* * *
Napkeeno # 8 by Daria Tellamore
* * *
the soft breeze, one hundred feet up, is cool,
and there, in the corner of the hawk's eye,
is a rabbit in the yard of a school.
The hawk swoops down into the green school yard,
its talons out reaching for the rabbit,
it catches the rabbit, breaks its neck, hard,
and drinks the rabbit's blood out of habit.
Poor rabbit, it will not be going back
to its house and its little kid bunnies,
the hawk broke his neck with a nasty clack,
now he'll never see his rabbit hunnies.
hawk eating rabbit is the way it goes,
it is simply the way that nature flows.
"Rough-legged Hawk" by Kenneth Larot Yamat
* * *
Floating in the Summer Sky
The rough-legged hawk soars in the summer sky,
the soft breeze, one hundred feet up, is cool,
and there, in the corner of the hawk's eye,
is a rabbit in the yard of a school.
The hawk swoops down into the green school yard,
its talons out reaching for the rabbit,
it catches the rabbit, breaks its neck, hard,
and drinks the rabbit's blood out of habit.
Poor rabbit, it will not be going back
to its house and its little kid bunnies,
the hawk broke his neck with a nasty clack,
now he'll never see his rabbit hunnies.
hawk eating rabbit is the way it goes,
it is simply the way that nature flows.
* * *
Coevolution
Deep in the jungles of Madagascar
a flower exists with a musky scent,
with a foot long tube and petals that are
like slices of pizza and with spurs pent
up and full of nectar which attracts moths
who themselves have a foot long proboscis
used to suck the Star of Bethlehem's broths.
These moths with eight inch wings are colossus
sized and evolved alongside the flowers
that give them sustenance. I wonder how
they'll continue to evolve, the powers
of evolution will one day allow
them to have a two foot long spur and a
two foot long proboscis, perhaps someday.
* * *
Web of Life
The entire world is a connected
web of interdependencies: plants and
people, birds and trees, buildings erected
jets in the air, the tilling of the land.
Everything we do effects things around
us which in turn effects ourselves. Every
breath we inhale and the things that surround
us, whether buildings, cars, or air heavy
with pollutants, effects our health, the world
and everything in it. We should reduce
our impact on the earth or we'll be hurled
into a world of shit. Don't be obtuse
about it, it's really simple. Just use
less, consume less: the Earth needs less abuse.
* * *
Double Vision
The Pantheon in Rome, the oculus
allowing the sun to illuminate
the coffered dome. The Roman populace
come here to worship God and ruminate
on the accomplishments of the ancients.
Millions of people from around the world
come here too, and they wait with great patience
as the lines to see it are long and curled
around the city block. What accomplished
race had once lived here and built this marvel
clad in stone with bronze sculptures and polished
bright as the morning sky, built from marble,
the resting place of Raphael, the house
of gods and each and every goddess spouse.
* * *
Sign Language
Her hands, fluttering like a butterfly
through the air, are pronouncing sublime odes,
salutations of hello and goodbye
and other enunciations. She goads
a woman into writing poetry
about being mute and deaf and what's born
is a five part narrative piece in free
verse that details in depth the woman's scorn
for all things auditory: why use my
vocal cords and ears when I could use eyes
and hands to convey the messages I
wish to convey, she takes a deep breath, sighs,
and realizes that it's all untrue:
she'd love to use her ears like me or you.
* * *
Bone Shadows
The ribcage of a long dead dinosaur
who once roamed the jungles of a long lost
paradise, now a desert stretching far
and wide in every direction. The host
of symbiotic parasites it its
intestines: worms and slugs and other bugs
helping the digestion of little bits
of conifers that the dinosaur chugs.
Where are they now, these dragons who once roamed
the earth, who dominated the planet,
who ate smaller dragons and who had combed
through ancient trees for sustenance. The net
of an alien race, spacefarers from
mars, hunted the dinosaurs large and dumb.
* * *
Fuck the Bartender
At the bar I ordered a martini
which is probably my favorite mixed drink.
unscrew the cap and release the genie,
and into a tame wasted stupor sink.
I get my drink and the mixture's cloudy
which can only mean one thing, and that's brine.
I take a sip before getting rowdy,
but the gin tastes something like turpentine
I'm trying to think about who to blame,
me or the bartender, I hate dirty
drinks, and I should have chose which gin by name,
instead of being at the well's mercy.
I think that I should have requested Smirnoff,
but this bartender is a major jerk off.
* * *
The Dump File
some more stuff from
the Google Drive
i start the new job
today and i should
take a nap
and that is what I
will do i guess for now
* * *
Booty Privileges
I demand access to that booty. I have that right
according to the Constitution. Congress shall
make no establishment relating to the prohibition
of booty, nor shall there be any debate regarding
the prohibition of booty access.
It's the 921th amendment to the Constitution. It was
tested in the court case Booty V. Kooter and it was
determined in a 5-4 swinger vote that booty prohibition
provisions shall be read to deliver maximum constitutional
protections, even where no protection is utilized.
Thirty-seven percent of people do not have adequate access
to the booty, and twenty-seven percent of those with sufficient
access do not have regular access to the booty, and even among
those that do have both adequate and regular access, only
twenty-two percent actually enjoy the booty.
* * *
The Urinal
There is a dime in the urinal, and I want to fish
it out of there, and take it, and deposit into my
bank account, and then transfer the money from
my bank account into my brokerage account, and
with the money buy a decent dividend ETF, but
I don't want to become sick from sticking my hand
into the urinal and drenching my skin in piss, but
the money, the dime is money.
* * *
Some People Are Just Too Serious
I'm fucking around like ninety percent
of the time, and it just pisses people
off, and I mean really angry.
I don't know why! It's a joke, and it's not
a racist or prejudiced kind of joke that I make.
It's usually a non-sequitur or something.
It's so strange. People pay to laugh. They
go to comedy clubs or watch comed on
Netflix or wherever, and they pay for it.
They should pay me for making a fucking
joke. I should get money for saying something
completely unrelated to what you were just
saying. I don't know how many times I've said
horseradish to serious and completely serious
questions asked of me. I should have charged!
* * *
Dumpster Diving
I have this idea for an activity that I can post
on the internet and sell on Meetup or other
activity websites. It's a dumpster diving tour
where people can hunt for treasure in local
trash cans and dumpsters. People can make
millions by finding cool stuff like aluminum
cans and beer bottles, and maybe even gold
and silver coins that people throw away. Maybe
even diamonds and sapphires from angry brides
to be who felt their engagement rings just were
not big enough. This is the way of the future!
Making money and saving the earth at the same
time. I just don't know how bogus it sounds, and
maybe the more bogus it sounds the more cool
and awesome it becomes! We will spend our
semi-legitimately gotten gains on wine, women
and whiskey. In that order! and we will enjoy
life from all the money we make from trash cans!
* * *
Adsense and Medianet
I want to make some money for my blog.
I've tried some of these smaller internet
advertising companies and all the ads they
run on my blog are totally bogus. It's dumb
as heck. All these internet games they
advertise for with huge boob women,
dating sites catering to people with fetishes
for pregnant women, and big beautiful women
and Asian women, and ebony women, and
latina women, and jewish women, and farmer
women, and then there are ads for articles
about weird crap like how to find coupons
and deals in your local area. I wonder if the
bigger ad placement companies do any
better. Sick of these bogus ads!
* * *
Races
Driving around the track
in a super fancy supercar
is boring as hell, but it's
the funnest thing I can
think of doing on the weekend.
Wasting gas and wearing
out the tires and engine.
Container ships and cranes,
forklifts and trucks and
dockworkers loading and
unloading containers. What
is in the containers? Probably
Heroin and cocaine!
