True Motherfucker

I am a conduit
Your mother was a summit
and your entire birth was a plummet
down to insurmountable depths
she caved into birthing pains
and you misjudged her steps.
She butchered her hair,
grabbed a fist and proclaimed it unfair.
But even while she slept,
    her very moles,
         belonged to you.
You'd tug & pull,
like it was a precious jewel.
Like you'd tug & pull
    at her teat,
        like it was precious meat.
And you, you ungrateful [pucker],
    like an underpaid trucker,
         self-entitled
              true motherfucker.

You'll Lose A Good Thing

Google is God and gives me too much to do,
but when I feel like screwing off at work,
I Google Images of unusual phrases & places
just to see what their server's will serve.
And I've learned much since the advent
of invent
my eureka moments have no beakers

or breaks
my Google calendar has no dates
numbering my timeline
merely to
hurry up to wait;
waiting on waiters
like it was my turn to serve
and you'll swerve

on my curve.

Swear that person ya hit was just a Big Bird 

not hearing The Word

or the truth,

like me being uncouth 

    was mere proof 

           that we can't be aloof 

                for much longer

I can't do you no wronger then you've already been wronged.  

    I be the hat

         you be the beam

              that glue be crazy and youse is too steamed

                     ain't nothing stronger than this bond.

Even if you isn't thee only fish in this pond.

But if you keep the cotton in yer ears,

ya'll never hear this nightingale sing...

   and if ya lose me;

                                            you'll lose a good thing. 

Minus Zero

I sit examining my skin

waiting for the melanoma to begin

because when everything’s a losing sin

there’s nothing holy left to win,

and they are all Audio Bullies.

And me a Mein Kampf house frau tidying up her dollies & doilies  

just dust as major follies.

While he’s off getting jollies

chatting up a chick that moves dick like Angelina Jolie

and he can roll me

like a joint,

during a losing streak in Jeopardy,

not formatted in a question -

so you’ve lost the point

but not the hesitation,

can't start my gestation 

if I'm stuck cleaning the toilet 

and you let it 

happen,

so now I'm grabbing

for more than bleach

amazed that

everything's in my reach.

Zoom In

Dominant men have dominion over their domain;

They dominate me once again.

They admass & abolish us, advance & admonish us, once again,

They make us feel pain:

again & again & again.

Like their dick has slain through terrain They train in the subterran

as They have much to gain & little to strain,

so it goes, Pussycat,

     down the drain.

Then you got a stain

On yer dress

While your hair’s such a dirty mess,

Throw you down thrown throne to the floor.

And make you feel things

    You ain’t never felt before.

Pussycat.

I’ll slash you like a cat and imagine that, it’s not quite an attack, matter of fact, it’s kinda cute and if the feeling ain’t mutual then it’s moot and there’s not much to do or compute but puke the repute the rebut rebate then scoot go masturbate,

     About me.    

And get the scoop.

15 Crazy Facts About Sperm

Sooo…recently I read this crazy article About How CBS Will Publish Fun 'Facts' About Sperm  But  Not About Vaginas and I couldn’t believe it, so, I read all three articles.  The one aforementioned, this one about VAGINAS,and this one about SPERM.    

Ladies and gentlemen-who-started-in-the-womb-as-ladies, please allow me to tear the article on sperm apart like a demented premenstrual lioness.

Ahem, the article opens up indicating that knowing things about sperm means you won’t know interesting things about sperm, you’ll know ‘crazy’ things about sperm.  Okay.  We’re also told that they are “amazing little wrigglers” and that without sperm “the world would be a very lonely place”.  Okay.  I erroneously thought that a world without mothers would be a very lonely place but, go on, you crazy sperm article you.  Then in the introduction of what is essentially an extremely unnecessary slide-show, it suddenly gets clarified that these are not crazy facts but “fascinating facts” via a professor of urology (not an actual practicing urologist) Dr. Craig Niederberger.  It’s also established for us that people have an agenda when it comes to sperm.  Really?!  The agenda where men should be on birth control?  The agenda where rapists and pedophiles should be chemically castrated and/or rendered infertile?  The agenda where in the mass media grants PMS a made-up ‘disease’ merit and airtime but the notion that testosterone  might as well be seen as a major impediment to the evolution of civilized society, especially when more men commit more and most of crime, and how that’s conveniently practically never discussed?  That…that…agenda?  Oh no, you mean, to impregnate or not impregnate, that is thee questionable agenda in 2013 (so I’m rounding up).        

