donate to ya boy

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

its just like..
its just so god damn easy to lie!
cat scratchen the roof as my headache disables my eyes
I lay there in the dark of my mind.
I smell the fresh honey sickle,and dew of the morning
I feel sun radiateon as the dim of the blinds ceases to cover me
fingers tingling the bed spread
yet my bones are lead
they might as well dump me out with the decapitated chicken dead
let me rot till the end.
i been whiskey dranking,
another pot of coffees in order after the nurse and the orderly leave
i been drinking so much morpheine i can barely hold down my spit
so I ask my kid brother to roll another one up
let the nicotene do its job.
its always faired better than some dope headed doctor.
lofty weight,hold steady
no breaks
the lake runeth dry taday.
somethin to ease the pain

Monday, November 29, 2010

leaflet shower

zombie nights incorporating coffee and righteous acclimations of process mostly
thought less,in a sense,its a long line of circumvented anger,danger
missplaced trust and wages..a strange way to ring in a new year,
decades later.
trains colliding on tracks,as their stranglehold on debt is essentially maxxed out
visa,american express...foot in mouth.
generational debt for the new consumers.babies are these companies futures.
old lies,even older rumors. Im suprised our leaders arent building mosoleiums filled with gold and toilet paper,
an old school thought process to take their wealth to an after life game show..or this is the thought.. at least until us grave robbers show. decked out in goon attire with hand cannons the size of pluto.
bullets made to decimate a human skull.

no more will I stand,and adequate the rate of pay to my wages.Ive been all about starting a revolution since my first day.out of the womb,covered in fire and charchoal,holding a sign that says imperialisim must drown,or the elites children will end up like lindenbergs son. shit,im vicious,ill admit probally not the ideal poster boy for a counter culture insurgance,but then again werent all revoultionaries criminals? Spend some days in jails,learning and studying the traits of the so called underbelly. They are just like you and I,possibly with a stronger taste for unlike you,they arent afraid of dying. One of the best friends ive ever had in my life was Victor Castro aka "Green Eyes",we spent nights in our jail cell,telling stories devoid of lies,devising plans to hit the inside;the heart and hope of this nation lies in MY generation,in our collective mind. Kids with no paitence,raceless faces,only brains,spines and heart stems inside of us.
Gems of denial,
tired of the boomers buying in. Hippie is just another word for failure,another concentrated effort to do nothing but hang out,and while thats all fine and dandy,it set up greed,consumerisim,and meandering;no child searching for a truth,only for the best way to look. As my brother said it so elgantly "women are intrested in your cell phone,cars and tvs.So get the Iphone like me.Thatll probally get you some pussy." IN response,I sold my possesions,each and every single one of them..except for some clothes and literature I find extremly influentual. To live as a nomad,couch to couch,getting as much brain as a young man should..while drawing up posters and constructing words in prose and poems,collecting knowledge from the youth I call bro's. And all in all,as the world turns, the voices of oppisiton start to explode from the mouths of babes,which if you are a true christan,you'd know to listen to your youth. Young minds have no conception of distorted truth.

Though I lament,and will be the first to admit,that I am of a growing minority.America is a fraternal sorority filled with the bitching spoiled and their rotting the brains of my friends. Seventy hour work weeks,12 hours a day on your feet,and their getting fucked like their great grand parents did,except for that one uncle and that one aunt.Great depression 2.0. I am in the trenches of poverty fighting side by side with annonymys,name less,pissed off kids,who are more afraid to talk than I am. Jumping boxcars from city to city,living as dirty and calm as need be,this is where future children will find their heros. This is what we,as world citizens need: education and the absense of greed.



I have this addiction,it inhibits free thought process.
one track mindid and absent to all logic.
rauncy late night attacks,that leave me crippled clutching my thorax
hyper ventilating into a paper bag until I collapse.
You may ask yourself,
"does this boy need help?","is there anything I can do?"
"how has he been trapped in this hell of nightly pains and solitude?is there a clinic he can be taken to?"
meanwhile,at the emergency room
The doctor walks in to talk to my parents,
who subsequently shoo me out of the room,
he asks a nurse to assist me to an empty waiting booth
with magazines and a boob tube.
They emerge,and Ill never forget
that upset look in my mothers heart,
the dissapointment hanging on my fathers upside down smile.
Im shaking and feel a relapse cultivating
I jet out to the street as they,and the DR. are approaching.
Sprinting,and cutting threw the intersection
wild eyed and running on empty.
I get struck in a hit and run,
clutching my broken arm as I tumble down the road
barely visualizeing the sign as I stumble into a restraunt
I sit down at smashburger and the waitress comes up
"oh honey,are you ok?! do we need to call an ambulance? do you need anything?"
I raise my head in a cocked position
"Ill take your largest cheeseburger,with everything!"
everyone has an addiction.

live long or die if its a gift to you.years of solitude and non degradable food.
meditate.dissapate,and accept the bull whip.striking vocabulary as you twirl words of wisdom infused bullshit.
Either way.
you speak...Its unnerving to listen to you as you sleep..
talks of genocide
dissembowlements done for cheap..
next to nothing even..sheesh
thats one of the reasons this desert eagles my bf4e. why I rest during the day,
and hunt threw twilight
...why I breathe smoke,choke and fight the naysayers who are always right,because were always wrong,
especially I.
watch me,
slowly drawing my portrait in chalk outlines.
underneath the powerlines
telephone lines
littered with ravens and crows,the devils deciples we've been told.
I drudge threw this solitary world,in search of hope
old and new,
young and ancient
the scriptures are encasing the pavement of this so called home and its stagnent
with fear
and loathing.
mindless hoarding,and the fattening of the pigs for a mass consumption party.
Wether it be the lions or the earth feasting.
I wish it would rapture already,
leave all us good sinners a world to have without biblical refrences and twitters or facebooks
no telephones,mcdonalds or horesetracks to boot.
no c-sections.
natural selections,
and groups to morn the passing of youth
to celebrate the ederlys pursit of fullfilment
and laugh as we skip through wooded areas to a gold coast full of
& friends.
to begin again without modern restrictions.
in lamen terms
death to the pigs!

The Many Moons I Shall Visit.

