with self

at times
life seems so futile.
no matter what you do, where
you go,
or how you do it,
it all ends in the same way-
a final breath,
an ending sigh
that breaks you through
to whatever it is that
resides
on the other side of reality.
and as hard as i have looked,
all i see is the need
to become a better person,
to experience life at its
finest,
to set goals and conquer
yourself.
the more you learn,
the more humble you become-
because to live
with the goal of
self realization
is to come to terms
with honesty.
it is an understanding
that puts you in your place.
as individual as we are,
we are not so much unalike
to be better than anyone else.
no matter how much debris
you collect
(fine cars, a beautiful home,
people who love you)
there is no other way out.
and in that we are as equal
as any other species.
we will feel pain, we will endure,
we will experience joy and suffering,
but at that final moment,
we are all the same;
joined with every other living thing.
so in time, we play games
with war, with finances, with the ever enduring
light that scrapes away at the surface
of our being.
we set traps to capture
ourselves in the slick
of life,
pretending to gain,
to lose,
to make amends.
as the light dims,
we wonder what we could have done
rather than the actions we have committed.
so i will play the game,
but always remain
with my head in the clouds,
wondering who i am
at the very heart of me.

turn on the lights

if you have found the Lord,
good for you.
i've been looking for that
bastard for a long time.
so when you run into
Him again, ask Him
why this? why now?
and
what for?

is this to build some
Omnipotent ego?
does crushing the weak
by the hands of the weak
somehow turn Him on?

does He get his kicks
from watching babies die?

is there some point
to abuse
that i'm missing?

until you can come
to me with a reasonable,
and logical answer,
i'm going to go with
the
'god hiding from himself'
theory
that clearly states
we are the evil in the world,
and we are the good
in the world. it is up to us to
make this world a better place.

maybe some day we'll
embrace that understanding
and let go of all of the bullshit
that keeps us at each others throats.

don't get me wrong,
your faith isn't the issue.
the issue is your bias toward
your faith. spirituality and a strong
sense of the natural world
is indicative to a positive
and healthy life. everyone
has faith in something
whether they believe in a higher
power
or not. but don't be
mistaken,
the phrase, "my god is better
than your god," and all the
dark mentality
related to your biased view is
one of the biggest problems
humanity faces.

i wonder how many people
would be truly alarmed at what
we are doing to our environment
if they new the planet was an
organism that relied on our
cooperation to maintain a healthy
existence? what would happen
if they knew that, collectively, we
are the god that has to rush in to
save the day? would they be
as complacent?

so it's not a matter of faith.
it is a matter of blind ignorance.
if we continue to
shuffle around in the dark,
we're eventually going to bump
into a wall.

i just hope we're smart enough to
reach out and look for
a light switch.

Don't Look Down!

Sometimes it feels like an
an elaborate movie playing just for me,
but I can't change the channel
and the volume is stuck on as loud
as it will go and no one seems to notice
and I wonder if they're even alive.
                     Sometimes hope
                                                filters through
and leaves the head feeling dizzy. And we cope
with it all in one way or another. Some self
medicate while others try to transcend as if there
is
                          some place to go
        beyond this.
But if that is the case, why does it feel so
stagnant? Try being alone for a little
while. You will feel it too. It rattles the
brains and makes the sweat come. This
constant rotation of the same scenes playing
over and over again as the end nears. It makes
you
       want to
fast forward just to get it over with. It is
only going to be more of the same with
a few minutes of hope thrown in to keep
your attention.
                         And there are those
               who say-
                               You're not looking at it
in the right way. But you could always say
that they need to open their fucking eyes.
                      They are too occupied to notice.
             They have
their friends and families. They are busy fucking
while they are being bent over in secret. They
have their phones and their television programs.
They have a retirement to plan for, and a mortgage.
At night they dream of bunnies and the chick they
fucked in high school. They pretend that everything
is going to be all right. And it will be
                                                             as long
as they keep their eyes shut tight. And.
                                                       Don't look
                                    down.
There are bargains to be had, coupons to clip. Fuck
the commercials. Do not pay attention to the ghettos,
don't look at the educationally starved. Do not open
the goddamn door and look outside because it is a
nightmare out there.
                                  Send in your donations
to make it all better. That way you can pretend that
some of the money you gave actually goes to those
in need and not to the rich fuckers running the charity.
Try to tell yourself that your credit line will buy your
way out of the mess that is dropping down from above.
Pretend the wars are justified to protect your rights.
Pretend the gas prices are low because they care about
you and not because they are trying to fuck with another
country who isn't keen on Capitalism, but would rather
wreak havoc on their citizens by make believe methods
to ensure no one ever gets ahead. It is all a different head
                                               on the same
                                                                   Monster.
They will say that if you pay too much attention to what
is happening, it will make you miserable. That is absolutely
true, but at least you are not pretending it isn't there. Maybe
if we all
                                pay attention more often,
               the shit will really hit the fan
and we can make a little change happen.
                               That would be funny.
                                                                   Wouldn't it?
Almost as funny as that cute kitten video you posted a couple
of days ago.

