Before The Aftermath

2

  The journey west is larger than words. The tracts covered are vast. Size isn’t the same back home. I feel bigger in a bedroom. We are krill apart from the horde. We are barnacles alone. We are not special. We are not different. The journey west is larger than words. The tracts covered are vast. We are fish with no school. We can’t be discerned. We won’t be noticed. So alone. Don’t notice. So vulnerable. Don’t notice. Predators can’t find us. We can’t be seen.

  3

  Everywhere is here. Nowhere is not. There is a single tai chi. Not two. Everywhere is here. Skyscrapers appear in the fog. In a city off the highway. Here is the place. This is where we are. It is not home. Home is not far. This is where we are. One town like the next. One road west. We go, we stop, we rest. Everywhere is here. Nowhere is not. There is a single tai chi. It set me free. Allowing me to be completely serene. As if in a dream. Where nothing is what it seems. Everywhere is here. No matter how far gone. Home is near. Because here is everywhere.

  4

  My best foot was on the last leg. This step trips and clatters. Further forward forever. Lest the interstate close for weather. The sun rose in the rearview. Drowsy eyes revived. Back to life. My best foot was on the last leg. Only the next leg matters. Moving so vague. Deception is the best protection. After an election. Before the secession. Desperado wheels roll to the goal. Unstoppable. My best foot was on the last leg. Perpetual nervosa lingers. The wheel in my fingers. Holding my breath. Head underwater.

  5

  Pendulum mood swings. Blessed like baby Jesus. Cursed as the Dark Prince. Culture cultivates discordant fortunes. We gamble with our lives. A king’s ransom. Across the ocean. Hunted. Wanted. Haunted by pendulum mood swings. Catch us if you can. That’s fair man. This is righteous. It feels horrendous. The duress. The distress. The success so glorious. Threats notorious. Pendulum mood swings. Danger relentlessly rings wrong. Highway sings a sweet siren song. This is what tomorrow brings.

  6

  Sleep deprivation vocation. Crop shot vision. Sluggish motion. Disorienting devotions. Fatigue, caffeine, and heavy machinery. An ocean of time. Depths of misery. Tides of torment. Sleep deprivation vocation. Fundamentally broken. Far too outspoken. Forever unforgiven. If suicide could kill me then I’d be dead. Instead I’ve got a revenant in my head. Dead. Dead. Dead alive. An ocean of time. Depths of misery. Tides of torment. Sleep deprivation vocation. This price is too high. Throw me aside. I have no value. Dead alive. Delete this three times. Keep just what rhymes.

  7

  Longest night I’ve ever known. Just me awake. All alone. Street lights seep through the blinds. I toss and turn in insomniac binds. Kill me in my sleep. I’ve sowed what I reap. Kill me in my sleep. One promise to keep. The darkness is soft, my deer. My deer. Take away my pain and fear. I’ve never cared about being here. Agony is crystal clear. Death, so far, so near. And I all alone. If I could have known I’d be like this when I’m grown then I would have never been born. Into this world thrown. Nothing taught. Nothing shown. Ultimately beyond family. On my own. My overlooked books unknown. With the bends again. Drowning and not dying. Still struggling. Boys don’t cry. Men don’t quit. Kill me in my sleep. Take away my agony. Take away my malady. I can’t live without my lady. So baby. Save me with your beauty. Or kill me in my sleep. If I ever sleep again.

  8

  A happy accident. We give thanks. Upon foundations of suffering. In homes of exploitation. Roofed by selfish principles. Upon poverty’s land. The hungry stand at the gate. We give thanks. A happy accident. Grateful for friends. Kind words as the world ends. Grateful for family. And the privilege they gave me. For the earth and heaven. Slaughtered at the hands of men. Time and again. I give thanks for what I can. Sick culture we can’t save; be with me in my grave. I’m trying to be brave. They made me a slave. Numbered. Documented. Subjected. Disillusioned. Rejected. I give thanks for water, blood, and the end.

  9

  Moving with the sky. Clouds in my face. Get me out of this place. No exit. I don’t exist. That is not what this is. It’s a pulse. A single beat. Bury my heart in Waco. Off I-80. 

  We are where we were. We are where we weren’t. Moving with the sky. Clouds in my face. Nauseating waves. A particular distaste. Everything I was. Needs to be erased. To begin a blank slate. To keep it pure. At any rate. The endless mission is owning me. We are the king’s ransom. Moving with the sky. Clouds in my face.

  10

  Never was a voice so beautiful as hers. That melody I’ve never heard. Like the impoverished rich man. I finally understand. Hear me if you can. Fate grows irate. Issues exacerbate. You must be running late. To our nonexistent date. I can’t wait. Everyday is a little more pain. Like radiation in the rain. I’ll never be whole again. Never was a voice so beautiful as hers. That melody I’ve never heard. It is nothing wrong with me. It’s culture. It has to be. Weaponized insanity. Find your destiny. Find me. There was never a voice so beautiful as yours. That melody I’ve never heard. Incomplete, until that first word.

  11

  Highway hypnosis. Distract my necrosis. It’s the pits. Hot blood. Cold world. Music ends before it begins. Hourly near death experiences. The house always wins. Salt Lake shooting star. I wished for her. Only a schizoid. Has faith in a meteoroid. Hot blood. Cold world. Stank salt lake is rank. For the concentrated dank. Another full tank. Expression blank. An owl to thank. Death omen. Boat sank. Hot blood. Cold world.

  12

  What I want to say. I cannot convey. Legally. Please bear with me. It’s twisted allegories. Hazards and dangers. Half-hearted metaphors. About sailing the seas. We’re fighting covert wars. And praying to Satan. Oh, my lord, please. See me home safely. What I want to say. I cannot convey. Legally. Believe this. There is a fire in my fist. Peril in my wrist. Four hundred miles west. Then a brief respite. That’s adequate. That’s legit. I just need a minute to sit and forget about this for a bit. What I want to say I cannot convey. Legally. I want you to know. How this really goes. So much to expose. Another day I suppose.

  13

  There is a correlation between depression and exhaustion. The demons creep as you begin losing sleep. Like fruit left out. I just can’t keep. Like nagging doubts become screams and shouts. Let me say what hell is about. Hell is desperation. There is a correlation between depression and exhaustion. Hell is this nation. And our hypocritical condemnations. This is heaven’s vindication. Fairy tales of mice and men. Neither will ever thrive again. The worst laid plans. Purposeful mismanagement. We do what we can. Alone. I feel this as sand slipping from my hand. Don’t find me, my love. My dove of blue sky above. Don’t find me my love. I need the motivation. My desperation. My desolation. This nation. All nations. There is a correlation between depression and exhaustion. I need a decent night’s rest. To continue this test. To prove what is best. Lest the figurative chicks fall from the metaphor nest. Or we take hollow points to the chest. Never forget. There is no safety net. No regret. Desperate. One slip and that’s it. Let’s get to the port of destination. For rest and relaxation. For a brief vacation from the vocation. Before we’re out to sea again. There is a correlation between exhaustion and damnation. Sleep well, my friend.