The space age!
our database is filled with caves and mazes,
employess who are really sourcers and mages.
blazed up
for days later,
we found kids who
spent their days in utter hate and gloom!
MF's who seem hellbent to reset our counter culture moves.
the whole chessboards been doomed...
pawns for themselves
it appears,
the elite have formed their own platoon.
and its so clear..
Severed heads,television and radiowaves destroyed the ways we use to think
and now were loosing faith at breakneck speed.
debating,still,over THC and pornography...
it seems weve reached a standstill,or all had labodamys.
poor young girls falling in love with gold and
of never having anything to show or wear.
Disturbed song birds living in the world theyve been shown,never creating THE NEW
while being trambled on by the old.
Mothers and fathers.
sons and daughters.
aunts and uncles all fucking to keep the money in the gene pool...
Young republicans & democrats
fighting in the street,
never realizing each are
human beings.
until their bones break,and seep.
bringing on the creeping of
a demonstrative,crippling defeat
of americanisim in the twentyzzz'z.
its revealed that the white house is nothing more than a pyramid scheme.
a totaliterian regim,with the means to take you out in your sleep,
to defile you in the public chalk it up as another suicide.
Martain Luther King had a dream,and we are right there
I wonder what he saw when he had nightmares?
a never ending war?
the mask of imperialisim sitting at the top of the house procceedings and at the joint cheif of staff meetings...
Its easy to forget history...
to be witless and uneducated.
to never read,
or listen
to common missconceptions,
cultrual egnitions
or those with no one left to talk too.
Rome has fallen,
and at another time GOD was Zeus,
and months before that
western civilization was new
& booming,
as every great time period should.
Where there is a first spark of revolution,
evolution of mind increases tenfold.
I have a gorilla on my back,and his name is the renissance.

thus love

she has my eyes in her blouse
my mouth on prehistoric shut down
shes stunning in any gown
formal wear
I miss the nights of her dug into my ribs while I played with her hair.
freshman year,
so much oxycontin,so little care.
I was the counter culture Rush Limbaugh,with long beautiful hair.
She a posh libertarian without a care.
economics class held not a candle to her stare
I barely passed,but I feel in love
with her smile and being numb,
same with her...we became vessels for the drugs.
If I could reset this game,
id wrap her in a rug and kidnap my love so the world would never see us again.
and we could spend days in traditonal sin
sending letters to our best friends
to let them know were alive
and missing them.

Friday, November 26, 2010


call it hopelessness.
or an overwhelming desire to dance
I used to own the sky,but those nights are no longer mine
as the sun rises,the sweat on my skin dries
fear dies
the wild ride continues into the spiked drinks
those long conversations about life.
I miss being so afraid of time
of God.
Nothing left to loose,
no close family,
no woman to call my own
just the long days spent with a bottle by my side
a desire for a bed to climb in
but who am I?
better than my forefathers in the amount of material items
with less of a knack for survival.
If it was up to me,id spend the rest of my days on an island
fishing and cultivating
painting pictures in the sand only to have my canvass wiped clean by the tide
I see the scam in your eyes,life.
work for flat screen tvs and lambourginis
advance yourself by breaking necks
sleep soundly with a baretta under your head.
my third wild...and open
to the sights of the changing of horizons

that one movie..

paper machete crashes crumbling waves
paradeing threw the playboy mansion i take a glance at hope
the playmate of the century,
who won due to probable cause
and perfect diction.
she passes by constantley
and with beautiful form.
our noses touch the sweet scent of perfume
she turns to me,
I glance up and down across the room
in search of mirrors or tombs,
to check my snaggle tooth
or devise an escape route.
she asks if i detect this scent
I implore her to sit
we explore each others minds,
and nothing more makes sense
pretty,and hopeless,we wait.
the weight of the conversation lingers for days
im lost in the way she thinks
shes lost in the vocabulary I spit explaining her glorious ways

may comes early this year.
birthday parties are wonderful with her.
less talking,
more love
it's good for the heart we've heard.
the red wine spills on the satin sheets
tossing and turning we evaporate the liquid with body heat
she discretly turns to me
please never leave.
I grab my belongings and we never again speak.
I read her obituary this week.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010


In the moment,I am content.
watching the snow fall on these distant man made steeples
turning my head to the tree blanketed peaks
smoking the last rolled cigarette before 2:33
I wallow in hopes and dreams.
It seems the only thing I can think about these days is austin
my homeland.
the only real reason i dont have a tame mouth.
this texas blood courses threw me like battery acid
burning a hole threw my skin to show the muscle undertone.
though not strong,its not weak.
it speaks volumes to the ways I operate.
jumping from one puddle to another
without any desires nor worries.
lake travis needs me,
i need her
I fall asleep in zilker park to some spoken word
awake to the sounds of gun shoots and guitars
some body pours a glass of whiskey
"here" the old man grumbles "drink every last drop."
the bon fire combating with this nintey degree night
makes me light headed as I fight
urges to stay
urges to go
I open my eyes,and colorado is some how home
but I remain weird
and as drunk as the night before.
riding bikes threw campus on way to many pharmecudical drugs.
did i imagine this time?
will I always love her?

Tuesday, November 23, 2010



the wind cries...

I slum threw the shadows of retail
resale your old heart back to you
rest in peice
burn in flames
we came to change ways and labor pains
to new jolts of the brain
the same way we used to use our hearts to melt
the strange that came around for days
if only to see her speak.
those lips so red and tender
her curly brown hair on her slender cheek bones
a classical beauty...a definition of sorts.
her wardrobe was crafted,down to every thread
as elegant and as luxurious as you could imagine.
I met her in eleventh grade,i fell in love shortly after.
we shared bottles of cheap whiskey with our friends who became family
laughing into the moon light
and vomiting into the kitchen sink
we blew smoke rings threw each others teeth
for breif periods of time we outlined a future
now were seperated by distance and winter
all over the eastern seaboard
and in my sleepy mountain town.
thirty inches it rained down over the past hour
as the snow coats the beautiful sounds.

eh? botw? kris colinsworth?

So,I've been on the couch for a while now. Fellas,you know what I mean? I've been watching Always Sunny,and Football Night In America,and I'm wondering,what if I murdered Kris Colinsworth...would any one really care? I mean ok,this sounds a little harsh, I know,I mean the guy was a Cinccinatti Bungle,and he was a white wide reciver,jesus I can barely turn sharpley without worrying about tearing my ACL & MCL in half,t. I mean,ok,the whole knee explosion was a bit much,I understand...I just get worked up some times,ive been trying to cut down but with all this noise ive been dealing with lately I mean,the 6 a.m latino gentlemans club that meets upstairs needs to cool it,my broom handles getting warn out from beating my celing. I hate women,god damnit do I ever,they dont make sense. I mean ive heard the whole diffrent planets theory,but thats fucked if you ask me. NO,it would make sense that sex kicks ass,and that football isnt year round.That Kris Colinsworths slimy fucking face can grace my living room,and Mark Followells fluffy red cheeks are tucked away in secracy in The D to the F to the W. Im so lame,Ive been thinking about cheeseburgers for days now. I want to come up with one that will end world hunger...or some shit...or Adam Richman can eat it. Cheap leather chairs is where my foot happens to be,when a large brown recluse starts to spin its web above me,hes my pet,his name is death. So morbid,but so true. The latest entry to this fucked up paragraph,by none other,than yours truly. What a bafoon,he rools his own cigarettes and eats nothing but cheesy tortillas...bow and arrow vs. racoon...jim beam in the early morning until the late afternoon. Bacon infused. I live for the scenery,the fresh grass under my feet;the mask of sanity you see me in..woops confusing my life with Patrick Bateman. I took on a whole small town police,frank. your confusing your life with John Rambos again.

