The Crazy Never Die

11/30/2012

 
Did anyone else see those bats? Get your guns and mescaline. It's time for some Hunter.

The Cure For The One Night Stand

11/29/2012

 
Slam is the cure for bad poetry. Sorry, Twilight fans, this may overload your system with actual emotion.
What is Slam?

Not the regular wham bam thank you ma’am

Of  cutesy rhyme, diminutive Haiku, or Senryu

Slam doesn’t gently tease your head, fondling your words, lightly kissing your metaphors, caressing ever so slightly your images, your beliefs.

Slam grabs your poetic cock greedily,

And shoves it in its mouth

And swallows.

Swallows your preconceived notions assumptions beliefs and your sacred cows.

Slam ties you to the bedpost screaming

Now you’re my bitch! Think for yourself.

You’re– my bitch! Now think for yourself.

Think for yourself!

If it feels right, do it.

If it sounds right, say it.

If it makes your audience uncomfortable

If it makes them think

SCREAM IT!

SCREAM IT!

Make them scream it!

Make them scream, breathlessly, hearts pounding, ideas erupting

Wanting more, needing more, rhythmically writhing

Grinding

Grindingwords,

Words and meanings, ideas and metaphors

Slam  grabs its audience and makes them

Makes them give up the one night stands

Of cutesy rhyme and Haiku

And Senryu

Slam.

Slam makes them–

Slam makes them want to swallow their own sacred cows.

Some Morning Wood

11/28/2012

 
Woody Guthrie, that is.

Madhouse

11/27/2012

 
Picture
  • I am a junkie: a certifiable, hopelessly addicted junkie. CNN, ABC, and Fox, are my daily dose; shot directly into my visual cortex at the speed of light. Talk radio methadone holds me over at work, in my car until I can return home for my daily dose of radiation laden, digitized for my protection, primetime headline news.

    These sights and sounds aren’t just beamed to me but to the planet and beyond. Traveling at the speed at the speed of sound and light, the news is hurtling its way towards distant stars and planets, and perhaps, just maybe, distant people.

    At first they will receive a trickle of Campbell’s Soup Playhouse, FDR’s fire side chats, “there is nothing to fear but fear its self,” then atom bombs and Elvis. Gradually speeding up until a flood of images and sounds of our media-laden world ravage and infest their airwaves plague-like, choking out everything until only our images exist.

    Years of bombardment with our cosmic U.H.F, V.H.F. junk; will drive them to the brink of madness. They will know absolutely nothing — nothing about us except for what our media tells them.

    Someday these distant people from somewhere may seek us out in hopes of finding the meaning behind our media; the method to our madness. Perhaps, when they arrive they will they will find Charlton Hesston running through the streets screaming “It’s people! It’s people!” Or maybe these people from somewhere will find the statue of Liberty buried up to her armpits in radioactive sand. Or maybe they won’t come at all and simply bulldoze our planet to make a hyperspace freeway.


October in the Railroad Earth

11/26/2012

 

Advice For Young People -- William S Burroughs

11/25/2012

 

Happy Saturday Night 

11/24/2012

 

You Won't Like Him When He's Angry.

11/22/2012

 

As God Is My Witness, I Thought Turkeys Could Fly.

11/22/2012

 

Alice's Restaraunt.

11/22/2012

 
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