Sitting, taunting me,
With your pseudo-masculinity,
You think you’re cool, on the edge, out far,
But I see several of you,
On the same subway car,
You believe that you’re rad,
But it couldn’t be clearer,
You live in a proverbial house,
Without a proverbial mirror!

A review of Neil Young’s Paradox

Pass the mushrooms…
….and the hashish cakes,
Fire up the moon,
We’re showing introspective outertakes,
And not a flash too soon,
Time bending forwards, bending backwards,
Night in the afternoon,
Sweet peyote, morning glory,
Fire up the moon……

This film is like a compressed Tom Robbins novel, and that’s high fucking praise in my books.

“When seeds are outlawed, outlaws will save the seeds.”

We’re Not In Kindergarten

I’ll be here for you,
Not there for you,
I’ll show you that I care for you,
But don’t ask me to copy, cut, or paste,
I’m pretty sure that’s not the answer,
To either Alzheimer’s or cancer,
Plus it’s tedious and in rather poor taste,
I’ll do things that I should,
I’ll fight the fight that’s good,
I’ll call or PM, to see you’re on the mend,
I’ll do those things that are real,
Based upon the way I feel,
And not because it’s another Facebook trend.


Her history, she said,
Was one to dread,
Which she did.
Kept things hid.
Too much to feel,
She couldn’t deal,
And so instead,
She’d find,
With an open mind,
Her legs could spread,
Let others tread,
In her secret garden,
She’d grant them pardon,
To have their way,
So she could say,
She’d kind of feel,
Though not for real,
But it was a start,
It’d plant the seed,
So she’d grow to need,
To be truly freed,
To spread her heart.

Everybody Thinks They Know

Everybody thinks they know.

There must be something.

Try it this way.

Say it that way.

They’ll respond to this.

They’ll respond to that.

“Just give it time.”

Sooner or later they’ll come around.
Just don’t give up. You can never give up.

Don’t give up?

Who the fuck do you think you are?

Give up?

What the hell does that even mean?

No matter what I do. Anywhere, anytime,

They are in my thoughts constantly.

I’ve reached out, so many times, and been slapped down, again, and again.

I have a right to survive as well.

If you want to offer me help, and support,

An ear to listen, then fine.

But don’t pretend to know. Don’t speak of that of which you have no experience,

no knowledge.

Give me a hug,

But not your fucking blind ignorant hope.

My hope is chiseled. Focused.

Doled out deliberately in small doses,

for where I think it might be most effective.

At times, even after all these years,

It slips away from me,

And I find myself, against my better judgement, hoping with reckless and wild abandon.

Till I reign it in

Knowing that that way sadness lies.

I have hope, a goddamned motherlode of hope.

But I will not squander it foolishly.

It will be tempered.

It must be tempered.

Forged, and made strong in the furnace of my heart,

Able to withstand,

The time, and the journey,

No matter what the cost.

I understand never, oh yes,

from too many angles,

So don’t give me your platitudes,

Give me your shoulder, and perhaps a smile,

In the darkest times hold me,

But don’t placate me.

I know of what I speak, from the depth and breadth of my being.

Respect that, learn to just listen.

Nothing more.

Naughty or Nice?

All my nice has a little naughty,
My naughty well sprinkled with nice,

So without sounding too high and haughty, 

I recommend that you take my advice, 

Don’t be completely good or bad,

Before you commit, think thrice!

For it’s the balance twixt the two,

That gives our life its spice!

Basic Math

I suppose death is the final answer,
To the basic math that is aging.
But one lesson we are all taught,
Is Show Your Work.
How did you get there?
What was the process?
For age is not merely a solitary number,
On an otherwise blank page.
It’s the accumulation of life.
A gathering of knowledge and experiences.
One cannot move on to the next lesson,
Until one fully understands the previous one.
But most of us do not learn,
And thus we are unprepared.
We haven’t learned this formula,
But we try to move on anyway.
New knowledge is acquired,
But old lessons are not learned.
Mistakes are carried forward,
And forward.
And forward.
Until we finally realize,
Those mistakes,
All the pain and frustration they cause,
Are actually the most important part of the lesson.

How art thou crazy? Let me count the ways…

Of a picnic, thou art short of sandwiches, thus.
And in thy belfry resideth many bats.
Thy engine runneth, but hath no one behind the wheel.
Thou art a man of many cases; of head, and basket, and nut.
And verily misplaced by thee hath been thy marbles.
How lost thou art in space.
How lost is thy plot.
Away with the faerie folk thou hast flown.
In a canoe, thou art, but sadly missing the essential oars.
Thy faithful rocking chair hath deposited thee thus on the floor.
A cage of many pads is the place for thee,
Since thou believeth thyself to be a tweeting bird:
The Great Orange Crested Trump Tit.