Newer paragraphs feel good.The old ones done,you never have to look at that poop. Its all dribble,every thing you or I write. Its mostly about drugs or the performing arts..lets write about labodamys! kids screwing doughnuts in the street. Waking up to your lady cumming on your feet. Anything to take the edge off. To swing the sword onto the chopping block.

fuck this

ok so band of the week:




To bite the ear off the literary brain

Old dinosaur bones.

Hlf bottle of rum, please,.
Chummy bottle of stew>


(*The person reading flinches and pursues*)

Strung out from a night of lolly gagging
Shrugging at the pastor


Held up in a saloon by a large breasted whore by the name of lupus

Which is nothing to joke about

Babbles on for years on a death bed
Twisting my pubic hairs and calling me truth
By the loose look in my eye I could relive that moment where I

Again, it was nothing short of a mircale, that within ear shot,
God could hear me
He said nothing of any writing, or homework due at the end of the semester
And thank god, I mean western civilization is soooooo boring.
Buzz saw jaws.
My tongue just scored,
It tastes like tuna and was asked to cuddle afterwards.

What a horrid day

I want to see/slash/smoke the northern lights
But all I’ve found was cold and lonely nights
As bright as they are dark,
In other words a farce!

Silver surfer was my favorite comic hero.
He destroyed worlds until he reached earth
Much in the same way I plan to do
But I play the tape of my doom
So the hippos in the forest will swoon
I use the skull as some sort of toilet.

Monday, November 22, 2010


brains spray all over the pavement.
screams from the fire escape
I dash away
alley ways,water ways,malls,and churches
down on east colfax with a fist full of merchandise
waiting for the putrid youth to spend their parents loot
still understanding im the main supplier on the route
i ask my number two to take a few competetors to the streets
and execute them for all the rats to see.
its like the open sea
just as pirates envited modern democracy
I too,shall chime in the dawning of a new revolution
funded by capitalisim and greed
hatchets and ar-15's
crack cocaine and poppy derivitives
that turn your insides into shivering liquid
no bone mass or a sense of being clean
just the feel of the cement as you sleep
coldly kissing your cheek.
I return to my several million dollar home
tuck the kids in,do some more work before leno
smoke a cigar on the balchony that over looks hog back pass
laugh as I rember ponchas pilot whiping his hands clean
the holy roman empire has nothing on we
uncle sams royal fraternity.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

the antlers i have grown

Its been a repative uproar of emotional support,exploring the worlds I had extorted for lust.
old breath on a young lovers lips,speak sweetly she asks.
I turn my torso on this chariot covered in war awards
the golden trim reflecting its majesty to the grin of the blood thirsty crowd.
crows picking at the bones of those who we had once known
on the street,or in the valley as foes.
tucked in the cathedral I sat with my father as we spoke of reverlry on dance
lost in our own world as the vents giggled with laughter
the creeks of the old wooden floor
hid secrets we dare not question.
as a child again,I climbed to the tops of the rafters
dropping rose peddals on to the pews and offering plates
hoping some good graces would come my way.
I awoke a half a day later with the weight of the world on my fingers
taking clay,I shaped and molded it to the lips of my lover
and tucked it inside of my coat pocket.
shes my guardian angel,
much like nick cage in that shitty meg ryan film
she makes me feel whole,and not so insecure
I never kiss the clay lips,but let them whisper
teaching me to step back from the ledge a little bit
of sanity or what ever im staring down at.
the tidal waves crush threw the tiny mountain city,
all is lost
even pity.

Thursday, November 18, 2010


i looked up the girl i was in love with in fourth grades facebook page. I dodged a bullet on that one. I cant help but be melancholy,strained by the light from the sun,inhaling the last bit of tobacco into these rapidly aging lungs. I forget the hardships and move on..sort of. I lost her,I lost us rather,and now all these old love notes are tattered and shoved in a back pack on the floor,strewn amongst my legal portfolio. Why do my friends keep dying? No marriages to attened,only funeral percessions in the dark afternoon.rain is confession weather;I lower my head and except my doom,to die alone,as all the others do. I fuck amongst the headstones in hopes to fell alive;no more substances,just good old fashioned desires.her last note says she hopes to meet me again,maybe in another state,under diffrent circumstances...but I know by that time she'll be married with a beautiful family,and Ill be waiting in that city we both knew Id be in.lost in the market,hoping to steal a glance from some young and wild prize for the night;no life in my eyes...just deep sad and winding spirals. No warmth on these bones,every now and again struck by methadone shivers...or raw nerve endings from the years of decaying my liver...all i want is a hand to hold... asoul to share...a beautiful home...but its not the life i chose,so i march on.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


At times i miss her,so unbearable it hurts.
i feel like a fledgling duck,trying to find his way out of the shell
but to no avail.
Ive failed in love,like I have in life.
nothing to show but a few scribbled poems and music i made a while ago
no more friends,she was the last one.
her name speaks volume to my torn down soul
so unimaginably intoxicated by each others presence
then a year later,its gone with little to no explination
from either of us.
its not right? you know? if you love somthing let it go...i guess
i see my future as an angry sad old man
no wives
no children
no laughter
working until i have everything,with out a single thing of worth
alone on a rooftop downing gin and inhaling my marlboro
ill pray our sun supernovas

