I want to leave here

you know
when the "thing" at the cash register
doesn't know tax mathematics
and the "consort" 
is trying to thieve
then really
its fuckin over. 

i mean
should i go in there again
and sit with them
as their gruesome grins
unravel pieces of brain shit
out of their fuckin glass mouths?

"but on the other hand"
"you and I"
divine love

so no worries
be kind
you owned the school somehow
why wouldja have graduated from it? :P

Easter Sunday

you know,
Easter
could be a synthesis
of burgoened gold milk
in a pocket
and held there
like a bit of incense
pinched in unerringly
so you know
Churches are Churches
handsome
like shades of white.

all work and no play should be illegal

anarchy was never wrong, they cried Freedom, Rise Up For Me

i hated beating you at chess
it's an evil tired game
even among friends
where you capture movements and positions
like some sick teenage general
pretending that yer friends were opponents
with the symbol of a king from some 13th century fucked church
as the object of desire or whatever,
those coward white and black kings
making the crowd and the girls do all the work
but you know Hue
maybe it was symbolic
that when we played outside at night on those tables
with that stupid Mingus playing on yer cheap MP3
with that damn speaker i bought from the Target
after I hung some vain shirt up in the electronics department
and to tell you the truth
i was so insane thenu
that i thought my name was just Steven
and some kind of boyfriend to the inevitable
truth is i hate sex
it's a sickness of lust
i don't like touching anybody
or other people touching me
but sometimes i made exacting exceptions
and well, my heart still beats
i speak out of truth
yer alive i think
don't look in the mirror or at pictures
the reflective images of you are called desotas.

if you'd like
i'd call you Susan B Anthony
if you hate me for livin'
just know that not compromising my visions of beauty and peace
drove me insane at times
where i forgot my name and home
and how to speak
because of all the anger
of things like Death Houses that they would send slaves to in Sing Sing China.
i believe i will get on
but if yer not alive
then i'm beyond sick
but not in the sense of my soul burning out.

you called me in the death camp
when i was sick and bleeding
so thank you there
and you invited me into yer home
i think what happened then
was that Romance was a bit vain
during times of War.

if yer there
theres phones here
maybe we can sort out the past
don't turn to too many books
lots of em are just fucking lies
for some dope con
or for the hiding of demonic secrets
that i had no part of.

i haven't been hiding
everything i say is the truth or truths
if i ever lied
i figured i would be smokeing something lethal one day
because i would be lying to myself about reality
which is lethal.

to tell you the truth
i'm kind of psychic
and it isn't really a tool
for black magic
or bad news
or plotting soldier positions
unless i'm about to be ambushed
by some electronic banking scam
or a herd of lawyers that are turning themselves into beasts
over misinterpretation of symbolic currency
that is supposed to help people with kindness
instead of being the instruments of greed.

sometimes i wonder what happened
before seeing people fucked up alive drove me insane
what my name was
but well
it's Brody, i'm a girl
yer a fella.

they say this is the city of angels
all i see is dead wings.

ya know, some of these things i find out
and throw up
there's a black moon tonight shining down on the western neon light
and some of those Astronomy books
were just drug analogies
like
do you get the sick comparison
of speed balls
paired with the planets being gigantic balls too?
well they aint.

listen to me if you want
you might have my respect in the future
so you know
maybe these days aren't time for love or sickness
but the future may bring something clean and bright called the Sun's warmth
and I hope you appreciate it.

all i know is that i felt young
and not arrogant.
i'm not sorry if i'm smart and clever any longer
intellect is the opposite of evil
i'm not some director from Warner Brothers
or some fucking actress
warbling false notes for the sake of plastic dimes.

if yer alive
can you do something for me
if you have a spare dollar?

buy a packet of seeds
plant them out front

i told you the truth, the truth aint a lie
A equals A
2 plus 2 equals 2 plus 2
dont let their ugliness get to you
take a breath, take a breath, take a breath
too much coffee makes me shake when i'm awake
for fear
thank you for the bachelor buttons
they weren't lost on me then

Rocket

I bought an electric violin today.  It's pink.  It plays.  I'm starting a music project called Rocket.  It's not a band, it's just me.

