editor's note   

Read Between the Lines

                I, I’m so glad to be alive
                I finally realize
                Deep inside, but
                My well’s runnin’ dry
                It’s not long ‘til
                I’ll die
                And all that I have tried
                Will be left behind
                And not much accomplished
                        But there’s still time


My Dreams of Late Are Often Mazes

           My dreams of late are often mazes
           I stumble through in lonely dazes
                    questing for an unknown prize
           with unsuccessful plans devised


I've Been on the Clock/ the

                I've been on the clock/ the
                tick-tocking clock/ of others/
                and that has been a cause/
                of my long/ stagnation/ where
                has it gone?/ my time?/ handed
                out to any booze jockeying
                liar/ who could amuse me/
                for a while/ Well, I want my
                time back/ and I just may attack/
                anyone who tries to stall me.
                And maybe I don't want to live
                in this irredeemable world/ but
                what other options are there . . .
                for a pseudo-aetheist?/ Yeah, I
                lack ambition/ because the filth
                at the top reeks far more than
                the deepest sewer.

                And as if nothing
                more could go wrong
                tonight—my pencil
                has BROKEN


Under Attack —
Give the World Nothing to Look at

    Under Attack — Give the world nothing to look at
                                        but his back

    Put on the best disguise — cast downward
                                        his eyes

    It's the wrong way, to run away, but it's the only
                                        way — he knows

    He fought and he lost — and he's so tired of losing


Talkin' to Myself at the Station

    Talkin' to myself at the station,
    Sittin' in the pourin' rain,
    Ripped my new shirt
    Pocket with a hole,
    And I'm chasin' all the coins rollin' down the drain.


There's Music in the Core of the Human Heart

    There's music in the core of the human heart...
    There's a spark and desire to express through art.


It's a Sorta Sad Feeling, Yes

    It's a sorta sad feeling, yes,
    Though I'm calmly resigned to this fate.
    Yet there's a lingering doubt
    As if half of my life has passed on by.
    The clock is ticking/ with each day,
    But I'm not listening/ and it fades away.


Ominous Dream

    Outdoors. Sort of random and
    The hood of the car becomes
    We stop—why, I can't recall.
    A long trail of black cloud snakes
                             across the sky.

    Look up and see the bombs fall,
                                     a cluster,
    Right above. At this moment, I know
                                  I'm going to die.
    Everything goes black. No explosion
                                    to be heard—
    All is black. There is a sensation
                                  of warmth—
    Then fade back to reality.


TV Is Killing My Brain

    First he puffs, coughs, coughs a lot.
                Throat irritation. To the point of
    Vomiting almost. Snuck into bathroom feeling guilty
                Just wanting sink's water.
    Coughing violently. Give him good water, gulps.

    Freaks—saying TV is killing him, but he can't move.
                Goes to it so clumsily and spends 2 minutes trying to turn
    It off. Chokes. Randomly laughing hysterically.
                Finally unplugs TV.

    MTV killed Cobain. So sayeth I.
                Desire to end it on many an occasion,
    But sometimes feel attached. Alternates
                frequently between up and down.

    at moment
    where movements are
    swift and accurate, yet
                Feels otherwise. Hot blonde I need.
                                Beg to differ!

            do we     straight         The
    Why         write         lines All     TIME?
                How . . . unpoetic.

    .Left To Right Is Sentence This

    Not yet food—hungers. Nobody Should.
    Can't complete my thought.
    Can't go out just yet.
    Possessed by the TV. Time=11:01.

    Everyone laughing. Laughing (not Kung Fu Fighting)!

    He'll solve all problems. Still undetermined if a
                good or bad experience, but good in the very nature
                            Of being an experience.

    Shalom Hunger. Shalom Free Food. TV is talking to me.
    Where's the device that speeds up and slows down the passage of time?

    Begins—I think I'm going crazy—Ends.
                Eat Now! Write Later!
    It didn't go too well. But food I have. Not as good
                As expected. From and made of parts unknown.

    You can't quit everytime you get an axe in your face. Now quit scratching
    your axehole and get out there. I'm not in the business of seeing what makes
    you happy, I'm in the business of kicking your axe.

    Video game atmosphere? Life examined as a movie? TV personality?
                My creativity is drained. It's 11:35. G'NIGHT.


Human Emotions, Devotions

    Human emotions, devotions,
    What drives us to strive?
    Whatever mental, physical, situational
    Spark that flashes in the dark                                             elemental
    The catalyst that makes a man
    Take drastic measures for unknown                                                 reasons
    I seem to lack—I can't place it,
    Can't find it. Is it there?
    Is it hidden? Does it not exist?


At This Point, He's Fairly

    At this point, he's fairly
    disenchanted with existence

    It's a sluggish advance with
    heavy resistance

    Happiness is entirely elusive
    And he's become mostly reclusive

    He's lost all inspiration
    Makes each move with hesitation

    Staring at the world with cold,
    dead eyes
    Masking the predicament with a
    shallow guise
    of dry wit and false self-


Nothing Special Ever

            Nothing special ever
        Happens here, no matter
    How the coin falls.
            Damn it all to hell, how cruel.
    Huh? Indeed.
        No matter how this time
            Was passed, it was
        Passed, for what that's worth.



