End Season & The Hall-Spit Blind

The deadlines are endless & range ravens watch

2011-07-04T02:12:00.002-04:00

birch waves

sun drunk alaska pioneer depth set and stumbling

want

tourist want of gold rush great cowboy new

want set of cowboy drunk rush

and cigarette dawn

rush drunk of dawn want

and cowboy new days

want of far native soup days

away cheena that plane sees the white

the white that far away sees the want

the want that was

that is

the east man dying

tattoo radiation

here the great beyond

the far away

the want is more

it's more than i can handle

the drunk rush and want

the want

All the End is Eden & The Rent is Due

2010-04-29T01:38:00.003-04:00

Salt visions and blind fire drinks - ice water half wants and the great weird tea tunnels of spruce street. Button up hair pikes in winter dungeons - laundry bend overs and high hair new jersey. Typeface sunburn - cheap boardwalk cigars lite punk wildwood in monster back alley joint strips and end morning garbage trucks. Old back end mind cum - Bald whiskey the suffocating cigarette dawn.

Green Mad & The Infinity Exchange

2010-02-20T18:16:00.003-05:00

Dead whiskey burned

waiting for hums

the dead don't dream

they lie rotten

the rest of us just waiting

all of this

the crowded bars

the trying

the want

killing time before the rot

land of reeds middle

2010-01-06T21:33:00.000-05:00

I open the door and almost loose my balance on slippery wet metal stretch of storm drain until he catches me and pushes me inside the cab. He tells the driver the exact address but I can’t hear anything. The gestures of the two men are slowly pantomimed and as he leans back even with my head on the bench seat his image flows in multiple vision as though the mind, slowly shutting down has reverted to placing memories of old music videos on top of reality. I say nothing. His lips and hands move in slow motion but I can comprehend nothing. I push my head up to stare and the ceiling of the cab trying to free whatever drips are left. This is a bad idea. Some nerve burning Faustian deal has been reached but I can’t remember the terms. The drink and the rain have exhausted the last symphonic notes of reason leaving some old crumpled washed out jazz hand at the helm.

Burroughs spoke in side slice language and all the orphans screamed. We heed our baskets and roll the drums for Coleridge and Eggers. These are thoughts- the ice of hard words that drives a man towards awful things. One may ask is not music the saving sin of those too lost to care? But I would say that the spike of word on page is the greatest of all the templar hidden risks. We – not only me but you – you, you fucking thing changing reading wanting – thing making fun in back rooms of drug addled suit starved bums by city hall. This is it. A hard – deep starved bagged like a hiccup hard – thing.

2009-12-26T22:04:00.002-05:00

Hour day rains - bent soggy umbrellas and wet running mice. Flies in winter - snow melts and bourbon cask beer and trash on the floor. Old movie nights - blur eyed dog eared and black shirt bored. Lone mile dreaming - drift begging and scene starved. Electric light - 802.11 waves and ancient tubes "and they played the wall right down" and "someday someone will tell me who 'they' are". Gladiator domes - french fries for the roman mass and ice skates on the feast of St. Stephen. "Good women; bad diets" desert cat movie & another bourbon cask sweet vanilla swig. Lone Ranger is coming down east river drive and he's holding up traffic and he's tryin' to head west.

2009-06-14T20:57:00.002-04:00

It's thought a little stumbling as a walk home is taken that the air has ushered in the summer and sweet humid sent is all around. It's thought as you show her up the stairs and warn her of the steep incline that all the crumpling plaster adds an ambiance and makes mystique deepen in some weird way. It's thought that during the awkward door unlocking time that the overwhelming smell of curry in the hallway is somehow an advantage. It's thought that as she stares at the bookcase she stares in some admiration of all the titles wanted and some wanted in some wet way solidifies the reason for the steep incline and the curry. It's thought that as I cross my legs and light my pipe with what little I can scrounge from the spent plastic bag that I am somehow something in her blue eyes as she stares out the window at the trashcans and giant noise machines. It's thought that she would say something in some narrow language but it's all stares and hair flips and shifting skirts with lips pointed towards the high ceilings. It's thought that all the hungry grasping for splinters wicked in design is worth the collars and confinement.

2009-05-16T19:55:00.002-04:00

Cigarette in the tray and a half empty can. In a time of constant rain sitting here waiting for the coming storm in an orange shirt. Flow of days - work rivers roaring with storm water - weed swamp creeks of the drink and smoke acting as poison reservoirs that often bleed from log jams making jagged twisted currents in the flow. Walking the paved banks of the tidal river with earphones in the morning, before the sunrise, the homeless and the hobo crowds - track jumped from the CSX line - waking up; and in the humid afternoon women jogging in painful shorts sometimes look over from the run - making the mind wander from the bearded ugly self - to the cool swift river slipping through.

2009-03-25T22:34:00.002-04:00

Zoo birds have flown from the spinning trash of trolley tracks. Flown above overpasses of Vine street, past the old reservoirs and museums. Not greek or irish bent they flew below the sun their wings of feather muscle not of wax but still the migratory fear of height stayed deep. Zoo birds flew past the doors of neon bars on South turning heads of straight haired youth waiting in line beneath the crowded signs of stages. Those below the gardens of the Schuylkill saw them as did the drunks of Washington Square and the outlier northeast above the heads of near suburban lawns and fresh washed cars. Zoo birds have flown from the cages of spectators, where the eagle envies sparrow, flown only to fly beyond cages where flight is the danger of loss. They fly by night signs as moths scurry towards the moon but swing above the air in some high cluster grace not yet understood. Men and Women; tone tied and too high heel, weave the blue stairways of West Market and only from a glimpse from some high window see them in formation. Zoo birds have flown the black asphalt of the city, maybe towards the ocean maybe just to fly.

2009-02-18T03:09:00.003-05:00

How did this happen. 3AM leaning on Atlas Shrugged with a full ashtray and an empty glass. Where is John Galt now. Where are these signs that young latina women see when they venture the field alone. Where is the high life without words. Without need or ash. A clean purgatory without need of prayer. I'm climbing that mountain, The forgotten middle of the Divine Comedy. There is no late Roman poet as guide. There is only clocks and pills and cigarettes and booze. Beatrice has moved to Phoenix, Brutus worked for Lehman Brothers.

