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APRIL-JUNE 2007
06.30.07 - 8:50PM PST >>
was gonna be basketball
cigarettes are bad
and how many words make a novel
as the presidential hopeful gets the first nail
claiming jesus in his life
as the columbine collects the sugar for fuel
in my vision of the future
fearing the dystopian dark side
writing for the illumination to stop to fight
raging at the fools suffered with an alcoholic drink
and a meerschaum pipe
we got out before the flood this time
like to see you try that in phoenix
like to see you destroy my album of the point again
warped as i am
writing poetry
about politics and being ten
|
06.28.07 - 11:30PM PST >>
the ring of fire
this is where you come and give me another kiss
though you would have laughed at my folly
the terrorism of being smug
and the thought that yes
you feed that which seeks to destroy you
there is no such thing as what i want
you gotta pick one thing or the other
the beatles and soundgarden channel
paul mccartney apple ads
chris cornell sings michael jackson
i wanna be sedated
i wanna cry a thousand times for the same thing
because some things don't change
even if most things do
_________
my story, "poor writer, beautiful stripper," the first thing that ever appeared on misteradiant in march of 2005 in the waikiki hostel room on a 1935 remington portable typewriter, was recently published in a magazine called "swallow" from san francisco. the publisher wrote to me and said that it was for sale at city lights bookstore. that is ferlinghetti's store where kerouac and ginsburg and burroughs were first sold. my story is on page three. city lights read it and put it up. it is a big thing. these guys are my heroes. they're all dead but lawrence and my words share the same shelves as their new works once did. i am humbled. |
06.26.07 - 10:53PM PST >>
finally i wrote something half-assed
"welcome to the new misteradiant.com folks. i am your guide, dr. trent reker. my doctorate was bestowed upon me by the universal life church. they gave me an honorary doctorate in metaphysics when i sent them my novel a few years ago.
misteradiant.com is my journey. since i began, i have seen hawaii and austin, new orleans and katrina. i've chronicled a life of sex and drugs, prostitution and drunkenness. this is the blog of a fictional character named misteradiant. most of it is true but sometimes misteradiant is more henry chinaski than charles bukowski. my real life is not always motorcycles and hurricanes. although it seems like it, sometimes. where i will go and what will happen in the next few months, i cannot be sure."
i wrote that eight and one half months ago, in october, 2006. since then, it was indigo getting a job in baltimore, maryland. we were not going together. i stayed in texas, leaving our home in san antonio for houston, where my 2002 honda vtx 1800cc custom motorcycle was waiting for me. she was released by an old business associate who held it ransom for shit i quit doing for him. i quit designing for him and his custom chopper shop. i had created a website and t-shirts for him and maintaining the relationship was more than i was able to do when we were in hawaii with indigo stripping and me working as nighttime security for the hostel we lived in.
anyway, since i wrote those two paragraphs above, i separated from the thing i love most in all my life and drove most of what we owned to a houston storage facility to live with a friend who assured me that i would be able to stay with him and his girlfriend in her family mansion next door to jeffrey skilling. yes, the former ceo of enron convicted of felonies that have him in prison until at least 2019. well, the job never panned out and his girlfriend kicked me out within three weeks.
but i had my bike back. my buddy did help me get her road-worthy again by replacing all the fluids and putting in a new battery. i had my own wheels for the first time since august, 2004. i left houston after bowrrowing money from my mom and a biker friend and set up a place to stay in a two-bedroom apartment in south austin. the friend that set it up for me told me that my new roommate was "violently funny." i should have asked her to elaborate, but i knew that the answers were not going to be what i wanted to hear. it was the only choice i had. my roommate was a burning man burnout who spend every dollar on her drugs while her 9 year old son was missing. i didn't know she had a son when i moved in, much less that she hadn't known where he was for days before i showed up. to top this shit sundae off, within 24 hours i was on the phone to the relatives of the father of her missing child, who had the power in their own name, and who were about to shut it off. her bill was about three hundred dollars. there goes your rent from me, bitch. then the notices from the manager started getting tacked on the door.
meanwhile, indigo was supposed to be in baltimore working for an ad agency. trouble? you'd think we've got trouble enough just by my unemployed ass living in a shithole with people who sniffed ether as i nurtured a nervous breakdown. you'd think that would be enough but you'd be wrong. the job from baltimore called indigo as she was in her car with her dog, packed to the ceiling with stuff, driving through tennessee with her ex-husband in his jeep behind her with her daughter and more belongings. the job told her that they had re-hired the person who vacated the position that became the one they offered indigo. there was no job any more.