Monday, November 15, 2010


Being the first & last of the electronical/manual age,I strive to understand what my peers are thinking;though I realize,nothing. Perscription drugs will be the end of me. Rap music is the end of us,but not because of the good artists,no the underground cats got it,its those street level corporate thugs who really get under my skin. What Is music now? Where is life…how do I take three hits of acid and rearrange my life over night? Manage to wrap your head around the good parts of drugs,if you can,the healing that can take process,the confidence that can be gained,the pain that can be hidden until your screaming stops in sleep,these things happen;as does death. My heart beats,but in a different rhythm then before,a war drum,as my eyes open to splats of sunrise. I awake in one of the most progressive citys in the country,yet I cant help but think how sickning it is that people have all these dreams and aspirations,when its misguided and,essentially, a cash cow,and then the people whos heart is in it cant do shit. Is it apathy, Or the unwillingness to break necks to get ahead. Sometimes friend,I feel like a prophet,other times I wake up in a toilet with an empty bottle of whiskey and a yellow substance dripping from my nose ( Qualude ( Vicodin) 25 mg) now this isn’t an attractive position in any sense,but ive got that creepy smile stretching across my face,the sound and heat of the shower cool down my shivering body,these are the nights where we become pain. No great wars,only unjust ones. No classic writers but palinuck. No good musical artists,in the sense that we evolve with them,its only fads and boy bands. A one world government all controlled by a few white men (including the morgans & rocafellars) and here I am on my bathroom floor,half dead from all the pills in my skull,and im the enemy. The deginirate who cried for help until his eyes went dry and then realized he had a drug problem and smiled,as he threw up again in the ceramic rim.
On drugs,you forget to eat;not that it’s a bad thing,ladies. I had so many teachers who were helpless to the texas drug culture,or just didn’t fully grasp it. Xanyx bars and Loraltabs flowed as rivers threw my bloodstream and halls as we took shots of tequila in aquatic science,right before we smoked a bowl out in the parking area;they tried,but we were to smooth. I use to walk threw the halls and hear it all,I saw a kid throw up off methadone,the fucker was green,we all knew it was coming. Opiates are fucking gnarley,heroin is a trip,I exploded on my friend for doing it,a year before I did,and black tar at this,but like it mattered I had done the prescriptions that help you come off of it,and had withdrawls from those,so I knew I had to have a limit and walk home,threw the florescent hallroom of this musem of weirdos, cheers from the mountains,im glad its not home. Same problems,different ones. I just broke up with my girlfriend because we were both fucked up,she was more of a recovering drunk;it’s a culture of enablers,so do drugs. Underpopulate the planet,fuck for no reason at all,smoke weed on your porch,quit paying your taxes and grow up,were being royaly fucked. Now I hate to admit that ive smoked a few cigarettes in my life,I use to roll my own or smoke cigars,but now im running low on funds,and the realizations are coming true. Since the mid 80’s phillip morris has owned the rights to names of strands and slang terms for marijuana and devices used to smoke,which brings up the question why isn’t it legal? Well once it was realized that weed is more potenent effective and safer for the generally retared population,the percentages of drinkers and cigarette smokers will dramatically fall,maybe almost to extinction. The owner of anhiseur busch? Johnny mccains wife, the ex presidential canidate. Now these things could mean nothing or the pure fact that im on trazadone could have an effect,but im not sure,I think its time for investigations:

Being legit for a second :

The illegality of drugs, or the legalization of the aforementioned is not the reason our nation needs to be up in arms; but it’s a systematic abuse of our own citizens. Since the beginning of societies, people have used what they could find on earth to help them in their everyday lives. Some of these plants were seen as either gift from the earth or from Gods to enrich their lives. The Native Americans used peyote in the ritual of bringing a boy to man hood, and cannabis for medicinal purposes. The ancient Babylonians and Egyptians had their poppy flowers, from which our modern day pharmaceutical opiates, and illegal street drugs derive. In a way drugs have helped shape our societies through medicinal and creative standpoints, and shown the grim realities of the small percentage who become dependent. Without these pharmaceuticals the amount of pain we would have to endur, for now simple procedures, would be immense and would be so overwhelming the pain could kill, and without the illegal side effects modern literature and music could be vastly affected, a retardation if you will. Imagine if Sir.Aruthur Conan Doyle had been sober during his publishing for Sherlock Holmes, the character would undoubtedly be watered down and not have as many dark characteristics, if Sir Doyle had never “rode the dragon.” What if Jim Hendrix had never died, and instead of being revered as one of the best guitarists of all time, he was merely a flash in the pan, what would our music sound like, what would our culture be? Drugs have shaped so many minds; ether for the good or the bad, the change is there. Don’t let the reagens tell you drugs are addictive either, there are certain aspects of every human that react differently to a substance, ether that be fast food, coffee, cigarettes or crystal meth, it’s a person by person case. In a study done in 1992, 37 % of Americans admitted to using a scheduled drug (there are 5 schedules ranging from the mild psychoactive stimulant of the Amazon, the yage tree to heroin and PCP), 6.3 % admitted to it in the last month (Zuckerman, National institute on drug abuse research, 1998: us Department of Health and Human Services, September 21st, 2009). This is a staggering fact when you consider all these people had participated in these drugs, and didn’t turn to a life of violence and crime, or a struggle with addiction. A study done in 1998, by David E. Zuckerman and by the U.S. department of health and services, claims that a drug centered vision originates from certain experiences with particular individuals. This can affect the response in a pathological way, associating a friendship, for example, with the feeling of the drug. The comroderey and sensation seeking is nothing out of the normal realm for humans. Any actions can create addictions, which in turn disrupt the normal flow of the human psyche. If you feel the need to drink coffee every day, you put your self in a mind set that you cannot do anything until you get that first cup. This shows an addictive response to any substance that enhances any of your senses. This classifies drug addiction as a toxic disease, not a crime and comparable to a non-chemical thrill addiction such as skydiving.
The first real drug law in America came in the early 1900’s(A law was passed in the most southern part of Texas, making the use of cannabis illegal.) In reality, this was a way to control the migrant Mexican farm workers, claiming that the plant caused violent tendencies and such a sexual deviancy, that the urge couldn’t be ignored. One Harry J. Anslinger, the godfather of the modern day drug policies, claimed the same effects. In the mid 1920’s he pressed scare tactics on the American public, through television and newspapers and film. He told horror stories of hallucinations and murder, all because of this simple plant. Though weed was a punishable crime, other drugs were still used in medicines and given without prescriptions to any person who needed it, leading to extreme abuse of Heroin and morphine among vagrants, young mothers and even prominent figures of the time. Over the years more and more drugs were developed by pharmaceutical companies and scientists, including Albert Hoffman’s 1940 discovery of LSD and an early sixties lab team developed MdMA (the main component of ecstasy) which were both tested by our government in the mid sixties to see if there were any mind controlling additives or way to use in debriefing captured spies, these were shown to have no effects like that, and the tests were disbanded. And the real problem began for out government when Ken Kasey and his band of merry pranksters hit the road from the haight-ashbury district of san Francisco in 1963 to spread LSD over the united states, and timothy Leary addressed young people and encouraged them to “turn on, tune in, and drop out.” Creating a cultural phenomenon known as the hippy revolution, which off put by the death of a young president who was pioneer on all fronts, and his successor, who had sent most of their kin & friends to die for a cause that is still unclear, changed the world for a few years, with peace and love.
Though Richard Nixon didn’t pioneer the drug laws, he put his stamp on it, and laid the basis for the pillars of today’s laws. Seeing the counter cultures effect on America, accompanied with the civil rights and feminist movements, an answer had to be created, and an enemy needs to be created to turn the public eye. So to divert Americas attention from the charade of veitnam, and to cool down the tension from all genders and races riots and protests, Nixon decided to scare the country into believing that, drugs were the roots of all these problems. Though in early January of 1971,Nixon had signed an act comparing drug abuse to a sickness, and that it should be treated as a mental illness. In June of that very year he vowed to wage an all out offensive on drugs, to which he admits that it has been a longstanding problem, but the time is right to attack (The Speechs: President Nixon’s second term, U.S..publishing press, 1975.September 15th, 2009). To support this war, he gave an address to the public, which struck fear into the heart of god-fearing America. “Narcotics users do not ordinarily hold jobs. Instead they often turn to mugging and armed robbery…if we cannot destroy the drug menace, it will destroy us.” With the country now afraid of drug crazed lunatics, the laws became easier to manipulate and the establishment began importing, selling and enforcing the laws against the drugs. Heroin was imported from Vietnam were smuggled in with the dead bodies of American soldiers to bases all over the United States. Though at first this was simply done by some renegades in the armed forces, once intercepted and the realization of the amount of money these people were bringing in, the government cooked up a fake war on drugs to cover up their own importation. The figureheads in Washington since have carried on the tradition.
In 1982 Ronald Reagan’s administration sold weapons to militant Iranian guerillas in exchange for the release of prisoners in Nicaragua. "Officials from (DEA), Customs Service, (FBI) and Costa Rica's Public Security Ministry, as well as rebels and Americans who work with them." Five American Contra supporters who worked with the rebels confirmed the charges, noting that "two Cuban-Americans used armed rebel troops to guard cocaine at clandestine airfields in northern Costa Rica; in essence our government turned a blind eye to huge amounts of the cocaine plant being imported to our shores. With this they started selling to the inner cities gang lords on the western seaboard. Government officials even helped show the gangs how to cook and process the cocaine to make it more abundant, and more addictive. Through this a substance called crack cocaine was born. (James McCullough, Http//www. Central Intelligence, hyper link “Iranian contra affair.” April 14th 2007. September 26,2009) During our governments time in Vietnam heroin was the most available street drug in America, and when we pulled out and in the mid seventies and began sticking our nose in South American politic, not for all nessiciarily bad reasons, the availability of cocaine increased by leaps and bounds. This trend is relevance because since the invasion of Afghanistan began in 2002 the amount of heroin being “smuggled” into the country has been steadily increasing, leading one to believe our government is after the main cash crop of the country, the poppy. In a sit down conversation with a narcotics officer in the 6th division of the Littleton P.D., narcotics unit, a lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army, who for even these purposes, asked to be referred to as “Shawn” conveyed to me that: “ Every week three of our nations army carriers bring in 23 kilos of heroin per ship. One kilo is for the officials and those who are involved to use or sell for their own personal use, while the other 22 are “confiscated” by out government.” So with the main supplier being the main enforcer, the monopoly ensues. So the government sells to a main, untouchable dealer, who then dives up his supplies and spreads them equally to his dealers, who sell to the masses. Some of the smaller dealers will get busted for a felony, putting them away with high bonds, and in federal prisons. Most of the users will be picked off of the streets and thrown into an overcrowded state prison in which they will be forced to make license plates, clean trash or direct your calls, all while still having to pay fines. The smaller dealers will eventually get out, but with a felony on your record its damn near impossible to get a job, so they turn back to the life of selling narcotics. The addicts who are truly sick and need rehabilitation for their substance addiction are trusted back onto the streets with no therapy or treatment besides going cold turkey for however long they were in there. Though they possibly have good intentions when they get out, most junkies return to their former ways, which gets them rearrested to serve more time in a slave camp. The only benefactors is the government whose getting cheap work done for the state, and keeping the real consumers as they want them, addicted.

