From 101 of the least asked questions of all times

Why do intellectuals often think they’re smarter than circus clowns?


While circus clowns do not necessarily pride themselves on their intellectual prowess, they cannot be said to know less than intellectuals, whose assumption of superiority in itself would be an intellectual mistake.  This makes the score from the beginning of the debate 1-0: circus clowns.


Whereas a circus clown may not have read The Nichomachean Ethics, the intellectual has most likely never reduced a sad child to happy tears through the flapping of their size 26 boot. In each case a catharsis may be the possible result, yet whereas the circus clown does not judge results or knowledge according to intellect, but rather, to emotion, he can be said to know more depending upon his dedication to his craft, natural abilities and even age.



Why are NRA guys so into law and order yet cops hate their guts?


While it is true that the right to bear arms is in our constitution, it is also true that the founding fathers had not considered the fact that thirteen-year-old psychopaths in the future could find myriad ways to exercise their right at twenty to one hundred bullets per minute. Cops are well aware of this fact and therefore believe there should be limits on the types of guns to be sold and also stricter regulations concerning the sale. The NRA guys are also aware of this situation, an awareness which, for them, points right back to the constitution in the form of desire for self-protection and law and order. Unfortunately, the NRA guys cannot see banning any weapons at all for fear of blighting the holy words “right to bear arms.” Cops say that because of this cops die. Unfortunately, criminals also readily admit their love of this constitutional right as well. However, criminals will most likely never attack the NRA guy, (who is ready for him, but unfortunately lives far from the criminal, on his ranch in Texas) but will instead kill small children playing on their front porches from L.A. to New York City. Ultimately, the entire debate comes down to one other question: Do children really matter?



Why does the media believe that it is important for me to know that the President enjoyed a golf game yesterday?



The media will usually use the President’s golf game as a lead-in to what it wants to say about current events. However, this does not sufficiently explain why the camera or the writer’s pen or the photographer’s lens naturally finds the president swinging a four foot pole at a two inch ball relevant and a good place to start.


Two concepts may help to explain this. The “reeling-in”  and the “give the public a break” Ideas.


The former uses the golf game as backdrop because it does not expect the general public to pay attention to the intricate details of the story without first having a mental pacifier handed to them.


This “reeling in” leads the viewer by the hand to la la land where the under-lying message is coyly announced, for example, that the president is calm, cool, and collected, so “don’t worry when I tell you that he is on his way to prison for fraud, etc…”


This “give the public a break” technique is a sort of buffer between the story and what it really means, a public service to us from the media.


Combined, these two tricks of the trade lead to an intriguing story whereas there was previously only the possibility of a slightly different take on the never changing and endless stream of beaureaucratic red tape run amok that the journalist must call news or else lose his job.

Published in: on September 28, 2016 at 12:26 am  Leave a Comment  
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Adam and Eve – Katherine Gianaclis

Published in: on July 18, 2016 at 2:46 am  Leave a Comment  


when the day dream becomes a hum
then you stop and listen
and hear nothing distinct
but know you must decipher something
if you are to keep from drowning
in the inner fuzz born of a world too large,
too too much for unconscious man.
We lean into punches given out freely,
feel them, request them from others
so as to feel and know that maybe
there is such thing as force, a force,
something that can move
the cloud-wrapped buzz of the brain.
but we don’t conceive brain, only cloud
and that silent buzzing, that hum
moving us into the future.
thoughtless and blind but moving,
ever moving, oh yes,
and we must grasp the sides fearful
and the fathers we claim
never seem to be moved by the same.
Some come to grow the world
others to destroy,
but many don’t know the difference.
All they see is force that penetrates us
a real live being in the diaphanous nothing
of our unfortunate invisible non-views so pliable
If we place anything inside
as rescuer of our unconscious
it is all physical prowess imagery.
We are intrigued by death for sure
because it proves most that we exist.
Big desperate human-like symbols arise
and are paramount to we the unknowing
giving birth to demagogues,
thieves in saviors clothing

Published in: on July 11, 2016 at 3:53 am  Leave a Comment  
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Jai la Jai la Jai la and the hunmphs

Somebody told me to write something. Something. Anything. Something new. Something else. Write something. Something. Anything. Just write.

So, I decided that I would write something. Not look something up on the internet, but write something without any connection to the internet. That’s “research.”  Well, here I am back again. Now what? Cleaned up the yard. Wow. What now? Blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah!


The world is alright today. Today the world is alright.


What do you want? What do you want? Then why do you want it? Why do you want it? What worlds are alright? What worlds are alright? Everyworld. Everyworld. Taste. Taste. The worlds we’re led into through taste. Taste. Taste in every respect of the word. Taste. Respect. Respect taste.  Your best works will be written by angels weeping for you. Your best works will be written by angels weeping for you. Wandering Jew. Deny literature! Rustic ways already as you reach for words and the hunmphs have already come. The hunmphs have already came. Wild wandering Jews words wandering forty days and forty nights. Wilding wandering Jews ways away into the sandy day. The hunmphs came. The hunmphs came.