Fact #1). Abnormal Sperm Is Normal.  Okay.  Whew.  Glad I learned such a crazy and fascinating fact there CBS and Professor Niederberger.  There are 14 more of these?!  Wait, 90% of the sperm in a male’s ejaculate are deformed???  Come again?  Pun absolutely and totally freaking intended if clarification on that was needed.  Why yer boyz so fucked-up Prof?  “It’s the price of monogamy, Dr. Niederberger says.  “For those species where more than one male’s sperm can find itself in a female at the same time, the sperm are much more uniform in appearance,” he says.  “In humans, Joe and Sam’s sperm don’t usually find themselves in Betty at the same time.”  Usually.  Wow, what is the copyright date on the textbooks you’re telling your students to order Prof. Nitaberger, 1950?  And thanks for the subtle DP imagery.  Firstly, there was a recent study conducted that found only 15% of men weren’t able to be monogamous to their mate.  Secondly, sperm can live up to five days inside the vagina and part of the reason for this is to enable the man who regularly coats the inside of his partner’s vagina with his baby juice can fight off and actually kill ‘invader sperm’.  Which means, yeah, in humans, Betty might be with Joe most of the time but sometimes she’s with Sam and maybe Eddie too.  Even the shape of the male penis is designed to scoop a rival male’s jizz out.  But yeah, us wenches trying to make you randy wild males settle down and only screw us are to blame for 90% of your warrior sperm being deformed.    

Crazy Fact #2).  Half A Teaspoon.  ‘That’s how much a man typically ejaculates.  It isn’t much, but – for better or worse – it often does the job.’  If I’ve personally bore witness to 3-4 tablespoons of this stuff, is that abnormal?  And I just <3 how the allusion to marriage (which is obviously painted to be heterosexual in nature) is juxtaposed with biblical capitalism.  Half a teaspoon = 18 years of child support.  Heavy stuff for being so light.

Fun Fact #3).  Sperm Wear Hardhats.  So did Mark Mussler.

Also, sperm actually work in unison to eat through the outer shell of the egg.  The first sperm to the egg is not the one most likely to impregnate it, perhaps helping to explain 90% of sperm being deformed.  Double-heads, double and corkscrew tails won’t make ya first.  Which is completely counterproductive to an ideology of biology as machinery, evolution as survival of the fittest, and if “you’re not first, you’re last” machismo.     

Crazy Fun Fact #4).  Sperm vs Semen.  They are shockingly not one in the same and “Fluid from the prostate contains chemicals that cause semen to liquefy once it’s inside the female.  Without it, sperm would be locked in place and unable to swim.”  So semen is how sperm swims inside the female.  So lubrication assists in sperm movement.  I wonder how effective, efficient arousal of the female is to successful fertilization.  It sounds, very.  I wonder then how callus—including today’s nerve damaging vibrators and fetishizing of sodomy —we have been against female sexual development and gratification at an impediment to the continuance of our very species?  How nihilistic.  How sadistic.  How pathological.  How psychotic.  How…crazy.      

     

Fact #5).  One Testicle Is Enough.  Lance Armstrong nutted out two babies with one ball.  Fascinating.  They fail to mention that pissing into a female pregnancy test is a good way to screen yourself for testicular cancer.  If you test pregnant, and are a male, congratulations, you have a tumor.  It’s kinda similar for some of us gals sometimes, that horrifying realization of positive  - only times a million; a man doesn’t  get to abort his  nutt tumor, sometimes some of us gals can’t either.  Imagine that type of surprise, pain, and realization.  And loss. 

Fact #6).   200 Million Competitors.  The average ejaculate contains 200 million sperm.  Why are they spun as competing with each other when I’ve already stated, in two different ways, it is scientifically known that sperm cooperates with each other to hatch through the shell to impregnate the egg and they all work together like an army against invader sperm.  Jim’s sperm is going to destroy Bob’s sperm so how would Jim’s sperm fight against Jim’s sperm when they need to fight Bob’s???  I call bullshit. 

Fact #7).  The Factory Never Closes.  Despite women being born at birth with all the eggs we’ll ever have, men produce sperm all day every day, throughout their shorter life span lives.  And even though as men age, and their sperm might become ‘a little’ sluggish and their DNA ‘a bit’ more fragmented, hey buddy, the factory never closes.  Even though, our eggs don’t have an expire date nor need daily production, something, I personally find far more fascinating, the jackass that put this shitty slanted slideshow together quotes Stephen King, “Hope springs eternal.”   Why.  And why yet another allusion to work as reward? 

