Archive for the ‘madness’ Category

Fable / Fallout

Posted: January 16, 2017 in madness, spiritual, Uncategorized

And it was the same time when the ants found that they had been replaced
by empty plastic bags walking upside-down on clear teeth
through the hollowed skull of panda, who had in turn
turned himself into a ghost simply by wondering if his thoughts
were simply nothing but ice water fountains of his own desires
hidden inside a sort of ghost panda, in a sort of doll
made entirely of dolls continually knitting themselves into being

Where the squid dancing with itself forgets that it is only one squid
it tries to wake up other versions of itself by shaking it’s own tentacles

This is of course madness
comparable to the pheonix feathers painting themselves
as a rainbow with every color but they are themselves the last color
that they will never be able to paint unless, they can become
like chameleon, ever skin shifting
sneaking away the secret parts
to build the golem, the magic clay monster
to do the bidding of the fable kingdom

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Why?
The eternal why….
it plagues us as it nourishes us…
makes us dogs slaves to poison.

Why give birth to undying narratives?
Populating characters like pariah colonies-
is there some end to the badly drawn worlds?
the FAT and UGLY truth is that-
(you, me, the-long-dead-gods)
do not write for some beautiful exquisite meal
of words to be set out to the diner guests
in all their finery- NO!
we (one, anonymous test-subject)
create as a by-product
of living in a glitch-program-simulation

it is simply the claw marks
left on the cave walls
as we are dragged by life
insatiably hungry into the blackhole
of banality and TIME.

The snow looks beautiful on the mountains
over-looking Vancouver
Some guy is yelling about demons on the street
He is screaming out his pain
About how nobody will help him
I walk by with my hood up

I walk by because everybody else does
If I was Jesus I would stop and heal him
Good thing they cured the Jesus out of me
At the hospital

Good thing my dealer is out of Jesus powder

I go to a busy McDonalds and order breakfast
from a machine
I sit down among old Asian men chatting in Mandarin
I guess it could be Cantonese
I wait for order 1025
I try to remember being ten
Or being twenty-five

I realize I am the age Jesus died
Next year I will have lived longer than he ever did
Good thing I am not him
Not him at all

LDS afternoon tour

Posted: April 8, 2016 in madness, messiah complex

there is a dead mosquito on my keyboard
and I have to wonder if it bit me and died of boredom
cause I’ve toyed with the idea that this is the pinnacle
the penultimate unmoment, the next will be the omega
the banality revelations, the testament to trivial
half way around the world and wound to the sound of plastic clatter
as if all the children I will never sire are chasing me
through a field of dead dandelions
screaming “no father!” and turning into bees
with wings etched out in times new roman
and arial bold stingers
when I die will somebody carve an ant as my gravestone?
for I will be buried in the fashionable way
as I plan to convert to the church of latter day saints
before it’s too late
I want to confess my sins to a widow who was once
a cute missionary named Sister Everett
I want to whisper my last madness and poetry fragments
as she washes my pain away with a sponge
in a bath,
in a cold house,
surviving the apocalypse
if only the mosquitoes could live on drivel
their corpses would not pile onto my keyboard
among the dust lawn of the letters I never hit
the numbers are for the devil and math heads
give me unborn mistakes and failed paraphrases
a troubled spirit and a crisis of fate
in the psych ward of the Grace Hospital
where I will always be “Muad’dib”

Stream of Constantine

Posted: April 6, 2016 in madness

like voices in Raskolnikov’s room when my mind’s sick
I’m reading the double murder’s fine print
trying to live past capitalism
and lie faster than rationalism
replacing traditional with binaural beats
facing the residual China swirl heat
I’ve got new callouses on my hand’s hard feet
I swear I returned the Scanner Darkly
video cassette and musical script
a physical direct and beautiful slip
of the nervous system redirected
turn this witness into a perfected
cracked golden hypercube bracelet
I wanna get an aptitude face-lift
with a rubic’s cube philosophy
get this monkey’s spoon off of me
I don’t deserve anything less than swamp nonsense
and anything obsessed with John Constanstine conscience
cause dark magic is a start card flickering
into a scab filled hat while the sister’s bickering
metal bender city under a statue
and criminal cats in black hats come to catch you
I’m stuck on Youtube with scroll-down-eyes-of-this
flying the drive-by flies glowing with hydrogen
bombs gone off with my alarm clock
shock the dream off with the karma duck

overdose pharmaceutical multi-shake earthquake
I was in the cubical with halter top corn flakes
spilled cereal and natural disaster fuzz does
fill material like casual polyester causes
epileptic fits during another young messiah flick
apocalyptic shit hits the spinning Goliath lips
and I don’t need a lobotomy I need a hyperspace
meditation anatomy chamber for nitro-scape
like the grays like the faekin before them
birth switched in the daze of morning
I been misinformed in the tradition of logic
to be conforming to toddler division of Pavlov licks
math isn’t just a memetic parasite of symbols
the half race digests it in the derelict of riddles
where the temple dogs sleep like babies
scared of ripples in the lost sheep fed rabies
and I am back to Raskolnikov sick again
reading a double murder with six billion victims and
the beats steady, to steady to keep a cadence ready
I’m heady, too heady to keep a frame of reference deadly

