Archive for the Laughter 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.

rumblings of a planck physics misfit…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on November 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rumblings of a plank physics misfit

& i’m not sure breathing out
is as much of a solution
as it used to be. trying to keep
sane enough to listen to the music
i’m pumping into the room.
existential questions about bits,
hawking radition, information.
it’s not what the music is about,
it’s about what the music is.
sanity slips away in the strangest
of ways.

all i can offer is comparison by
analogy; without notice, tiny changes.
no two maps converge anywhere
relative to the land. confusion
reigns; reading lands the faithful in
trouble with various laws of universal
application. entropy will ensue,
in time, so we wait. didn’t mother
ever tell you how impossible
it really is? this must be why
they dance.

it’s all geography & sound.
amplitude variance is the same
as the rest of existence, another
place to put misanthropic trust;
same as faith except less preconceived.

the comfort of knowing it’s always
something encapsulates the air
& whatever is left of my ability to
reason out potential sensory data.
the whole thing reeks of ‘later’
& so do i.

exhale.

——————————————-

Perhaps overly complicated. Such things happen all the time lately. Should have stopped for BBQ; live & learn, apparently all while hungry off & on.

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.

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.

9 a.m. wakeup call…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, Extreme Spinal Pain, Funny Morning Stories, JL Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on September 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

sewer-diving

is it cliche to watch a
strange woman dive into a sewer
& rise up with diamond watches
on both wrists? i don’t know
enough to judge the scene
as anything except more of
the ludicrous mixture of
luck, doctor-drugs & realizing
somebody has to win.

besides, they can’t all make you
sick when morning arrives
with kanna colored glasses making
everything appear safe as
sepia; no sharp edges or
sudden turns. bounds of the maze
all go to the same place, just
a more tortured meaning of path.

of course it ends the way it begins.
no respectable artist would
ever make any other choice.

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.

fighting for air…

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Learning About Life, Loveable Losers, Poetry, Reader Requests with tags , , , , , , , on September 26, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

scratch of razor-claw on a concrete wall

i gave up waiting for the
temperature to melt through
my steel belt & sprinted off
into the densiflora instead.
long live pedicularis the ranger;
he holds the antidote to
purple evenings shaded blood red
where hooks & sharpened metal bits
play the part of judge & executioner
without a second thought. i
never sat on the suicide bed myself,
but i’ve heard strange rumblings
that the world is going to end.
i don’t buy it.

the bears may hold the
reign of temporary control;
i’ll give it time knowing
there is every chance the next
knock on the door will bring
a strange face with bonafide
ideas mated to the red-hot end
of blunted stick. i’ll probably get
the point sometime after it ends;
exit stage left.

i touched the razor-wire to see what
it felt like. not
sure if there’s an explanation for
such repetitious experimentation.

————————————–

(authors note)

It takes so little to refill my faith in the great microphone of indeterministic decency. Tangible evidence was the only thing that could save the moment. Thank you. You’ll never know what it’s worth to me. Next refill is on me.