i have to do something. this isn't working.
indigo took her daughter to live with ganny, indigo's mom in rural pennsylvania an hour north of baltimore. in two weeks she came back to texas to live with her best friend from high school, who she once dated and who lived with us in south austin six months earlier with his now ex-girlfriend, who stole approximately $500 from us in change we had saved in a five mountain dew 2-liters. we called that change "our wedding fund." indigo said she was coming to visit and seek work while staying with him north of austin in round rock. his name is beers.
i got the fuck out of the shithole i landed in by finding a job and getting a room in a house in round rock. i hoped indigo would end up coming back, whether this was really just a visit or if she would stay, i didn't know, but that she would come back to stay one way or another, i prayed for. i had nowhere else to go but to stay in central texas. i got a place up in round rock because i would be closer to her. she had done that for me after katrina when she got a place in south austin. it was where i was staying when we split two days after we escaped new orleans.
i was also about ten miles from my job at central texas harley davidson. i had been hired in the custom department next door, at a metric bike shop called woods fun center but i got a phone call from the harley shop the same day and on my way to my new job on the first day, i went to the harley shop to find out more about that call. they said great things about making forty grand a year. they were paying me seven bucks an hour plus commission next door. i figured to make 2k a month there if i was lucky. i could make ten grand more selling harleys, i thought. the money blinded me. i was also fooled. it was apparent within a month that selling harley davidsons was not only not my calling, and that the managers were the worst kind of used-car-type salesmen. i would not be able to do it much longer. i went back to the honda shop and started to work at getting that job offer back. christmas had passed and it was a shitty time of the year to be selling motorcycles. but woods sold many brands of bikes, plus atv's and small boats. people hunt in the winter. they buy parts. maybe the guys they hired for the holidays, maybe some of them suck and somebody is about to get fired. exactly. they had gone though this before, losing a guy to the flash next door. they wanted to get a guy back. the parts manager was going to make a few changes and would hire me in early february.
i cannot tell you about the drama at the house where i rented my room besides saying that my male roommate moved in his girlfriend and their autistic child right after i moved in. he was abusive to her and there was a fight between us. there were police and warrants and a hole in the wall and objects stolen. there were lies and i was accused but ultimately found innocent and he was forced to move.
indigo left texas to go back to pa and was back within a week. she was going to bar school and staying with beers. her daughter was with her and attending the local grade school.
that's what i'm talking about. it was a simple thing we hoped for. getting indigo back in college was too far ahead. we just needed jobs. i had one i was barely hanging onto, but only had to do it until they called from woods. things were still tough, but we were fed. i got to see indigo once a week on average, sometimes twice. she rarely stayed the night. although we took a night in a nice hotel in south austin with a whirlpool tub and a shower that had heads coming out of the walls in a circle with a stereo inside. she went to central market and bought a fancy dinner we heated in the microwave. she bought deserts. we drank and smoked and made love and watched a great television and slept in a huge, incredibly comfortable bed. that was our night and it re-affirmed our commitment to each other.
i was about to have a simple job doing something i like, dealing with customizing motorcycles, and my home life was settling down. the owner of the house had kicked out the asshole and brought in a kid who chewed tobacco, drove a ford, was a hunter and fisherman and who worked at a sporting goods store. his name was levi. he was all right. sometimes the three of us would stand in the kitchen, drinking cheap beer, bullshitting. then my landlord had his house foreclosed two days into february. i had just paid my rent. it was a snidely whiplash deal with his mortgage company. it had happened even before i moved in six weeks earlier when they told him everything was cool. he had been late but my money when i moved in was to have saved him. by the time he found out, the house had already been sold at auction and he had one week to vacate.
fuck. i have to do something. this isn't working. again.
then i called my dad. for the first time in fifteen years. i could write 100,000 words about that. but it is getting late.
now we are in phoenix. we are putting a lot of money into the car indigo bought in texas without consulting me at all. it's cost us four grand to keep it running since february because she bought a piece of shit. she has in a training class at a fred astaire dance studio for nine weeks. within two we will know if it will turn into a job. i work as a web designer in scottsdale for a 40 year-old gay man who brokers deals between banks and shady online merchants like gambling and porn sites. it's a very casual gig, actually, but i am not challenged as a designer. we are living in my father's home, fixing and paying off our car, and even doing dental work for indigo, who had really bad teeth. like holes in the front of them bad. we have new clothes and the punk kid is going to two summer camps, one for cooking and one at the zoo. i went to phoenix suns playoff games and sat in the 6th row. my father has an incredible house, filled with oil paintings and sculptures of bronze and glass. we have a swimming pool and a jaccuzzi and beautiful surroundings while we fix cars and teeth.
