Tuesday, May 18, 2010


and the sounds of the pitter patter of little feat. the essential collection of beats to the sound of our breathing dreams. Alphabet soup and Alphabet city are spelled like this, A, B, C, D, and so forth. a robot beat for the robot drums and thunderstorm approaches and we take shelter in the basement of our thoughts. the steady hand of whispers in the dreams of clouds where we once lived. I can count, 1, 2, 3. four...like count chocola and frankenberry...can we be frank or are we tater tots that got burned in the oven. the settling sun was pointing due east in the ragged winds of the tempestuous storm...or brains were fried like an egg sunny side up. I have to get up early so I can begin running away from what I really don't remember. can we say the blurry vision of our octagonal sunglasses were pointing to the horizon of our early lives? I'm going to put this on the record and let it spin like a merry go round with a clown's face on it. The clown had a brown face and it was made of tiny little particulate matter that some would call poo. Is Jason black? probably since I imagined it so. it was a nice clean shot, and his head swirled as if caught up in a hurricane.

Friday, May 14, 2010

the painted picture

of this bird hang in the foyer of my near future home. The apples of a dozen centuries sit in the fruit bowl of my long gone past homes. The features of her face read like a perfect event horizon, we saw the sun disappear beneath the moonscape of our heavens and hells. Wait, did you hear the pin drop on the proverbial floor? Or was it myself imagining things? Probably both or one or the other. A shaman retreats into the bone thick edge of night, we read signs that may or may not be there. There was a dog howling at the moon, a saucer of intergalatic space cheese and you just have to realize I'm bored at work and mean nothing by this. The plate of bees were covered in chodolate and we could eat their stingers if we weren't too careful. Stung by a bee with some bee stung lips. Let's perse or is it purse them. There were diamonds made of stars and I was made forever in blue jeans. They were Capital E because that's all they wore, like Prince's yellow assless chaps. You were too nice, and that's what they said. That was the take away.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

run around turn around

it was above the ground, like an adobe structure made from the tears of desert jack rabbits with the horns of a rhino...a rhinolope. or maybe it was a bird made of rhinoplasty. Secret stories told into the night, the phantom menace of Jar Jar Binks laid waste to the innocent people of this far off town. what can we say? Sometimes you see things that you'd rather not speak about, sometimes yellow taped cordoned areas are where you shouldn't be. I saw a cloud in the sky and it looked like a unicorn dancing on top of a leprechaun. The earth stood still, yet we were going around the sun in about 325 days. The shackles of the day light hours in the places we called work kept us shackled, like mining the diamonds of middle earth only to give them up to some overseer. Let's grow wings and fly away from this. The shuffling of neanderthal cards distracted me from the task at hand, which was to turn my printer in fire. A disheveled mess of cartridges, paper, broken scans, and the filament of one of Benjamin Franklin's long lost light bulb experiment. The times of the endless summer never end, we are always chasing the waves from this hemisphere to the next. I have a dodge prowler and it carries a six shooter. The earth spins in one complete cycle so make sure you put your sheet of Bounce in there. It's static free and keeps you from getting wrinkly pants. Is LeBron James leaving Cleveland, say it ain't so Joe, but I think so. Let's run here, let's pee there, but let's just do either. A declaration in Paris and I'm looking forward to the sleepy fun times...

Monday, May 10, 2010


the deep south. the durty south. the smiles of unsolicited smiles. the steady beat of the horns echoing through the night. The real city that never sleeps, where everyone is drunk around 6 pm.
glowing night, dispatch cabs in the guttural sound of the bayou. It hovers like a drunken firefly of the past. The crisp sweet smell of fried chicken. A march of the saints that were probably devils. the insanity of the world swirls. the insanity of life is like a hurricane. The ever mounting love for a girl grows in my heart. one of these things I need to slow down. One of these things is making me think that maybe I should move to the south. Open up a store and let the moonshine flow.
The earth digs deep, it's black blood floods into the ocean, different species of birds rest in the caverns of moss growing in trees. we can be good, so why shouldn't be. We can live life, so why don't we? The coyote came into the yard and just sat there, looking at me. I tried to scare it away with a comedic swirling of arms and the fake bravery of man facing nature. The back of my neck stood up straight. The primordial soup tasted of mud. We can help eachother fight the vampires.
I'll bring my stake and you bring your good aim.