shade my shadow clean

the same record spins
shade my shadow clean
a sigh of seduction
spread the dirt from me
hold this moment
as long as you can
  take it with you,
pulled along by a dying man
with the same sigh
                      escaping
as the cloud stricken sky
  as it's fading,
leaning in on a worn winter
where the wind shakes
the brittle branches breaking
     fall
  fall
falling
   as the tears
 from the stricken
        sky
shade my shadow clean
and lean down as
you kiss me
                     away
like the passing of days
after the world has come to an end
where we can pretend
that it is all coming back again
       so we can start
                the record spinning
                                      once more

a crumb from the cake we should not eat

there is a certain level
of disgust
harbored for those
elected to office
who use their power
for anything other
than the will of the people,
brandishing their
new found glory
to aid the corporate
minority,
the charmed,
the indifferent.

have elections
ever been about
the silent majority,
those who work
throughout their lives
just to make ends meet?
what of those who strive
for a better existence,
for a small piece of the pie,
for a common goal
to get by and be happy?

have politicians
ever wondered about
the conditions
of the poor,
the realities
of the middle ground
workers who often
are left with nothing
when it comes time
to hang up the tool belt
and rest
after a lifetime of labor?

we are nothing
if we are not united.

they give us racism
and abortion
and religion
and drugs
and wars
and tax
and trials
and oil
to occupy our days
in order to keep
a tight noose
about our necks
so we can't look around
at any other possibilities
other than what they
throw in our faces.

we are divided
for control.
we are controlled
in our division.

we are nothing
if we are not united.

Just the right word.

Vulgarity is like
a fine wine,
no matter how costly,
it is still worth downing the
entire bottle.

Fuck can mean so many things.
It adds just the right amount
of flavor to spice up any
sentence.
But when used in just the right measurement,
it can become downright devastating.

Bring me words with ferocity,
with disgust,
with devilish intent.
Make those words melt
as butter on my flailing tongue.
Let them whip out among the masses,
let them bring tears to the eyes
of the weak,
the innocent,
the proper.
Only then will I know what
beauty such words hold.
Only then will I know
accomplishment.

Don't be mistaken,
using vulgarity
for the sake of vulgarity
just makes you an asshole,
a tit,
a cunting fool.

So choose your moment
and allow
the words to roll
from your tongue
as intended,
like a fine wine
better consumed
than spit out
like a Nancy.

California hills

there is a certain peace 

in the California hills.

a beauty, a quiet,

a silent despair

that is really quite

lovely.

the fewer people that

are there,

the better it is.

the wind hums against

the rocks and the air is 

fresh.

the Santa Ana winds pick up

and nearly knock you down,

but it will bring clean air,

pushing the smog out over

the mountains and away for a day

until the smoke from factories and tailpipes

and China come back with vengeance.

down certain trails, you can see

people fucking, dicks hanging,

pussies spread.

sometimes dicks with other dicks

and pussies with other pussies.

it is a sight to see -

these people fucking like mad -

like it is the last day to fuck or be fucked

and their hips are furious.

every stroke is planned, arranged,

and deliberate.

it is fine to see them fucking in the hills

where every corner,

every bush,

every mound of dirt can watch you there,

tapping out that ancient tune.

today is a fine day,

a lovely day. the Santa Ana winds are blowing

in from Fontana where it is always windy

and the sun will be up soon.

it would be a lovely day to bring the wife

to Corona, up in the hills

for a nice, long walk where we can hide

behind a boulder and hum a tune

to the winds that occupy the valley below.

we could sing a song to old lovers

and salute them as they pull up their pants

and pretend they were only going for

a walk.

clockwork soul

in the interest of dying,
we are free.
in the interest of living,
we are bound by our
freedoms.
in this, our souls
are divided, if indeed
'a soul' is what it is.
in restricted shells,
we move, we incite,
we concoct and
conduct
true horrors and
prestine beauties,
glorified by sleep
and symptom.
god,
this is not.
self,
this is not.
hope
is its only reward.
so for these freedoms
we burn
and binde
and coil fingers
through knotted hair
and intwine ourselves
in thicket and thorn.
our bruises, divine.
our hardships
entwine.
we are the smallest
nothings
you will ever unwind.

