No Doctor

it is 5:06 AM in America
and its healthcare sucks
and unemployment is on
the rise
when my unemployment rose
I immediately lost
my doctor
so now here I am
lying in bed worrying
what if this spells some
serious trouble
now that I’m
going all numb
that poor circulation
has become a new reality
if this is a sign of things to come
will my heart…
will my cats outlive me?
will my heart give out on me?
with what money could
I save myself to see
just what is wrong with me
or if I’m just having a bad dream
at 5 AM
should I stay or evaporate?
more sharp chest pains pinch inside
and twist a thorn
time sees to it at least a few
scraps were written…

there was some discomfort…

More Journal

All reading of Bram Stoker’s Dracula has so far been rewarding. For me, just the venture to the Count’s castle in itself is making me smile. The movies have not done the author justice. So get your head out of your ass and the Walmart electronics bin and pick up the book. Read the book. You wanna know something about Dracula, go to the source.

Today, woke with the urge to further itemize the apartment. So I hit the super store and was in and out.

Got much design work in on the new book’s cover, which I’ve decided will be called Terra. Exciting. It’s coming together.

The chest pains are curious but what can be done?

New Poetry Book In The Works

Hey friends!

I’m currently working on the new book and it’s coming together as my all time favorite.

This is not because the writing is top notch, but also I’ve sold my soul to a Martian and have acquired new editing and formatting capabilities not one of you would want to tangle with in a dark, partially well-lit alley.

Still, if anyone has any title ideas, feel free to throw them my way.

More Martians needed.

Provided everything goes well, this should be out by my birthday (end of March),
along with a repress of She’s Hardly Recognizable Now.

Hope everyone is well!

Traveling Through Town

now, near a tavern…

a euphoric way
the glow pounding
splendid mouthings of love
melting like butter
as if butter

held in contempt
the spy un-mixes the confusion
by completing his mission

managers steal from
their "subordinates"

a classic remake with
additional renewed gore

happy to see you again
who’s been
’bout me…?

dressed up
to dress down in a towel
small town muse
it’s a must for me to multiply
the tasks

what you drinkin’?

the cheapest or the

do what it takes
just not whatever it takes
use caring judgment
so you’ll be paying less
to the psychiatrist

one dude sits down and after a few minutes asks if any of us will buy him a beer while the band oooooohs big choruses and crowds approve along. for you man, I’m sorry, but I’ve got nothin’ having just bought some for my buddies… cold ones.

now, from an elevated view…

men wandering
standing in one area for awhile
guarding their bags
talking to themselves hunched
over their cigarettes
finding a step to sit to stare
at their feet
without a home
truly humbled
the words we exchange are
of no consequence

desires come and wreck
themselves here, somewhere
outside the city library

and I think How do I see things
any differently?
are some things just funny,
passing the time?

are others pinnacle to
survival and rescuing the planet?

why stop at one planet?

where, besides the library
should I sit still?

what’s for lunch or anything today?

on the street you own what
you can carry conceal and defend

I conceal my intelligence under
silliness and hide away
in an apartment near the
middle of the month

One Million Dollars

as I look back on my younger self I see that kid who just took up skateboarding and once with his friends did that bomb drop and didn’t make it, who crashed down at the bottom into the ground/waves. that kid was hurried along through time, his parents splitting up, all the while estranged— a mother too involved and nagging and crazy, and father distant/quiet. these are the traits of sadness. when you develop patterns of sadness, the sadnesses become very hard to break.

pull that kid up through time along the same grooves and you’ve got some bitter lessons learned. someone asks if he’s been eating much, with that concerned look, and always with a look like they think he doesn’t know they’re giving him that look.

as I near my birthday I want to sit here and generate good feelings back into the past, traveling time, meeting with my younger self who recognizes no one in me but a kind and knowledgeable and wise person…

visit as a writer, let him in on the secret—
you are him
he is you
you are here
for a few minutes
to share a few stories
sling a few secrets
and even chide him for the pointless vandalism
you say to him Be more focused
warn him Harder times are surely ahead
ante up—
you tell him about 9/11 well on its way
though no one screaming its prophesy will have
enough horsepower to stop it

and there will
be an African-american taking office,
but this is really just
Business as usual

you shoot the shit
make friends
tell him what good books
are in his future
and maybe what he ought to get
a head start on
because there will also be
wasted time

unless you can really
have a one-on-one…
and let him know…
what will become of
his relationships—

it all starts to hit too close
to home
and you realize you still
don’t have all seeing eye