    I wear these sunglasses all the time
    they allow the world to look as dark
                                         as it feels
    dim the lights flashing atop the cop's
    dull the glisten of a recent blood

    I wear these sunglasses to censor the
    propaganda of the bright-lit city
    the passing faces of the 9-to-5ers
    appear as lifeless as they should
    and behind this mask, my own face
    must look as lifeless as it feels

    I wear sunglasses to hide my eyes
    so no one knows just what I'm thinking
    and chance to see through them
    that I fear the uncertainty surrounding


Turn into the Rags . . . My Noose

    turn into the rags . . .
                                          my noose
    they handed me a sentence . . .
                                     a well-worn tie
    9 to 5 w/ no parole . . .
                                feeding time each
    prison stripes replaced . . .
                                 noon at the local
    with blue collars . . .
                                      fast food joint


Confide in Me, My Child, and

    Confide in me, my child, and
        you'll sleep tonight,
        smelling of death

    What were you doing in the city?
        heavy of breath
        a dance of pain
        sorrows repaid a thousand times
        a trifle debt


I Don't Know What Spectre Has Taken Over Me

I don't know what spectre has taken over me . . . I sit in the backyard in the night with the silence. I close my eyes and bow my head and place my two index fingers to the ridge between my eyebrows. I feel them drill through the surface, the skin, the tissue, the bone, and penetrate my brain. They connect and are one, as if circuitry. Energy flows from fingertip to brain and in a matter of moments warmth flows throughout the body. The energy flows to my feet and the ground beneath and into and around the earth and through all life and matter it may touch and the energy of life and the earth returns the favor and everything is as one—yet not in harmony—it is chaos, untainted and wild.

The nerves of the brain absorb it all and, as if overstimulated, short-circuits. Closed eyes see all for a measure of time so minuscule that it can't be measured and then there is darkness. Disconnected and again alone but still hurt and shocked from the experience. The body shivers, madness creeps in, and I stand and exit in search of something normal . . .


Roll of the Dice and Flip

    Roll of the dice and flip
        of the coin.
    What willed this man to leave
        his safety and drive into the
        unknown? With no apparent
        cause—to benefit himself or
        his brethren?
    What a chance
        to take . . . with no cause
        and no hope to win. On the
        flip of a coin . . . so reverent to fate, but not
        quite the fatalist.
    What do you say of this man—who
        says nothing of himself?
    He's in . . . the choice has
        been made . . . there's no
        turning back.

    Was it worth the waste? Yes—
        simply for the completion of
        the thought? Yes—
    If this fate
        yields a sour result, should the
        choice of randomness be ever
        trusted? Ah, the weird looks
        from the weird.

                Of these writings I can say
    that I am not externally influenced,
        just internally odd (flawed?).

    And, pessimistically, I'd say:
    I wasted 2 ½ smokes and
    $9.50 to wind up in the
    same seat. Was the gamble on fate a
    failure? Yes, it was. Shall
    I ever trust a coin again?
                So much for fatalism.
    Shall we try existentialism
    next? Why don't I
    ask God? Godot?


Characterized by a Willingness to Empathize

                                        Characterized by a willingness to empathize,
                                    though rarely able to sympathize,
                                always eager to exercise,
                            an egotistical ability to patronize,

                                                    no way to rationalize

                                        Some people just talk far too much,
                                    misguided or misintentioned,
                    relentlessly starved for attention.

                                        Who was trained not to spit in the fan?
                        Who was fitted with collar and chain?

                                        He's watching his mind as it decays.
                                        He's grinning and fueling the flames.
                                        Why won't he stop it?
                                        The man's become crazed!

                                        What now?
                                                    Who's there?
                                                                How odd.


Variation on "Sympathy for the Devil"

                                I was there in ‘68 when Reverend King tried to end the pain
        Made damn sure the trigger was pulled and brought martyrdom
                                                                            to his name


                                I was there in Baghdad and saw it was time for some change
                                Dropped bombs on the innocents, the world pleaded in vain

                                Woo, who
                Oh yeah, get on down
        Oh yeah, oh yeah!


Buried Beneath a Mound of Twisted Steel and Scorched Remains, He

                                Buried beneath a mound of twisted steel and scorched remains, he
                  gradually regained consciousness. His eyes opened to a blurry pool of
                        bright reds and indistinct greys swimming before him. His nostrils were
          immediately bombarded by the awful stench of fire and death, his
                  stomach twisting in knots, the urge to vomit overwhelming. Compelled
                      to escape, he tried desperately to move, but found himself pinned and
                              trapped by sheets of heavy metal. Opening his mouth, he tried to
              scream, but no sound was produced, and his lungs were suffocated
                      by thick smoke. He wanted to lift his fists and slam them
      repeatedly against the iron lid of his coffin, but his arms felt numb
                                  and paralyzed.
                                          "Buried alive. . .," an unknown voice whispered into his ear.
                                      "No . . ."
                                  "Buried alive . . .," the voice repeated, followed by a low snicker.
                              "No . . ."
                          "Buried, buried, buried!" the voice mocked.



      I gambled with God
              and broke
                       even . . .
                      Nothing can stop
                              me now.

      This is the world we've created—
                      Nothing is free and therefore
                      Nothing is holy.


In the Dark Morning, a Rider Approaches

            in the dark morning, a rider approaches
        shaking the dew from his shoulders, he enters
            oblivious to all, the master is sleeping
            the last dawn of his life, he shall never see
            when night had cast a black hand on the land
        his servants, unhappy, had left the door ajar


I Saw Her a Couple of Years Down the Road

        I saw her a couple of years down the road
    she flashed a smile, exchanged some words
    "couldn't you tell how much I used to love you?"
    I thought to myself



    Lightning (once) shattered the
      darkest night.

    Thunder (once) ended the deadliest

    The storm (once) approached with
      spectacular might.

    The waves (once) did break with
      terrible violence.


It All Comes Back in the End

  It all comes back in the end.
  It all comes round again.
  All the pain I said I never felt.
  All the love I said I never had.
  And the dreams that meant so much.
  That smiling face and soothing touch.


Diary of a Madman

  Sittin' on the can.
  Life's pretty good.
  Still no woman,
  But it doesn't bother me like it used to.
  O.K., done.


College French

    Ce lecon est tres stupide, non?
    Cette femme est belle.
    Mon luck's run out.
    Pas mal, pas mal!


