammer you. And if he does, he won't let you forget it.

But most of all , I loved him very much. He drank, I think, when I was very, very young - and I was never worried about whether or not he had a cigarette though I heard he quit those too. He died.

But somehow, he must have made an impression on someone else before he died. I remember well the day before he died, I was walking around in the small town, where he had helped to build the General Hospital - at a doctor's office. My grandfather was a country doctor, and that was his office.

I was chasing memories. I think. Maybe it was a lizard. There are chameleons in this small towns so close to the border of Florida that it's almost there. Maybe I was just hunting around for junk in the alleys and backs of the shops on the town square. Maybe I was wandering over to my grandmother's clothing store. She used to head up to Atlanta, have a fun time, get a bunch of dresses and come back down with them for sale. When you're a doctor's wife - with four frisky children - you take your vacations when you can get them.

I remember my Grandfather had a study, just about 20 feet down the hall - maybe a little less, and to the right. It was an office that caught the sun on a morning. It was his study.

My grandfather was a man of very curious mind. He always surprised me that he would know exactly what was the coolest thing I could think of.. and then ask enough questions so that he could ascertain, if indeed, it was cool. And he would invariably come to the polite conclusion that it was - but if he later wanted to give you the message he disagreed with you, he would let you know that as well.

I remember his study. Most of all. Now. I remember in particular a glass jar. And in that jar, was an aborted foetus. A foetus that ultimately was killed by its own God. A stone child.

It was a gray thing. Slight cast, but when the morning sun caught it - the glass lit to an amber shade. And I wondered of it. Finally I asked "Pops - what's the story behind this baby in the bottle?" and he smiled and then furrowed his brow in a very Dr. Kildare-like moment and said, authoritatively, "That " (insert slight dramatic pause. he was kind of a ham) .." Is a stone child. .. My patient ah .. a woman of ... obese character .. " ( again, this is Pops Dr. Kildare Moment, he's wanting you to make sure you get the fact that yes, he has more than one patient. he had tons, but this is his way of bragging about it ) .." came to me complaining of abdominal pain that had been going on for quite a number of years. I examined her, and then proceeded to find a hard lump in her lower abdomen. So, naturally I ordered some X Rays at the mmm General .. Hospital .. " ( which he helped found. again, he was a little proud. and believe me , nobody ever forgot seeing this strange stone child, either the hospital or this.. ) ... " and subsequently found an image of a child. There were no signs of life in the child, of course. Or I would not have ordered the X Ray, as X Rays are dangerous to unborn children .. "

At this point, he had my rapt attention. The sunlight was filtering through the window. The two coal black eyes of the foetus were looking at me through lidded eyes. Its arms were curled up around an imaginary bollywood movie dance move. Legs were slightly akimbo, crossed. A section of the umbilical cord coiled around in the jar.

My Grandfathers voice boomed. He was a country man, and he loved the hunt. He knew I was listening, so he went for the kill. " And .. did you know, I operated on her. I removed a child. And that child . Had turned to solid stone ." She simply never knew she was pregnant, and the child had died inside of her - and had stayed in her and slowly turned to stone.

As it turned out, My Grandfather made a note of every child he had ever delivered, and knew that child's birthday, and name, and whenever he met any child he delivered, he made a point of asking about them, wishing them a happy birthday on the day that they were born. He knew their likes, and dislikes, and the names of their dogs and cats, and all of their family members. This would make little children squeal with delight.

The people who read you on Social Media, are one of those little children.

They will think you are as cool as my grandfather. I'm not. But they are your groupie, and you love her. At one point you were cousins but got bored of that, and besides it was dishonest. you and I are different that way.

I can't remember the names of the people I met yesterday. You have to repeat the name over, and over, and over before I can remember it.
Its said to be an infuriating trait of mine. I remember just a few names, even still. Most names fade. Teresa. That's a beautiful name.

I loved that name.

