Purificación

The wrinkle-faced lady with the golden teeth shivered

Shimmered Ukrainian

Against the backdrop of somber faces

Almond eyelids drooping from the strain

Of these days consumed by such dire stakes

Heart gambling on the least sure thing

In the gaming hall where unknown sadness looms

Weaving tales of impossible bliss,

Tongue-tied & tortured

By the thrilling threat of smitten kisses for me

Please do say hello if you meet the missus

History classes,

Foggy glasses,

Robot love on Seoul city trails

Through this thick fog of people I can’t see the sequel

Lured into a hollow calm,

The fortune lady’s lies sound like gibberish

Just spears my ears

My Western womb suffers; cracked and broken

Tearing into tears of lovely dead gutter poets

Piling on the imagery of my unified perversity

Seizing on the tragedy of my Foolish, Foible Folly

The ballads bleed onto the paper dripping quills

Perks, I pine for pills and comfort rubbing legs

Together under the cover of classic quilts

The chickens chirp and the crickets burp

Out rotten songs beyond the conscience of my beers

Shifts the gears,

Lying eyes brought down to the valley low

Where I’ll go,

Then I’ll glow,

Worming my way to my soul through the maze of night

Blackened bleach,

Snatch the sneetch,

And shake my fist at the sun that stuns

Clutching guns, feeling hot & empty like the desert

The desperado stands tall and scans

The distant sands for the love that will not wilt

Thou do what commonly causes current angst

Teen-angers uproar trip switch, please modify

My machine lingo malfunction

A dingo ate my maybes?

Maybe she starves me of my laughter.

Maybe she robs me of my second-sight.

Maybe if I fail to mind my magik,

Maybe my mind will never make it right.

Out of these old-fashioned playbooks,

Random romance rags

Zines en scenes everyone seems to know, but me

With corner-pocket eyes,

To ground, nose down

With fiend-like hunger,

I walk a line scene unseen...

Disappearing links to the past,

Bridges burnt,

Cinder box char

Doctor notes,

Dog drips,

Flea dips,

Steady slip

Into something less comfortable; strait-jacket malaise

On my side face plant pillow furrows plow

Feeding cash crops from leaky lids

How this love thing fucking hurts!

Harming harmony,

Humbly hammering shield,

Forging Flaws,

Diamonds damage manual theory

Daft draft designs deemed too ambitious

For feeble-faced,

Man-child minds to muster

Mastery over the forces of Choas

Dancing beneath furrowed brow

Potent Potables

Here's to my broken heart. 

 

Pieces of my soul litter the floor and crunch satisfactorily 'neath the soles of my free-trade, Chinese shoes. 

 

I could probably spend the next 15 years with a tube of crazy glue and tweezers, but you know I don't have much patience with arts & crafts. 

 

My porky fingers have great difficulty grasping what my stubby little mind cannot seem to. 

 

A half-man/half-monster weathers this war of the words with a fizzy bubble and hugs the edge of the cosmos with his tortured ideas of romance. 

 

Yawning, I lean my head into the goose down pillow and stretch my arm, out and then in, with fingers extended into the slippery, warm, musky, moistness of my child-brain. 

 

Massage. Rinse. Repeat.

"Moodswing's Empty Threat To No One In Particular" or "Driving In The Slow Lane On Empty"

WHERE IS MY COMPUTER?

It has been almost 6 hours. Even with lunch it should only take 2-3 hours, maximum, to to remedy the issue I took it to IMO for. I could have fixed it myself if they'd only give me the keys to the kingdom. Living life @ work without a computer makes me feel like I am slowly roasting on a bamboo spit...in hell. Most of the time it only seems like a bland, gray purgatory. Usually, I type the musings, rants, and asides with reckless abandon, but today I am haphazardly scrawling out these words of protest to nobody in particular in my warbly, horribly twisted script.

I keep whispering to the cosmos to just send me a Seoul/soul friend, already.

I scream to the clouds for the pure rains to fall and cleanse my consciousness.

I beg the universal mind for something good and true for me to hold onto.

Mostly, I get karmic crumbs and half-ass conversation that does not go anywhere meaningful; or really fun.

I am shutting off the tap soon and turning deeply inward. I cannot seem to find my willing muse and have only had random glimpses of my schpadoinkle; if however fleeting.

Maybe something, some spark will come along and turn this busted robot back on, but for now I am just going to go into hibernate mode...

My binary is a little rusty, but I think that this means peace: 10100100010111.

(Damn, yesterday was a lowly day.)

Blowing Wind

My favorite track covered in blood. Soul sacrifice and dissolution...artifice, painted epic in the face of broken promises...she and he, yin and yang, touching at the border...he negatively charged, electrically opposed...she swims in the positive current, swept away by the rapids of time...tired of gnawing on his fist, he looks glassy-eyed towards foreign shores...screaming in triumph and howling out the last of his dwindling pain...

Watch me: 
Idiot Wind

Missile Toe

I know, and I think that I am coming out of an long, intense period of stagnation and fear.

Trapped in a life I didn't really create because of lives I created.

Now, I think I see that it has to be broken because, the longer it takes, the more it wears down to an ugly shape that no one involved can cherish, or appreciate.

Scars are scars. 

And I love my babies enough to find my true self for them to look up to, be nurtured by, and befriend as they become beautiful adults.

Message To Messengers

"I would rather be spreading minds, but do not want jail time.'

The 'spreading minds' coinage comes from a Primus song:

Duchess and the Proverbial Mind Spread

It had been awhile, so I had to dredge to stupefying amount of words we have written back-and-forth for a monkey memory refresher. I think mostly I was alluding to, before I became a heavy tool of the system and subsequently, middle-class, the latent idea of techno-shamanism and me being an agent of it. The evolutionary possibilities of psychotropic vegetable matter tickle my mind. Previous agents have certainly been incarcerated for decades or vilified by the establishment for doing such activities. I think we have come to a point where it's either love or die, evolve or face extinction. I am a proponent of the idea that culture and technology blossomed through the consumption of such substances; however, we have had issues in the West with consumption for the sake of consumption.

In the past, I know I have had such issues where indulging was done without ritual or quest for personal and spiritual growth. I think mostly, within my peer group in high school West Side of Phoenix, we were trying to escape the realities of our broken homes, decaying neighborhoods, and foolish child-parents. The downward spiral, coupled with the use of some not so evolutionary substances, led to jail time for some and longer maturation time for many of us. One of the saving graces in my life was becoming a parent as a teenager.

The fog of my adolescence was blasted away by the bright light of becoming civilized and having my feral ways tamed by the men in green. I didn't run from the responsibility of being a parent, but I certainly struggled with great angst about it. Spending time in a military mind and the threat of prison and destitution for one's offspring builds a possibly healthy fear (in those circumstances) of avoiding the aforementioned activities.

In any case, sometimes I feel like a rat in a cage like the Smashing Pumpkins song 'A Bullet With Butterfly Wings'. I have mostly come to grips with my conundrum, but every once in awhile I want to break out of the machine and run down the beach naked until I pass out or expire from exhaustion; as tears of joy from my star struck eyes dribble down my face and mix with the salt of the sea.

MM23

Magical Project.

A hallowed shout down the sin gilded hallway rings true into beautiful, waiting, glistening ear at the other end. Tingling nose smells the rose as mind walking wanders to be near titillated ear. Eyes spy gleam in batting eye as building anticipation kills the fear. Clasping hands, I almost fall on faith when she's near...