As of a matter of course a frame of reference should be lethal
but in this instance it isn’t and neither are the ants peaceful
no, rather it is needful to constantly remind the human race
that underneath the nonchalant grind of the looming grace
there is a colony of weavers and armies and cutters and fires
that with possibly deceive all the charms and clutters and desires
of our empire of invisible and unspoken addiction
oh yes, oh yes, I’m inspired by the very broken conviction
that you left, Brahman, as an unclosed parenthesis
supposing the whole Atman to hold like… like… a home dentist kit!
well the braces of fate don’t quite fit on this kids delusion
spelled out simply I wait for you to hit the snooze again
and put me where the memory sock is blood soaked
and the evidence of you is unspoken love unspoked…

 

Left on Burned

Posted: February 21, 2016 in lyrics, madness, poetry, rap lyrics, writer's block

Jpeg

Unless I can become like chameleon
ready to feel again, steady enough to in my own head
deal again
with the spinning wheel that keeps stealing
every deal I was ever in
Like a clever pin
always flies away from it’s own donkey tail
cause what taught me failed to teach me
to stop haunting what I preach
with lies over-reached
again
Every whale on every beach sinking
back into the ocean and thinking it’s close
to where it’s supposed to be
meaning as a mammal of metaphor
an animal edit store
of energy, memory and angst
an inch from death pinched
doom breath of old turtle toon talking
spoon walking red herring overload
exploding into a prolapsed sun
expanding into the new universe
of unheard, wish and well-lookers held
fed all the ego juice so it breathes
grows fruit mold Pegasus wings
and flies between the fridge door
give birth to a new monster
haunt the kids for crying
staying up
watching R rated films
pocketing nightmares
like models of a horror kiln
over turned on burned the house down
turned on burned the house down
burned on build the house found
burned on learned the house down
left on burned the house down

A fighter
muscles left to pound themselves out
stress obsessed with a shiny grimy magazine
vision of science fiction
tugging at the gravel scabs of being airplane spun
out the driveway window
out of the highway symbols
when the absent glow of traffic cone robots
gives a last lift home to the last bit of hope
of decency of an asshole drunk cyclone
on hypnosis self-help clone training videos
to train your clones to hide in ninja clothes
so you can try to whip their asses
when they jump out at you
but when they jump out at you they are too trained
and your brain is being paved
as the triple pane of glass on the driveway window
on the highway high-speed chase
CGI fight scene of you
fighting a loose tooth and a screws loose
and a cyborg goose laying gold plate
hiphop beats that hide as rawhide transformers
enhanced torture on every fantasy
of every leper colony dirt bag beggars cup
left open to suck up all the writers block
and all nighters chalk
outlining your body like god was a hobby
you forgot to read the instructions about
and now you try to build a cloud
out of IKEA Lego towns
but the tools are for an alien species
and your hand cannot handle these
wood panel cheese volvo
station wagon memories
left burned on
set upon words
messed tongs turned
bar-b-que bird
and I am not a cute cartoon stuffed friend human
to hold close like aspirin
I am not your last ditch effort dad asking
if your sister washed your hair again
not the garbage being walked out
to get burned
I get burned by being left on burned

Jpeg

 

Who called it writers block anyways?
more like usually writes but not today
jam tomorrow jam yesterday
but never clever enough to stuff the pin cushions
roll up the bills feelin’ unstitchings
saves time nine sink kitchens
wishing the elephant was an automat
check the status of that closet hatched
still full of dustmites
that crust sights flicked with a finger licking
sting lights at the mingler picking
one nurse hurt for the doctors heart
start calling out numbers art
post-it notes cover a wall unspoken
broken wheels on a spell potion
maze anagrams with the goblin King
spring summer monk temple fling
moon shines handmaiden sings
acid sunday’s girl from the prairies
isn’t really from the prairies
barely windy enough to make a crush
rush the pill to pillows untrust
thrust into a forest subtropic
the topic is drugs and hot chicks
and flame sticks dancing like back home
marty mcfly in the delorean
scoring plutonium on moms door again
biff’s got the book all bets are off
being john malkovich charlie coughed
caught the bus to bee-alzebub
rub a dub give Aladdin the tubs
catch the carpet for the snub replay
too sane for my say
blue face-paint from the free shelf
we don’t serve that kind of elf
wait outside while the sabers dance
prolapsed chance to save the universe
for what it’s worth
still bleeding ink blue perverse
this side of a sideways hangover
one rung short of a come over
exercise on the year of the monkey bars
all-star almanac and flying cars
and weird futures like impossible
one year ain’t that long just improbable
yet unstoppable I kiss the girl at the airport
summer of love, summer too short
now I’m in a forest and its god’s court
gold watches are so last year
tennis players commercial for beer
and I fear the desert is un-insurable
purple t-shirt worthable
worthers originals with Grandpa
replaced Wilford Brimley switched with David Bowie
and all the crazy just knows me
flows and grows and breeds
like bees kept secret from the Vatican
I’m my own clown fetish in a vat again
of mixed up chemicals
carrying fixed up decibels
to jungle mountain festivals
and back again
sunday distorted
on track again
from the mist imported
luck dragons and garbage bin bullies
didn’t know me since I spun soul leaves
in an avatar avalanche shirt bender
word turf mender
on all the quilts of yesterdays
who called it writers block anyways?