divine chaos

erratic form

mimics the chaos

we continually endure

throughout our lives.

short,

poignant,

grasping its

nature

and

releasing it into the wild from whence

it came.

the very

essence

drowns us on

our own

bloated tongues.

it saturates our souls,

our nerves,

our undying grasp of hope

and tranquility and

our greater nature.

failing ourselves

leads to greatness

in cause;

to find what we’re meant to do –

who we’re meant to be,

our love affair with death,

our own personal tragedies.

moving forward always

sets you one step back.

the nature of endurance

at its very core.

wilt

let us wilt
   falling
   falling so
   falling so slowly
   letting go
   in this as
   madness in rain
   as dry as desert
   as deserving as pain
   let it stop
   from time to time
   we must
   or be forced down
   to dust
   and drain
   force the cutting
   back
   or lose the
   very last
   vein
let us wilt

Sex. Delicious. Sweet.

in agony is relief

fine threads of pain

bubble up the sticky sweet

along the surface,

grazing the fine hairs,

working its way along

the milky white.

for what do you suffer but for

the hope of suffering again

decadent

luscious

filled whole with this for

torturing tomorrows

and

bellowing mornings, lapping,

savoring forgiveness

all of this arousal and only

ecstasy to be had

so much more

so very

much

more

if you are willing to

take it in

and keep it there behind the eyes

where memory plays and faint pain

is but a breath away,

lingering like the repressed,

cowering in the dark

crying

soft

whimpers for

the suffering to return.

certain something

five to seven lonely days, considering the temperament of soul
and where it comes from and what makes it bend.
the days held firm together.
it was raining and the clouds were darker than I had ever seen before.
for five to seven days this
went on.
the rain only stopped a few times during the night.
long enough to dry for the next day's rain.
and it was perfect that way.
no one goes out to visit others in the rain.
it's just not done.
so there I was in solitude, regarding the soul and what it was all about.
and if there is such a thing as a soul, then all things alive must have one.
I've seen the spark in an animal's eyes when it looks at you.
I've seen the wonderment when it tries to figure out whether you're going to kill it or let it be.
I always let it be.
and when I do, I can see that je ne sais quoi that stirs within them.
a certain look that says, "thank you."
try not killing and it will happen to you too.
I wondered if this is the same look that humans give other humans when they are not killed and could be.
could we eradicate murder with a glance?
but as for the soul:
  all things have one.
  if there is a look in their eyes, their soul is somewhere beneath that, staring out.
just look.

sad daisy

the sad songs are the kindest
there's truth in certain matters
                  a vision of dew drops
                        settling
             in a wasted mouth
crazed spit from upturned lips
            gnashing away
                   at the wrongs committed
                        the most beautiful music
          tainted
               raspberry
                         vomit
erased                      smeared                   transient
               deathly                      corruption
the most beautiful music is rancid on your tongue
        held                       in                       your                     hand                      breaking
                   forevermore
Good God,
                          your sadness is a drug.

stronger still

in a winding whip of time
the world comes crashing
and all that remains
is to be seen
grabbing on with your
last breath
and hold tight
until they drop
                        a
                          w
                              a
                                y
and leave you be
can't you
                  understand
     the words have no meaning
                          ?
                 gently passes
                                      a
                                        w
                                           a
                                             y
                                                 and no one notices
glass breaking
      you're not dreaming
               until you're asleep
you're a shard of glass on the palm
                        that broke you
             something sweet
                   you taste
                      no more tears
yesterday is a faint freckle in time
                             passing
                                         a
                                            w
                                               a
                                                  y

some naked moments are

She had it right there in her heart the whole time.

What they said were

     lies.

They said

          it to make

   her eyes 

                   wet.

But over her years on 

               the good,

     gracious dirt

              she had learned

                              so much

 and she wouldn't give them that little part of her

"It's all about soul," she said, 

                                  "and how well you retain it.

             They can't take away everything."

         She took off her shirt and

                they saw.

   She exposed her chest and that small part of her was there

                                                   to be seen.

Above it all was her smile,

                        how it overshadowed their reactions.

           For in that moment,

   she couldn't hear them speak.

           And in that silence

   was the most perfect moment 

                                            of all.

Work a Day

You break your fucking back for them
day after day.
The sweat rolls down your face
and it's goddamn miserable.