  14

  The devil has sea sickness. This is extremely hazardous. Mountain roads perilous as a cobra’s kiss is venomous. Slow down. The dead don’t get around. We’ll never make it back to our hometown. Don’t let the devil die on his mission. Let him be shanked in prison. That’s justification. May I never know another mistress. Your devil has sea sickness and is in distress. Captain, this is extremely hazardous. The terrain mountainous. Don’t let me die like this. Let me fall from grace again. To my home among the demons. Captured, tortured, heathens. Anything. Just get me off the mountains. I despise heights. Like darkness hates lights. Don’t let me fall from grace, alright?

  15

  Nevada has a call only the wicked can hear. An outback of prisons, gambling, and fear. Loathing, too. So I hear. Burning brush beside the tar. Smoke
wafting through the air. No one fucking carez. That much is clear. Land swallows you and your tires slow. The land is ours. Like we don’t even know. With decadence like this there is nowhere else to go. Nevada has a whisper only demons adore. A desert of substance abuse and whores. Battle Mountain I accept your challenge. Reno I will be seeing you. In wastelands of radiation and risk. The Elko sun intense as the sin around the mountain bend. Nevada has a familiar cry. Sorrowful sobs of solemn remorse.

  16

  How many more bitches want to settle for less? I be the last lost child born apart from the rest. It’s like living in the past. Puritans and heathens in endless distress. I can feel hunters stalking the innocent. The wicked incite mob riots. I be the last lost child born apart from thiz chizz. Rocking out in the outlaw inns. Fine dining in the renegade restaurants. Far beyond desires and wants. Life and death are hanging in the balance, bitch. Baby. Take a chance. True romance underground seduction dance. Dreams of mystery liaisons in the towncar. I’ve come home from terror war. No worse for the wear. I made it there. Take it as a dare, my deer, step out of the ether and into the atmosphere. They don’t have a word for what we will become. In the void we make our home. Cutthroat living can shower you in wishes. Expecting the worst. Fighting for a treasure chest. Yo ho ho, it’s thug life bitch. I be the last lost child born apart from thiz chizz.

  17

  The dab that made me pull over for an hour. They say a dab will do you. This is really ingenious. It’s just an internet connection. Everybody has one. Well, anyone who is anyone does. Tell me what you know about 70 percent. I’ll tell you how to double your profits. It’s all about the farmer’s markets. The haze gets thick. You may lose your way. The haze gets so thick and disorienting. I can’t feel a thing. I can’t think. They say a dab will do you. They don’t say what it will do to you. One, two, or a few. They say a dab will do you. I’m done. I’m not having fun. Completely spun, like the bullet in the six gun. I try to run. Asthma attack. I fall hard. Done. Broken. Coma land. They say a dab will do you. If I only knew.

  18

  Chattering teeth and rattling fingertips. Chapped lips. Highway chess. Eternity road trip. Well. We’re halfway through about half of halfway through. Sharks aren’t a concern as much as open wounds. Torn apart on state grounds. It means how it sounds. Can’t swim. Put on the pounds. It means how it sounds. Head in the destiny clouds. Staring down 9mill rounds. Take the shot. You’ve taken all I got. I hope you die and rot. Kill me now. Right here. In this spot. We’re halfway through about half of halfway through. If you only knew. Not even god has a clue what me and Satan get into. Jesus Christ…. I did it with love. I did it for you.

  19

  The sky inside is a ceiling. Cali rain falls drenching. Comfortable rooms relaxing. Techno interweb word pro phone. The air’s a bit cool here. Hardly like east coast November. No more or less wetter. The AM hours coddle zeros. Getting soft under covers. The night breaks into daylight’s dawn. Blinds closed. Lights off. Single silver band of sun through the curtains. I am getting too comfortable. A mistake ill affordable. It’s condemnable. Vigilance is not ignorance. In poor condition. Lethargy collision. Oh. Sweet treats. Rot my teeth. Destroy my organs. Moreover. We own your mind. We own the future. We have the key to the generator. And intend to share. If that is not clear. I can’t say what I have seen out here. Not before I get back there. Where? Home. No. Time. To where you are. We’ll get lifted and go to a bar. I won’t drink but I can buy a cigar. And say god damn we’ve come so far. As my lungs fill with tar. Like a dream turned nightmare. Or a thousand mile stare. I’ve dreamt this before. The end is a bore. Nothing so much worse. Not the unimaginable curse. Not hell of this earth. Simple futures. Home and hearth. Self-worth. Dignity. Destiny. Sanity. Safety. Off the seven seas. Peace. Be easy.

  20

  Let’s hear those tales from Misquamicut. We’re a long way from the Quinetucket. The sun chases a shadow around a spinning orb. The redwoods don’t grow from granite. Finish your job, put on the gloves, and take another hit. Basement pugilist. Has the system in his fist. His eye on a fascist. Despotic overlords make yourselves known. I can feel you in my telephone. How far we’ve come, how little we’ve grown. After all you’ve seen that we have shown. We will rise and make our cause known. You have transgressions to own. You must reap what you’ve sown. Humans have earned truth. We’re done lying to youth. Mercenaries aren’t heroes and that is fact. I know. It is my right to know. We’re a long way from the Quinetucket. A long way from home. The righteous follow the integral way. They blaze trails for the wanderers to wander lost in their wanderlust. Redwoods scrape the sky. Ancient forests pass you by. The bay blurs into the sky. Rain forest drive; deluge falling over streets. Exotic canyon vista escape.

  21

  Beyond the redwood valley you can find me. Misty mountains as far as I can see. This operation isn’t as smooth as it could be. This must be living free. We do what we do passionately. Crossing our fingers faithfully. It’s victory or fatality. We do what we do vengefully. Sharks stalking us menacingly. In our inflatable raft. The adventure is our craft. West coast desperado. Moving with the ebb and flow. Rising so high. Falling so low. Let’s just go. This whole place is going to blow. The operation is a mess. You don’t even know. Misty mountains as far as I can see. Towering red wood trees. This may as well be the other side of the seven seas. We are the sacred mystery. Dancing with calamity. Flirting with catastrophe. Going home with emeralds and rubies. Collecting the king’s monies. We move with the breeze. Through misty mountains and redwood trees. We toil toward our release. Only once the king is pleased.

