Archive for July, 2011

Density is grams per milliliter squared, or cubed

July 2, 2011

dense morning drones of time and wavelength and caustic sunbeams and hangovers thick

procuring cardiac tics and enlarged hearts and gout


minor occurrences,  all the more pleasant than the pit

dead presidents son’s and positron emissions and mercurial starfish bulbous pod forma

men women and children killers and priests


lightshade lamp downs, facedown narcotic and deep towards the pit

credit card guarded gum tac forms and amusement park restricted lines and Midwestern biblical literalists

all come to an end by the fates’ dance along the halls of man


but it never ends, and ever extends the pit

the pit at the foot of your bed in the morning,

the back of your head at night,

the bottle’s bottom,

a lost credit card,

an unfaithful fellatio,

locked up gunmen at the gunrange dawn,

and their delinquent sons,

the infidel hell sent from an acid trip death, and pressure and voltage and force fed free fall

an unending hymn of frictionless contemplation


smiling like a deaf child at the circus, the pit

soul coring plastic surgery Sundays and the blood chalked  staple gun of Monday’s

hope, evaporating like coyote sweat in an Arctic desert


the blade of an obsidian hatchet, an eyes closed death, the pit

a starless hopefuck eclipsing monster howling over the course of a thousand years in a

remote dank dark shack of Moloch, hollow boned and you are


by twisted holy memories that only the gods can forge from the pit.


There are so many fucking…that

July 2, 2011


believe in the decimals of their mental calculators-> see: batteries included

renegades of sloth necrotic reality TV and Christ righteous housemother spun homes…

but our compassion worthy Person(s)

are neighbor’s kids, a hand stuck to the elevator OPEN button, a jobless uncle’s holiday toast & grandma alive in pictures


while people, without much  concern or question, kill eachother in droves

                 eyes closed, rapid fire

with plenty of causes… for God and for Satan

and Love and Truth and Justice

and Sex and Fame and


and Cellphones and Uploads and

Broadband and Bandwidth and Maximum Strength and

for This one and That one and Now.



lock their cars twice in three door garages, fingerprint encoded and vaccuum sealed

before they close the door…

they read papers and watch newscasts and ignore their wives until its time fuck,

                then they put the secratary’s head on her face

they cannot separate church and/or state

                their hearts from minds or ass from elbows

they think their cup is“their” cup,  not yours

               ours and the rest of us who don’t worship the almighty dollar

they lease condos and cars and abandon “their”

               kids alone any chance they get

they have.

they need.

they take.

they want you to masturbate yourselves to sleep drowning in dreams of cash rebates and free trial offers.



they are strong, and innumerable people, but

be a Person. You must.

they want me to stop writing, singing and stop You dancing

smoking and drinking to every Summer time sweetheart

blossoming down Ashland Avenue.

Make the skirts last forever,

beautiful, caressing upwards along lines of nuclear sidewalks

and keep Your pyramid eye pointed

 towards spirit angels and Apollo’s love, especially

in these, Our days,

children of a waste land rust belt,

studio apartment trapped w0rld movers,

charcoaled miners of love and smiles and tears…


Let the Person



and ever