The simple way to combat all this would be to take a page from the Netherlands and legalize most and decriminalize everything, cut down on prisons; and open up free clinics for addicts who are in it in a bad way. With the complete cultural disconnect from us and our leaders there’s a very slim chance we’ll get anything done; the lobbyists of Phillip Morris and Anehuser bush, have together 36 members of congress under their donation roll (in 07-09 annehuser Busch and Phillip Morris gave over 8 million dollars to the government to keep their businesses in a stranglehold (Sheila Krumholz,”anheiserbusch/phillip mooris ‘open”, July 8th, 2008.web. Nov. 13th, 2009). These two companies create the two most addictive substances that are legal in the United States today. 29% of Americans in the United States admit to smoking cigarettes everyday, which is 11% less than the amount of all Americans who have actually tried drugs (Zuckerman, 62,Vital & health statistics, smoking other use of tobacco, U.S. department of health and human services, April 1993. September 15th, 2009). Smokers are less likely to eat and the most probable people to get cancer (Vital & health statistics, 2). (Vital & health statistics, smoking other use of tobacco, 2002,U.S. department of health and human services), which makes are society weaker as a whole. Where as medicinal marijuana has peen prescribed in the treatment of chemotherapy and has helped patients going threw radiation actually regain their appetite. Alcohols main ingredients, hopps, are actually derived from the same genius species of plants that cannabis (Leonard P. Perry, Hopps, wikipedia page, university of Vermont extension system study, 2008.sept. 28th 2009) is; and weed has no tar or nicotine, which is generally where the addictive nature comes in for cigarettes, and there fore makes it a less profitable commodity.
To make a complete case for drugs, the realization and dangers must be assessed. As previously stated, anything can have an addictive nature. Though cannabis is a safer choice to cigarettes and alchohaul, it can make one dependant on the feeling, depressed when unobtainable, lazy and comfortable in any situation. Lsd has only proven side effects on extreme usage. The way the chemical works is it seeps into your spinal column creating a clot which travels up to your primitive brain where it bursts and creates the psychoactive qualities. Too much of this can permanently damage your brain; cause you to hallucinate even off of the drug. Psychopsyliciban (mushrooms), at its root, is poison to the human body and reacts similar to food poisoning. Making it less dangerous of a drug, but rather uncomfortable all in all. Along with these few examples of side effects are the ramifications socially and economically, of drug abuse. The alienation of friends, family; the relationships built solely on drugs, which is never healthy. Drugs change you forever, your perception, your thoughs, feelings, everything, and that’s not necessarily good. Horror stories of people on lsd committing homicides, getting high and in a fatal accedent, feinds robbing houses for crack cocaine and heroin. These are real and these are side effects of a drug culture, but the whole fact is that without drugs these things happen, it’s just easier to put blame on something so demonstrative by society.
If drugs were kept illegal a and the main lobbyists for these companies keep shoveling in money, then why would the government ever stop this? It is human nature for someone to want to bend the rules, and with the legalization of drugs, the thrill component is completely lost if you can buy it at wal-greens. So you keep the cycle of hard working lower income dealers and addicts revolving threw the system; vices are replaced with legal substances until the court order is threw, and then it’s a ticking clock until the next time your caught. This is the structure of one of the most ingenious and quiet ways to completely control a society with no one knowing, and it works. It works so well that blue collar families still all out support the war on drugs even if their not to sure how drugs effect everyone, even if the re are medicinal uses, they’ve been ingrained with so many heartbreaking stories of drug abuse and tension that they shut down when its mentioned.

This is why I refer to this loveable bunch,known as Americans,as general retards. Their choice was not to be,but with the 38th ranked education in the world,in the most industrialized,where the news is on 24 hours a day and talks more about Jennifer Anniston then blowing up the levees in 2006 when Katrina hit New Orleans,or Geraldo riveras on assignement in haitit making a ruckus that there calling off the search survivoirs after a natural disater of a decimated island,already so poor, that once the initial shock of what happened sets in the looting to survive starts,survival of the fitteset,cliché/truth. This is what happens everywhere,except the middle east,bless their hearts their used to it. Its sickening that yes the killing of many profiteers the greed of a few,but that so many buy into it. They vote,take sides,argue. Drive threw Kansas,the only thing youll see is anti abortion & bob dole signs;and that’s the painted picture to the whole mid west. Texas is so far advanced but so back assward they blow smoke up their own ass.

