Advice From the Deceased

She kept wanting me
to go
up there.

Over and over again,
we felt
his cold, vacant body.

He wasn't really there.

A family friend told me
to stay in my seat,
remember him
as he was
when he was alive.

I had to go.

My little sister kept dragging me.

I don't know why,
maybe she was fascinated
with death,
maybe she liked the feel
of cold flesh.

I was lost.

I was absolutely crushed.

Completely
broken
down.

I didn't want to see him
like that,
my brother,
laid out in a casket,
unsmiling,
dead.

I didn't want to.

I bet,
she doesn't even
remember.

I will never forget
for as long as I live
that we all
had to bury
such a sweet,
mischievous,
wonderful,
young
soul.

Now,
my sister's still
dragging me around.

So is everyone else.

They want me
to do this, that,
or the other.

I don't want
to do
any of it.

I'd rather
take a seat
and remember my brother,
and try to think
what he would do
in this situation.

He'd probably
tell everyone
to fuck off,
he'd probably
tell me
to stop being a pussy
and to do
what I feel
I need to do,
to get out there
and grab the world
by the balls
and not let go
till it bows to my will.

It will.

I will listen.

No more being lost,
no more fear,
no more sadness,
no more grief.

No more, no more.

Keeping the memory
of him
and his advice
hidden within
my every thought,
I'm going to set out
on the open road
and gain a lust for life
no one has achieved
since he left.

The world is fucked
for good.

Good.

It's about time I let it.

The Mourner's Tear

She's obese.

That's
putting it kindly.

Others would call her
monstrously overweight,
larger than life,
too fat for a trailer-size coffin.

When she walks
she creates
craters.

When she sits
she throws the earth
slightly
off its axis.

There's more.

She's unattractive.

Her hair is unkempt,
her teeth are rotted,
her voice,
her sight,
her smell,
all beyond hideous.

Nobody
wants to help
her.

They can't even look her
in the eyes.

As soon as she's gone,
they say the most vile things
anyone could ever say
to another human being.

They might as well
spit shit
in her face.

I feel sorry for her.

I imagine
what she goes through
everyday?

I force myself to take a walk in her shoes.

Facing myself
in the mirror
and I ask,
how do you feel?

I've finally discovered
just how cruel and bitter
the world can be.

There's no compassion
from a single person.

Why?

Has she thrown bleach in your mouth?

Has she ruined your precious popularity?

She has done nothing
besides
eat horribly unhealthy.

This is the treatment
she deserves?

Punishment
is coming to you all.

One day,
the bow of karma
will bend
and you will suffer
the same fate
as she has.

You will be obese.

Your eyelids will be fat.

Your hair will drip with lard.

You will suffer.

And you will die
from a massive heart attack
or better yet,
from choking
on a spork.

You must have thought
it was part
of your lunch.

And when you die,
the mortician
will have to
chop you up,
in order for you
to fit
in your trailer-size casket.

The mourners,
if there's any,
will have one last good laugh
at your gross face,
shedding only one tear
of joy,
before they bury
you
in frosting.

You final request
granted.

May you rest in chunks.

My Stench

There's no margin of error
for these pigs.

They are ruthless.

They are precise.

They can sniff out,
miles away,
the slightest criminal activity
with their huge snouts.

And they are
everywhere
and bored
and even worse,
they have guns
with itchy hooves.

They almost caught
my mom
once.

She claims
she doesn't remember.

The lights, the uniforms, the badges,
the pointy ears,
on the other hand,
come clear
to my mind.

Yes,
She had been drinking,

Yes,
her children were in the car.

Yes,
she probably swerved
a bit.

The pigs sniffed her out
as soon as she hit the road.

They were ready,
to take her away,
to take us away.

Just out of boredom.

One of them,
might have had
a heart
underneath all his pig fat
because
he let her
go.

It must have been
because
she had my baby sister
in her hands.

They oinked away
with their curly tails
tucked between
their tight asses.

We, somehow, made our escape.

I
should have learned
from this.

I didn't.

The pigs
sniffed me out
too.

They were not so nice.

I didn't have a baby
in my hands.

I had the stench of sin.

They took me away.

They oinked at me,
stripped me naked,
and looked in
my asshole
for food
or "contraband."

They kept me
a prisoner
in their pen.

I should have
never trusted them.

I should have ran.

I should have
stayed
unscented.

It's too bad,
I guess,
I only know how
to stink.

The Savior

How many lives
have you saved?

I have saved
none.

I have no purpose.

But,
it is my idol,
my grandpa,
who gives me hope.

I hope to one day
follow in his
almighty footsteps.

He always has
and never ceases
to amaze me.

He doesn't brag either.

He doesn't need attention.

He is a real man.

He has saved.

I only know of one.

A boy,
a slow,
perhaps autistic child,
fell
into the disgusting lake
of our hometown.