At any rate, if you want to know how to read a social media comment, you need to imagine her as a hippie. A flower child. So here's how you read her comments. Whatever she says - part of it is being sung out loud. Close your eyes and think of someone wearing a colorful costume with butterfly wings and running all over the place and you ask them for a peanut butter sandwich, and they go .. here! is the peanut butter saaanndwich!! And then they do a perfect veronica with the table cloth.

And the candles. Are still standing.

You end up getting the peanut butter sandwich, but you also get a faded out fax with a sticky note of it, and the rain falling on the glass, and the sound of the wind through the trees.

She Is not in a place . Where they have that thing called road rage. It does not exist where Edith lives. Right now, she is in a place where the local policeman is someone you know. Or at least, you know someone who knows him very well, and to be perfectly honest, there are some pretty theoconservative people there. The whole ... let's take our local police and put them into play soldier black glass tank cruisers, would just mean they roll the window down and talk to you.

She Is in a place where they are trading places with the little bit of tourism that seems to power the economy, and the mayhaw - that they hope will survive the weather weirdness.

So, just sometimes sing them to yourself. And even if you can't read them, because I suspect that every now and then, the people who are always commenting on social media. Get a little bombed..

And I try not to scare them away. But..
That's my next story. And man. It's going to be a good one.

Even more, I'd really love from someone from the band The 1975 to contact me because I think I can write them some pretty kickass lyrics and handle some of the visual / Cookie Thumper type stuff for their vids.

But then. I are illone. said Krazy Kat.

But I'll probably just play some Eve . I have finally gotten the hang of nullsec ratting and it's way more fun and profitable than strip miner gank fest

Wednesday, February 03, 2016

Para Noir - Brian Hugh Warner/ Heather Renée Sweet-Warner

Work In Progress, Part II.

And yes, just so you know. I'm writing to you. I tend to feel like a shadow sometimes, and it feels kind of good so I am writing this from a ghostly place that lives between work and play - right around 12 in the afternoon.

Hmm! I am having an editor look at the democrat socialist manifesto, to help me tighten it up. I am making progress on a few things. For example, I'm working out the positioning of my product launch, I think I've got a really compelling product story to tell.

I'm late on a couple of patent things I'm supposed to do, and I'm not really doing alot of volunteer work for any of the other causes. Today's a special day, alot of what I need to do , needs to happen today. So I'm going to use some planning software a bit like MS Project and lay out some of the important points of progression and then just hit it.

I'm really proud of myself for bringing a really old car back to life, and it serves me well. I'm also happy to be the age that I am, and I like to walk. One day I will walk with you. Or not. But then again, are we both going to actually do anything with all of this? I think so.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

When You're Ready Come and Get It

Work in Progress

This blog got its start as a kind of political cry. I was really, really distressed by the fact that our country was building an imaginary case against a country to go bomb them back to the stone age. I was confused. I could not understand how the America I was raised to believe in, could use its military power to push someone's head under the water at the community pool.

In fact, honestly. I was shocked. I thought the entire military buildup on the Iraq border in 2001 and 2002 was just a headfake. Also, to be honest, I found a submissive - and I thought that the best way to chronicle my first real subbie psycho play was to try to trace the arc of mine and her journey through to the point where the whip takes bite and the wood touches flesh. I happened to take and drop a slave during that time, but I never count slaves.

So, ok. Politics and kinky sex. Kind of like... Republican Blog. No comment. Right? I joined a group of bloggers. A phD that wanted to do polyamory. Some guy who wrote speeches for all the big political heavyweights. A super smart chick who worked at the CDC. A couple of dudes that were into gaming. It was a great time.

At some point I broke away from the politics. This was also about the time that the anti-bloggers came around - like twitter, and FB and the designs that were all about shutting down honest, discursive dialogue and replacing it with a 140 character limit. I was able to see from where I stood that this would be a virus laden worm fest so I skipped the selfie generation and fell back on prose and poem and whatever I could find.