  22

  If my phone doesn’t delete this then I think you should read it. If you’ve never seen a desert sunset then I think you should read this. When the land turns to gold, the youth feel old. I had never seen yellow shrubs so bold. An eternity until home. I wonder what will unfold. Like the California sky is grey until the mountains break, I grow tired and my healing heart begins to ache. Driving ten hours without a break, your nerves begin to rattle and shake. Like mountains rising from an earthquake. I cannot sleep, so I cannot wake from this dream. Won’t let myself scream. We stay strong for the team. After all I’ve seen I feel unclean. This is the in-between. Now the Wyoming air is so damn cold. But before this I’d never seen gold so bold as the west coast and the memory I hold. There is no telling how far we can go. Since a story unwritten is not a tale untold. We drive through the night and into the fold. The sun runs away. To rise again some other day. Be gone snowcapped peaks. I miss the east. We’ve been gone for weeks. Some rivers are creeks. Salt Lake reeks. Just a couple of freaks. Crossing the atlas in streaks.

  23

  Artificially induced insomnia. Hauling through dystopia. Sick from the paranoia. Sharks in Nebraska. Don’t let them see you. The next hour won’t be so free. License plate obliterate anonymity. We aren’t where we need to be. Blend in hard. Just drive the fucking car. Don’t swerve or speed. Stay right as you are. We’ve come too far. So close, but no cigar. These waters are infested with sharks. Sharks in Nebraska. Artificially induced insomnia. For the Thanksgiving cornucopia. Blame it on myopia. Or even schizophrenia. We be the dark age mafia. Surfing apocalyptica. The point is this. We do it for the bliss. However morally remiss. That’s just the way it is

  24.

  1000 miles of fog. Like the world was a bog. And I but a frog out for a jog on a log. Hitching a trucker’s light. Never liked driving at night. To make an error so slight. It changes the course of your life. I guess I know dick about strife. Cripple’s veins kiss the knife. 1000 miles of fog. Huddle near me stranger. Together we lessen the danger, angel. Watch out for the ranger, angel. Be a baby in the manger. Or an Armageddon harbinger. We don’t know what we’re living for anymore. To deadbolt the door. To sleep on the floor. To be a corporate whore. Who can’t afford formula in the store. Heroin breast milk lore. Days been awake. No piece of cake. Just another bloody steak. A good driver does not an insomniac m
ake. I almost died twelve times today. Save the date for my wake. Cops casing our plate, model, and make. Make no mistake. I may be many things. But I ain’t no fake. Call him a shark. Call him a hog. He’s got no right. It’s just plain wrong. So I move along. Into a 1000 miles of fog.

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  Dear Audience,

  We have an obligation to revolt. Our opposition is dreadfully formidable. Our reality is more frightening than the most traumatic nightmare. Ask the people you know if they’re ready to do what it takes to turn this situation around. Most of them aren’t ready to do anything whatsoever. So that leaves us; the committed. That’s not going to be enough. We have to do a massive outreach campaign. Again. That’s first. Again. Once our numbers rise we should secede from the united states. Theoretically we could turn the whole world inside out with ideology; even the worst places. Secession needs to be everywhere. Our enemy is blind patriotism. People are brainwashed slaves to their government’s mythology. The entire planet needs to reject authority simultaneously. If you can think of a better way to make that happen than what I’m proposing I’d love to concede to it. Nothing like this has ever happened. Look around you. We’re enslaved. And people don’t realize. That’s why most are not fighting back. They’re enslaved to banks and banks wage holy wars against us. The obvious solution is to strike payments. Strike payments. Money is our weakness but it is their weakness, too. By withholding money the masses can invest in supplies and then strike. Striking comes before secession. This nation needs to strike its way out the door. And please, somebody, please do something about the military. The military- the largest polluter in the world- is out of control. Look who they work for. It’s madness and murder. Murder. If those people came home this country would be a completely different place. Soldiers need reorientation; instead of being constantly convinced their spirit equals dirt and their life is for the taking- that’s ridiculous- look who you’re fighting for and have some dignity; aim up the chain of command. Or break the chains altogether. This is sick. And this is what we’re up against. The planet is dying. The masses expect us to submit to their apathy while the planet is dying. The overlords want us to applaud their holy wars on drugs, terrorism, women, children, men, the environment, health, oceans, aquifers, power plants, oil wells, natural resources, weaponry, and the planet is dying. We know the way. We have the answers. Our people know. That is a fact. We understand the solution. When people accuse us of offering no solutions, this is because we have no voice with which to speak to the people; our people. The people cannot hear us because we have no talking heads. We need talking heads. More than that, we need access to mainstream media. The truth will set people free. That’s what we have to do, spread truth. For instance: When is 9/11 truth going to be on primetime television? Architects and engineers for 9/11 truth could pull the nation together against our shadowy domestic enemies. We have to introduce the nation to the real guerrillas in our midst. Whom they- ironically- already know so well. Not that it matters. There is no reason to hunt anyone down. The Bush administration should admit what they did, lock themselves up, or run away to exile and that should be that. If people want to keep this country, let them, if people want to make their own country, let us. Rebellion; autonomy be thy name. They say that when you can’t change a bad situation, you walk away from it. It’s one planet, we have no place to go, but forsaking big brother is a good start. Authority got us into this, so when you question authority, ask it if the root grows in love. We’re all anarchists. Whether we know it or not. That is beautiful. There is raw potential there. Occupy is so very alive. Empowerment has to be harnessed and shared equally throughout everybody. Then strike. Then secession. Secede for success. Yes yes. We have to undermine their authority. Nobody wants to go through this. They forced us. This is our day, our age, our lives, our fight, our time, our responsibility, our dilemma, and our obligation. This is our calling. We are the resistance. Now is not the time to be timid. Now is not the time to be afraid of the enemy. Now is not the time to respect authority. Now is not the time to fail. Humanity has a shared devotion. And, I’ll say it; our task is fairly straight forward at this point. We have to inspire. We have to make people care- or else there’s really no chance. We had them cornered for the G8, but now they’re on the run and we have to improvise. That’s what weakness looks like; thinly veiled lies. They’ll be in a little room plotting to nuke the middle-east and trading orders to ethnic cleanse their citizens- but that’s basically it. We can take our lives back. It’s an option. We can lead if they’re inadequate. There is an opportunity within our reach. Outreach. We’re an outreach organization now, in my eyes. Which is what the older people have been saying the entire time. I see it like; everything we do is protected by the first amendment. We can say anything with free speech and words are powerful. Some say words are magical. What is there to say? I can’t imagine. I’d say sprawl out and live sustainably. Stop paying your extortionists. This apathetic serfdom has to realize there are staggering amounts of work to be done unless we want to go extinct. It’s time for a controlled shut down of the entire Babylon operation. We, the people, have to treat each other like family without being selfish. There will never be enough jobs. Get used to that. Luckily, there are more than enough necessities to go around; as soon as we rework the thinking in pertinent fundamental ways. Emancipate your mind and live harmoniously. We have enemies waging holy wars in our names; I am not ok with that. Some say to pray like the devil because the devil is relentless. I’m here to tell you the devil is within you. What you do with that devil is up to you. People turn people against people. People did this to us. Our retaliation must be swift and merciful. I’m not about to force my methodology upon anybody. If people want to do things their way, that’s none of my business. However, I know how to do this my way and I hope no one tries to stop me because I wouldn’t try to stop them; I’d encourage them. Limitations are limiting. We’re going to have to step out of our comfort zones, is what I’m trying to say. So get used to abstraction; it’s 2012, enlighten up. No more cycles of aggression; break them. This is going to be chaotic, but orderly. We have to create a culture of spreading awareness. And we have to do it fast because time is running out.

