Archive for the Intervention Category

virgin suicides tell the strangest stories…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Ha Ha Funny, Intervention, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, Psychonauts, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on November 22, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

addiction vibe

i was laying around
thinking about predestination
making further existence
somewhat superfluous save
my experience of seeing
self-fulfilling prophecies
work themselves out. i
ain’t a prophet.

here we sit, thinking about
chaining ourselves to some
peaceful-lie & locked onto
some deterministic fantasy;
each left as another
snake oil salesman
shilling potions of
questionable value.
mine are obviously
the answer for you.

if it seems like
all the mirrors lie, if
sugar tastes like shit
even in fading afternoon sun
after a midday nap, then
persistence is virtue
but flags are all waving
in the rain. anything
can go too far.

i’ve felt the claws
under my skin, same as
you’ve felt yours. i
know what it means, just
don’t make me leave;
i like it here just fine.

while delusional fate-dancers
are swinging from ropes,
playthings become work/job
while i sweat blood in
some ceremony of cleansing
i know i’ll dirty right up
first chance i get. knife
me in the throat if you want it
over quickly;
i don’t expect much. it
might take a while.

after everything is written
nothing is complete.
sounds through an open window
testify to another world
outside. there is someplace
else after all.
i’d just rather be here.

———————————————-

Wait; do YOU remember yesterday? What’s it like to be able to do that? Fuck me; you can’t listen to anything this day & age.

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dar un toque…

Posted in Funny Morning Stories, Intervention, Learning About Life, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , , on February 9, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

dar un toque

first touch is a long way off.
i cleaned the kitchen & bath-
room & bedroom anyway; i’m
a misguided nutmeg dealer with
problems stemming from a busted
contortionists luck. i’d kept my
fortune cookie suggestions to
myself thanks to early warnings
from an artist creating a scene
on a highway overpass.

heinously brave to risk warning
to the atavistic needle-pushers;
they never listen to anyone but
Pavlov. not my territory to roam.
straining for reference to lyrical
feasibility, dirge to anthem in a
few short bars. pushers push, if
only one more time. it’s hearsay
either way…
like i said, not my realm.

soundtrack winds down on another
days evening. songs slipped into
the crack of a lover find ears
as often as not; nothing hard &
fast there, right? i wouldn’t know
the right answer so i put on hat
& sunglasses before leavin’ my
house. mutual admiration without
agenda or identity.

can’t be too careful with daylight
coming on fast. someone warned the
darkness junkies to ditch evening
for morning like it had any chance
of success. thankfully, outta my hands
without taking a 12 step walk to nowhere.

—————————————-

Inspired partially by a poem I read & partially by current events. Also ‘Intervention’ is on-demand; you know what that means. Damn cable tv.

agonizingly obnoxious boys from mars…

Posted in Insomnia, Intervention, Late Night Silence, Laughter, Poetry with tags , , , , on January 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

late nights & empty pockets with a cigarette

don’t fall for your first impression;
if you can read me like a book just
imagine what i can do to you.
that ain’t a fair fight;
i’ll scratch, claw, stab & bleed,
but only when provoked by
more passion than hips ever
saw or tongues ever licked.

if you want to work up a good
sweat before fucking it out
between appointments & sheets,
there’s no better way. but me?
i can’t live frightened of every
raised voice or unknown
substance thrown down
a hole in the face.
where’s your
self-disrespect?

before you get disgusted,
you should know i’ve
stopped blinking when i
shave my face. still
funny how every colloquial
expression you agonize over
screams of desperation;
no matter your choice,
its has to find approval
somewhere.

have you ever considered
coloring outside the lines?
it’s optional, not mandatory; just
like marriage, except with crayons,
minus the sex & repercussions.
wanna try?

——————————————

An old love poem I found on the bottom of a flip flop I wore to Sanibel Island while hunting shells & Island Cows. Doesn’t quite compete with this for vile imagery and absolute humor, but the point is worth thinking about. (Ain’t that gross? How’d they think of that? Somehow I think I might be able to guess, but not publicly.)

