The Most Splendid of Days

The sky is always
so perfect.

The birds are chirping,
the clouds are making
smiley faces,
the sun
feels so warm
and peaceful.

Everything is just so
wonderfully magnificent.

This is when
death
shows us
his face.

This is when
those
that are closest
to us
are ripped
from our lives.

And everything
still looks perfect.

I don't see
how that is.

But it is.

We have no choice.

We are here
to suffer
through the
most splendid
of days.

Apocawha??

Man

often thinks

of the 

End.

Where everything is

dead

or dying

or drowning

in an endless sea

of rotting flesh

and filth.

He prepares

everyday

for this 

demise.

Completely forgetting

about how

blessed

he really is,

to be above 

dirt

and breathing

and singing 

out of his own ass.

Everything 

is perfect.

Immaculate.

His only vision

is of

the great death.

Such sights

ruin 

his life.

His family's,

even his dog's.

However,

these preparations

are short lived.

The truth is,

there is no 

end.

All time 

cannot be wasted.

Every once in awhile,

he will have to drink.

In that moment,

he'll forget,

if only 

for a moment,

about anything 

to do 

with the apocalypse.

And just simply,

enjoy his lemonade.

That's when,

God

will come down

on a golden pig

with massive wings

that will block out

the sun

and swoop down

and knock over 

his drink

onto 

his lap.

For him,

another step 

closer 

to the end.

For God,

and everyone else,

another laugh

at his expense. 

Listen to This

The dead
can hear our
thoughts.

They hear our prayers
and when we
talk to them
and say
we miss them.

This is true.

And since,
this is true,
I wonder,
what else
can they hear?

I've had some
fucked up thoughts,
some,
I have no
control over.

I can't help it.

These things just
come up
out of nowhere,
for no reason at all.

Can other's dead relatives
hear
when I cuss out
their children
and tell them to eat
garbage bags
full of shit?

Will they
use their
ghostly powers
to ruin my day
for talking shit?

Are they capable
of this?

Or am I
simply
going crazy?

The Beginning

I have worms
inside me.

Hell, we all do.

Some growing
as long as
50 feet,
and as many as
20 pounds worth,
sucking the life
out of us.

This is considered
normal
for the average
american.

Except, mine,
their inspired.

They make me dream.

In these dreams,
I'm famished,
starving for flesh.

Human flesh.

When I wake up,
I'm afraid
I'll still have
these same
cravings.

One day,
I'll be awoken
by the sounds
of my own jaws
gnawing
on my better half,
her tits
in my stomach,
and her stomach
in my mouth.

But,
this is not
my fault.

I am no cannibal.

Nor am I even a woman beater.

It's the result
of a carefully planned agenda
of the government
and the food companies.

They have been
knowingly
poisoning us
with genetically modified foods
and a daily basis
for years on end.

It's them,
who secretly
want to turn
the entire population
into zombies.

IT IS
the goddamned truth.

Don't believe me?

Aren't you hungry
for your sister's
lips?

No Winners

After a long night
of heavy drinking,
it's best advised
not
to chug wine
and proceed to
spill your guts out
on the couch.

Or so,
my lover says.

The cats too,
I suppose.

In either case,
there are precisely
zero winners
and the losers
are now covered in
what could only be called
shame.

The Second

I had
no idea
how thankful
I would be
to see
my own blood
in the sink.

Normally,
I'd be concerned
because my teeth
would feel
like they are
rotting.

Tonight,
however,
it's such a blessing.

My own blood
from my own gums
is a blessing.

The mirror even
smiles back
at the sight.

It may be
hard
for most
to fathom,
but this
is all I have,
especially after a second
dui.

The New Whipping

The best sex
I've ever had
was when
I was closest
to God.

We happened to be
in his bathroom.

He was watching us
through the window.

He rang the mission bells
to signal
to the world
that love
could be made
anywhere.

Even right
in His own
toilet.

I thought I could hear
the residual sounds
of the mission.

The whipping
of innocent
brown women and children,
who didn't know
about Him.

But then,
I realized
it was the moans
from our love making
banishing out
the ghosts
of the past.