Good, never thought I’d get out of that sentence. Sometimes it’s like sentences are chasing me and I’m looking back and they’re gaining on me and I keep running or, er uh, typing and when it stops I stand there breathing hard and suddenly there is this place, the sudden place and you are stopped and you don’t know where you are really or even hardly what you are but you stop and you look around and you think about why you’ve been running and you see the letter A standing there shaking his head like “ you shmuck” and he comes up and gives you all of the great things about the letter A that you’ve ever wanted to know and it’s cool and stuff, you know, coupons and samples and stuff and then B and there’s just so many of them and you don’t know where to put it, but you take their samples and some coupons for a few dollars off at a cool coffee bar or something and you go there and after it is all said and done and you’ve met the entire alphabet, you can then go use those letters for your own advantage, like you make money off of them and use them as tools and make things right with them and some people can really screw things up with them, but this is America (I hope) and all kinds of things and because you listened in school you make No money, but if you hadn’t and had just started working on engines and been a bad, non-caring student you could be having a nice big house and a wife and kids and four by fours and really cool things, but no, you listened in school and tried to “take it all in.” Thank God for a sense of humor to debug the reality of our modern education system. If you’re going to teach a kid English it’s important you’d better also tell him that man does not live on spirit alone either. Everybody needs a little dough. So, the “smart” ones, they make it to the top in law and government. We’re the ones left out so we’re trying to make the best of it. Because we’re good with words we lead the discussion about politics, religion, law, war and the difference between “right and wrong.”  But if only we had worked on our own engines! What if we hadn’t “learned” what “they” said was important. Maybe we wouldn’t be dreaming up all of these silly reasons to “fight.”  And I do use the word loosely. I would like to see some of these trumpeters of war in a fistfight. They would look silly, so, instead, they send a kid who thinks that since someone’s gotta do it it might as well be him because he is the “strongest” person around anyway and here goes and yeehaaaW….gunk. plerp.  I wanna go….hOme.


Right off, the paragraph size thing is off. Second, the words, the words, they aren’t clear. They’re scattered come on, man, wake up! Third, well, there is no third I guess, but if there was you’d…..well, anyway. I can’t let my anger get away from me. Jai La, Jai la, jai la.



Published in: on June 17, 2016 at 6:38 pm  Leave a Comment  
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A Low Sound

a writer a writer is what i said i was

a writer a writer is what i am

can’t even make that poem ryme.

they tell me i am wrong

i’m sailing the wrong way

into an orange ocean rather than blue

they say i will die


but i won’t let them kill me no matter how brave that may sound

we held them off with righteousness


Published in: on June 16, 2016 at 3:04 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Let the Angels Reign


A deep deep sound gravity awakens night tickles day lays upon her night and leaves. Corrosion explosion notions of nought cannot doom reality or her graces final musings.


A ticket to space is not the same as being there. When we wake we realize our dream has left us, but we do not wonder where it has gone. Why?


If our motions considered us we would never be able to move. If our sounds sought us after we made them we would be harried and run from city to city like some Cain unable to forget Abel.


I would make my world a centerpiece rather then give to it a stone that may or may not bring it luck. Give it a reason to make glitter from the passing moon and the stationary stars.


If love could visit me tonight I would sit down first for tea with it. If it could not make itself known to me completely I would go to sleep with the one that I love and dream it to me and it would lie upon my breath afloat for hours.


The star’s son has been commmitted to knowing less tonight. The boys and girls who dreamed they would someday know how to dream have fallen asleep again, put off play for something higher again only to wake up wondering again.


If music were my master I would bow down forever upon an altar of moon. I would not consider myself less if a smile were given to me by a friend. I would die if it were taken away, but usually I need not fear either and that is a sadness that I bear.


If women could only understand men they would know that our hearts too have pulse. I’m tired of being called unknowing by those who think that they know. I would choose no battles there however for no curve of cheek or hue of skin can predict from where love can arise. Not even mine.


I love to love and fear losing the love I have known. What valleys have been riveted into my being by my experiences with love. What sounds have coursed through my skull because I have wondered at the loss of love. To have loved even for a moment is enough to make you restless for a lifetime until you know such a moment again.


I give nothing to you tonight. I take all for me. The world is mine if I am to understand the concept of the scope of reality. I cannot think less than within that sphere whose boundaries I defy anybody to make in front of me. I confuse light with dark and sound with silence only because I refuse not to be open to the experiences of all or none.


Fourteen years have passed since I last looked into the circle. Two thousand years went by before I realized that nobody cared anymore. Who am I to say what is being done is not proper? Nobody. I say it anyway. What is not proper. I do not know. That is the mystery of my pursued quandary.


I will sell the dust on my shoes for a million. Take a beanie baby and hang it by a tree and snare a citizen as they come and steal in the night that which cannot be taken except under the eye of God. Adam and Eve. Well, it’s not as though they’re dead, you know.


I take my liberty now, but accept the price tomorrow. I, by knowing I do not know and yet exclaiming anyway, will pay the price in looks of knowing that I do not know that you will all give. For if I know, how then can you know if what you know is different from what I do. I laugh and then hide, knowing the argument silly.


