Lauren Bacall

When I was 12 years old
I fell in love with Lauren Bacall
I dreamed at night
I was black and white
and over 6 feet tall

I would touch the silver gown
she wore with elegance in "The Big Sleep"
I'd fantasize
those beautiful eyes
would get misty just for me

I loved Lauren Bacall
despite the bad reception
I pined for her voice
And I'd forgive her
even if she used deception

Because when you're 12 years old
and in love with Lauren Bacall
You don't know what love is
You have no idea at all.

Complaining and Asking For More

“Scientists talk about dark matter, the invisible, mysterious substance that occupies the space between stars. Dark matter makes up 99.99 percent of the universe, and they don't know what it is. Well I do. It's apathy. That's the truth of it; pile together everything we know and care about in the universe and it will still be nothing more than a tiny speck in the middle of a vast black ocean of Who Gives a Fuck.”
― David Wong, John Dies at the End 

“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”

― Elie Wiesel

  






times come and go
where the wind around me smells wrong
trying to figure out what I know
forgetting lyrics to my favorite songs

raised in the church
rulebooks laid out open wide
but that stuff is for kids
adulthood teaches the other side

takers get things handed continually
violators get off scot-free
criminals have 60 inch televisions
while war vets struggle to even see

halfway through this life
I look back at a lifetime of trying for others
told what I did is now stupidity
while laziness and victimization still hovers

complaining and asking for more

Nice guys don't get paid
of wisdom, that's indeed a pearl
the way I see things may be naive
but I've never hurt a person in this world

I could take pride in that
if I didn't have hands in my pockets
I feel as if I don't fit here sometimes
maybe should be seated on a rocket

because I can't identify at times
don't know why things are okay
I don't see reason in others' rhymes
too many games I do not play

so I guess I have a lot of growing up to do
hardening and changing as I see things unfold
because I don't want to be seeking truths
while I'm trying to achieve honor as I grow old

complaining and asking for more.

Cries and whispers

I swear I heard thunder
I know I felt rain
It seems every blunder
Comes just before the pain

It's all like a storm

I feel guilty
Asking god for things
When I normally don't believe he's there

And I feel stupid
That I'm so desperate
I've somehow resorted to prayer

It's all like a storm with lightning


That started a flame
People hold me up to
To try and figure me out

I'm looking at people
I don't get you all either
Please don't have any doubt


It's a lonely world folks
Being like a grown up version
Of that lost wandering kid in the parking lot

Waiting for momma
Hoping that poppa
Will come and wipe away the snot

Well I'm past 40 now
There's no mom and dad anymore
I've left them all behind

I've got to figure out myself somehow
And start the game over again
As someone else this time....

Guess I didn't know

Didn't know where I stood
When things are okay thanks to standing
I guess I know now

Can't let go
Of things glossed over
By society or a shrug
Maybe it's just me

I now understand
Worley's haunting
Someone's ok with something
Or worse its forgotten with a smile

Am I the only one here
With a flushed face
And tears in my eyes
Loading my fists?

I now understand
The McManus' plotting
I'm not gonna forget
What others rather would

Even the victims can't see
They haven't hurt just them
They've also hurt me

So I boil like a kettle
Because I've been good
I've tested my own mettle
Just to have backs turned on me

Only to be pushed again....
Being right, doing right
Pays less than being a fucking bastard
And people make up the truth anyway

Maybe it's just me

Because I understand
Bullock's fists
I can stand over blood and bones
And feel justified
And smile.

Feeling alone in these moments
I don't understand anyone
And no one understands me

Am I afraid of my own rage?
Yes, indeed I am
But I respect it
And I know it's right

Because its borne
Of righteousness
And love.

Not self gratification
And satisfaction

But I'll never be right in any occasion
They only got Capone for tax evasion

Now I understand
Billy Jack's feet today
But even that one ton soldier
Got hauled away

Second Choice

To be a replacement
To be that Second choice
Just fitting the the bill
Just Good enough for now

Lifting it up
trying to convince it
as it looks the other way
as it finds more
in what is less

in what is repulsive

throwing my head down
hair in my eyes
on my knees

retching with that knowledge
helpless in the sickness





Tired of exhausting myself
Giving all to getting back half
Disregarded by the child

Daddy, take a bow




It kills and burns to have the weighted wisdom
You're only there because another wouldn't break free
It dries out the tears and fogs up the vision
You're second in line, quite possibly number three



I wish I had enough strength
Overstocked on pride
To face the world alone
I wish I could go forward
No one at the side

to be 
Happy enough on my own

Given An Inch

There’s a smile that makes me sick
a knowing grin worn on many faces I see

When does having money
make everything one does okay?

