Books, Booze and Blues

Boozehound image from dadadreams showing a dog drinking scotch.
Image borrowed from Dadadreams

John Lee Hooker says whiskey and women,
the blues man before asks for another pint.
Pour me a tall glass of that liquid summer
down the hatch and off into the night.
Pounding embers of wisdom shed into fluid form
its time to get wasted to the tune of a misfire
and the sobbing caterwauls of mans plight.
Joy measured into shared company is compounded
misery dissipates in that carefree state. .
Spider Robinson says that Callahan’s is the cure
that telepathic understanding would make us pure.
Three shots of jack and the curtains reveal
magic bullets in glass containers of sin.
Esoteric breakdown of barricades sitting strong
imagining the beauty in words as music hits the song.
Dusty lungs coughing out something foul
to the satisfaction of another cigarette horked down
sitting numb eyed in a daze that seems to follow.
Chest sits warm in dispassionate easy grace
somber living never gets you to these places
never breathing deep enough to indulge in phantom chases.
Down memory lane and into the brambles
a stumbling mess of skull fucked cobwebs
and woven disasters of recollection branches.
Drop those spiders on my spirit and proud face
its not for nothing that they call it a sad display.
But here I’ll sit until the noonday sun
calls out my moon tanned skin for daytime fun.
Polish the bottle child and don’t leave a drop
there’s a ride to be ridden this evening,
no conductor to guide us
and no idea where it stops.





Tide of Chimps

Welcomes indeed to the rising sun,

an eyepatch fucker blessed to rain heat

a tidal wave of heartless blistered air

nuclear semi-shock of exhalted explosion.

Soaked in sweat, dribbling water,

remembering whethering worse weather

and praying for that bastard to set

while pondering the insanity of sweaters.

Living like a hillbilly hodgepodge

happily met with tight stagnant air

stuck in the sky crossed room,

we are feeling less like “human”

much more like baboon.

Externaphizing

Hoping the jury is out.

I’m coming to the realization that on so many different levels I am either a remarkably calloused and demanding individual or there is a screw truly loose (several more likely) upstairs. It’s the only thing that can, or would, account for such indiscriminate moments of self indulgent burbling and behaviour as leads me to regularly overlook the concerns of those loving figures in my life. Unless I am well and truly an actual certifiable dick.


I’m even finding a flair for it in the fact that I tend to fixate on my own reactions and actions in situations – pre-emptively justifying some flagrant display of asinine “my way or the highway” choice making prowess with a fixated smile plastered in disregard on my face (which I will only later realize to my own chagrin). If I were to explore the world around me, step outside of this little glass room and observe that what I previously represented as fun was actually a brazen push off of my wife’s emotions and verbalized needs (supplanted by my own), irresponsible actions that drained coffers and put us at risk, and a worthless extension of a wonderful day into the doldrums and mire of a night huddled at opposite sides of the van.

Somewhere along the lines there is a lynchpin moment – like when I say, “wow, we are getting along great recently!” Klaxons should go off inside my head that any moment now my own self-destruct sequence just silently clicked on and started down. If I can chase back that singular moment as it happens and repetitiously drill it into my head that this is the moment where a choice can mean the validation of goodwill and genuine happiness being experienced and a continuation thereof, or disaster and a repeat of the same overplayed mistakes once again.

It seems intuitive that anyone would want to sustain positivity and goodvibes that are making themselves felt in an interpersonal dynamic – so why does my brain blank to suddenly and with seeming intent when it comes to taking the basic neccessary steps to do so? I don’t like the burned out husk of joy that is left when I don’t, no one does. If I have to be self serving enough to recognize the discomfort that the miss of that moment will bring to myself in order to identify the external impact that will precede, so be it.


I really hope I’m not just a dick. That would really be terrible.

Stuck

Stuck on,

Wash, rinse, repeat,

Stuck on,

Reading the same page.

Stuck on,

Making the same mistakes,

Stuck on,

Being stuck on.

Errr….and then words….

Composite a spectrum,

Diagnosis alternative nostrum,

Qualifier doctrine placenta,

I’d call it a kid if only it were one.

So, birthplace be lobed,

Rounded and gray matter globed,

Because words man,

Them is the things that I once loved.

Whiptail Smile – a Romance

,Burning.Woman

Whiptail fun times,

She laid back and threw that hair

Fire doesn’t have that shade,

Red on shimmer on length,

A fold on the mobius loop,

No drinks for breakfast man, reality is already soup.