John Emmons was shot in the shoulder because he thought a conversation silly. Was it an angel that made him jump away at the last moment that extra inch further that mattered? An angel is song, known in body and soul, and therefore let the angels reign…


Published in: on May 27, 2016 at 6:57 am  Leave a Comment  
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Neville, Wilma and Charlie – Albert

Charlie stooped down to pick up a multi-colored pencil. Just then a bullet flew over his head. Right where his head would have been. A man stared at him holding the gun. He still pointed it at Charlie who simply looked up.

-Can I help you?

-You stole my Wilma!

-Your Wilma? What the hell is a Wilma?

-My wife!

-You must have me mistaken for someone else…

-No, you’re the guy.

-What’s his name?


-The guy who stole your wife.

-I don’t know, but I know you’re it.

-How do you know that I stole your wife if you don’t even know his name? What if my name was Ron, but the guy who stole your wife’s name was Stan?

-I saw you coming out of that building.

-That’s my building.

-224 sound familiar?

-I’m 222.

-Do you know Esther?



-Mrs. Williams?

-Yes. That’s my sister. She seen you.

-Seen me?

-Yes. Seen you. She seen you going in and out of the apartment with my wife.

-How? From where?

-The laundry room.

-How do you know your wife and I hadn’t perhaps come to the same point in the same hallway at the same time and entered the two doors at the same time. They are right next to each other, and it looked like we entered the same room from the laundry room which is a good ways away down the hall, I might add.

-She said it was you.

-Were we in my apartment or Esther’s?


-Didn’t she go back and find your wife?
-She was gone. She was in your apartment with you.

-I see.

-Well, I guess you better shoot me, because that’s some pretty heavy evidence.

-I’m not going to shoot you, the gun just went off.

-Well, you almost shot me.

-I just wanted to scare you. I don’t want to go to jail.

-You don’t think there’s a charge against waving a gun in someone’s face even if you’re not planning on shooting them?

-I guess so, but I didn’t care.

-Because I’m cheating with your wife.


-Well, why would you think she’s cheating on you?

-She doesn’t like me anymore.

-That doesn’t mean she’s cheating on you.

-I’m soft.


-Yeah, soft, weak, filled with fear, afraid I’m going to lose her, obsessed. Stupid, stupid!

-Don’t take it so hard. So, you’re soft. Everybody goes limp now and then. We can’t all be superman all the time and as for your relationship, maybe she chose you because she was having a fight with a mythical mother in the distant past or a father who hated her or something and realized that she got into a relationship with you because she was afraid of turkey or something.

-She ain’t afraid of turkey.

-I didn’t say that. What I mean is, what if she loves you, but she doesn’t love you the same way anymore, but she still loves you and you guys just need to figure out how you love each other as you both keep changing in this world. I’m sure you’re not a total shlep. I’m sure you’ve got some good qualities or she wouldn’t have married you in the first place, but I have to tell you, you’re blowing it with this gun bit and all.

-I’m sorry.

-It’s okay. Sheez! Will you at least put the thing in your pocket or something.


-Okay. Good. Well, now, have we got it established that I didn’t cheat with your wife?


-Good. Well, then. I’ve got to go. I could call the police, but I won’t because I can see that you have had a setback into insanity and I’ve had a few of those myself, not quite like you, but I’ve had them and I won’t call the police.


-Well, I’ve got to go.



-What’s this?

-What? What?

-This picture.

-What is that. Give me that. Jeez, porn.

-Not porn. That’s you.

-Let me see.

-That’s me?  Are you sure.


-But he has red hair, reddish brown hair and my hair is black, dark brown.

-Same cut.

-But you can’t see half his face and that is definitely not my nose. A button. See?
-Close enough.

-I thought we’d established….

-Look, you talk a lot. I can respect that. But I know what I know and I know that you slept with my wife.

-But I thought you said…

-Forget what I said. That was to shut you up. Get the fear out of you. Now you got to pay.

-You are going to shoot me.



-Oh well. Okay, I might as well fess up. I did it. I don’t know you’re wife’s name but if that’s her in that picture then I certainly must have enjoyed it. I think I’ll always remember our night together, the way that she weaved and bobbed for me and then insisted I take her laying down from behind…

-Wilma. I told you. Wilma.

-Then she said that she couldn’t stand it anymore and then I really let her have it…


-Fear. You’re filled with fear. Everything you do is filled with fear. From the way you hold that gun to the way you stand there looking at me right now. Fear. Fear fear fear fear fear. You’re filled with fear. I’ve never met your wife. Definitely never fucked her if I never met her, although I’ve heard such things have been attempted.

-You never met my wife…with your clothes on…

-You can’t learn can you? You don’t get it. I didn’t fuck your wife!

-Then who is that in that picture?

-Some guy fucking your wife.


-Who looks like me!

-Who is you!

-Who looks like me.

-Who is you.

(removes gun from pocket)

-Oh, so now you’re going to really do it aren’t you?

-I don’t know. You look like him.

-I’m not him.

-Esther saw you. Wilma was gone after.