he tells you
not to worry that
everything will be okay

he’s on the path, he says
and there is a proof-of-god-some… where?
marriage, by nature, is a sacrament
on a greeting card
people are fools
that writing is IT
you do not know exactly what
is to come,
unless you check the patterns
then you see… more… than you would of thought…

it all starts blending together
what I and I know

so I challenge myself



ya think I’m
not writing



think aheadatime for that next summer job
it’s what
ya should probably do…

she’ll be makin’ her way ’round the mountain
when she’s done

I’ve one girl on third

waiting for a home/run

running a home
running from a burning home

everything all gone

duplex living quarters
with working drier, washer, and
modest electricity
ceilings threatening to stunt your height
hearing these women scream
screams of delight from the 13th floor
causing fretful dreams of
the worst forest,
you’re running on fire—
in a forest

what’s done is done
see if ya can’t Undo
if you have to
go to your room
think about what you
done did done

I’ll be back in a minute
just give me a minute…


my back is present
on point
on purpose

you’re back to seeking
a chiropractor of your own
witch doctor
with the sugar drop

cease please O/Oh what ailes me
my sinisus seriuosly aile me
someone hale a cab for me
call one ‘cuz I can hardly breathe

someone in these lungs imagined
a scarcity

The Crunch by Charles Bukowski

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody.

laughter or


strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks

armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking

or an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.

people so tired
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educatioal system tells us
that we can all be big-ass winners.

it hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place

unspoken to

watering a plant.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don’t ask them to be.

but sometimes I think about

the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.

too much
too little
too fat
too thin
or nobody

more haters than lovers.

people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.

meanwhile I look at young girls
flowers of chance.

there must be a way.

surely there must be a way we have not yet
thought of.

who put this brain inside of me?

it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.

It will not say

25 Random Things About Me

For those of you who aren’t connected to me via Facebook, last night I posted the following:

1. I didn’t start smoking or drinking until about 33 years of age. How else, other than being under the influence right now, would I get the notion to fill out a silly list such as this?

2. I like argyle socks enough to even purchase them, though I am not against stealing, though even stealing is WRONG when corporations factor in theft and thereby dock the pay of their employees accordingly.

3. I consider myself to be of a mature anarchist variety, a belief and a way of life not dependent on punk rock status but not separate from punk rock ideals, lifestyles, and DIY culture, unity and brotherhood.

4. I consciously and deliberately focus on positive mindstyles and easily trip.

5. I can be a best friend to you but also am an only child and feel this could be a reason for why I often feel the need to go off seeking my own space.

6. When I was younger, I would fall in love with ten girls at a time. Now I fall in love with ten books at a time and write as much as possible, and I hardly write or think about those girls, though some of them are truly unforgettable.

7. Conscious of my proclivity for aggression, my family is steeped in violence and confrontation. My grandfather was a professional boxer and married for sixty years. My mother and father fought tooth and nail for years and years. I took up skateboarding.

8. My taste in movies is pretty good, but I don’t want to geek out with you to the point of a fieriness because it’s not all that important to me in the end. I think I want to make movies at some point. You can write a few reviews if you want. I know that sounds bitter, but I’m serious. There’s nothing wrong with writing reviews.

9. My favorite color changes so often I can’t even tell you what it is now.

10. I write a lot of poetry but do not read a lot of poetry and in fact hate most poetry or at least what people read on stage and try to make pass for poetry. There is a difference, I believe, between geeking out or being a geek and being an absolute nerd. And most people I see who try to pass themselves for poets or who are bent on calling themselves poets are nothing but nerds to me, absolutely. Square pegs.

11. The Super Bowl goes ignored by me. There was a time, however, when I played football across the street from my house, and one time I got smashed in the face so hard I had to go to the dentist immediately and the man pulled on my top row of teeth for hours while I screamed freaking out everyone else in the office.

12. There are about fifteen books under my belt. I have authored them, no shitting you. I guess it is a reason to be proud, a way to brag, but more a labor of love and there’s really a special feeling you get the day your publication comes out and it starts getting into the hands of others whether they pay for it or not.

13. I have traveled a bit and have not learned to really settle in one place. Even after two years of being in this apartment, I’m just getting around to setting up my living room with a couch, coffee table, and chairs to accommodate for guests. My apartment is lacking and I realize this. And it is one of my major projects, to really build a comfortable home for myself, a haven. I need all the help I can get in this area. Please don’t sit on my cats!

14. I have two amazing cats. Some think they are crazy. They are just grey. Some think I am crazy. I am just grey.

15. Or am I blue. I don’t play the blues or any other instrument, though I feel grey, sing the blues, smoke the green, and my favorite color is somewhere between grey and green. Or is it blue?

