Archive for the bumper sticker stories Category

sam cooke sings while i write…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Loveable Losers, Philosophy, Poetry, Psychonauts, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

my own world

there was talk of black
curtains to fence me in but
we didn’t need anything that
serious getting in the way.
natural light to one side
of the neural window; add,
subtract, see how it plays out
& never worry.

playing pretend with glass pistols;
billowed smoke playing the bullets
sprayed around the room hoping
for gawdsake that nobody
gets hurt. the psychonauts ride
again for points distant.

————————————-

It’s been a while since the psychonauts rode. The time is coming soon & if you’re not ready, opt for sanity and hope. All others 5 cents a head. That’s meat for the roaster; we are the fire under the spit.

fortuitous timing…

Posted in afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Leonard Cohen, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on September 27, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

probably still is

time given over to the past
for momentary subterfuge
on an afternoon shredded to
pieces by the usual assorted
miscreants & vagrant
ideologues fulfilling
all kinds of bloody-nose
fantasies. it’s all the same
to me; i’ve taken worse
(& seen more of it.)

clouds drift across the landscape
trying to cover the holes in
the sky where they usually hang
stars. maybe its too early for
anything but a snort & drag;
petunia fields won’t hold
a candle to the khandahar poppies
but the afternoon grows more
ambivalent all the same.

dotting through violacea,
playing games past tense on shattered
afternoons like a good boy. i
might have grown up a little;
just more likely not.

———————————

Inspired by Leonard Cohen.

enticement to momentary adulation…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Funny Morning Stories, History, Laughter, Philosophy, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , on September 9, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

omphaloskepsis

it got easier when i realized
not every problem requires a
solution; substitute ephemera
watchin’ a cherry smoldering
in a soon to be stolen ashtray
straightens out my evening hours
faster than pacing back forth.

holding my breath in a pocket
without a reason while my faithful
incendiary waits on my hand
to descend & bring the smoke
right up to the pearly gates.

neither of us has the countersign
& the wrong one knows our
schedule. sitting one-to-a-booth
with enough time to notice a
high-watermark stain reaching
for the top of a leased coffee cup,
i wonder if any of us are
washed frequently enough to
get any kind of close to clean.

no solution to the moment.
trying to share some sense
of a saving grace during
consultations with all
involved; it’s easier to
pawn off neverending nights
knowing there’s always
another hiding behind
tomorrow.

too much going on to worry
about the coffee tasting
like cigarettes. waiting
on an explanation is out of the
question; even a complaint
would take too long. looking
around the booth, around a
mostly empty restaurant, at
a mostly empty pack of
cigarettes wondering what to
do when the last one burns out.

———————

Got a cigarette?

atrocious gambles on short odds…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Ha Ha Funny, Insomnia, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on August 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

fat chance

thinking back & imagining
what it looked like from the
other side of the ocular divide
brought circumscribed attraction
to the fore.

mighta been an atrocious collapse,
barely prevented by slight
variations of entropy rippling out
from anthropocentric principalities,
a lidocaine memory smeared onto
temporal after-effects so
the whole thing lingers
on past closing time & coin
flips.

i’m playing my part with resig-
nation; there is no other
choice. hassling the victorious
would defy terms of peace,
regardless any competing desire
to reassure the faithless.
last of the first hours slip by
between shallow breath &
deep dreams. temporary exhaustion
finds long sought relief from
open eye syndrome between pillow
top mattresses & blankets.

all will move with local-photon
8 minute re-arrival. vitamin d
hangs in the air amongst amended taxes
& remains of mistakes that seemed
partly right at discovery. money-
good doesn’t getcha what it
used to, but it’ll get you enough
as long as a skosh is enough
for a life of plenty.

——————————————

Dedicated to the missing. Dependability is important, but it ain’t the only thing.

directional madness in a pseudo frame…

Posted in afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Extreme Spinal Pain, Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on July 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

blue surfer shorts

gris-gris;
slash the mesh &
turn a swimsuit into
shorts. they’ve been with me
ever since,
over a decade for a
five dollar
lifetime commitment.

the burn marks were
once red cigarette cherries
hanging from my red smiling
lips. sometime while driving
they fell & burnt holes in the
synthetic fiber, if not my
skin or subconscious, &
certainly not my dick.

gentlemanly mis-management
espouses cheerful exhaustion.
you gotta get ready for the next
Big Thing. “always ready”
reply the surf-shorts,
“we’ve been here for years.”
some of that smoke-scent still
whispers stories all drunken &
blotchy.