One Fine Day

The definition for
insanity,
according to the Chinese,
is:
doing the same things
over and over,
expecting
different results.

I see this
everywhere.

People digging
deeper
and deeper
into the same hole
all of their lives.

There's no chance
of climbing out.

I can feel it
on their skin.

I can hear it
in their voices.

I can smell it,
even before
they've entered
the room.

Insanity
eating
away.

It's true,
we are
creatures of habit.

But this is
too much
to witness
everyday.

I've got to stop
looking at others
and go out
into the woods
or under some forgotten bridge
and stare
at nothing.

Nothing
doesn't mind
changing.

I can only
hope
to follow
its lead.

Starting Over

I've known
a few
unsuspecting folks
who've been involved in
the most impossible
of circumstances.

Some
might have killed
another,
while driving home,
after a perfect
drunken night.

Some
might have gotten
caught up
in the most blissful
of binges
with their soulmate.

Some
might have decided
to let out
all of their frustrations
on all the wrong people.

The list
goes on
and on.

We all
have out intentions,
most
if not
all of them,
are pure.

Still, shit happens.

We end up
hurting those
we love the most.

We end up
so far
from our dreams
it's impossible
to sleep.

Still, somehow,
we must manage
to forgive ourselves
and move on.

Knowing our flaws,
yet forgetting them,
and getting
right back
on our feet.

Right back
to our dreams.

Right back
to the beginning
of hope.

Home

It's unnerving
for me to listen
to anyone
at all anymore.

All of their lives
they've stumbled about
accepting anything
that gets planted
in their
malleable minds.

Never
do they question
their so called
beliefs
or double check
so called facts,
handed down to them
by religion,
by mass media,
by their parents,
or just by plain heresay.

As a result
of their blind faith,
I've made it my mission
to destroy their beliefs,
to defy
what they've known as
truth,
and be and do
those things
they thought
wrong
or impossible.

And despite their
evidence,
despite their
warning,
I have yet
to go insane,
I have yet
to perish,
I have not even
fallen ill,
nor have I taken
any
of their
medication.

I have only
gone deaf
to their
echoing, unnatural
voices.

I stand here
a contradiction
of society.

I want to know,
where is it
exactly
you are?

Have you
purged yourself
of the radiation and poison
you've been
force fed
all your life?

Have you revealed
the deranged and delightful
freak
inside you?

Your soul?

And looked
deep
within
that endless abyss of love?

Because
that, my friend,
is the light
at the end
of the tomb
you've been suffocating in
since birth.

That
is where
your home is.

That
is the only place
where truth
resides.

One Simple Request

What do
murderers do
when they do
nothing?

Do they ever
do
nothing?

Maybe that's why
they started
killing?

Maybe I should start
doing nothing
more often.

Maybe you should too.

Matter of fact,
I think
the whole world
should do
a whole lot of
nothing.

Don't say anything,
don't think anything,
don't do anything,
just
for one second
admire
your
life.

The Regular

The first place I
would travel to
when I croak
is the bar.

I'd plant myself
on a stool
at 6 am
and stay
till the end of
eternity.

Time
would mean
nothing
to me.

Neither would money.

I guess,
booze too.

I'd just sit there
and soak up
everybody's
last bit
of energy,
until I had enough
to manifest
right before
their blood shot eyes,
behind the bar,
naked,
with my balls
cooling
on the limes
and the tap
of the finest beer
right in
my butt cheeks.

Fellas,
this round's
on me.

The Most Beautiful Creature on Earth

I love animals,
especially my pets,
both past and present.

They have been
through it ALL
with me.

From the worst
of times,
to the best.

One such memory
snuck up on me
today.

My mother
came home one day
after work
and decided
to get it
over with.

She selected
the perfect knife
and the perfect spot.

Right
on the kitchen floor,
she began
to slice.

Cut by cut,
she tried
to end
her life.

Curious
as to what
she was doing,
our dogs
began
to surround her.

Jet, our lab,
began licking
her face,
giving her love
at the lowest
moment
of her life.

He didn't judge,
nor did he try
and stop her.

He just
licked.

Eventually,
she gave up
and with slober
on her face,
she called
her sister
for help.