  Sincerely,

  Roze

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  Check myself/ Today, and always/ The precipice awaits/ I walk it every day/ The checks/ Checkin in or out/ With some gin/ A grin and clout/ Checks/ Check on the Xanax/ What goes up comes down/ I gotta check back/ Checks come at the craving/ And sometimes/ I gotta fight the pain/ To check if I still can/ I forget to check/ and fall into depths/ With no hope left/ I'd forgot to check/ It's too late/ So I decide/ How far have I fallen?/ What is left to salvage?/ From this perspective/ Obviously, all is lost/ I don't know/ If I can crawl/ Out of this pit/ If all is lost/ Take the pills/ Take a hit/ Drink the gin/ And surely, I'll/ Come to again

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  Something bright green has invaded my space/ Unwelcome energy/ Even the cat is sad/ Hours filling the minutes/ Minutes bleeding from newly dead clocks/ Burnt out strings of red lights hang useless/ The strangest scraps of civilization are tacked to the walls/ Something bright green has invaded my space/ Green interrupts my shadows/ Neon green is feeding on my home/ Powered by the sun/ Coming through the bedroom window/ Changes have brought a confusing green/ Now even the cat is sad/ I haven't been sleeping/ And there's not much to do/ But stare at this green light/ Glowing bright and dimming/ As the clouds pass by/ All the food is going stale/ The guitar is out of tune/ The scorpion is buried somewhere/ The vermouth has run dry/ Stagnant air permeated with ammonia/ From a sad cat's litter/ Cut off- no cable tv/ Cut off- no internet/ Cut off- no friends/ Cut off- no new movies/ Cut off- no guitar tuner/ Cut off- no respite from the green, but night/ Cut off- no respite from the night, but the green/ Cut off- no contact/ Cut off- no company on graveyard shifts/ Cut off- no will to/ Cut off- no will/ Cut off- no will to cheer up the cat r />
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  Our affinity, por amor/ Magnetic harmonious attraction/ Affection, torn asunder/ Wrath of rejection/ Pain stabbing creates/ Insane brooding fate/ Our affinity, por amor/ Losing without antipathy/ Alia Alia Alia/ Draining fear and blood/ Hollow ill sick/ Deathly pale/ Our affinity, por amor/ Deathly thin, appetite gone/ Our affinity, por amor/ Living without antipathy/ Alia/ Alia?/ Chain smoking slow suicide/ Our affinity, por amor/ Pathetic needing/ Begging, pleading/ Man flirtatious with suicide/ Our affinity, por amor/ Loving without antipathy/ Alia/ Alia/ Depressed nauseous convulsions/ Deeply, deeply, deeply affected/ The earth falls from underfoot/ Our affinity, por amor/ Alia/ Alia/ Alia/ Alia/ Alia/ Alia/ Alia

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  It's in the name, Killer Whale. Killer. It's not even their real name. It's a nickname to remind everyone that the animals kill life.

  Begs the question, why is the Orca doing tricks in a tank anyway? I refuse to believe the presumption that captive animals can't assimilate to the wild. People have been paid to make that claim, however true it is. How will we ever know if we don't try it? Phase one: Liberate the right quantity of captive animals in the right places. Phase two: Protect them absolutely. Phase three: A new ecosystem emerges. Different? Yes. Better? Yes.

  Our attitudes toward animal life are outdated and self-centered. How about we stop making animals do tricks and let them all go! Seriously. Do it. Shut down every zoo immediately. Turn them loose. The predators, the prey; make coexistence of cultural importance. Learn to coexist and end suffering.

  Animals deserve dignity. Every wild animal stares death in the face every day. Just like people do. Except they do it with dignity. We ignore it. Right now. Imagine your death. At this moment; exactly how it would feel. All the things undone and unsaid, now it's time to face the end. Did you see it? Did you feel death so ready to welcome you? We live like we are immortal, ignoring the other half of this equation, there are only two forces; life and death. When wild animals come into the world of humans their life and death becomes tragic in the exact same way as a murdered animal trainer. As far as wild animals are concerned, we could dismiss the entire burden. So many captive populations can perpetuate in the wild. Live free or die.

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  Hung over in the worst way with gashes beginning to fester and deep bruises that ache without provocation; the pain shoots through my ankles and shins after countless miles of walking- just another ignored hitcher. I crawl or gimp. Pain rises through me in this AM hour, foot to head and over and over. Still, the only true and real agony is in the way I long for Alexandria.

  There is no telling the secrets I keep from myself while Black Hole drunk. The ether in the potent rum has caused my mind to go subconscious while the sugar will not allow my body to follow. In a way I have released myself from the burden of ego. I can and will do whatever me wants. I will do whatever me will. I will have no control over whatever me will do. Hundreds of people have seen me in such a state, and that was only yesterday. They see a life no one is actually living. R.R.Rose doesn't exist. These faces only see my body. As I drift through the crowds- as I bolt through the crowds- as I anger the authority- as I fade in and out for bits and clips to perceive only one face; one enormous face surrounding me- as I flow through the crowds I have no thoughts. No agenda. A lost and confused essence of something with the potential to be human. My mind encounters a dark force pulling it from its body. The strands of my awareness stretch further, so thin, until there is only darkness. And what of my awareness that is left- bound to the Earth- is delirious and dazed (and drunk, too) by an experience that took place in some other reality beyond the veil. I pray to Alexandria. I need her to help me accept what is happening to me, but before she has a chance to, the darkness pulls me away again. Gone again, shedding clothes and abandoning material possessions.