2009-02-14T13:50:00.002-05:00

Another raw naked day. After drinking half a bottle a coin was flipped. A time worn roman coin given a a gift. It flipped heads and spelled compulsion to go out. Alone as always I put my boot foot forward as everyone and walked poorly as the similar slept. Hitting a bar I drank and started a fight that I can't remember the end to. I'm not cut and have no signs of bleeding so it went as well as it could. The train has left the track.

2009-02-13T21:15:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I put a nice shirt on and read the Inquirer with a cheap brown bottle. Those times usually end badly. Good times are passed out fully clothed with ink stained hands and a headache. Bad times are aching scared hands and a head, slow moving regret smoke visions of women with bare legs on bar stools and tough men with hard fists in bad neighborhoods. Most often I end up in bed having ended another thing. These ending of things takes a toll. Eventually you're paid out and the only turn is towards the river cold and rapid; where peace lies in the freezing and not in the fire warmth of others.

2009-02-12T09:55:00.002-05:00

Beat down and street burned - high wind warnings all around. Another rough coffee day with only flashes and cuts from the night before. Lost bleeding weak men roam these streets - Atlantic City thugs who are deep and empty. Impostor wealth in sport coats stumbling the restaurants of Market Street looking for french cakes and high end shots. Naked men sleeping under thin blankets by trashcans shivering over steam vents on Juniper as high heeled women howl with clutched hand bags on their way to the bar. Stuffed collar christ men handing the new testament to cross walk crowds by city hall. The dead eyed millions struck by fierce wind to bend spines - a dead moon to crush us leaving a ruined speechless empire behind.

This is a beginning for this thing. A birth.

The Song

2008-09-23T13:20:00.002-04:00

Oklahoma Hitchcock sold his last wedding ring
to Siberian dwarfs and the foot fetish king
and walked a blue ally with a scorpion sting
while all the mimes of Amsterdam started to sing

The albino is underage and drunk on Boones
the dumpster diving neocons are lost on the dunes
the house is full of roaches, rats and rabid raccoons
Saturn whiskey rings and hollow pock marked moons

The blue jeaned tyrant is looking for the cure
he pounds his fist for dust storms over crescents of the poor
he is word made vision of dirt and Louis Lamore
a sick and savage carpetbagger you're still paying for

The Persian painter is sitting on the steps
selling fake fur coats and smoking cigarettes
the cobblestone is haunted by angry silhouettes
of transvestite whores and Iraqi vets

The senator in eyeliner takes one more drag
from the rolled up remnants of an African flag
taken from a Colorado meth addict hag
who's vegan thin with blisters and still wants to brag

The Amazon has dirty thongs and she sniffs glue
with Brazilian kids and tiny Tim who never grew
the preachers and the admen cut the neck bones blue
and then all the brain dead babies they look at you

The bible belt abortion doctor gives a growl
to the baby faced pundit who's still crying foul
about the orchestra of enemies who figured out how
to raise the mark of Cain in the year of the cow

They wallow in the hollows of the airport bars
with broken jukeboxes and out of tune guitars
and stare through the smoke at refinery stars
and brag about their women and their awful scars

She rides the blue line in tight white jeans
doors slide reflecting her Medusa dreams
a life spent fucking bloated fiends
who are driving their cement trucks down to New Orleans

Wake up Malynda it's the time before the end
all the voices you have stolen are buried in the sand
we can drink until the highways burn the phantoms screams and then
we can toast the morning sun and do it all again

You can't shake the whiskey it's made in hell
crafted by the cracker of the liberty bell
kill you like a photograph of William tell
hanging in some cheap smoke filled motel

28

2008-06-05T10:50:00.001-04:00

finally the end
fading memory of you
is best kept this way

27

2008-06-05T10:49:00.001-04:00

fonts pipes and fountains
stalk corn and pride parades fall
drinking all the time

26

2008-06-05T10:47:00.001-04:00

coffee ceiling phone
keypad push blood from finger
no one is around

25

2008-06-05T10:45:00.001-04:00

feminist with child
scream bruja in short white jeans
leave black hills behind

24

2008-06-05T10:43:00.002-04:00

watch not that you are
stare tight of the whiskey starved
light flickering shade

23

2008-06-05T10:41:00.001-04:00

plants and phantoms watch
weird drinking from pales at night
rising of the dawn

22

2008-06-05T10:39:00.001-04:00

It's been a long time
lost in pipes and park nightmares
walk people no face

21

2007-08-22T15:16:00.000-04:00

Go you titty pig
find comfort in word typhoon
and leave me alone

20

2007-08-02T15:01:00.000-04:00

To graves and splinters
gravity booze and toasts to
the tombstones and wine

19

2007-07-16T12:46:00.000-04:00

to erase someone
push a few buttons and then
dance with a bottle

18

2007-07-09T15:48:00.000-04:00

lovely tea woman
glaciated and time worn
go out every night

17

2007-06-27T10:52:00.000-04:00

coffee grounds and sigh
black hole candy with smoke eye
lamp light arm war head

16

2007-06-14T11:05:00.000-04:00

massage pen worn shoe
constable in brick-face
guru of lost men

15

2007-04-27T14:32:00.000-04:00

an end time preview
wind die spring wind die summer
earth fuck and whistle

14

2007-04-25T11:42:00.000-04:00

Sick in corner I
wish tires on long highways
alone desert sea

13

2007-03-13T15:48:00.000-04:00

eat your rose & thorn
With sand the dogs go hungry
drink burning water

12

2007-02-14T11:18:00.000-05:00

Dylan in mind makes
one forget of whores that for
get pure no well make

11

2007-02-13T15:35:00.000-05:00

Line breaker beggar
in a strange unknown disguise
does not belong here

10

2007-02-10T18:06:00.000-05:00

We have graves to dig
spoiled milk & broken eggs
be known we were here

9

2007-02-10T16:06:00.000-05:00

Lake parade silent
broken eggs & spoiled milk
drunk laid in silence

8

2007-02-07T12:47:00.000-05:00

Sex Tape in corner
d-lick up in turn around
shame light on hollow

7

2007-02-06T14:50:00.000-05:00

Mower on main street
moving in psalms like mud
clean women no hair

6

2007-02-05T14:12:00.000-05:00

Under uselessness
stories told like corrections
stop signs white paper

5

2007-02-02T15:09:00.000-05:00

Dive bar girls are the
reason for living in this
universe used up

4

2006-12-18T13:32:00.000-05:00

Ticking past one day
everything wicked has come
and shadow is all

3

2006-12-15T12:15:00.000-05:00

Stark toast draws payment
actor budget stomach of
third world extended

Number 2

2006-12-14T10:32:00.000-05:00

Ludwig the mad king
palace frost cobble stoned
no lights on stage coach

Number 1

2006-11-15T09:39:00.000-05:00

Philadelphia
tall blue red street in summer
cold even when sun shines

Bar Night II: Ignorance of Situation Sleeping

2006-09-19T16:21:00.000-04:00

White glove basement
let your children drown
White glove basement
in a southern town
Leave your mothers to the sacrifice
and lay your holy head down