The filth, the acts, the things they do
I guess make them better than me

because there’s a bank account
that is bigger than mine today?

The Patience allotted
the sins forgotten
the gestures and looks left lying about

The acts forgiven
the lack of inhibition
is given inches of shadow of doubt

That’s taken for miles

and my head’s down
so far down my hair hangs at my side
and I don’t want to be along for this ride

Where entitlement and abuse is rewarded
and nightmares grown in the dark
Where gratification and intemperance
take priority over the just and the heart

because someone has a leg up
one way or another
I can’t look anymore, can’t breathe
I’m beginning to smother.
 





You can turn a key
pull an umbrella on the rain
touch glass with a hammer
it all turns out the same

dirty games with pain in mind
second guessing at the stains
don't have to look hard to find
nothing has capacity to change

you might lift some sunshine out
long enough to dull the pain
but please, withdraw all doubt
it will always come back to rain

it's that skip in the record
the fly in the vaseline
filthy anomaly in something beautiful
you always wake up from a dream

it will bend to remain
a system with a drain
same game, different name
not a fucking thing's changed

beautiful things turned into weapons without pity
by drooling, leering machines with one-track thinking
they are handed boarding passes and keys to the city
by wealth-impressed drones even as their ship is sinking

It's the same as it's ever been
advantage taken with entitlement's grin
smiling that filthy cheshire twisted beam
but death comes to every one

even slowly rusting machines

don't be surprise when violence comes
or retribution taps at your window and door
the price you pay when you walk without wisdom
making doormats of friends and acquaintances whores

even the slimiest practitioners
are given cart blanche
and I don't find anything funny
when a sentence is finished

with "Yeah, but they've got money" 

Tummy ache

Tides shift
sands twirl

feel the grit in the air

opinions grind
and machine parts whirr

feel the grit in my hair

from my hands twisting it
from my lack of not getting it

not understanding why I'm the way I am

there's question marks after lessons
there's no answers after sessions
of why do you think the way you do

and I'm the one being asked

Why does it bother me?

Well.....
Why doesn't it bother you?

Maybe I'm not angry
Maybe I'm not depressed

Maybe I'm just thinking today

Pardon me for being unsure
Sorry for not having the cure

for what's causing me to shake my head
as I'm walking away


I'm just who I am
my face holds answers, look and see
why does it bother you?

and why doesn't it bother me?

In the Background

In the electronic age
multiple programs, multi-tasking
terminology created

"in the background"

All those days of my life, I never stopped looking at the sky
Free cassette tape spinning in a primitive handheld device
deep voice that echoed my sentiment

Chase away the ghosts that haunt me now

22 years into the fray and the song never quite went away
it was in the background
like my looking for that answer
looking to the southern sky
and to the north if I were already there

My mind and heart "a constantly running program"
searching for that answer
with that old free song as a guide, a testament
that someone else knew what I was looking for

into the night skies

That tape never went away
always somewhere in the background of my possessions
like the search that never stopped
because it knew it couldn't, no matter what transpired

the song was of one who would chase away skeletons

one who "wouldn't mind"

I found her from 967
a break in the curtains that displayed heaven
ghosts and skeletons on the run
Now I'm in that southern sky, under her sun.

Handout

Photocopy gray
Staples in the corner
Third generation blur and fade
Some pages out of order

Pacing at the front of the room
Aisle after aisle
Handing out second rate textbooks
With a glued on fucking smile

That depressing mimeographed bundle
Imitation of life
Tossed on a desk with carvings and perversions
Stabbed in via jackknife

Same day. Same game, not a damn thing's changed
Not a teacher anymore, but a boss or
a friend
Throwing you a stack of half-hearted copycat
Lie after lie, means to an end

So I won't take this remnant of a tree
Folded in my hand, rolled up fakery
It can sit in front of my face making me sick
Clenching my fist, trying for bravery

1989-- Standing in the middle of Caligula (something with the horizontal)

Don't like to look in the mirror 

Or hear the voice that belongs to what I see 

 singing off key, 

looking like life warmed over 

 Staring and wondering 

speaking and questioning 

 Noah Drake asked, "Wondering what she don't see in me." 