Everything hurts, especially your neck
from nodding. It'll all get done. You assure
them. They frown.
   You're back to it again, the invisible servant
   with brittle bones. Always complaining on
   the inside. On the Inside. But it's too quiet
   for them to notice. You want to shout. You
   want to loosen your belt, unravel it from your
   pants, and wrap it around your clenched fist.
   You want to beat them to death with it.
              But
                  first things first.
You refuse to die in prison, but you're already
there. There's little difference. But you cling to
freedom. It would be easier to just walk away.
Be like that guy you pass on the street corner
every day on your way to work. He doesn't
seem to mind. Maybe you won't either.
              But what about
                        all the shit you've collected?
                            Fuck . . .
   You'll give it away and start fresh.
   You could be that guy. Or maybe
   like the little old lady without teeth,
   gumming her way to nowhere. She
   seems nice even if she smells like
   piss.
                  No.
                     They've got you by the
                                                     throat.
You're doomed. You can never walk away from
all of this. It's in your veins when you cut yourself
from the wrist up. Does anyone else get this shit?
Maybe it's just you. Maybe it's all of us.
           Maybe you'll just keep
                    breaking your fucking back
                          for them day after day.

night night

Being sober, you turn off the lights and walk
into your bedroom, remove your clothes, and
look down at yourself.
A small nod and you pull back the covers,
throw down the comforter, and slide in.
The day comes up as soon as you close your
eyes.
   -the mistakes, every single one is a thorn, puncturing
   your frail state of mind.
A soup of garbage whirls, bubbling up old ideas
and lost love. Where are they now? Why would
they leave? How could they have said those
things?
       No matter, it's time to sleep, to
       let
         the day
                 end.
But it keeps on mounting you like a pig. There
are children being tortured every day and you
wonder where God fits in.
       So many starving
             restless and abandoned
                  crying for dead mothers.
Your boss is a dick who has a dick for a boss.
They've seen shit. It's hardened them. If you're
late again, they'll both can your ass.
What about those dreams you used to have?
Where are they now? No one understands.
They can't relate. And you're in bed all alone and
the house moans and it's good to hear something
even if it is just your imagination. But what about
tomorrow, what'll you do then? Will it ever
                                                         end?
Tomorrow is another day.
              now it's time for
                              sleep.
You wonder if there's anyone out there going through
the same things. Surely, you can't be the only one . . .
Surely, there's someone out there who understands.
They're not like the people in those stores that only smile
because they're trying to sell you something.
    When's the last time you had a friend, someone to
    honestly confide in? Years? But they'll just do the same
    thing to you that the others did. Better not pay attention
    to that now.
Your eyes are closed and for a moment, it feels like you're
about to nod off. Did you turn off the stove after dinner? Is
the porch light on in case someone decides to come over
and see you? What was that sound?
                      Is the toilet running?
                      Damn it, you have to get some sleep!
       The alarm goes off.

life lessons

Stand Up!

Sit Down! Shut up

and do what you’re told

don’t question authority

if you jump on the bed,

you’ll break your fucking neck

swallow the lies

eat the truth

deliver with passion,

or it will go on your

permanent record

Sit up Straight!

Kneel when you Pray!

Prey on the weak

Don’t do Drugs!

no horseplay

get your act together

don’t slouch

stop Daydreaming and

get a job!

Or you can just live life

and appreciate  the

experience. 

closer

these tired hands reach out for momentary bliss
an orgasm for the touch
a timid virgin of broken innocence
a wilting flower,
burning in the sun.

there are so many questions to be answered
they get caught on the back of the tongue
never to be spit out,
fading like every
other memory.

as tired as it seems, it makes no difference-
nothing changes.
everything changes.

at times, it's too much to bear.
like being naked in the dark:
you're exposed
but no one
notices.

every breath is a whimper,
every tear is a shame,
every minute
brings us that much closer
to the end.

so many questions
that no one has the answer to.
so many violations
we must endure.

only so many breaths until we expire.

there doesn't seem to be enough time to wait.

be still

the singular act of existing
   of being
   of scattering the ashes
   hoping to make it through
   to the end unscathed
the love of others
   the need of being needed
   to coming home to
   someone who compliments
   the very act of existing
the knot that forms in
   the throat right before
   crying
   the tears that stream when
   you realize it's too late
the sound of sin on a
   distant shore lapping
   at memories now too
   faint to recall
the regret that pushes
   from the back into
   swirling waters to
   drown you from the
   other side
the look on their face
   when they tell you
   they love you
the gasp when you say it too