-She wasn’t anywhere near me. She may have been near my apartment, but she’s never been in it.


(Charlie turns)


-Neville, what are you doing here?

-What are you doing here? And why are you calling this guy Charlie?

-Because he’s Charlie. God, Charlie, I missed you.

(She snuggles close into him)

-Excuse me!


-Who are you!

-Oh, God, Charlie, what?


-Oh, God, Neville. I forgot for a second.

-Forgot what?

-God, I’m so sorry. I just forgot.

-But we’ve been married five years!

-I know.

-And why did you lie to me!

-I’m not lying to you! I’ve never seen this woman in my life except for in that picture.

-Charlie, just tell him.

-My name’s not Charlie!


-That either.



-Oh, Neville…it’s you.

-You’re drunk!

-I was at Esther’s. How was that Charles?

-Great. I guess I’m Charlie after all. Good enough. I’ve got to go.

-Wait. I’m not going to shoot you. It wouldn’t be right and I don’t want to go to jail. But if I ever see you around her again I will do it and next time I won’t be kidding around.

-Great. Awesome. Groovy. I’ve got to go.

-Just a warning to you.

-Bye, Charlie.

-Bye, bye, “Wilma.” Bye “Neville.”

-Remember the warning.

-Roger that.

Charlie exits.

-So, Nev. We going to go home and make love?

-I don’t know. I don’t feel it anymore. You make me weak. I don’t feel strong. I feel full of…fear. Fear. That’s it. I am full of fear. I can’t do anything anymore.


-I don’t know why. I don’t trust you or myself or something. I don’t trust that you love me anymore and maybe I’m seeing too much into things and you’re drunk and you’re not usually drunk and that guy and why did you just melt into him like that…

-I don’t know. I just did.

-That’s what I mean. You just did. You just did. And I’m weaker for it and fearful and cold and, I gotta go. C’mon.

-Okay, but I can’t go yet. You go. I’ve got to get my stuff at Esther’s. I’ll be right there. Make me a bath, okay?

-Alright. Okay. Be quick. I gotta go. I’m sick of this. Sick of this fear.

-Just go and make me the bath and it will be alright.

-Alright. Fear. Fear. All this fear.

Neville walks away. Wilma walks into the building when Charlie meets her.

-Christ, what a bastard. Almost killed me.

-Just kiss me and get me upstairs. We only got a few minutes this time.

-This is getting ridiculous.

-I know. But what are you going to do?

Published in: on May 19, 2016 at 5:30 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Fargo Kantrowitz’z Literary Campsite -Law After Law- Joey Kantor



Law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law….freedom in America? Yeah, right.


If you make a directional driving mistake on the streets of the country a money hungry black and white will roll up on you and, if you are poor, take everything you have, literally.  Happened to me yesterday. Saving every penny from being a substitute school teacher and authentic Christian and for what? Now I have zero so Police Officer Assistant Debbie can have her salmon at Chez Louiee on Saturday night.


It is preposterous that money from traffic tickets should go to the people giving them out. This is almost as ludicrous as putting the control of hard narcotics into the hands of the people that the rich people have crushed and tossed to the street to practice necessary crime. (crushed by pricing and culturalizing them out of existence and neglecting the fact that we are emotional and psychological beings who, when defeated, will self-medicate).


When you are poor, I mean really poor, not the kind of poor where you can’t buy another fishing boat or have to drive a Kia, but poor poor, you look at the world around you and everything and everybody you see is just cruel. Everybody is holding on to what is theirs while forming barriers around themselves for fear of losing it. They look at you and see someone who wants what they have. It doesn’t matter that they don’t carry cash. They know what they have. What their worth is, so to speak. And it seeps into them and they glance at you sidelong and wonder: is it in the tossed aside poor where the justice (that even they feel deep down)  is going to show itself – in the destruction of ME?


Paranoia. What a wonderful thing paranoia is. It is spread throughout the world, passed on to everybody, but it has its birth by people closing down, not because they have not, but because they have. They need to protect themselves. And they really have good reason for this paranoia, because of their ill thought out protection methods, most noticeably, “the drug war.”


Then there is paranoia on the streets driving (oh, as long as I have money in the bank, but did I just make an illegal turn…oh…oh), paranoia on the news: actual quote (Glenn Beck) “Gaza….Gaaaazzzaaaaaaahh.” Ooooh. I’m so scared of those philistines. Pass the corn pone Stupila. Okay, Dupus. Stupid Americans, the same ones who keep us in paranoia because they believe in killing everything just to sort of get it out of the way.


Back to our idea of paranoia and how paranoia is part and parcel of a deep need by those who live good, fearful little lives to kill everything that is Not Them. The Drug War. My own personal hell in this drug war comes from having gall stones. I have been hanging at the beach in sunny southern california before going back to my illustrious gig as a substitute teacher in Nevada when I had a gallstone attack. Now, in California you can get a card that says you can use marijuana if you have a physical ailment. I’m not from California. Well, gallstones go something like this: you eat that bowl of potato salad because you just had to eat it and eight hours later you are curled up on the floor in a fetal postion for another good six hours before you come out of it and just wonder what the hell you’d been through. The Only thing that alleviates the pain is pot. No, I went to the doctor once. He gave me a narcotic. It didn’t work. Nope just pot.