Now this isn’t a cry for help,this whole drugumentry threw words,this a gorilla that’s been on my back and its name is the renissance. Fuck what you think,its all wrong. Fuck what I think,im right there with you,but the facts are here,I simply am a vessel, ha your modern day jesus without the whole dad being god thing,though my father was a catholic preist,dwell on things.

REDUNDENCE,things are cliché these days,but that’s because a lot of things have been made,true renissance is the bend on common things. Structures larger than ever before,words constructed in manners so that people confuse simple verbs, re look and realize its reality,the things we do are earthshaking,think. My beautiful girlfriend paints fear in such a manner ive never seen,but its all apart of this new scene,but fuck scenes because they have no sense, their all fads,results of snapped necks;but I have a brain stem and its connected to a multi proccesser that would shut off your central proccessing system. I pushed her away,but not without thinking,its because I loved her more than anything. From a child I studied the words of mr spock,but it wasn’t till I was high that I truly heard them;logic,the keyword. Thinking in this lifestyle,being selfless and having thoughts creates energy between hearts; and this is all I preach,so simple,yet so unique; logic. But most people are greedy,padiwans,so we must confuse them.use the system against the man. Controlled anarchy,bells of project mayhem,shiiiiittttt.. if nessicary we could build up a curriculum,movies books simple things,words creates stimuli. Song birds bring me awake. The sun peaking threw the blind,the Denver skyline behind,why the hell am I alive,all the percasets and shots last night,but yet I strive,words pour threw fingertips arms shake and ramble,I privately stammer to my friend mel that im losing it,help me(!).

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Band Of The Week: bitch.

Now,if your in the know,this is a no brainer for you. That is of course...if your knowing the know? Ya heard? God,I'am annoyed writing this,I only imagine how you feel. Regardless,LEFTOVER CRACK is my favorite punk band. Please check them more writing for the day! Im burned out

I love you

I had a cheeseburger earlier was ok...not as good as my grilled cheese with bacon samich.

Longsome roams

Chapter one: The hotel

Im in this mad state of constant mental and physical turmoil. Im walking back and forth between my bed and the hotel room tv with the bible in my hand,Ive urinated a little in my underware(not the bad kind fellas,the watergun squirt) Im reading something in the new testament,the tvs telling me to buy this titanium product,im thinking god said other wise,the beds cofused;the whole settings a joke. I sit down, rub my head,masturbate to the Spanish channel,and get back to reading the scripture. I walk now from the bed to the bathroom sink,where I had spit blood earlier;not to sure why,but the stained ceramic sink said a different story. I need a place to sit,this is what im thinking. I open the sewage dump,remove my pants sit down,and continue reading the bible,only this time on the toilet,and listening to the sound of the fan.I wouldent have turned on the god damn thing,because in actuality Im not shitting (though my pants are down for comfort,and for a force of some galactic habit) but the circuit is cross fuzed with the light,in other words im fucked beyond recognition by this infernal humming and this now boiling feeling that is arising from my stomach (my brain has been triggered to shit by the lowering of pants and the sitting of the toilet,but since there is nothing but drugs(pharmeducicals at first,possibly the some harder stuff) the acids are just boiling) creating a unique and terrifying situation that could’ve all been avoided if I had,when you break it all down,agreed to go to a movie about “love” with my soon to be ex-wife. Shes a stickler for stupid woman shit like that and Im a stickler for booze and watching events that are televised and more about competetion and a love for something so loveable as a game,where as a movie about a relationship is much like what I am having to deal with on a day to day,that is not 2 hours long,and does not envolve popcorn on a consistent basis. Now,however,Im sitting on a toilet reading a bible with a chorus of Spanish speaking,big breasted,dancing women while conjuring up the shit off all hells,but being the most pissed off over a fan noise.Fuck! why the hell wasn’t I the son of god. Why couldent I have died at 33 and had a friend with benefits and twelve bros who I could constantly get drunk with and travel the fertile crescent.Fuck,I say! I put on my pants(knowing this isn’t the last ive heard from my bowels) wash my hands,and head back towards the bed. The most disappointing thing about the week,now,is that theres no quarter slot to make the bed rumble. The Spanish channel is still yelling wildly at me,so I reach for the remote to turn it down.As I do the young couple next door ( I met them down in the lobby,Obviously high school students who needed a place to fuck;Strange enough their room was next to a man who obviously needed a place to masturbate,and not shit) are laughing,no doubt caressing each other. If hes a real man hes got sports center on in the back as he half ass looks at her while she talks about the future. And if hes a smart kid he will nod and forget about this girl when he wakes up,after he fucks her of course. And he wont end up the 39 year old man laying on the bed, hoping the young stud fucking the girl he just masturbated thinking about ,is watching espn in the room next door.
” This is the sad some of affairs when you play your life close to the chest” the man says as he lifts his arm and remains on the bed “you..” a knocking on the wall signals an end to the heart felt speech,Espn is tuned up,the humping commences. The man obvious feeling of akwardness leads him out the door,into the brisk san Francisco night,the moon warms up his legs as he stroles.Prawns approach him from shadows to see if he’d take a hit.He politetly waves “no,not tonight,old friend.” Smile perched smug as the light dim. He sees more lovers glide past,their strideslong and rewarded by a pot of gold.his steps trimid,his eyes forewarn.The boys and girls glitter shimmers less as he elipses,the air draws tighter,more tense;these moods give way,he crave for the hits. The hunger,now steadfast begs for attention,if not for love than replace with addiction;So it is,his money enlists him in satans army,a life of enrichment.He stares wildly down dark ally ways for fixes,his mood black his morals insensitive to the way his lover feels back home,awaiting his return,pissed off though,that she hasent seen that film about a man and his soon to be mrs.
“go with your girlfriends” he begged
She just turns her attention.he’ll never understand her addiction,her needs and convictions.He just stroles relentlessly,in that san Francisco mist,awaiting the arrival of a chemical mistress.

I’am approached by what seems to be a human.Toothless and a smell of wretched putrid toxic industrial waste;but a classic black flag tee on. His one dread lock is an obvious sign of poor hygenine;but brings the look all together with some classic converse weapons;the magic bird kind. He asks whats my prefrence:I question his on him.We chuckle and his intrest is peaked when I explain my virginity. He gets wild with excitement and leads me over to the docks,where Raisin and Spock are;they have the best dope in town,he explains,they can really fix me up. He rambles on the entire walk,as most homeless do,glowing warm off the company of a person whom they once were or wish to be. He leads me down some stairs,past the light of the outside,deep into the steam rooms where he explains: “it’s the safest to hide.” We meet his companions and take a few minutes to let the work be finished,and then we commence in this earth shaking ritual. The needle is not dirty,I saw it removed from its pack,the feeling is unworldly and I could compare it to the impact of a preacher when he feels god call him to work in holy disciple ship,in a covenanet of truth. I am god,watch me dance. Rasin gets a kick out of it. We blast threw as much as they think I can muster;for this moment they are my best friends,my ex-fiancee-the men who I covet more than life.

