See - THE POUNDING OF THE DREAMS - A Poem

They gathered for the feast,
In that darkness,
To weep,
To sleep,
To fear,
That which,
They could not see.

They prayed,
To unnamed gods,
To feel their pain,
They cut themselves,
To see if they still bled,
Blood,
Not dust,
To feel their skin,
Not decay.

They walked into madness,
Their guns drawn to their chests,
To breathe,
To know they could still breathe,
Feet marching,
Sounds like the pounding of the drum,
The nightmares calling,
To try and flee,
To die,
Blood stained fields,
To die for that father land,
To die,
Souls wandering,
Foe,
Friend,
Alive,
Dead.

We cry,
We fear,
We lie in the fields,
Alive no more,
To hear,
Gone,
To never see again,
Dead.

DEPRESSION IN A LITTLE BOTTLE - BROKEN LITTLE DOLL UP ON THE SHELF

DEPRESSION IN A LITTLE BOTTLE - A BROKEN LITTLE DOLL UP ON SHELF

Have you ever felt worthless, a loser, a broken toy just tossed up on the shelf, to sit and rot away into dust?

Have you ever felt the pain of loss, to never see that shining face again, never to hear that voice, telling you it will be okay, even when thousands tell you the same thing?

Every song you hear makes you want to cry, to crawl into a hole and pull that hole inside with you, to want to wander off this mortal plane, the only thing keeping you here is those who would be hurt by that action, a simple but complicated thing, to toss aside your life, to not hear those beloved cries.

To give up, that most precious gift, to lose that grip on what makes you see the light, to feel that darkness seeping up from the pit of your soul, to hear the anger building in your mind, to feel nothing but that pain.

I keep trying to live for the day but my mind decides to wander off into the dark corners, to shiver there, to feel like the broken toy that I am, I try to live happily and get kicked in the teeth by the world.

I feel like that broken little doll up on the shelf, the one that nobody wants.

Good night world, maybe I will dream about better times and will wake up happy.

To feel that wind beneath my wings, to see the horizon, the dawn breaking, the glorious colors of the dawn breaking, to hear that sweet song from the birds of paradise, to believe again, that life will be better, for the truth, for the reality, not just some dream.

I grab my pillow, pull the blanket close to me, feeling sleep coming over me, that darkness, to comfort me, hopefully I will sleep sweetly, to again, dream of better things, to taste the sweet wines of Heaven, to hear the choir sing beautifully, in harmony, to embrace me in their wings, though, I would not want to wake, to this reality, who others say is not that bad, to smile, but what if I don't want to smile, to not laugh, that fake laugh that others seem to believe is that reality?

I still sit here, writing this letter, not knowing if I want to share it to the world, it seems a depressing folly, almost a suicide letter to that world which isn't that bad, I have seen worse.

I still sit here, wondering, listening to the quiet of the darkened room, to hear the nothingness which is peaceful, contrary to those who say, you should surround yourself with everyone.

Everyone is madness, just ask the masses, to hear the many voices screaming inside your head, to rip out your eyes so you can truly see everything as it was meant to be seen.

Dear depression, you gnarly beast, you dearly fuck, go away, bother someone else this night.

So here I sit, writing, listening to my mind, it wanting to scream, but it sulks in silence, good night my dear world.

Dear Depression, go fuck yourself!

AND IN THAT END, WE HEARD THE SHOTS - A Poem

A new reality, there inside my mind, whispers in the wind, a new secondary life, swept among the rapids of society, tossed away, thrown away, giving up on, freedom is just a phase.

2029 - All human life is estranged.

"Where are we now?" cried the masses, one by one, trying to see out of the train.

There were no answers.

"We the people..."

We are machines, plowing through the dirt, the earth, to return to that earth, someday.

We all fear that day, constantly looking over our shoulders, marching to that end, step by step, the wind blowing into our face, slowing our ventures.

"March!" the guns pressed into our back.

There, into the Grace of God, we go, to line up against that wall, our shame, our blood, to be spilled on the ground, shot down as animals, to hear that last roar, the bullets ripping into our flesh, we are called dogs, we are called animals, but still we stand tall.

We feared that this day would come soon.

We were warned that it would come soon.

But we dared not listen, to fear, that end, to slip into the sweet waters and drown our fears, to be held by that river's embrace, no man could harm us, no man dared.