Call me a stoner. Take me to jail.


Anyway, it’s seven in the morning and it’s coming on. I’m not yet in the fetal position (I’m a 46 year-old-man), but I will be soon enough and I’ll welcome it. The fetal position remedy is better than the standing straight up or sitting remedy in my professional opinion. I’m poor. Don’t tell me to go to the doctor. Anything to take away the pain.


I go out to the beach boardwalk area where you see the people who know the real carnage that the drug war has wrought (the actual patients, I mean addicts, I mean criminals, I mean…) These are the beaten down homeless people who are necessarily scammers and thieves, some of them, or just good souls who have lost faith. Don’t say that they need Jesus. They don’t.  Jesus is the last thing that they need. They need You!


But getting back to the story, it’s coming on. The yuppies are on the streets. Their equivalents, the down home country folk from Missouri, won’t be out for a few more hours. But the yuppies like to walk and breathe the nice fresh air. They live in nice houses that cost thousands of dollars a month. They’re good people too, generally, but the butter crust of humanity doesn’t see them like that. They’re just more rich people (everybody is a rich person compared to them) who are seeking their morning comforts.


I go up to an African-American fellow whose chances went away a long, long time ago and chat with him. He’s off his rocker, but hey, I live in America, Everybody is off their rocker. I tell him straight up because of the knife trying to carve its way out of my insides: I need a joint.


My new friend has been around just long enough to not give me too much of a “you’re not a cop are you” stare. I feel that he will help me. Now, this is the lowest of the low. His face was so punched in that his nose actually looked kind of cool because of it. Distinguished in a way. He’s the guy you would steer your kids around on the sidewalk. He helped me. He was the only person in the world who would help me.


I can’t help but think about Jesus (my mother owned a Bible store for 25 years), how Jesus talked about the “least of these.” That if you help the “least of these” that you help HIM (Jesus Himself). Well, I was the least of these and was helped by what you would perceive as the top qualifier for “the least of these” title.


A little Christian charitable act, also known as a misdemeanor in modern Christian America, as the joggers jogged by and the sleepers from Tennessee slept with their doors locked dreaming of new laws to take money away from those who make innocent mistakes, and the “fundamentalists” (as if they were doctors or something) blocking themselves further and further into their fearful shells while the Karl Roves (non-Christian, college-educated) of the world hover like the vultures they symbolically are and pick and scheme ways to tie in their love of safety with their love of Christ and come up with the idea that “War is the Answer.”  (Thanks, guys, you killed hundreds of thousands of innocent people in Iraq.)


But let’s get back to the real criminals: poor people who are destroyed by road confusion tickets and gall bladder attacks. Well, I have one friend in the world. He got me a little weed. Just enough to get me through six agonizing hours of pure pain. Thanks criminal homeless dude who should be off the street and is what is wrong with everything in this country today and Mr. why don’t you go get a job and do something with yourself and get off drugs and you loser and law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law after law.


Good luck with all of that you “christian” (small c, quotation marks intended) fundamentalist, protection-loving fearful ones in all of your red states And blues. Don’t worry. It’s not just Republicans, although they are the most fearful and heartless in this world (and most gullible) {Ooh, was that politically incorrect?}  It’s everybody who goes day to day in this morass of laws without thinking about it. Some of us do think about it, obviously, but most don’t and you’re the ones, the non-thinkers (Saytan creayted yooniversitees where they learned too HATE Jesus {bravo, semi-educated Glenn Beck. Bravo!}) who keep it all alive.


Smile! Smile! Everything is good, because deep down you know that you would never give your life for another, ever, that you would seek a second amendment remedy before you did anything like that.


…but you give your life to shysters, to Presidents who say they are “born-again.” You killed hundreds of thousands of human-like blobs in Iraq because you didn’t want to think for yourselves. It was all over the place, the signs. I’m an idiot and by following responsible, non-biased journalists even I could see that Bush and Cheney’s whole thing was fishy. I don’t choose my journalist via religious affiliation. I am not a Fox News christian.


Now you’ve brought Jesus into this thing so, like John the Baptist (off with his head), you have earned my wrath and I therefore proclaim: Repent Fundamentalist Killers or God will spit you out of His Mouth.


Thank God I’m not a fundamentalist or you would have to fear that I mean that literally, that I’m a kook who is going to become the “mouth” of God. I don’t roll that way.  But you do. Your Tea-Partiers do. You are right up there with other famous “fundamentalists” who I will name now: Osama bin Laden, Mullah Omar, The Shoe Bomber, Mohammad Atta and some others who, like you, their names I can’t pronounce. Wake up! Law after law after law after law after law after law….(pharisees).


Legalize all drugs now so that doctors can dispense them and America can lose the paranoia that disturbs the average American peace of mind by nurturing violent criminality. There is no better combination for mayhem than competition and paranoia and that’s what you are sensing on your streets or at night when you lock yourselves in your homes.