Ode to Cassandre

                If only they knew that they
                        were being patronized . . .
                American education is
                        American conditioning . . .
                I won't let you tell me how
                        to think . . .

                In this paper, I will argue . . .
                In this paper, I will argue that . . .
                In this paper, I will argue that Iago's true motivation . . .

                Fuck this . . .

                I won't set my dreams
                        to your standards, or
                        my life to your
                                    morals . . .

                Every morning I awake to this same, endless march,
                my arms are numb and my mouth tastes of starch.

                Too long . . . too . . . complicated


The Days Are Too Darn Short, Here in the Town

                The days are too darn short, here in the town
                Lord, it's gettin' harder ‘n' harder to keep the pace down
                Feels like this life's already half passed me by
                The horizon's so grey through that high-towered sky
                So just for a day, so I don't lose my mind
                Gonna jump in my car and westward I'll drive
                ‘Til there's nothin' but trees and a cool summer breeze
                Quiet, crawling streams and green, drifting leaves
                But I took the farthest road to its end and
                    still the thunder of engines in the distance. Damn.

                Well, I guess it'd be a lie if I could live absent technology
                but we're runnin' round too much to step and live in unity
                And I'm a quick-paced fellow who bores pretty easy
                But I swear I can't stand too much more of this city . . .

                Ya just can't escape modernization

                No matter how far the woods take me, the cars and choppers
                    still fly by.
                Sat and watched a pack-saddle crawl for a good many minutes . . .
                Good for the health to slow down when you can . . .
                Kept going in circles, looked confused, a simple enough life.

                The only way to slow this time-bomb down is to get drunk
                And I find myself drinkin' more and more each night
                In these self-made prisons of houses and cars and clubs and bars
                Can't find any happiness when lacking a dollar.

                Depression and sloth have progressed to a habit
                And the headaches get worse or I'm takin' more tablets
                My body's adapted to sittin' so still that I get ill
                The ashtray's full and the love's next to nil
                And the sun ain't a beautiful thing no more, it just stings
                Reflected off the hot pavement, the buildings
                The more people that surround, the more alone I feel
                None of their faces show care, there's nowhere to appeal.

                "Enough! Enough!"—I'm gonna shout ‘til my lungs are drained
                "It couldn't have always been this way . . . couldn't have always
                    been this way."

                What I'd give for a nice blonde in short shorts to jog by . . .
                I guess that'd ruin the illusion of nature, though.
                It'd be a nice enough ruining. Heh.


What Once Mattered Is No More

                        What once mattered is no more.
                        All that seemed has ceased.
                        I sit in the shadows . . .
                        I sit all alone . . .

                        What brought me to this place where
                            the sun never shines and the door
                            never opens?

                        How much did I sin?
                        Can I begin again?

                        Is this ghost really me?
                        Was this my destiny?

                        Upon the shores of an empty soul I now stand.
                        Have I truly come to the end?


The Biggest Lie Is That We Even Feel

    No love, no tears, no pain, no fears
    A walking ghost, from our own dreams

    (No love, no tears, no pain, no fears)
    Nothing is ever what is seems


Random Thoughts

    Is this really what I wanted?
    Did everything just stand still?
    There's so much work I still have to do.
    My nose really fucking itches.
    Was that something moving behind me?
    Weren't there four boats earlier?

    I could have sworn I saw something moving.
    Those are some VERY odd red lights to the north.
    OK, I know I saw something back there . . .
    The waves are getting pretty now.

    I really should be getting back now.
    I left so much unfinished.
    But the ocean is tempting, and beckons me.
    What reason have I to play deaf?
    Who will miss me upon these shores?
    What stops me from making the leap?

    I think I'll drive back home now.
    There are some things I still have to know . . .


Seek Answers

  Seek answers to questions you create,
  Bid me speak compassion . . . in my heart I know only hate.

  I'll say not a word to direct you out of the maze.


Buried Alive

      The dirt and the mud seeps around,
          Each day I sink deeper
                                          in the ground



For a Second There, I Almost Convinced Myself

        For a second there, I almost convinced myself
        I was capable of fear.
        That was a good second.

        I'm always late in every aspect of life.
        And it's always raining . . .


It Just Doesn't Seem to Mix, My Past and Present

                It just doesn't seem to mix, my past and present . . .
                Who I was and who I am.

                I changed so much so quickly, leaving this blind man
                            w/o a sense of direction.
                There're faces in the crowd,
                            some I can name, none look the same.

                Have I come full circle already? Do I know all there isn't to know?


This Thing Called Depression

        This thing called depression
                simply seems to be a conglomeration of regrets
                about the choices we made or the opportunities we didn't take.
        Choices being freedom, it can be concluded
                that to be free is to be depressed
                and the adage of happiness resulting from freedom is a tad flawed.


Lately, I've Been Agitated . . .Irritated . . . Complicated

                    Lately, I've been agitated . . . irritated . . . complicated.
                    My faith in you was overrated . . .
                    The gate to your feelings barricaded.
                    I don't know why or when or how.


The Wall

                    Yeah, I have seen the writing on the wall.
                    I know one day I'll die when the Reaper doth call.
                    And no hammers or bombers can make the thing fall.
                    So I don't think I need anything at all.


I See the Letdown on Your Face

            I see the letdown on your face

            There's so much fucking injustice in this
            world . . . could it ever have been different?

            Walls cannot hold me!

            Alter your path
            Or one day you'll hate it, like I do


And Since That Day I've Drifted Farther and Farther

                                    And since that day I've drifted farther and farther
                                    until I could no longer catch sight of land.
                                    There is where I sit, in the middle of a vast
                                    ocean, upon a raft without a sail, hoping the
                                    winds will chance me upon the coast of
                                    another. But I cannot be anchored. I'll
                                    drift forever . . . alone if I have to.