16. I am more than a people watcher. But while we’re on the topic, I will say I am a devoted people watcher. Saying more, it’d be that I love people, that I have hope for people, I wish the best for them, and I hope to forever be generous towards people on all sorts of levels. In Big Mind, I know I am not separate from anyone. We are in one big family. This is a mindset that enables true altruism to a degree where altruism itself vanishes and harmonization spreads its wings.

17. Cleaning is a meditation to me. Washing dishes can be such a tranquil activity, free from complication and drama. I admit I go through periods where I don’t wanna clean to the point where it seems like I don’t like to clean… It is simply not who I am on the whole. Trust me, I like to clean.

18. I grew up in the 70’s in a town just outside of DC, and when people ask me where I am from, generally I tell them I’m just from DC and they get the picture. If you’re from there, then I say Silver Spring, MD and you also get the picture. It’s all intertwined and connected and sometimes sick with homicide and gunfire.

19. There was a lot of TV to watch, especially during the 90s. I’m not too ashamed to admit I watched a lot of television though it’s not all I want to talk about with you. A little trivial pursuit can be fun, but there are many more charts and ideas to sketch up, and now, what seems to be very little time to do so. Dwindling time.

20. Sometime after eighteen, I became a monk and traveled the country, even went to India and studied Eastern philosophy (mainly Hinduism at the time). This is where I witnessed a king cobra at a gas station only a foot and a half in front of me, and leapers, and intense beggars (hoards of them). India’s air weighs heavy like America’s conscience during a war it should not be involved in.

21. I have worked 10+ years as a graphic designer and prepress specialist, self-taught. And… and it is a rotten industry, demeaning and not-worth-it-in-the-long-run. Ever want to develop your skill and become a corporate whore? Play naive for as long as you can and enjoy those little checks they give you for as long as they can. Nothing lasts forever and that time you’re dreading comes sooner than you think. Artists are reduced to “creatives.” “Get one of your creatives to do it? Don’t you have any creatives in-house?” Ugh.

22. I like popcorn and pool and women. I love women. I love pool okay and I love people okay, but of the people variety, women are my favorite, and I do mean some kinds. I am picky but will not divulge details. Women and food and recreation. I eat it all up.

23. With monkhood behind me I am forever changed and I have learned a lot along the way. It makes me part of who I am today. I have my mother and father to thank, too, but I am not sure at this point if there is a Heavenly Father. Only now can I resign myself to submitting to Mother Earth, Terra, though Terra is… it’s complicated.

24. If you hang out with me, generally right away I will subject you to some form of media that has deep impact on me. I am all about media, the people’s media, but I may simply sit down with you and read you five pages from a book and see what you think… and expect you to hang. I expect you to be that kind of friend to me. I expect you to do the same right back.

25. The way a city can black out and be subject to looting, this is what sometimes happens to me. Socially, I can go off the grid due to whatever reason and I know this damages friendships and creates unnecessary tension (which is something I’m working on), and I thought I’d mention it, just to show that I’m aware, and it saddens me, too— and I’m glad for your friendship. I care about you and listen to what you say and remember what you say.

26. One more, for the road. Please don’t mistake my being critical for hating you. I realize that some can criticize because they truly do just like to hear themselves talk, but I do not consider myself to be that jacked up. Know that I am also admiring you and can repeat back verbatim all to you and others, all the good—the intentions (as I perceive them), and the actions, and all the history we’ve shared so far. Often when you’re not around, I miss you.

Family Blood

family is past blood and more about location and limits itself to innermost gears of how you work and plod along through growing times.

what is seen as silence as if a trappest monk has visited and sprinkled fairie dust all over the place. giving a fuck is sometimes hard to muster.

time is telling. babes of the fam qualify for more than hand-me-downs but are rather ripe apples of their father’s eye. a lecture is due and a lecture is primed.

words hang in the air yet the young man cannot get circulation down to his feet. terrible times fold back in on themselves. she gave up long ago and no ambulence could make it on time to save her out from under the root problem.

the story continues. the story does ruffle feathers and pull strings. the story is a stiff glowing in the dark wind to be told from the rocking chair. but there is no family left, at least for now, bothering to rally ’round that chair.

move to the wild west and don’t say anything to anybody and ya should be alright steady preppin’ for the gun slingin’. a smile found smirked beneath his mustache to kill you without a second thought. who’s been around longer and who will behave from their respective age? I know seniors who inspire.

pass on pass off pass out past gone. can’t read all the stories in the world, too many papers doin’ their thing. past caring.

she sold kisses at the carnival stand to lucky gents with hardly any cents.