Let’s give our country back to the people and stop this policing industry in its tracks once and for all. Give all monies made by arrests, confiscations and tickets to charities, anywhere that is not the pockets of those giving them out. This is Ludicrous, as is the drug war (just let the doctors be El Jefe, that’s all I ask), as is hoping that anybody is reading this or even cares. Good day.



Published in: on May 5, 2016 at 12:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

The Product

Dave, Jenny, Marta, Johnny, Peter, Brenner and Janey sit together in a storefront.



Okay. You, Brenner, you’ve got the existentialist shit, you know, the cloud of unknowing, we’re all going to die, but don’t worry be happy.

Why do I have to be happy dying and you guys…

Because Peter will be handling that.

You know I asked that before Peter even came along.

Look, Dave, I can give up hedonism. I could go with Epicurianism or something.

No, no, you’re covering hedonism. How the hell else are we going to…

Be bad?

Exactly. Look, some of the coolest cats in the world have tackled existentialism and come out okay: Sartre, Camus, Kierkegaard…

I know, I know, okay.

Jenny, you’re the rationalist.

Are there a lot of numbers?

Sometimes, but you can bring to it what you got.

Can I make my beads?

Ask yourself.



Good. It’ll work then. Marta, you’ll be covering the darkest night thing, way beyond existentialism. This will make you ultra cool, though. Can you handle it?


I’m not sure how my mother will feel about Nihilism.

She’ll love it. Rather, don’t tell her about it. It will be okay.

Okay. I feel depressed.

Good. Johnny…

I know. Idealism.

That’s right. It’s a sunny day. Everything is going to shit, but it’s a sunny day. We’re all going to be okay. The meteor isn’t going to hit. Cows will eventually talk to us and tell us that they like us.

Do I have to smile.


I’m going to end up wearing a nametag a lot, aren’t I?

I’m afraid so, but we need you. We have to smile when Marta pipes in.

Okay, I can see the importance in that.

What are we missing?

What about Janey?

Janey, you’ve got all religious ecstatic motivation, got that? You got the ear of God, that sort of thing. Totally effulsive, mind blowing God exists type thing.

I feel like I’m getting bigger.

Don’t talk in tongues. At least not yet. This thing could blow out of control, but you will exist in this form. You know that you know that you know. Got it?

Hallowed be thy…

Keep it. Now. Everybody. Go!

They all sit silently not knowing what to say.



Jenny runs to the window and turns the open sign around. She returns and all sit once more in silence. Then the door opens. A man, Robert, walks in.


Come in. Come in. How can we help you.

I was walking around outside and I saw your sign.

We have no sign.

It says “open.”

You’re right. We have a sign.

We can’t really help you.

Why not?

(stands) Of course we can help him. Come in. What’s your name?

Robert: Robert Mayhew.

(Shaking his hand) Gosh, it’s good to see you, Mr. Mayhew. Isn’t it wondrous how things work out? Here you are. Here we are? The world is out there. The world is in here. But, in here, (he points to his heart) all things are possible. Wouldn’t you agree?

That is if you believe that this turning world is not a diseased soon to be corpse patiently awaiting self styled annihilation. You see, Mr. Mayhew, we are on a downward spiral and it’s going all the way down this time. Corruption, sin, evil ways produce enough ugly corroding acid to assure that this world, including the one in your heart, will not last the millennium. Have a nice day.

Perhaps I should go.

Go? No, how could you go? You came in, did you not? IN has nothing to do with out and…

Just what do you do here?

They all just stare at him with blank looks.


Yes, do, what do you do here. Why am I here?

They all look at each other.

May I respond?

Of course.

Brenner: Look, I can see you came in here looking for something. I’m afraid that you’re not going to find it. There’s too much to find. Ultimately, and I know because it is a universal thing, you’re probably looking for answers, meaning, maybe even “God,” universality, foreverness, whatever. Look, how do I say this…


Do you have a product? Maybe I’ll take one. Sure. I’ll take one. Give me one of your product.

Silence again.

Okay…Look, as I was saying, maybe you came in here looking for something. Maybe a “product” or something. Something to hold on to. Something tangible that will let you look at your life and feel good inside, some lasting promise about something good, some sense, maybe, that this life is not the only life we’ve got.

Janey starts to speak, but stays quiet.

Now, Janey may have a different opinion on the matter and I can respect that, but in forming the business we, I think, and I don’t know how it could be refuted, it is evident that the product that you seek would not make you happy because attached to every product is the promise of that product’s demise. Do you see? You are really, I’m sorry, wasting your time here because, really, nothing lasts. But that’s okay! That’s okay!

Then I guess I’ll go then.


You have no business, you have no product, yet the product I would have purchased here had you had one would not have satisfied me anyway. So I guess I’ll go…

Wait. Wait. You can’t take his word for it. You cast aside something that does not work, namely, buying a non-existent product and what do you have left? That’s right…a reason to totally party!

(Dave, Brenner and Peter break out in guttural laughter. Janey, Jenny, Johnny and Marta remain silent)

Right. I gotta go.

Wait. Wait. We’ve got something for you.