 Rolling out of bed, rolling into the black again in the bathroom in front of the glass 

again disliking someone who's done nothing wrong

 There I am clinging to sainthood, 

shaking my head with a laugh at the lack of willpower that others show 

 willpower I feel I have no right but to display 

 I'm standing in the middle of Caligula

 the only one who sees anything wrong here 

 the only one who holds "steadfast" dear

 I know what's wrong with this picture 

 and it's damn sure more than the contrast

 a lot more than the brightness 

 something with the horizontal 

 because it's the same thing over and over again, 

out of control like the dreams where I'm spinning and I can't stop it. 

 and I'm the only one who cares and I'm going home alone.. 

 stone cold sober 

 stone cold pure 

 stone cold righteousness 

 stone cold flame 

 I'm standing in the middle of Caligula 

 watching others hurt and others getting hurt 

 and doing and letting it happen like the horizontal, over and over again 

 I see the wine and the touch and the intemperance 

 and I don't want any part of it 

 and I question those who do 

 and those who let those who do off the hook 

 No one ever learns 

No one ever yearns 

because it's handed to them like the horizontal 

over and over again 

 I'm standing in the middle of Caligula 

 covering my ears 

covering my eyes 

 pretending it doesn't happen 

 stone cold flame

Dialing

I have questions
I need to ask
I can look back, Dad
but they're not buried in the past

So I look up
and make a phone call
is there an operator
beyond the pearly gates and heaven's walls?

Because your questions to your father
fell on deaf ears
and I know mine would be answered
with a pat on the back and great cheer

but when my own son
won't listen to my knocks at the door
how much harder do I dial
before I can't do it any more?

3 degrees of seperation
different breaks in the same connection
Goddamn it, Dad, it's your help I now need
Which way one good father has to turn
to make his only son see?

The Indifference of "good" men....

I guess I never really had a problem with what I'll call mild vigilantism. In so many brightly lit areas of the world there is true darkness. People who have done awful things.

Terrible things.

It is bad they are still walking among us unpunished and unincarcerated for more than one reason.

The one that seems to bite the lesser of the two is that the victims are unvindicated from top to bottom. This is a no-brainer. The one that really hurts, really irks, and causes nausea at times, is that they walk around, grins firmly implanted on their face, believing they have done no wrong.

I have a problem with that.

Or worse, they know what they've done may not be exactly right, but it was okay that THEY did it.

Those brightly lit areas grow a little darker everyday for there are so many people scuttling about thinking they have committed the equivalent of some little white lie, when they have unequivocally partially ruined some pure soul's life....

I can't let that go....It keeps me awake at night sometimes.....Justice is too often a near miss....

Think

When you've accepted who you are today
and you've settled with how the shadows loom
you rise from your bed every day
hearing ghosts from the other room

When you realize you've reached your potential and it fell short of the goal you've set
smiles achieved by others beside you
sometimes throw balm on the burns you get

It is a fucking sad day
when you find out you have so much love to give
indeed a powerfully sad day
because, wasted, it leaked out like a sieve

register your smile with the kid
register your apathy with the wife
turn your head, ignore your reflections
for the rest of your goddamn life

There's a quiet place in my head
blackened reflections on shiny surfaces
voices of the dead, and shadows of dread
This walks the halls of my home.

Thin

Sometimes I feel things so sharply/ they bring a tear to my eye/ Every time someone says hello/ It means there will be a goodbye/ and it's no lie I have a tough time letting go/ and it's so fucking easy to cry/ the wrong things are the ones people know/ No one knew I was trying to die/ and I feel like there's an open wound somewhere/ under a rain of salt/ I can't seem to locate it anyplace or anywhere/ and that is no one's fault/ 30 years ago, I had my ass kicked/ and no tear has been falling/ but light melancholy or a harsh word/ can have me crawling/ My skins so thin, I bet you can see through it/ but someone now is trying to find a way/ I believe in her, she wants to do it/ I feel less burn, my flesh much less frayed/ Because I don't want the hurt anymore/ I no longer have the strength to carry it/ She wants to take it off, hand it to me/ and watch me as I bury it.....

He's there, all right.

