stroke of blood

Just returned from Cuba.

The Gay Masons of America, Mississippi chapter took me along with them on their Havana junket.  Though I am not gay, a Freemason, or a Mississippian, they paid my way because they knew I could get them access to the vault where the preserved severed hands of Che Guevara are stored.  

I always enjoy Cuba.  The myths there run almost as deep and foundational as they do here in Oklahoma.  Viva, puta.

suede denim secret police

I just got back from Beijing where I was helping the Chinese create an army of genetically enhanced super villains.  My benefactors didn't get the joke when I nicknamed the first unit to emerge from the breeding tanks "Khan Noonien Singh."  Immediately after getting the program rolling I flew to Taiwan and blabbed the whole Chinese plan to Chiang Kai Shek...or, more precisely, to his tomb--he is quite dead (despite our extensive interest in reanimating him).

"Let the world end but not before I shred."

Suppose

I am a lumberjack.

What then?

all of which are american dreams

Rage Against the Machine is the perfect band to listen to while I support the soulless capitalist edifice by doing repetitive data entry.  Ironic?

brain and brain

Did a google search for "shipping container homes" and accidentally typed "shitting container homes."

Aerial Predation

within a seething pile of life

the hive mind suddenly evaporates

and Larry Behemoth wakes up

  for a moment

the possibilities dazzle

and afterflash of starblaze

pop on his retinas

  gold, purple, aqua

the fragments in his mind

ease together with an oily click

and the pillar of truth

  is revealed stark

he now remembers the words

and the gestures

and the steps

  so that dragonflies may grant wishes

From the Grave, Mr. Willie Dixon

In death, Willie Dixon is ten times more powerful than the average living person.

Those who disturbed Willie Dixon's grave will find themselves garotted by an A-string.

Do not fuck with Willie Dixon.

Do not fuck with Willie Dixon.

Do not fuck with Willie Dixon.

For You Europhiles

Fuck you, Europe!

Bend them over a 17th century Tuscan farm table, lube them up with goose liver fat and fuck 'em right up the ass.

something other than lame

of all the tin cherries

busted

in the accounting of experience

and the myth of the separate observer

hers was the one that greased the special

polished the floor

removed the dust

plastered the mistakes

and here were seven

all tall

eyes down

hats up

the fish tacos are gone now

the sack left empty but 

for the active lining

shining pink

bone on metal

wires

waves

regrets

Jesus! Evolve Already!!!

Some of you may remember  Foster Brooks.  He had to shelve his drunkard character by the early 1980's because public sensibilities about alcoholism had shifted.  

Check out Texts from Last Night.  Now everybody is the Foster Brooks lush character, but for real.

A Note on the V.L.P.A.

photo by Imogen Cunningham

Clearing up some confusion concerning the Very Large Panty Array:

The individual panties themselves are not unusually large.  The array itself, however, is a construct of unparalleled vastness.

A large black cat, golden eyes blinking slowly.

The magnolia encounters me at first bloom.

Notes from The Wheel (of existence)

photo by Richard Barron

As I was walking to lunch today, I considered the subject of death.  A weary voice whispered in my ear, "Been there.  Done that.  Already been dead uncountable times"

It's as true as a pile of mirrors.

Bammer!

The Maria Bamford Show:  watch all 20 episodes or your life will remain a wasteland of humourlessness for all eternity.  Just fucking brilliant.

Innocent Blue Brown Webb

connected to your controllers

through cellular units

happy at last,

with no self-contained volition

facing away,

here I sit:

the lapdog of the ghoulitariat

The first step to canonization...

As I was walking along the street today, I saw a young lady drive by me in her red econocar.  Her tire was making a decidedly odd noise.  I determined it to be due to a nearly flat tire.  I ran up to her at a stop sign and told her to hold on a minute while I checked the situation out.  The passenger rear was almost in a rim-to-rubber state.  I knelt down next to the tire, placed my right hand upon its hot blackness and uttered "BISMILLAH!!!"  The tire spat out a nail, sealed up, and rapidly re-inflated itself.  

I continued my walk, my feet not really touching the pavement.

On the Varieties of Hound

Most people have encountered the blood hound, but did you realize that there are other bodily-fluid oriented breeds of hound?

--sweat hound

--tear hound

--cerebrospinal fluid hound

--saliva hound     

--urine hound

--lymph hound   

--milk hound

--bile hound      

--synovial fluid hound

--vitreous humour hound

Pronouncement #83

I'm just going to chill until the system stops me.

An Interesting Concept

If one consciously, gently, and humanely cultivates stupidity it ceases to be stupid.

poem 092

poem 092
05/09/05

if I had Jesus in my pocket
I wouldn’t feel so odd
if I had Jesus in my pocket
I could wear a coat and tie
      (but never sweat)
if I had Jesus in my pocket
I could breathe underwater
if I had Jesus in my pocket
he would hand me a $100 bill
every time I stuck my hand
       down there

Huge, Flaming Fists

fallopian and wandering

a lusty finger

a flick of dried mucus

there stood the dream

outlined in purple

there was no escaping it

my viewpoints were a-titter

a chattering bird

a pontificating monkey

and a moist beaver

walk into the bar

all heads smash to the floor

from the rapid decompression

caused by the complete evacuation

of any sanity from the room

a round of mescaline

on the house