Sunday, April 29, 2012

NATURFIED: IT starts like this: "what in the" Hell. Hell. Goblins and ghosts and everything ------most.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

LOVE.. .love is. What am I supposed to say, here? What? Should I say that I love M___ more than anyone, ever? Should I say that I love her, till death? And, on that beam, should I BANG my fucking head against the wall for not "being there" for her?! Yes. Oh...yes. * I drink; therefore I am. * Through vodka and beer, I weaealed myself out of.... * I thought I had a big, caring heart. I am an asshole. * I am a dick. *

Saturday, April 21, 2012


The Detroit Red Wings lost, yesterday, to the Nashville Predators. The Wings lost the best-of-seven series 4-to-1. I think/know they got outplayed. To me, Nashville got a lot of lucky bounces and also it seemed like the Wings were lethargic throughout the whole fucking series. I think it this signifies the end of an era. Then again, we have all said that before.

(True, the Wings'll be good--again--next year, but, in my opinion, they'll not have the services of one of the greatest defensemen ever, N. Lidstrom. Thanks for the memories, Nic. Good luck and Godspeed.)


What's worse? A Clunk, a Clink, or a Clank?


(a Clank.)


once upon a time there was a door
all steel-made and Strong Like Boar




--What did the automaton say to the cop?
-I don't know, what?
--Like Pinocchio! When can we become real?!


What does "grew up fast" mean? As in, "She grew up fast" or "He had to grow up fast"? What does it mean? Of course it is a cliche. But what are people thinking when they utter those words? Is it a badge of honor? Is it reluctant praise? Is it a nod to the buoyancy of the human spirit? Is it anatomical? Is it mental? Is it spiritual? Yes. It is spiritual. I know what people are trying to say: They're saying that the person in question had to make actions and decisions and mental pros-ses-sees beyond their years. That sucks. They had an abbreviated childhood.


And then there are some? Who never "grow up".


Leave it at "grow".


Cats or dogs? I know that they both have their pros and cons. But, seriously, cats or dogs? I have been writing, here, for a minute. I looked up and Cutie Pie (I call him SeePee) was/is lying in the halldway, eyeballin' me. When I hold his gaze, he looks away. I think he and Mister Bubbles are a'scairt of me. For that matter, Oliver is, too. But the question remains: Which is better? A cat or a dog? Forever, I'll say "dog". Forever.


And, just like an evil wind, I look back at the cat...and he is gone. (Grammatically, do you see what I did?)


Score one for the Dogs.


Seven million to six.


On to topics of more import:


Where would you, O Faithful Non-Reader, like to start? I have a litany of topics that could be discussed: legalization of marijuana, global warming, the (2000-year-old-constant) unrest in the Middle East, the death penalty, the science of prayer, altruism, the beauty of nature, random acts of kindness.


Life is oh-so cyclical.


And it trundles, falls down, gets up again.


I'm sure you've heard before, "Americans are pigs!" Have you ever really examined the geographical countenance of this great land? It kinda looks like a pig, and Maine is its snout. (No offense, Maine.) And Florida is a leg and hoof. (Offense intended, Jeb!) And, Cali? Unfortunately, you're the pig's ass. Kentucky and/or Tennessee are the pig's heart. Alaska is an afterthought and Hawaii is the pig's curlicue tail.


I should have mentioned further above: credit cards are evil.


"Imagine" is one of the best songs ever. It really is one of the best. Why would anyone want to kill John Lennon.




I am looking at a painting, right now, by Meeg's mom. (grammar) I have bad eyesight and I am sitting 9.73 feet away. It is a painting of a purple rose against a blue sky, interspersed with intimations of cirrus clouds. She painted well. She painted it very well. The flower Booms and I can see so much in it.

When I saw a black-and-white image of her mom from the '60s, I saw her mom as a hippie...better and she I wish I'd have met her.


Why does Alaska have to be an afterthought? To that point, why must it be ravaged in the Pursuit of Greenbacks? So....