                                    You . . . said . . . all . . . this . . . time . . . that . . . you . . .
                                    would . . . die . . . for . . . me.
                                    Why then . . . are you so . . . surprised . . . when you . . .
                                    hear . . . your own eulogy?

                                    This is what you wanted.
                                    This is what you had in mind.
                                    This is what you're getting.


The Reaper Sends His Regrets

            The Reaper sends his regrets,
            He's sorry that you died.
            If he'd led you to think you'd live forever,
            He's sorry, but he lied.
            His icy grasp's been around your neck
            Since the day you were born.
            Picked a number, and yours came up.


From Morning to Night, I Stayed Out of Sight

        From morning to night, I stayed out of sight
        Didn't recognize what I'd become
        No more than alive, I barely survive
        In a word—overrun


A Random Essay on Eminent Return

    The topic of this paper is going to be centered
     Mostly on the apparent absence of permanent death,
     Which I like to categorize as "Eminent Return."


You Can Eat All the Cheese

    You can eat all the cheese
            and smell all the
                    flowers you want,
    You'll just get really fat and stung by bees.


There's Something Kind of Sad About

                There's something kind of sad about
                The way things have come to be
                De-stigmatized to everything
                What became of subtlety?


Dogs—Pigs Preach to Me About the Path I Take

                Dogs—Pigs preach to me about the path I take
                Drop me to my knees—order me to repent and pray
                Assuming I wish the Dead to inform me of my fate

                They desire to strike me blind, and then show me the Way

                And though the darkness of their promises is more inviting than the Truth
                I've been led since I was born and now refuse to act the Fool
                And yet they have the gall to call us Ignorant

                They have the nerve to say they know Things . . .


Wear the Grudge Like a Crown

                I have come curiously close
                to the end, though
                beneath my self-indulgent pitiful hole
                defeated, I conceded.
                move closer, I may find
                comfort here.
                I may find
                within the emptiness
                calling for me.


Soul of Black, I Walk This Mortal Land An Outcast

                    Soul of black, I walk this mortal land an outcast.
                    I am the midnight wind that dances in the trees, and whispers
                      lost hopes to deafened ears. Shadows follow in my wake,
                      masking the trail I walk, erasing me from existence.

                    Though I see, I am blind.
                    Though I know, I am mad.

                    Lend me no support, for my will has been my crutch
                      and shall be until I pass. Look not to me for
                      comfort, for you shall find none within this hollow shell.


Good, by its Very Nature, Creates Evil

                Good, by its very nature, creates evil.
                There can be no hero without a villain.
                The far side of right is never far from wrong.
                Those who fight for what is "righteous" made up the "wicked."
                The world at war, good versus evil, none of it makes sense.
                He who talks too loudly drowns out another's voice.
                He who is holy deprives another of God.
                For all who live, a debt of death is paid.


Time Is a Desert of Ever Shifting Sands

            Time is a desert of ever shifting sands
            With ceaseless winds and beating sun that tear apart the land
            Burying and crumbling the highest things that stand

            One day I shall be buried too . . .
            Why then do I continue this fight?


I Own You, Boy

        The world's vast, you've gotta be fast, past,
            present, future, just remember,
        Nice guys finish last.

        Pistol gripped, sweat dripped,
        Blood spilled, rage-filled.
        Rain falls. Storm calls.
        Wind blows. Wind blows. Wind blows.



        Didn't know I'd given up.
        Just because I'm broken doesn't mean I won't fight.

        Systematically you stripped me of my humanity?
        This malicious, spiteful creature you helped to make?
        Bitter beyond words and reason.

        Each and every one of you is weak,
        Following like mindless sheep.
        I've strayed too far to join the herd,
        Alone I walk, and shall remain, alone.


They All Look the Same, Blonde and Blue

    They all look the same, blonde and blue,
            lying under this sun.
    It's a good thing the sky
            tells me it's noon,
                    ‘cause they
                    wouldn't give
                    me the
                    time of

    But it's the
            skinny shiny sweet
            thing with the
                    short dark
            hair who has
                    my eyes.
            So out of

    The greasy fat thugs can
            ogle the blondes all they want.

    you kissed me softly, but just to hide
    the darkest feelings you put aside

    I've stretched beyond my means.


Can't Seem to Sleep

    I expected to see her when I opened
        my eyes . . . will I see her again? Will
        it be the same? I close my eyes and there
        she is once more, like a waking dream, so
        vivid. To think, if I'd done better with this
        life . . .

        I feel that if there is a god that
        gave us the gift of choice, it was only so we
        can regret the choices . . .


The Lad

        Curiosity killed the cat, but boredom killed the lad.
        He spent his life doing what they said.
        He worked all day, and now he's dead.
        Young, he had big dreams.
        They were shredded at the seams.
        He followed his brain, but not his heart,
        And let others tear his dreams apart.

        He measured his wealth by the size of his pocket.
        When his train left town, no sum of cash could stop it.

        He'd thought the friends he had sincere,
        But only when he bought them beer.
        When the old man croaked, they didn't care.
        His funeral passed, not one was there . . .


I Sat Alone Aside a Grassy Trail

    I sat alone aside a grassy trail
    A voice spoke from the trees and bade me follow
    I travelled through woods of infinite shadow
    It spoke to me of a childhood memory
    Of love, and tears, and pain, and fears
    Of an empty soul that begged to be free

    And in this moment I knew I would spend
    My whole life searching for that nameless truth
        upon the wind . . .


The Dreams That Come to Life

    The dreams that come to life,
    far too prominent than to pass off as deja vu.
    An aching moment of premonition
    shatters any preconceptions of free will or unwritten future.
    Is there any way to verify?
    Hell, is there any certainty that time's advancing at all,
    not just standing still?

    Posing questions,
    never finding answers,
    and what not.
    Haven't got anything better to do.