He scans the people in the room and then nods nervously to Janey.


Thank you (relieved). Hello, Robert.





I love you.

There’s something. We’ll find it guys. We’ll find it. There’s gotta be a product somewhere that we have. Something.

Prostitution is as good a way to go as any, I guess.

Janey: I love you with my width. I love you with my height. I love you with my morning. I love you with my night. I love you when all love seems withered. I love you if you don’t love yourself. Imagine a universe of holy love. By being here you are inside of this universe. Your soul floats on the starwagon hitched to eternity.

Oh, Christ. You think, guys? You think? What are the odds…wait for it…

Janey: oh lalabadanallallapoalapolafolawalaoshkalasa…(speaking in tongues)

Marta: (singing) and we all go down together…


(Janey wakes up from her trance)

Do you see, Robert? Perhaps you can call almighty universal Love the only “product” that you need. I can.

Peter: Here here, as long as you share it with your friends.

Marta: You holdin?

Peter: Hell yeah!

Peter goes for his stash, but notices the stern disapproving look of Jenny. Instead, he and Marta run offstage together.

Why do I feel…


Yeah, confused. That’s it.

That’s normal. If you think of the amount of confusion that you deal with on a daily basis you will soon come to realize and see the threads that if you follow will lead you out of your confusion. Regardless of what some people think, there are things to know. The basic process of living is enough to keep your mind occupied happily throughout a typical day. You really don’t need much more than this: Life, Love and Happiness. But you’ve got to start somewhere. You’ve first got to get your ducks in a row. Make sure everything you do is going to get you somewhere. If you don’t you’re going to get stuck and then if what Janey says or anybody else is true then you will have come to it on your own. Just keep your eyes open, Robert.



Jenny, you make sense. Can I ask you then, what exactly can I buy here?

Jenny looks at him with a blank stare in her eye.

That’s not important right now, Robert. There is something to buy, I’m sure of it.

Peter and Marta return. Stoned.

Peter: Sure we’ve got something to buy.

We’re selling, Peter.

Selling now? Oh. We’ve got something to sell. Imagine it, Robert. Starting with a nice 1972 rieseling to compliment the Oyster Marmaduke in a slightly reversed onion and tangerine sauce. Beef Wellington and asparagus tips sautéed or braised, your choice, in an eastern Ethiopian frame of which I could speak all day followed by a port so influenced by the French that the Italians after years and years of trying finally outdid it. Of course I’m talking about Dell’callabrezia, oh 1982, possibly 1983, followed by hand rolled spliffs from seeds imported from Holland and grown in cat feces, I know, I know, it sounds horrible, but the high…

I can attest to that.

Robert, of course we aren’t selling drugs.

You’re a restaurant then?


He’s high, right?

You got it.

Then what? What! What am I doing here? I’ve gotta go.


Dave jumps up and does a quick dance number before sitting back down.

You like? You like?

Robert says nothing.

God, Robert, it’s all right here! The future starts now as they say and the heights that you can climb if you only start when the world wants you to start! Instead of doing this or that, battling that thought against that thought and always spinning your wheels, just accept that life is Good. Got it! Life is there for you. It’s as high as the sky and this future does not need a nice meal or a good joint to make it a real fact as long as you embark. Take off! Go! Be with You and all things will come. Your loves will appear to you and the next step will always be followed by another and one day, one day, Robert, you will quite simply, be sitting on a cloud.

Or in burning embers.

And his Eyes will behold you and His demeanor will state to all that you are worthy for the entering of the light and once the light is shining upon you the world will bow to the goodness of your soul until you disappear into the light and all questions will have been answered. Nothing else will ever be needed again.

She closes her eyes and is about to speak in tongues again.


Janey opens her eyes, smiles, and acquiesces to the request not to speak in tongues.

So, your sitting on a cloud, right? Robert, listen. So you’re sitting on a cloud and God comes up to you and sees you. You maybe masturbated earlier that day and maybe cursed your neighbor because your neighbor is brain dead and deserves to be cursed and then suddenly it’s like wham! Off you go. No more. Sayonara. No more high-rise cloud living for you. Down you go. Falling. Falling. Seven, eight, nine miles until you land flat on your back in the land of the doomed. It was nice to think that you could make it to the cloud planet but ultimately you’re just like the rest of us imperfect specimens avoiding points from a pitchfork and watching full time the type of things that got you in hell in the first place.

Hell is other people.

Not for Robert it won’t be. For Robert it will be full time anguish. Gnashing of teeth. Ticks, electric shocks, abject fear, blackness, death fucking death fucking death. It’s not going to be nice.

Robert, at least you don’t have to believe in fairy tales while you’re here. We may not have a product.

We have a product!

Okay, maybe we don’t know if we have a product.

We have a product!

Well, technically, Dave, while we have a lot of desire to have a product we don’t really, as of this moment, anyway…


Okay, we have a product, but right now…anyway, if you want to listen to Nihilist Nancy over there I can go get you a rope from the store right now and you can answer all of your questions yourself.

Go on, Brenner, testify.