* * *
Inflation
The cost of just about everything is getting
way out of hand. I can't believe that I have to
pay 200 bucks a month for internet and cable,
in addition to cell phones and all that other
crap. Electricity is another 400 bucks a month,
and my hooker bill is about 800 a month. My
cocaine habit is about 1600 a month, and my
heroin habit is about 3200 a month. My rent
is another 6400 a month, and my Amazon bill,
which includes what I spend on groceries at
Whole Foods, works out to 12800 a month.
My water bill is 25600, but that includes the
water I use for my cannabis farm, and the 3
hour showers that I take 4 times daily. I need
to make more money.
* * *
Taco Bell
I went to Taco Bell to get something
cheap, but my lunch turned out to be ten bucks,
which was much more than I planned on spending.
The restaurant tab is always in flux
as I add or take away from my list
of things I want to order: eight tacos
and a Pepsi is what my bill consists
of. It adds up to ten bucks and it goes
to show you that cheap things add up to more
than you originally planned to spend,
and this has happened many times before
where I blow the cash on which I depend.
But they were only a dollar a piece,
they added up to a ten dollar feast.
* * *
Breakfast on Monday
A bowl of oatmeal with too much water
with raisins and apple slices, and eggs
with a piece of bread. The oatmeal, hotter
than a piece of burning coal, burned my legs
when I dropped it into my lap, the burn
left a red welt on my on each of my inner
thighs, what on earth could I have done to earn
this injury, I must be the winner
of a "drop your breakfast in your lap" game
where everyone all over the earth drops
their breakfast in their laps so they can tame
their thigh demons, and the winner earns props
from some master of the ceremonies
and his thigh igniting wicked cronies.
* * *
Breakfast on Sunday
We had a fruity cereal today
with the taste of fruit loops without the rings
and a banana on a breakfast tray
and coffee and a biscuit and cheese strings.
The cereal was soft and mushy like
oatmeal because it was sitting awhile
on the table, it was something a tike
without teeth would enjoy with sly smile.
Cold milky mush for breakfast, what a way
to start the day, but it could have been worse,
it could have been a roach in curds and whey
and diarrhea with the devil's curse.
Nasty garbage for breakfast makes me sick
the landlord is a big and lazy dick.
* * *
Damien Aquino's Saturday Night
Damien gets ready for his night out.
He plans to hit up a couple of bars
and nightclubs and go walk around about
the downtown area beneath the stars
between shots of whiskey and vodka, stout
beers and pales; scoring snake eyes and boxcars.
It's Saturday night and he just got paid
and hopes to God that tonight he gets laid.
He hops into the shower lathering
his hair, his chest, his crack, his balls, his schlong,
he puts on a dress shirt while blathering
pick-up lines and one liners that belong
in a blue movie, he starts slathering
cologne on his nuts while singing a song
by the weeknd: "often, often, yes I
do this often" something he can't deny.
He calls a taxi, the taxi arrives,
he gets in and fastens fast his seatbelt.
the cabbie take him to a club that jives
with poetry readings that are heartfelt.
he gets out and pays the cabbie in fives
he's in the club and feels the cabbie dealt
him a lousy card, this is a sausage
party with girls who took the blue ball pledge
He figures what the hell and at the bar
orders an Jimador margarita.
A woman approaches him with a star
tattoo on her back and a Christina
piercing and bright colored contacts that are
purple, who came here from Argentina
and studying on a scholarship at
San Francisco State, she begins to chat.
She tells him she's studying creative
writing with an emphasis in fiction.
From her accent it's clear that her native
tongue is Spanish, but it's from her diction
that he can tell she studies English, give
her a minute to talk and the friction
of her tongue around her mouth will give you
the desire to learn Spanish through and through.
They talk for an hour and Damien asks
if she wants to head to his hotel room
she says: "not a chance" and Damien basks
in a glory that quickly turns to gloom
she walks away and the rejection tasks
Damien's ego: "Witch, where was her broom."
Feeling awkward from the rejection he
heads to a club where scores might be easy.
He heads to a heavy metal club where
the girls have ears full of steel and silver
and chrome and plastic and brass and have hair
in shades of pink and green and blue, glitter
on their eyes, with torn shirts, their tummies bare.
It's this aesthetic that will deliver
a jolt of dopamine straight to his head,
perhaps he will take someone here to bed.
A band called Demon Penis 666
is playing Slipknot covers, "Wait and Bleed"
"Heretic" and so on, and on their dicks
are socks, they're wearing nothing else, a bead
of hot sweat trickles down their crucifix
like frames, the club is sweltering indeed
and Damien hopes to cool off with a
daiquiri which will keep the heat at bay.
Damien walks up to the bar to get
a drink, a daiquiri or mojito
or something else that's cool to stay his sweat.
The guy bartending places a veto
on the order: "no cocktails, just shots, fret
if you'd like, I won't make a burrito
either, just deal with it." This place really
sucks, no mixed drinks, that's just straight-up silly.
Across the bar a girl with pink hair throws
backs shots of Jack Daniel's. She is dancing.
She's so drunk she can't even count her toes
and to Damien's luck she is glancing
in his direction, which eases the throes
of his recent rejection, he's prancing
toward her as if his dick were swinging
mightily with the glory he's bringing.
She's chasing the Jack Daniel's down with Coke
which surprises Damien because Jack
D is tasty enough, what kind of folk
chase something sweet with something sweet, that's whack.
seeing this silliness happen awoke
the snob in him, he thinks of turning back
and finding some other girl to talk to,
somebody who has at least half a clue.
But again he figures what the hell and
decides just to make the best of what he's
got, the music concludes and a new band
called Prosthetic Anus begins to please
the audience with Korn covers, they planned
on singing "Wicked." With covers like these
Damien decides his situation
isn't the worst thing in the whole nation.
Damien orders a PBR and
sips his drink slowly, the taste of the cheap
beer is like fermented wheat, when the band
switches songs Damien decides to creep
toward the pink haired girl and hopes to land
a bed friend, lodging himself deep
in her heart, or perhaps that other part
like Cupid shooting off his golden dart.
She's so drunk, her dancing is terrible.
She's had way too much Jack Daniel's to drink.
The vision is almost unbearable.
Damien shows his interest with a wink.
Her dancing is nearly comparable
to a kind of salsa while twerking, think
of Pinocchio with his strings twisted
this way and that while also resisted.
They talk: she just broke up with her boyfriend
and decided that she wants to live it
up and this is the way that she'll amend
the pangs of a broken heart and acquit
herself of guilt from having to pretend
that everything was right with him. They sit
at the bar and talk and he tries to see
if she'll dance with him at the DoubleTree.
She says: "Not tonight, maybe some other
time, here's my number." She jots her number
on a cocktail napkin. Why'd she bother
her number starts with 555. Bummer.
He thought that it would be nice to smother
his face between her breasts and then slumber
with her beneath the sheets at a motel,
this bullshit is something like what the hell.
Damien thinks to himself that there must
be some kind of phantom blocking his cock
he swears that he'll get laid tonight or bust
even if it means that he'll have to mock
a woman out of clay, or, like God, dust.
these rejections come as a major shock
to Damien, typically it's the first
woman who quenches his sexual thirst.
But now he is 0 and 2, which is bad
which is nearly a complete disaster
it's almost as if the women are clad
in chastity belts or by a pastor
being watched or they are with a comrade
blocking fast their entrance ways with plaster.
Damien will give it another shot
even though he is by rejection fraught.
Going to a hip-hop club is his ploy,
there has to be someone he could sleep with.
He'll order a Johnnie Walker Rob Roy.
third times a charm, maybe even the fifth
time, if only the women weren't so coy
or perhaps instead he were Robert Smith
of the Cure, he'd massacre the groupies
and pay for good times and bad in rupees.
The Night is Still Young by Nicki Minaj
is playing in the background while he drinks.
