ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER SUICIDE NOTE TO THE WORLD --- Fiction

Slack jaw, middle of a suicide, in that part of town, poor man's place to die, to be found, gun by the side, clenched in his hand, bottle of Jack nearby.

Where were the medics?

Nobody wanted to come to this part of town, if only he had died on the west side, the rich man's section of middle town USA, where each place had a pool to drown.

I was sitting on the sidewalk, watching the world go bye.

Or maybe by.

There was a bag in my hand, paint fume, huffing my cares away, killing my brain one cell at a time.

We had guns; or access to them, it was easier to get gun than it was food stamps.

Mary Anne stood outside the bus depot, selling her soul one hour at a time, later on, she'd stop by and see me.

"Can I have a puff?" she'd ask as I passed the bag to her.

We'd do harder drugs if we could get our hands on them, sitting there till midnight, one o clock, passing the time staring into the sky, watching the stars flash across the sky.

I had a place; an abandoned building over on Fifth street, where, if we could stand, we'd make our way to, crash hard onto the shit stained mattress on the floor.

We'd awake before noon to restart the whole process.

Back to the street grind, to find ourselves, to lose our soul, one brain cell at a time.

Sometimes a reporter from the local news would make his or her way "Down to the street" to see how the other half lived, those forgotten people, the street people; insane, driving away, ready to die on a call, whatever.

One showed up one day; Cindee, she was new, trying to make her face the answer to whatever.

"How long have you been on the street?" she asked me.

"Forever!!" I said, nodding, taking a huff off of my bag.

My mind was still there.

Jack, the local insane poet, laughed.

"We were fucking born here!!" he said, patting the ground, "Our mother, the fucking Goddess of Huff!! Like a hit? For a good lead into your story?'

She smiled and politely declined and moved on, to more saner grounds.

"Bitch didn't even ask me what my turn ons were!!" Mary pouted.

We all laughed.

We were like tears in the rain, washed away, never to be seen, if we were even there, washed away from existence.

But here we still laid, a shade of our former self, lost in our ways, but still here.

Neurotic Erotica - THINGS TO DO WITH A...A LETTER TO PENTHOUSE

Dear Penthouse,

Hi!

How are you?

I am fine, thanks for asking.

This is my third time writing you, my second time placing said letter into envelope and my first time actually putting it into the mailbox!

Email?

What's that?

Anyways, I am sitting here, at 8:08 pm on October 2nd, 2018, the laptop is in my lap and you know what is on my mind!

Playing a game of Hello Kitty Adventure Island!!

Yay!!

Sex?

Mama told me sex leads to all kinds of problems, like anal bleeding and warts, who needs that!!!

I imagine sex feels like rubbing your pee pee with sand paper and then throwing some vinegar on it.

My Uncle Clint, he lost his penis to sex.

He was just laying there minding his own business.

In a woman's bed that wasn't his wife.

Aunt Tilda storms in, breaking down the door and shoots old Uncle Clint in the penis, straight as a bird flies sober, like my mama says.

And the doc, old Doc Smith, just couldn't save it, Aunt Tilda used some buck shoot, done split the pee pee ten times to Sunday.

That's when I learned that a man's penis is very sacred to him cause old Uncle Clint just started crying and sobbing when Doc told him, WE CAN'T SAVE YOUR WILLY WHACKER!!!

So anyways, it ain't too bad being a virgin at 49.

Mama says I'd be a horrible daddy anyways.

Anyways, that's my letter, hope you like it,

Your friend in Jesus,

Hank

LIARS IN THE FIELD - NEUROTIC EROTICA!

THE LIARS IN THE FIELD 

by

Andrew Snartz

CHAPTER ONE - REMEMBERING LUST ADVENTURES

The summer wind blew; fierce dehydrating winds coming from the south.

Margaret laid in the burnt, dry, brown grass of the field.

She felt Henry's hot breath on her inner thigh, moving up, closer and closer to that spot, his hands pushing her skirt up, exposing her to his gaze.

"Stop..." she moaned but didn't push him away, throwing back her head as his mouth met her down below, his tongue darting out, drawing in her nectar, driving her to move her hands into his hair, pushing him further in.

I wasn't part of that scene but watched it unfold on TV.

Cinemax to be exact.

My first time with a woman was more like; I paid her fifty bucks, she spread her legs, I removed my pants, ten minutes and a squirt later, I was putting my pants back on and heading out the door.

