Archive for the Fear Category

they come with questions…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Cigarette, Fear, Friendship, Laughter, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“fantasy of movement”

i don’t know where we are.
driving through arteries soon enough
to be choked with other travelers
heading back to a lodge in the
crack shack with all the evidence
of arguments & bullet holes.

we are the lovers dancing at the
end of a silver string. all
our games are scripted but no
rules are enforced. willing par-
ticipants; every penalty a bruise
with a purple/yellow story. rampant
is the mistaken belief that
this chemical road turns to dirt
later rather than sooner.

signs of resolved struggle
dash through the afternoon, dancing
through car windows. sunflower
oil & black licorice leftovers
demand no attention; given
time the precursors reconstitute
themselves. we will discover
a new form only afterward.

doing the job…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Fear, Ha Ha Funny, Insomnia, Never Been, Poetry, TWTC with tags , , , , on September 24, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

elaborate preparation

line-item assembly of chemically
inclined biota transfixed into
somnobulence & a strange stare.
it sits, scratches at the last
piece of evidence still plausibly
lookin’ enough like a beating
heart to sound off ‘Parkers’
Mood’ for the thousandth time
& generally enjoy the experience.

i could still choose to cry,
if i wanted it badly enough
& thought it might be far enough
to the wrong side of right.

lucida releases the strain of any
variety, all comers. mixed into
remnants, holed up inside specially
formed glass glorifying transition from
solid to liquid & back. muddled
leftovers on top of long lines
drawn with sand for real feeling;
or maybe just less of it
as time goes by.

by the third imagining of some
lame, unidentifiable voice asking
for details about purpose, i’m
sure that all has gone according
to plan. i don’t even pretend to
answer a knock on the front
door. faith & credit tell me
it wasn’t that important,
anyway.

———————————

authors note: ‘Parkers’ Mood’ refers to the song by Joe Henry. It’s a good song. Well, I think so.

we ain’t the good guys…

Posted in Fear, Friendship, History, Insomnia, Learning About Life, Never Been, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travelogue with tags , , , , , , on July 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rumor, perception & reaction

must be something ’bout
the kind of folk collecting as
whispers tolls under bridges
& the plans of outlaws running from
trumped-up charges accruing at
a daily rate. the music is okay,
even with their judgment for shite;
all the guts to follow the
story spilling out on floorboards
shot with holes that usually let
light-beams from stars through
since the ceiling fell in.

not much time to wonder when
bullets are flying over
telephone lines until i
strap on kevlar just so i can
let it ring. might-have-been
tourniquet solutions superate
between feasibility studies passed
along to unseen eyes. so rarely
a study in beauty,
the questions never asked,
another fuckin’ street-side
proposition.

safe path is to agree that bore-hole
flooring below the flaming telephone
lines & a joke gone wrong are no
place to hide. the sensorialists
will have a field day with the real-
life research; the possibilities are
endless.

————————————–

For those situations that spiral rapidly out of control due to over-reaction. As always, there is a reason it’s called a ‘passion play.’ Quo vadis?

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.

————————————–

fawktard… (part 2)

Posted in Fawktard, Fear, Ha Ha Funny, History, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Series with tags , , , , , , on March 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

what can you do?

i went to monticello,
hearing somebody
say i should speak to
jeff. he’s long dead,
or maybe i was just late to
the party. took the tour
anyway so i could stare
at his dumbwaiter &
think back to the time
we weren’t quite as
fucked as we are now.

i wonder how much
longer until one of those
Historic Moments In
Human History comes
along & sweeps
everything away.

denninger has
the math down to a
science; with jeff dead,
bruce stealing mr. joad &
a lack of jacksons
(wait a while, my guess is
there’ll be plenty.)
who knows what comes
after the bankster
holdup?

no worries though;
we’re all fine.
just repeat after me.
heavy sour is the same
as light sweet,
politicians care about
the citizenry,
Jefferson County Alabama
loves JP Morgan,
& all’s going according
to plan & under
control.

let’s stare into a mirror,
think back to a time
we weren’t quite so…

fucked.

———————–

Dedicated to Phil Ochs. Was it ‘Ringing of the Revolution’ or ‘Rehearsals for Retirement’? All I know is ‘I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore.’ When the wave hits here, what then? Obvious answers are always the bloodiest.

barricade confrontations…

Posted in Bukowski, Cigarette, Fear, Friendship, Insomnia, JL Stories, Late Night Silence, Loveable Losers, Poetry with tags , , , , on March 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

barricade confrontations at 3 a.m.

gesticulation on the page; there’s
no such thing as the suburbs
whether or not there’s any proof.
outside of doors & windows people
move past asking all the same
questions over & over.

balloon shapes on stilts, waiting,
same as me, to say their piece.
then it’s on hope or faith in
whatever ears catch the sound.
only choice is to keep looking &
speaking & waiting for reply.

racket of SUV traffic mixes under
skies polluted with flashing light.
i can’t help but wonder if anyone
is coming. it’s been a calendar
full of days & rescue seems less
likely as time passes by. fortune
cookie advice is to save yourself,
but somehow that seems like
giving up, even if it ain’t.

save yourself for what? the
refrain pounds my senses with
no suggestion of meaning or
man-behind-the-curtain. nothing
left to do but ask for help & see
what happens. i junked the fortune
cookie; whatever the rationale,
clarity will have to wait.

————————————

Just a test of something. Doesn’t matter what. It’s half past 3 & there’s more barricade than confrontation. Well, no risk, no reward, right? Besides, it ain’t like I’m gonna remember tonight when tomorrow is still on schedule for dawn arrival.