The Smoke Drifted Lazily

    The smoke drifted lazily
                            up towards
                the scattered stars of the evening sky.
    Higher and higher
                            it climbed
                until it seemed to merge with the clouds above
                            and disappeared
                forever into mist.

    One day I'll write my own standards
                            with the blood
                of those who forced theirs upon me.


Moonlight . . . There's Nothing Quite as Ominously Beautiful

                            Moonlight . . . there's nothing quite as ominously beautiful.
                            Sitting alone out here beneath her gaze—I now understand why
                             man first had the unquenching desire to risk life and pride to reach her.

                            Her reflection in the water—is any more proof required
                            to find that life is sacred?
                            Staring at the sky, sorrow . . .
                            I am stuck, on this planet, in this place . . . in this mind.

                            Am I the only one who feels this way?
                            Madness. I feel truly mad. There is little sanity.

                            Well, I think I'll end this rant. Depressed, I touch the water.



    One day, you'll chance a look, and I'll be gone.
    Should you wait for the sun, I'll have left before dawn.
    I've awaited your arrival for all too long.
    Pack my bags, hit the road, as I sing a new song.

    No longer will others dictate my course.
    Retrace the waters that I've sailed to their source.
    And from the beginning, forge a path that's my own.
    And this time I know I can walk it alone.


Am I Making Any Sense at All?

                    —Am I making any sense at all?
                    —Good. That means I'm on the right track
                    —Damn it! Why do you always have to be so fucking
                                    philosophical? Can't you just sit down and see
                                    things as they are?

                    —I've been sitting for 19 years, love. 19 long, meaningless
                                    years and I haven't seen anything yet. Do you ask me
                                    to sit for another 19? Will I see anything by then?
                                    . . . I'm through with sitting.


January 5, 2003, 4:30 a.m.

    Time to sleep . . . it was a Good day . . . though I didn't
    accomplish the change I wanted. Maybe realized
    that I'd already changed.

    Don't feel any rush to go back to that place.
    I realized all too late,
    that there was nothing for me there—and yet,
    I haven't lost hope.

    Was thinking of the things mom said to me
    earlier . . . I owe this much
    to her. No matter what happens, no matter
    who breaks me, no matter what more piles
    of misfortune may find their way to
    my doorstep, I will never give up . . . perhaps
    that was the change that occurred today, and
    if so, it was a Good one.


Just Wait and Do Your Time

    Just wait and do your time . . .
    Broken for your crime . . .
    Abandoned to your fate . . .
    Salvation comes too late . . .
    Laid to rest too soon . . .
    Beneath the blood-red moon . . .
    Shot down from the sky . . .
    Had just begun to fly . . .

    Suspended perpetually . . .
    Falling eternally . . .
    Through the dark, morbid clouds.
    Through the dark, morbid clouds.

    Black, hopeless night, hear the voice calling.
    Drawn to the dark, join the ranks of the fallen.
    Gathered in the depths, to number over a million.
    Side by side, marching to oblivion.


I'm Tired, I'm Tired

    I'm tired, I'm tired
    But not yet retired
    My insomnia's dire
    But 12 cups of coffee . . . I'm wired, wired, wired
    Lord knows that I'm fired-up!

    Think I'll have another cup
    And with any luck
    The sun's not yet up
    Cause I'm feelin like a pupp-et!
    On loose strings
    Dangling this way, that way, any way!
    Fuck, what a day!

    Left my mind somewhere at noon
    In a Saharan sand-dune.



        Nameless now . . .
        Shameless now . . .
        Faceless now. . .
        Raceless now . . .
        Nothing now . . .
        Worthless now . . .
        Nowhere now . . .
        Useless now . . .
        Fearless now . . .
        Peerless now . . .
        Faithless now . . .
        Godless now . . .

        This is necessary . . .
        Life feeds on life . . .
        Feeds on life . . .
        Feeds on life . . .

        I don't know what to think . . .
        I don't know what to feel . . .
        I don't know what is right . . .
        I don't know what is real . . .


You Cannot Reach Me Now

        You cannot reach me now . . .
        No matter how you try . . .
        Goodbye, cruel world, it's over . . .
        Walk on by . . .

        Sitting in a bunker, here behind my wall . . .
        Waiting for the worms to come . . .
        In perfect isolation, here behind the wall . . .
        Waiting for the worms to come . . .

        Dissembling . . . folding . . . opposed to reassembling.

        Empty and abandoned, what reason did he have to carry on?
        Why was he awake when all he desired to do was sleep?
        The phone began to ring as the clock advanced,
                echoing time's passage.
        Why should he answer it?
        In another room, the answering machine buzzed into action,
                and a loud voice emanated from the speakers:
        "This is Clyde. Leave a message."
        The grinding sound of the tape rewinding was then followed
                by a beep and a voice:
        "I'm not going to pretend to need you anymore."


Knife in the Grass

    I was killing time the other night,
    Mad about something and aching to fight.
    I was out in the courtyard throwing my knife.
    It landed in the grass, snatched out of sight.


That Voice Off in the Distance

            That voice off in the distance
            Still calls me as I sleep
            And though only for an instance
            I wish to let it lead


The New Machine

        "Sometimes, I get tired of the waiting.
        Sometimes, I get tired of being in here.
        Is this the way it's always been?
        Could it ever have been different?"


Fly Away, Bird

        Fly away, bird – this world's not right for you.
        So pure, so sweet, so unassuming.
        As yet, untouched by the darkness looming.
        Fly away, bird – it's what you have to do.
        Don't sing your song to me, it's too late to be spared.
        My soul's been lost in the endless frost,
        Been far too long since I seemed to care.
        The winters don't end here, your coat of feathers is so light.
        Fly away, so quickly now – to avoid the cold wind's bite.
        The sun, it never rises on these bleak and barren plains.
        Fly away, so quickly now, to avoid the icy rains.
        If you stay too long, you'll flap your wings and find them heavy to lift.
        Pain, sorrow, and loneliness will be your only gifts.

