green pastures and still waters

I miss something I’ve never had
The pain is not that bad
just numby and constrained
Everyone is in need
yet what they seek is not
that which will heal
I wish I had that love and belief that
resides where my anxiety hides
Breeding fires and eroding gaps
I want that kindred feel

In the confining boredom of a shelter
from a terrifying storm
I read something grand
an extraordinary find has found me
it leaves me wanting more

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Pissed on Sugar

It’s not a bowl of cherries or a box of chocolates
It’s a pile of pissed on sugar, the penultimate combination of the sickly and sweet
A discord in taste and one’s psyche

How could something so appealing be soured?

The superstitial folks eat right through the bitter to get dessert
I wonder how much white is needed to rid the bad flavor

Others would lick the fringe
The taste equates to hearing Abbey Road, side 2
Fluttering the loins

But, whilst whorish waves ebb
Intense sadness remains
for the corruption

Licking

an ice cream cone

an envelope closed

your tongue in my mouth

the frosting from a donut

the rarity of excessive fun, tongue stretched out to get every drop

the sweet salt from your skin when you’re close and within

an ice-cube which turns into a suck, the melt falling from my mouth in a deluge.

a white knuckle as my teeth surrounds my finger in an anxiety ridden bite.

away the haze of hype to get to the truth of it all
converts ‘to a lapping like a thirsty dog at its water bowl.

Embarrassment

As I enter, the prospect of finding you turns me on

The aroma of coffee penetrates as I make my way through

There you are, always with books on Metaphysics

Looking for new reading exulted by the critics.

I feel like messin’ with you.

Damn! Your bum looks good in those jeans.

I gleefully stride right up behind you

Grab your derriere, sidle next to you, and in your ear proclaim,

“Reading rots your brain!”

I’m laughing, still squeezing tightly and my mouth is so close to your ear.

Why are you so frozen?

Why do you reek of cologne?

And, when did baby get SO much back?

I turn to look into a pair of eyes, my stranglehold grip subsides and I stare at someone I’ve never met.

“Holy fuck! I’m sorry, dude. I thought you were…”

The stranger’s face is flushed and in turn so does mine.

His eyes have softened where I wish I’d go blind.

That welling of embarrassment, the indescribable feeling of suffocating on one’s errors.

It’s difficult remembering these times.

I’d like to burn it from my mind leaving a scorched area when on replay only burnt edges will remain.

Explode the memory from my recall, blow it up so that it mushroom clouds away and I will never have to feel embarrassment again.

My Post, My Playlist, My Beliefs

Sublime: What I got

Sublime: What I got

Love is what I got. The existence of God — it’s so heavy to contemplate. No one can say unequivocally whether God exists or not. So, where does that leave me? Since I feel like I have a choice, I choose to believe in God whole heartedly. I love whole heartedly believing in a choice. Faith in something is far more sustaining than a belief in nothing. I’d rather suck on the teat of a possible fallacy then shrivel up next to a supposed truth. I believe faith in anything is completely arbitrary and relative and it seems might just be necessary for our survival somehow.

Jimi Hendrix: Star Spangled Banner

Jimi Hendrix: Star Spangled Banner

On a side note, I’m listening to Jimi Hendrix play the “Star Spangled Banner” and I swear to God, how appropriate, it almost made me cry. No lie. That son of a bitch could really play guitar. You’d have to be out of your stark ravin’ brain to object to that rendition of the national anthem. I mean it’s a great tribute to the country. People need to gain perspective. I will not tolerate any intolerance of Jimi Hendrix – hey that’s my new religion. See what I mean about arbitrary.

Talking Heads - Take Me to the River

Talking Heads: Take Me to the River

Now where was I, take me to the river you crazed Talking Heads. Ultimately, we know nothing and what we do know may be predicated on falsity, unintended or not. So, just be in love with the empty vessel which is your brain. Kiss the beauty of not knowing a damn thing. I think that is the root of all evil anyway, thinking you know something. That is what causes wars, damn know it alls. Be the king of your own cave don’t be a pawn.

