Archive for JL Stories

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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plans askew, more to come…

Posted in afternoon requiem, JL Stories, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on October 2, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

greed of the suck-fish

gettin’ bombed watching sunday
untangle the last of her hours,
smoking cigarettes that go down
like water. rainfall outside fights
a rear-guard action keeping the
cloudy sky in place. the only
forward movement is in time.

whomever wanted it badly enough
could feel the electricity; inherent
in swallowed ovoid capsules.
transformational acrobats are all
the rage in this delicate town.
almost nobody watches the slow moving
grass waving in the foot-breeze.
short attention spans virtually
guarantee this misdemeanor attraction
generates moderate success.

by varying account, autonomics rule
the day as it constricts the loose
hours spilled out over the afternoon.
tomorrow is already given over
to a celebration of the old days;
today is the pocket the key must
pass through before being inserted
into the lock. pandoras box will
spring open on its own.

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.

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.

warped fields & gravitational theory…

Posted in Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , , on September 17, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

& why & why

twisted out straightened lines
tying the asphalt to the dirt,
holding it all back from strangulation.
all kinds of extractions stick
to evening hours already stretched
past endurance final strand. at an
unknown time it’ll break free from
formulaics presupposed by theory
when honest-to-life experience
disembowels already parsed possibilities
spit into discussions held at all the
finest institutions & asylum.

success in the aftermath of birth or
death played as desire for the non-
possessed. it won’t make sense
in time or space. we’ll do it
anyway mostly because of declining
potentialities.