        The sky is not yet dark; you can find your way back home.
        Let the western light be your guide, or forever you will roam.
        Please, my love, my only friend, I beg you, fly away.
        You've come to mean so much to me, but I can't ask you to stay.


It's Nice to Know That When the World Gets Me Down

                    It's nice to know that when the world gets me down
                    You'll be there with a grin on your face.
                    When I'm around you guys, I just can't frown.
                    Put the crap behind us, and split a case.
                    Pass the time before we rest.

                    Life's too short to be depressed.
                    Side by side we traverse this shadowed path.
                    Light up a smoke, and share a laugh.
                    Pick up our arms, and charge with a howl.
                    Had I battled alone, I'd have thrown down the towel.


America is a Paradox

  America is a paradox
  Treasure nature, destroy it readily
  "Love" peace, sanction violence


Wolf in a Suit and Tie

  I didn't have any purpose in this world,
  Until I saw a blonde-haired girl
  Walking around on the sunniest of days
  Melting my heart with her blue-eyed gaze.


The Way Things Go

        Loud noises echoing . . . otherwise, complete silence
        Almost slow motion, the elapse of time

        Everything building up to an action
        Anticipation of the next sort of reaction

        Use of lots of liquids . . . slow dripping until something happens
        Never seems to lose its momentum
        Contrasts of water and flame, one incites a slower reaction than the other

        In my opinion (and I am often wrong) it is a parallel image of life
        Slow, dull paths that lead to larger, more important events.


Life Out of Balance

        Music changes and voices stop repeating
            when life transitions to plateaus
        Sound reinforces ideas of rhythm and repetition

        Then how so Life out of balance?

        From plateaus, to sands, to mountains, to clouds, to waterfall, to water,
            to big machine #6 of death . . . black cloud of destruction
                in its wake . . . pipelines, wires . . . man cutting through nature
                    Factory, smokestacks . . . . out of place in wilderness

        Man manipulates and shapes water to his own ends

        Bulldozer, dynamite . . . more anti-industrialist junk
            The all too common images of the mushroom cloud
                People on the beach, next to nuclear power plants

        Music changes, sort of dark


The Angry Tides Turn So Suddenly, So Relentlessly

                    The angry tides turn so suddenly, so relentlessly.
                    Fight, kick, swim to stay on top . . . ride the wave,
                    Only to be bruised and broken, tossed aside.


There's Something in the Air

      There's something in the air
      Of this current state of affairs
      I find confusing

      Unhappiness pervades

      What is the price we chose to pay?
      What are we losing?

      Aaaa . . . Ha . . . Ha . . . Ha-Ahhh
      Aaaa . . . Ha . . . Ha . . . Ha-Ahhh

      On a dark night I once sold
      The last remnants of my soul


Every Time I End Up Going to the Beach After Dark

        Every time I end up going to the beach after dark,
        I always see a shooting star.
        Made dozens of wishes, not a single one
        Has come true. Damn worthless stars.
        Probably seeing the same one
        Over and over again, mocking me—false hope
        Is a powerful trump. It's my own fault
        For believing that a ball of flying gas can somehow
        Render true whatever dreams or goals I might have
        In this life. My goals, too unreasonable? Maybe,
        I mean, rather than wish for her to love me, or for wealth,
        Or recognition, I should just wish that I can, say, walk
        For the rest of the day. Unless my legs are cut from
        Beneath me, I can't possibly be disappointed, and,
        If they are, I'll know there's something fucked up
        With the fucking star.


Sleep, Not to Wake

            Harsh realizations, I sleep to escape.
            Dreaming somethin' better, I never want to wake.
            Embraced by the darkness, exposed in the light.
            Sightless in the day, we're all blind come night.
            Lost in a state of swirling illusion,
            Dreading the dream's inevitable conclusion,
            Wake suddenly, feeling hopeless, lonely,
            A life full of lies, I'm empty, phony.
            Nobody knows me, and nobody cares.
            Nobody wants me, there's nobody there.
            Painful existence, I sleep to escape.
            Imagine that it's different. Never want to wake.


Saw a Little Kid Today at the Beach

    Saw a little kid today at the beach . . .
    So curious and good natured that in a single
    instance my view was changed . . . perhaps there
    is some hope for this world. Every life begins as
    a clean slate, the sins of our race aren't necessarily
    passed on . . . yet, no reason to be optimistic.


To a Girl I Knew

   The pain wouldn't be so fresh,
   If you hadn't let me get so close.
   Now my life seems so void
   And I'm haunted by your ghost.
   Every night feels so pointless
   Since I used to spend each with you.
   Always tired, always restless,
   Just wish I knew what to do . . .
   To erase you from my memories!



    I can't bring myself to do it.
    I can't bring myself to do it.
    A million repressed feelings,
    A collection of broken dreams,
    The hopes of an empty soul,
    The madness of a lonely mind.
    Trapped in a cage of my own bones.
    Fallen into a tomb piled with regrets.
    Haunted by her voice.
    Endless deafening shrieks.
    Fists pounding on the ground.
    For all the wrongs of the world!
    For all the guilt of a wasted life!
    For everyone I've hurt and deceived!
    For the limitations of this mortality!
    Cry, damn it!
    For all the nights trying not to die, cry!
    For all the questions without answers, cry!
    Can't you smell it?!
    Can't you taste it?!
    The blood is all over my hands,
    A broken shell lying amongst smoking ruins!
    Cry, damn it! Cry!
    Bleed tears for the choices you didn't have!
    Ruined! Shattered! Beaten. Cry!
    I can't bring myself to do it . . .
    I can't bring myself to do it . . .
    I can't . . .
    I can't . . .
    I can't . . .
    I will never cry again.


December 2, 2002, 6:50 a.m.

        Not sure why I'm awake,
                but I am,
                        and I'm at the beach.