The meeting ends and out heros part ways into the moonlight,their eyes perched on a greater prize,an awakening of some third eye;the blast of holy water from the depth of the river of knowledge’s stream;and the feeling rides threw the night,alone,different than the other feelings felt before;his feet wander back to the hotel;back to the humping sophomores and espn. Back to the masturbation and cold heart of scorn,lovers blacked out by dawns morning,the sun wakes up the unloved and brings him back to the door of righteousness;self-worth.The army couldent hold back this space monkey,shaved for lack of a better purpose.Awoken.

I hit the market,early morning,the old women pass by,disheartened by the look of desperation in these eyes.slumped shoulders,hints of denial;high still from my conversations with rasin. The plums call my name as my strole draws me deeper to the fish markets across from the catholic steeple;brilliant how life moves,so effortlessly and without question;beautiful how the morning hums the wims of the good hearted. If I myself had a memoir,id name it “the question”;the passion for living has far passed my syntax,and all the while as my vessels open and close,I see the symphony of time as children flow past me;hands grasped tight,to one of the two humans who mean the most in their life. I forgot this along time ago,I miss my mother,father,my instant instinct is to call home,but ashamed I float, past mothers and fathers of old,ones whos children come visit every Sunday to become closer to the ones who breathed to them threw their lungs;and my thoughts are hung. Hung by the shoreline I know is inches away,ones where I could visit to see no other day;ones where I could rest,an intresting concept to the American male. I have nothing but volumes to speak,and I can never be heard. Listless emotions as the early morning crowd yields lovers as well,planning a romantic afternoon,3 home cooked meals,coffee,wine,cigarettes and weed.I need some more of those good feelings,the ones I can understand.

The market is a memory as our comrad makes his way to the docks,hunting for the shady lot who made his dreams a lockdown of the central nervous system,a simple syndrome,addiction,the light fades to grey.

Rasin ties me up,he says:

“I know its your second time,but man learn to do it your self…”,the day is more raw than when my journey first began. The characters seem more distant in the light. Rasin is a small man,black hair,deep eyes. His skin tormented by the sun,his smell fragrenced by the train tracks he sat upon to get back to “home”,or what he called it,the steam room on the lower east side. His hands shook when he mumbled the words that always seemed wrong. His manner was tough;his scentences were vicious,his mind wandered threw glorious trenches of health and well being that he paid no mind too,and boy did I envy him. His nickname,his scarfs,the way the cigarette dangled so gently.The bottle of scotch which lay next to him empty.Oh,if I had an x-ray I wonder what stories it’d hold. Spock on the other hand was more quiet than most. His long grey beard ,dark rimmed glasses,hair trimmed and combed to mask the burn marks on his left forehead,he never said what had happened. His army jacket was pale,it held metals and holes. Their conversations ran like bulls,stories a plenty,intresting fellows.We meditated for hours on soiled comforters,I listened,the bums howling about the dogs. This is no time for revolution,they barked,it’s the dawning of the end.And with all that, I felt the urge to call them kindred spirts,who like I,knew nothing of a real home.Not one with attentive parents always on call,I learned patience instead;insensitivitys,narccisim,and patriotisim;from which I still bleed constantly from.

Chapter two: triga-minority

My wifes marriage and I had begun in a flower shop down by the warfs,where the street performers were known to collect. We had been both reached for candy apples when a gentlemen in the back collapsed on the ground.Without hesitation each of us rushed to a bend to pick his useless body,panting frantic,idiotic questions: “ are you ok?” can you stand? His gargles,useless: I who held him in my arms let him down to my side,his hands twitching violently,as were his legs;the sounds echoing the early morning market. I turned my head as much as I could reciting gibrish I had seen on situations like this on television,hoping some one would take charge.She,fearfully,remained stunned with care painted all over her tortured face.that instance started a reaction,a love based nothing in truth. My programmed yells triggered some memory of,coinsidently,the same chanted scentence in a drama she had seen on CBS the previous week. For years she viewed me as a gladiator who had all the powers of ceaser;the mind of plato,the man of her daydreams.I worked as a marketing specialist,I explained cooley,for a major insurance company,and had coined a couple of smash commercials. I enjoyed her over bareing flattery and the force feeding of my ego,confidence,and business dick. From these aquesitions I received job promotions,with huge net salaries,and cds that could make an Exxon executive blush. I watched my wealth pile into mountains of invaluiable objects and personal whatevere-eres. My wife took the responsibility of spending my useless tender,I didn’t care what she gave me as long as the next day it made it hard to remember. We weren’t not in love,we just kinda lived together & fucked;not that it was bad or anything,it just was. The sun over head truly cut threw my skin to reveal the truth of my youth,the fact that I didn’t love her,and she didn’t love me,we were just apart of a great reinactment of everything we had ever heard or seen,a beautiful story,a beautiful wedding,and from the looks of it a quiet divorce. I sat with rasin in that old steam room and talked with him for hours about everything,sadly it was one of my first indications of what this drug could do to me.Regardless of ephianys I pushed out to theat lucid sea,every hour on the clock at the minute of three. “three” rasin chuckled “is the exact time to do it man…theres…” while speaking he had somehow managed to do all the things nessicary to fill his veins,and from this the drool came. He fell back wards,and in obvious pain,murmered something like this: “were you ever married man?” I shrugged and continued to tighten the band around my arm “once I half heartedly blurted out.” Rasin shuffles “I use to be married to the most beautiful asian woman you could ever meet.I took her for granted ,man. She used to clean up after me,and after work we’d drink cocktails and watch primetime tv.That was the 70s man, a better time.” I laughed and shook my head,filled & released the syringe. “You should find your lady or man because everyones got a true love.Mine use to be Nao,now it’s the junk,and I wish every fucking day I hadent have been so wrong.”
Euphoria ensues and I heed nothing.
“im about to die man,I feel that paralysis you know…that decay.” I shrugged and made up some excuse to go,all this talk was making me ancy,so I made up something about some fest down in lodo. He brushed me aside and turned to his,I took it as a cue to pick myself out of this skid,and get boiled alive by the sun outside when it hits.

The steam room is emptied when the men employed by the city find a deceased homeless man. New cameras and security features create it impossible to breach the walls,or the halls where rasin had been. The local junkies,whom of now have no place to commute,do only what is right and disperse. A memorial for rasin is held at golden gate park. The community of foul smelling vultures scrounged up enough scrill to buy his ashes.Nao was not in attendence.