Well Known Fact #8).  Sperm Are Tiny.  They are actually microscopic.  That word is not used once, microscope, yes, microscopic, no.  But apparently if you stretched out all the sperm ‘a guy’ has in one ejaculate, it’d go six miles.  That’s a long stretch.   

Fact #9).  Sperm Need Protection.  Since sperm are lacking in a normal abundance of DNA their presence in a female looks suspicious to the female body’s immune system.  So to keep our womanly wrathful immune cells from killing the sperm that is invading our bodies, “testicles employ specialized cells to surround them with a sort of “picket fence.””  The technical name of these cells whose metaphor invokes an impression of 1950’s 2.5 kids, when .5 meant dog, is never given.  Plus I could’ve thought of a better metaphor like, testicles employ specialized cells to surround them with a sort of protective shield like when someone in a bulletproof vest has to escort a woman on a walk to an abortion clinic entrance.  More contemporary imagery.

Crazy As Shit For Real Fact #10).  Dead Sperm Can Make Live Babies.  Holy SHIT?!  With in-vitro, sperm does not need to swim, sometimes they beat the sperm to death with the injection needle because the only thing that matters about sperm is the DNA inside of it. 

Fact #11).  Which Way Do We Go?  Lots of sperm can’t even swim in a straight line, only half do.  The other half is swimming in circles or bobbing in semen.  Here it’s revealed that cilia in the body of the female is counter conducive to the likely survival of the sperm and successful fertilization of the egg.  It’s like bitches don’t like sperm on the molecular level dawg.   

Not Really A Fact At All Fact And More Like An Average #12).  Sperm Live For Days.  “How long can a sperm cell live once inside a woman’s body?  About two days.”

[Insert creepy ass picture of a woman with man arms and hands holding a face clock in her underwear with no head or shoulders].  About two days?  Okay. 

Fact #13).  The Y Stands Alone.  Like the cheese does?  The Y chromosome has no counterpart, it’s passed along essentially unchanged from father to son, meaning, the main and perhaps even only function of the Y chromosome is to create another Y chromosome, males need males to make males and females only need dead DNA to make females; or something?

Fact #14).  Refrigerator Testicles.  Cold balls make good sperm, that’s why what would’ve been your ovaries are hanging outside of your too hot male body, ya need frigid weather to make more boyz too probably.  The article kindly reassures at this fact that “lots of guys who cross their legs become dads”.  Aww.

Fact #15).  Two Months To Make Sperm.  I did not omit ‘It Takes’.  The sperm is again equated to industrial manual labor “just like an assembly line” and that there’s no sense in “waiting for a truck” and it’s suggested at its conclusion to “get busy” - which either meant, get back to work, get back to masturbating, or get back to wanton impregnation of all those chicks that are out of your league which is why you were masturbating and working so hard in the first place.   

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Eat My Cat

I feel like screaming.

My two guilty pleasures are Britney Spears and Steve Wilkos.  (I know).

Anyways, today was not really a good day.  On the flip side, had it actually been a good day, I would not currently be feeling as disgruntled and dismayed and disillusioned and frustrated and perplexed as I feel and would not be blindly pounding the keys of my keyboard; my fingertips like tiny fists.

Somewhat aware that the only two numb feelings I have left are fear and exhaustion.

I think I might've lost my job today over telling someone who doesn't know where they live is called Cancer Alley in college textbooks that knowing what a power supply cord is has absolutely nothing to do with computers and everything to do with common sense.  That we plug things in every day - don't we?--toasters, hairdryers, etc.  No ma'am, it's impossible for a battery to last on its own for slightly over a year within that piece of machinery...

...but I'm about to eat a bunch of good food so I guess the whole lot of ya can eat me.   

Made This For Amanda Todd

Black Day

Hello.

Lemme ‘splain somethings  to youse.  I don’t write for the grammar.  I don’t write for a paycheck.  I don’t write for fame.  I write under two assumptions: 1). that whatever I write will not ever be read and 2). if read, what I write will greatly go misunderstood.

So in this world of tweets and status updates, gets a womb-man feelin’ like the quiet worm in the Dr. Seuss book that has to contend with a gazillion squawking birds.

I write.  Probably for the same reason Anne Frank wrote; to keep herself sane in an ‘unsane’ world.  I write.  Probably for the same reason you may have stopped to read a random blog; because we are internalizing our environment.

Presently my level of anxiety is SO high, I feel like my sternum is about to split in two at any moment to release the anguished soul inside.  I am so unhappy.  I try to be happy.  I try to be grateful for ‘the little things’ but every day, being grateful for little things is getting harder and harder to do.

