Posts Tagged ‘hyperealism’

Not smart enough.

Not straight enough.

Not fake enough.

Not big enough.

Not poor enough.

Not rich enough.

Not gay enough.

No label.

Pressure pounding,

get in where you fit in.

Feel a freak.





Addiction always accepts applicants.



Never mind pharmaceuticals

on every corner,

every billboard,

every commercial,

smiles for tears.

Never mind the food industry

your dinner full of chemicals,

years upon years.

Did they really think this wouldn/t change things?

Not alter physiology?

There is a disenfranchised army

of genetically altered mutants

wandering the streets these daze.

Terrifying the machine.

They can start it.

They can contain it.

They can lie to us about it.

They can throw us in


But they can not




You are a small part

of a great-big

divine consciousness.

Do not ever forget:




Maybe 2012 was the end,

of a programmed-bullshit-commercial-reality,

fed to us intravenously,


permeating pores.

There are no beginnings without ends





Posted: December 19, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

someway it
mends itself
heaven sends
until then

frayed nerve ends
signals bend
along with time
we stupid spend

& just praise
your lord for
an unopened tin
of suboxone.

Hard honesty
amid lies
some have trouble
even when
they try to say
is alright

here tonight
stretching skin
to snap out
of disguise
do not think
some will like
what we find.

We know who you are out there struggling.

We saw your front teeth get kicked in, your swollen jaw, your blackened eyes. We watched you get drug across a street by your hair. We know how embarrassed you feel every time you hold up a checkout counter because the cashier has to check your WIC card or your EBT card will not swipe. We hear the snide remarks from the line behind you. We know it’s difficult to find the right guy, when most the “right” guys won’t date a girl with kids. We know how rare it is to find a job that’ll work with your schedule. We know how hard you worked and hustled to make sure we had something nice for Christmas.

We were there.

We went through it all with you.

And who are we?

We are the children of the forgotten families of America.

And when we get our turn at power, we will not forget a thing of that.

We love and appreciate you all so much.

Happy Mothers Day!

My book ZENspeak is about many different things; but really, it is about one thing with many faces.

It is about war. Not traditional war, but the psychological war we wage on ourselves. It is about private prisons, economic slavery, betrayal, and lost loves. All of these issues stem from one dirty word that no one dares speak of, addiction. You barely breathe the word addiction, and the gears automatically start turning in an individual’s mind to justify how they aren’t one. Some honestly believe that they are above this word.

Corporate interests have built America upon addiction. Whether we choose to realize it or not, this is happening. We have sports addicts, junk food addicts, celebrity gossip addicts, and pharmaceutical addicts. We live in a commercial enterprise based upon addiction.

You need what we got and if you don’t get it, you’re a freak of nature.

Do a social experiment one day. Turn on the T.V. at any time of any day and watch a couple of commercials.

Take a toothpaste advertisement for example,
Fade in:
A man walks into what appears to be a job interview and shakes the interviewer’s hand. The narrator tells us that first impressions are everything. That our smiles are the first things a person sees when they meet us. That if we do not have a particular toothpaste we will have an ugly smile and no one will like us. The commercial, in a span of mere seconds, shows us an array of first encounters involving the main character. Every single one of these people is so damn happy to meet this guy with the great smile. A shot of this man’s wife hugging on him and his kids hanging on him is the cap of the commercial. Everyone is having a hell of time and the commercial gives one the impression that it is all due to this toothpaste. Yeah, no one finds a mouth full of rotting teeth attractive, but the product placement is shameless.
Fade out.

If you didn’t really need the products before you started using them, you will really need them after you do. I remember using acne creams when I was a teenager. If I stopped using them, the acne came back worse than before. The same goes for nasal spray.

It seems like a harmless little thing. And alone it is. However, it builds into a conglomeration that attacks the psyche every waking moment.

That is America. As long as you are good on the outside, there is little worry about the inside. But I didn’t come here to write about toothpaste and acne cream.

ZENspeak is about looking inward and facing the beast that is manipulating true worth. The beast that has somehow found a way to profit from suffering and has left us desolate and vicarious.

The battleground is in the characters’ minds. In that sense, the main character is both the protagonist and the antagonist. The war waged on the self. But that does not explain the whole story either. This may be a battle fought in the battleground of the mind, but we have been coerced into this battle. Kind of like a government that sells arms and ammunition to a population, only to declare war on that population after they are armed and using the new-found stockpile of weapons as validation for the invasion.

ZENspeak deals with this insanity.

It took us awhile. We had to develop a different type of syntax to express this new treachery being perpetrated on the races of the earth.

Many people dismiss my subject matter because of the drugs and the critical examination of postmodern democracy. This is no glorification; rather, these words stem from consternation. The intention of this book is not anti-American. It is an attempt to save the America that bureaucratic-hypocritical-political legislation has wrapped in chains.

If you like your art hermetically homogenized and pasteurized by the same format as what it follows, this is definitely not your kind of book.

The other day I was reading another author’s blog when I came across a fabulous quote form Anton Chekhov, I do not remember the quote verbatim but I will attempt a paraphrase:
A writer does not write answers, he writes questions.

This reminded me of something I just wrote a week ago:
I can’t speak for other writers, but all I do when I write is paint observations; of the world I’ve been through, the world I’m in, and the world I hope to live in. It is like seeing a horrible event and taking a picture so people will know this event really happened. However, when some people see the photograph they get mad at the photographer instead of the event he photographed. I just paint; I wish I had the answers. Suppose that is why we have science and religion.

America is all about shooting the messenger these days.