Monthly Archives: January 2015

Quad Shot Americana With Room For Rage 1999

Quad shot Americana with room for rage..

Take your fucking filth

Take your fucking greed

Take your fucking politicians

Take your fucking corruption

Take your fucking lies

Take it all Americana and stuff it up my ass

And blow my brains out with a sneer

The media deceit

Look good

Like a Hilfiger model

Pump up at the gym

Waste my life to look like a rock

So no one will want me anyway

Just a waste of muscle mass

To change the outside glass

And forget about the dirt inside

The loneliness

The pain

The anger

The despair

But I have to look like a model

The TV tells me so

The magazines tell me so

Calvin Klein tells me so

Simulated life of drama

Yeah, that’s me Americana

Open up wide

And eat the lies

Close myself

Be someone else

Let the world tell me who to be

How to act

Who to fuck

Simulated life of drama

Yeah, that’s me Americana

Watch the tube

Dream about the life they live

Fantasize about fucking the lead character

Masturbate to the fallacy

Cum to the media

Cum to the model

Cum to Cindy fucking Crawford

The lie is mine to buy

The lie is there’s to sell

I’m a product

I’m a sell out

Who gives a fuck

I think I’m happy

I tell myself I’m happy

Yet the despair eats me all night long

Gnawing like a rat

Until I’m gone

Simulated life of drama

Yeah, that’s me Americana

Read GQ

Read Playboy

Jack off to Hustler and hide it away

Fabricate a life

Tell everyone how great I’m not

Lost the real me in the fantasy

Like a storybook

Or a shitty sitcom

I’m stuck in a re-run

And no one gives a fuck

Delude the truth daily

Tell it’s all bullshit

Living the lie is easier

Then the living truth

Go on Springer

Get a web site

Sit in a chat

Tell it all to who ever cares

Simulated life of drama

Yeah that’s me Americana

Take over a company

Fire them all

Kill a town

Blow up a school

Club a baby seal

Burn Paris to the ground

Shoot a cop

Rape a nun

Simulated life of drama

Yeah, that’s me Americana

Look for a leader

Find a loser

Look for a truth

Find a distortion

Look for a lover

Find a slut

Look for love

Find hate

Look for life

Find death

Look for God

Find nothing

Look for honesty

Find greed

Look for hell

I’m already there

Simulated life of drama

Yeah, that’s me fucking Americana.

On The Bus 2001

Sitting on the bus

Took it from here to there

Up and down

Watched the people shuffle on

Watched them waltz off

Ran up the Fax

And back down again

Sat in the shade

Melted in the sun

Sitting on the bus

Going into the hood

Cruising through the poverty

Looking at the poor

Gawking at the bleakness of the D

From my seat

I can see it all

The rich

The poor

The lost

The found

And the forgotten

We are the low life’s

The scum

The one’s society

Left behind

Just moving along

As one

Sitting on the bus

Stream through the city

Seeing the greed

And corruption

From my Plexiglas view

Jump off there

Hop on here

Zip-zoom, stop, go

All the while

Sitting on the bus

Watching Denver flow

And crawl past my eyes

As I sit on the bus one more time

Halloween Poem Unknown Date

The sky is opaque

The moon dark

The stars gone

The cool Autumn breeze chills the bones

Nightmares and dreamscapes fill the air

Visions of pumpkin pie fill the eyes

The crisp smell of death wets the appetite

The children howl with glee

Chants of Sleepy Hollow echo about

The zombies wave in the trees

The ghosts pounce about

Black cats everywhere

The witches and warlocks mingle around

The secret brews of generations cooking

The leaves scatter the streets

The wind rips them away

Tricks and treats

Ghosts and goblins

Spooks and frights

All on this brisk

Autumn day…..

Junk June 1996

4

4

Everyday

Everyday I fill my soul

With junk

Everyone has their fix

Just a mob of addicts

Wondering around like a herd

In a demoniac search of a leader

All those lost souls

Encompassing the Earth

All in search of a direction

A meaning of life

Some people see it

Some never do

Rarely is it ever truly caught

How it eludes me

Blinds me with lies

Pumps me up with fallacy

No way to see

Until it’s to late

No excuses

No remorse

Just pain

Anguish

Denial

Just keep looking

Filling with more junk

Need the junk to live

Numbs my aching soul

All I look for

Is so hard to get

Label me?