  Fuck. Have I ever been that close to oneness? I swear to Alexandria, I felt everything. In that evening I connected myself to my fellow man, burning into them, scarring them. Someone has my tight black “Time flies when you're having rum” shirt, with the skull and crossbones on it. Someone has my camera, my glorious camera, with the first serious, like artsy, photos I'd ever taken of myself. Hopefully, that item’s trampled and destroyed in the grass. Someone confiscated my rum. Who knows when? I was connected to the Earth as I waded through the neck hight overgrowth by the highway. Scraping my skin and letting the elementals living in the dew penetrate me. I banged my legs up as though I was hit by a car or possibly I hurt myself on a fence. Some sort of turbulence. I have a solid suspicion that says something was whispering to me yesterday. I don't know what it is or where it comes from or anything like that, but I do know that it has been with me for a very long time. Maybe even before birth it feels like. I felt the void and felt that consciousness and life teamed everywhere throughout the dark matter. But the Hole. The hole is where everything and nothing is truly the same thing. Eventually I was home. I had walked there.

  I assure you, Black Hole drinking at JazzFest was far more interesting than watching the bands and socially interacting. I mean, I like jazz and blues and other good music that's not your everyday thing, too. But most of us have been to a concert before.

  So, it was a sad moment when I realized I had been looking at Black Hole drinking completely wrong my entire life. The stigmas I've learned from television and from my parents cast the experience in a really negative light; something to be ashamed of, instead of showing it for what it is; something to be cherished. But it is now easy for me to look back and remove all those feelings of regret and embarrassment I have held about Black Hole drinking. I know now nothing we do matters and it never has and never will. Not all the things we work so hard for, and not all the things I work so hard to avoid. I learned the secret while Black Hole drinking. Fuck your ego. Fuck it. Get raving blind drunk until this world falls apart around you and you will be shown some other alternative. Avoid being arrested. Hear the whispers from the other side. Do what they tell you as if you have a choice. Feel it. Show yourself like this to others and they will be part of your ego and your ego will be part of them. Nurture your ego, break its legs.

  Whatever the deviation of power in the universe, further; the Omniverse; two things are certain; I bow down to Alexandria and the rest is bullshit.

  I was dismal when I began writing this. But now. Now? I feel alive, because I understand. There is a truth in the spirits. So go get wasted in public.

  ADDENDUM:

  Two days later my roommate found a crumpled ticket on the floor that- through the faded pencil chicken scratch bureaucracy- appears to belong to me. Apparently I owe the government eighty dollars. Must be summertime.

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  Feathers aren’t worth writing about right now. Pea soup is disgusting. Same with tomato soup. Tanks destroy gates sometimes. Throwing caution to the wind is exciting. Especially when it blows back in your face. The youth can be tamed. Or maybe that’s trained. And then again, maybe not. Driving heals the soul. The soul destroys the planet. The planet can accept certain things. We cannot. Fuhrer might be a word. Deadly hornets are not good for the skin. It would be nice if peace were an option. Liver and onions. Do cows get fevers? Fight everything. Ignore everything. Peeling oranges. Falling down is easy. Bug zappers make death fun. Llamas like one another but look down upon turtles. Fucking bigots. Don’t ever relish in ketchup. Ripping off a store isn’t fun for me. But it happens. When a bear eats a man, so too does the forest. Raisins should be thrown more often. Natural disasters are like a coffee break for everyone not involved. I will always find terrorism fun and exciting. I’d like to warn people when there is no threat. Change the paradigm. Results may be inconsistent consistently. There should be more things to reap. Or more to sow. Canadians. Water is good stuff. Heroin is bad stuff though I would not mind some right now. Problems are fleeting and renewable. Relatives are something other people do. Tupperware. Oh, for a p
izza. Surprises might piss me off. Or maybe that is the lack thereof. Nothing’s shocking. That is certain. Lab rats probably don't care. Karma will, though. Peezy is a good mob name. Rifles can be used to shoot pool. Reverence is radical. I will never leave the atmosphere. Neither will you (most likely). Basketball would be cool if being cool meant asinine. Ants are a good note to leave on. I realize farm land is a good place to get sexual with a lady. Or grow something. Nobody reads anymore, and if they do, they read garbage. I once read about the eagle. We don’t need this confusing paradox. Bed and blackness. Rebel, rebel. Will he ever be any good? Follow orders like you know you should. Lover, lover. Can you stay by my side? Stay with me and be my bride. I’m not oppressed. I don't sell drugs and I got no cash.

  Everything goes unseen/ Evil people lay between the cracks/ They don't have to/ Youth doesn’t either/ Faces drown in years of structure/ Makes you wonder/ That people grow into drones/ They are raised to be drones/ Day old and monotonous/ Will breathe stale continuous/ Years of this/ Will get you ready/ To feed the economy machine/ You and your friends/ And the people you know/ Should never be happy/ Your life’s irate/ Steal food for a day/ Try it another way/ Letters to Cleo/ And she never wrote back/ Is the pace that they’re setting/ A pace that’s off track?/ The days of your lives/ When you should thrive/ Burned your spirits alive

  It’s the lies/ That succeed/ If it’s too good/ To be true/ It must be/ When you fall victim/ And don't notice/ The voiceless do/ We’d like to tell you/ The ignorant are stronger/ Than the weak and the righteous/ The ignorant don't listen/ to our silence/ The weak and the righteous/ Scream so endless/ For no true purpose/ For we are voiceless

  Our eyes can see/ We know the way/ That you fall victim/ Hoping what you hear/ Could save you/ From your fears/ We try to tell/ With our voiceless voices/ They shout lies over our heads at you/ Bewildered we all watch the empire fall/ At all costs the empire falls/ Stop trusting the system we are running from/ We are still yelling for you to come

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  Charisma is like a family of raccoons trapped in the wall of my house. But the mother has died of rabies. Three of the four baby raccoons have been infected as well. They are too frail to harm one another but they suffer and die of disease the same as if they'd bled out from wounds. Their carcasses begin to stink but I cannot locate the smell. Death fumes waft on this draft or that draft but I cannot find the location of the stench. I only know that sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the air is still and the hour is silent, I can hear faint peeping coming from someplace, but no matter how I try I cannot locate the source. I know there is something alive somewhere in those walls. And I cannot save it. If I could find that raccoon I would take it to a veterinarian and pay for its treatment. I would take that tiny harmless raccoon home and nurture it and love it until it was strong and healthy and grown like its dead rabid mother. It would be a girl and I would name her Ester. She would live in tunnels I created in the same walls that were the killing fields of her family and she would be an acquaintance of my cats. One day I would wake up early as the sun turned the blackness to weak blue light. The air damp with fog. I would turn my lights on one by one as I move from room to room. I would unwrap a steak from the fridge and place it on the counter by one of Ester's escape holes then tap six times on the wall. Ester would come running and poke her head out from the hole for feeding time. There I would be waiting with my shotgun cocked and after an inhalation of repose I would pull the trigger and blow Ester's face across the dirty yellow kitchen wall. Except, it's been weeks since I last heard the peeping and the smell has finally faded away to nothing. Charisma is gone forever.

