Category: Introspective

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Petaluna Linger

awash
in coils of amber
umber

and slumber
as autumn awakens

a solemn breeze
seizes
lofty trees
in lucent columns

a gauntlet
of ambient umbra

born the republic
of czechoslovakia

briefly
a voice could be heard:
“call me ishmael”

forces of intrigue
colluded in union

to bring forth
a most inconsequential
kismet

through mistral moons
into mellow mons

from stumbled startings
to fallen ends

asterina anomala

sweetness
of a serene dawn

plush fur of eternal purr
fills my pillow
ever brimming

buffering
this astral seraphic
kitten cabal

[image credit: Ivan Bilibin]

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memories like these

cruisin’
in a sky blue pinto

nineteen-eighty-six
or so

through the foothills
of tujunga

headed to the old rainbow

pockets emptied
at the castle

somewhere out
in sherman oaks

squandered
trying to conquer strider

level four
was all she wrote

swinging
on the rings
at santa monica
beside the pier

followed by a stop
at woolworths
for some penny candy fare

frantically we’d beg our mom
for change when came the ice cream truck

but when we finally raced outside
most often we were out of luck

garbage pail kids
lik-a-maid
bazooka joe
and pixy-stix

pelon pelo rico
big league chew
and candy cigarettes

gotcha bracelets
vision street wear
swatch watches
and jelly shoes

members only jackets
were the only thing
not neon-hued

weekends when our friends slept over
mischief would soon fill the air

regretting
forgetting
to have chosen truth
instead of dare

helpless
at the mercy
of my older sister’s
bumptious best friend

ceaselessly
accosting me
to follow her
into the old shed

i was far too busy
rocking chopin
on my tape recorder

fostering the nuances
of burgeoning mental disorders

not to mention
perfecting my hand-to-eye coordination

come the day
when playing nintendo
would become my occupation

memories like these
drift through my head
amid the desert twilight

where this heart bleeds cali love
and will until the day that i die

(pictured is myself on the left with my friend David O’Neil at Santa Monica)

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Daydreams

some days
we long to be killed
more than others

to save us
from spilling
our secretive druthers

in rum-soaked confessions
to loathsome ex-lovers

or nameless encounters
with strangers uncovered

shamelessly asking for help
from our mothers

whose salt stings the wounds
from the womb to the gutter

whose ruinous choices
left pagans to shudder

impetuous voicings
so flagrantly uttered

lugubrious lamentations
seethe and smother

you see
i have neither the will
nor the the wanting

to languish in suffering
ever so daunting

i rather prefer
to bestir to the coffin

and slough this infernal coil
right the fuck off then!

[image credit: Edward Honaker]

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Hapless

i paint these scenes
of wretched failing

deemed “self-sabotage”

subconsciously mincing
the ignorance
of their inception

a wavering vice
of weakness

unwilling
to address the fear

that haunts me
when the moon retreats
to plot my next misstep

tread in torpor
culled of cowardice

and disclaim
framed most vapid

pain
of an affliction

sown
then left
for fools to reap

its tainted toll

so hideous

hidden
as discordance
falls upon them
as they are

the ones
whose only inquiry
is sanctioned
by the sky

those toward whom
my only truth
belies itself

through bridges
burning

hapless
just to turn
and face

what fate
succumbs to acquiescence

burden
of my bastardizing

fraught upon
their sacred ward

i swore
not to avow

this servile sword
wrought
by the eve’s availing

sable-sotted
sentiments

abscond
to the abyss
of midnight

[image credit: Kay Nielsen]

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Omega Man Rap

at times when feeling ‘noir
it pains’ me deeply
and i wish to obscure
my ‘sexier pons’

my ‘cat id irony’
fails to suffice
for ‘rarely it’ ‘insists i belie’
my ‘equine data’
and the ‘bicep alias
it’ no longer works

when ‘stoic ideas’ become ‘ornate libel’
i turn ‘to repine sunsets’

airing as ‘funded glib’ ‘pelt art’
‘erred as’ a ‘cynic soul opus’
of ‘incredible sin’

however ‘spurious
trite’ i pray it not

for ‘i toil in gray’ skies
to ‘escort earth’ with ‘hemp at rose’

to deliver a ‘cad edited’ ‘cat encomium’
and ‘obtain focus’
so that i may ‘convert pities’
from ‘scour units’ and ‘Soviet barons’

because ‘grease enables’
‘tin men to impale’ the ‘rift outed’
by my ‘Scorpio intent’

*see comments for key

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Kinda Sounds Like Discourse~ [AKA Vice Rod]

what can i say

i want the D

never had i dared to dream

this day would come

with thoughts of the D

running through my mind
like a Benny Hill credits roll

you see
the D is a most powerful force

it springs life anew
and mitigates longstanding burdens

it cleaves entire entities in twain
and leaves chaos in its wake

but in that fluster
of blustery skies and structure askew

i shall rise triumphant
brandishing the proof of the D
for all to behold

she proved herself
prone to imprudence
and impetuous impulse

and so began my arduous journey
in search of the D

for i knew
that my very salvation

could only begin

with a solidified D in hand

wait wait wait!

~what did you think i meant?~

pervert.

[image credit: Nicolaes de Bruyn, Frederik de Wit]

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Flat-Screens and Powdered Milk x8

These are the Sundays of dolor and dinge in which none dare to dream.  Where the ceiling hangs low, like a slow-falling sky from which i cannot escape.  Warped cardboard held up by sagging strands of weathered packaging tape dangle overhead full of dust and debris.  Much like the threads of tinsel that snag on the splintered doorway as its once proud conifer is dragged out to be laid to rest alongside an 85″ flatscreen that couldn’t be much older than a year.