So I guess it ain't an afterthought. Drilling. Monetary versus Political versus Environmental.questions. I understand what I can understand, but I wonder: Whatever happened to the Love of Untrampeled Natural Beauty? I get the Economic boon (read: Oil) that could be surreptitiously garnered by creeping up on the last "American" frontier, but I also wonder: to what end?! Why would we rape Pristine? As humans, cannot we leave "well enough alone"?

This is the problem. As humans, we're destroying the planet.

I think I know what you're saying: "I didn't! It's the politicos! It's the (richer) businessmen/women!"

We're not otters. They are. We're not spiders. They are. We're not dolphins. They are. We're not chimpanzees. They are. We're not cockroaches?! They are. And us, too.


Cockroaches are our second cousins. They are! Second to us in this way: We'll destroy the world and--second--they'll own the planet...just like we used to do.





Yesterday was April 20th. I don't get the numerology. I know that it is code for...something. But I just don't understand why 420 became a code. Maybe someone with influence had just bubbled up on April 20th and had told the others, "What a hell of a day!"

And, then, maybe, the ideology had spread like wildfire.

Now, I'm not trying to be a buzz-kill, but I think that people ought to know--before we make this a national holiday--that the Colorado Columbine massacre happened on April 20th. Also, April 20th is Adolph Hitler's date of birth.

Groovy, man....

Thursday, April 19, 2012


I know that my posts, as of late, have been, well, a little less than cheery. Here is a funny story.

I picked up a second job. That's not the funny part. I picked up a second job delivering food, this of the hot and cheesy variety. I had a delivery to a hotel. I went up to the room, received a ten-dollar tip and took the elevator back down to the main floor. I noticed the people in the lobby and I saw a delivery guy from a different company exiting his car, ready to deliver his company's cheesy goodness. I figured I'd be polite and open the door, basically a "hey-brother-we're-all-in-the-same-boat" gesture.

Now, this is the funny part. When I had entered the hotel, the door was on the right of the glass vestibule (it is a very large vestibule). What I learned was that the exit door was on the interior right side of the vestibule, kind of like a cyclical thing, a keep-the-humanity-flowing-correctly-type-thing. Now, I admit, I haven't eaten a whole hell of a lot lately and I was tired from recent poor sleep, but I can't really explain what happened next. I walked smack-dab into the glass wall of the vestibule. Mouth-first. Yes, I was bird-like. (You know? Like how birds sometimes fly into windows.)

I mashed my mouth into a glass wall. I mashed my mouth into a glass wall. I heard a gasp to my right, assuredly from the elderly lady lounging in a easy chair. "Oh! Are you all right?" she asked. "Yeah," I said, not turning around, "I'm just dandy."

In the vestibule, I said to the delivery guy, "Watch out for the walls." He was barely holding in guffawing laughter. And, really? Who wouldn't laugh? It's like the shit you see on America's Funniest Videos: Delivery-Bird Flies into Glass Wall. Hell, I was kind of laughing. It's just so fricking...ridiculous.

I walked into a glass wall.

Once outside, I spit a couple of blood-spits out of my mouth and made it to my car. I was laughing by the time I started my car and headed back to the shop. I thought to myself, Who the hell does that?!

I tested my two front teeth with my tongue. They were still there and not loose--good. (Oh, yeah, I hit that wall hard.)

On the way back, I thought to myself, What would have been a good response to the unseen woman who had gasped and asked me if I was all right? One response would have been, "Gosh! They sure do keep these glass walls clean, don't they?" I could have said, "Why do you ask that?" I also could have said, "Usually, I walk right through them."

I walked into a glass wall, walking speed unbroken.

I find that very very very funny.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012


there is a thread to Life
i see a Purple woman screeching about Jesus and
pointing at me through the television screen. her
girl, Missus copeland, agrees
--they both point at me--

and all i have to say to them is
Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

all i gotta say.


i changed channel and the thread of Conversation
minimized Not.
there was a show about
the Shroud of Turin
[seriously, it's that seamless]


'twas on charlierose
some dude was saying--
--and he was an art historian--
--was saying that the Shroud is. not. a. fake.
noshit. No! Shit!



cut. away...