Inspired by an ‘Intervention’ episode (thanks a lot A & E…) again. I have really gotta stop watching that fucking show.

reaching for the purple flower…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, Intervention, One Shot Wednesday, Poetry with tags , , , on December 29, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

devil’s bargain

by 11 a.m. the second
day, i think i’m dead.
metaphorically, but let’s
not get allegorical.

it’s torture, those wonderful
nails live just 4 feet from here.
no fucking guarantees, but
then again, even a short inter-
ruption probably can’t hurt; but
then again, no fuckin’ guaran-
tees.

order’s up…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Friendship, Intervention, Learning About Life, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , on December 17, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

order-up

pop-tarts & jelly beans
on a homemade buffet-
line. grabbed a paper
plate & a handful of
jelly-belly tropical mix
then ate my meal.

polishing off a small snack
more appetizer than entree
barely even bothers the
pre-teen anorexics. i gotta
take the blame; shoulda made
more. i ain’t close
to full.

too hungry to quit, i punished
a bowl of apple jacks for insurance
against having to find more food
later. nothing artificial so far;
i’m enjoyin’ this sugar-
rush immensely.

the last sour patch kids
sit waiting for death by
digestion. they don’t
know when hunger pangs
return, waiting’ll end.
after all, when hungry,
you gotta eat.

————————————–

It ain’t quite heaven & my eyes are open to whatever is left of the day. You never know; the answer could be just a few minutes away bonded to circular invitations to a hot shower and a clean start on the evening’s activities, whatever the fuck that means. Casablanca on Blu-Ray again? Perhaps, after another long hot shower and perhaps more poetry. (Side note; you know Rick doesn’t go with Ilsa. Victor gets to do that.)

water boiling in the kettle…

Posted in Admin Announcements, bumper sticker stories, Intervention, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , on December 7, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

boiling kettle

yeah. hurts ‘nough
reachin’ for an
oven-heated kettle
without an oven mitt.
probably shoulda
learned my lesson
by now,
yet i keep gettin’
burned.

sure, i should
pull back instead of
reaching toward
200 degree metal;
for some reason i
can’t stop reaching,
forever gettin’ burned.
penitent & ready, i’m
reaching again.

—————————————————————-

Dedicated to all the dumbfucks who keep trying even when everything goes critical all at once. We cannot help each other but we can salute the masochist in all of us & call it bravery. Sorry for disappearing, just needed some time out in the ether. More to come.

political suicide…

Posted in Economy, History, Intervention, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics with tags , , , , , , , on November 27, 2010 by Caribbean Fool

political suicide

years past
the Trouble’s,
explosions, death-
struggles of political
evangelicalism were
slowed in home
rule. things
settled down long
enough for boom &
bust to become financial
terminology rather than
a violent rejection of
negotiation.

as an outsider,
i can’t help but
admire the brash nature
of the whole business.
thirst for such home rule
is a familiar refrain;
when ireland took on
the Empire there
were no oceanic distances
to help defend a
nascent republic,
even one attempting
to tear itself apart.
admirable.

now
watching the celtic tiger
give back hard fought
freedom for generational
debt-slavery is more
heartbreaking destruction
of an ideal. pity
the tiger,
trapped & flayed
& sent down the river.
bankers take ownership
of what was once
worthy of so many
martyrs blood.

Cowen looks
on while the ECB
repo’s national sovereignty
& IMF austerity
absconds with future
taxes for use
as down-payment
on the misery already
taking root.

CDS spreads still
blow out;
jingle mail might have
preserved the
republic itself; austerity
is only tolerable if
the tubers are shared.
there’s no need
for the coming row; so
utterly avoidable yet
somehow maddeningly
inevitable, once the
ink dries.

—————————————————————

Dedicated to the people of Ireland. Sorry you got so screwed. Best of luck and if you see Thatcher hanging around looking to give advice, run the other way. Spain & Portugal, are you also planning on heading down that path? Ask the Greeks how that one turns out. Sad part is this is going to spread, and history has unkind things to say about monetizing debt…sigh, FED, sigh. (Deflation first, then inflation. Screw them on the way down AND the way up. This is not right, nor will it end well for anyone except _________. As always.)