dinsdag 13 augustus 2019

Before We Walk or Swim or Contemplate

Now, before we walk through
Plate glass windows or choose
To swim in barbed wire seas
Full of message in a bottle molotov cocktails
Served shaken like epileptic sailors
Upon catatonic cruiseships,

Let us all take a moment to
Contemplate the fragility
Of the landscape
Ego eggshells and the growing crevice
Between corrupt consciousness
And the evolution of the caterpillar
From larve to corporate whore.

And I say
And I say
And I say

A men.

Now, most of us never spend a day of our lives searching for anything more than our car keys or telephones

Like a television series stretched from one season to seven
The plot is sometimes lost amongst us all.

It takes a pretty face to shake the collection box and make the public smile while contributing

Taught with ideas that are bred to misrepresent, is it any wonder that the kid standing before the class is just target practice for rest.

Sickness, this city, this suburb, this small town sliding into the sewers
As the rivers roll and the mud flows and the gutters collect
Insurance checks that will never be cashed.

This is more of the obvious less
It is the lesson most left off the agenda last,

And I say
And I say
And I say

A men.

zondag 11 augustus 2019

Postcard perfect

Just back from vacation
and I found in my actual mailbox
a picture postcard
of an empty space
sent to me
by my subconscious.

There was no scenic photo
nor shot of some beachfront or
the sunburnt buns of some girl in
half a bikini imprinted on the front

just an empty space

and on the backside of paradise
were writtten in red ink
these six words,

Glad that you are not here.

Now, when is the last time any of you got a postcard
from your subconscious?

As if this actually never really happened

So I am back home
At this party of an old friends
new friend

And in conversation
In some suburban kitchen
This guy says to me,

Hey man you should
Really dress your age.

And i looked
At him standing there
On the otherside of the kitchen island

In his suit jacket
And pressed shirt
And Dockers

And I said, hey man
Let me,
Guess how old your are
By what you
Are wearing.

And he smiled
said sure

And I said,


and he said
fuck you
I graduated the same year
you did.

zaterdag 20 juli 2019

Trivial but not.

When I was growing up the “jocks & cool” kids
would meet by the Greek church in our small town
to drink beer and do whatever it was that they did
while me and my friends were probably doing
the same thing
somewhere else,

and 2 decades later when I got married
on a tiny island with a church on it,
in the middle of a harbor
located in a small town in Greece
I was finally able to say
to no one in particular
who is
the fucking cool kid,

The algorithm has contracted chlamydia

The algorithm...

The algorithm eats ebola with whole fat milk and granola for breakfast.
The algorithm is watching us but has a Hello Kitty sticker over its own camera so we can’t watch it.
The algorithm is playing squash with Mark Zuckerberg.
The algorithm has contracted chlamydia more times then Richard Brautigan ever did.
The algorithm is on a keto diet but is having trouble keeping the weight of the world off its waistline.
The algorithm is contemplating actually going back to its own shithole country.
The algorithm is a shithole country.
The algorithm is a plus size model and proud of its extra rolls of fat.
The algorithm is busy updating the Karma Sutra.
The algorithm is tired of all the 0’s and 1’s in it’s life.
The algorithm is standing outside my shop looking in and wondering what it is all about.
The algorithm excercises everyday upon the treadmill that is Donald Trumps tongue.
The algorithm is open 24/7 and serves an even sweeter slurpee than 7Eleven.
The algorithm knows exactly what is in a hot dog but is sworn to never share its secret.
The algorithm is wanted by the authorities in three different countries for back alimony payments.
The algorithm is addicted to viagra.
The algorithm has had reconstructive surgery and a sixpack inplanted in its belly.
The algorithm blew out its lower back while twerking last time it was in Daytona beach on Spring Break.
The algorithm is still waiting on a sequel to the film Gummo.
The algorithm is a big fan of the band Royal Trux.
The algorithm still hasn’t made up its mind about the latest season of Stranger Things.
The algorithm doesn’t think it should be blamed for all the race baiting clickbait bullshit on the internet these days.
The algorithm is waiting for its vacation money and plans on sipping pina coladas poolside somewhere were noone can find it but where it can keep an eye on everybody, all the time, every single day.

And this next song goes out to.

And this next song goes out to…

And this next song goes out to all the Transgender treehuggers out there in the dark undefined forests of the world, where even the bears bitch and moan about where a trangender should be legally allowed to take a shit.

And this next song goes out to all the parents of teenagers out there making their way through nightmare teenage tantrums and surviving the flashbacks of the teenage tantrums of their own.

And this next song goes out to all the African Americans who don’t want to go back to Africa but just want to feel welcome and safe in America.

And this next song goes out to all the victims of depression contemplating suicide, for I am here to tell ya that staying alive and growing old is where it’s at.

And this next song goes out to all the touchy feelly men who have been called out and put up againt the wall for exposing their balls, for some might say that you have taken one for the team.

And this next song goes out to all the victims of self fufilling prophecies and those overly confident fools who dismiss the universal energy to only have had their asses handed to them by karma.

And this next song goes out to all the millenial boys itching away at the eczema forming upon their irritated and over exposed ankles.

And this next song goes out to all the pro-life predators and anti–abortion assholes who don't believe in
healthcare and believe in the death penalty.

And this next song goes out to all the loose lipped boot licking liberals living large on the upper westside, whose moral chastity is as constrictive and destructive as any conservative country club cunt is.

And this next song goes out to all the gay and lesbian guys and gals, may your sexual preferences one day become a non-issue
and may the bigots amongst us no longer spit upon same sex love but just shut up and swallow the freedom cum of another person's choices.
And this next song is for all the puppet like pop stars who have been blinded by success and have had their social media celebrity bubbles burst right before their own reconstructed eyes.

And this next song goes out to Jesus Christ for having to put up with what Christianity has become for the rest of his eternal life.

And this next song goes out to all of you and your eagerness and openness to be entertained and engaged by underemployed overeducated extroverts in need of any excuse to go off at the mouth.

We thank you for being our audience.

woensdag 26 juni 2019

A paycheck should never be about keeping people in check

Ever heard the saying…

Work to live
live to work.

I figure
that living is in itself
a fulltime job.

In that sense I am gainfully employed
but extremely underpaid.
Me being a college graduate and all.
But I guess I just ain’t got that business savy anyway.
That’s also why I eat my fries with mayo
and not gravy.

And you know that thing about free time,
it has got me wondering why,
why do most people spend it
paying other people
for useless shit,
now what’s so free
about that?

Just thought I’d share.

Now back to daydreaming

as day job.

Before We Walk or Swim or Contemplate

Now, before we walk through Plate glass windows or choose To swim in barbed wire seas Full of message in a bottle molotov cocktails ...