I really enjoy finding images, words, sayings - and not clicking on the first search result. The fake one.
It's kind of a sport. There might even be something of an obsession with bettie page on this blog. I take full responsibility for that.
And I am honestly not serious or paid; I think I have an old adsense account with this blog but the ads are completely annoying
and I was never really sure if I wanted them on my blog or not - I've moved them all over the place and if you click on them, fine.
If you ignore them, fine. I think one day the ads off this blog will do something like buy me a happy meal. If I'm lucky.

I promise that if that ever happens, I will go and get the happy meal and I might take them down.
The guy who came up with this platform (we moved to this platform from the older one .. blogspot..) is the same guy who took responsibility for that abomination known as twitter. Both twitter and these other so called "social media" platforms were really all about killing off
the blogsphere. They almost succeeded. I wanted to make sure this blog survived while I wasted time with them.

The first time I went into FB was a total joke. I went in there and found an old (and good) flame waiting for me and I think I went kind of insane.
I must have changed my background 50 times... I would frantically post about anything and everything, and couldn't find my voice there. Eventually it slowly dawned on me that FB would only get the leftover stuff. The stuff that you threw out for people to data mine , like electronic counter measure.
I laugh every time they show my own ads to me as if I'm going to buy my own stuff from myself. I truly hate Facebook, and any other platform founded to be something that hurts your girlfriend's feelings. I hurt her feelings far too easily on my own to need anyone else's help, and if you've ever read my blog the one thing I really don't want to do is get a beautiful girl pissed off at me. I'd much rather let her vent and talk and then we can both have lots and lots of great sex.

I'm listening, honey. Really I am. Continue.

So now I'm going to tell you where I'm going with this thing. First, I wrote a democratic socialist manifesto. I need to tighten that bitch up, it's too wordy and people's eyes glaze over. I'm going to adopt the style and form of Larry Harvey and get a decent, tight little number together his ten principles... they're hot. I want my manifesto to be like that, something a good ol' boy can read and understand.

And I do consider getting Bernie Sanders (yes, this was written in 2016.. the year before the great Sanders Era of our history, the era that preceded the dawn of America as a spacefaring nation ..) ... in the presidency of the United States, as the Apotheosis of all of my political activism. This guy represents nearly everything I've ever fought for. So today, on this special day - I'm going to spend time getting laid (I might think of you, I might not, hey, it's physical) with my girlfriend. Think hang ten t shirts, a girl and a boy skateboarding down the street. We're totally friends with benefits and we love it. I'm going to spend my time working my butt off, because I can't go fingerbang my girl friend and do bong rips up on top of a mountain somewhere - if I can't afford to leave the office. I'd love to figure out how not to get beaten up by all the money I owe, but I think the only way out of that is not to go bang my girlfriend, and that's going to be a hard decision. I guess I'll see how much work I get done, but I'm an old guy now, so I'm going to take the getting laid option one way or another. Still, it would be great to survive through the month of February. I'll leave that to the mercy of La Cosa Nostra or whoever else lent me that cash. Think of it like a title pawn that doesn't own a repo man, just a guy with a baseball bat.

Hey, that's small business.

But one thing I am going to do is tell you where I'm going, before I get to work. And I'm going to tell you why. Because there is a living being that haunts me. Someone who keeps me moving forward. I promise you she doesn't do it on purpose. And I really hate how we both feel like we need to end that relationship, because there's really no way it can end. Sometimes your soul gets bound up inside someone and it can never leave. No stalking, just a kind of love that no one can really fuck with.

So, I take it very, very seriously - when she's around. For one thing - it proves she's still alive. We have that kind of relationship where I am left to wonder for years. And she and I both are the type of people that will push it to the limit and we might not be alive when you read this.

She doesn't give me marching orders. Instead, I kind of find a way to be broken, and to have myself put back together again. I can notice things.
For example. I'm kinda fat. So I'm going to fix that. And I'm kinda poor . So I can fix that too. These aren't little jobs, they're big ones, and they take time. You don't suddenly become thin and rich. If you win the lottery, put that ticket in a baggie and seal it up and stick it in a safe deposit box and call an attorney and don't tell a living soul until you're safe and on high ground. But if you meet a girl that really tears your heart out so badly it hurts like you can't even breathe - don't forget her. Let her life story weave its way into yours.