The lyrics are something like a collage
and the music blares throughout the precincts.
A woman whose outfit is a montage
of yellows comes into view as he blinks
to see if she's real because her outfit
looks like a mirage in a desert pit.
She walks over to him and she asks what
he's drinking: "a Rob Roy" he tells her, she
asks to take a sip, she has a great butt
and through the yellow of her dress can see
the good stuff as clearly as in a smut
magazine. She vomits on his shirt three
times. Damien decides he's had enough,
he's never had a night nearly as rough.
* * *
Coke Zero
The taste of Coke Zero is close to Coke,
unlike Diet Coke which is a different
formulation all together, a stroke
of genius for being considerate
of the flavor desires of the masses.
Most people would prefer a diet drink
that doesn’t add plumpness to their asses,
that tastes like the real thing without the link
to cancer, none of the most popular
sweeteners are linked to cancer except
saccharine, which in rats caused globular
growths, whose cancer notices had been swept
under the rug after there were no growths
in humans and makers swore safety oaths
* * *
Stroke Monorhyme
at nine in the morning I awoke
to the sound of a coughing bloke,
my roommate, who broke
my alarm clock, who I’d choke
for having urinated on my cloak
after drinking two liters of Coke.
I'd strangle him until he'd croak
and call the ambulance and police folk
who, when they'd arrive I'd tell a joke
about the poet Kenneth Koch.
The mounted police would arrive on a moke,
clad in blue with a baton of oak,
who'd wave and twirl their sticks and poke
my belly, which in pictures I polk
using Photoshop, I smoke
A cigarette and soak
in the vapors as I spoke
to a man who tried to stoke
the flames of his own cigarette with a stroke
of his breath. With his fingers he woke
his lips and tied himself to the yoke
of chain smoking. The egg yolk
is mixed in with a backstroke
of the whisk which in the baroque
kitchen of a mansion could evoke
memories of how I tried to invoke
the muse in the small town of Pembroke,
but did nothing more than provoke
an anti-muse, who would revoke
all inspiration, and I write in a slowpoke
manner inspired by the townsfolk
of San Jose who'd cook an artichoke
in whisky brewed in the town of Roanoke.
* * *
The Costco on Senter Road
The Costco on Senter Road was really
packed today I guess because it's Super
Bowl Sunday. The weather is quite chilly
and cloudy, the clouds will break their stupor
and begin to drop rain on us around
four o'clock in the afternoon. We've had
a lot of rain lately and we are bound
to stay indoors which makes me very glad
because it means we'll watch the game and eat
the chips that we bought at the Costco on
Senter Road and we'll see one team defeat
the other with their might and strength and brawn.
Watching men rip each other apart brings
us together, it's just one of those things.
* * *
Cocaine
Once cocaine is as legal as coffee
I'll ask my barista to make my drinks
with a dash of shit, a dash of toffee,
and enough caramel to puzzle a sphinx.
I'll sprinkle my optimos with cocaine
and marijuana and smoke orgasms
until I'm stoned and totally insane
and my stomach rests and my chest spasms.
I start a regular day with a cup
of coffee, three or four eggs, and bacon.
Oh how I love Bacon! because it's up
there with crack as stuff I like to take in.
Smoke it with a pipe, smoke it with a bong,
snort while you can, it won't be legal long.
* * *
Cigarettes
Cigarettes are even more addictive
than heroin for sure: I’ve been without
cigarettes before and it’s hard to live
without them after smoking them about
the day. When I’ve run out of cigarettes
and don’t have any money to buy more
I’ll search the garbage or ashtray for butts
or even try to steal them from the store.
I think that cigarettes smell delicious
but many people think otherwise, that
they smell bad and that the fumes are vicious.
Smoking can be fun if you need to chat
with someone and there are always people
who like to smoke and don’t think it’s evil.
* * *
Diet Shasta Cola
Diet Shasta cola is a whole lot
cheaper than either Coke or Pepsi. For
a buck two point five liters can be bought
when you make it out to the dollar store.
I can hardly taste the difference between
Shasta and Coke, or Shasta and Pepsi:
the taste of Shasta is as crisp and clean
as is Coke or Pepsi, at least to me.
So why should I even buy the real thing?
It passes the taste test and it even
costs less and it's not like I'm full of bling
and can spend like my debts are forgiven
It's a matter of convenience not all
stores carry Shasta cola on the wall.
* * *
Actually Writing Again
This is kind of annoying. I haven't
really fucked around with paper and ink
in such a long time: here I am, having
a fucking blast! This process really stinks:
First, write it up, then type, then print or post,
just another piece of shit thing to do
with time I have to flush down the toilet.
Quicker to snap, then upload to the host,
and then somehow this makes its way to you,
reading on your phone as you take a shit.
This is just another time in my life
where this is the only task for me to
pursue, and, filled with turmoil and strife
I tattoo these sheets of paper in blue.
* * *
Porn Videos
I'm thinking about creating a new genre of adult films.
Basically they will involve normeenas and gorblanas
engaging in shorblanification of their adamantios moogies.
It will be so nasty, that search engines will not run ads
involving normeenas and gorblanas doing anything at
all, even regular stuff like fishing and flying kites because
The association that people will have with normeenas and
gorblanas will be inherintly pornographic, and the acts that
they engage in will be so disgusting that there will even be
Congressional hearings, all on C-Span, discussing the prospect
of regulating the acts that normeenas and gorblanas engage
in. Senators will run on platforms to regulate the normeenas
and gorblanas. Judges will be appointed who are strictly
opposed to sexual relationships between normeenas and
gorlanas. Anti-miscegenation legislation will be on the dockets
of every legislative body to restrict how normeenas and
gorblanas interact. Adoption agencies will be prohibited
from facilitating the adoption of progeny from these unions.
No one will be able to adopt a normeena-gorblana child.
Normeena-gorblana children who are not adopted will grow
up on the streets, selling teleomarkinites and shamdoobies
to make ends meet. They will steal mammyonography from
the adult bookshops and resell them at the swap meet and
flea market and on amazon and ebay and craigslist and letgo.
The normeena-gorblana rights commission will fight the
oppression of the people, but the commission's funding will
come primarily from the adult film industry, and they will
not be taken seriously, or they will be seen as perpetuation
the perversions of the normeena-gorblana fetishists. A new
political party will emerge to protect the normeenas, and a
seperate party will emerge to protect the gorblanas, and new
adult films will feature dirty talk between the two parties and
hardcore magazine will be sold, but buyers will need a permit
from the decency agency in order to buy them. A test will be
administered to see whether or not a person qualifies, only the
most sane and normal people will be allowed to but these books.
* * *
The Current Mood
Strange mood. Like.
Why is your brain running
around in circles,
bouncing off the walls,
bouncing off ideas that
don't make a whole hell
of a lot of sense.
* * *
Fake Profiles
I thought that they were going to crack down
on this crap, but pretty much everyone who
is a suggested friend is clearly a fake profile.
But I can't stop adding them. The pictures they
post are just too sexy. Boobs and booties like I
have never seen before. In super sexy outfits.
And it's the same thing on dating websites.
These fine chicks would never date me in real
life, and all they have are links to their porn
sites, which charge like twenty-five bucks just
to see them naked. Which is totally whack. I can
see naked ladies for free on fricken pornhub.
Why would I pay for it? Why should people pay
for porn at all? They are doing fun stuff and I'm
sure the ads take care of funding for the site and
all that. Why should they be greedy? And then
again, why pay for music or movies? Or paintings
and sculpture. Those people are all doing fun stuff
as well. And these fake profiles on facebook.
Obviously fake. The conversations are robotic and
their friends lists are filled with perverted looking
old men, and all they do is post porn links on their
profiles. So stupid. I think I should go ahead and
delete all these fake friends. Why did I add them?
