Banshee Screams from the Pacific Coast

What is this desire to unsucceed spectacularly in every way, burbling in the underbelly of my being like a cooking teapot, scorching hot to the touch & an ear-splitting high pitched whistle?

The way it reels my soul in, leaving me gasping & flopping about like a common guppy….something in the air does not compute…

And what’s so strange, so scary, is that this sensation is a haunting from a specter causing an unsettling disturbance in the force from a source of which time has no bearing. The ghost of past, present, & future together in a cataclysmic bang of the forever beforeandafter

…temporal curses…

Ain’t that a bitch?

Less a question of ability, moreso a question of fortitude. A quiet quandary of epic proportions. Raging like the Great Red Stain of Jupiter.

something in the air does not compute…
there is no air

& I’ll suffocate under the weight of a thousand unanswered questions before I have time to wake up

Beast of Burden

You made the rules than broke them all
because you don’t give a fuck, not even a bit
or piece, big or small
I used to think you were full of it
& soon saw, you do it not for the thrill
but for the funk of it
far more triumphant
in the long run, you’ll get up the hill

prancing along like a stallion of steel
instead of dawdling like an ass
counting its footsteps in the mud
following previously trotted heels

The early horse gets the meals.

Take Me Away!

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So much time spent frantically running like an ant from a cackling sadist with a lit cigarette can leave you feeling a bit sluggish. Not tired. An actual slug with no brain, sliding about on mucus with no destination, other than perhaps finding loose table salt in a ditch.

No More No More

Get out of that world.

Build a spacecraft if necessary. A funky mothership connection to the far beyond, boldly traveling to places far beyond the human reach. Pure unsullied space where insults and shaming can not be heard. Unforgiving but not a relentless torment. Where the tick of the clock has no bearing, not a time zone in sight. Make a creme brulee in zero gravity and watch that sucker billow into unrecognizable shapes.

Such drastic measures shouldn’t be necessary but alas, here we are.

If a spacecraft is above your means, find an alternate form of extrasolar travel. Perhaps pop the doctor’s candy in your mouth and will your body into sprouting wings. Pray for a pious archangel to come give you a lift.

No matter the method…
It’s time to go.

It’s odd, I’ve made no claims til now… but lack of an affirmative declaration is the onset of the undoing.

All I can say is

No More No More


The Short & Sticky

Frustration when your fingers stick together in a web of dubious intent
Clumsy clumsy fingers, pressing all the wrong pressure points

blissful serendipity are not in these here fingertips, nor is a technicolor climax while attempting to push the apex up so we could get down together
but alas, ’twas not in the cards, not within these short stubbed reaches!

But listen to the the sound. Get closer.
The strum of an angel’s wing. Crystal gleam, a steaming train of thought. Glam. Plenty o’strawberry jam.
A harmony rings from above “All Right All Right All Right All Right All Right…” 
a rhythmic clap rumbles behind billowy dark violet clouds. The aroma of honeydew drops clinging to tall grass at dawn, a calm culmination of all things considered.

So close yet so far away

if only I could get these sticky fingers to spread that way.

Empty

Fair Cherub

Fair cherub
The monsters won’t hurt you anymore
They’re just fishes out of water
You’re an angel swaddled in sunshine, so don’t bother,
those beasts will stay away from this day forth
So, fair cherub
Dream Tall

Oh Fair Cherub!
No need to hold your tears back now!
You’d let them fall onto your being
cuz it ain’t below freezing
but you don’t even have a reason
for committing such an act now!
So fair cherub
Stand Tall

How’s that for a damn daily affirmation?

Is this offering enough to appease to this alleged higher power’s insatiable demand for bloodlust?

Far be it from me to tell the higher power what to do, but surely this should suffice as a replacement to the more archaic traditions of sacrifice, yes? Perhaps you haven’t gotten the several thousand other memos I’ve sent?

Please, be more direct from this point moving forward because we appear to be on different wavelengths.

Flowers Growing Out Of A Sick’o’delic Head

Is the cure in the medicine or is it more of a philosophical answer?
Would working to keep adversity away whenever possible be a positive thing or is it a sign of a destructive avoidance problem?
Am I still me, even if I can’t recall how I used to be? Moreover, who and what am I now?

A shadowy apparition has camped out on the inside for far too long and it’s time to go. The specter of melancholic agony has definitely overstayed its welcome, by at least a decade. It’s a mechanical beast, running off of vitality, not afraid to run on fumes as needed with no regards for the host.

A tragedy of the highest magnitude rocking the cerebral night and day.

When emotions have more weight than the truth… that can be problematic. And even the truth lies!

When Hell decides to pay a visit, that is the reality, that is the truth. But it isn’t necessarily true.

Analyzing every microsecond of what I’m supposed to be doing or feeling in the present moments of time is a haunting unlike any other. The shadowy apparition has grown over the years…

but everything that grows must die.

So sew different seeds.
Watch those grow instead.