: "worst tornado season...ever."
yes, sheaths of Tornadic Death are not good things
the Clouds want us, now
we must be Brave.
okay, tell me how; tell me how i can be Brave when i see a
child torn to pieces in Oaklahomatellme.

more than one hundred tornadoes tore through the gut of
the country
this is two weeks after the Same.




of. Course.


and the polar bear does Dream.


i can't hammer a nail straight.
itry, ican't.

i'll take that over not
what is going on....



the faeries fly and the nymphs
and all we got is this
rotten Luck.


Here is a point. There are many threads of Life. Threads of Life. Who are we to say a fucking thing against *anyone*? Every person is a child of God. Truth. I unnerstan, I unnerstan.

Where's the Peace?

Do you know how sick I am of seeing all the crap in the Middle East?!  I'm done.  I'm done.  So fucking many Innocent women and children and men have died.  Right?!  Pull the plug?! We can't say a thing.


the night ended well
back to hubris
back to

Friday, April 13, 2012


You ever have that feeling? I have. I feel lucky. "That Feeling"?


Keep on the sunny side of Life.


She is Meagan. She is the Sunny Side. She *is* the Sunny Side. I love her. I love her mind, I love her soul, I love her face, I love her breasts...I love everything about her.

She is Good.

She islikePitBull--she never quits.

She. Wins.

Friday The Thirteenth is her birfday, lite


The computer may want to fuck with me, but I know this: Meagan is cool as hell and I will love her till past the day I die. I. Love. Her.


Flows and then the Collide
Flows and Then
Amanda sings
Guess what? you don't love a genius without
receving some motherfucking
motherfucking horns
there. is. only. ONE. meegie.

***Funny,eh? The rules doan apply? Yes. You'd have to meet her. She's got all the Planes of Her.


She is special and I love Her.


It is her birthday. She turned 29 today.


black sooty ashes
eyelashes in Perfect
wide Beautiful eyes
strong mind gorgeous body
i love Her every Mecca every
she's Meagan goddammit
she is...
soulful and Beautiful and strong and
Blessed and preternatural and
Creative and intelligent and
Meegie and Loved and
blessed and Blessed.


It is Meagan's birthday!

Wednesday, April 04, 2012


Think Positive.
I woan cry, I woan cry, no--well, yes. I'll explode like a Tear-Ball.
Stand By Me
How? she'd asked
it's the Soul, he'd said, It happens everywhere
How? she'd asked
lemme show You the Colours, he'd said, and she saw them--Them--blues and yellows and Greens and Reds
the Purples caught her fancy...she made them Dance like bubbles, she
(she lay her hand over Her face as she laughed with)
Delightshe wasDelighted
the waves froth and
the mountains do rock and
she is loving and caring and good and she is
she exudes Love that has no Quarter. She
has preternatural Heart
Loving and caring and good, yes, oh yes
the mountains froth and
the waves do rock and roll