* * *
Practice Makes Perfect
A whole hell of a lot of these
posts of my old poems are becoming
repeats.
At first there
may have been posts
that I had not
posted here before,
but now there are plenty
of posts that have been posted
here before and I am
posting them again
for the
four thousand
millionth time.
This blog is slowly becoming a
collection of cluttered crap.
* * *
Draino
I bought a multi-pack of drain cleaner and poured all the
bottles down the drain. I think that this should do it, but
I can't be sure. I want clean drains more than anything in
life, even more than world peace. I think that the next
Miss America or Miss Universe should be picked on the
basis of wheter or not she likes clean drains.
When people become obsessed with the next person to
release a sex-tape, we will acquire the rights to sell the
sex-tape in nations abroad. People will pay a forture to
us to see it, and we will be super rich. The development
of the wealth of a country is entirely dependent on the
quality of it's sex tapes, which should include all the nastiest
acts that can be performed.
* * *
Search Engine Ads
There are times
when I look up a type of business
that I hate on a search engine
and click it's ads to death.
Personal loans, credit cards
payday loans, banks
secured loans, title loans
pawn shops, online bookstores,
online retailers in general,
insurance companies.
Screw them. They make
a ton of money
doing things that are
hardly respectable.
* * *
Drinking Whiskey Is Like Kissing A Woman
After all the bars I've gone to, and all
the drinks I've had, I can say that drinking
whiskey is like kissing a woman. Fall
into a shot of whiskey while thinking
about a woman who you'd love to kiss
and you'll find it a more than adequate
substitute for brining your tongue to bliss.
Not very many people would equate
A shot of whiskey to a kiss because
they have never tried it: I recommend
that they do. Longing for a kiss can cause
mental distress that's very hard to mend:
It's been written about in all kinds of
insane lunatic poems about love.
* * *
An Apple Fritter
Today we had an apple fritter and
a glass of milk and a cup of coffee
for breakfast, the apple fritter was bland
and the coffee could have used some toffee.
I wonder what else the donut shop has:
do they have glazed donuts and donut holes?
chocolate donuts and all of that jazz?
and scrumptious donuts that fill patron's souls?
Bad bitches from across the universe
come to the donut shop on McKee Road
and recite incomprehensible verse
and poetry and prose by the boat load.
The donut shop on Mckee is the place
to be, and people come from every race.
* * *
I Bought You Lunch
Last night I went to
the fish market and
bought you a fish.
It is in the office
refrigerator for
you to enjoy for
lunch, and as a
snack if you are
hungry and want
to eat something.
It is sushi grade,
so you can cook
it or eat it raw,
but whatever you
decide to do, you
must do it quick
because it will
expire quickly.
I know that you
are a white girl
who doesn't eat
fish, and that most
white girls only
eat regular food.
and that fish is
for gooks like me,
but I did it because
I hope that one
day you will enjoy
eating fish.
* * *
Weekend Plans
Today is Friday, and I am already thinking about what I
want to do for the weekend. What I think that I want to
do is cut your hair and donate it to the Salvation Army.
The soldiers will use your hair to insulate the Salvation
submarines for when they go to war with the Devil and
his army of evil Satan worshipers who seek to corrupt
the world and make everyone perverted and depraved.
When the war is over, you can grow your hair back and
you will be beautiful again, but as long as the war effort
is the most important thing we focus on, you will have
to be bald. We will even shave your yaya and it will be
bald as well, and that hair we will use as gun powder for
the Salvation cannons, that will blast the evil people apart
and rid the world of evil and depravity. It is the only way
and there is nothing else we can do in the meantime.
We must win this war, and I will shave my head and schlong
so that I will be there with you, sacrificing my hair for the
war effort, but as for this weekend, aside from shaving you,
I think that we should go out for lunch at a fancy restaurant
where the waiters are very patient, and the chefs can handle
as many strange requests as we make for our food, and after
lunch is over, we should catch a movie. A very long and
epic movie, and we will buy popcorn and burnt peanuts
and string cheese and super large cups of coke and pepsi,
depending on what they offer, and after we see the movie,
we should go out for dinner, and this restaurant will be
lousy, because we spent all our money on lunch and popcorn
at the movies, and after dinner we should go hope and hop
into bed and go to sleep, or maybe we will stay awake and
make love, and eat popcorn in bed, and drink coke and pepsi.
* * *
American Express
I want an American Express credit card so bad.
I keep applying
and they keep rejecting me
for reasons I
can't figure out.
my credit it lousy and I have
millions in debt, but that should
be a good thing
it means
that I spend tons of money and
that I can spend all the money
they can lend.
LEND IT TO ME!!!
give me a CENTURION CARD and let me borrow
all the money that American Express has in reserves!!!
It will be such a boost to the economy
that we will
all have jobs, and production will increase.
* * *
Breasts
A woman sips on a glass of red wine
as the man across from her tells a joke,
it tickles her tummy, her tits, divine,
jiggle this way and that as her lips soak
in the blood of grapes fermented for years
in cask and bottle, in the air around
them and in their clothes and cosmetics, tears
of hazardous chemical waste abound,
from the blood of grapes to the blood in your
veins and arteries a swirling eddy
of chemicals exists, in every pore
of your skin the chemicals are ready
to kill and disrupt your metabolic
system, I'm not being hyperbolic.
* * *
The Return of Bona Dea
Grapes, sweet and delicious, hang from a branch,
full of juice, ready to fall, If these were
investment grade grapes I'd sell the first tranche
to Goldman Sachs, investments that would spur
further investment in the investment
grade grapes business, millions of dollars from
around the world would push the assessment
of grapes to fantastic new highs, though some
of the grapes would not sell for the market
price because they are not investment grade,
Moody's would take such a grape and mark it
down as a junk grape, these grapes will not trade
on the open market, you'd have to smash
through pink sheets before investing your cash.
* * *
Secrets
A handprint on an ancient cavern south
of France made by some Neanderthal man
spray painting the walls with paint in his mouth
not painting according to any plan
just letting you know of his existence
forty-thousand years before anyone
would find it. His primary subsistence
was on meat and he hunted with no gun,
just his bare hands and with a wooden spear
that he would throw deftly with precision
falling elk, antelope, bison, and deer
blood flowing from the point of collision.
"I was here," he says, "and I hunted these
animals through the jungles and the trees."
* * *
Le Femme Savant
A woman in a fancy shirt stands arms
crossed hostile to the spewing of climate
change deniers whose word and action harms
the environment. Each one a client
of the Fox News media octopus,
not giving a damn about what happens
to our kids. Cause floods for the platypus
and beaver. Dressed in the fancy trappings
of false science pretending to be fair
and balanced. A woman and her small child
cling to the roof of their flooded car, hair
drenched in flood water, the rivers are wild
from the endless rain of a hurricane,
humans have no one else but us to blame.
* * *
Hole Minus Hole
A category five hurricane blasts
its way across the open sea hitting
the coastline with devastation that lasts
for decades, hurricane winds are splitting
beam and pillar, Katrina, Andrew, Ike:
All the progeny of global warming.
When Katrina hit every dam and dike
burst, flooding New Orleans, once a charming
little city: Mardi Gras, bourbon, blues,
an entire city leveled by storm,
people all across the country can choose
how much pollution they wish to let form
in landfills and the atmosphere, they could
do more than they're do and they know they should.
* * *
The Kristine Question
I understand that she wouldn't want to
talk to me, or even want to hear from me.
There are plenty of people that I feel that
way about.
And. I guess I'm feeling the other side
of this. I wonder why. I'm cursed.
What offense have I committed?
* * *
Oatmeal and Rasins
For breakfast we had raisins in oatmeal
and a cup of coffee that was too dark
the meal was O.K. but it did not feel
like it was enough, not hitting the mark.