soon it will change. we will have our own place and we won't have a pool and expensive art. we will be happy.
thanks for hanging in there, folks. i haven't been here much but i know some of you still come by every day or two. if there is one thing you have found reading misteradiant.com since it began in march, 2005, it is that everything changes. i might tell you to fuck off again and reduce my readership to three. i might find success with "shoot forth thunder." indigo might not get the dance instructor gig. phoenix might lose power from a dust storm of biblical proportions. i might have to ride my motorcycle in it. maybe none of these things. probably. but whatever happens, i'll lay it down here for the few that are amused by it. i hope my story makes your day better somehow.
|
06.24.07 - 06:52PM PST >>
drinking bathtub-stirred buttmuch gargle juice
they call them stabbing thoughts and you become me
so many times i start with a song
with a rhythm and harmony
nothing unique here to see folks
moveon.org
it's fake
everything
politics especially the teenage boy with black eyeliner said
what is real?
how can we in good conscience vote for people we are sure lied to us?
that's what you said
maybe you're compassionate and conservative
and a hypocrite
sometimes
maybe you are someone else or you wouldn't be here
stone temple pilots of mayan altar carvings
speak within the psyche of the firebird
the phoenix
of it's eggs tattooed upon like the arms of a hot rod chick
of her betty page haircut of rhythm and harmony
crying out for bread from the sky
as your twinkle toes orgasm in the midnight moonlight
i am your man stabbing memories of the killer ocean breeze and the desert heat with each thrust
and grasp of your neck
talk myself crazy and shoot to kill upon my knees
praying to run no more
but to move with purpose
because there is a difference
between north beach in san francisco and come together over me
rhymes with trees or families and mystical import
where we become less than we used to be if we aren't careful
aging is one thing
shining is another
because it always comes down to the sun
experiencer of humanity!
god
creating sentience in a lower dimension to experience oneself
i wonder if i ever accidentally did that
darned quantum mechanics
always getting in the way
you don't throw your time away
it's more important than that
it's contracting some day
no matter what we do
unless we become like god
i wonder if there is comedy where god is
if it is dark or light
sunstorm ovary come to destroy us all
directed by the guy who did that action film everyone liked
combing it back on a flathead indian burial ground
where the glaciers have all melted and hooray we get 35 miles per gallon!
like we could ever live long enough to create a ritual we perform when the sun begins to grow and destroy us
like we could not kill ourselves out of disrespecting our mom
stupid male god against nature
because how many billionaire oil corporation heads profess to be christian?
how many of them support george bush?
that the lord might send me some sign
they call them stabbing thoughts
some songs rhyme some don't
|
06.21.07 - 11:54PM PST >>
daytona
"daytona. if i ever had another daughter, that's what i'd name her. daytona."
my father told me the name of a girl he wishes he might have had after sarah. he has a punk kid now. he has an indigo. he has strong and beautiful names of girls who love him. but daytona is a dream of the girl he could have had but chose not to. she would be the girl that would be his blood. he cannot have that now, but once, he could have. cathy wanted a child with him. i could have 22-year old sister. instead, sarah is dead as i listen to a song he plays me by chris rea. he had years to think about this before he heard the song and named her, named his new dream. most things i worry about, some of them happen. most of them don't, but some, they do.
"next week is the first test of the last two." i stick my tongue out at her. "take that," i say without words, "i listen."
these are the things that happened tonight. things like this happen every week at the radiant house. i am still father radiant, but there is a grandfather radiant and his wife, modern grandmother radiant. yes. the punk kid said grandmother radiant was a "modern grandma." she don't bake no cookies, she deletes them from her hard drive. she's a modern grandma with a lexus suv. she's jewish. isn't that so fucking cool? for the two of you who have read everything i've ever laid down here, stuff that i deleted from 27 months ago, that are published in many compilations registered with the library of congress, you know that i write about the old testament. you know about jesus and lucifer. you understand the mythological memes and the quantum knowledge of witnessing and changing outcomes just by being there, watching. reading, i only hope you empathise for the parallels of your own life. some things i know and some things i don't.
ever watch that show? the john from cincinnati show? it's cool. see god? yes. in everything. all the time. i am mystified by what i see. i ride a motorcycle 22 miles a day. that isn't a bad commute because it only takes me 23 minutes each way. it's 110 degrees.