        Too cloudy to see the sunrise.
        Soft rolling waves,
        flocks of birds,
        lovely pale blue sky.

        The air is perfect.

        A solitary sandpiper pecks the ground
                and runs away
                                from the waves.
        Didn't seem to notice I was here.

        The waves are picking up,
        inching closer and closer to my feet.

        A seagull just flew maybe five feet
                right above my head.

        Another sandpiper—I was standing in his path
                and he just walked around me.

        Well, enough serenity.
        Back to reality . . .


Two Paths Lay Before Me

    Two paths lay before me.
    A third cuts between them.

Weak and obedient
You follow the leader,
Down the well-trodden corridors
Into the valley of steel.

    I lived for you, I fought for you,
    I die for you.
    Should the world fade to darkness,
    So long as you remain, there shall always
    Be a shining beacon of hope . . .

    My soul, empty . . . void.
    My heart, always looking . . . for something to need.


Tossed about by Gentle, Rolling Waves

    Tossed about by gentle, rolling waves
    Lost for days with no wish to be saved
    A soft, orange sun that never sinks
    Upon the sparkling water, adrift and at peace
    All the worries of the world left upon the shore
    Stuck upon a boat without a sail, and lacking oar
    Always hungry, always thirsty, always tired



It hurts me to see you hurting,
I can't stand to see you crying.
The way you feel, disconcerting,
But despite the pain, you keep on trying.

This world seems cruel, so damn unfair.
You beat your wings, catch no air.
You sing your song, and no one hears.
I watch you sit, and cry your tears.

You think you sing and nobody hears.
You only play to deafened ears.
I know your voice, hear it clear.
You seem so far, but you must be near.

Let's runaway and leave this place.
Let's spread our wings and go today.
Let's find some ground where we can stand.
Let's glide the course, and there we'll land.



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            F R O S T R     H   O    
                    H E A V E N S    
                    E E         T    

Clashing steel, biting frost;
The Heavens reel, the battle's lost.


Deep, Philosophical Insights Experienced by President George W. Bush
in a Small Classroom on the Morning of September 11, 2001

    Outside me, I see the little school children sitting at their tiny desks,
    Inside me, I think of kitty cats, and puppies.

    Outside me, I hear some teacher talking about how great I am,
    Inside me, I say: "Yeah, I'm da bomb."

    Outside me, it's really, really hot in the Florida classroom,
    Inside me, I laugh because Florida looks like a big wang.

    Outside me, the clock slowly ticks and tocks towards a big 1...0...,
    Inside me, my tummy is hungry for Spaghetti-Os.

    Outside me, a door opens and some funny-looking guy walks in,
    Inside me, I make an unsuccessful attempt to recite my A, B, Cs.

    Outside me, the funny-looking guy tells me some towel-heads drove a plane
        into the World Trade Center,
    Inside me, I try hard not to wet my pants in front of the camera.


Forever Weary

Forever weary
Pushed way beyond my limits
Pains never ending
Torn to pieces bit by bit
Time marches on without me


Rains Fall Soft

Rain falls soft
Upon rolling hills
Dew glistens in the morning
Piping birds are harbingers of Spring
Grass sways gently in the breeze
All life is at peace
You bored yet?


Machine Gun Man

        Piled in the ditches, men breathe their last breath
        A nest should bring life, but mine heralds death

        As I tighten my finger, I cut hundreds down
        A sea of dark crimson envelops the ground

        A thunderous roar, a driving rain of lead
        Columns of black smoke, sudden bursts of red

        I battle for my country, but with each fired shell
        I commit my soul further to the darkest depths of Hell

        There's no escape, there's no reprieve, there's no flight from its hand
        I'm Death's disguise, the faceless killer, I'm the Machine Gun Man . . .


Holy War: The Modern Crusades

        Didn't you know? The Crusades aren't over yet.
        Drown our streets with the stench of blood and sweat.
        Faceless fiends try to bring us to our knees.
        Terror sweeps across the globe like disease.

        Watch in fear, as flames fall from the sky.
        The buildings crumble with the innocents inside.
        Pillars of smoke rise above, into the air.
        This is WAR, and there's no playing fair.

        ‘This is Jihad!' they shout across the Land.
        ‘The Western devils will all die by our hand.'
        Suicidal zealots with bombs and will,
        Indiscriminately they seek to kill.

        In the name of God their people fight,
        But cower in the darkness, out of sight.
        If their cause is just, why must they hide,
        And take no credit for the murders they so pride?

        Didn't you know? The Crusades ain't over yet.
        Drown our streets with the stench of blood and sweat.
        Faceless fiends will try and bring us to our knees.
        Terror sweeps across the globe like disease.

        Holy War!
        The Modern Crusades.
        Burn our cities out,
        Launch terrorist raids.

        When the sun comes up,
        And the darkness fades,
        A vast rubble tomb,
        All that remains.


Tale of the Braggart

Some time ago, in the kingdoms of old,
There ruled a great man, both judicious and bold.
A warrior was he, with no match in skill.
In the blood-soaked field of battle, he'd earned many a kill.
For his exploits in Normandy the ruler was famed
And in the black woods of Germany, the barbarians he tamed.
Of the weapons of war, with all he was proficient,
But in the use of the sword he was particularly efficient
And second to none in wielding this blade
In many a duel, he'd not once been out played,
Though many a baron marched, and his title they did claim,
The heroic warrior-king did put them to shame.