My second time was in college; she was a senior, I had just started my freshmen year.

She was tall; 6 foot 5 inches.

Blonde, those green eyes.

I forget her name.

I remember her legs straddling me, lower herself on me, her nipples, mere inches from my mouth, my tongue dancing with them, then her mouth pressing against mine.

It wasn't a "Romantic fuck" as described in proper terms of the words, though, by crude definitions, it was a fuck.

I guess my true "Romantic fuck" was with my fifth; it was a cloudy stormy day, it was our first date.

The car I had was a piece of shit for lack of a better wording, it had stalled up the tall hill outside of the town we were living in.

Sheila was her name; small girl, not a beauty by the set standards of society but "Fuckable" by the terms of the bar stool banter that flooded the town.

"To kill time," she said, "We could fool around!"

It started out innocently. We kissed.

Then I felt her hand moving down my chest, stopping at my crotch, her fingers slipped down my zipper, and exposed my stiffening cock to her gaze.

It was innocent up to that point; her hand grasping the shaft, and slowly moving up and down in rhythmic movement, I gasped out, feeling her, moving faster and faster, then her mouth soon replacing her hand.

Soon, in even less innocence, she removed her blue jeans, sliding her panties down as well, exposing her nakedness to gaze, and lowered her self onto me, letting my hard cock slide deep into her.

I did not hold out long; and within a bit of a few up and down motions, her moans filling the car and my ears, I came deep inside of her; filling her up with my seed.

A mistake I guess; I not wearing a condom and her not on birth control, it was like playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun.

She smiled as she put her clothes back on, I did the same thing.

I finally got the car started and drove her home.

I'd like to say I made love to her repeatedly but we only dated for a few more times before she broke up with me for a guy named Steve.

Not too long after, I found out she was pregnant. 

"You know who Sheila's baby looks like?" my friend Anthony had said one night as we sat at the bar.

"I do not have an idea..." I said, sliding off into silence.

"Go look in a mirror, you'll see!" he laughed.

"Shut up!! She'd tell me if that kid was mine!"

BITTER MEMORIES: AN ILLUSION - A POEM

She stood in a doorway,
Lost in a memory,
Falling to pieces,
Trying to remember,
The time she had,
The moment she wandered,
Far from home,
To see the world,
A beautiful dream,
A peaceful moment,
Lost to a memory,
Drifting from pieces,
Realize,
The memory is dimming,
He's losing his mind,
She dances in the mourning,
The light grows dim,
Feeling the emotion,
She stands in the door way,
The tears washed away,
By the rain,
It falling down,
To the ground,
We see the illusion,
We feel the pain,
She grows apart,
The years roll by,
A distant memory,
Falling to pieces,
All a lie,
A mask is worn,
To feel no pain,
The distance an illusion,
She stands in the door way,
Lost in a memory,
Falling apart,
No grand illusion,
Just life itself,
In the world,
Spinning through,
A distant second,
In life itself,
A minute of peace,
Then a delusion,
A shattering dream,
Stark madness,
Cruising into the setting sun.

MISERY LOVES COMPANY - A POEM

MISERY LOVES COMPANY

A POEM

You don't know,
That feeling deep inside,
The one that makes you,
Cry without the tears.

And the seas were crying,
For life,
And the wind howled
For you,
To see the sun come rising up,
The misery of  life itself,
Coming up from the gallery.

And the sun sets on it all,
When the darkness comes a calling,
Will we see the light?

The howling of the misery,
Falling from the grace,
Tell the night to hold me,
To make it all seem right.

And the world keeps dancing on,
And on,
And on,
And my misery,
Keeps laughing in its face.
And when the morning sun is rising,
We'll be found,
Dancing in her grace.

Every day is a blessing,
A betterment of life,
Even when you're down,
You have to stand to see the sun,
A rising in the sky.

THE WIND AS SEEN BY LIFE - A BEAT POEM AS INSPIRED BY A READING

THE WIND AS SEEN BY LIFE - A BEAT POEM AS INSPIRED BY A READING

The wind swept through the lands; 

We were but ants spread against the shifting sands,

That life,

There,

Spread free, 

From the boat we ran,

Alive in our fight,

Some soon,

To be dead.

There was a silence among the ravens; the hills were bloodied; the spirits gone.

Who was standing against the rage?