She was saved,

By our dog.

The most beautiful
creature
on Earth.

Jelly Beans

Everybody
has their
quirks.

If you don't,
I suggest
you get some.

Multiple,
to be exact.

They are,
if you didn't know,
what makes
a person
interesting.

Normal.

Perfect?

Boring.

Lose a leg.

st st st start
stuttering.

Don't bathe.

Go into a store
and stare
at jelly beans
for hours
on end.

Till the owners
call the mental
health department
to take you
away.

Put these
quirks
into
your daily practice
and watch
as the madness
drips
away.

It's easy.

You'll never
have to worry
about anything
else
again.

Except for,
of course,
jelly beans.

Here Lies...

Tombstones.

They're everywhere.

Most
unmarked.

That's unfortunate,
I guess.

What's the purpose
of one,
anyways?

To keep our
family
and friends
in mourning?

Sure,
whatever you like.

Since I might have one,
I prefer to have some
writing on it.

"Mourn for me,
if
you want
to lose
your testicles
or have your tits
shrivel away
into thin air.

May I rest
in peace."

Harsh?

Not at all.

Don't cry.

Pass it on.

Listen Carefully

Her mother

talks

to her 

every single day.

She doesn't notice.

She hasn't 

been listening.

She's consumed

with what's wrong

with her life,

with this world.

Wild Horses

drifts 

through the air.

It was her mother's 

and father's song.

It still haunts her.

It reminds her

of their last 

breath.

She heard it again

today.

Wild Horses

couldn't drag me

away.

It was a message

from mother

to daughter.

Reminding her,

nothing

could keep her

away.

Not even 

death.

One day,

when she stops looking,

and starts listening,

she'll finally know

she's never

been alone. 

A Glass of Water, Please

The world's on
heroin.

The earth's collapsing
in
on itself.

The sky's cracking
down
on us.

We're still here.

Alive and playing.

Enjoying our
final moments.

Drinking our
last glass
of fresh
water.

A Reminder

He saw her.

A black ball of
ghostly hair.

Running around,
giving everyone
goosebumps.

She was born here.

She died here.

She's still here.

I can hear her
between
the silence.

Encouraging me
to play
and enjoy the sun.

The way she always did.

Even when
my grandfather
smacked her
and called her names.

None of that mattered.

Then or now.

Tough love
is still
love.

So much love
she'll never
go away.

My Plan

He had a brain tumor.

We didn't notice it
at first,
because he wore
a hat
and was completely
wasted.

He was offering
everybody drinks.

This guy was stumbling
and slurring
all over the bar.

He even tipped
the bartender
in weed.

The tender graciously accepted.

Then,
his hat came
off.

There was a
huge
lump
on his head.

He said,
I have a tumor.

Everyone stood
in shock.

We didn't know
what
was real anymore.

I have to be honest,
it was a buzzkill.

But he didn't give
a hot shit,
he just kept on slurring
and repeating himself.

It was a sign
to us all
that no matter how shitty
we have it,
we can still
have a fucking good time.

This is
what I plan to do
now.

What's holding you
back?

Curious Faces

When dealing with the public,
one sees
many faces.

One can't tell
whether or not
those faces have
molested or
raped or
praised Scientology,
but some can
pick up on those vibes,
worlds away.

For instance,
my coworker
had a
funny
feeling
about this gentlemen.

He stocked the shelves
and had a smile
on his face
all day long.

Something was hiding
beneath that smile.

My coworker could just
feel
it.

Sure enough,
a few months later,
he was arrested
for child porn
or something
along those lines.

Hard to judge that one.

But then again,
they're faces
that look like
the faces
of murderers,
yet that couldn't be further
from the fact that
they are
the most sincere
and appreciative customers
and have done
only a minimal amount
of damage
to this world.

Far
less
than
me.

In fact,
they must think
I do
horrendous
acts
in the comfort
of my own home.

Wouldn't they
like to know??

Clean Slate

New places
are almost always
nice
and pleasant.

There's no history
that I'm
aware of.

The place
might as well have been
built
right before
I got there.

Of course,
it wasn't.

The feeling
is still
the same.