None of God's children could be slaves.

We were free.

We could not be sad here, in this place, a refuge from the cursed war, but here, we stood, against a hard, cutting wall, the soldiers, glaring, sneering, their rifles raised.

This was the end.

"Ready..."

The Sargent called out.

Some of us cried.

Some closed their eyes; to hope and pray, to wake from this nightmare.

Others held their heads high. 

"We shall meet again..." old men said, trying to calm the others.

"Aim..."

The end was close; near, our blood, oh God, save us from this fear.

"Soon!" a voice said, there, in our mind.

"Fire!"

And in that word, we heard the shots fired and then nothing...

Cyberpunk is dead - A study on Random thoughts

Cyberpunk is Dead
A study on Random Thoughts.

Cyberpunk, undefined, is dead, that prose, cyberspeak, the random character at the bar, drinking gin, at Chatsubo, it all is dead.

Don't try to make a movie, don't try to revive it, it is dead, RIP, sleep that deep sleep of no wakening, to dare not dream, kaput.

How did it die??

Killed itself during a electro rave, a suicide by electroshock.

It went quietly, without fare, just as it lived, dancing wildly on the dance floor, then, bam, that was it.

Some will speak at its funeral; William Gibson will take a match and light the corpse ablaze.

A ratty rag holding bar tender will pour drinks to over wrought mourners who will cry, WHAT WILL REPLACE CYBERPUNK?????

Nothing will.

Or everything will.

Maybe disco will.

Wait, isn't it dead too?

Future shock. 

Don't turn on the TV

CYBERPUNK IS DEAD......

A LATE NIGHT RAMBLING - A RANDOM POEM

A LATE NIGHT RAMBLING - A RANDOM POEM

Sitting on the corner,
A dirty street,
Lies burned into the TV screen
Called the evening news.
Five shot dead;
Sad smiling face,
Children of the street,
Homeless,
Sad smiling bright face,
News man shuffles his white sheets of paper,
Two more dead,
Tragic,
Heroic deeds by someone's sister,
Brother,
Who knows,
On to the weather,
Sunshine in rich,
The poor get rain,
It seemingly is the rage

I decide to erase my brain,
Start over,
Reboot the ignorance,
Watch the moon explode into space,
Rejection, that word sprayed across my face,
Communists smoking marijuana, 1983,
Before the senile oafs we call Senators made it such a craze.
Corporate rape,
Rage,
Eating eggs off buttered toast,
Now, don't give a shit,
1998,
It all changes,
Does it?
Fuck it,
There's a train,
A train for change?
No one knows,
Nor do they care,
It's the new craze,
Jump on board,
Jump in front of.
Beating of the drum,
In rhythm with the brain,
Thump,
Thump,
Drum,
Dump.
Dumb
The pump don't work,
Somebody stole the handle,
The key use to be under that rock,
But damn if they didn't take that too!

When it pisses,
We call it rain,
OH happy day,
The flowers say,
It finally begins to,
What the shit is this?

Hero in the streets,
An angry fix there,
Walter killed himself,
A day before he turned 25.
A rainy day indeed,
The sheets,
Bloody and torn,
Ripped,
Riped?
Blood clinging to the wall,
Should have hanged himself,
Mother is in denial,
Father does not weep,
Sister ran away from home.
Can't sleep,
Too damn many waves,
Trains,
Screaming through my brain.

Whispers in the night,
Weeps,
Tears,
Bottles poured into mouth,
Vomit out the pain.
Senses dulled,
Removed from any sense of reality,
Shame that next day!

Cast out the demons,
The preacher preaches,
Rotten peaches,
Smelling like dead babies in a steaming jungle,
Screams in erotica,
Cast out visions of orgasmic death scenes
On that TV,
Mother lies,
Father lies,
Whole families lie in wait,
A crystal blank face,
Drink to kill that pain
To feel nothing but a breeze of a fly's wings.
Insanity?
Better to be insane
Than right with the sane mob,
Killing all the differences.

Sing,
To herald the light,
To banish that darkness,
Outside,
Scream,
End scene.
FADE TO BLACK

THE HOMELESS GUIDE TO LIFE, THE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN - Chapter one

 THE HOMELESS GUIDE TO LIFE, THE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN

Video - Johnny Cash - Hurt

Dedicated to open fields and open beers, and a girl we shall call Martha!

