Archive for December, 2012

Was walkin’ in the cold the other day.

An old man came from between the buildings.

I thought he was about to ask for change.

Oh, the horror…

He was holding a real fancy box made of wood.

It had some interesting carvings.

I was going to throw my bike at him and make a run for it.

But he said something even more intriguing than the carvings

He told me he knew a secret.

He told me he could teach me this secret.


it was up to me whether or not I learned this secret.


if I knew this secret I would never know peace.

I couldn’t stop staring DOWN at the little box.

I didn’t notice all the flies.

I was transfixed.

Curiosity got the better of me.

Some of us need less convincing than others.


Not fully accepted by whites, not by blacks, not gay. not smart, not stupid.

No good at sports.

No group to be “labeled” in.

The culture pounding a “get in where you fit in” mentality from early development.

You feel like a freak if you don‘t fit in somewhere.


Divide and conquer.

And the junkies are always accepting applications.

Never mind the pharmaceutical industry on every corner;

every billboard,

every commercial,

offering smiles for your troubles.

Never mind the food industry pumping your dinner full of CHEMICAL additives.

Did they really think this wouldn’t change things?

Alter our physiology in some way?

There is a disenfranchised army of genetically altered mutants wandering the streets these days.

And that terrifies the system.

They can start it.

They can contain it.

They can lie to us about it.

They can throw us in PRISONS.

But they can’t CONTROL it.

I’ve been studying PHENOMENOLOGY.

You are a small part of a great-big divine consciousness.

Don’t forget that.

Maybe 2012 was the end of the world.

The end of a bullshit commercial reality fed to us intravenously through television programming.

There will be no BEGINNING without an end…

A Thing of Beauty

Posted: December 29, 2012 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

It is as if,

she was poured in

her dark-smooth skin.

I couldn’t imagine

a more perfect fit.

I am helpless,

before her;

like a flower,

forever turning,

toward the sun.

If you guys have time, there is a wonderful BBC documentary on the romantics. It can be found on You-Tube. From Byron to Keats to Rousseau to Coleridge to Blake to Wordsworth to Brissot to even the obscure Clare(who in my humble opinion, never gets the attention he deserves; I can just envision his last years in the madhouse, rambling rhymes–haunting) and a few others I am sure I am leaving out. The documentary is broke into three parts: Liberty, Nature, Eternity. I’m crashing on my deadline for my first book and I can’t stop watching the damn thing. Very inspiring. It may help start a fire if you ever get blocked in verse. I don’t do reviews too often, but this merits attention. Extremely well done and researched.

Posted: December 28, 2012 in Uncategorized

For those on the train of the all-encompassing-consciousness. Great piece from



We are each one a grain of sand funneled by cosmic winds
Onto a god’s mandala ~
A grain of sand sighing through the umbilical of a breath

of moonlight.

As our external sun diminishes
An internal sun brightens,
The flow of all
Is the intensity of the immediate ~
Flesh on flesh opens
As a flower to the sun’s rays ~
Each of us cosmic holograms,
Each of us completely all other
Wedded to loss and sweetness of consciousness,
Wedded to love and the terrible terror of this life ~
Mourners sprawled onto the shifting sands,
The beach of eternal unknowing,
This tentative foothold we have in forgetfulness
Slipping away as it must and as it should in reaching
More more more as we thrust into quantum fields ~
Feedback of the indifferent sky searing our eyes.

Walk into the flaming suns within yourself and come back

to you,

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I have convalesced with the best
You can see my footprints
Across the Margate Sands
Yet, somehow lived to bear witness
To Eliot’s Waste Land
What I’ve known I now believe
The poetry of dying becomes a thing of beauty
Agnostic letters forming the words of Gods
An archaic language still spoken fluently
By dreaming the dead dreams of desolation
Obtained my very own house of pain
But I must set adrift from this harbor of shame
To be released from the benediction of being alive
A blessing not always guaranteeing life
I must reside where death can be an inspiration
No longer vainly, I commit suicide for spirituality
By traversing through the means of verse
I descend into limbo & purgatory
Where there is NOTHING divine
In this dark comedy
Only the “comfort of being sad”
Accompanied by the ramblings of the insane
Schooled by the inherited sins from an absent dad
Circling the seventh circle with Plath and Cobain
Soulless souls lost in this abyss
Nodding down to number nine
Where politicians preach with the nationalists
Which makes me recall Ezra’s influence
Allowing me to see where I once was blind


Then, as if stricken by a sudden chill
Groaning the only movement, all seemed still
A man stood mumbling, looking out the gate
The gate through which moments ago I came
He began to stir, pacing and waiting
Noticing me, he approached debating,

“And you! Do you know what is is, to be?
Oh Hannah, my Hannah I’m so sorry…
Being in time, time in being; I wrote…
Never mind the swastikas on my coat,
I told a thousand Jews a thousand times,
Intended to change things from the inside”

Interest lost, he turned back for the door
Though he muttered, he spoke to me no more

I waded through vapor rising from ice
Bodies frozen still by their own device
& across the sheet was Ronnie Reagan
Freezing, begging with the other masons
I neared the middle of the frozen room
There He was feasting; guarding His blue tomb

“You are the Beast and I am your disease.
I did as you pleased; me, you must now release.”

“Must I now? You dictate what I need?
Don’t hesitate! For on your fear I feed.
But this is quite curious, please do tell:
What would stray you from a warm home like hell?”

“I must confess, I sizzled with the best.
I’ve nothing left and I’ll never have rest.
My suffering is, with or without you.
Turn me loose, I’ve given you your due.
Your not my Father, just dad, Prince of Lies.”

With that he stretched his mouth and out poured flies
Their buzzing a noise I did recognize
My alarm buzzed, and the dream, realized


The power of the prodigal son returns
As a life renewed begins to surge
Call out to the forgotten kingdoms of heavenly affluence
Granting the power to resurrect thyself
Baptized by fire; my own sins I will purge
I ascend from the circles
Back to this land of the truly lost
The entombed fabrication of commercial reality
Where every act of love has its cost
Here I find myself amongst
A manifestation of manufactured identities
That I once gravely mistook for individuality
So soon it is that I curse my return
Sometimes a journey so dark
Can illuminate where fear finds its rest
Thus granting a great passion to kings
Generating the songs of which the poets sing
Seeking an eternal reward with little avail
We all must pursue this empty quest
While we search for our Holy Grail
Those loves lost too soon; leaving
For the shores of Avalon
I draw from its waters
To extinguish my infernal burns
I gently gather my ashes
From the lands they’ve been scattered
Collecting them in a Grecian urn

To My Lost Friendz

Posted: December 27, 2012 in Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized

Hey guys, just wanted to drop a quick note for clarity. When I developed my new site, somewhere along the way I lost all my followers on my site. I’m not sure how this happened and I don’t want you to think this was my doing. Below is a link to my new site. Untill this gets sorted out, I will be posting on both sites. I miss you guys…