Belated Valentine's Day Poem

Roses are red
Violets are purple

i love you
how are you?

go outside and breathe the morning in
and maybe appreciate the sun for me
as i appreciated you, too
for the Earth would have been a cataclysm
of earthquakes and fire
had I never seen you looking at me
so you know
this is for all of you
even the suave police officer
who smashed my face into bulletproof glass once
because i know there was pain
like an arrow through a heart
so lets get over that, yeah?

but i should say with a whistle and a tongue click
that my favorite people
were and are the mad ones
since they know how to inflect in musics that are surprising and Good
and Alive and Lovely

so go out and sing to someone with a small note of music and thrill
they probably do love you too
and the ones that left
they probably still love you still

maybe we will find Tomorrow
in our conceptions of Hatred as mere annoyance
instead of not enough Love
but I'll tell you tomorrow
if you let me put a sticker on your back bumper
that says "Smile, your parents loved each other and you
and it was the same with the rest of us
so go out and love somebody too
let them drive you insane
so that we all wake up singing, yeah?

Lethe

Black drips on black
in the Romanesque rain that seethed down through cracked pavement
at nightfall of the end of Light
and so we followed shadows
since they were indicative
of where one could find a lantern or a torch to hold for glow and warmth
and all we had
were scraps of some foreign shipped tobacco
half a deck of playing cards
maybe an old musty bottle of wine
and some sort of wit about us
that refused to accept stupidity
because in the tunnels under the dead city
there were still signs of where moss had been,
promising pale green lichen above the sewer grates
and away from a corpse that had been fowled up
on fabric shreds at a cruel gate.

Oh lore of forgetfulness
should I cram my mouth with dark grapes
and let the juice drip down the edges of my mouth
when I don't know whether to laugh or scream or cry out in victory
echoing the revelry of the end of Grendal
that creature and his family
that followed murderers through viking halls
and tracked their armored foot steps
to the edge of oblivion.

To place a diamond needle
on the thin pink vinyl of an old 33
and listen to the mellow static
before the chimes of guitar resound like brief bells
in a gold room lit by old official linoleum
would be enough
to know that this murder is done with
the stain that plagued the hallowed books
with the depravity of men and women
hunting after gold and flesh.

I should have taken a few photographs
by Canoga Park, to show the grimy portraiture
of the freeway exit
as it lent to a hurtling violence
for groups of gnarled families patterning speech
after famous monsters for a rush of speed
but the jokes of cruelty and schadenfruede
were lost on me
when I found old sacraments
such as glistening stars in fragments of triangular pieces of white glass
leaning next to discarded motes of famous pieces of electronic transistors
which I would place a green penny on
as some sort of small alter to Order
in a way that the hurtling semi trucks
couldn't handle as their metals shrieked in old groans of death stress
when it seemed that the edge of the city
could be caving into some boiling center
where other people went mining for insanity.

Old stories, cannibals, ya know
mechanical dolls eating mechanical doll flesh
and wooden strangers painted with sickly shades of make up
to mask old surgical scars that tried to tighten their faces into permanant masks
in apartment towers as dirty as the unmentionable and unforgotten.

And so I ask you plainly
if it is not apparent
do you bathe in the Lethe
it's torrents of dried black effluvia mixed with gore and vomit
or was your only sin amid murderers
being clean with hands aglow from white colored magic
when old voodoos plied at the dead meadow
where the graves had been placed out back

well we should have planted orange flames of flower petals
not this gnarled dead shrub
to stick in bare feet and ankles

and do you look into other people's closets
to find out how they do not dress
or do you accept thin stews on the premise
that cabbage is a treat with its lack of color
and promise of demise
when you could have smelled parsnips
flowing from the high towers of Purgatory
which guarded heaven
but only with banners that were sewn in scarlet, pink, red, and white?