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.

i am not alone…

Posted in History, Poetry, Sports, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

about last night

found the usual post-mortem
in black ink but it doesn’t
matter (in detail.) pouring some
music & another cranberry juice/gin
cocktail & i’m laughing
cause that’s what you do when
the last feather is pulled out
& you find out you can still
fly.

the caapi tales (part 2)…

Posted in Poetry, Series, The Caapi Tales, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on September 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

euphoria & a sunny afternoon

it was beyond my usual fun,
half-done by my own hand.
etching euphoric shapes
on leaves, seeing in minutiae
the current fascination
inherent in momentary circumstance.

i’ve got music playing over
slow-train thoughts while
breathing in green shades
tinted brown like roots growing
out of the building to test
the afternoon. it’s an easy
wander down cracked concrete sidewalks
as the midday ants crawl
toward a destination i’ll never
stop to consider. a days work
almost done; vicious heart
break vintage wine already
drunk down for good luck.

i play waiting games &
watch trees for meaning
because the stars don’t show
in the late afternoon. everything
that is shadow now crawls
on its belly to escape the sun
i court from my balcony. with
everything moving, nothing
is still. my razorback insides
stop nicking minor arteries;
they’re after big fish same
as me.

————————————-

IF you haven’t tried this, you really should. Or don’t. More for me hahahaha!

the caapi tales (part 1)…

Posted in Poetry, Series, The Caapi Tales, thoughtful trips, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on September 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

vacation

i was already sure i
had to taste something
other than the stale air
recycled continuously for my
benefit while a small crowd
watched for signs of life.

nothing says alive like the
plume of smoke coming off
another cigarette. all the shades
of green agree the signs are
good; so far everything
shimmies when i exhale & wonder
what can be so savage as see-
ing the world through new eyes
in hard to reach places.

mouth & hands work together
underneath a good mans
experimentation on the universe,
plant life, whatever. biota
at its finest.

hands shake the last drag
from a loaded cigarette ready
to fire. instead it’s smudged
into an ashtray & left to
burn out. ever as such, my
daily lamentation expressed
with my devilish smile. i
won’t even ask why i wasn’t
told all this a long time ago.

————————————

The boys at the home office have really been on my ass for a new series. After immersing myself in the proper literature as well as a hat/tip from a disembodied voice, the whole thing came together in a nice trip package. I’m guessing a four part series, but it that isn’t enough & psychosis fails to set in, there may well be more. Until we meet again… get a hat.

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.