White glove basement
every day is the same
White glove basement
your heroes are insane
Leave your brothers on the battlefield
you now have another name

White glove basement
the chairman's desire
White glove basement
lift your phantoms higher
Leave your crosses in cathedrals
and your shame inside the fire

White glove basement
oil coffee stained
White glove basement
the affection's feigned
Leave the mold to rot in silence
on the bench in the jungle caned

White glove basement
on a bench in the park
White glove basement
rain in the dark
Leave those demons in red lights
that escape the combat spark

White glove basement
soldier eyes cast down
White glove basement
all the pictures are brown
Leave the victims in blood rags
and get the hell outta town

White glove basement
one more time again
White glove basement
I will have to pretend
Leave the Jaguars in chains
and liberate their den

White glove basement
water pour the earth
White glove basement
know your final worth
Leave your fortune in brimstone
it has been there since your birth

White glove basement
mask the stapled fight
White glove basement
with a rock and kite
Leave the torture to the anglos
they warp every written right

White glove basement
yellow wolves and bone
White glove basement
in your birth home
Leave your shadow to the serpents
as you lie there all alone

Infirm in the Country & Lost in the Brick

2006-09-08T16:26:00.000-04:00

Stretch the fortress dry and run the cable short
I've been dried to the cedars in an indian fort
earth gods and elves and a seductive evil sort
I cry and bleed blood on these leviathan streets
I dance with draconian brides and share their american cohort
I dance in pickled gaze at the strings of the heart beats
in the hall of the elders where vikings cure the meats
and carve long boats with stories of ice and great defeats
and with winds of a thousand words they crumble into doom
while you sell london critics immaculate seats
they walk slowly past the stained glass electrical room
where inside blooming crowns spit whistle and assume
that their atheistic veins may turn blue gold on a nameless loom
stuck between graveyard motors and expanse of thought
where hanging on the crossroad is the mistaken potted groom
to all these brag emotions take point that it was you who sought
to strangle closed the road where I was stuck and caught
in wraps and nets and thighs and veiled poison fraught
in chains cast iron cord shackle locks outstretched desert posts
release in sweet grains and with weapons few i fought
I will give the blessings of the hosts
given through chaos and the fire gates of ghosts
where mighty in their pitch torture boasts
of the never ending humiliated ionic court
and damned raise drinks for one more of their toasts

Rake Stone Stories & Wrecks Left Behind

2006-08-30T11:41:00.000-04:00

Bejeweled and crusted mud for the sake of saintly feet
wash with chlorine quick sand and some rancid beetle meat
go to jungle costume parties drag with wicks and flame
stray from vegan matches for your orgy now of heat
stray from match book covers with an exotic sounding name
they will kill your senses soundly and to your captive do the same
they will keep you from the cover of once thought holy night
and in some garden shelter truculent they lead to blame
I thought forever coffee pots and ashcan points of light
writing toilet paper scripture of dwarfs and beasts of height
fleeing constantly the seconds of rotting bands in time
I sought nothing but some sense of illusionary sight
I sought nothing but some fuck at the last call magic line
stumbling chairs and bar stools for a wink or other sign
every time forgetting all the times that went before
and committing floating strings like a cycle every crime
rabbit holes and lucid drugs and labs behind the door
places I used to know hold no reflections anymore
I've been tied to the mountain melting rain water sleet
for a meal I never wanted and a body swollen sore

Grown & The Phantom Guitar

2006-07-29T03:39:00.000-04:00

Take St. Louis and throw the strive aside
know the cases were some where else
"Jonny Be Good" forget it and what it was
live that money dream
Conversation in bar:
"Would you sell for $1.2 million?"
"No. Things sometimes mean more."
$ - Kills.
On a couch in blackout country with strong crystal desires and a hold on open air and the buy.
Sing a blues song
never leave the highway
act as if the yellow line goes on forever.

Bombmakers

2006-07-21T13:30:00.000-04:00

Under Blue Blankets Revisited

2006-07-18T15:18:00.000-04:00

Mamma Tattoos in a hipster scene
tryin' to find an emo queen
I just gotta keep from fallin' down the stairs
Cross dressin' hookers hangin' on my street
and I don't think I can deal with the heat
I'm sweatin' to death but nobody really cares

Under Blue Blankets
I feel all right
gonna stay here both day and night
there's PBR comin
I'm gonna get me one
I had to take a shower cause I puked on myself
cheese diarrhea ain't good for your health
so I'm
Under Blue Blankets
'till a woman makes me cum

Bombmakers & The Once Erased

2006-07-06T19:51:00.000-04:00

Jonny Hitchcock in a rage ate pigeon stew
while all the brain dead babies are looking at you
St. Jerome with a Jesus stain and a goat sack hue
prances like police after dirt curfew
The preacher in sardonic extra circles sings
to you the strumpet must some solemn peace bring
and a tender heart made into a promise ring
and a ruling from the dragon type eater king
In the absence of rulers we made them up
and drank from the blood colored altar cup
and found a way raise it up
above the heads of the woodman's cup
I did this all because I could
If in my same skin then I'm sure you would
slay the doctor where his needles stood
and rub one out to the noose of wood
the child came in from the wild shore
some kind of high profile jersey whore
who blew the town and became a bore
and then went back to where it was before
blister you feet and eyes and sack
and offer them as the sacrifice Iraq
desert palms push the words right back
into every building home and anal crack
put that pill right in my arm
and then tell me of all the maybe harm
of the letters written of the great alarm
that sounded when I was in a kansas barn
strike the ankle that would run for you
dislodge every bone before I do
what are trumpet mountains maybe olives grew
flay with fire knives before i dig for you

Gargoyle Horney Love Blues

2006-06-08T15:20:00.000-04:00

The gargoyles on front
all shaved the cunt
of the shwag grower's daughter
last night
I struck a match
and watched that snatch
as I put red flame
to my pipe

she didn't much mind
even tipped'em a dime
and ran like a
crack banshiee would
ain't nothing to see
said the farmer to me
shes goin' out
to look under the hood

I was quite surprised
one could read in my eyes
why would she shave
and then drive
but she was the queen bee
and she just had to flee
before the news
got back to her hive

Pissing Penn

2006-06-07T08:53:00.000-04:00

Pound demon passed raw throated and curled into a ball. Can't stretch even inquisition torture like pass out dumpster in a rainy town. NY bar. Make bomba, bomba like a making rain.