For lunch we went to Jack in the Box where
I had eight tacos and a Jumbo Jack
The meal was way too fucking much I swear,
I think I should ask for my money back.
For dinner we had chow mein and fried rice:
the chow mein had too many vegetables
and the glass of water had too much ice.
I would have much preferred weed edibles.
That is everything I ate for today,
I'd eat even more if I had my way.
* * *
Breakfast and Dinner
For breakfast we had Life cereal which
we had for breakfast a few days ago.
Like I had said yesterday I would ditch
the Life cereal for an ounce of blow.
For lunch we had a bologna sandwich
with cheese and mayonnaise, it was quite good
but the bread was a little soggy which
made the sandwich put me in a bad mood.
I don’t know what we are going to have
for dinner today: if it were up to
me it would be fried rice or chow mein save
the vegetables, which I hate through and through.
The meals today have been O.K. so far,
for dinner I want something quite bizarre.
* * *
I Bought You Lunch
Last night I went to
the fish market and
bought you a fish.
It is in the office
refrigerator for
you to enjoy for
lunch, and as a
snack if you are
hungry and want
to eat something.
It is sushi grade,
so you can cook
it or eat it raw,
but whatever you
decide to do, you
must do it quick
because it will
expire quickly.
I know that you
are a white girl
who doesn't eat
fish, and that most
white girls only
eat regular food.
and that fish is
for gooks like me,
but I did it because
I hope that one
day you will enjoy
eating fish.
* * *
Incomprehensible Odes
This is an incoherent remark.
What you are about to read
is an incoherent remark.
Things that have been going on
are not all what they seem to be
things are not all the same and things
that happen do not always make sense
what you read was an incoherent remark
and if you continue to read this
note, then you will probably
read additional incoherent remarks
written by none other than
Kenneth the Frog
who had at one point wanted
to be a prince,
but his princely application
was deemed
not acceptable by the princess
to whom he
had sent his frog to prince
application, but
maybe.
Well. That was an incoherent
thought and
an incoherent remark as well.
Please disregard
that note and please do not take it too seriously
or it will become the
interpretation of things
that are not quite as they
seem, nor are they
the actions of an entirely
sound of mind
individual. You know that
there are things
that do not.
Reflect on the person to
deny the obvious, that
I do in fact tell you
every day that you are the one
person who eats all of
the chickens five to ten times
a day and does not debone
the chickens because the
chickens do not in fact have
any of the bone you speak of.
* * *
Speyside Coffee
coffee preferences black blond lots
of cream lots of sugar java kopi luwak
whisky single malt from the balvenie
distillery caribbean casks, oloroso sherry
casks, american oak barrels, port casks
david stewart’s crowning achievement is
the 50 year old a lifetime of dedication
do not mess with anything less than 18
years old things that can be sent into
space bee hives alfalfa sprouts brain
tissue stem cells japanese whisky toss
it into the stratosphere twenty five years
later open it up and see what it tastes like
* * *
Atomic Yellow
My urine is an atomic yellow
and I have no idea how it got
that way. I wonder what goes on below
in my bladder: I've given in some thought
and concluded that someone must have slipped
nuclear waste into my meals and snacks and
drinks, my urine would be clear if I skipped
a meal and starved as much as I could stand.
Or maybe I could assemble a team
of surveillance experts and maybe track
down this nefarious person and ream
him or her, preferably her, and stack
her with charges of poisoning a man
who wants to eat his food without brooding
over violating a nuclear ban
because of what's in his bladder brewing.
* * *
Diet Coke
Diet Coke is about as addictive
as Coke, what it lacks is a sugar rush,
but all the rest is there, the caffeine gives
your brain a pick-me-up if it was mush,
and the carbonation tickles your throat
with a soft burn of bubbles and Splenda.
With Coke addicts you are in the same boat
and a victim of Coke's foul agenda
to get everyone hooked on at least four
liters or more of Diet Coke per day.
You'll Start at two liters, then reach for more
until at six liters you're on your way.
The crisp refreshing taste of Diet Coke
will take up your money until you're broke.
* * *
Book Shelves
These old wooden shelves smile when burdened
with books, but soon they will smile no more!
I figure pound for pound trees are turned in
to pulp, then paper, then tattooed over
with copyrights and Romanized alphas
and betas to become books at the end
of an endless journey, these labia
of particle board find a timber friend
in books made of a similar substance,
but new books made of plus and minus signs
on steel wafers have filched the paper’s stance
as history’s keeper, the shelf resigns
to the hard drive as the book does the same
to the PDF, both demit in shame.
* * *
Prepare for Class
It’s always important to read your books
Before your class begins, or the lecture
Will move faster than your hands can write, crooks
They’ll seem as they steal away the luster
Of your afternoon, the bright morning sun
Bartered for a dim later day, night time
Becomes study time, time for sleep and fun
Are merged, sleep becomes your fun. What a crime!
Silly books! I’d prefer I were a plant,
A vegetable, a fruit tree or something,
Instead I’m skin, and here I write my rant
Wishing that I were a mindless being.
I wonder if there are any plants who’d
Like to trade bark for meet and flesh for wood.
* * *
Room Status
Before I know it my room will be full
Of cluttered crap: clothes, books, notes, coins, and things
That serve no useful purpose, soon they’ll pull
Me from a productive routine that brings
To me a fulfilling sense of time spent.
Spending a day to organize my room
Yields little, what I placed on the shelf went
Straight to the floor, intending to bring doom
To anyone who dares to rub his feet
Against the carpet. He’ll stub his big toe
On Byron, he falls, and his head will meet:
Charles Murray – He’s infamous you know.
Ah! But even if it does seem wasteful,
This reminiscing is always blissful.
* * *
My Collection of Cluttered Crap
Before I know it my room will be full
Of cluttered crap: clothes, books, notes, coins, and things
That serve no useful purpose, soon they’ll pull
Me from a productive routine that brings
To me a fulfilling sense of time spent.
Spending a day to organize my room
Yields little, what I placed on the shelf went
Straight to the floor, intending to bring doom
To anyone who dares to rub his feet
Against the carpet. He’ll stub his big toe
On Byron, he falls, and his head will meet:
Charles Murray – He’s infamous you know.
Ah! But even if it does seem wasteful,
This reminiscing is always blissful.
* * *
Twenty Minutes of Sights and Thoughts
I head to the bathroom to take a piss
because I drank too much Pepsi today.
There is nothing more annoying than this:
spending all day in the bathroom away
from where I want to be. Feed the abyss
with my juice until the point where I weigh
two pounds lighter than when I first began
releasing my dead weight into the can.
There are two people waiting for a car
to pick them up, one man, and one woman
there is nothing out of place or bizarre
about this: they're regular and human,
but one of them has an enormous scar
on his chest, possibly from fighting man
to beast with an enormous red dragon
and lost, hurt in a hospital wagon.
A man walks by puffing on a vape pen,
the mist has the scent of fruity pebbles.
Vaping is a grown up way to pretend
you're smoking, and look like you're the devil's
kin by blowing clouds of smoke, and defend
your lungs against the cancerous nettles
of the tobacco leaf, a killer plant
that kills in a way that vaping pens can't.
San Jose City College is a smoke
free campus, so I head toward the edge
of the college before I take a toke
of my tasty cigarette, which I wedge
between my lips like a serious bloke
who never as a child took the pledge
to never light up and smoke tobacco
the plant on which we smokers spend our dough.
There are not many people who smoke still
because of the health hazards, and the cost,
there's the cost per pack, and the doctor's bill,
and considering the time of life lost,
and the cost of lawyers who'll draft your will,
and the funeral bill, have these things crossed
your mind my friend, think of all the things you
have to pay for from having switched from chew.