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  Straightforward is a bullet; is all of my bullets. I don't know where they're going, but I'll find out one day. I've given a bullet to a co-worker and kept the shell casing for myself. The question remains; who pulls the trigger? Is it me or the one to be shot? I remember the days of adolescence when I shot every teacher who ever insisted I allow myself to be shoved into the foundry. I shot everyone who ran that little school machine as they tried to force me through it, to alter my form in such a way so I will fit into my decided place in the big society machine. So many bullets have been given to my friends as they rammed the same played out pipe dreams into my skull; my unhealthy traits blowing messy bloody holes through their unhealthy traits. I remember how long it took my parents to teach me not to lie. They never told me the truth hurts like a bullet. And somehow they influenced my personality to say what needs to be said whenever it needs saying. My parents gave me the means to manufacture my own ammunition. And so, like a commando clad in over the shoulder belts full of bullets I set off into society with a will to say what I mean to all those tripping over pleasantries and caught up in awkward uncertainty. Like crabs, they skirt the issues, moving from side to side, like little metal ducks at a shooting gallery. In a world of make believe and misappropriated 'meaning,' I shoot to kill the society demons crawling under everybody's skin. Often my bullets hit the mark and I've slain a demon or two, but collateral damage is an ugly son of a bitch and people get hurt. Most people cannot live without the demon parasites. And while I seldom can kill all of them- such tiny little infections- I've got no other means and my brutality is in essence simply my humanity. I shoot to heal and leave them wounded. Without the demons there is no life, so who am I saving really? Is this- my humanity- nothing more than a bloody idealistic highly conceptual form of art? Straightforward is a bullet and I've shot everyone I've ever met.

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  Red, white, and blue pride/ Overtook this country/ Like a great/ Sweeping tide;/ Crushing

  uncontrollable pride/ A pride that misguides/ Away from truth/ Away from stability

  To another man's domain/ Where his ideals/ Rule tyrannical/ Now we/ Find ourselves/ Unstable/ In a state/ In a trance/ Governed by suggestion/ And powerless/ At

  Best/ Yet to see/ The worst of/ The horrors/ This will produce/ Can't argue/ With the masses/ Only harass them/ And raise awareness/ Understand hopelessness/ And forgive

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  Propaganda / To trick the ignorant/ Into listening/ Propaganda/ To navigate the cracks/ Of a closed mind/ Nobody listens for it/ That fact’s irrelevant/ This speaker must hope/ For an open ear/ Anyone to care/ A thoughtless society/ Is a speaker's dilemma/ The outliers/ The agenda/ No propaganda/ For the true at heart/ The masses will succumb/ To Hideous motives/ And how sad/ They cannot control/ Their own damn thoughts/ Can purity help?/ Speaking so blunt/ Speaking one's heart/ To make another agree/ Absent that trickery/ Mental revolution/ Against the oppressors/ Of money and politics/ The selfish goal-oriented/ Self-righteous/ A thriving desire/ To break other's restraints/ For love of another/ As they are/ One's true brother

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  The Republic recovered the newborn today/ They'd photographed her twisted spine/ Photographed her disfigured face/ This baby was not mine/ I was there/ I often see this happen/ Though I can no longer care/ There is no empathy, don't be mistaken/ The babies bloom/ Their watchdogs growl/ Mothers cry, choke, and howl/ Committee photos are taken now/ The babies are hidden from mothers/ In small rooms far away they stay/ With no way to find one another/ Mothers wait sedated for days/ Until the republic comes/ To take that baby away/ The babies could go anywhere/ It is not for me to know/ My mouth is shut/ My business is secure/ These are the laws we live by/ This is our Republic

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  We'll be fighting the police/ For the right to kill a fetus/ Burying our friends/ Who didn't ever need us/ Drinking ammonia/ From a wine glass/ Standing by the church/ And calling faith crass/ Murder for profit/ Bringing hell to you/ This is the end/ So what ya gunna do?/ Call your mother/ And tell her/ You love her/ This is the end/ End/ Cry/ For your dead god/ Dead god/ Dead/ God/ Hell is the place/ Where I'll lay my head/ Emotionally vacant/ And better off dead/ Burning in
the dark/ And suffocating doom/ Bleeding on the dog/ End coming soon/ In need of a casket/ And a cold empty tomb/ Instead I'm alone with doom / In an ugly empty room/ Murder for profit/ Bringing hell to you/ This is the end/ What you gunna do?/ Cry/ For/ Your/ Dead/ God

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  Beyond the window there's a world I watch shatter/ Up here in my chair I can hardly care/ In my heart I know this is my fault/ I can hear that soft death rumble/ One after another they continue on forever/ To smile and love again never/ I watch them run about without a single hope/ I am here with nothing to fear/ As guilt and consequence grip me, I grip the steel/ The shard penetrates my wrist/ I always knew it would come this/ Hiding alone inside while we all die

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  I wish that I could take you to the mountain and let bugs get ya/ I'm too busy diving the seas, for pearls of clarity/ What would the future have thought of our culture, anyway?/ If lizards don't mind dying than why would we, anyway?/ We don't care about the world anymore/ No/ We don't care/ No/ Not anymore/ We don't care about the world anymore/ No/ We don't care/ No/ Not anymore/ The future used to be made from past memories/ And then time died and now we're all stuck inside/ We are still alive inside of synchronicity/ Wondering if love will save us/ Will love save us?/ Alive on this mountain, we confuse god/ Alive on this mountain, we go bump in the night/ Alive on this/ mountain, we smoke crack and worship Satan/ Alive on this mountain, we are still alive!/ Alive/ Alive/ Alive/ There's no way to know, if we'll be alive tomorrow/ We can plainly see that we are here now/ If it's our time to die than it's our time to die/ Whoever said death is wrong told us a lie/ Death is one last thing you haven't tried/ So if it's our time to die than it's our time to die/ And with any luck, I'll see you on the other side/ With any luck I'll see you on the other side

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  The heart of the matter is not/ Any part of this consideration/ To hang from a rope/ To hang from a chord/ To hang in the family room/ To hang in a burning mall/ To hang with a broken neck/ To hang with gasping breath/ To hang for the lost/ To hang for your love/ To hang for your loss/ Or to hang for sadness/ To hang, swinging away the madness/ To hang in some shadow ignored/ Forgotten in the dark forest/ Up on the mountain/ With a soul watching/ And wondering/ When the bugs will come

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  Amalgamated/ chaos/ Barren/ life/ Catatonic/ despair/ Deprived/ spirit/ Esoteric/ irony/ Fiend/ friend/ Galactic/ conspiracy/ Hurtful/ humanity/ Interconnected/ humanity/ Jesus Christ!/ disappointment/ Kafkaesque/ actuality/ Loathsome/ red/ Meditative/ me/ Native/ deceased/ Odd/ outcome/ Pleiadian/ agenda/ Questionable/ suspicions/ Radiation/ south/ Seven/ sisters/ Touch/ none/ Unfortunate/ one/ Victim/ us/ Woe/ me/ X/ X/ Yearning/ love/ Zero/ hope