I was very off put by rasisns death,and the flood of rats who left the city;my rats. I had asked a couple where they were headed. “Kansas” one said “Nebraska.” Another laughed. I had my eyes set on texas,if for nothing,just the sheer size and and the dress code of cowboy boots and thigh cannons had me so enticed that I bagged my pack and hoped the box train towards the south and then transferred east,smoking rolled cigarettes laced with embaulming fluid.

And start east.

Sunday, November 7, 2010


I never loved anyone from what Ive been told.
I have these beautiful features but no soul
the son of a preacher should be playing with his deck full
but I take mind vacations by the bottle load.
Im rattled and infuriated
a place where no man should be.
contemplating homocide on the next person I see
ploting to make billions of dollars so I can burn it on live tv
and while every one is crying and making a scene
I will return to my cabain in the foothills of the smokeys
and sharpen my ol hatchet with these teeth.
fuck sleep,bring on the dreams
cover these children with broken glass and reveal to the masses your sado macicisim tendancies
then never speak to me again
never think of me again
and for that matter,pucker your lips and kiss the bear trap,honey.
your assanine thoughts can never be verbalised as you would like them to
I wish I was a normal man,oh in the monrings I beg.
I wish I was a nicer man,in the night I pray.
but during the day time,I am who they said I am
therefore I shall never love again.

Friday, November 5, 2010


One of my favorite people...I met Blossom a few years ago at our work,she's dabbling in the realm I do. The shirts she made back in Austin made me evaluate myself,and her style just screams badass. Besides being a lovely shirt designer,her hats (those ski hats that cover your head,you know the ones) keep your brain warm and your heart on fire when you see them.


Totally BUNKED on the BOTW

I havent had a GOOD cheeseburger since the first cheeseburger of the month post,so if your wondering...suck it!

Well fuck,its friday. Im shitting like a horse and havent had a decent idea in about 5 years. Strange too as five years ago this very minute was the last time I listened to this band. Stranger even more that none of my contemperarys know about them or the beautiful music they created..for about two years. Oh flash back kids,eight grade...acne and wanting to fuck anything with tits. My man paul tried to get girls by throwing money under their chairs in class,now the only way I see some friends get ass is by whipping out their wallet. Jesus,how times change. Morality goes out the window when your spend a couple years drunk then...well...this is all a lead way,i guess...into KUT U UP. look em up on you tube...or better yet buy riding in vans with boys...if you like green day and blink,its "their" DVD,but K.U.P (haha) is where the fuck its at..fuck spelling


I feel as though I need to write this:

Hello,classy world..I am the Lush known as,William S. Bonnie. For years we have had nothing but drugs and sociopaths carefully craft the world we inhabit. I spend time with my peers,listening to how they wish they were born in the fourties,if only to be around in the days of haight & ashbury. I sip my fine canadian whiskey at eleven in the morning and wonder,where did we go wrong? How could you want to inhabit a time line thats already been laid out,or better yet,why would you? I understand respecting a previous generation for bestowing knowledgde and changing times...but what will the children of our children do? Lost in a heroless decade it seems we've been; Churning threw the muck and improvement of sin,while blurring the line between hero and villian all in attempts of improving your status amongst mere motal men. We need change..not imperalistic hand offs to predacessors,or large government spending. We need co-ops and friendship. Art collectives and all night musical jams. We need love,hatred and improvement. If I were to write a book about my life,then wouldent I just fall victim to narcicissim? Though if I were to scribble down the life of a collection of not only artists,but friends...then wouldent that be somthing for futrue generations to sink their teeth in? Creating movement out of nothing to change how we've been living. Its incredible how fast us humans forget,forgive,fuck and throwdon. Change is only real when theres blood on the ground...but not from an enemy..oh no,your own mouth. Im Sick Of Em',these literary journals with publishers who are so self serving they forget about literature. These politicians who would snap the necks of their own children to get a few more dollars and cents. These "celebrities" who are as lush as I am,with more money and even more $td'$. These million dollar athletes who beileive their reincarnates of some holy entity and to these latch on wanna be's who still dress like its the sixties...oh I'd tourch you all if it was up to me,but my faith in human kind has made me so weak. The impact of an assasination can hold true for generations,but the actual act of a movement,it gives hope that theirs still some good in the collective unconcience. As a of a few years ago I was heart set on a political goal,asspirations of seante or house,maybe even having my office in an oval. I've grown up,and realized that real men and women dont need traditonal power to shape and mold the things that theyve watched be washed over (our civil liberites,the teachings of art and music in schools) they just need a set of razor sharp teeth and an ability to keep pushing on,even if the auroma of their comrads deaths hang heavy in the air. Will you join me brothers and sisters in TRUE change? No seperation of people by religon,sex,gender or race? For,I fear if we do not do anything soon..then their will not be a world to love and give back to. Wasn't every revolutionary a criminal at some point in time?

Thursday, November 4, 2010


I got all dressed up today to smoke a cigarette.
theres no food in the cubbard.
Im thinking about buying a goat,but according to fucking mark,there more then 50 bones.
Strange as these days turn into things I neglect and let seemingly fade
I pull on the increasing hairs on my chin
feel the hours pass by and grin
so smug it is to bask in sin.
Lending an ear and some elbow grease dosent cut it anymore,
you got to eat their pussy...dig in deep to this orophous
grant wishes,tell stories
though you still might have dreams that point to a history of drug abuse,
long nights of leaking battery acid out over a bathtub
huffing glue.
shit to get high,at some point it really dosent matter any more.
but did it ever..
knowing statistics in every sport,
or directors and starlits in films.
know the diffrence between deathmetal and math metal,
headband and blue dream.
its all diffred reality,theres nothing in there to keep the bears from eating your life.
I used to be ripe with anticipation,now im just stocked full of ammuniton.
my lover was raped tonight..
all i could do was stare.

Monday, November 1, 2010

five minute stranger

Ive got those dean morailty sweats...veins pumping battery acid from my head to my chest
im in love with the general term: women.
and not just one,but so many. I feel like a dirty old man at moments,so I hold my breathe until i pass out,wake up off of the couch on the ground with text messages flooding my cellular telephone.
even at home I cant escape the want,or knowing that I can devistate & destroy worlds.
I pick up the phone,its one of the girls boyfriends,he warns me to not come near her again.
"take her keys" i say with an emoticon grin.
the ones back home are waiting on my return. anxious and unnerved
the one down the road is worried Ill never write her another love note.
Im worried Ill overdose before I get as much pussy as I could..
I turn on the shower,light a cigarette and write words all over the fogged mirror.
phrases I hold dear,things I want to say but dissappear into the world it came from
my eyes staring directly into my soul...into the mirror...the pipes blow hot air & water
my forehead is soaked,im dripping sweat onto the rug I beat out for dust hours ago
and all i can hear are three words,by three women who know me the most
or assume they do.
ive got this neal cassidy mindset.
meet me in mexico.