Go home but never get there. Violence in a strange place. Quaker meeting houses and graveyards.

P.I.T.S.

2006-05-17T14:20:00.000-04:00

Pink in the Sink CD release party 17 June Solomon Hotel. Bring a dry mop and tons of available turtles. Come and be the only one to hear the 1st album drop from bombmakers records.

Spider & The Meso-Pimp Rag

2006-05-17T11:03:00.000-04:00

Artsy fartsy sewer went up the gator pole
to suck the streets of venom
and give the trash a soul
coffee cups and front page news
in trash earth monster holes
and the spray painted murals
and the poppy painted bowls

Flower

2006-05-09T13:26:00.000-04:00

Pink in the Sink Volume V

2006-05-04T09:00:00.000-04:00

Under Blue Blankets I feel all right
Gonna stay here both day and night
There's PBR comin' and I'm gonna get me some
Had to take a shower cause I puked on myself
Cheese diarrhea ain't good for your health
so I'm under blue blankets
Under blue blankets
Yes I'm under blue blankets
Under blue blankets
Well I'm under blue blankets
Till the moon passes the sun

Poop-girls swarming the seat that I sat
thinkin' they can get with me cause I'm kinda fat
But I just had some milk so I gotta go
Las Vegas lounge we all can agree
That old man rubbed the shit outta me
I'm Just hopin' my pants they did not grow

Under Blue Blankets

I had to run home with shit in my shoes
Feelin' low down old city blues
Tryin' to find a cheap and easy ho
Anus ticklin' coakroach runnin' up my door
I don't think I can take anymore
If I see a rat I'll yelp and then I'll go

Under Blue Blankets

Gypsy Paintings of Washington Square

2006-04-27T10:49:00.000-04:00

He went out in the rain of the blowing square where the eternal flame had died and the old unknown graves were washing up from the earth. No one had taken down the flag. All the rangers had fled in fear of the end and the end has no need for triangular folds.

In some other room the gypsy is making white tea. Turtle shells and Tarot cards are strewn about the room. Black candles and incense burners and chicken bones and zombie potions. Zig-zag reed flutes and prayer rugs and black crystal balls.

He stumbles in from the rain and sees christian beads with crosses, orange robes, black hats, cresent moons, cactus hearts. She offers him white tea but he only drinks black coffee. She offers him palm readings, chart sketches, star alignments, oracle caves, forgotten books, black crystal, dirt drawings, prophesies of rain. He has no need he tells her we all know the future. She sighs in red robes and falls upon the chair. He puts roman copper coins across her eyes and walks back out into the storm.

Crack in the Wind & Beggar Tears

2006-04-24T19:25:00.000-04:00

Crack in the void & the whistle wind
beggar in tears that he'll be here again

The Spectacle & Mythology Remains

2006-04-21T08:38:00.000-04:00

Story never finished. First two paragraphs.

It was a gruesome time for the little ones made captives beneath the Masonic temple in the cradle of American liberty. It was written on codices, hidden behind Adobe walls in rock deserts of the west, and it is now translated to us by the trickster scribe. They were brought by the exiled brother of Napoleon and handed to the Masons in retribution for the safe voyage out of France and across the sea. There were only 27 of them at the time of their imprisonment but they soon created a thriving community in the crypts beneath the Masonic temple. The initiated conducted anthropological investigations on the community and earnestly catalogued their behavior patterns and social structures. They organized themselves into tribes of about 10 members and traced familial lines from their mother’s side. When the men reached a certain age they were married to women of different tribes in an elaborate mass marriage celebration. Once a newly married male entered the new tribe he was initiated through ritual scarification symbolizing the tribe’s sacred totem. All Totem lines were directly associated to different insects. The little ones, in general, seemed to attract all species of insect and enjoyed the presence of insects at all times.

Around the turn of the century two tribes managed to escape the Masonic crypts and hid themselves in rail cars headed west. Soon after the escape all the remaining tribes were exterminated and all documents concerned with their study were destroyed. The two remaining tribes found themselves in the desert of the southwest and recorded their story on scrapes of wood and paper eventually hiding a copy behind old Pueblo ruins. Eventually the two families settled in different parts of the region: One took the grey mountains of present day New Mexico the other went to the northern edge of the Grand Canyon. They met once every five years to marry and if there were no marriages to perform they simply traded wisdom and products. After a few years the Grey Mountain little ones became the Centipede Totem and the Canyon settlers became the Totem of the Blue Scorpion.

Bandits of the Watchless Eye

2006-04-18T12:51:00.000-04:00

The bandits of New Mexico hid in shadow caves
and hog tied the wives of the captured slaves
"no mercy to you will there be paid"
they said like wolves set ready invade
there were cries in echoes as the ropes were frayed
by whips and knives and things they made
No god was watching as they all were laid
in unmarked blood earth clay namless graves.