i got something in the mail today. it is a magazine published in san francisco called "swallow." on page three i am published with my story, "poor writer, beautiful stripper." it is the first thing i wrote that became this website. if you were not here seven or eight months ago, you have never read it. i wrote an email to the publisher, a transvestite:
i got the magazine today. thanks for sending it. thanks also for putting my story on page three. i don't have every email i've sent to you, and i cannot recall if i told you anything of when i wrote that story. i was living in a hostel with my fiancée in waikiki. we had what was called a "semi-private room." we had our bed behind a door for privacy but we shared the bath and kitchen with two other beds in the main room. i wrote "poor writer, beautiful stripper" on a 1935 remington portable typewriter. when i wrote it, i really liked it. it had been a very long time since i wrote and longer since i did it on a typewriter. i decided to re-affirm my life with my desire to write. since then, i spent many months doing it every day. i was published in four magazines and got my own book since that affirmation. lately though, i am not writing so much. not getting published as much, either. thanks for sending it now and reminding me of my affirmations. that piece means a lot to me and i am glad you were the first to put it in print...
for those of you who have stuck around here and are wondering when my book is being published, shoot forth thunder is going to be for sale next month, if i am to believe my publisher, reactor press of san francisco. it is only supposed to cost three bucks, maybe less, and they even let me throw together something to create the cover. i put some info on my books page.
for those of you who are from or visit san francisco, ever go the the green apple on clement in the richmond? you ought to.
|
06.20.07 - 12:17AM PST >>
nothing in particular
what happened here was off the radar
let's go get the hookers
let's burn off our tattoos in the sun
in the desert screaming for the day when it rained gently from morning to moon
come to the new orleans aftermath
drink a hurricane
or if that's too painful a hand grenade
funny how much iraq and new orleans coincide
neither are america
they are forsaken and used
like the spouse you slap and expect to fuck later
or at least mix you a drink
walking solemnly in the dust
covered in it with sweat
the bird flies and eats bugs
it squaks at other birds who ignore it
sleeping as they are
we fry chicken
unaware of gasoline prices
and spilt milk
and tax exemptions
and time
|
06.17.07 - 09:52PM PST >>
basketball forum
PERIODIC REMINDER THAT YOU FUCKERS ARE CRAZY:
you fuckers are crazy if you entertain a post from some nobody on a realgm board as having a glimpse of a window to escape from in a dark room built by paul panks.
the "moderator" wrote that, "It is very common fact that marion/amare have been at each other's throat this year." a common fact, eh, fuckhead? "each other's throat," huh? like they've got one throat between the two of them. what a shit-dipped dicknose.
and some guy who is so tarded he's retarded and named theGreatRC wrote:
We give them KG
Phoenix gives us: Marion, Barbosa, Diaw ..#24, ATL first 2008
like we'd give three of our seven "starters" for one kg. what a urine-soaked asshat.
now in more concentrated portions! buy one, get one FREE! but wait, there's more!
the suns would lose 22.9 points per game, 4 rebounds per game, and 6.4 assists in that deal. yeah, i see steve kerr doing that. right after that vision i see paris hilton wearing the mostly decomposed flesh of princess di, waving frantically to everybody but nobody is paying attention. it is not extra flowers. it should be. that's because paris is a skank in her own flesh, adding decomposing flesh to her is like watching your parents get jiggy with it without clothes. yes, it's funny, but it's not funny "ha ha" and it kinda makes you want to vomit.
some are even suggesting that we must have traded amare. i'll leave the idiocy of that notion alone.
in the jiggy bar, new orleans, 4:15 a.m. this morning:
"this supposedly happened last night."
"really?"
there was a pause between them and they each remembered reading something about hunter suicide thompson and how that would be a great name for a rock band. the name of their first album, they read, could be "bodies from the rubble," and will be mostly love songs in d minor, with a protest song about freedom with a chorus that sings:
"the ancient love of nature
to propagate
regenerate
another being to be abused
and taught how to kill!"
the men did not speak their thoughts during this moment of coincidence but after a while of sizing each other up, they continued talking about the reason they met.
"now i see why the suns got kg," johnny whispered as he leaned forward, "and we didn't hear about it all day."
"shhh," says the mysterious stranger named revprodeji, a dark man dressed like a priest in black and red with ipod speakers in his ears. he's working on his master's and looks around with what we can only assume is a conspiratorial look etched into the lines of his hidden face. reverend prodigy for sure. there bar is empty but for them.
johnny depp continued, "the reason we didn't hear about it is that IT NEVER HAPPENED, FUCKTARD!"
