A Place For My Stuff

ralphsteadmanbookofdogs8

Artwork by the legendary Ralph Steadman



a dog that chases its tail will be dizzy
not accomplishing anything
though it feels busy
can’t find its bones buried beneath the backyard tree
next to its goals
wow. that’s shitty.
if Melvil Dewey saw this, he’d be in a tizzy

but he’s dead.

and my shovel has dulled away from overuse
there’s a copious amount of my possessions
strewn about like a poltergeist had gone mad with vigor
i feel like i do when someone calls me a nigger
my emotions as tangible as a phantasm
my thoughts as straight forward as broken sarcasm

my cognition & body are skinny
& i feel as superfolous as Our Lord’s daily bread

………

some actions are better left undone
words left unsaid
scabs left unscratched
crimson tears better left unbled

oh, if only i had somewhere to rest my head.

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Cream

pop will go your spot when the fervor gets a little too much

if it’s just some kind of fling

then why does purple electricity appear whenever my mind thinks of The Thrust?

trust. when i tell you that
something inside of me is chugging ’round like a train
something inside of me, all up in my membrane
what is the meaning of this purple-charged lust?

it can’t be ignored so i guess, i guess….
I Must

with your consent
we’ll both be content

the beast with two backs
an aroma of fresh coffee in the air
with a side of Cream

silky & sweet
goes down smooth
if you know what i mean

a kind of dream
just fun, nothing ethereal
take the superficial and let it drop
& let’s get on with the ShaBoogie-Bop





Daily Prompt: Sparkle

aliengum

I revel in myself
with the simple phrase “I am.”

in this technicolor climate with city lights that blind so massive
an insidious canopy, puppeteering the masses with translucent threads made of impassiveness

I’m just another unorthodox soul sending smokescreen signals throughout the land
telling whomever listens that I’m worth a good goddamn

to flaunt one’s irregular imperfections so boldly is considered by many to be the work of dark magic

huduvoodoo

isn’t it tragic? for oppression to be so prominent without any mention of pragmatics?

I’ll keep growing into a galactic primadonna
pirouetting through vibrant nebulae
psych’o’delic wisps of cosmic slop swirling around my ankles
constellations forming from the curls of my fro’
dark matter fluff creating intergalactic diamonds in the rough

Yes I’m made of all of this and more, interestingly enough.

The Banished Ones vs The Aristocratics. I wonder, I wonder, who’s actions are truly more dramatic..?




“I am.”

maybe you too but I’m sure you already knew




thank you.





Swinging Ditty from a Misunderstood

[Author’s note: best if song is played when shown]


an Irish’d-coffee to warm the belly on an overcast morning. no plans for the day. a kind of day where casual walks takes me to wherever my feet decide, without a care in the world. While absentmindedly staring at my phone, a peculiar sound caught my ear.

[snap    snap    snap    snap    snap]

there he was. standing under a small pine tree on top of a hill.

a teen boy in skinny jeans and a tshirt 3 sizes too big, singing out in a booming baritone with a growling edge, snapping fingers keeping a steady groove…

taking another sip, I listened to what he had to say:

I’m Mr. Big Mouth
At least, that’s what the legend states
Oh, Mr. Big Mouth
Nothin’ ever ever goes my way

As far back as third grade
teachers always would say
“Boy, ya ain’t nothin’ but trouble,
keep runnin’ ya mouth ya gonna get a muzzle!”

Not stopping to think maybe, just maybe
I was just a wee bit afraid

Not stopping to question, “Hey
maybe this kid knows a lil something about just how fucked up life is!
maybe we should [perhaps] do more than grill him [oh gosh maybe!]
about why he didn’t bother [who even cares?]
to finish his pop quiz!”

But noooooo, they called me Big Mouth
too smart for my own good
and the legend grew
throughout my childhood

I’m Mr. Big Mouth
just tryna make my way
Oh, Mr. Big Mouth
clashin’ with the birds of prey…..

i couldn’t help but notice that behind him was a high school in session & it was 10:30am on a weekday.
i walked over to him, so transfixed, i didn’t even question where the horns were coming from.

a general life rule of mine: if a street musician makes you stop and listen for a moment, you owe them a dollar.
i gave him $100.

THank y-you SO M-m-much,” his voice squeaked out, a puberty-wrecked contrast to the rumbling resonance of his song. He stuffed the bills in a pocket of a tattered bookbag that lay by his feet, overflowing with crumpled school papers. He flashed me a bright blended smile that revealed naivety with an undercoat of Sly.

i tipped my coffee to him with a grin and continued on my way. i heard a rhythmic snapping begin again as he faded away with distance.

I’m Mr. Big Mouth…





instrumental song credit: All Bets Are Off [Cuphead Soundtrack]

Can’t Blame Nobody But U

A message to a jaded vain prick
doesn’t matter what I say because here’s what I predict:

you’ll refuse to read between the lines, throw out context &
just talk about the juicy byline & combine what was said
into the guidelines to fit the confines
of this paperthin narrative that’s been inscribed

because not getting attention is just not a graspable concept
for someone so desperately trying to be characterized

as a victim

everyone’s out to “get you” in this system
I’m quite sure this fits a symptom
but here’s the twist in this depiction:

No one gives a fuck about inconsequential fabrications
Be yourself, not a delusional imitation

you’ll probably even think this post is about you
don’t you?

i’m not trying to condescend but this comes down to common sense
the only way to transcend
is to get right within

 

via Daily Prompt: Ascend