The city lights burned brightly, 

Alley ways strewn with broken glass;

The business men;

High polished shoes;

Ties;

Catch the 4:45 to evening supper;

High,

In that blight;

I swim into the sea;

It is night;

Kings;

Flying free,

Degenerates in the flop;

Flipping off the man;

Smoking; 

Dusty roof tops;

The clock;

Tick

Tock!

A pawn shop; 

Down that street,

Falling downwards,

Into a spin,

I'm still walking;

Those electric youths;

Trying to find;

Themselves,

Falling backwards,

Into clockworks,

The gears of society,

Grinding them,

Into pieces,

Everyone was dead,

His soul was dead,

That soul,

Where did it go?

Plan man, getting on the plan, to see if I can find life; the fuck!

That is the plan; man; to fuck, to see, to get out, to get on, to fly into the sea!!

"Shit!!"

I was drinking with the brightest of the insane.

College students were pushed up against the wall; trying to kill those brain cells at $3.00 a shot.

"Fuck!"

The words slipped from his tongue before he realized what was going on.

A fist to his lips.

He dropped to the floor.

Wham!

Blam!

Was he dead yet?

Coke heads in the streets; trying to catch a cab to home.

"Screw off!" Sam yell; his unkempt hair sprawling off to all sides; the drivers flipped him off in return and then spat in his general direction as they sped off.

We were walking; the broken sidewalks tripped us every few steps with the chipped cement.

"We should go and see Sid, he's has the shit!!" Carl said; trying to catch himself in mid trip.

I nodded.

It was a mile and a half to Sid's place.

Fifth street.

Sid was a good clean kid but he sold the best stuff; whatever you needed he had.

We made it to his place; at his mom's house.

"He's in the back boys!" she said, smiling and went back to her rum and coke.

We moved back.

"Well boys, do we have a party?" Sid smiled and motioned to us.

We sat.

Two lines of cocaine for each.

Sleep.

Catch a break.

Silence.

Flee.

Feel.

Are we alive?

Madness,

Caught in the door,

Wandering through,

Fly,

High.

We found ourselves later; outside, down the street, trying to catch a cab.

They never stopped.

One of the few girls in the group drove by.

"Need a ride!" she giggled.

We all got in.

Movement.

Flying still,

That road,

Underneath,

Trying to make us fall,

From that Lord's grace...

"Are you okay Johnny?" I heard her saying, shaking me from some awful dream.

I felt okay; lying there in some drug induced sleep; booze infested sores inside my brain trying to move outside, to take over that scene.

I could smell her sex; and my own body tried to respond.

"Pervert!" she giggled, slapping me teasingly.

Call out;

Oh sinners of the streets,

Your fleeing moments,

Ripe to be plucked,

To be thrown into the muck,

If we do not die tonight,

May we live for tomorrow!

I told her that I loved her; she was my only light.

"I love you more!" she replied, smiling, almost laughing in evil delight.

I couldn't feel my body but still there I stood; looking into her face, into her soul.

The wind,

As seen by life,

To be felt,

Till tomorrow,

Which shall never come,

Today will never end...

Trapped in the dark when the lights are on - A POEM

Trapped in the dark when the lights are on - A POEM

Standing alone in the rain,
That feeling,
Lost happiness,
Fleeing on the ground.

There,
Somewhere,
Trapped,
Feeling alone,
In a room full of people,
All celebrating you.

Humanity lost,
To that humanity,
Trapped in the dark,
When the lights are on.

Some people,
Lost,
When the map is fully opened,
Drifting,
Through a maze,
Of confusion,
Begging for forgiveness,
When there's nothing to forgive.

When will this madness stop,
Oh lord,
How can I go on when my on is gone?

Down that road,
Wandering forward,
As I move backwards,
Seeing through the fog,
As I am blind,
Lost in that madness,
Wearing a mask,
He must be happy,
See,
He's smiling.

Satin Sheet on a Nail Bed - A Bar Fiction

The breeze was soft; like satin sheets on a nail bed.

"You ole sunuvabitch, how youse been?" Ole Charley said from the bar door, holding it open for me as I slowly marched down the side walk, heading home from work.

"I've been better!" I said, making a detour to a stool, next to the old beaten bar.

Ole Charley was dying, like we all were, but he'd be dying sooner rather than later, the consumption eating up his lungs, the mine had killed him before he ever decided to retire at 42.

"Damn boss man came in here, thinking he was going to get a brew!" he growled. "I knocked him flat on his ass!! And got three rounds of cheers from the bar!"

I laughed.

The jukebox was playing a sad song, something about a lover dumping them for a chicken lover or a rooster sucker.