A gray Jeep drives up to the passenger
loading zone and picks up a girl in a
pink sweater who looks like Kim Basinger,
who stands at the side of the road the way
a hooker would. A Henry Kissinger
look-a-like is the driver if I may
make the comparison, which is sacred
to the many women he took to bed
I head to the bathroom to piss once more,
wishing that I didn't drink so much pop,
the gush is enormous and hits the floor,
but the janitor will come here and mop
so I'm not worried about what's in store
for me for having made this pissing flop.
I need to stop drinking so much soda,
perhaps I should contact master Yoda
Walking past me is a rather large chick
with a Starbucks cup in one hand and in
the other is a cigarette. I prick
my finger on a shrub and scream and din
and howl until my own sound makes me sick.
I run around until I hit my shin
on the concrete steps of the General Ed
building. Oh how I'd rather be in bed!
Thinking of how my day has gone so far
with the pricked finger and the broken shin,
I think of worshiping sun, moon, and star,
or even armoring myself with tin
and perhaps getting a drink at the bar
after class is done. but it's only been
an hour and a half you can't drink this soon,
you will probably faint and crash and swoon.
A man in a tan sweater gets into
his car and drives away. Another man
asks for a cigarette, his sweater: blue.
he offers to pay, I charge what I can:
Fifty cents and I let the coins accrue
in my wallet which hides in my divan.
people around the plaza are jotting
notes while I smoke and my lungs are rotting
Birds are flying from tree to tree in pairs
of two. The AstroTurf beneath my feet
is crunchy. A jolly man stops and stares
at the birds and holds out seeds to defeat
the birds' hungry stomachs, this kindness scares
me because birds drop craps that look like skeet.
Oh me! Oh My! soon I will be crapped on!
That is at least until the birds are gone.
And this will be the third time that I take
a piss. This is starting to annoy me
more than people feeding geese at the lake,
which for some reason also makes me pee.
I think of the poems of William Blake
and his etchings which are a sight to see
I maneuver around the bathroom stall,
and write manacles on the urinal.
* * *
The Spaceship is Watching
I am always watching, and I am always there
from when he was a baby to today I have been
watching Kenneth, his every move, everything
he says or does, everyone he meets, every
crap he takes, everything he eats or drinks,
I watch him as he sleeps and I hack into his dreams.
Sing, muse, of the negotiations that took place
last Saturday evening over martinis at the
brass rail during the annual avian strip down.
Sing, o muse, of how Kenneth cajoled the King
of Duckland to reduce his exports of duck guano
for the benefit of the Guano Producing and
Exporting Countries or GPEC. Sing of how the
King was at first resistant but ultimately came
around to seeing things the way Kenneth did.
Saturday Night: Kenneth rolls into the Brass
Rail parking lot in me, his spaceship designed
by Frank Lloyd Wright, and the king of Duckland
does the same in his spaceship by GaudÃ,
Which is still under construction. They
greet each other and head to the bar where
they order martinis, Kenneth: a Hendricks
martini with a lime garnish and lime zest,
The King of Duckland: a Grey Goose
L'Orange martini with an orange garnish
and orange zest. They take seats at the
center stage where two white chickens
are shedding their feathers to the tune of
"Runaway" by Kanye west. Kenneth sips his
Martini slowly, the bold taste of juniper berries
and botanicals mixes with the taste of lime and
overwhelms the senses. The King of Duckland,
being himself a duck, does not seem to take
much interest in the stripping chickens, but tips
them anyway as is proper strip club etiquette.
Kenneth breaks away from his drink and begins
to speak to the King of Duckland: "We need to
come to an agreement on how much guano
the Kingdom of Duckland exports, currently
Duckland exports twenty-five thousand pounds
of guano, such an amount accounts for over half
of GPEC's total production, and at such levels
the price of guano is being depressed. If we
could get Duckland’s exports to something
closer to fifteen thousand pounds we could
see an increase in the price of guano that is
approximately twenty-nine percent." The King
of Duckland sips on his martini and feels
something like James Bond: who else orders
a vodka martini? and thinks that if vodka could
be used to make martinis, then why not scotch
or bourbon, why not cognac or rum or tequila.
The King of Duckland thinks about Kenneth's
proposal. Cutting production in half will boost
the price of guano by twenty-nine percent, and
that sounds good, but here is the problem, there
really is no chance that production could be cut
because a duck poops when a duck has to poop,
cutting exports will resort in a storage problem:
what is Duckland going to do with ten thousand
pounds of guano, where will Duckland put it all.
A pink flamingo in V-cut bikini walks by and catches
the King's Attention: "how much for a lap dance?"
The flamingo replies: "for fifty dollars you can have
a lap dance, but for three hundred you can have
the entire package." The King responds: "So how
much is that in terms of bit coins?" the flamingo
reaches into her bra and takes out a calculator
She presses buttons as she works out the math.
* * *
For Kristine
I thought about you for the better part
of the morning, from when I woke up till
hours later when my day had it's start.
Curled up in a ball, motionless and still,
I think of us working in the same room,
you at my left, I turn, and have my fill
of the joy of admiring you zoom
in on your laptop, when your desktop is
right there in front of you. My pupils bloom
and I turn away so you don't notice this
transformation into this kind of trance
that I find myself in. I hear the hiss
of hot matter leaving my brain. Let's dance!
The next time we see each other! My heart
will liquefy when you give me the chance!
* * *
For Christine
How have you been? I wonder about you.
What's on your mind, and what you have going
on, and what you're working on, and what's new,
and if I am the only one stowing
an image of you everywhere I go.
What causes this? Affections not returned.
I go to a field where I alone sow
carmine colored tulips in sand interred.
They will not grow, or rise, or bloom, blossom.
I can tend them intently and nothing
will come of my efforts. I could toss them,
but I can see myself rabid, frothing:
foam and spit and blood seeping though my teeth,
then dead, and like the tulips: underneath.
* * *
Sun and Ray
When the Sun collides with a laser ray
a light one thousand times brighter than most
stars will radiate from the point they may
be colliding at, see it from the coast,
it's almost something like the northern lights,
think of the great battles between the Sun
and a bright laser ray as each one fights
for luminary dominance, a ton
of dynamite exploding all at once
couldn't even compare to the brightness
of this collision, not one million blunts
all alight at once could top the lightness
of the sun and the laser ray clashing,
watch them during the night bright and flashing.
* * *
Ordering a Drink
At the bar I ordered a martini
which is probably my favorite mixed drink.
unscrew the cap and release the genie,
and into a tame wasted stupor sink.
I get my drink and the mixture's cloudy
which can only mean one thing, and that's brine.
I take a sip before getting rowdy,
but the gin tastes something like turpentine
I'm trying to think about who to blame,
me or the bartender, I hate dirty
drinks, and I should have chose which gin by name,
instead of being at the well's mercy.
I think that I should have requested Smirnoff,
but this bartender is a major jerk off.
* * *
Twenty Minutes of Sights and Thoughts
I head to the bathroom to take a piss
because I drank too much Pepsi today.
There is nothing more annoying than this:
spending all day in the bathroom away
from where I want to be. Feed the abyss
with my juice until the point where I weigh
two pounds lighter than when I first began
releasing my dead weight into the can.
There are two people waiting for a car
to pick them up, one man, and one woman
there is nothing out of place or bizarre
about this: they're regular and human,
but one of them has an enormous scar
on his chest, possibly from fighting man
to beast with an enormous red dragon
and lost, hurt in a hospital wagon.
A man walks by puffing on a vape pen,
the mist has the scent of fruity pebbles.
Vaping is a grown up way to pretend
you're smoking, and look like you're the devil's
kin by blowing clouds of smoke, and defend
your lungs against the cancerous nettles
of the tobacco leaf, a killer plant
that kills in a way that vaping pens can't.