Platimun Envy & The Grand Ole Bass Jump

2006-04-13T16:00:00.000-04:00

Well there's a 100,000 people in hear tappin' they toes
& tryin' for blows pumpin' the nose lookin' for ho's
got 100,000 people in hear tappin' they toes
anythin' goes pop a bath wit a hose & straighten yer clothes
got 100,000 people in hear tappin' they toes
pumpin' the bose slingin' the foes
wit 100,000 people in hear tappin' they toes
poppin' no dose & god only knows what got into them ho's
got 100,000 people in hear tappin' their toes
plantin' seeds that I sow only hopin' they grow
got 100,000 people in hear tappin their toes
& readin the prose they ain't freezin' they froze
got 100,000 people in hear tappin they toes
Well there's 100, 000 people in hear tappin' they toes

The Tired & Black Curtain Blowing

2006-04-12T16:39:00.000-04:00

The investigator woke up heavy blanket sweats and felt wind through the black curtain as if a death rattle. He saw chess figures on tables of antiquity and they fell hard from short distances. He saw a cockroach run sideways beside him and saw the fear that made him lie silent. The lights from the helicopters made shadows from 4AM spying while taking victims to roof tops. He heard fists hitting brick and rust of collapsing fire-escapes. He listened to the insect legs scratch the climbing wall above his head. He shivered from sweat and the blades of the helicopter.

Hand Rocket Blues

2006-04-04T14:14:00.000-04:00

Hand Rocket Baby
(da da da dum)
With the Fortune and Fame
Hand Rocket Baby
(da da da dum)
With the Vibrating Dame

You ain't Got no Head or Shoulders
(da da da dum)
You ain't Even Got no Name

Cloud Weigh Down Blues

2006-03-30T12:54:00.000-05:00

Maniac sitting vomit earth and eat cloud
Shine gold in sand earth like the house of Saud
work your pin-up lotion hand until it growled
link your duck pond hammers and call them fowled
bite the feeding hand that is leper fouled
doom the high street panic and incite the crowd
vomit earth and eat the cloud
trip motion on a serpent and then scream too loud
turn the hungry monk that is god weight bowed
rape the trembling virgin that has baptismal vowed
vomit earth and eat the cloud

Motion Sickness Blues

2006-03-29T10:10:00.000-05:00

The sun comes over shadow, stones, and red earth
mocking notions of a holy birth
calling into queston what it all is worth

The stone stays in quiet contemplative thought
she has seen destroyed what men have sought
and watched them buy what can't be bought

The red earth is silent with the passing sun
it knows it will be carved to free a river run
it is waiting for the time it will all be done

The shadow acts the serpent between day and night
it slides behind the objects that can't pass the light
the razor's edge that marks the ongoing fight

The sun it rotates back somewhere else again
they all are lost perception is color's friend
though infinite the line must at some point end

Champlain Local & The Ski Pant Mountains

2006-03-24T13:13:00.000-05:00

vermont in the spring what a wonderful time

frisbee golf, mountains, burritos, and wine

Malynda Traitor Ribbon Road Blues

2006-03-22T08:30:00.000-05:00

Malynda recites the verses for one more ghost
She strives for information on the missing host
she blesses herself before the holy host
but thinks that maybe it could just be toast
She raises the wine for a golden toast
and thinks of the ongoing hall-spit roast
and the boss of the trumpets and his joking roast
I-Jackal slips his knife out in a wild boast
she knows it is she he will hurt the most
she thinks of the times on the ivory coast
when everything at high speeds was allowed to coast
when she was a writer for the daily post
and the writing on the wall she would always post
to the top of heavy bent iron post

20 March 26 Blues

2006-03-21T08:46:00.000-05:00

26 March days 26 winds
26 things one can never fit in
26 fragments of 26 things
that fly in the face with 26 wings
and 26 phone calls never been made
26 teaspoons on 26 graves
26 beards and 26 friends
26 years to try it again
maybes that it may turn better this time
26 monkeys and 26 rhymes
the 26 things you will always regret
26 sayings to only upset
26 shoestrings 26 songs
26 shootings 26 wrongs
26 years and the 26th door
may lead one out to 26 more

Paddy Old Drinking Tale Greens

2006-03-17T08:49:00.000-05:00

There once was woman in Rome
who desperatly needed a home
she started to think
and then gave a wink
to a wickedly ugly old knome

There once was a man in the swamp
who went out for a drunk fighting romp
he swung so cruel
at the head of a mule
for the beast was o' high with pomp

There once was a whore of the isle
who counted her loves by the pile
she was spread just so thin
that he couldn't fit in
but both fists went in by the mile

There was a philadelphia sailor
who's dream was only to nail her
she got it so hard
but then left with a bard
and now he needs a new tailor

The masons and union league members
turned their clocks to reflect more decembers
"these damned irsh micks
may get them some kicks
but we make the books for remembers"

The trickster with one golden wing
made the republican party line sing
"it's amazing grace
that we lie to your face
and you want to make our man king"

P- North, West, South of Center Blues

2006-03-16T15:53:00.000-05:00

Up-turn hallow brothers in arms
rake shop bill blowers juke traders cloud hangers
green marble paste-ons up-turn hallow water
lap-top horseman sleep brothers in arms
cordless paper drills dvd burners marble garves
philly's not safe except on the island where developers
live
up-turn wind hallow flow ichabod drain
plenty of land left for those little graves
horsemen come down from gardens they're sent
brothers in arms grave diggers with coin eyes
up-turn make swallow those brothers in arms
horsemen grave singers of premature songs

Arrow Lines & Old Bell Chimes

2006-03-15T10:54:00.000-05:00

The Investigator left thinking of scarlet rivers, yellow wolves, blue scorpions. He was thinking of cannibal monsters in the caves of western colorado. He walked through washington square by the constant flame of the unknown soldier. Through the weird staring statues of rittenhouse past the beggars and muscians. He walked on trash and breaking cobblestone. He thought of the moon forrest on the breaking coast of maine and the pacific highway. He saw fangs on the darkness of the patco entrance. he could not look at the people on south broad. He thought of soy fields in ancient illinois. He saw black centipedes and green chilies. Red canyons and black buildings.