I ordered a beer, three, two of them chased with a whiskey.

The bar was filled with the usual misfits; old men drinking their liver into a stupor.  Funny men hiding from their wives, all killing their pay checks on whiskey and beer before their wives found out.

A few wives were here and there, deciding it was easier to join rather than battle, their own livers being killed off.

A homeless man was there, a traveler who got stuck here back in 1979.

He worked some of the stores; sweeping the side walks of the leaves, dirt and dust that came rolling down from the Hill.

In the winter, he'd disappear for those months, too cold to find a sleep, when it was time.

"I head down to the heat..." he winked when asked where he went for his winter vacation. "I like the heat but you people make me laugh, so I come back in the spring!"

There was always a drunken fight, later on in the night, Tom Sheldon, the sheriff, would break it up, buy the combatants a drink, pat each on the back and say in his deep voice, "Be good and the rounds are on me!!"

Two years ago; the town was a buzz, Mickey Malone, a drunk and a crude human being, was shot to death right at the corner there by his mistreated wife.

"He beat me every night!" she growled, the gun still in her hand.

She got off with a warning never to do that again.

Tonight was a quiet night, just an argument over who had the best football team; everyone knew it was West High followed by them losers over at East.

"Last call!" the bartender yelled and we all laughed.

There was never a last call; 24 hours, as the mines ran, as the prostitutes did down the "Block".

There was talk, every election year, to make this town a better place; shut down the brothels, curb the bars to close at 2 am, not opened on Sunday, that would be church time, but the miners, a rugged bunch, wouldn't hear it.

"We need something to do between shifts!" they growled at the reverend who thought he could tame the Hill.

He got ran out by the train tracks.

"Go back east you cock fool!!!"

And we went back to drinking.

An ode to a War Long Done Fought - A POEM

Note to self: every night, I try to settle down and write a few words, to clear the mind and then, I hit publish, just so the world knows to stay away from me as I am slowly going insane since 1971.

My mind began to wander away as soon as I cleared the womb and has been gaining speed in that runaway since seeing the edge of daylight!

So here I sit, in a comfy chair, the TV playing, I don't know what I will write tonight, my mind comes closer to me, wanting to think and make me wonder where I am going from here.

Possibly New Jersey.

So here I go, to write!

AN ODE TO A WAR LONG DONE FOUGHT - A POEM

There in the silence of night,

I swore that I could see the devil's eyes gazing into my soul,

The bombs dropped from the air,

Exploding around us,

The screams of the men,

Torn away from their bodies,

To be thrown into the ground,

The war would end for them,

A blessed cross,

A draped flag,

There,

On that bloody ground,

But for us,

The living,

We marched into the fray,

Our guns held high against an enemy,

We could not see,

Brothers in humanity,

We marched forward,

Kill,

Death,

We heeded the call,

Held the cause,

Closely to our hearts,

The Father Land needed us,

To be that blood upon the ground,

Forward, 

March,

Die,

Kill,

We continued forward,

To take the ground,

To give the ground,

To become the ground.

The living,

Dead inside,

Nightmares of those falling bombs,

Those guns,

Their mind,

Their worst enemies!

Their souls drenched,

They dare not sleep,

Perchance to dream,

Of long dead,

War, 

That,

In a never ending stream,

Will still haunt,

Their memories!

And there,

In a dream,

A scene,

A dove does scream,

And awake,

My solider boy,

To live again,

To breathe...

The New Reality - Letter to home

The New Reality - Letter to home

Oh how could they, destroy that beautiful place inside our minds?

Deep moonlit scapes, wonderous pool under the waterfall.

I was sitting in a chair, mindless and speechless, a husk of my former self, staring at the four walls.

You were gone.

You have been gone more than ten years.

Or so they tell me.

I don't remember anymore.

The medications make it all surreal, a dream, if I remembered it, I might kill myself.

Sickness in a mind, reports say, I could be quite sane and it is the rest of the world that's mad.

I try to tell the doctors here that.

Maybe they are the sociopyschotic mad men in their deep starched white coats meandering room to room looking for something to cure their sickness, writting it down on their clipboards.

Angry suicidal, homicidal, I have become, or would, if the medications wouldn't step in and protect the idiots at the supermarket.

Blocking the aisles, chattering like rats over some dead issue, tissues?

Who cares.

I just want my box of cereal.

Toasty oats.

With raisins.