San Jose City College is a smoke
free campus, so I head toward the edge
of the college before I take a toke
of my tasty cigarette, which I wedge
between my lips like a serious bloke
who never as a child took the pledge
to never light up and smoke tobacco
the plant on which we smokers spend our dough.
There are not many people who smoke still
because of the health hazards, and the cost,
there's the cost per pack, and the doctor's bill,
and considering the time of life lost,
and the cost of lawyers who'll draft your will,
and the funeral bill, have these things crossed
your mind my friend, think of all the things you
have to pay for from having switched from chew.
A gray Jeep drives up to the passenger
loading zone and picks up a girl in a
pink sweater who looks like Kim Basinger,
who stands at the side of the road the way
a hooker would. A Henry Kissinger
look-a-like is the driver if I may
make the comparison, which is sacred
to the many women he took to bed
I head to the bathroom to piss once more,
wishing that I didn't drink so much pop,
the gush is enormous and hits the floor,
but the janitor will come here and mop
so I'm not worried about what's in store
for me for having made this pissing flop.
I need to stop drinking so much soda,
perhaps I should contact master Yoda
Walking past me is a rather large chick
with a Starbucks cup in one hand and in
the other is a cigarette. I prick
my finger on a shrub and scream and din
and howl until my own sound makes me sick.
I run around until I hit my shin
on the concrete steps of the General Ed
building. Oh how I'd rather be in bed!
Thinking of how my day has gone so far
with the pricked finger and the broken shin,
I think of worshiping sun, moon, and star,
or even armoring myself with tin
and perhaps getting a drink at the bar
after class is done. but it's only been
an hour and a half you can't drink this soon,
you will probably faint and crash and swoon.
A man in a tan sweater gets into
his car and drives away. Another man
asks for a cigarette, his sweater: blue.
he offers to pay, I charge what I can:
Fifty cents and I let the coins accrue
in my wallet which hides in my divan.
people around the plaza are jotting
notes while I smoke and my lungs are rotting
Birds are flying from tree to tree in pairs
of two. The AstroTurf beneath my feet
is crunchy. A jolly man stops and stares
at the birds and holds out seeds to defeat
the birds' hungry stomachs, this kindness scares
me because birds drop craps that look like skeet.
Oh me! Oh My! soon I will be crapped on!
That is at least until the birds are gone.
And this will be the third time that I take
a piss. This is starting to annoy me
more than people feeding geese at the lake,
which for some reason also makes me pee.
I think of the poems of William Blake
and his etchings which are a sight to see
I maneuver around the bathroom stall,
and write manacles on the urinal.
* * *
Booty Haiku
Take a long hard
look in the
fucking mirror.
a full body mirror.
and see just why that
sweet ass that kills me.
* * *
Paper Poem
This is kind of annoying. I haven't
really fucked around with paper and ink
in such a long time: here I am, having
a fucking blast! This process really stinks:
First, write it up, then type, then print or post,
just another piece of shit thing to do
with time I have to flush down the toilet.
Quicker to snap, then upload to the host,
and then somehow this makes its way to you,
reading on your phone as you take a shit.
This is just another time in my life
where this is the only task for me to
pursue, and, filled with turmoil and strife
I tattoo these sheets of paper in blue.
* * *
Autobiography of an Intergalactic Exchange Student
My name is Kenneth Larot Yamat, and I am
from the moon. I came to Earth four years
ago as an exchange student at the Galactic
University of San Jose. I live with my two
host parents: Claude and Marie Jensen, who
are both employees of the Lunar Corporation.
I drive to school in a space ship designed by
Frank Lloyd Wright and it really helps me
score dates with people who can really
appreciate architectural design. The Cost of
the space ship was about twenty-five
million dollars, so there is a real threat that
it will attract gold diggers, but I am able to
dodge gold diggers by having all prospective
dates fill out a triplicate questionnaire.
* * *
Diet Shasta Cola
Diet Shasta cola is a whole lot
cheaper than either Coke or Pepsi. For
a buck two point five liters can be bought
when you make it out to the dollar store.
I can hardly taste the difference between
Shasta and Coke, or Shasta and Pepsi:
the taste of Shasta is as crisp and clean
as is Coke or Pepsi, at least to me.
So why should I even buy the real thing?
It passes the taste test and it even
costs less and it's not like I'm full of bling
and can spend like my debts are forgiven
It's a matter of convenience not all
stores carry Shasta cola on the wall.
* * *
Cocaine
Once cocaine is as legal as coffee
I'll ask my barista to make my drinks
with a dash of shit, a dash of toffee,
and enough caramel to puzzle a sphinx.
I'll sprinkle my optimos with cocaine
and marijuana and smoke orgasms
until I'm stoned and totally insane
and my stomach rests and my chest spasms.
I start a regular day with a cup
of coffee, three or four eggs, and bacon.
Oh how I love Bacon! because it's up
there with crack as stuff I like to take in.
Smoke it with a pipe, smoke it with a bong,
snort while you can, it won't be legal long.
* * *
Spam
Asian beauties, Russian Beauties, and pills
to enlarge your penis, a lottery
check is waiting for you, and unpaid bills,
and deals on ancient Chinese pottery.
A handful of rice and a slice of spam
and a sheet of nori: wrap it around
and you have spam musubi, then you cram
it into your throat and swallow it down.
Spam is something that en masse you delete
because everything caught by the filter
is useless. Spam is something that you eat
unless your stomach feels out of kilter.
Spam is a nuisance, and also a food
one is deleted, the other is stewed.
* * *
Cigarettes
Cigarettes are even more addictive
than heroin for sure: I’ve been without
cigarettes before and it’s hard to live
without them after smoking them about
the day. When I’ve run out of cigarettes
and don’t have any money to buy more
I’ll search the garbage or ashtray for butts
or even try to steal them from the store.
I think that cigarettes smell delicious
but many people think otherwise, that
they smell bad and that the fumes are vicious.
Smoking can be fun if you need to chat
with someone and there are always people
who like to smoke and don’t think it’s evil.
* * *
Contacting Aliens
The rain won't let up, it's like a jungle
outside, a rain forest with tons of rain,
I'm at a taco shop where I bungle
the poetry writing process, my brain
putting together words and rhymes, phrases
and sentences that don't really go with
each other, it's not my fault, the day is
keeping us inside, my efforts one fifth
of what they would be if I were doing
this voluntarily, I am forcing
it, I'm bored and I think about mooning
the taqueria cashier and coursing
around the tables like a lunatic,
and contacting aliens with my Bic.
* * *
Chamyagi Orimogo
I plan on selling all my yam dobbies and putting
the money into a charijuana ETF. I will make so much
money that everyone will envy me, and I will have
to buy everyone dinner.
I don't know why the internet
keeps going offline. This is garbage.
I pay one fillion dollars per month
and think Cox should have this down.
All the women on Ok Cupid
are cows, and all the women on Plenty Of Fish are hookers.
Adult Friend Finder doesn't really work, and Craiglist
doesn't host personal ads anymore. No one seems down
for natural insemination on Co-Parent Match, and creampie
perverts generally don't get many dates.
When the capitalist system is overthrown by gorblanas
it will be the greatest triumph of the communitarian
oligarchy. Blood will run in the streets and chainsaws
will be sold at a significant discount. Especially on Amazon.
Ornagi doughnuts will be sold by Krispy Kreme,
and the world's stock of Ornagi Fish will be
depleted once the low-carb aspects of Ornagi
doughnuts is discovered by the people of
Shorblana. Shobobbly Bob will be sold right next
to Ace Of Spades, and will be twice as expensive.
When people begin watching preggo porn with
any regularity the proletariat will overthrow
the pornocracy, and reappropriate the means
of fornication to the working man. Twenty percent
of all porn will be sold for coupons worth one porn
per coupon, and the remaining porns will be sold for
popcorn and for goblins worth a thousand dollars each.