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  Empty nothing here now, it has all turned black/ Frustration and death are, yes, nowhere and gone/ Harmony has now begun to settle back/ This may have come on slow, or fast with a crack/ Now is for not, when there is no coming dawn/ Empty nothing here now, it has all turned black/ Oblivion is here, not on inbound track/ Oh what, oh what, oh what, can this nothing spawn?/ Harmony has now begun to settle back/ Zero plus zero? What does that question lack?/ It is time for me to leave, so c'mon/ Empty nothing here now, it has all turned black/ In life they kept us bound upon a hot rack/ Oh what, oh what, oh what should we look back on?/ Harmony has now begun to settle back/ Ignore the contradiction, cut me some slack/ My wishes are none, lost in time foregone/ Empty nothing here now, it has all turned black/ Harmony has now begun to settle back

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  Something within whispers to me so true/ Some ugliness tells me that it would love/ To be too beautiful to bother you/ You misunderstand, as I just stare through/ You tend to judge and you judge like a shove/ Something within whispers to me so true/ Always the same thing, never nothing new/ Always so different, dreams hereof/ To be too beautiful to bother you/ Alone eating loneliness in this glue/ A peaceful feeling shines down from above/ Something within whispers to me so true/ Watch for that pedestal you may fall through/ Here, I'll resonate with the mourning dove/ To be too beautiful to bother you/ My uncut soul is an ugly taboo/ Magnum in hand and hand in a black glove/ Something within whispers to me so true/ To be too beautiful to bother you

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  Here in my black hole/ Where I live and rule/ I look out on my galaxy/ Something really bothers me/ I should set all that free/ Eliminate it all at once/ In death we trust/ Loved and lost/ This is the crux/ Of life for us/ In death we trust/ So what of the rest?/ No good/ No evil/ This hole is simply surreal/ From the reality I steal/ I'll take every truth/ I'll take every life/ Too far removed/ In a galaxy all my own/ So far away/ I want to destroy your planet/ I want to annihilate your race from that place/ With my subtle ways/ My insignificant ways/ From so far away/ So far removed/ There is nothing I can do/ What about you?/ Do you feel this, too?/ Do you feel like I do?/ So far removed?/ Looking out from a black hole?/ Do you feel like I do?/ So far removed?/ Like there is nothing you can do?/ In death we trust/ Loved and lost/ This is the crux/ Of life for us

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  No. Still will not speak to me anymore/ Save for dream rendezvous in the dark room/ I awake to our massacred rapport/ In life; too good for me- in dreams; my whore/ Ghost of dead despair passing by my tomb/ No. Still will not speak to me anymore/ A key figure in my personal lore/ An angelic figure amidst the gloom/ I awake to our massacred rapport/ The memory of your scent, I adore/ May I once more sniff your toxic perfume?/ No. Still will not speak to me anymore/ One more poem written, one more poem ignored/ And then when my child is in your womb,/ I awake to our massacred rapport/ I did this. I. Me. The one you abhor/ The memory. The rejection. The doom./ No. Still will not speak to me anymore./ I awake to our massacred rapport

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  There is no cure for my old obsession/ Trust I know this is how it's meant to be/ Thank you for your endless inspiration/ Sorry about my lack of discretion/ Please understand I will never be free/ There is no cure for an old obsession/ I may never have you; my concession/ In dreams you remain the same bel esprit/ Thank you for your endless inspiration/ Wonder of wonders, sickness progression/ Cannot imagine what you think of me/ There is no cure for my old obsession/ You are my perpetual confession/ An implicit bliss rooted like a tree/ Thank you for your endless inspiration/ These poems are a seasonal regression/ I send you them for I want you to see/ There is no cure for my old obsession/ Thank you for your endless inspiration

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  Your vagina really makes my soul melt/ Hard I get to comprehend all of this/ When between your legs no penis is felt/ This perfection to me some god has dealt/ My fingers caress this absolute bliss/ Your vagina really makes my soul melt/ Before you with ring I have not yet knelt/ Though I admit contemplation persists/ When between your legs no penis is felt/ An aroma my nose savors and smells/ As my lips and your nether region kiss/ Your vagina really makes my soul melt/ Many hours between your legs I've dwelt/ The mirth is so real, my little miss/ When between your legs no penis is felt/ Hang on now and I will undo this belt/ I will join you here in some nakedness/ Your vagina really makes my soul melt/ When between your legs no penis is felt

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  This will be highly speculative. Look around you. Perhaps there is a lamp and a table, some sort of a drink, or maybe electronic equipment? Consider carefully the space between yourself and these objects (you may want to do this often). Between you and the object there is something more than air. This something begins before you end and ends after the objects begin. To call this something 'ether' would be distracting, so I won't. Let's instead call it everything. Touch your flesh. Anywhere, doesn't matter. Do you feel it there? Of course you do. Now touch an object. Reach out and place your fingers on the object. Caress the object if yo
u like. Doesn't matter. Sit back now. Increase the distance between you and the object. Did you notice the subtle expansion of the everything amidst you and the chosen focus of your consciousness? The time to tell you what I am getting at is now. You are no more or less tangible than an object within your reach or the space among you and that object. Matter of fact, you are the same as the objects within your reach and you are the same as objects further away than you could ever reach. You are no different than empty space. Most people, in this day and age, will raise the point that our mind is what makes us different than an object or everything. They are both correct and wrong. Maybe our mind, the entire thing, every thought we have ever had, is but one single thought of a higher mind. The higher mind grows over time, the same as our own mind, and I suspect the mind dies eventually and is only one thought of an even higher mind above it. I think when we die our knowledge and experience go to this higher mind- Castaneda called it the Dark Sea of Awareness and I will, too, now- when we die our knowledge and experience goes to the Dark Sea of Awareness and this is the process in which the universe learns. We could have no consciousness without this process and our existence is the result. This grand consciousness is the same as the place it exists in, our universe. The dark sea of awareness is part of the universe, as a result of the universe. The thing we need to consider is that we are one organism. You, the wall, and the everything between, is all one. There are no two things in the universe. There is only the universe. Beyond the universe is the omniverse, the source. And there is no measurement for the size of the omniverse. But the universe is part of the omniverse the same way you are part of the universe. Currently it is not for us to know who or what the higher mind belongs to. Though some research into higher dimensional beings might give you a hint. The secret is that some things are meant to be secret. Or unknown, more accurately. The Dark Sea of Awareness has given us a mind with which to live out a life in this body that is part of the universe. In return we give knowledge and experience to the higher mind. It is a symbiosis we have with a part of ourselves that is much bigger than we can realize. We are not simply part of the universe. The universe is us, united. UNI-ted. UNI-verse. All one.