Suspended animation
when he comes
out of the shadows
oh, he knows
he makes me sick
inhabits me
uses others
and their actions
and images of them
to make me bleed
and he's aware
that he scares
the shit out of me
his name is doubt
he smiles death
he smiles clout
when he comes
he overcomes
everything
and i bleed
in my sleep
until I cry
and he still won't let me be.....

Dandelion

lying in the grass
on my stomach
elbows down, chin in hands

talking to a dandelion

It wants to know
why that bright popping yellow
is an eyesore, to the world

I don't know, I said

Maybe because dandelions
aren't hard work
you're just there, eternal

the dandelion cried

I understood this.

Is the world we live in
set to see beauty
only in things that cost
or come from indelible effort?

Are we not allowed
to be awed
by something that the planet
just gives us

or asks little from us for?

I left the dandelion there
in the corner of my yard
and never cut him down

and when he turned gray
as all things eventually do
and his seeds were cast to the wind

I smiled a little
knowing there would be hundreds more because of him

Too Late For Redemption

I've never understood the acceptance of a bricklayer
and I have always been suspicious of guitar players
I've spent too many years as a nightmare slayer
I've long believed I have never had a prayer

I'm buried somewhere beneath these all these layers

I guess I never thought to put my hand out at the dance
The thievery of others made me believe I had no chance
Never saw a painting of love I thought I could enhance
It's hard to focus your walk when you're in a trance

I'm lost somewhere in with the dirt and the ants

So who do I think the man in the mirror is now
The one who expects a warning shot across his bow
Drives to work augmented with suicidal know-how
The man who had fantasies he will no longer allow

I'm lost somewhere without love endowed

Haven't had a day where I didn't have hate
for those that take for granted what I never could create
cracking bones, sore feet, reheated food on my plate
ice cold sheets, pillows, and blankets await

I'm too exhausted, too lonely, too cried out to be irate

wanting to lay in bloodstains on the floor
wandering aimlessly out on the moors
waiting for the claws and teeth that won't be ignored
and that pop and smoke that closes the door

I don't want to be lost here anymore
surrounded but ignored.

Empty Room

--4 February days in a mental hospital--beginning with the day of the 24 inch snowstorm.--
There's a shadow over there
one or two cast by my hair
the window shows gray
I'm by myself today
There's no one else in here
to lay their head upon my shoulder
I cock my head in the mirror
am I really that much older?
Arms wrapped around my knees
as the sun stumbles down the sky
maybe I should stand and run
or then again I could lay here and sigh
I've been brought here to cry
I feel like I came here to lie
The mirror wants me here to die
There's a shadow over there
it's just me and it
it has a steely-eyed stare
and I don't care

Daddy

Sitting at the kitchen table
chin resting on my knuckles, exhaling....sharply.
You've been long gone....
Daddy, I have questions
What about that alternator I need your help with?
What about that life-changing situation I have to ask you about?
Where am I supposed to go with this....
sometimes I pick up the phone like you might actually be at the other end
I'm a crazy bastard.
Big things are happening
and I can't find that crack of light under the door
and you're not there for the answer
I'm helpless and hopeless, daddy
I turn in circles
sky of blue
tears of clear
hair flies around
and the tears sling loose
and there's not a safe place for me to stop
or for the tears to drop.
Daddy why aren't you there to catch me anymore?
Your tools are gone
Your smell is gone
I've got a picture, and a few of your toys,
but I stand in the living room, I can feel you there
Please say something, Daddy.
Because it's your answers I want
because I can't make a move without them....
Daddy?

Absolution and Retribution

Cain carried in his cracked and
weather beaten hand
an Iris as beautiful as the falling sun
and the beach's twinkling sand

He gently showed the flower to some nearby little girls
with it's delicate, brittle stems, leaves, and twirls
he then squeezed his hand tight
and blood flowed through his fingers and dripped

dripped down into the grass.....

Cain said to the little girls that this is what
God does to all beauty
He bleeds it dry, turning it into
whores and manual duty

Cain then dropped the Iris and walked away
as the little girls laughed in their curious and naive way
they attempted to fix the mangled Iris
for the remainder of their day

Cain walked chuckling through
a great and heavy door
Where a flick of the Morningstar's wing
slit his throat from neck to floor

As Cain gurgled and breathed his last
Lucifer knelt down low
Putting his fingertips to his lips
and breathed....

"It's not for them to know."