BLAM! BLAM!
birds take flight from the tops of roofs and the faint morning light upon the building could have been a new moon for all the men in the dark room built by paul panks cared. the moderator was dead for being a douchebag and for repeatedly saying he's going to lock the thread as it grew to five pages. he lays slumped across the bar.
"what a shit-dipped dicknose with a coupon for more shit-dipping in his pocket," johnny tells the bartender, "he was just on his cell phone text messaging a friend about it when i met him." he walks over and reaches into the dead man's rear pocket and says, "the coupon's got a gold stamp on it!" johnny laughs and spits on the back of the dead man's head, who suddenly jumps up wearing clown makeup with a big brown nose with his arms in the air singing, "'cause i'm a liar! a liar! i'll rip your heart out, i'll burn your soul!"
a disco ball appears and green and blue lights swim in the room. the pussycat dolls are all on heroin and slide down from the ceiling to start pole dancing with the jerseys of basketball stars painted upon their naked bodies. william s. burroughs walks to the dj booth and says into the microphone, "we're all living in a world of morons. how you choose to deal with those morons is how you determine whether or not in life you end up being happy or miserable."
this makes me happy. you guys amuse me. you're so easily fooled. this place is a wonderful comedy.
ring! ring!
"hello. no, henry. nope. i am not condoning violence. it's just funny to me that a dead man would rise looking like a clown singing your song. yes. that, and i watched the final episode of twin peaks the other day. yes. cool. thank you. bye."
wormwood, wormwood, wormwood.... it is you whom i am most disappointed in. you are taking the word of some realgm forum member and some relatively anonymous "moderator." they have no connections and no sources. they're fans like us trying to be big boys. the "moderator" locked the thread because it could, "damage the source." what a load of steaming crap. they've been posting for seven hours like they broke the story with their 12,000 page views while the front page of the sports section of azcentral is still about kobe's trade story and espn has a story about the draft as their main article.
as others here have said, it is improbable that these schmucks know before the likes of bucher, stein, the bitter dude in new york, and their ilk.
don't believe this rumor. you've been had if you did and i mock you.
|
06.03.07 - 10:47PM PST >>
all will be forgiven
back fat
STARRING
john frusciante, the entire cast of every star wars movie and bill shatner
when the world ends in 2012 i fear more than terrorism and being enslaved by my government
i want to tattoo FREEDOM OR DEATH on the front of my neck
say a prayer for indian larry
punk rock reggae is in
even though they're 50
like you will be
when you're beautiful in the future
from the dream i had of you
rhyming with the song word for word
like the best part of being a prophet
knowing you are blessed by god somehow
knowing the universe
knowing its pain of the end
knowing its death
and living for such a small portion of it
screaming at the top of your lungs
to your favorite song by the beatles
kiss goodnight
the pretty queen to be reminds me of my ex-fiancée
thank god i love her
she deserves to live forever
let her keep her head in five years
let us dream
not hanging from anything but blue vines and red with wine
and orange trees and soda pop ice cream
in 2012 when the world ends somehow
i seek to define it
to be a prophet
to make it beautiful or everybody dies
stupid messianic complex
pop pills pep drills bouncing one two three four
for the love of god and your precious advice
choose a door
johnny cash and sid vicious should have a beer
for the love of god
even a poet gets it right sometimes
the one song from that band that was worth a shit
even nostradamus and jeremiah and the fleur de lis
prayers and signs for protection
dirty knees and flowers for the day of the promised land
the day when we wake
like birthdays and being born again a buddhist christ under a tree smiling in five years to the newspaper guy
who really likes counting crows and reggae
you'll do what you're told
when you give men and women the power to make you bend to their will
regardless of the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil
which told us of free will
like the rock man moving with a voice as if the water and the wind could create sentience
as if i could dream anything before it happened
prophet of god
wondering why you died to live again
if not to help the world
reading the dumbass heiress fuck news
unaware of the powers moving about her
so who gives a fuck if gasoline is one-third of what they pay in europe
we are the ones fighting the war
they don't need it
they create self-sustaining fuels
stupid fucking amerikans
legalize hemp and make biofuel
let co-ops incorporate and sell it regionally
so an oil war against muslims isn't the headline in 2012
i could never be a whore
swing a salsa dance to be something more
as things get better for us
how can i forget everyone like me who is satisfied working for wages that benefit liars who steal freedom
because the 1080i widescreen helps as i sip the wine of the vine planted where they tossed the queen's head
instead we go to bed with the hook to the song about the creek and the blood of your crossed steeples
toppled by the end of the world
shaken
radiant
flooding
in the smoky sky of the future if you remain such fucking idiots
there are other alternatives to obama and clinton
her pussy must weigh a ton
it must drip diamonds of promises
disguising lies
for south american drugs that could be grown here for fuel
and what the fuck are you talking about
woman
it is your fault we have dick cheney
your state of pride in your rights
birth of the death of freedom
you know who you are
tattooed upon my neck
to be the biggest badass
to be a prophet
and live forever with all of you
praying you get it
because they've got something right
even though they wish to enslave us with it
let us set the world free
french revolution
american revolution
we must be the country to do it twice
and still rule the world at the end of each time
georges make shit happen when they're president bookends
growling war from the man
are you really gonna make me do this
take my first punch at the guy in the crowd instead of hitting the bully that just kicked me in the balls?
