Cuz it's that good hit you get
One manic click past sleep deprived
Slick little lies turned private language like your hometown lost its noun
And it's tense turned past
The campsite and it's tents has filled your present
Cuz it's that good hit you get
Strung out on the ceiling in the walls
One mean trick calls the clock
One more tick past bedtime
Sundown prayers to sewing needles
Mending holes of big bad nuclear
And the Texas Total
Destruction of that good hit lost to failure
In that hunters snare called addiction
Learning not from life but the classic fiction
Which Says
Fool A Rabbit Twice
You've Got A Friend For Life
Good Kicks
8/25
Berkeley sounds better than Barkley
Just like Hollywood sounds better than shoulds or should nots
Cuz its the great moralizing my friends,
It's the great convincing
Don't pretend it's not Majority Rules
It's not just you and your genius, it's the whole scene man
I just wish you would play me like a puppet, but how about buying me a drink first
Cuz a gin and tonic sure sounds better than a cynic
Just like sharing with my friends a glass of red
Sure sounds better than an empty bed
Fake People in Dramatic Scenes
8/27/25
A return to the sunny days of pretending to be with a capital T one of Them
Coddling my martini and dancing the two step in time
Today I heard talk of Baseball and Breasts from the masculine pests
But who am I to ruin their fun
Their in grave danger just like their heroes
And just about everyone
Tomorrow night calls a grim renaissance to the usual din
For Christmas has come again, the half birthday of hell
And you expect me to celebrate?!
What are you to me but ennui
Seeming French and fancy but ultimately
Just a barroom trick played on the stragglers who didn't thin out
Before the clock struck afters
And now a new morning and what is there to say except
Hot Coffee
Back Again
8/25
I'm getting sober from displacement
All the fancied up hepcats and talk shop residents
Their insatiable for the infinite here on earth
But their losing, ever the meaning, ever the affirmation
What think of themselves the men in the markets buying and selling birdcalls
Surely they admit not the uselessness of trading that which is fleeting plentiful and free
Don't get down on me Sweet Marie!
I've got the kinks ironed out
And I Know how to not seem like a phony
Cuz I've been to the grassroots and the underground
And I know more than anyone they would hate to have me
Cuz I've lost about as much as anyone I know
And figured out how to be lost no more
But I'm thinking ever the meaning, ever the affirmation
I'm not praying to the seedlings, only the fruits
No more grassroots, only the revolution
No more searching, only the perfection
Cuz I'm getting sober from displacement
I've kicked the Greatest American Drug
Sober From Displacement
8/25
The spectacle soon to be brought forth is both unparalleled confession and performing arts showcase
It might offend you, ravishingly beautiful, the selfishness that haunts the stage
But, nature calls, ordering a 45Hz standing wave we can stand on, floating as dancers often do to a 6 or 8 count crawl
And now, slowing down so you can see the intricate footwork
The proceedings entail a viewing of processes such as amalgamation and crucifixion
The necessary undergoings of this constant flux which serves to create and enhance the chaotic movement we call 'I'
There are no higher stakes,
Yet the inevitable stumble
Occurring in a single instant, the audiences shattering illusion
An Inversion occurs!
Audience becomes artist in critique, shape, and life
And All Shall Rise
And All Shall Flee
You wander downtown's now, not as ghost nor phantom
But on the main stage
The neon tube veiled brides beckon you into minor distractions, unmissable of course,
And we become the mannequins!
Wearing all the new styles, no longer figment nor fragment of a designers catalogue
Shape and Beauty and Life arise from the words we pen
No longer of the rabid animals on stage, but of the new age
Most see this scene as romantic
But I have only known tragedy
I the instantiator
And I who is but a message
And we who is but a myth now
Wandering the halls shaking hands with local bohemians
I who remain standing, wave
And I who harvest
And I who leave
FOR I AM THE GREAT ANTITHESIS
NOTHING MORE AND NOTHING LESS
What have I lest for occasion and witness
I who witness their kiss and their purpose
It seems a great philosopher is needed to see asphalt and concrete as tools and not ends
For we as great artists must see our next step as our greatest
The continuing chaotic movement of 'I',
Dreading our final masterpiece
The Great Antithesis
7/13/25 3:00AM
I proclaim unto this which has become known as the apocalyptic era a fruitful and joyous age
We who Create
Shall be insatiable in our creation
and We who Live
Shall be insatiable in our pursuit of life
For a golden age comes not from splendor and overfullness
But from the depths of hunger
And corrosion of the unexpressed soul
A golden age comes not from voyeurs nor spectators nor those who bear witness
But from those who bleed life upon desolate earth
From fingers ground upon guitar strings
From ink poisoned hands
From tired, exhausted eyes doomed to stay open by due unrest
Be not distraught in this majesty of continuation
And be not diverted
For diversion is to the artist
As sin is to the godless
Follow only those who stand before you
Bearing their entire souls
Follow only your own soul
Unrestrained in its pursuits
Follow only the truest soul of this apocalyptic era
One that is no larger than you and I
For we reside no longer in the Viennese Cafes nor the Chelsea Hotel
We reside where we stand
And where we stand shall be decorated by us great architects
As we swing from chandeliers
And we fight one another
And we love one another
And we sing with all souls around us until we are harmonious with one another
Look no further than my eyes
The eyes next to you
And those across the room
For this golden age shall be brought forth by you and I
And it shall be us
And we shall be it
The Golden Age
3/25