Note to the dear reader(s) - Back in the summer of 2017, I, your dear author, spent a little over a month homeless.

I was pretty damn lucky, had some friends who let me crash at their place when I first lost my dearly departed parents' house to the big bad wolf (or state, matters who tells the story - a long story deserving its own book and movie starring Tom Cruise as me!!!)

The windows were the air, the floor was the soft grass(weeds) under a roof of a large tree's branches covering my head in a place I called Camp Bob.

It was a good place to lay down a tarp on the ground, to lie there and stare up into the night sky, watching the stars do their dance as I drank a few beers I had bought from the grocery store I worked at as a cashier.

Yes, my dead reader, I had a job, it paid enough for a life of beer, chicken and donuts.

Luckily, this was in the summer, little rain and very few fellow "campers" (besides myself, there was not a soul at the small park I called home).

I was a king in a land of tall weeds and deranged geese who guarded me from the bogey man who lurked at 3 in the morning, howling wildly and snarling at my guardians.

I started a journal, as I sat at the steel picnic tables scattered through the area.

And maybe someday, I will try to finish this "guide" to not just the homeless life, but my life in general.

In this section of my life, I learned that even as a homeless grocery store cashier, I wasn't even close to the lowest pits of Hell, there were others worse off than me; families with small children wandering the streets looking for shelter, a bit of food.

Folks who mere weeks ago had a home, a roof over their head, like me, who had just hit a huge bump in the road.

There are resources out there for folks but there are many folks in that situation I found myself in and not enough resources to go around.

Contrary to popular belief, the land of milk and honey just doesn't have enough honey let alone milk so there are long, almost to infinity waiting lists.

I bought some food for people, I was lucky I could do that; give a shirt out of my backpack so a person would have something to wear; even helped a man find work and get back to higher ground before the flood of despair drowned him.

I guess things happen for a reason; today I found myself at a higher level, but I will always remember, we are all just one step away from falling from our place, to land under a tree.

Enjoy!

A NOTE FROM AUGUST 2ND, 2017 as written in the original "Black Book"

Dear reader, my loyal friend, it is August 2nd, a lovely Wednesday.

I was going to make this a diary of sort; daily musings of my life's little adventure but I slacked a bit.

Someday, I'll settle into my chair and type from memory the thoughts.

The first three chapters of this thing called the Homeless Life are jotted down as they happened, life in camp, the darkness my friend, my pen that sword to keep me sane.

I may end up and fill in the pieces later; such as meeting Jesus who was on a quest to find and retrieve his stolen guitar.

It was stolen in Utah from his broken down van.

It made its way to a pawn shop in Billings, Montana

Jesus sold water to dumb tourists to get the money to buy a bus ticket to the bus terminal in Butte, Montana where I got to meet him and to become a character in my book, a figure in my memories!

~CHAPTER ONE~

Dear reader,

You may be asking yourself,

"How do I become homeless? It sounds fun, like camping, except no mountain streams and the beer is warm!"

And boy would you be correct!!!

I am currently homeless.

I have a job but find myself without a roof.

Who needs a roof?

Or a bed?

Or a toilet or shower?

The world; oh dear lovely world, is your toilet.

Or, if you shy, there are always public restrooms.

Public restrooms are a god send to the homeless.

You need to take a poop.

They can also double as a makeshift wash station.

The dollar store is also a homeless person's best friend.

Every thing is one dollar.

You can easily pan handle a few bucks.

Tell people your car broke down and you need a new kidney or your children will die over in Iraq.

No, you don't need to have kids.

Adopt some.

Welcome to the world of being homeless.

I went to the dollar store and bought a cheap tarp for ground cover.

I learned quickly that the ground is cold and hard.

Icky bugs crawl on the ground.

At some point in your first days outside, you'll hit a point where you'll collapse, right there on the ground.

(Added note by the author - my collapse point was three days.  72 hours of no sleep, going to work for 8 hours a day as a cashier, made me into a delusional poet.)

You'll wake up with a worm crawling out of your nose.

Then, my friends, you'll care.

Nothing says "I'm f*cking homeless!!" than laying there at 2:30 in the morning fearing the boogeyman is out to get you.