—————————————

From a comment a few minutes ago. Good thoughts, but down.

sometimes the crows they come…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Fear, Friendship, Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Learning About Life, Peter Singer, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , , , on July 7, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

first timer

up until now, i never
kicked the last breath
out of a hand-wrap to feel
the night close around me,
etc., fade to black. blowing
balloons in the oxygen
spiked air of a late evening
in springfield without rationale;
i wanna fuck my fiance while
she works tagging photographs
with biographical information.

my eyes are tired
but i can still laugh when
the meaning of this quiet
evening spills out of the
sky like spaghetti & present
something less than expected
& more than desired.

life with dark hair falling
across eyes colored to the tune
of the day played on a wind
instrument tied inside the case.
there are no expectations to
abuse as she moves a finger
across the screen. the last title
is omphaloskepsis & the picture
came out perfect.

——————————

For someone special. You have no idea what you mean to me.

take it…

Posted in afternoon requiem, bumper sticker stories, Fear, Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Learning About Life, Poetry, travel, travelogue with tags , , , , , , on June 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

take it

day-night express runs a few times
before a leftover roustabout from the
deep-sleep detox crew rises & shines.
taste the sanity before tidal flows
rush out; another dirty t-shirt
hoping to rise clean, washed out
anywhere but here.

wind & water conspire under a
brimming horizon. gunfighter sun
peeks over the forest line off
in the distance. nobody shoots back
& the planet spins & occasionally
wobbles while gunfighter sun
stands taller & taller. it’s
like that all over the planet;
happens in reverse too.

i want whatever that guy in the
mirror has. he doesn’t need it
like i do. he takes the hit,
same as me, but i swear he’s
forever getting more out of it
than i can take in at once. he
doesn’t need it like i do.

————————————–

souvenir…

Posted in BSC, bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Ha Ha Funny, History, Learning About Life, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on May 31, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

souvenir

my baseball bat does most of
the work when it comes to
disposing any leftover souvenirs
from sometime prior-to. course
i’ve got enough kerosene to do
the job, but it’s cathartic to smash
before you burn, if we’re gonna
be sensible about all this,,,

pictures burn best & picture frames
smash easier than pieces of
paper exposing the asshole i mighta
been back in my asshole days.
right now a snake slithers across
pondscum water baking in sunlight
(code red kinda day i’m told.)

me & a cigarette both burn in the sun;
too fucking muggy to think about
past lives. i stabbed my
still-burning cigarette out in a
clamshell ashtray i found
on some forgotten beach
trip. don’t remember
when or where.

———————————————————-

adherent sensorialists…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Descartes, Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, One Shot Wednesday, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 6, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

adherent sensorialists

cigarette smoke with my
benzinated morning coffee over
linoleum lined floors good for
pacing feet. deep thought in
the kitchen while around me only
asinine reality; isaak’s balloons
carried on the wind across the
window over the parking lot
while barking dogs sing the
breeze to sleep.

i’ve got it on the good authority
of a fanciful ground based sky-pilot
there’s a reason for everything
but my faith wanes. an apolitical
sensorialist leads morning congre-
gents in something resembling
prayer without any appeal to
divinity. they’re all dancing similar
steps, echoing the sensorialist
pleading for help from anyone that
might be listening to the gathered
folk.

nothing happens. always maybe
later but my faith wanes. after
my cigarette is crushed into the
ashtray & the last dregs of coffee
mix with in an acidified stomach,
skunk plant imprints impose their
own additional demands. thought
drifts from familiar sensorialist
congregations to the sensorialist
himself & the magic he weaves.

her molybdenum eyes…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Friendship, Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Laughter, Never Been, Poetry, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , on March 26, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

her molybdenum eyes

her molybdenum eyes are cubically
reflective. at peripheral angles her eyes
reveal a partial forgiveness of desire
requiring constant vigilance to keep
them from completely forgetting. faux
cupcake plans splayed out, laid down
in farcical conversations running over
several days of imagination.
i lose my place repeatedly
even though it’s easy enough
to follow along. have to fight off the
distraction of the reflection of light
off her molybdenum eyes.

she’s dangling flip-flops from both ears
but i’m seeing stiletto boots. when
she walks her heels stab at the floor.
i’d swear the floor savors the touch,
ignoring the pain of twin knives cutting
their way across the room. jokes on me
if i ever find out for sure.

questions with obvious answers ain’t
friends to anybody. curiosity slit a cats
throat & all i did was stub my toe.
i hated not knowing what those eyes
felt like set above an unforced smile.
sometimes it takes the luck of right
place & time. other times just a joke.

her molybdenum eyes split hairs with
the words she speaks; sentience in
real-time playing possum while we
stand in the rain smoking cigarettes,
debating empiricism & leaving the non-
local physics for another day. better
to leave the daydream vicar while he
sleeps. her molybdenum eyes are rare
enough. that’s a question, not
an answer.