Why is there such a proliferation of discarded oversized TVs in these downtrodden residential areas? Are my neighbors truly that transfixed by the endless stream of palpable horrors that seep into their surrendered subconscious?  Or did they finally see one too many commercials jauntily pressuring them to call: “♫Cellino & Barnes ♪ Injury Attorneys – eight hun-dred eight-eight-eight ♫ eight-eight-eight-eight♪”?  I mean, seriously, that many fucking eights?  Could that shit sound any more ridiculous? Probably.  Either way, if it drove someone to banish their TV to the curb, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Then again, it might have been a case similar to the time i left my miniature die-cast airplane on top of the living room TV [bear in mind that these were the old-school TVs and thus, were shaped like a box].  After which,  my mother came along attempting to place a full glass of lemonade directly on top of said plane, causing it to spill into an electric fizzle-pop of frayed television circuitry.  I was forever given shit for that.  What I want to know is who in the fuck goes around placing overflowing beverages on top of TVs, to begin with?  Nevermind the fact that she couldn’t be bothered to so much as look to ensure there was a stable surface, to begin with. Honestly, that about sums up my family’s sense of logic.

Back then, appliances weren’t yet condemned to the 6-month forced obsolescence that seems to pervade the market nowadays, so it was a bit of an outrage to have been the one “responsible” for having murdered the one source of entertainment in the entire household.  Not to mention the fact that we were poor as fuck.  I’m pretty sure we were on welfare or had received food stamps or some such form of governmental assistance.

I do recall being very young and going to some strange building with my mother in which she was given a large two-pound brick of cheese wrapped in white plastic with big, bold lettering that said something like: “U.S. CHEESE.”  It kind of tasted like regular cheese, only if someone had siphoned out most of the flavor and color.  And don’t even get me started on powdered milk.  Talk about an affront to gastronomic convention.  I can only imagine what they put those cows through to get them to produce powder…

I have to wonder though, how many people have their childhood memories destroyed by the realization that they or one of their siblings had been molested by some depraved uncle or family “friend.”  Judging from what I’ve seen, at least as many people that have watched TV at some point in their lives.

As it turns out, we’re all living in an unfolding episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.  Perhaps now I know why all those giant-screened TVs have been put out to pasture.  When your life actually becomes the tragic storyline that once kept your family entertained it loses its appeal I suppose.  And I don’t seem to hear any jaunty jingles directing me to call their law offices so they can help to prosecute our abusers.

 

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Wanton Predilection

men dare never fathom
of the consequences wrought
in the wake of their ego’s reckless abandon

perhaps it is they know
if such truth were ever sought
they might not feel free to spread their seed at random

for theirs is such a burden
placed upon all womankind
as its sole regard is one based on passing whims

where women take the time
to consider each perspective
a man relates all things back to himself

every woman suffers
at the hand of man’s neglect
though the issues omnipresence e’er obscures

and here we are complacent
thinking this to be the norm
that no credence e’er is paid to our adjures

a man’s flagrant hypocrisy
so garish does it blare
to the point that we no longer recognize it

as women are subjected
to the scrutiny and ire
and are thus condemned to sentences of silence

with all that has been done
every man should build a shrine
at which every night he should beg for forgiveness

but sadly, people scoff
thinking this a vulgar thought
and it seems our species somehow lost its conscience

if man could look beyond
the defenses he has built
in the name of guarding insecurity

to address the endless wrath
he has lain upon his path
and accept his own responsibility

then we might stand a chance
in a world so full of doubt
on this precipice of humankind’s extinction

but all that i have seen
the male ego is as such
’tis beholden to its wanton predilection

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Social MEdia

it is such a strange dynamic
these forums in which we gather
in a most persistent state
of idle incoherent blather
trapped behind these glowing screens
the hopes and dreams of every person
air as fleeting as a meme
subjected to flights of aversion
as it seems, the world awaits us
from the very place we sit
boundless escape from our sorrows
hanging at our fingertips
realms of plastic intimacy
ruled by unforgiving whims
wintry hearts that once burned holes
in skies that since have fallen dim
scarcely shedding light on truth
of how quickly we are forgotten
pittances of such regard
leave scars for which no time allots for
in the moment, fools are prone
to bleed expression most effusive
once it passes, who will fill the need
persisting in the ashes
~valiant~, are those who ride
upon a white horse singing freedom
“free” to run their dalliances
soon to show their heart’s deceiving
still, the truth is far more complex
for we all are hapless victims
seeking an escape from our extenuating circumstances
we present personas of our ideal’s interpretation
pandered then to strangers
in an undisclosed remote location
who we treat with no more respect
than we would a pop-up ad
for times we might need some support
when life has left us feeling bad
however, if they fail to answer
in a time we deem respectful
we become annoyed and then consider them to be neglectful
such brazen hypocrisy seems fitting for a generation
raised by television screens
and disenchanted baby-sitters
left without a precedent
of how to treat our fellow humans
honestly, what can we expect
but a state of social ruin
with so many channels of communication ever running
how we manage to engage them all
is truly something stunning
this, of course, is not the case
as countless people are left hanging
whilst we frantically relate
the tales of our spouse’s haranguing
maybe if we placed half as much effort
as we do complaining
into our immediate surroundings
life would be less draining
sadly, there is no foreseeable solution to this issue
therefore, i suggest you grab a box of chocolates
and some tissues

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Trust

i have spun this web
with words unsaid
upon a bed of sorrow

love ne’er ebbs
though in her stead
i dread to face
the wakeless morrow

broken vows of death’s departing
spoken with a silver tongue

cloaked in shards
from shattered hearts
enshrouded by the blackened sun

seconds fall at fevered pace
as life does from this land of lust

where all intentions turn to waste
and hurt is what we earn for trusting

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