When “Catalina Fight Song” Sticks in Your Head

pushing petals to the weekend

keep something sweet and free

pushing petals for the weekend

so you can smile at me


die every minute

don’t discuss peace

they’re high in the bathroom

their hope is out of reach


pushing petals for the weekend

so you can fly with me

I’m dying in the evening

sweating in summer heat


pushing petals to the weekend

Gonna get our kicks for free


Elect Trump and I Jump

I’ve often thought about killing myself

but only for selfish reasons

only for selfish reasons

have I thought of killing myself

its never something noble

its never something noble

its not as if the human race would be



only for selfish reasons

its not as if the human race would be


for killing themselves

only for selfish reasons

would we build a fence

to keep ourselves in

would we build a fence

to become our own pets

to keep ourselves in

so no one else

could be selfish

only for selfish reasons

never to be better


only to kill ourselves




what am I going to eat 

like some turkey?  Some chicken?  Some beef?  


hahaha roast beer.  

not a solid choice

a thin ice sandwich

and no bacon burger


but really hungry nonetheless

down for some chicken, some macaroni

or like thai style stuff in curry

I’d eat that with an Oreo mcsnorio freeze 


and be all fat by the next sunrise

but whatever


and then thinking of breakfast….


mimosas say the least and

screwdrivers tell too much

this isn’t anything really here 

if your looking to eat. 

I used to bike all over the city

I used to bike all over the city
My aunt’s mountain bike would take me places
My friend and I we saw robots at Starbucks
And monsters outside of chase
Los Angeles is a crazy world

You can see anything really

We biked past scientologist strongholds that watched out over
Paltry comic shops and comedy clubs
I fear for the upright citizens brigade-
They are too close to the source
And without protection

The stronghold may snuff them out

You see comedians are like philosophers
they point out awkward truths
They show you the city is a mad place
A world of cyborgs and silicone saints
Yet beneath it all still remains

A clouded yet very real- very human place

In the streets- if they are so surreal
I lose myself in waking
As I am unable to
In sleep.

Sonnstag Traum Journal

I dreamed I was a pale, baroque thing with thin reaching limbs so long and fragile.  I was driving my truck, my bleeding, aging, pick-up truck with my long, pale limbs so thing and fragile.  And it was terrifying.  


My limbs were weak and my truck was fading.  It wasn’t long before I found the breaks were dead.  It was night and now I was just booming on, speeding ahead and then suddenly, smack, I was dead.  


When I woke up I found my lover next to me and her cat purring on my chest.  I took solace in this if not in dreams nor in waking thoughts during what people call reality.  


And strange to me, my dreams have darkness in them.  As if someone is trying to tug at the frayed threads on the fringes of my conscious, the places where strange things alone may take hold, the place where things are generally ignored.  It is as if a malignancy stalks me and haunts my dreams with its presence but that I am so much of love that I remain out of its reach.  Nevertheless, this dark circles me and pollutes my dreams.  


Perhaps I would find out what this means and then face what must be fought?


writing these spells

I recognize

the dusk is fading

As I take wind & sea

forest and jungle tree

deep down into the orchid

abandoning the magik of death

as best I can

Death still like a swamp

a stinking smell

that lingers on


perhaps I will wash it away

perhaps I will grow strong

Bloodstains and echoing footsteps in the doors of eternity

bloodstains and echoing footsteps in the doors of eternity

I am not known

nor ever seen

my words carry dead weight

my tongue speaks dead names

I call on the vampyers of olde to rise anon

and stryke free these chains

to starlight



and immortality

Every morning and then some

My friend dr. Nix used to have one waiting for him. Every morning when he woke up. Waiting.

Man he would think to himself, just -man and then he would think to himself, sort -what am I doing here? Oh yes I’m doing this- and then he would, because it would be right there and waiting for him.

Afterwards he would blow his nose, stand up and walk around. A rush of blood to the head and break feast served- he stared out the window of his color tv. Things were more beautiful in there and they were safer too. In there he was god and the coloured skies would bend to his pleasure. Outside the throne even was up for grabs.

Any way the days would go by and he kept doing things that way, he would do them his way. I saw him now and again. Once and a while I even went up to San Luis obisbo and saw him there. Busy and crazy with some girl. Holding a chemistry job and taking classes. His habit flew on fine with everything. It was a mad world anyway.

grubbing hard

grubbing hard

your dirty finger’s claw concrete screaming

fuck the system and fuck everything

I want to go home but nowhere is home 

and everywhere the grubbing fingers

desperation, sorrow and death

incompletion emptiness and lack of hope 

kill me now I can’t see my road home.

There is no road home.

I’ve been beaten and robbed

slipped into comas and crashes 

crashing on cars on cars driving into me

pinning me to the street and laughing

laughing because look at me

I am an insect and nothing I do matters

And the car rolls over my elbow 

and the tires stop in time

the rubber resting on my head 

fuck everything–

the pain is worse than any i’ve felt 

grubbing hard

crawling over concrete

screaming I can’t move

my arm–

so help me dark fucking god in the evil glaring heavens!  

The bastard has crushed my arm

dirty fingers clawing concrete

grubbing hard

heaven is out to get me