spent

plays blame on the train

we came in threw the back whores

it felt like the eighties again...well I mean from what i've heard.

I scored a point for sanity,

I killed our "leaders"

not literaly...just with words and sit ins.

unbecoming to the mainstream,we dug our teeth into their grins

ripping their lips off in hopes of becoming future history book revolutionaries.

stop being hippies

or labeling yourself as gutta.

stop immitating past writers,actors and musical scores.

evolve and create from the soul,from both sides of the brain

lost in your own little world

while respecting the one you inhabit in this physical form.

third eye vision on this non-objective portrait of karma

we huddle inside to stay warm.

I draw up this picture and staple it to the wall

i paint over it in knowing itll be lostdown the road

that some one will find it and write a similar note

on the back of a peice of paper,with a scribbled picture

of another ones lover on the front.

my mistress,however

just seems to be hope.

circle takes the square

Band Of The Week

San Diego on my mind jesus christ. The Sess, are good ol' rock and surf with a psychadelic twist. I'm not going to talk you up on this because I have more pressing matters to attend to:

This is your first recepiet from the master chef,myself.

Olive oil & cinammon in boiling water,with a pinch of sugar

next macaroni and long angel hair pasta

then chili with 2 peices colby jack,three havari,1 swiss,1 pepper jack,and american

now diced up (FRESH) jalapenos,peppers,white onion simmered in an olive oil frying pan with salt,pepper and garlic salt.

add ranch,hot sauce (preferbaly Valentene) BBQ,jalepeno juice and half of a limes juice in the chili.

stir it up to a thick consitencey

drain the pasta

and cut up some cheese,milk and butter and melt it.

now put the pasta/mac,chili,lettuce and avacado all into the bowl you cooked the pasta/mac in.

mix it up until its a brown and green,cheesy mess

and serve either on plate or in a warmed tortilla.

This is the admirals plate.

be careful talkin hella trash

Rhythm breaks teeth

And yet theres a silent success

“two men enter,one man…”

leave it..

Double fisting a dirty martini and scoth I approach a fellow

Eyes low,I connect our elbows

A soft punch.

He starts to mellow out as he realizes im not who he thought I was

(sounds of loose breath)

scene change.

stressful nights on the beach,we clasp hands as the tide takes are comrads away

their bodies decay out in the medeteranian

strange as I relate this night to the first time

her breathe being mine,

menthol and all those other men.

The drums kick in,and the bass pops

The block is shattered as the night becomes morning

A chorus of crows is all that’s playing

My hands empty,im guessing

in the midst of the murders my monologue dominated the court room screenplay

I smoke a cigarette and turn away from the judge,she’s curious,I can tell by the look on the defense

A chainsaw slides out of the wall

We medicate and restart the day again

Its always going

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and the best of...to this point CD

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Band Wagon Fans

To all band wagon fans:Because REAL fans stick with their teams threw the thick and thin. True fans have suffered threw every season Michael Young has to come to this point. Real fans know how a team was assembled and how many managers,players,GM’s (and owners) it has taken to finally compete. I died with Kayson Gabbered,Vicente Padilla,Jay Powell, Chan Ho Park, Gabe the babe,Ivon,Alex,buck and oats.Now I finally feel vindicated for latching on to this slowly sinking ship for the past decade. I was born in the shadows of the old ball park, and grew up in the temple. Ive been to more Rangers games the family events. I was a baby ,in the stadium,when Nolan Ryan threw a perfect game threw eight innings,before a home run was hit directly to my section,I would keep the neighborhood awake (and had the police called on my parent several times) if I could not watch or finish a game. You seen band wagon fans have no heart,they don’t have memories…they cheer for the team because its chic. Being a fan is not easy,it takes balls.

'creepin

I woke up a few minutes ago with brandy still coursing its way threw this shell. A couple of pain pills,you know,not to many real feelings anymore. I feel like its '64,few years removed from the war.Kearouac hasent died yet,but cassidy has..the movements close to folk lore. I have this reoccuring dream,these beautiful sisters lead me across Italy,er,Rome to be on point. Im naked alot of the time,but that dosent bother me (nor does it in real life,or I would assume post labodomy). I raise glasses to irrationality,to a heirarchy, a question,I says.The sun isnt out and this town is haunted so we might as well set capital hill a flame...All the politicians and homeless would rest together in their unnamed graves. I'd smoke cigartrettes and place my trust in the river,watching the water playfully tumble over itself. The sun comes out for a breif second,and across the pond is a reflection of this beautiful blonde girl. Not like the sisters,more elegant and brief in the way she enter and exits my psyche. I write to her... every once in a while on my tounge, it always melts away before I can say a word.shes got a half cocked grim as she rubs her hands up and down her long legs and further up her arms until her left hand rest on her shoulder and she smiles from behind her smirks. I often want to ask her to run off wih me..."lets go to greece!"...again smiles and understanding. This time she reaches into her purse,and removes a painting she finished this morning,shes says its for me. she runs her fingers threw her short hair,breifly smiles,and glares down at the piece. I take it from her hand and run my thumb over the creased wood,feeling all the bumps and imperfections. This is the moment I feel as though a kiss is deserved,yet I stare outwards and murmur a thank you of sorts. The feeling in this time line is unimaginable and sweet ,I swear I would give up anything to relate;but another brandy awaits. The days turn into letters I crumble and throw away...I feel so foolish,though,she haunts my thoughts...I lay on my back and look at the stars.

come home I whisper,be in my arms.

OMG

http://www.vimeo.com/10057133 this is my music video that I made with Jarrod Saba (aka the man) please go watch the passwords shittyvodka