Pink in the Sink Volume IV

2006-03-14T10:43:00.000-05:00

I have left the brides in white
to scroll the western side
I have sold so many souls
to save my own sad hide
but I never saw no mermaid
at least not one that was alive

I went to the top of the mountain
when the snow was driving hard
I drew three lines on some bark
and called it a birthday card
but I never raped a kitty
nor been mistaken for the bard

I've had low down depression
since the age of ever more
when I closed the window
I just got a painted door
But I ain't never drove through Ashton
the air might make me sore

Come Around Christ Error Time Blues

2006-03-11T00:52:00.000-05:00

.
the vagina monologues. it's. to. no. one.
i like cheese. that reminds me of the fact that goat, of the fact of that fat goat, of the fat of that fat goat, of that fat fat goat, of that go- ta that fat goat CHEESE please. say please. say cheese. thank you. we're all too cheesy.
And then the gates fell to fire & the end came down
Thanks to: ( Garret, Marcy, Mike, Matt, and Mac)

Explosive Green Spring Blues

2006-03-10T14:04:00.000-05:00

Wicked ways are over in the green streets by the mine
the elements are harvested for nobel deeds and crime
Jesterhound beat Siats once upon a time
in Moab uranium to taste the salt lick find

Letters for the accused are used up by the law
and greeters in sin laced robes will not see what they saw
The Denver gang is back again to light before the fall
speak your southern tent songs in antebellum draw
We all will drink another, one last time before the fall

Pink in the Sink Volume III

2006-03-07T09:46:00.000-05:00

I am a marxist mind man
with a drum in my hand
I got two dozen babies
and i'm making a band
but I never went to prison
nor met a real true fan

I ain't seen no beaver damn
in the years since 1910
I've worn vests of stinking burlap
in a demon's wicked den
but I have never blown a kiss
or used a dead man's pen

I have sat beside the train lines
when the trickster turned the tide
I watched him as he threw back
all his buttons to the side
But I never loved no tree trunk
nor have I ever died

Wisdom Pain Killer III

2006-03-06T11:26:00.000-05:00

Jackson Biddle rolled in deep dream agony the bed of his room at the Solomon Hotel. He was remembering the days of Denver and the self he was trying to leave behind. The sex lust maniac that drove him to deep ugly bathroom extremes and horrible late night car rides. Now he had flown across the country to sleep in an old hotel and live a celebate life. He took up smoking a pipe and even discarded his old forms of dress. He even shaved the head that he used to spike up and mousse religiously every time he left the house. But, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't escape the dark soul feeling of wanting to fuck everything he saw.

Jackson Biddle walked out the front door of the Solomon Hotel and stood by the stairs smoking his pipe. Sometimes he would walk outside to smoke his pipe if he felt to closed up inside his room. He watched a few college med students walking to a bar in flash black pants and backless frontless painted pastel shirts. I'd like that bent over something in a dark room. Oh man, I'd make that squeal and beg for something. He had to shake his head to loose the pounding voice and he started walking to clear the mind. Two men passed him holding hands and walked into a black window restaurant. Man those two fuck each other. I wonder what given it into a tight ass like that is like. He almost sported one and looked around thinking others could see his thoughts and he stood ready to defend his heteroness.

Mentally challenged women, children (some in strollers), pets: his mind was a naked disgusting puss roaming with no prejudice the unlimited deviant sexual beast. Even a fire hydrant he pictured covered in his cum blushing a deeper kind of red. He ducked into a bar and drank himself sick. He could never go back to Denver - the sun and wind only made it worse.

Armageddon

2006-03-03T11:27:00.000-05:00

Walking Boots & The Share Cropper's Dream
Malynda Carved & The Beast Brigade
Sun Sultans & The Dog Face Plants
Phantoms & The Washington Ghouls
Pen Smarts & Radio Rangoon
Jester Kings & The Darkness Of Light
Hey Jonny & The Wonder Snores
Butt Luck Kingdom & The 50 Wives
Rhino Ivory & Rent Car Mexico
Denver Doll House & The Peaks Pike
Philly Roller Side & The Face Paint Bandits
Design Doctors & The Hip Can Parade

Star Mangle & Poppy Seed Rain

2006-03-02T13:47:00.000-05:00

Excerpt of Story that will not be published (Beginning and End):

It was raining in Denver and Jackson sat at his computer drinking Old Crow and water scratching his freshly shaved balls. He didn’t really shave them all the way; he just took an electric beard clipper and cleaned up the chunky parts. It really itched right below the little overhang that his stomach had and he scratched that spot furiously. The rain out his window fell in big drops and he listened to a burned Lightening Hopkins’ CD on his computer. He also looked up free videos of women being spanked. He was trying to forget something that he may want to remember. Jackson sat at his computer: blues, rain, spanking, drinking, scratching. It was 3:00PM Saturday afternoon.....

She walked out of the bathroom and the smoke in the air reflecting the neon jukebox made reality seem like slow motion. She had some feminine confidence that couldn’t be understood along with a man’s neck movements. She was Gabriel sent to deliver a terrible message with the staff of God. She was the vision of Chaos the fallen see on the journey through under side of the mountain towards the flaming gates. She was the last sorrowful string the blues man will play before the chariots come to collect. Every sound was the click of her high heels and falsetto voice. Ever smell that of large bottled aftershave and cheap perfume. She grabbed both of their arms and walked into the backseat of a car.

Pink in the Sink Volume II

2006-03-02T10:07:00.000-05:00

I've been tie knot bandaged
and the top hat robe
I eat blues for breakfast
when sand's on the road
but I ain't never ate crickets
or seen a woman explode

I've been drinking hotel rooms
kicked locks on the slide
Singapore went to Vegas
and I should have died
but I never ran for office
nor ever took a side

The lake was a monster
when I saw her at night
I was smoking ice
and flying a kite
but I couldn't swim naked
it's too cold for flight

Pot Calling Kettle Black

2006-02-28T15:25:00.000-05:00

HARTFORD, Conn. - Connecticut has given social service agencies permission to supply low-income residents with discounted heating oil from Venezuela, whose energy aid program for the needy has rankled the Bush administration....

In Washington, House Energy and Commerce Committee Chairman Joe Barton, R-Texas, and Rep. Ed Whitfield, the Republican chairman of the subcommittee for oversight and investigations, have voiced concern that the oil deals are "part of an unfriendly government's increasingly belligerent and hostile foreign policy" toward the United States.