Anyways, tomorrow, if I'm good, the nurses say I can have two cookies with my apple juice.

Anyways, good night Mom, I'll write more later, I love you,

Your son,

George

NATIONAL PRIDE AND THE BUILDING OF A DREAM SET ASIDE - Fiction?

A nation so divided even on the simpliest of simple ideas cannot stand for long.

Even this thought, those words, could be decreed as being traitous to that which is held holy, national pride.

National pride can be corrupted into hatred for those outside the defined box within that nation, to be placed in a defined enemy of the state because of the colors of your eyes.

Religion, its own dividing rod, can be used to hate, even when that religion is based on peace and love.

We, the people, divide ourselves based on point a, then, point b and on and on until we shatter into billions of shards, to cut, to bleed, those who come in our footstep, to further divide the future.l, into blight.

Instead of building a better future, we destroy it, wars, famine, disease, hatred.

Instead of building that path to a glorious future, we build walls, we shut our eyes and bathe in madness.

We create our own madness, letting our cups over run with it, killing in the name of Jesus, Amen!

We march.

Our children march.

And on and on, for that nation, which gave us our lives, we kill, we die, in hope that we are right.

No more death, we hope, that war to end all wars, but then, the next one comes, new ways to kill, each side thinking they are right, a national pride.

Is it wrong to have pride?

No, but how do we know which side, if either, is right?

My country is my country but there is so much more, out of our reaches, from our sight, we shall never see, unless we drop, some of that national pride.

Again, these words could be construed as traitous, to be executed by that mob who screams in national pride.

One world, one hope.

I know it is all a dream, a fantasy, but maybe someday, that dream could be realized.

A TRIBUTE TO MY COUNTRY: A road trip through a life

A TRIBUTE TO MY COUNTRY: A road trip through a life

CHAPTER ONE: A return to my home town

Eyeless wonders in spanish towns, looking up at the stars while $85 hookers suck on pencil tops, scarred with aged knives, soulless wanderers in arid lands, finding nothing but truck stop coffee and pickled eggs.

Beer by the galons.

Gasoline cocktails, sitting by a pool, neon sign blinking, half off, EAT AT JOE'S.

We were driving down that highway, mile 185, when the bombs began to fall, only in our heads,Jackson was driving, 95.

"Shit!!" He cried slamming on the brakes, "we lost....that word....."

"Our minds?" I replied.

He nodded.

We had lost our mind, 1993, just out of college, one last trip to see ourselves drown, in toxins, 1953, a good year for such a disease.

Las Vegas was a sell out, Corporations trying to gain a buck ninety five for a spin around a tree.

Traps, roadside signs, SEE THE TWO HEADED SNAKE!!

BEARDED LADY, FIFTY CENTS!!

Two drinks out of a clown's skull, a miracle of science, fiction, realization you're dying one minute at a time, living a few seconds as the miles tick away.

The road kept going, cities, towns, little villages in desert suns, rage, lust, a cigarette in some cheap motel.

Use the swimming pool at your own risk, we don't have a life guard on duty.

Ain't that life?

Drown or swim.

Fail or suceed, still treading, the waves crashing in on us, not waving but drowning.

I have tried to drown my demons but they have learned to swim, maybe in college?

There, in the light of the silver moon, she sat, that vision of painted fece filled tub of garbage known as my hometown.

Saints died trying to bring civility here, this godless whore, as my mother called it, it wasn't her town but some shit town she drove into back in 1969.

She never left.

She said it was hers, a shitty drunk lover, but hers.

And hers alone.

I adopted it when she passed away.

She was buried in St. Ives Garden under a weeping tree, right next to father who died before I was three.

We stayed at the Fleabag Hotel, up the hill, crack head behind the counter gave us the key.

$69 a night, all the meth you could dream of, just two blocks down the street.

Nuns were handing out flyers, JESUS SAVES, in big bold letters.

"Do you need him?" They said, handing us one.

We shook our heads no and entered our room, decorated tastefully in 1973.

Dirty tub, smelling of bleach, as if in attempt to clean, the toilet black, moldy smell coming from the ceiling tiles, dried cum on the sheets from multiple drunken, stoned fucks.

Paintings of palm trees to brighten the smoke stained walls.

Walls thin, hearing the next room's activities.

RCA COLOR TV IN EVERY ROOM! FREE! reads the sign outside.

Three channels, all broken snow filled scenes, in color.

Black and white are colors, the lady at the desk says.

