Sunday, December 11, 2011

Analog Life.

Why is it every time I try to bring these silly things back, no one else seems interested?
Someone feel like dusting off some analog hard copy?  Maybe 200 characters with out a break, 250?  What would you say?
How would you feel if you had to wait a week to hear me?  Would you wait?  Would you care?
Maybe soon, when my silly new website is up, you may care.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Cross Hatch Skies.

Angels tracks.

Soft roar of evermore, a growling underscore.
Understated ascendancy; clear and painful dependency.
Precarious in standing, outstretched their handing.
Always watching, never subsiding, sometimes dancing, quiet abiding.
Eyes inclined, hearts and minds.  Delirious nights, imagined flights.
Angels wings and wispy things.  Clear blue skies and heartbeat sings.
Willows in a wish; wisp in a moon.  Be still and ready, I'll be their soon.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011


Green dreams are the color of my pain, white the color of it's silence.  But it's only a shadow, there is no lost space in these colors, only dreams of floating sands.  Wishing for the torrent to reverse it's perverse flow.  To care so much, to feel the beat of the drums again, that is what I miss.  The obsession.
It is known, time is a wheel.  It is said, sleep when your dead.  Found.  What happens when your found?  What place is there in the After?  Ka is a wheel, it is known.  So what does Roland, last knight of gilead get after the tower is found?  Could he lay down his fathers guns and take up the hoe?  Sell leaf, nod and smile "yes, say thank ya'"  Would those hands, those killers hands, those slinger hands, ever be good for anything else?  How could he ever reach the top?
Ka is a wheel; both my nightmare and my comfort.  I am a seeker, but now I've found.  We all know what the next turn has for me.  Hunting the hunt.  I just need a new horizon to yearn for, a new god at my back.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Summer Sickness

Pissin' away another day in paradise. What ever happened to growing up? It is surly expected of me, and yet I feel like I'm going backwards. Summer sickness. Coming chill creeping over me, will I notice the falling? Will the cold snap snap me out of this cruse? I hope so. We have some time. All I can talk about is the cold and its still scorched earth outside; roasted emerald days.

Now the pain starts and still it doesn't stop. The oil burns lower, drip drop. Drip drop.

And yet, and yet... Complacency is just a word. There is something here, a quietness in the mind, a stillness in the heart. Paradise, sans beaches and paper drink accoutrements. Waiting, again and always and forever. A sleepy time, a time for quiet and selfishness. Soon the sun will lift from the horizon, and it will be a time of activity. But a wise man can find himself in either. I just wonder if I am wise.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Maybe so.

Not for me. Not for me... Not for me.

Sadness. Sadness.

Why does it have to be like that? At least its not as bad as all that.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

No Turns

The Knight unfound is lost amid faces sunk into our ground.

Show me, hear me, I beg, I plea. May I stay, dare I flee?

Will I show you, will you see? You’re here, after all. Come to see my fall?

Guide my heart, little star. Show me now, is it far?

Where do roads go past this scar?

Roar of days ancient fire twist ‘round my finger, twisting mire.

Will I show you, will you see? The knight unfound, with sleeping bee.

No matter the path I take from here, all is peaceful fear.

“No turns, next 50 miles”, no burns, no smiles.

Knifes edge highway, follow your glowing skyway.

No lines to cross, just uncomplicated direction. No bumps or humps, a subtle detection.

Loops with no condition, quiet night’s introspection. Pain’s stealthy blight, black hearts affection.

Forward or onward, a decisions resurrection. Temptation, a courageous heart’s great imperfection.

Take these wanderings, mind disinfection. Born to fly, gravity’s harsh interjection.

If only to hold, this glowing recollection. Fear the fear, this long disconnection.

Above and below, both paths reflection. Do I see, or is this just my predilection?

I am unclear, even my own objection. Guide me along, proper deflection.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011


I’m not saying I'm happy, because in some ways I'm not.

I'm not saying I'm sad, because really I'm not.

Its complicated. Homeless and fearless. My place was taken out from under me.

I'm just falling. Where did my net go? Here I find someone has been cutting holes in it for years.

Mindless holes, with only a selfish thought. Taking wicked pleasure in ever snip.

Finding your worth like the vampire and the cat. Sucking and feeding, tricking and needing.

Middle ground, sitting down. Maybe the race is over, maybe its just my three leaf clover.

Come quick, little gun. Signal start of all the fun. Let us be, let us run. Let all this mess be done.

Sunday, April 24, 2011


Rises soon. Twelve Days, little maze.  Find the end, let us sin.  Mate with date, its just a date.  So soon, rise little moon.  Save me, save me, Please?  So soon, little moon.
I need out... Even with doubt...
I weigh so heavy, burst the levy.  No more walls.  No more falls.
Rise soon, my little moon.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Empire of Dirt

There is something about the hurt that calls to me. I can’t help but wonder why, but its true. The broken feel so easy to understand. Their lives are dramatic and quiet, they see things in shades of grey. Its so easy to be someone’s color. Am I like this because I really care? Does this make me a good person? Or am I just as hurt as they are, and it is my own insecurities that make me feel this way? So easy to be beautiful when your backdrop is dark and chilling fear. So easy to glow in the darkness.

Sometimes I feel like I am wishing to be a mess. A unfulfilled complex of victimization burns in me. A specter that never really leaves my side. I used to dream, I used to wish for it. Maybe then someone would notice, maybe then someone would care.

Most days that all seems crazy, most days I cant help but think I have been the greatest fool. Bad news for people who like bad news; two o’clock and all’s well. The good times are killing me.

Some times it strikes me, a specters shadow and I just want to be hurt. I call for it, I see it, I feel it as the hot copper zeros in on insignificant gray matter. Sniper’s sweet goodnight. My mind goes blank and I imagine someone just pulled the plug: LOADING, please wait…

I draw a breath and then another, and its all back as it was, naked and unequipped. Empty, wondering where my stuff went off to. It’s a gesture of a reboot, but rarely does it quiet that voice in my darker soul. The one that can’t let get go, the one that feeds on the sorrow.

What is my background then? I wish I knew anymore. I used to have so much to say, I used to have so much to feel. Have I gone past that place or has it passed me? I don’t know where the ladder is or why we want to the top, but I still can’t help but wonder if I fell off.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Broken shards.

Heartbeats glass. Long bloody gushes internalized, long dead hurts baptized. Crimson river dunk, sweet sorrow drunk.
Fragments with sharp edges, clinging on to cracking ledges. Spinning along, so small... we're all just nothing at all.
Election Angles, photon souls. What does that make us suck on the ground? Is anyone looking? Will we ever be found?
Big and small and nothing at all.
Big and small and nothing at all.

The bee forgive me, to the stars I apologize. But sorrow is not the same as regret. Never surrender, never forget.
Fight on my little faun, its only a spark. Nothing to fear and nothing is near. Rest your little head.
Right or wrong, just sing your song. Tomorrow's day is far away.
Tomorrow's day is far away.

Will it matter, will it read? Will it shine or will I need? Doesn't matter, little master. Just do it faster, do it faster.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Mean little Zot

Mean little Zot, tell me what your not.
Sticky for sure, a prickly snot.
Do you even know, have you even heard?
Wish it weren't so, but I can't say a  turd.
Not a little gentlemen, not a little kind.
Rough around the edges, not quite a find.
No excuse to be had, nor some passing fad.

Sad little Zot, tell me what your not.
Not at all proud, not with its lot.
Sad in his heart, confused and lost.
Frozen fire years, eyes full of frost.
Pretend to be a hero, wish for more then zero.

Sticky little Zot, stick with your dot.