Label you?

Why do I pre judge

Am I not human?

Am I not flesh & blood

Why do you shun me so?

The pain rips into me

Need the junk to kill the pain

5

5

It gouges my mind

Heart

And soul

The pain, will it ever end?

When I find it for sure

Being the junk doesn’t work anymore

Where is it?

Where is it?

Why can’t I have it?

Where is love

Just the junk

To kill the hurt

Just the junk

To murder my soul

Just the junk

Nothing more

Written in 1999 After Sex With Some Random Chick.

Sometimes I feel like my face is falling off

I mean not in the physical sense

But in the surrealistic sense of the mind

I think it would be cool if it did though

I’m sitting at Starbucks on 16th. and Curtis

In Downtown Denver

I’m surrounded by yuppie’s and families

It’s the Sunday after church crowd

I decide to talk to the people on my right

A woman and a small girl

I get this tickle in my nose

All of a sudden I sneeze

Haaaa-choooo!!!!

My nose flies off

Wooooo….

I’m spouting blood everywhere

The people look at me in absolute horror

I shake my head

I want to share the terror

I look at the lady and say,

I’m sorry, really I am”

My nose by the way lands in the girls coffee

I fish it out and eat it

I need the calcium you know

That would be cool

Untitled 6.14.98

I skidded across the surface of a star yesterday

It was kind of cool ya’ know

The surface was hot

The light blinding

The thing is, I felt safe

At ease

There was no fear in my heart

As I sat upon this star

I recognized something

Deep inside myself

The star was just my soul

Trying to breathe

Bliss 1999

Bliss

What is Bliss??

Is it that long awaited kiss??

Is it that morning dew on the grass

The ray’s of sun breaking through the glass

The sound of rain aginst a window

Snow fluttering downward to the Earth

The sound it makes

The crunch of boots apon it

What is bliss??

I do not really know what bliss is

Bliss is love

Bliss is hate

Bliss is whatever makes us smile

Just one more time

Somedays bliss is food

Somedays bliss is life

Somedays bliss is death

Somedays bliss is sleep

One day bliss was dope

This day bliss is saying nope

Bliss, bliss, bliss

What could it be?

Does it have a name

Is it a person, place or thing?

Is it just God in guise?

Or is it just me in reprise?

Someone tells me that they miss

Some good old bliss

Hypocrisy of Freedom 1999-2001

Freedom to bang

Freedom to use a racial slang

Freedom to be

Freedom to not see

Freedom to vote

Freedom to complain

Freedom to drink

Freedom to be an alchoolic

Freedom of speech

Freedom to be arrested for what you say

Freedom to express

Freedom to be cencered

Freedom to be president

Freedom to be homeless

Freedom to hurt

Freedom to love

Freedom to move

Freedom to stay

Freedom to cry

Freedom to die

Freedom to be rich

Freedom to be a C.I.A. snich

Freedom to fame

Freedom to be lame

Freedom to dream

Freedom to get lost in C.R.E.A.M. (Wu-Tang Clan 1993)

Freedom to be free

Freedom can’t you see?

Freedom I don’t think so

Stanza Two

Freedom to be gay

Freedom to smoke a jay

Freedom to be tied to a post

Freedom to get lit and roast

Freedom to get beat to death

Freedom to take your last breath

Freedom to be who you care

Freedom if you dare

Freedom to die for a belief

Freedom to not see any relief

Freedom to be from Casper

Freedom to be a ruthless bastard

Freedom to read the headline—

“Gay student dies five days after beating”