She’s got a lily to her eye,

A tone to her smile,

Edge to her skullmeats,

Nothing average, not at all.

Beggars for fun,

And in a whisper,

Airy as a feather,

“Let’s do without the sorrow for awhile.”

Schizo After All

You thieving fucksticks awandering the world,

Prying eyes and solemn lies,

Whisper me that venom.

What a burn that illusion has,

God damn does it sting.

For all the moments pure and right,

I wish the voyeurs would choke on what they do at night.

I’ll sit and eat blister packs of revelation,

Fuming and screaming in pathetic consternation,

You missed the boat!

Sipping coffee in the wind,

dust kicking and battered spirit spitting,

You missed the boat!

Should have stood straight and waved goodbye,

In the end you’re a stepping stone and never mind the tears we cry,

Fucking crafting your soothing scrub to brush it all away –

Hit me with it baby, hit me with that love.

tell me when I should kneel on down,

Mercy and punish – hit me from above.

Prying eyes and solemn lies,

Whisper me that venom.

Fucking preachers of unrequested bedlam,

What does the truth cost?

All you never knew you had.

Just another animal needing tending at the publication zoo.

They say: “If you itch we’ll soothe it.”

I say: “Just don’t pretend you didn’t do it.”

For the fetal breakdowns and the mental throwdowns,

When the color was white and you said it was black,

Hold your truth son,

You might be crazy but you know you’re right.

I’ve got depths beyond what the echoes show,

Slip off to your shame and idolatry,

I’ve been a puppet before but I’ll find a way back to being me.

Ain’t no venom tastes as sweet as truth,

And in those darkest moments when you fear the something more,

You’ll find no rest,

No breath,

No smiles and no safety.

Just the shocked blue eyes of a beaten child whose heart was bent to hate.

A Divorce for the Past, Present, Future

So as something of a preface to the following let me just say that it has been an extraordinary (in both positive and negative ways) period of weeks since I last punched together something to share with the webs’ people. I had a few challenges about a month and a half back which resulted in my being asked to write a divorce letter to my “disease:….but not the quintessential “goodbye forever drugs” – but rather, towards however I envisioned that sickness which had driven me to be were it to wear a physical form. The suave smooth talking salesman, a blundering and demanding gargoyle, a bad ass mans man with a beard, a sexy woman teasing and seducing….whatever form i chose.
Hey baby you sexy thing,
Hey brother you filthy rock star.
Thank you for the stories,
Those staggering rides up with the comets,
Them epic nights rolling without pause into endless days.
Damn but we fucked well and,
Damn we sped past those pathetic sheep on the streets,
Damn we were a fireball of excitement,
A hurricane of insanity.
My sweet goddess of sin,
My destroying titan of hatred.
You blessed me,
You cursed me,
It’s time to walk away,
Sky, John, off with you and your false matrimony,
Off with this slavers collar on my finger,
Just like you spit in my face when the fun was done,
Feel the scornful gaze that your wisdom brought so many I once loved to cast upon me.
Sky, my lovely succubi, take your sinfully beautiful body,
Those promises of impossibly intense bliss that would never end,
Taste the disgust you draped me in before all I encountered.
My gruesome and powerful spirit,
My depiction of remorse,
Of emotion to be understood and chased,
My devil-may-caresofuckitallandwatchtheworldburn charmer,
John, even when you convinced me that I was doing something positive,
Always those that I wanted to hurt the least caught the brunt.
You made loving tantamount to self-inflicted emotional trauma,
Never again.
You both served your purpose, goodbye.
I divorce myself from my past including you.
From the present wherein my personality is lost in yours and all I can see and be seen as is as you made me,
From the future of which I know little,
With this freedom,
I embrace myself again to stand tall and walk with purpose and confidence to something brighter.
Where the voices are new,
The suggestions more pure,
Life lived more passionately instead of intensely.
-S

Speed It Up – Spoken Word

VERY quick spoken word – pushing for speed to grab the urgency of mania or #bipolar.

Crystal Meth

Pumped up on that chalky sunshine,

The moon is fading to another vicious morning.

Spent my hours beneath the starlight in the wind,

Lovingly hitting repeat on every action I’d begin.

Glassed eyes and withered muscles ache,

Blood thundering past a thirst impossible to slake.

The ride was hot and heavy to the top,

Until we picked up speed enough to never stop.