Tuesday, April 03, 2012


The Ouji board "game" is (finally) outside. Maybe it is bullshit, maybe it is not. I just think more clearly, now. And the computer is working as it should. Is that a coincidence? I think not. There is a whole hell--HELL--of a lot of crazy shit that one wouldn't expect to happen...that happens.
I think I fucked with the Ouji board before. I think I was pompous. I think, now, I am not pompous. I think I also know the concept of "flying beneath the radar." I am not quite sure--I have never done this before--of the half-life of demons. I also don't know that, if I open the door, will they flood back in?
[And, yes, I am drunk.]
But, sometimes? Being drunk is beneficial. Have you ever had a book fly off the shelf, by itself, and land at your feet? And when you look down, you see that it is a book based upon the chillun of alkies? I swear to God, it happened. There have been Spirits, everywhere, in this house. Everywhere. I am not a parapsychologist--I understand their trade--but I do believe that there has been an "asshole spirit" in this homestead for the last...who knows? Weeks? Months? Months.
I think the Ouji "board-game" had something to do with it. Crazy, right? Maybe? Not.
We as Humans have No. Fucking. Idea of what lies Next.
I know this: For some people, Alcohol is the Devil.
I am one.
This is the "funny" part: Sometimes it is not just hyperbole.
My computer was not working earlier. It has done this shit in the past--just like today--where it flat-out refused to "boot-up." No shit. I often feel that way. But I am not a collection of uber-small electronics. Though all humans are electric. I was getting so fucking--FUCKING!--frustrated. (My life, as of late? Not so good. Only myself to blame.) I was looking at this laptop saying, "Just. Fucking. Work." It refused to work. I tried everything. I tried the power cord; I tried starting up and setting it down and starting it no avail. My frustration reached Red Zone levels. I thought to myself, If this motherfucking computer does not start working, I'm-a gonna kick it out the fucking window.
The furnace kicked on. To me, it sounded like the Howls of Hell. I felt the Devil crawling over me, my mind, my Soul. Anyone who has worked with natural gas knows the sound. Pitiless. Overwhelming. Frooooooooozin-in-in-in-in. Sixty pounds of pressure? From gas, natural gas? C'mon. I used to do it, but I say this, anyone who deals with that Danger is a motherfucking Superstar. It is a snake; it can rear back and bite.
The furnace kicked on. To me, it sounded like the Howls of Hell. And I was inordinately angered at my laptop. There was perfect--I mean, purrrrrfect syncronisity, symmetry. When I last lay down the "lid" of the laptop, the furnace was howling from the basement. When the "lid" connected with the "computer"--the laptop--everything went silent.
I don't know what was more special. Me cracking another beer full in the face of demon-infestation or me realizing what maybe perhaps yes is the motherfucking reasons for the paranormal activities and the bad bad BAD BAD dreams that Meeg and I have felt for a long long time.
The Ouji board. I ain't joking.
Goodness gracious. It is true. There are parallel planes, all about us. Sometimes, it is scary.
I think this: No matter what, God looks after us. Listen: I know. Who am I? I have been known to inhale too may beverages and, thus, my Word means Spit. I also know this: The last three songs, on random, have said exactly what I was saying...before they came on. Stupid. Stupid? Oh, sure. I also know how...and this is going to sound Krazee....
I think it is a playing field, actually. Who're we?! We're secondary. I think that there is a war being waged, right now. I am not sure of whom the combatants are. I think, though, that it is bigger than the manatees and the squirrels and the deer and the humans and the ants and the spiders. I think, actually, it is the battle of the Ages. Personally, I think we are all pawns in a great chess match between Evil and Good. It sounds stupid, it sounds cliche, but I believe this is the last Battle.
I am not baptized. I went, through my parents' good grace, to a superior school. In that school, they emphasized writing and reading. (Also, I'm smart.)
I believe this is the last Battle.
"When the Devil knows you're dead, eH Pounces."
Oh! The Devil pounces. He has already taken out about three motherfucking paragraphs of mine--well-written--and the motherfucker wants more. Maybe? Maybe it is the computer. Maybe it is super-sensitive to "touch". I'm pissed. Apparently, none of my appendages can come within three inches of my computer keyboard. I am trepidatious...I doan wanna piss off either the Devil or his compatriots. I juswannatype.
I just wanna type because I am a typer. Verbal diarrhea.
With this motherfucking laptop and also all the damned psychic activity around here? I think I am doing okay. I do not want to call on the demons. I really really do not want to do that. But, they've had their fun. ENOUGH. ENOUGH! And then, the song on the shuffle? "People Are Strange," by The Doors. By Jim Morrison.
Jim Morrison. Great. Great "world-changer." Here is a funny fact: Four of my favorite artists fit this shit; three of them were the same age. Tell me it is a coincidence. Dead at the age of 27: Jimi, Jim, and Janis. As for Stevie Ray? Not quite sure of his age. Guess what? They all also have four syllables in their names.
You do the Math. (Not to mention: Three of their names started with the "letterJay.")
Son House. "Death Letter." Old-school Mississippi Delta-blues. Check it out. His style told the Beets and the Stones and Hendrix what the Blues meant.
I test Fate. Every day.
And the trains Howl in the Distance.