By STEPHEN SINGER, Associated Press Writer

2006-02-26T00:25:00.000-05:00

Stories are told mythology in light
there are those unknown who hold up the fight
drinking bastards who hold court in frght
word junkie loosers who are alone most of the night
be chomsky is said by ones in the flight
but abandon is felt and who is what is right

Subtiltled French Hyprocrisy Blues

2006-02-25T01:22:00.000-05:00

Pull my daisy (circa 1959)
what would one put if one was trying to find a sign
one would site Howl and Dharma bums but be above their time.
One would try to seek the bishop and ask if angels commited those crimes
One would have to narrate middle path philosophies with a head in the New York Times
One would have to ride the rail benxidrine rattled with nothing but a dime
Daughter pushes organ while mother keeps black white tunes in time
What becomes of watchers they sit roach studded and wait for rhyme

Excerpt 1

2006-02-24T08:22:00.000-05:00

It was the time of times in the last great season before the end. It was the era of fast raging insomnia and acts of open aggression against everything know and unseen. They were the events of CNN played out in every doctor’s office and barber shop in every corner of the world to spit-shop junk traders and stock brokers and bartenders. It was the period of impending doom with bombs and brigades and orange glowing hunters waiting in every corner of the world for blood drenched hands that could be offered up to thir shallow hallucination of the god-head. It was the age of corporate pollution inside the age of reform and antireform and drowning and suicide and out of work fathers immersing themselves in wall street journal reports cleaning their knives of the blood of their children. It was sick with selfish brooding attitudes of Alaska pipeline drilling and “a snow owl for everyone” campaigns gripping the weekend throat of common sense and choking it half paralyzed with forced hysteria. It was the age of shit and trash and dross rubbish dancing in the guise of art and living and beauty and happiness. It was the last great age of greed. It was pinned up, bow-tied, painted, framed, sold, resold, given away, auctioned, stoned, thrown, burned, and then revived as the lost whatever of post industrial complex. It was the burn on your finger that kept getting worse but had no origin. It was what happened in the dark recesses of the hard pounding passed out times that can’t be reclaimed. It was the same three chords strummed into boredom. The death of rebellion and the wicked birth of jigsaw arranged baby drool in a cool pink covered plastic price tagged sack. It was the very last blow integrity could stand

It was not that these uneasy times varied drastically from the ones that came before, they were simply forced to dangle a little further over the edge. They were sent in the labyrinth unarmed before the beast with the rotting thread of a golden era long gone by to guide in circle around the dark. They spawned the worst and the best incarnation of madness and savagery. Lock-key kids with radiation TV eyes and cell phone tumors. Two ton babies and the feather weight starving middle class anorexic magazine addicts. The villainous, the vicious, and the super-sized.

Champ Country Blues

2006-02-22T15:29:00.000-05:00

like the sightings of monsters in lakes of the north
vermont in blue tights and never come forth
rank file steam from the seats of the bourse
change the main dollar and then change your course
believe the watchmaker is the only true source
and lay down the plows and pick up the swords
vanguard of nations to swell up with sores

Business Man Blues

2006-02-16T14:21:00.000-05:00

I've warned of the beast to thug men and thieves
I've tired of business in suit jacket sleeves
I've run home agony pick up the slack
ghost of the one who was darkmanjack

I've been caught up lost in the great divide
canyons and rivers and backcountry slides
Women who now call over and yell out hack
and mourn for their lover lost darkmanjack

I've pinned the great dragon to graffiti walls
I've spoken to bums and heeded their calls
they left the mind shacken in sunk deadly crack
but forgot upon death of the darkmanjack

I dream of lost wars never to fight
old grey pictures that will never see light
now the not named will forever be black
the what would have been image of darkmanjack

Storm Drain Blues

2006-02-03T16:12:00.000-05:00

It was all as poor as a badly saved pic
take vlad up and sling back the turks on the stick
casanova with scraper for scabs on his dick
all the blind ladies their lips they still lick
and posinous insects to corners run quick
suit brandish red tie like blood foam is sick
no one says nothing 'bout savage lad's tick
or the nose blows will come and lay it on thick
with crunch country cunt hair knuckle ball flick
and the candle cum witch with fear of the wick

Wisdom Pain Killer II

2006-01-24T17:52:00.000-05:00

Jackson Biddle flew in from Denver and was staying at the Soloman Hotel. He Came into town for some obligation and was now hanging around waiting for his next move. He boarded a train close to the hotel hoping to ride for a while and then find a bar. It was close to night but he wasn't sure exactly what time it was.

He sat down by a window hoping he could ride for some time without anyone sitting next to him. Jackson sat with an obscure Dylan song running through his head and looked around. It was dark enough now outside for him to see his reflection in the train window. Above his head he could see a black button. He couldn't find any explanation of the button but it was, he thought, large enough to warrant some kind of title. He looked all over and as far as he could see there were no other large black buttons anywhere. The button made him nervous. He wanted to push it but knew that he never would.

Soon after the button discovery Jackson Biddle got off the train and found a bar. He ordered a whiskey on the rocks and lit a pipe. He tried to play darts bu the board was crowded with people and he was all but ignored. He sat at the bar, ordering whiskey and smoking pipes, and stared at the severed head of a wild boar. He was there for a while and then he got back on the train.

2006-01-13T22:57:00.000-05:00

The symbol of chinatown was set on the smoke
& The ones who should know were caught up in toke
evergreen afghans and weird terms as joke
english man bar hopper blurts out the bloke
the sheets of the night time were set out to soak
exercise balls and the sweet words of goat
who went out absent with perc pipes and coke
all of the others on the river left float
but not without chains and large river moat
to surround the castle of baltimore gloat
leave not the ashcans and leave not a note

Wisdom Pain Killer I

2006-01-12T15:33:00.000-05:00

Jackson Biddle left his hotel room and walked out onto the street. He felt fairly comfortable leaving the room behind, the Soloman hotel had a pretty good reputation and he thought they could take care of her. It wasn't much any way just a bed, some sheets, a toilet, and a bible. He didn't even know why he was thinking about it so much. He really didn't care. Jack didn't know where he was going. It was just getting light, it was cold and a sleet hit the air. It was an altogether miserable day for a stroll in the city. Jack was wet, a little tired and his teeth hurt for no apparent reason. He ducked inside the emergency entrance of the University Hosipital because he thought it might be warm and he had to use the bathroom.

Jack was caught staring at an open drug closet. He wasn't looking at the open closet because he wanted to steal somethig has was just genuinly interested to see what they had. The nurse thought he was some x-head of one kind or another so Jack made up a story about an uncle with cancer staying at the hosiptal. Nurse showed Jack where the cancer wing was and Jack left heading that way.

He actually did go to the cancer wing. He went partly becasue he didn't want the nurse to think he was lying and partly because he thought he would probably get cancer at some point and wanted to do some research - see what he was in for. He was walking along fake checking for his non-uncle half looking into the rooms rating in his head which ones were he worst. While walking he heard a man's voice asking for some help in a feelble tone. Jack went in to see what was going on.