stupid fucking amerikans
god i am such an idiot sometimes
thanks for still loving me
for giving me my many blessings
for making me good looking and angry
she once said to me
"you were wearing leather carrying your motorcycle helmet and you were angry
what was there not to like?"
she sang in the church choir and toured the united states
she had incredible breasts
she deserves to be happy
singing
forgetting
always forgetting
turbodog blue light becomes red every time mister officer
mister elaborate wagnerian dramatist tying it all together
for the three people in the history of the world that will get every line
hook and sinker
punk kid and stinker
all you zombies show your faces
floating in the southern water
i need a radio station
to wear the memories of being fifteen at my father's home pajamas
marijuana brownies and a gallon of white wine
as christopher cross sings
aye oh let's go!
i am not the only one
mindfuck amerika
i am not the only seer of this vision
if you are here you understand and honor poems sang to the decibels of rock guitars
cursing and angry
motherfuckers in 2012
with fake tits and asses posing for fifteen minutes
for a photo nobody but jealous friends can see
album of the year
in your mind where my anger never takes away my love for you
stupid oj simpson
fucking ruined it
you deserve to be waiting for the bus like we did
distraction laundry act without your pants off
can i get you something to eat baby?
this song sucks
there's no hook and they were famous
yes
famous for sucking
hi
now fuck off
you can't make 2012 rhyme with anything
|
05.09.07 - 09:41PM PST >>
she was a hoot, sweet, cute, hot!
stoned by heretics blaming me
throwing things
a woman like athena
like someone you knew once
or wanted to
it's okay to want to fuck your sister
she's hot when she's thin
she's a six-foot tall amazon of blame
of kicking them when they're down
of lacking apology
she is cursed for never being sorry
she is on fire
he jumps up high and gets kicked in the achilles
absent breath for the moment you hold it in
flying to the sun
i remember
i know where i am
mine is not his sister
mine is the friend of my old lover
double the blowjobs
double the fun
i hate work
it keeps me from what i do for fun
from writing and doing what i feel is really important
but i have a family to provide for
i chose love
and still get called selfish
all about me
when all about me
would be a poor single writer with a motorcycle in a room with a typewriter and hundreds of books
i look to you to just know
because nobody but you could
write a poem to say something profound
to feed a part that feels more important than most
not more than you
you are reading this
thanks
trying to lose weight to fit back into the things i wore a year ago
like the prometheus wings i fashioned with paper and alcohol and fire breath
blowing
it's coming
a book
the weather dream of al gore
spoken by the lips of a child
i can only feed her naive enthusiasm
the strongest muscle in my body is my heart
though it spasms sometimes
made out of meat
the dork who can't come up with their own thing and has to follow
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05.04.07 - UNKNOWN >>
found on planet arculon five
some things weigh heavier on me than they do for most people
dreams
suppose they come true
words spoken to hurt don't just go away
dreaming and praying can only make you a better man
not perfect
to be the perfect man
that is to contemplate something greater than god
oh humble me
cast out thy hypocrite and send me a song
dreaming and praying and saying something new
like jesus was before he died
before mohammad became a businessman oil monger
cheese from wisconsin or from california
it's the same commercial
some things weigh heavier than others
wind and rain and dust and smog reign heavily like the scorpions in 1990
wind and rain and dust and smog leave their marks upon my face as i ride into them at five o'clock
i remember the thunder and lightning
then the silent
swirling sky
bye bye baby bye bye
it's the desert for you now
scared as you've become of what was predicted to happen some day
just not today
as i sit by the pool contemplating heavy things like wind and rain and dust and smog and hurricanes and earthquakes and things i've lived through guns
drugs and motorcycles hurtling bodies fifty feet into beverly hills where they saved me and fuck
there is always a fuck
or nobody would be here
and this poem would not exist
stupid quantum science
be more funny
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04.27.07 - 10:24PM PST >>
i've got a bomb and i want this plane to take me to prague!