Monday, April 02, 2012


Tell me: what is a judge? No, I know the standard answer: a man or a woman in a black robe who pwactices jurisdiction and jurisprudence. This knock-off dumbass Harper-Collins POS dictionary that I have defines a judge as "a noun." That about sums it up, for me. A "judge" is a "noun."
As I hold no respect for the intangible noun, I also hold no respect for a judge. May I retract the statement? Oh, no? Well, I'll do it anyway. The only respect I hold for judges is that they were intelligent enough to lie and scam their way into that position.
The Bible sez: "Judge not, lest ye be judged." (And, now, I guess I'm a hypocrite.)
Where do judges come from? Better said: Whence do judges come? What gives a human being the thought, the right, that they are holier-than, that they can "cast down from high" the ruling of the day? How arrogant does one need to be to see that as a career choice?
Where do judges come from? Are they ants, busily stomping in formation? Are they the queen bees, resplendent in fat and hypocrisy? Are they birds of a feather, always flocking together? Are they learned women and men? Yes. Does that and a law degree make them any better than the people they are trying? Uhno. Um...wellno.
I understand that there are horrific cases and trials, situations in which people's wills and desires got the better of them and landed them in Jail and then...Court. I understand that. I just wonder why a single person can--pretty much--determine an other's fate. Cuz they have more degrees? Cuz they have more money? Because they blew their way to the top? I don't know.
Judges wield Power. No shit. Judges hold people's Lives in their hands. (Let us pray.)
Let us pray that the judges are sober. Who knows? They might not be. They're humans, after all, just as susceptible to the foibles as anyone else.
So why do we kiss their asses? Short answer: Judges wield Power.
It just seems like a slanted game to me.
There was a situation back in the early-2000s in which a professional basketball player was called in front of a Grand Jury (uh-oh! sound the horns!) to testify about any money he might have received as a college player. It was said that he lied to the Grand Jury. That's a bad thing, right? The only problem I can see if he lied is that he did it after placing his hand on the book of God. That's it. As for the blowhards on the Bench? Fuck off. Who're they? Were they back there in Time when the man in question was a little boy in an urban city? Were they there to pick him up when he fell down in a junior high basketball game? Were they there when he was in college, not allowed to even work for money while the NCAA made billions of dollars off of collegiate sports? No. They were only there when he was a professional, who had millions of dollars with which they could caterwaul for. Like a bunch of fucking dying hyenas.
What is a judge? I'm sure, back in the 1950s a judge was a respected member of society. "Oh! Look at Daniel O'Hare! He's become a Judge! Be smart, little Bobby, and soon you could become one as well!"
[Don't look here, see....]
And judges are still respected. I just don't know why. Who in the hell respects a kid that pullllls wings off of flies? Who in the hell respects a kid that ozones ants through a magnifying glass? Don't we--haven't we all looked as those kids as weird? As though they were living out a God-complex?
What is a judge? What is a judger? (caststones) What is a judgement?
Don't we all put our pants on one leg at a time? (Yes, but not judges. They're preternatural; they're superhuman.) Oh, no, they're not!
Back in the day--maybe just in England, maybe not--judges used to wear white powdered wigs. (And the barristers did, too.) How do you think the accused took the verdict? Coming from a fucking dandy megalomaniac, how do you think the accused took the sentencing? I'm sure he would have been thinking, "C'mon, me and you. Outside. No witnesses. No lights. No weapons. Just me I'll stuff your Power right up your ass with the wig."
The Pomposity.