The floor had a puddle of blood next to an old man lying down trying to flex a muscle that didn't work so he could get up. Jack went over to the guy, helped him to his feet, and walked him back to his bed.
"Do you know who I am?" The man asked as he settled under the thin comforter.
"Yeah. You're Chinofski the writer. I read your stuff. Saw a documentary about you in New England once. You ever see that one about yourself?"
"Would you have helped me up if you didn't know who I was?"
"Of course not."

Minister O'Shea

2005-12-22T11:58:00.000-05:00

What is this all about?

I was asked by an important man and the question stuck.

Need not worry about such questions. The site is about absolution, pure and real. Go and do no harm.

Sandstorm Blues

2005-12-21T16:09:00.000-05:00

The PI in high heels held her crescent high
For the love of no one but a dead GI
Ali Allah Ak'sha heard her plea and cried
It was twilight desert sandstorm and one black fly
left over from the days when they both were bi
held a promise of something better in pigment dye
the wind through the palms made a hollow sigh
indicating that tomorrow more men would die
those who sleep safe blanket themselves with the lie
that all is free when looked at through the holy eye
"Arbusto Diablo" shout the southern side
I just look out for the tsunami tide

Collection Maple Blues

2005-12-20T13:32:00.000-05:00

No one was ever notified
the heaters blew as they always had
the nurse and the college girl still flirted
giving boys views of things they should never see
letting on they were less than what they appeared.
No one was asked any questions
The nurse and the college girl swam laps in the puddles between their thighs
they were collected in obscurity
they were ignored as only a true collector can ignore.
No one was notified
The changes had occured too quickly
the explosion was powerful but not enough so to really notice.
No one noticed
the collection had disappeared
the nurse and the college girl danced alone at mardi gras
they had the darkness of light
worthless in a sea of the same
sex was no weapon any longer
sex had decayed their thighs and flooded the puddles
they sucked on acid and bad vapor fumes
what could the collector do?

Just Like Blues

2005-12-09T15:32:00.000-05:00

Malynda left for the desert.

She was moon howling and left sex on the river
she was green eyed and sorrowful in the morning
she was fucked by ups on many occasions
she was nile slime that builds and destroys
she was toppless in pictures that no one would ever see
she was gone to the desert
goat hair hand bags and pig-iron switches
her life was too strange to end
and too unbearable to continue

number 1 blues

2005-12-08T08:53:00.000-05:00

Why dirty little what ask why
customer go skin yourself and ask atonement for why
buy buy get bored and why
why why why get bored and buy

This is all nothing

TRYING for something that will never come. Stuck but stuck is what - is the only way that is - no garbage men no shit eaters otherwise. Rock it to sleep, all of it - the last great season before the end.

Night Watch

2005-12-07T13:03:00.000-05:00

The experiment went wrong and the organ pipe failed
all the suicide watch and pipe talk strut talking storm
my what it's not space that keeps up and don't go
talk like you're street 14 north broad and girard

black holes they mean diamonds ice caves of the sand
They mean Ali-Allah Ak'sha float gardens Canaan

President crime goon and president sin
couldn't put all the pieces together again

Candy Rock Mountain

2005-11-23T16:03:00.000-05:00

Sweet queens knock craddles and large boulder lice
police rap murder and act play-pen nice
Shock and disorder and stuff mounted mice
vegas tune neon the chip tripping dice
I-Jacal blue highway quick utah heist
now with full moon all hip happy iced
praying to sun burned right handed christ

Moving Suck Blues

2005-11-21T16:46:00.000-05:00

JesterHound plays harmonica for the risen
he lies of the relics he has collected
he scrapes the lamp for pollen resin
and stamps the papers of the forgiven
He looks for ghost towns of the west
in the picture houses of new orleans
he plays harmonica for the risen
and can adjust pitch for cause of death
he can negotiate surrender
he has seen the chariots on I-95
he plays harmonica for the risen

Jack it Up

2005-11-16T19:00:00.000-05:00

Where have all the beanstalks gone?
Fiddy and Fie couldn't eat all the pie
so the sky on the pie it has fallen
It was swollen with english muffins
it was stuffed with black birds
and shoes and ovens and wolves
happily ever.......
What
No it never happens like that
the cow dies
it never rains

Lake Front Blues

2005-11-13T12:10:00.000-05:00

Plants and Phantoms sing:
"it was never sex only golden armadillo rods
basement smoke and moon rings
good and evil as a context for the fall
chaos guarded blind gates
it was and ever only will be
naked bulbs and pictures and fingers
lost on the edge of the great gorge
TV track lines on the forearm
between the toes and ear lobes and ass crack
lost and sin and misunderstood perceptions of both."
Join the chorus like a greek revival
new england winters in floridian dreams
only islands.

Once Upon a Time

2005-11-11T11:27:00.000-05:00

It's a fine time for beer and wine
on 22nd and pine
squeeze your sleeze and upper please
on whiz and cottage cheese

stun the cum on uppity nun
and eat the hot dog bun
It's nice for lice at this price
roll the sopping dice
Sartre was tart on top of dart
make the french riot fart
you're wet and set and I bet
it was before I left
try whore folklore and like before
you naked on the floor
drunk like skunk on silly funk
you end up in a truck
neglect respect and for effect
I leave you in the net

Spacing Problem Blues

2005-11-10T10:18:00.000-05:00

I am an equitorial cowboy

the one thought of at night

I turn tiny heat moaning

into circles of flight

I smoke three cigars in the morning

& then dress like a saint

I make the girls by the river

feel all wet and faint

I ramble out by the town line

but I can never go in

I am destined for fire

unlock the fish from its fin

I take pains to be noticed

by the wolves in their prime

Axe carrying weirdos

& the hall spit blind

Pentacostal Blues

2005-11-09T12:14:00.000-05:00

Fire on wenesday on friday again
tongue speak and lick and do it again
the gnostic in drag speaks of lovers and friends
"What of this silence that's sung of in song
what of the rightness that comes out of wrong
what of the hillbilly drag office thong?"
What of the what and it's whatness again?
nothing be nothing and then nothing again?

knock out raw fire and mountains and gloat
the mountain that's mother in space will still float
build not your shuttle or hyper non-boat

end is end fire or otherwise