Or rather,
the lack
of them
altogether.

There's no dread
or worrying about
whether or not
I'll see a person
I've just screwed over
or denied their
request for love.

Clean slate.

Now,
there's plenty of time
to fuck up
all over again.

There's almost
no
better feeling
and almost
no better place
to be.

A Holy Prayer

I meditated yesterday.

Yes, I,
the metal head,
who drinks too much
whiskey and beer,
and eats too much
cheese,
quieted
the blood curdling screams
and indescribable noise,
and did nothing,
but stare
at a hummingbird
for a half hour.

It felt like
an eternity.

Bliss,
some call it.

When I came back
to reality
I saw
a ufo.

It flew by
an airplane
and danced
in the sky.

It was pure white
and kind of tumbled,
lazily,
through space,
and slowed down,
then sped up,
until finally,
disappearing
into the clouds.

I laid there
in a daze,
almost high,
blessed
to be shown
this wonderful sight.

When I got up,
I searched around
for a beer,
a shot,
a song
to celebrate.

Nothing surrounded me.

It felt good,
but then again,
it didn't.

I laid back down
and closed my eyes.

There was a drip,
a cool, refreshing
break
from the heat and the miracles.

It was my woman
with a beer
and a smile.

Finally,
I said.

What?
was her reply.

Nothing,
again appeared,
this time
out of my mouth.

No need for anything else.

My prayers
were answered.

Faith

A mask
of brute testosterone
is worn
tight.

But,
I know
they are
deeply
insecure.

And
with every abuse,
both physical
and verbal,
they drag
themselves
lower.

The worse
they are,
the worse
their lives
become.

I used to want to
snap
their necks
every time
I heard of their
abuse.

There's no use.

Fighting fire
with fire
resolves
nothing.

Now,
I've learned
to have faith
in karma.

So much so,
a smile
gently
and calmly
rises
inside me.

The worse
they are,
the worse
their lives.

Perfect.

The Big Bang

Her flatulence interrupted
our most passionate
of moments.

It was loud
and rumbled
my balls.

This
bizarre sensation
frightened
my cock.

As it hid away,
she burst into a drunken laughter
and I
began to act like a baby.

Whining and crying,
saying
our sex was ruined.

It wasn't.

Far from it.

It's a memory
I'll even tell
at her eulogy.

Our children and great grandchildren
will be in
shock and awe
at the type of
wonderful connection
we shared
that fateful night.

This,
I shall conclude,
was how
the family
was conceived.

Making the World a Better Place

My nightmares
don't know how
to react.

Usually,
the serial killer or
alien,
that's about to rape me
drops his machete
or his spiky cock
and has a look of
horror
on his face
as he realizes,
I know
that I
am dreaming.

My nightmare becomes
my playground.

I cut off
the head
of the alien
with his own cock.

I melt
the killer's face off
with diarrhea
that sprays
out of my nose.

Then,
I laugh
and fly away
on a sphinx.

These are my lucid dreams.

They rarely
happen,
but when they do,
I am finally
unlimited.

However,
I realized something today:
We are unlimited now.

We don't realize it,
but we
are living
in a lucid dream
everyday of our lives.

We can all
blow diarrhea
out of our noses
and fly away
on a skinned sphinx.

If only
we believed,
this world
would be
a better place.

The Well of Mystery

We are all
intimately
sharing our
internal organs with
Hitler.

That's what a
scientist
told me.

Or at least,
that's what I think
he said he was.

Either way,
my body is not just mine
it's
Jesus'
Buddah's,
and everyone's
and everything's.

It was a lil
hard
to swallow.

Literally.

He also said,
we are
constantly
out living
death.

Meaning,
every 2 years
we replace
all
of our internal organs,
cells,
atoms,
every lil thing.

Every bit of us
dies.

Disintegrates.

Again,
my belief,
my foundation,
was crumbling.

I questioned it.

I question all.

It's just in my nature.

For now.

I don't know,
do you believe
this
is true?

Is your penis
or your
ass
yours?

Or is it
Morgan Freeman's?

Confused?

Good.

Keep digging.

The well of Mystery
goes deeper
into
the Earth.