Nirvana: Come As You Are

Nirvana: Come As You Are

Come as you are and let down your shackles and ponder for pondering sake. Pollen dances on water and the atom is discovered. How poetic? Have you ever contemplated the atom? I watched a show on the atom where the narrator says something like “the building block of all matter” is the atom. What? Trees and grass and tables and chairs and flesh have this similar “building block”, the atom. That blows my mind.

I took science in school but it sucked and so did history by the way. But since I’ve been without school, I find books and shows on those subjects and I’m like why didn’t they teach this in school. It would have been great. Maybe school would have transformed me. If anything, education during the teen years was pretty much the dark ages for me.

House of Pain: Boom Shalock Lock Boom

House of Pain: Boom Shalock Lock Boom

House of Pain, Boom Shalock Lock Boom: There are physicists spending their entire lives trying to understand the atom. Crazy right since its so insanely tiny yet you can’t see it and it is everywhere. But the atom isn’t even the smallest thing there is. Ya see, there is this lit up string in there and what else is in that I wonder. See, that last thought seriously messes me up in my head. I understand those physicists life goal; it really does bug me to not know how these tiny things work. If you could just get the blueprints for it, I wonder who has the blueprints for such an intricate invention. Hmmm, curious.

But there is a bugaboo in the works, the uncertainty principle. Scientists really have no idea how sub-atomic particles behave. I think that atoms are somehow programmed from a central computing station. But, I like to think big. My friend, who is an atheist who lives by judeo-christian ethics (huh?), believes that the unpredictability comes from the notion of time being non linear. That’s a good supposition too. Why can’t they just figure it out already? I’m getting old waiting over here.

The Beatles: I am the Walrus

The Beatles: I am the Walrus

It’s funny when celebrity’s get interviewed over hot topics like global warming and nationalized healthcare, and you can just see them trying to memorize their lines. I don’t know why they want to comment on something they know absolutely nothing about or even truly care about. Experts on those topics know nothing. Cabinet czars can’t even define what they are a czars of. Experts, Textperts, choking smokers don’t you think the joker laughs at you. It’s much better to be in the fool’s shoes in a Shakespeare play. Clowns know more than anyone. I’m telling you John Lennon was a very profound clown.

As I’m writing this post, I’m reminded of a poem I wrote a long time ago…

    Possession in Exile

Buried in the mind, Did God’s profits lie?

Heat in Exile.

Panic-stricken, mistake again, beaten by the hand that fed

Love in Exile.

Snap-tongued boss provokes the worker, job is lost

Respect in Exile.

Mate’s abruption to my suggestion reveal words with edges

Hope in Exile.

Vanished from their lives; No harm to come, no remorse, bitter loss

No possession at any cost.

Now I’m done casting my two cents into the ocean of nonsensical sense. I think I’m going to go see what Charlie Sheen is up to…

waves crashing in a stew pot

Monday Stew

waves crashing in a stew pot

Stuck in a big stew pot
left to boil til I rot

talk about a case of the Mondays
I really want to shoot the whole day through

crashing into waves from Monday Stew
alarms sound in my ears by seven

another week’s start,
I’m defeated by eleven

Not enough time, there’s just too much to do
feelin’ like molasses stuck to the bottom of my shoe

trudging through the grind
Man, I can’t wait to unwind

Monday Monday really stinks on ice,
but why does any other day suffice?

I’M AN UNGA BUNGA GIRL

I ‘ve a primitive’s outlook

Fire for warmth

Food for hunger

Love for comfort

Sex for pleasure and procreation

I’m in awe of the world that I don’t understand

I say unga bunga to the crazy masses with all the answers

They’re too smart to understand how little they know

Cycling life with an expectant eye

Idle time is not so insane

Reveling in the vastness

Truth needs an open plain