I laugh.

She's right.

We fall asleep, like babies, in a crack house on Arizona Street.

WANDERING THROUGH THE MIND: A Mother's misery

Wandering through the broken streets, late at night, 3 am.

We saw the minds, madness, imagery, blasted on the TV screens, drunken rants, now televised as great intelligent thoughts.

On a Friday afternoon, barely pass noon, came the awful news, the sounds of the room dulled to a roar.

There, she sat, before she fell, that paper, the telephone in her hand, her young boy, that little face child of hers, laid dead by a shooter's rage.

She did not cry, she did not utter a word, she died that day, there on that playground, down fifteen blocks.

Though her body remained, her soul, her life did leave, she was not the same after that fateful day.

FOR MOTHER LAND: "We deeply regret to inform you." - A POEM

FOR MOTHER LAND: "We deeply regret to inform you..." - A POEM

A little girl is walking down the street,
A bitter memory,
Tomorrow shall be better,
Just wait and see,
But sadly,
Tomorrow,
It is said,
Never comes.

Into madness,
We saw ourselves go,
Propelled there by our might,
Our own will,
Our eyes held closed,
Against the blinding of the light,
Bombs bursting in air,
This was not heroics,
A good boys' gift to their motherland,
We were surviving,
Kill,
Or be kill,
No master plan to conquer the world,
But that which to survive another day,
To see our mothers,
Our fathers,
Our lovely wives,
Our children,
Who wish to grow up and become soldiers,
To fight for that great cause,
That cause,
How I wish I had not heard the bugle call.

If we were greater men,
To those at home,
Called lesser men,
We would have left,
Gone back to that safety,
We left behind,
To that simple life,
To our families,
Our homes,
To our lives,
So simple,
So easy,
Raise our children,
To see them have their own children

But alas,
We did not,

We went screaming,
FOR MOTHER LAND!!!
To our last breath,
Some of us,
Never opening their eyes again,
Not to see the rising of the sun,
To that new day,
To sip black coffee,
To feel the bite of a cold, clear day,
The warmth of that which we call love,
To keep us from the shivering winds.

There we stood,
Shivering in cold,
Our blood,
Rivers on the icy plains.
We heard the bombs,
Dive,
Cover,
Fire,
Kill,
Death to that enemy across the way,
His own mind screaming,
Run,
Far away,
To that which does not kill us,
To be alive,
Cowards,
Fake,
Not worth that patch sewed upon our shoulders,
Elite,
Defenders,
Those others,
We spit,
We fire,
We kill,
They return,
To kill,
To defend,
And we keep,
Still,
Pressed against the ground,
Our eyes mere slit,
Our hands,
Our fingers,
The deliverer of that sweet tool of death.

We marched forward,
Through the hurling of the rain,
The sleet,
Our hands,
Our bodies,
Dearly,
We did not speak,
We marched forward,
Our thoughts our own,
But we all thought the same,
How easily it would be,
To never have heard that call to arms.

We dare not say that mere thought,
To be a traitor,
To that great cause,
To not hear the trumpet blare,
To feel the pounding of the drums,
To know the brimming pride,
Of our elders as we passed by,
In parade,
"Off to war! To fight a glorious fight!"
They cheered,
They rallied,
We did not want to disappoint,
Even when we came back,
In a box,
Our flag,
Covering our vessels,
Their pride covered in tears.

"They died for us!"
The headlines would read,
"For us!"
"For the Mother Land!"
Mother tears,
Screams,
Pounding of their fist,
The news fresh in their ears,
A letter,
"We deeply regret to inform you..."

The war machine keeps rushing,
Never ending,
A new generation,
A new generation,
We deeply regret to inform you...

INFORMED INSANITY - A POEM TO READ IN A CLOSET WHILE THE DEVIL STEALS YOUR BUILDING BLOCKS

INFORMED INSANITY - A POEM TO READ IN A CLOSET WHILE THE DEVIL STEALS YOUR BUILDING BLOCKS

Worm wood,
 Drifting distant minds,
Left to the corner, sleeping in a pile of leaves,
Whispering loves across the lines,
In rapture,
In sleaze,
Ease?
O to see,
That sea,
Across the line,
In a time,
Ripples in the cosmic lake.

Tome,
A word involved in a battle,
Witless mimes?
We could not see without our eyes,
To not hear the boisterous voices,
In a shaded room,
A nurse comes in,
Can she take my pulse?
Can she?
She can!