Or if you go to Saint Janey’s school of perpetual elation you’ll end up being as dumb as an ox. No, listen. There is a product, but it isn’t what you think. The product is…Now. Eat, drink and be merry la la la for tomorrow we die.

That’s what I’m talkin’ about. But it’s a science, man. A goddamned science!

I need a new rat.

I see. I see. Well, thank you. I really must be going.


Dave jumps up and goes off stage. He comes back with a dirty rag.

Here. Here it is. Here’s our product, Robert. Thank you for your patience with my salespeople. It’s a rather new staff that I’m still mostly training.

You’re joking, right?

No, no, not at all. This isn’t what you think it is.

It’s not a rag with oil stains on it?

No, not at all.

It is an emblem of all that you can be when you wipe clean your past and start anew.

It is a testimony to the fact that you will not be a victim to nothingness after you have asserted yourself into the truth about life, that you are born to die, but that shouldn’t put a damper on things now should it? You will still have this as soon as your personal assertion is made. There are really very few, if any, products like this one.

It is what you will use to wipe the feet of the Universal One when your time comes. It is the flag of surrender that you will need more than anything else when all spiritual embodiment comes to compliment your hereafter. It is a valuable lifeline.

It could sop up your blood when I kill you.


Oh, never mind.

It’s a rag…

Dave gives her a stern look.

A very nice rag if you ask me.

It’s a start, you see, when you harvest there needs to be a certain amount of moisture held within the soil and by placing this over the cat mixture essential nutrients will remain. This is how it is done in the casino districts of Somalia.

There you have it. It’s only a dollar.

You sold me. I’ll take it.

Dave hands Robert the rag.

Thank you, Thank you. I’ve so wanted a rag just like this. Well, gotta be going. Appointment at four. Thanks again. Bye bye.

Robert exits. The group sits around and says nothing

(to Marta, disgusted) I need a new rat

Published in: on April 26, 2016 at 9:17 am  Leave a Comment  
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The Cog

have to drink out of glass.
carry it everywhere and it dangles from their wrists
like a god. a little water sloshing at the bottom,
always there, just that little bit of water, not enough to drink,
but there like it would matter eventually and yet it is lost,
the lost water, the nothing warming water useless
because in too small a container. always more water wanted,
but it must be in glass and therefore never enough water,
but the dangle and the message and the belief
that it is healthier because of it all, but is it? Is it?

the texting hipster who doesn’t know
that the texting device makes him uncool
in the realm of former hipsters, but not caring.
the interview with the rock star: what apps do you use?
the lost generation, the t.v. dazed text starved supra socialized now gents and ladies
of uncoolness. get it now, the moment, catch it.
remember when it was just at parties they would bring out the photo albums?
now it is always. how old we’ve become in our youth.
little old scratching melters into each other
where warmth belongs to digitalized mommies fast screen daddies and you.
waaaa. mama papa we are the now generation, the new generation
where we can watch tv all day, motherfucker!

the guy who made it in academia.
matters while the rest of us flounder and forget
and remember that we don’t matter because we weren’t vetted
and we can’t wear ties and fedora’s and flowers in our lapels
but we can sport the floppy boots and the red nose
and we can cry and eat shit and remember that our past is as gone
as their future is in front of them
because they have a whole lifetime of being known
as the ones who matter in the art that you suffered through,
got caught through, burned through, failed through,
asked for everything through and got nothing through.
daft you. wise they.

america wider knowing it’s got nothing on this,
the land where ideas matter, people are trying,
innocence has been celebrated and innovation praised,
no where out there compares. it is all death delight and long views
fetid streets with locals and no entry no money
and suspicion of strangers.
only in the mountains or the liberal seas can a wanderer find a home.
the rest is for the short view and the flickering light
in somber houses late night.

the smart one who knows 1s and 0s and can code
and can know and is young and is the future
and is living inside of the box and we don’t know him
and he doesn’t know us and he is math and we aren’t
and the way the world is to work he will speak and we will not
and it will not be language that we know, but that they know
and transactions will take place because of it
and our food will become cold because bad and theirs will stay hot
and will go fast and taste great because they knew
and it all had to do with the simple fact that nobody, nobody,
nobody talks or even looks at anybody on the street anymore.
it all comes down to the creation of methods to eliminate you
and everyone you know away from me and vise versa.

the woman with the hitler mustache made of a band aid
walks in the sun with an umbrella and a stern look
while vaping a cigarette, a long black one that looks like a real stick
and when she looks up she sees again the world
and her feet keep her walking and there is no rain
and even the sun is not that burning
it’s just that there is no other way to be.

the past, the very recent survival mode, is in you in a stolid sad way,
making the world of the inner become something slow
when the inner isn’t slow, making the world seem dull
when the world is not dull.
it has no color, unless grey (greenish) is a color
which I guess it is, but it has nothing to it.
it is wasted time in exchange for money. it is like a shit.
it must be released and soon.
They will try to convince you that it matters, but it doesn’t.
it matters only to them and you do not play a part in the equation
except in the basest of ways.
The cog.

Published in: on January 16, 2016 at 4:03 pm  Leave a Comment