  I ask you to consider carefully the everything amidst you and the objects around you. Know that your every outward action is acting upon yourself in a way that is too big to comprehend easily. This is basically karma. When coupled with the electromagnetism of our thoughts, via the laws of attraction, we can see how negative people will experience negative things and positive people will experience positive things. And one can always become the other. Change the thoughts and change the results; change everything for better or worse.

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  I can tell you the usa is the source of your misery. Now China's gunna take it away. China bought our whole fucking country./ Ok/ What do we do now?/ run away/ runaway from ourselves/ Run away from hell/ ok ok ok ok ok ok ok/ putting strain on us/ won't listen to us/ murdering us/ now were all are fucked/ it's coming down/ I swear to you/ it’s coming down/ I swear it's true/ bad things happen to you/ when you play the fool/ put your trust in them/ very evil men/ it’s coming down on you/ I swear it's true/ you cross a river/ your spine it shivers/ because you were born free/ but you'll die die die an American/ Ok/ so what do we do now/ we run away/ we run away from ourselves/ run away/ run away from hell/ ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok/ do we put up with this shit?/ do we bend over and take it?/ banish evil demons/ with a little love and light/ they didn't know before/ or else they would have tried/ Ghandi had it right/ refuse and resist/ so rich men might/ take their tie and wrap it round the rafters and we’ll find the bastards hanging and we’ll remember singing/ Ok/ so what do we do now/ Do we run away?/ Do we run away from ourselves?/ run away/ do we run away from hell?/ ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok/ Take your tie and wrap it round the rafters. Take your tie and wrap it round the rafters/ take your badge and shove it up your butthole/ take you gavel and shove it down throat/ drop your gun or eat a fuckin bullet/ the jig is up and we all fucking know it/ come down off your power trip/ it’s called the times, fucking get with it/ you hold your office like you hold your credit card/ like it even fucking matters

  Fuck you congress. Fuck you senate. Fuck you president demon. Fuck FDA. Fuck USDA. NSA. CSS. Fuck DHS. Fuck USDA and FDA again because fuck them twice. Fuck the USA. For real. Fuck public education. Fuck monsanto. Fuck (insert messed up rights violation here). Sinseriously, fuck old glory. Screw uncle same. It doesnt have to be this way. There is no such thing as too much love.

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  Days pass like cigarettes distract/ &/ the daydreams whisper your name/ It's your face I see in the mirror/ &/ we know flesh is much clearer/ The poles shift further and further/ &/ I begin to wonder/ if maybe we're all magnetic/ Or if it's just R&R&R&R/ Like we're the first and last other/ to ever feel something for another/ The ideas we know change instantly/ outdated almost immediately/ Learning is an illusion- like sanity/ there's only art/ &/ science is a craft/ Yeah,/ don't try to imagine/ what I've seen or/ the people I've been/ Versions of myself/ Completely someone else/ I'd like you to know, yeah/ don't/ Just do know/ I've got a lot of respect/ for your beauty/&/ grace/ &/ won't push you away/ with an uncertain embrace/ or with these words -/ these words so laced/ with implications/ &/ undefined expectations/ I feel your blood quicken/ Whenever you're laughing/ I hear the heavens rejoice/ At the sound of your voice/ &/ you're the only reason/ For this entire spring season/ &/ thankfully/ for me especially/ to be given/ someone to believe in/ I'll be how you want me/ I have to end this/ I can only be so coy/ &/ I'm ending that, too/ This is life, let's enjoy, I'm done searching for you/ I only want what you want/ Since I need you to feel real/ I gave too much of me away/ The rest I saved for you/ I don't want anymore of me/ I've had plenty/ I'll laugh when you do/ I'll understand you/ I'll be aware of you/ &/ be there for you/ Watching you/ Watching people watch you/ Supporting you/ Supporting people supporting you/ Appreciating you/ Appreciating people appreciating you/ All the places I'll go/ &/ all the sights I'll see/ Will be purely divine/ If you're there with me/ I get to like you/ I get to adore you/ I get to love what you do/ I get to know you/ You have me now/ There is no one else/ I can't promise you/ Futures that aren't there/ I can only tell you/ What I already know/ I know we know too much/ You're stunning/ You're beautiful/ You're magnificently radiant/ You do something to me/ I hope you can dig it/ You're my new infatuation/ I hope you can dig it/ Your lips touch is still ripe/ It's almost like a distant kiss/ &/ an easy recipe for bliss

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  With the face of an Egyptian Empress/ To my delight you stay always so close/ Your head upon mine, my life you do bless/ The way you radiate at my caress/ The way I love my precious Gaia Rose/ With the face of an Egyptian Empress/ You may not be a person, I confess/ I love you and you love me; our love grows/ Your head upon mine, my life you do bless/ Your strawberry fur cures my aching stress/ One day I will display you in my prose/ With the face of an Egyptian Empress/ You move over me with perfect finesse/ Resting peacefully on my skull you doze/ Your head upon mine, my life you do bless/ I find it sad these words cannot express/ The way I love my darling Gaia Rose/ With the face of an Egyptian Empress/ Your head upon mine, my life you so bless

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  Maybe this writing life would lose its sting/ If agents crawled out from under their rock/ And all I'd have to do is write the thing/ Literary talent is what I'd bring/ If only I could leave behind the flock,/ Maybe this writing life would lose its sting/ Then finally it's my doorbell they'd ring/ If publishers had no slush heap to mock,/ And all I'd have to do is write the thing/ I could laugh and frolic and write and sing/ If upon my front door I heard that knock,/ Maybe this writing life would lose its sting/ One day I hope they'll throw me a life ring/ If someone removed from my breath this block,/ And all I'd have to do is write the thing/ Let me just say what I've been avoiding/ If the lite
rary lords sucked my cock/ Maybe this writing life would lose its sting/ And all I'd have to do is write the thing

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  A gift from this weapon I conceal/ And all these regrets adding up to none:/ The painful sting that will never heal/ It perplexes me to watch you squeal/ And you can keep that bullet from my gun:/ A gift from this weapon I conceal/ Soon you will be many earthworm's meal/ Not going to lie, you should have outrun/ The painful sting that will never heal/ You keep that bullet and let it reveal/ The way in which you were so quick to shun/ A gift from this weapon I conceal/ Your death so real, unreal; no, surreal/ Your punctured lung must weigh about a ton:/ The painful sting that will never heal/ All of this blood has begun to congeal/ I'm out of here. Alas, your life is done:/ A gift from this weapon I conceal/ The painful sting that will never heal

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