Let her faults become your faults. Let yours become hers. Let her guide you to civilization. Always remember, young man - that without women we would be standing in a radioactive wasteland with seriously heavy weaponry pointed at each other and hoping the heat tape doesn't disintegrate until we can get a target painter in place to blow each other away. Nothing would be left of this planet. And shit, would it ever be fun.

So here's what you get for your quarter. Whatever you're finding here, from here on out - will be the notes of a man on a journey to get in shape, and to get a little rich. I will also tighten up the manifesto in case someone wants to use it. I might throw a little of my artwork here... I love Burning Man, I'll try to post here what I'm doing out there. But alot of times I just want to make sure that this blog, this identity, is off on its own - and not bound to anyone.

Normally if you find out who I am, I'll get rid of you somehow. I don't like people tying this thing back to real life. Who wants their notes about great kinky sex read back to their own son or daughter? Could you imagine your parents having sex. Man. But I want you to know, I have finally accepted one person to know who is behind this blog. Hell. It's not like she can't figure it out by herself, anyway. And she makes good comments, but always in private - I really get the feeling she's working on something as well. Work in progress. You and I.

But part of this, she decides. I've grown very, very strong. I can wait years. Decades. So. If there is a genus of us - a specific epithet - destined to merge with machine and travel through the stars, let me be the one.

If it doesn't work, I have nothing to do with it. But if it does work, let's talk royalties.

Not Butter - Dillon Francis

Hey Kids, time break out your secret encoder rings!

"Go visit the cat and the cockroach before one eats the other"

Distance as a Function of Space and Time

Your misplaced car keys
the cucumber seeds
and night that finds us all

I can say goodbye again
even though , torn
you and I never left each others arms

I am an A4
flying across your radar screens

So scared to be alone

Sure I love you
this you know
you've never doubted it
and neither have I

But then find the satisfaction
of well marriage

Like a pair of old blue jeans
a person who sees
the gentle goodness in you
and partnership

Mickey. And Mallory.
Adam. And Eve.

I asked you a question.
I didn't need you to reply.

Is it getting heavy?
But then I realized.

We're playing with the time
that Mary fell
Toying with the overwhelming
Playing with the sky
and watching the light
trace its way across the warmth of the night

Not evil
but silent and clean and pure
where we fly across the dreams
of the masses

you and I
holding hands

Yes. I touch your vision.
Yes. I see through your eyes.


I'm a basketball in your hands
and I fly into the basket

I'm the swing on the playground
the cold metal sweet to the touch of your skin

I am the closed eye
and the open mind
teaching space how to bend
and space teaching me how to move
a requiem for a dream
holding on by the skin of its teeth

distance is a function of space and time
my lover came to me
and we lay
in rooms unfamiliar but until now
even as my heart began its journey into darkness
and will you say to me
when I'm gone

That I loved your son
and your circle
that called me like a parent in loving arms
to come just a little closer
as he runs just a little farther away

And your father's body
will go into the ground
and I all want to do
is pick up a handful of the earth
and lay it on his grave
and remember the kindness
of a man

Will you say to me
when I'm gone
your face is faded
but lingers on

Light strikes a deal with each coming night
Day brings stars songs faces
and the names change
but the song remains the same

That you and I are married
by something bigger than us
and that marriage ends
even if it's kind of a drama

through death that absorbs all light
and then like a ghost
I will be able to pass through walls
and we will hold each other in our arms
and talk of

spooky action at a distance

I was you
and you were me
and we are each other
neither dominant
nor submissive

my heart
is a tiny broken creature

my faith
is a monk whose hands are dirty

who smells of burlap
and the ashes of a fire

and we are both wound
by his briars
tended by friars

making their rounds
in black gowns
binding my desire

to you
through space
and time

Hold me before I leave
but let me hate
the reason

Kiss me before I go
but let me fight
to stay

You were so beautiful
You have become tall
and strong
and jesus christ the tits were fantastic