surgeon general's warning: copious amounts of alcohol was consumed in writing this transmission. do not attempt to copy. misteradiant is a trained professional and his antics should not be spoken of at home.
i came and saw that somebody voted no. i remarked to my love about it. then i scrolled down and saw andy state, "i voted no," and i looked to her smiling, "oh, it was andy. a no is a yes from andy."
as of this posting, a whopping 12 say yes, 1 wants to be on the drunken amateur report, and smartass andy said no in spite, not in direct response to the poll itself. he made the poll some other poll. i hate that and anyway, that is what i do. i sabotage threads. that's my gig! fucker.
fuck is funny. fuck fuck fuck.
"poetry is something more philosophical and more worthy of serious attention than history." - aristotle
back to the rest of your post, andy.
i do not whine. i lament. i have remarked on this site that it is run in a truly democratic fashion, where one vote counts. there might be moderators, but don't confuse that with meaning phxsuns.net is a republic, like our country. on this website we have a democracy where truly one vote counts. moderators vote to ban a poster, and that's about it; like the vice-president casts the tie-breaking vote in congress. having hung with sose while riding our motorcycles, drinking beer, and watching suns games, i have found more about the dude who started this lovely mess, and that this is a democracy is an inescapable conclusion he does not refute. in my post above, i lamented that so many people visited this thread and four actually voted. one of those votes was mine. i saw posts from paulpanksdeux and desertcoast and figured at least one more vote. that left two votes for 50 visitors. no fucking wonder george bush is president.
granted, i bet some of those views were from a few people checking results, like desertcoast and me, but two votes in 50 visits? i checked it a few times, not 20.
if i could go back in time and put that other option up, "i don't care," it would be wasted time travel and the god of time, a powerful being by my estimation, would disapprove. it would be wasted because the ones who don't care are obviously too lazy to even publically register that thought. they don't care or they are afraid. 20 or 30 people read it and did not even click twice to vote. that is careless.
those people have no valid cries when they feel moderators are either draconian or too laissez-faire. they have no opinion worth hearing when another poster has crossed whatever line they drew themselves. don't get me started on their suns opinions. do they even post? probably not. if they do, fuck them. they don't vote. their opinion does not count. their voice is muted. whether we do one more drunken amateur report or not, they have no opinion. no wonder brand new jeans have wear and holes in them and cost twice as much as a new pair of levi's. they are a metaphor for the prevailing selfishness of our society. jeans as a metaphor for those who pay more to look like shit. this kind of person will take the time to register to belong, as they did to become a member of this site, but they do little to nothing to help the community grow and offer new things. they register to belong out of fear of being alone. quite the psychic dichotomy, being self-centered but having no idea why you are motivated to do what you do.
"the unexamined life is not worth living." that was written 2400 years ago. we have so much more to examine now, and we cry out for our feelings.
these new people post to express their opinion, not to support those whose labor provides the architectural foundation of the house of phxsuns.net. it's about them, not anybody else! hooray, me! i'll show you shameless self-promotion. you are reading this on my blog. now go away. you had the option to choose to be on the DAR and promote your views. but you don't vote, of course you are too lame to involve yourself to offer an idea or be heard. you are a sheep. you belong with the other sheep. you feel comfy there. go on now, shoo.
my lament turns to anger because those who have come to this page and did not vote are the beneficiaries of the work that desertcoast, sose, sharkscott, lazarus, paulpanksdeux, cap and i put into making the drunken amateur report happen. they pay nothing and when asked to contribute by voicing an opinion that would take one or two seconds of their time, they'd rather not.
no is an option. so were two others if someone wanted to contribute. wishful thinking on my part.
therefore andy, to summarize my lament: "o that i were a god, to shoot forth thunder upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!" thanks mister shakespeare, you rock hard.
heh heh. that's what she said. heh heh.
and i love ladmo's comments here. when he starts using spell check, he's gonna bring one of those copters down by just staring at it.