And so it passed in one winter long gone by,
When the wind spit frost, and the snow piled high,
That this king, and his troops, were returning from war,
All were dirty and weary, the scars of battle they bore.
The king himself looked something foul, his armor badly battered,
His face was cut, his hair covered in smut, his long, red cloak was tattered.
And once at his home, though wounded and tired,
A large mug of ale this warrior desired.
So straight to a tavern upon his black horse he rode,
And once there he dismounted, through the door he slowly strode.
Alone at the counter, an armored knight he saw sitting,
Of the seats in the room, he determined that this was most fitting.
So to the counter he walked and then took his seat
And the knight turned his head, his new neighbor he did greet.
'Good morrow,' he began, and offered his hand.
'Have you just returned from fighting in some far away land?'
'Indeed,' replied the king, 'I've just returned from the field.'
'For days we have been traveling, and my wounds are not yet healed.'
'Would I were there,' the knight spoke, ' I'd have killed many I wager.'
'For I am the best swordsmen in the land and I fear no danger.
Young I may be, but hundreds I have beaten,
I've bested knight and savage, Christian and heathen.
In all of the world, there is no equal to me.
'What of your liege,' said the king, ' could you defeat he?'
'If he were here now I'd give him the glove,
There be no nobleman or king that I have fear of,
I am unbeatable,' he said, 'Achilles reborn.
Not a match to my skill has ever been born.'

The king now saw this knight knew not it was him,
His features had been hidden, the grime of battle disguised them.
With his honor insulted, he jumped to his feet
Took his sword from his side, drew the blade from its sheath.
'Here he is,' he shouted, 'Now we must fight.
Take your steel from your side, show me the measure of your might.'
Realizing his error, the knight dropped to his knee,
'I beg of your mercy,' said the knight, ' I knew not it was thee.'
'Be you not the best swordsman in the land?
I implore you sir knight,' the king said, 'ready thine sword and stand.'

A crowd of large numbers had in the room now grown,
The knight slowly stood, the fear upon his face clearly shone.
Once more he pleaded mercy of the king, but all in vain,
The warrior proceeded with duel, and the knight was quickly slain.

And so the young braggart, whose mouth was full or words,
Was more adapt at the skill of gloating, than in the use of swords . . .


Just Because I Don't Care Doesn't Mean I

    Just because I don't care doesn't mean I
    don't understand.

    ‘If you really really want something in this life,
    you have to work for it . . . Now, quiet!
    They're about to announce the lottery numbers!'

    ‘If high school has taught me nothing else,
    and it hasn't, it's that a noble spirit embiggens the
    smallest man.'
    ‘If high school, la, la, la, it's that embiggens is a perfectly
    crapulent word.'
    ‘I have never let my schooling interfere with
    my education.'
    ‘what not.'


Freedom for Fools

    If fools follow fools, who among us is wise?
    How is it that those of few thoughts achieve power?
    Perhaps the most vital role of them all is to govern,
    But this job is left not to the skilled, but to the popular.
    Power isn't earned, but instead it is bought.
    For a shining example, there's George W., our nation's president.

    Once more I refer you to this infamous president.
    He may be a hundred things, but he's surely not wise.
    Through wealth and by name, the country's throne he bought.
    It must boggle the mind how he ever achieved power,
    Yet, once more, the race goes not to the best, but to the popular,
    For there's not a man that knows less than he how to govern.

    His own dog is too much, let alone the whole nation, for him to govern.
    Such a fine example of our country, we have in this president.
    Sadly, it is probably his denseness that makes him so popular,
    America's own masses may also be called anything but wise.
    What else can be said of a people that give to the foolish their power.
    Just promise a tax cut, and how easily we're bought.

    Give the hordes their bread, how easily we're bought,
    Give us our money so we can buy things, don't use it to govern.
    Feed into our greed, and we'll put you in power.
    Just give us our money, and you'll be the next president.
    Feed into our greed, it doesn't matter if you're not wise.
    Just give us our damn money, now you'll be popular.

    And in the end, that's the key, right, being popular?
    And through popularity your power can be bought.
    No emphasis on talent, no dues to the wise,
    It's the one with friends in higher places who'll be able to govern.
    Popularity is the ticket needed to be president,
    As long as they look decent, put the foolish in power.

    And so it is, that those of few thoughts achieve power,
    Just so long as they are rich and popular.
    Then they're on their way to being our nation's next president,
    Just so long as they know that the people can be bought.
    Follow the rules, and they are guaranteed to govern,
    And follow in the footsteps of George W., the wise.

    The rule to gaining power, to becoming president, is not to be skilled but popular.
    No need to be wise, with fake promises the people are bought, now the foolish may govern.



        Bitter to taste, putrid and vile,
        The end seemed so close, but I was short by miles.
        Unsurmountable barrier, unpayable toll,
        A malignant failure than tears at the soul.
        Yet in this loss, a new fury shall rise,
        To make right all the wrongs, to surpass those I despise.


Warrior of the North

    Many, many ages ago, in the frozen land of the midnight sun,
    Legends told of a great warrior, named Thaergar, the Valiant One.

    An honorable hero, both courageous and true,
    A great number of fiendish foe he slew.

    And throughout the land, this saga was told,
    Of the Warrior of the North, fearless and bold.

    Among the finest of his kin, he had no rival,
    Though wise and noble, he was also ferocious and wild.

    With a fury that burnt like fire, born of Muspellsheim,
    And a cold exacting ire, drawn from Niflheim.

    And present was he, at the final battle, Ragnorak,
    Alongside the gods, he bravely fought to the last.

    Yet, no longer today are stories told,
    Of villains and heroes, both wretched and bold.

    The great sagas of warriors have drawn to an end,
    And the name of noble Thaergar has been lost to the wind.


Damn, Those Eyes Tear Me Apart

        Damn, those eyes tear me apart
        Blue and bright, like a summer sky
        Full of hope, wide and wild
        And within a blink, they can break my heart


Darkness Pervades All

Darkness pervades all
The shadows loom like specters
Night is upon us


Lord of the Dance

Lord of the Dance
Flamboyant and frightening
Dancing, prancing, ranting
Scary Irishman who was too old to dance twenty years ago
Lord of the Dance (AKA Russell Levin)


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