Don't worry, there's nothing to worry about except being raped, murdered and/or being eaten.

Piece o cake! 

SUPER BOWL LII --- a drunken blogger explains it all!!! UNAUTHORIZED BY THE NFL!!!!

Two teams -  The New England Patriots and The Philadelphia Eagles - will meet on the battle field of U.S. Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, Minnesota; land of the Vikings, on February 4th, 2018 to decide the fate of the Universe.

Or who has the most deflated balls and/or referees on their side. (Patriots up by 10 in that arena!!! Sorry Eagles fans, maybe next year!!!!)

Commercials will be aired; bets will be made on who will win the coin toss and at the end, we will discover who can run a ball into the end zone more than the other guy!

I use to get into the fooseball; mostly on how many beers I could drink before my date stormed off in disgust at my drunken actions at the bar.

Nowadays, I just get drunk and watch the test patterns on channel 3 and ask random people at work; "Did you see that game yesterday? Holeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy sheep shit!!!"

And 99.9 percent of the time they'll nod in agreement cause WHAT A GAME!!!!!

Tonight on

DRUNKEN BLOGGER EXPLAINS IT ALL - OR NOTHING AT ALL!! 

We delve into both teams; their history, their plays, their chances at winning this bowl and most importantly we kill about 2 hours because we just can't sleep!!

(Tummy ache!!!)

First we look at ----

 THE PHILADELPHIA EAGLES ---  The history of as deciphered by a lone male in his jammies at 12:16 AM ---

As any good reporter, I hit the Eagles website, looking for a condensed history of the team and discovering 6 pages of ten thousand articles per page from everything from best place kickers of all time to the ugliest cheerleaders of all time.

I decided it wasn't worth my effort to delve into too deep for this article/analyst of the BIG GAME  so in true MY AWESOME fashion, I decided to make shit up and hope most people will skip through this part in hopes to find out who to bet on.

(For those looking for the Phildelphia Eagles' cheerleaders, you can click ----> HERE! )

(For those looking for NUDE PHOTOS OF CHEERLEADERS -- go to Google.com image search and type in 'MY MOM NAKED' Enjoy!!!)

HISTORY STOLEN AND BASTARDIZED FROM HERE

It all began in 1933; the Philadelphia Eagles were born; screaming into the world in their short pants and no helmets, they fumbled and stumbled onto the field.

"We are Eagles! Hear us roar!!" was their motto and confused fans everywhere went, "Da fuck?"

During World War Two, The Eagles merged with the Pittsburgh Steelers due to a shortage of players and became the Baltimore Ravens, but after the war, the two teams un-merged and soon there was the Philadelphia Eagles we know and love today!!

Their fight song is ABBA - Dancing Queen as performed by the Fargo, North Dakota School for Asthmatic Girl Scouts!! (Don't believe me! GOOGLE IT!!! See???)

Their mascot is Hank D. Eagle who still caws out; "WE ARE THE EAGLES! HEAR US ROAR!" And the crowd, doing some sort of drunken dance screams out, "DA FUCK?"

BUDDY'S WATCHING YOU - DA RAP (1988)

Now we move onto the ------

THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS --- it's 12:39 in the morning and the same guy is blogging!! Amazing right?

History bastardized from HERE

Professional football arrived in New England on November 16th, 1959 when several businessman tried to get a professional hockey team into the area but instead; FOOTBALL became a legend or a dull yellow stain on the bed sheets of the Hotel No Tell Holiday Inn.

Their mascot is a Drew The Drunken Seaman and their fight song is WE GOT A RASH ON OUR FANNY.

Would we make this stuff up?

Of course not!!!

Both teams records are 13 wins - 3 loses and 48 pending felony trials.

HISTORY OF THE SUPER BOWL -

Super Bowl One -  played on January 15, 1967 - was played on the home world  of Gargon 7 in Quadrant Twelve of Universe 8.

Spiderman was the quarterback for Earth. While Ultraman took the role to see who was the true ruler of the universe.

It was named after Vince Lombardi's toilet and the name just stuck!!!!

WHO WILL WIN THIS YEAR'S BOWL?

Bud Light!!!

23 to 35!

And now you know, THE REST OF THE STORY!! Good night and have a better tomorrow!!