"when angry, count a hundred; when very angry, swear." - mark twain
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04.20.07 - 11:02PM PST >>
the tv won't make it go away
sling this fear of distance and time upon your back
over like a hobo knapsack dream of freedom
of trains and highways like interstate ten and montana fires with wind
blowing
south
moving toward the beginning or the end
a thousand drowned floaters feels more true to me
than thirty dead by angry south korean guy
where were his parents
where were you
when the world turned it's back on a city
and a boy with two handguns only exemplifies our dirt
how we ostracize
how we castrate the poor
how we ignore
how we drive to starbucks with four bucks to waste
as the lonely dream of the man on the corner seeking something to do
someone to pay him
for anything
blows away
higher with fire and wind
summer is coming
the dust and the heat
sweating remembering the summer in new orleans
that humidity made me feel something
like i was living somewhere important
not in an oven
in a town two years old
dry
with tall trees that grew somewhere else
sling this fear of distance and time upon your back
of driving a thousand miles straight through
with your kid and your dog and the most important things you own
and trust that where you are going is better
summer and fire and wind
summer and tired again
summer is coming and today it was cool
leather jacket
motorcycle
beer
slap this memory down with photos of the past
she opens herself to show you her love
now
not so much
drink this memory away with your waistline expanding
like war and talk of more
like less tv show
and extra commercials
i am in love
and it hurts
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04.14.07 - 12:10AM PST >>
after going to see suns vs. lakers live
smoking the pipe i bought nine months ago and took until now to get tobacco into. my pipe is calm and white turning honey brown from turkey where they farm the meershaum she is made of. she is mine with beautiful paisley carving and imperfect. i bought her at a head shop. best head shop i've ever been in with comics and tarot cards and smiling attendees. the pipe reminds me that i am almost 40. don't feel like it. feel like drawing near like water fearing the tidal wave like it's been working so long at this shore for nothing but sand and it can feel the power coming. it's coming. it's moving again. why must i lose to gain something better? is my writing better than love? i light the pipe and smoke. all i write about is love. what will i do without it?
stupid moth. where were you yesterday before i turned on my light? i catch you with my hand and you become nothing but dust and a husk of what was once wings, flying. you are drawn to the light. pure somehow even though you are so dirty in my palm. moth. what greek poet saw you and created prometheus before he, like me, smashed you and threw you to the ground?
i had a beutiful thing to write this morning. i spoke it in my head in the shower. the shower to make me ready for work. it was sad and it was forgotten. washed away with god. washed my head clean and dripped down my body kneeling with my soul bright i pray. it was something like a dream of what i know i can be, what i really am, but what i am not. i am reeling. i am riding in dust. wiping it from my lips, spitting it from my mouth, crying it from my eyes. the dust in the wind a metaphor for me. mud. cursed as a child by an angry neighbor.
six months from 40. angry. maybe like the fucker pissed at me on my big wheel. he called me mud. i was playing like i was captain kirk. my friends called my plastic ride the enterprise. three wheels land a starship.
the common man is at home watching his bubble screen tv
he seeks to belong
he seeks to dream with a million others right now
a woman you can never touch singing a song
wearing the jersey of your favorite player
pissing outside under bronze wind chimes on a flower pink and white
regurgitate what was put into you
alcohol and ice
and carbohydrates
i am through
one more moth seeking the light
one more dreamer of something to make me fly
a game brings me home
years before i ever returned
older and wiser and wishing to speak no more.
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04.02.07 - 10:47PM PST >>
stupid job
remember sitting in a dark room on a rainy day two months ago
cold austin winter grey
quit my job selling harley davidsons
drinking scotch and writing poetry
better than this
remember houson and san francisco
honolulu and the tree farm argument over money
mink ranch from my dead sister
timothy leary's home in beverly hills
hollywood alleyway
santa cruz honeymoon
fishing off mexico as dolphins swim about the boat
remember new orleans
walking out of katrina holding tears
because the girls were crying
hitchhiking
i had to be strong
remember to never give up
life is better than this
it will be better again
soon
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04.02.07 - actually written 5 days ago but i've been busy >>
forget you and the sun you rode in on
the dream is harder to realize when i find things i must do to get there make me cry
as if i could weep the fire out
some day it will all be over
then we can begin to release the past
release the hurt of anger and a hurricane
release the nightmares that wake us from sleep
release the lies that hold us to the ground
without a plow to dig the earth
hungry
and those who left us there
who keep us from rest
never know the madness spilling in snot and alcohol
with dust storms blowing sneezes
raging
fuck this shit said the poet to the boss
you don't know about love or loss
you don't know about fear and dreams
you work for money without shining
your dull eyes recall the last thing you bought
my wings melt in the sun
i come swooping down
remembered
dreaming
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