Oh madness,
That sadness in my mind,
To dream of insane,
To day, to week, to whatever the hell it is.

I wish to scream,
But no mouth do I have,
I wish to see,
But no eyes do I have

In time,
The distance decreases,
To a better,
More horrid place,
Random drawings,
On the desk,
Drawn in red,
Blood,
Shit,
Drool,
Whatever it is.

I was cursed,
Before I was birth,

Followers inside my brain,
Digging out the memories,
Too horrible to remember,
To know what is not known,
To see what should not be seen,
To say goodnight one last time,
In Heaven's name,
Cursing the stars,
The darkness,
To sleep,
To not wake,
Trying to wake up from this nightmare,
Is this a dream?
Or is this reality?

Never sure,
Where am I,
In reference to time and space.

Lights,
Darkness,
Break apart,
This is not living,
This is just existing,
Onward,
Downward,
Someone just threw me a shovel and said dig.

The voices in my head,
To scream,
To feel that pain,
To be released,
From this misery.

Darkness does cover my eyes,
To unsee,
To fall asleep,
Fresh misery,
A bullet,
Screaming through my brain,
To end this nightmare,
This life,
Not worth a nickel,
Not worth the price of a pin.

Broadway and Filth: A Poem

Broadway and Filth - A Poem in the middle of the night

Eyes wide shut,
Against the breaking haze
Of another brutal day.

We did not feel,
The pain,
Broken glass against our skin.

Broadway and Filth,
There was a time,
I could see the forest through the trees,
See the tears falling in the rain,
Today I feel,
Not a thing,
Not even from the slice,
From that blade,
Across my wrist,
Another day,
Wishful thinking of not waking up,
Again,
To arise to another day.
To live,
To breathe,
To see,
To feel,
Live,
Love,
Die,
The sighs,
In broken winds,
To see the breaking of the day,
Stuck here,
Inside my brain,
Thinking about this,
That,
When?
Where?
To see,
The end,
A beautiful thing,
In reality,
To kiss the burning flesh,
To preach that which you hate,
Feel,
Cut the skin,
To see if you still feel,
A midday nightmare,
Flashing on the TV screen,
That which is the mind.

The mind creeps away,
Wishing to see the world,
Insanity?
Bliss in the margins?
Do not open,
Do not shake,
Do not waste your breath on moralizing tales!

Reach out,
Scream into the night,
Rage,
Forget,
See not that which does not matter,
Live!

To return to the beginning of the end,
To sing in harmony,
To laugh,
To love,
To live,
To die,
To be that which gives all,
To be...

THE DEAD DO NOT DO - A POEM

An empty soul,
Standing on the corner,
Broadway and Fifth,
Somewhere,
Who cares where.

We are traveling down,
That thing called life,
Misery loves company,
Romance, love,
A mythical beast,
What and where it is,
No one knows.

Jim died last night,
Grasping at straws,
Holding on to shattered dreams,
Wondering where he went wrong.
Jesus laughed,
Fruit less in the trees,
Little past midnight,
A rainy eve indeed.

We all wept,
For it is the proper thing to do,
When hearing of a death,
But we weep for ourselves,
For they are without loss,
The living are with the pain,
To weep,
To cry,
For which the dead do not do.

A SUICIDE NOTE TO THE WORLD - A poem

 A SUICIDE NOTE TO THE WORLD - A POEM

Standing in the middle of a suicide, 

How do you feel when your heart is broken?
The world keeps spinning,
Imagery,
Against the wind,
Sorrow in the after thought,
Lies, all is love,
I feel the blade against my skin,
A bitter bite,
A slice,
Stitches through time, skin,
Another life,
Who knows where it goes,
This time,
A broken life,
Standing there,
Awake,
Asleep,
Dead,
Alive,
The words drift across the screen,
Hope?
Shit...

There in the darkness I can see the pain,
It would be easy,
To take my life,
But instead I close my eyes and lay there weeping,
Staring into the ceiling,
It is an illusion,
This thing called life,
Is there anyone else,
Out there,
Feeling the same thing,
Thinking the same thing?

The faces, there in the dim light,
Nightmares?
I am shaken awake,
By my own life.
Distant,
Ripped memories,
Coming through the haze.

Awake,

Awoke,
Fly on the wall,
Seventeen pills,
Bottle of Jack,
What a way to go,
No one seems to care,
Easily replaced,
No one will remember my name,
A silent grave.