He was drowning.

Everyone
stood by
and watched
as if he
were a duck.

Not my grandpa.

He didn't hesitate
to jump into the filth
and rescue him.

He saved that poor boy,
when no one else
would.

Those cowards
should all be
so ashamed of themselves.

They didn't even bother
to help them out
of the water.

They turned their heads,
never to look back
on what
they could have done.

The boy, however,
was never more grateful.

My grandpa
just walked away
as if it was
nothing.

Just another day at the park.

Today,
they still write.

The boy,
though handicapped,
is going to be
an engineer.

A fucking engineer!

He took full advantage
of being able
to breathe again.

Those others
that stood by
are now either dead
or eating their own feces.

Now tell me,
who has the disorder?

The boy,
now fully grown,
deserves the best.

He might one day
save your life
with a machine he designed
through electrical engineering.

If you are ever
walking in the park
and you happen to see him,
Thank my idol,
my grandpa,
the savior.

He might not even hear you.

Real Love

Real women
have yeast infections.

Their pussies
look horrible,
smell horrendous,
and itch uncontrollably.

They also
pass it on.

My dick
has felt a real woman.

I am feeling one now.

Every time
I apply lotion
to my cock,
I think
of her.

My mind
is wrapped around
her.

Every time,
I look down
and see what she gave me,
I can't help,
but love her more.

I love real women.

I love their flaws.

As much as they hate mine.

There's nothing
that's going to stop
my love.

There's nothing
that's going to stop
my cock.

Infections be damned.

This is our love.

Only a real woman
can make it happen.

Only a real man
can accept it.

Central Coast Spotlight: Depths of Chaos

Buried deep within a darkened tomb, hidden away from the psychotic violence and diseased surrounding Grover Beach, Ca., lies Depths of Chaos. Guitarist/vocalist Darien Lohof, drummer Tom Hoopes, bassist Joey McDaniel, and guitarist Ty Richardson make up this merciless alliance. Together they have vowed to play death metal until an eternal darkness has covered the earth and slaughtered all of life.
Their utter commitment to annihilation began in 03'. Depths have since went on to play countless shows and record a handful of demos, which in the process, they have perfected their punishment. They invoke classic death metal acts such as Morbid Angel and Suffocation and blend it with bits of melodic and groove elements. Any respectable metalhead, who has heard them and says they are not a fan, deserves to be lobotomized and castrated simultaneously. As for the rest of us, we must do our duty to support them and go to as many of their shows as possible.
I was fortunate enough to be one of their victims this past weekend. They played at Camozzi's in Atascadero, which is an awful venue to say the least. No matter, they still made my ears bleed and orgasm throughout their whole set. From start to finish, through brutal riffs, unearthly growls, an unrelenting pummeling of the skins, and groovy, complex bass lines, they unleashed hell upon the audience. Most let the music possess them. They banged their heads until their hair fell out and their brains spilled out onto the amps. Some of the other less open-minded concertgoers did not feel so blessed. They immediately went to the nearest church they could find and drowned themselves in holy water. It's too bad they missed out. Nothing is better than leaving a show covered in sweat, sin, and filth. The high stays with you forever.
Yeah, I know death metal is an acquired taste, but it's one of the only genres of music that has truly dedicated fans, ones who devoutly worship the bands. Depths of Chaos, I feel, is one of these bands. Trust me, they deserve your admiration. They will be crowned the kings of annihilation when all life ends. Give up your souls now. Let them defile the sacred. For the punishment is sweet. The darkness eternal.

No Worries

There is no future.

Nobody has to worry.

No job, no money, no dreams,
no life....

No problem.

The end
is upon us.

I can see it shinning
down on us
like the sun
exploding.

I can hear it
in everyone's throat.

I can feel it turning
beneath my feet.

Waiting patiently
to be unleashed.

I am not concerned.

I should be.

We all should be,
but we continue living
as if we are never
going to die,
as if we are actually
experiencing suffering.

We know nothing.

No matter.

It is coming.

The Great Death.

All are in it's path,
the poor,
the innocent,
the decent,
and the rich,
the evil,
the careless.

No worries.

Soon, all will be as it should be.

Soon, all will be able to enjoy hell.

God Hands

Pray,
not for a
sick family member
or for the suffering
and the helpless.

Pray for yourselves.

Sure,
you're comfortable,
never had
much
of a bad day
all your life.

Sure,
you've never been
poor
or even been
starving.

Unless,
you were trying
to look good
in your new, expensive
bathing suit.

Pray, pray, pray.

You know
you need all the prayers
in the world.

The prayer
at the top
of your never ending list,
should be
for the hands of God
to remove President Obama
from office.

He's a terrible human being.

He's trying to get
universal healthcare.

People need their own insurance.

Sure,
they are some, who
have none
at their minimum wage job,
but there's always
the
free
clinic.