Freedom to laugh at our finger pointing

Freedom to pray for peace

Freedom to give up in peace

Freedom to be remembered

Freedom to be Matthew Sheppard

Stanza Three

Freedom to practice genocide

Freedom to run and hide

Freedom to let Kosavo be

Freedom to be a war torn refugee

Freedom to be an outcast

Freedom to kill a school in a balst

Freedom to drop a bomb

Freedom to curse the nation of Islam

Freedom to evade the death sentence

Freedom to kill faggots and pay no penence

Freedom to be in a scandel

Freedom to jiggle your love handle

Freedom to write a book

Freedom to exist with a look

Freedom to be Monica Lewinski

Freedom to be Linda Tripp the Butt—in—ski

Freedom to be Chelse

Freedom to never forget Helsinki

Freedom to relive Viet—nam

Freedom to scream at Uncle Sam

Freedom to be a war vet

Freedom to remember Tibet

Freedom to keep thinking

Freedom to continue sinking

Freedom to be American

Freedom to be African

Freedom to be Malcom X

Freedom to be Generation X

Freedom to be 6.26.71

Freedom to kill for fun

Freedom to be Martin Luther King Jr.

Freedom to be Cal Ripkin Sr.

Freedom to be killed like John F. Kennedy

Freedom to be killed by Ted Kennedy

Freedom to have dharma

Freedom to hate karma

Freedom to wither away and die

Freedom to feel life’s a lie

Freedom to block your dad’s fist

Freedom to slam your dad’s casket

Freedom to ask why

Freedom to never know why….

Dharma written on the back of a Jack Kerouac Novel

Dharma, dharma what—is—dharma? Is—it the thought—of—God?? Is it actually—God—itself? The quest—for dharma is where I live—to find spiritual guidence—somehow, someway; to be—with God—as—one—one—one; not alone any more with—God—to look up and feel it’s power—love—caring; this is dharma—not money—people—things—it’s inner peace—joy—balance—purpose—vision—sernity—this is the dharma I want—not the religious dharma—the real spiritual dharma—the power of the pacific—the magestic beauty of a mountian—the sun—rain—sky—stars—all in unity with the dharma of God; my spirit in—with the spirit of God—so—I—can—feel the same—in tune with nature and of God it’s self—dharma—is my quest—God is my teacher—I am my temple…

Journal Entry 2.25.02 Charlotte NC.

No one wants to know the real me, no one wants to see inside this dark clown mask that I wear all the time, no one wants to feel the rape I perform every fucking day I am alive. No one wants to see my guts torn out by myself for the enjoyment of myself, no one wants to see the inner self of anyone including them selves. I could go on for hours and hours days, months rant after rant and get absolutly nowhere. The bottom line here in that I am a complete fuck up in a more fucked up world that no one wants to look at, just shun and avoid like the virus I am. I have no problem with this, none at all, what is is, so deal with it mother fuckers. I am not here to make anyone happy, I am here to show the realest part of life that everyone else chooses to deny, the pain of existence. I am depression, I have been depression my whole life, I will always be depression. That is the sad fact of life for me, take your prozac and stuff it up your ass, I would rather eat lead or slice with a gleaming blade of truth than take some chemical in order to not feel the way I am naturally supposed to feel. There is no honor in chemical enhancments, there are no respects for the Prozac generation, there is nothing but dependance on a lie to trick my head into a line of bullshit on a daily basis. Yeah thank God for open source code eh? Yeah, me too pal. I always wondered what all that bullshit is about. We need to find more and more chemicals to fix all the human falasy’s we have, fuck that shit. I belive in better living through reality, not chemicals. The real world is not fun, or exciting, it just is what it is. I am not a fan of anything just of what is right in front of me. I guess that is all there is to all of this shit though eh? Yeah, what the fuck ever right? Who am I to complain? Who am I to disagree? Who am I to do anything at all? Yeah sure fuck you too asshole.

I have gone to great lenghts to increse my ability to feel pain, I have never felt so lost in all my life and this stupor has lasted 30 years. I go to war everyday with myself, I look in the mirror and feel nothing but pure loathing, pure rage pure hate. I dispise myself and everything that makes me what I am. I am not a happy camper, I am a miserable piece of shit that feels like there is never going to be a conection with another human being on any deep level. No women, no man, no anyone, just me and my rage to fester and pepulate into some other fucking piece of trash. I smoke so I can die faster, I drink coffee hoping for that anurism, I look for ways to dispatch myself daily that are not considered sucide, end it all in that abyss of depression and hatred. Who cares? I sure don’t anymore….