No one gets out of here alive,
The long goodbye,
There seems to be a line,
Not to cross,
Not to flee,

To feel the last kiss,
Upon my wrists,
Another,
To make sure I still bleed,
The bottle is half way empty,
Half way full?
Who cares,
Who knows,
The darkness does not.

Where is my mind?
Somewhere out there,
On the street?
Drifting through to the atmosphere,
Into blitz?
Where is my life?
Why am I dying one second at a time?
Why was I born?
Just to be put into the ground?
Lies, life, genocide,
Who knows,
I don't,
Goodbye...

I am fine, thanks for asking - a Journal Entry!

01/29/2018 ----

Dear diary,

How are you?

I'm still the same.

I keep wondering why I keep going; it would be just easier to lie down in the tall grass and just not wake up; stay in dream land.

Some people, it seems, have a natural tendency to keep going, cheerfully whistling as they walk down this thing called life, not a care in the world.

Me; I'm an angry hissing cat with a baseball bat, swinging at those who come within striking distant.

Apparently this is against the law but damn it, you see me with baseball bat, hissing at the world and swinging said bat, you should see the warning signs and back the hell away.

Some days, I don't even get out of bed, I throw the blanket over my head and lay there; the TV blaring some informercial as I play "Fuck you world; come back another day!"

**INSERT RANDOM VIDEO HERE FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION**

I don't really want to fuck the world; not that way, I think that would be painful, awfully painful.

But who knows, tomorrow will probably change; moods seem to have that way of working out; going fast forward happily and then stopping hard; reversing course and well, hello sadness my ole friend, how are you today?

"sad!"

I'm sitting, trying to write out the negative; throw some positive to the wall to see if it sticks; it kinda does.

Hello, how are you?

I am fine, thanks for asking.

Good night my dear friend; we will speak again tomorrow!

Before Alice Fell Down the Rabbit Hole - Chapter Two - The Great Berry Quest

Note: It was decided one day by the tea party guests that the tastiest cakes were made from the tastiest berries in all the land, ramble berries.

And the bestest cakes were dainty cakes!

“Delicious! I wish we had some now!” said the mad hatter to the guests.

“The berries grow in the great woods! We should go! A great quest!” the rabbit said, hopping madly about.

And it was decided then that it was a great idea. And so they hopped, bounced, ran, slid, and made their way to the entrance to the great woods.

“I am the mighty bear who guards the entrance to the great woods,” roared the bear as the party approached, “Who dares approaches my lair?”

“I am the Hatter!” the mad hatter laughed “And these are my friends! We are on a great quest!”

The bear roared, raising his great paws and swiping at them all.

“Be gone! I need no quests around my lair!!”

“Oh dear! We must go! We must go!” the rabbit worriedly said bouncing around “He’ll surely devour us for lunch!”

“What is your name?” the little turtle said, trying to be friendly in such a friendly way.

“Harold!” the bear roared

“What a great name for a mighty bear with such a great roar! My name is turtle.”

“Turtle? Are you joking?”

“No, I dare not joke with such a mighty bear!”

“What of this quest? Hurry, I dare not waste another minute on such a day when the salmon run!” the bear growled less rough.

“We seek the ramble berries here in the great woods for our dainty cakes!” the turtle responded, pulling slightly into his shell.

“Ramble berries? Ramble berries? All this fuss over ramble berries??” the bear paused for a second, lowering his paws. “You may pass! I love the ramble berries dainty cakes!! Shall you share with me when they are done?” the bear smiled as well as a bear can smile.

“We shall! We shall! Thank you oh mighty bear!!” the turtle said, extending out his turtle hand to shake the bear’s mighty paw.

The group kept moving down the path which wound its way through the trees, up the hills, down the mountain, over the river, where grandmother was drowning her laundry.

“Strange indeed!” said the mad hatter to the donkey.

Soon, where the ramble berries should be a group of dodos were burping.

“Where are all the berries?” the mad hatter said. “They should be here! Not these dodo birds!!”

“We eats them! We eats them! We eats them all!” the dodos burped out in unison. “Nots a berry left!!!”

The group pouted, frowned, and shook their head.

“What shall we do now?” the mouse said

“I guess we shall not have ramble berries dainty cakes this day!” the mad hatter cackled.

“What shall we tell the bear? He shall not be happy indeed!” the mouse responded.

“We shall say, ‘The dodos are over there!’ and watch as the mighty bear devours them all.” the hatter laughed and the group wandered back.