The yield curve will be inverted, and short term treasuries
will sell for more than doughnuts. People will go crazy
speculating on the latest initial public offering, and tithes
will trade at a discount relative to the Ablamdio Morgana
pricing model.
* * *
Psychiatrist and Noodles
I don't have to see my psychiatrist
tomorrow until four o'clock in the
afternoon which makes me a little pissed
because at three I wanted to eat pho,
and it takes me like nine years to eat my
noodles because I savor every bite
eating enough to make a small man die
chewing and swallowing with all my might.
I think I'll bring a package of ramen
to the doctor's office and cook it with
the huge jug of water in the common
area: five packages, and a fifth
gallon of water to make my noodles.
a massive amount: oodles and oodles.
* * *
Stocks
I'm not exactly what I'm doing. I really just want
to park my money somewhere that isn't a savings
account. So I am buying stocks. I only have four
different stocks that I buy. They are all index ETF's
because I really don't want to put too much money
in one company at a time.
There is this one stock that pays pretty decent
dividends, and I getting a dividend really get my
heart racing, but I have to pay taxes on dividends,
and the money just comes out of the stock price it
seems. So I'm basically losing money, and paying
taxes on it. It's bullshit!
* * *
Buffet at the Station Casino
I don't hesitate to eat like nine plates
of food when I go the the buffet at the
casino. My coworker asked me how
many plates of food I eat when I go to
the casino and I said more than five and
she said that they are losing money on
me, but what do I care? They make tons
of money taking it from the gamblers,
the poor and working class gamblers that
spend their paychecks at the casino,
trading work for dreams. Somebody has
got to stick it to them. Hell yes I pile my
plates with food, and the good stuff too,
all the best stuff, the most delicious stuff,
and I leave a fat tip for the bus boys and the
waiters too. Screw the casinos! But for
some reason I kind of want to work for one.
I would play games all day. Cards and dice
and roulette and blackjack and poker
and go fish and bullshit and war and 13.
* * *
How To Talk To Children
If they act up you have to
tell them that they
will be going
to jail with
the elephants and the tigers
where they will
be eaten up
like food
and torn to bits by the vultures
and the dinosaurs who live
in the prisons and who
are there just to eat
children who act up and the grocery store
and piss in their beds and who crap
in their diapers when they are
already two years old.
At that age I was already
paying the mortgage
and had a fulltime job
and had three
children.
So don't tell me you are too young to have
responsibilities. That is horse doo doo
and you won't get away with
trying to be a child forever.
* * *
The Ex Girlfriend
I thought I burned everything
related to my ex girlfriend but
yesterday I came across an old
picture of us taken in a photo
booth. A string of five photos
of us smiling together and cute
and kissing each other and
making funny faces for the
camera. Stupid crap that couples
in love do. I should have burned
this abomination. Took a crap
on it and thrown it into the
fireplace, and then took the
ashes and flushed them down
the toilet, and then took another
dump on the ashes before
flushing the toilet, and then
crapping once more after
flushing the ashes down the toilet
just for good measure, and
then going upstairs and taking
another poop just to make sure
that there was no chance that
these artifacts would avoid
the touch of my feces.
* * *
Photographs of You
I thought I burned everything
related to my ex girlfriend but
yesterday I came across an old
picture of us taken in a photo
booth. A string of five photos
of us smiling together and cute
and kissing each other and
making funny faces for the
camera. Stupid crap that couples
in love do. I should have burned
this abomination. Took a crap
on it and thrown it into the
fireplace, and then took the
ashes and flushed them down
the toilet, and then took another
dump on the ashes before
flushing the toilet, and then
crapping once more after
flushing the ashes down the toilet
just for good measure, and
then going upstairs and taking
another poop just to make sure
that there was no chance that
these artifacts would avoid
the touch of my feces.
* * *
The Ex Girlfriend
I thought I burned everything
related to my ex girlfriend but
yesterday I came across an old
picture of us taken in a photo
booth. A string of five photos
of us smiling together and cute
and kissing each other and
making funny faces for the
camera. Stupid crap that couples
in love do. I should have burned
this abomination and took a crap
on it and thrown it into the
fireplace, and then took the
ashes and flushed them down
the toilet, and then took another
dump on the ashes before
flushing the toilet, and then
crapping once more after
flushing the ashes down the toilet
just for good measure, and
then going upstairs and taking
another poop just to make sure
that there was no chance that
these artifacts would avoid
the touch of my feces.
* * *
The Secret Admirer
I've been visiting your
website repeatedly and
clicking on all your ads in order to drive up ad
revenue for you site, and to keep you writing
and posting stuff
on your instagram
like all the sexy pictures of you in undies and
swimsuits and tight yoga pants and cute outfits.
I want you to be rich.
but I don't want to give
you any money out of my own pocket, but I can
give you all the clicks you need to become rich.
Screw the advertisers! They all have tons of money
anyway, and what do they care that I'm busting their
advertising
budget.
How many other people do you think are out there
who care about you as much as I do that they would
go out of their way to click the daylights out of your
ads? I'm the only one, and I am the one for you, and
as long as we don't
share the same IP
address it will all
be perfectly fine.
no one will find out about this secret operation to screw
the advertisers out of their money. We should screw them.
and you
should
screw me.
* * *
The Proposal
I proposed
to the love
of my life
the one for
me who I
would
spend the
rest of my
life with
with a cubic
zirconia and
somehow
she knew
right away
that it
wasn't
a diamond.
Gold digger!
I dumped her
then and there!
* * *
Drinking Whiskey Is Like Kissing A Woman
After all the bars I've gone to, and all
the drinks I've had, I can say that drinking
whiskey is like kissing a woman. Fall
into a shot of whiskey while thinking
about a woman who you'd love to kiss
and you'll find it a more than adequate
substitute for brining your tongue to bliss.
Not very many people would equate
A shot of whiskey to a kiss because
they have never tried it: I recommend
that they do. Longing for a kiss can cause
mental distress that's very hard to mend:
It's been written about in all kinds of
insane lunatic poems about love.
* * *
Plans for the Future
I'm just going to go ahead and
put all these posts up.
I mean I'm going
to upload all the Submittable
content that I downloaded to my computer
and upload it to my blog.
There has to be more to life
than this
boring ass shit that
I have allocated to me.
There has to be.
The main goal for the next. I guess
however the fuck long.
Okay. Let's make it definite.
I want to put out a copyright before the end of
October, but of course. I want to get
it done sooner than that.
The other goal is to figure out what
to do about the Graduate School Question.
I don't even know what
I'm thinking about right now.
* * *
The New Job
Pain in the ass motherfuckers pushed my
start date back a week, and I needed that
week of extra money so I could buy
gas, smokes, soda, and crisp chips of pork fat.
I'm excited about the company,
the role, and the people I'll be working
with. What I hope is that I will be free
to do pretty much whatever: twerking
during work hours if I see fit. This
thing that worries me is that they will not
hire me because of the wicked piss
I post on the Internet: things I thought
about this or that, work, the hiring
process and things that I'm desiring.
* * *
Mother Fucking Professionals
I wonder how professional writers
do it, how they
produce so
much content,
enough to fill books, pulling
all-nighters
and writing until their energy's spent.
I bet they use performance enhancing substances beyond
the coffee and smokes that many of us use. Maybe dancing
with heroin and cocaine helps to coax
the muse
and allows
writers to produce
the magnificent
things that they
do. But
maybe they don't
use anything but
juice
and pickles and
write from heart,
mind, and gut.
I have to figure it all out, I need
to, I do, I have my own muse to feed.
* * *
Booty Privileges
I demand access to that booty. I have that right
according to the Constitution. Congress shall
make no establishment relating to the prohibition
of booty, nor shall there be any debate regarding
the prohibition of booty access.
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