And if they do contract
some rare disease,
let them
die off.

The world is a better place
without them.

Those scum are just bleeding
the country dry.

They are horrible human beings.

We need to pray for
another old white man
to become president.

Again.

He cares for our money.

He will defend
our America.

He knows
exactly
what to do
with the poor.

Send them to war.

God will let them die
with a smile
on their face,
knowing they served
US.

The only America that matters.

So,
gather all your money,
attend church,
spread propaganda,
lie,
cheat,
steal,
kill,
pray
this black bastard
gets thrown out of office
and tarred
and feathered
right on the front lawn
of the White House.

And may
all this
be done
by the hands
of God.

Let Go of the Wheel

Cars,
I should have never
stepped foot
in a
single
one.

Too much
bad luck
has taken the wheel
for me.

The stupidest accident
I've been involved in,
is too embarrassing
to admit.

But I will.

Pringles,
the heavenly snack,
were on the floor.

I could have asked
any
of the two
in the car.

But I didn't.

I reached for them
myself.

I am stubborn.

No one
can do anything
for me.

Not even get me
a can of chips.

Big mistake.

As I am reaching down,
bad luck
takes the wheel
and steers us toward
the shoulder.

Next to a tree.

Right as I look up,
we hit it.

The impact was
shocking.

Holy fuck!
was all I could say.

I managed to drive on
with the fender holding on
for dear life
and smoke
billowing out the hood.

We pulled over
at my friend's house
to assess the damage.

The front end of the car
looked worse than
what my face was going to look like
after I told my mother
what I did
to HER
car.

I made it home
and reluctantly went it.

She should have beat me
with the fender.

She didn't.

She was furious,
but forgiving.

I escaped the noose.

The van was now
mine.

My mother got a new one.

All was well.

That is until
I crashed the van
again.

Then,
I crashed the next car
I owned.

Tickets, arrests, dui's,
bad luck, bad luck.

I should have never drove.

Ever.

Yet today,
I am going to get
in the truck
and head off
on the road again.

Bad luck
stay away.

We Are So Lucky

Feces
spits up at you
from the toilet,
you go and try and wash it off
and urine
comes out of the faucet.

Imagine
this
and all the conveniences
of everyday modern life
fading away
with each passing second.

No more
internet,
no more
television,
no phone,
no electricity
whatsoever.

Nothing left,
but time
and everlasting misery.

Everything
shattered and rotting
for no reason.

What's your next move?

You have no guns.

You cannot survive.

The world
is more psychotic, depraved
and hateful
than anybody
has ever seen.

Your family
forced to live
in the sewers,
where they search
for pennies
and dead rats.

Your mother, wife, daughter
raped and mutilated
right before your closed eyes.

All you can smell
is the pain.

Your father, brother, son
tortured and slaughtered
or at the very least,
sold into slavery.

All you can feel
is the torment.

The only glimmer
of hope
is that one day
the sun
won't shine.

The only prayer
to God
is that one day
there will be
no more suffering.

Because
they will be
nobody
left.

The only way
for you
to feel grateful
today
is to realize
this could happen
tomorrow.

Horrific Thoughts

I have never heard
death
before that night.

The screech
of the tires,
skull, bones, flesh
smashed
on the hood of a car
going 50 mph.
helicopters
roaring overhead,
the cries
of a lover.

It was all too much.

The visions
were out of some
horrific nightmare.

The unsuspecting man
being hurled
into the air,
the trickles
of blood
running down the street,
his shoe
landing next to us
20 feet away,
the car speeding
away.

It was all too much.

His death
made me wonder,
what was he like?
how would his family react?
did they hate him?
did they wish him
dead?

Life is cruel.

The truth is even worse.

I'll be glad to die
someday, not knowing
any of it,
just not
like
that.

The Residency of the Deceased

I'm fascinated by death.

Always have been.

As a child,
I remember going to funerals,
a handful of them.

I had no idea what
was going on.

My memory is horrifyingly clear.

I can't recollect the events
that took place yesterday,
but I do remember
those dead faces
and the touch of
frozen skin.

My aunt's funeral
is a somber moment
that will never
leave me.

There were hundreds of people,
they formed a sea of black,
and from their eyes
poured an undying sorrow.

I was thinking about her
and how incredibly intimidating
she was,
yet completely generous.

She was an amazing woman.

And as I was thinking about her,
a revelation came to me:
I would never see her again.

This was the first time
I would become aware of this,
I was beginning to understand
death
and its finality.

Then,
a flock of white birds
caught my burning eyes.

They were heavenly and graceful,
like no other creatures
have ever been.

This was my aunt.

Her spirit
freed.

As her body
descended into the ground.

I realized then,
the dead are still
everywhere
around us,
making their presence known.

Nothing is forever gone.

We just have to be
willing
to look
for the signs.