Seriously I really like them
and I usually don't care they're just something to hold

So yes, a little nipple play
why not

but in the end
we both knew
the sex was kind of awful
and the moment was stolen

So sure, there was guilt
but the kind of guilt that feels like a traffic ticket
you get from an automated intersection

When you were changing lanes and passing through on a green
One that you had to drive to the bank
to get the paper notarized

I'll never forget the look of weariness
in your eye

How clearly we both knew the moment
that passed in silence
that we were only there to say goodbye
and that we both failed

We are pawns
and kings
and queens
at once

needing God's love

will come

The honest words we both can't afford to say

I want to be there
when your father dies

I want
to be your only

I want your circle
around me

I want to walk through the library
and touch the snow

I want black people
by the thousands
listening to def jam

Eat. Sleep. Rave.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Beirut - Yasmine Hamdan

Changing Course

Slipping away
without falling apart

You call , maybe.
But it's ok.

I will always be here.
Your favorite darkness.
You know the rest.

I can be honest, and answer plainly.
That I love you.

Matter of factly.

Since that November.
But what the fuck was the name of that tavern?

Traps and Puzzles

So you and I
pull into a cheap motel

You called just to wish me well
and broke it down for me
that I may never be broken


We sit across the table
you being able
to drink me underneath

But I've got the weed.

We both stretch into the night again.
Walking the streets with hollow stares.
Nothing to lose.

Only Lovers Left Alive

What is the role
of the trap or the puzzle
Where did I lay sabotage
to you, or I

Tell me again
about spooky action at a distance

Let me hold you.
Soft against your chest.
And you soft against mine.

Something special passing between us.

Entanglement doesn't happen naturally.
The two must be together.

Let me close my eyes, then.
And lose my identity in you.
Let part of me break away.

Let me not see the beauty.
Feel the wonder of your skin.
Touch you.
Taste you.

Doppler shift ford o matic super torque transmission
red to green

These white lights
bend to make blue

Let this all be new.
To you.

Blessed Mother

I just close my eyes
and shake my head

so much to do.
and nobody cares about you
when you fail

There's no room
for error

No margin
of safety

I am live
without a net

Hoping that my sense of balance
and my ability to hold on

Give me a chance
to make it beyond

The edge

I'm not really a drug addict
Just altering my consciousness
And death isn't really darkness
It's drama.

But at the top of the list right now
is staying alive

Then following on, is to work hard.
Then, you.

They say.
In the land of the blind the one eyed jack is king.
Like in the film Minority Report.

If it's ok, I'll take the new
improved clarity.

I'll work through the list of things.
I'll see you again.


When you do good.
Do it as if throwing a stone
into the sea.

Looking at the things that pass me by...

Disintegration - Monarchy - Dita Von Teese

The Morning, The Day, The Night

I couldn't see
mostly it was due to the fog

The sunrise was beautiful
and I made my usual morning path
returning home with the light

My little soft aussie sheepdog pup
put his head on my neck
and we worked

Bacon. Cheese. It does wonders.
All dogs sit.
All dogs stay.

And the afternoon comes on with the gentle fall of the land
and 4:20

my tire is low
you broke the silence

Before me

I am broken, sure, on the outside.
I could use a paint job

I go find a place for air
my body is depleted steel
The night comes

I read

word by word
and whisper words of praise

to the old gods.

Monday, January 25, 2016

Lachrimosa / Eve

On my desk
I have a view of our world

There is Florida
down below the clouds.

The Caribbean.
Puerto Rico.

The vast expanse of space against the limb of the horizon.
A sunrise dawn as the planet turns to warmth and light
away from the cold night

Planet Earth is blue.
My breath catches in my throat.

I must work today.
I must not open your mail.
I know I will.
But now.
For work.

The strange theory of quantum entanglement.
Creepy action
at a distance.

Can you tell your husband what's wrong?
Do you believe.

In Tears?