Yesterday I went to get my birth control filled at Walgreens, which is the NuvaRing, without health insurance the cost of this product is $93.00 but with my health insurance it’s $30.00.  Which is pretty cool for not being worried about getting pregnant in my committed co-habituating  relationship, I don’t have some stupid little pill to remember to take every single day and after reading an article on Alternet.org I decided to just not have periods anymore (ladies don’t need a placebo week to bleed, it’s purely a male construct), it’s easy to insert and remove, it’s worth $30.00 but not $93.00.  So I go to call that refill in, only to be told that this year I have reached my ‘insurance cap on co-pays’ and now need to pay $84.00 for my birth control out of pocket.

My boyfriend charged it on his credit card, which actually kinda sucks, because I only have three bras and the underwire is poking through the seams on ALL of them.  If my boyfriend was to spend $84.00 on me, I’d rather it be on new bras.  But alas, no.

But I’m freaking out on the drive to Walgreens, because on August 9^th I was diagnosed with IBS and need to take up to 4 20MG pills a day of Dicyclomine which prevents me from having an incredible amount of abdominal pain, an excessive amount of bowel movements (I still have shit 5 times today in the last 12 hours), disabling nausea and vomiting that is worse than having a stomach flu.  This means if I don’t take these pills, I can’t work.  My co-pay on these pills is $15.00.  But since I have reached my ‘cap’ they now are requiring me to pay $17.00.  Whew.  And here I was afraid that to maintain my quality of life and to prevent a life would cost me around an additional $140.00 a month.  To be able to live without my period, fear of getting pregnant, without puking and shitting abnormally.

Ah, the joys of womb-manhood.

Why my birth-control is more expensive then Dicycolmine is beyond me.  

Alright, well, there’s always Planned Parenthood, so today at work I logged on to their website to schedule an appointment with them only to receive an email and get a cryptic call from them within a few hours stating that I owe them $88.00 dollars and that until payment is received, they will deny me care.  Without telling me what I owe them that money for.

Back in 2008, I had gotten an IUD implant at Planned Parenthood that my uterus rejected within a few days, the cost and insertion of this device, if I recall correctly cost about $300.00.  Since my uterus rejected the IUD, I was promised by a doctor at the PP clinic that if I decided to let them reinsert one, it would be free of cost.  I did not because the man I was dating at the time became MIA soon enough and the entire procedure—despite being told it would be a ‘slight pinch’—was unbearably painful and I almost couldn’t walk for two days.  I wasn’t really in a rush to get that done.  The last time I tried to call Planned Parenthood out on this promise, they ‘couldn’t find the paperwork’ to provide the free IUD I was promised.

Too bad right?  Because I’m a forgetful person and don’t like taking The Pill every fucking day.  So was reduced to using condoms for contraception.  Then I wound up in my current relationship and sometimes, shit, including pregnancy, happens.

So in May of this year, I found out I was pregnant.  We can obviously barely afford our birth-control so how on Earth could we afford a child.  Well, I was spared from making a critical decision because on Mother’s Day weekend I had a miscarriage.  At work.  It was bloody, painful and scary.  And I’m so low-key nobody noticed and only two people knew.  My friend Amada convinced me to go to the ER because I could’ve unwittingly have had an endoscopic pregnancy and might be in need of a DNC to avoid any type of internal infection.  So I went to the ER.

My insurance did not cover that visit.

It was expensive.  I still haven’t paid it yet.

When I called into my health care provider to find out why, the female TSR told me, “We don’t cover abortions, ma’am.”

This Sure Beats The Hell Out Of Algebra, Doesn't It?

Dr. Who-me?, eww.
You can't see or understand that I'm the Invisible Man with jewelry?
You lookin' pretty paltry & pouty
I'm feelin' kinda rowdy
like a cowboy that don't say, "Howdy."
Pennywise,
I am the ultimate Ghostwriter:
John Ritter,
only bigger & more bitter
and, yea, you could figure...
on a star.
All those
Once Upon A Time
wishes,
tend to go
a bit too far.
Tracy Chapman
said you got a fast car.
But all men be playars.
All womb-men be bitches,
and give birth in a rut
'cause of a sting in the gut
so what you breed
gets called mutt and never gets what they need
to sleep
and feel alright.
So they grow-up like me
and ghostwrite.
Say they, "Al'right,"
when they're not all right.
Every step a jihad,
Every breath a fight.
They might let you pray if you're lucky.
Even if he does love you,
he'll still fuck me.
With pay.
Tell you it's addiction,
tell me it's fiction,
but it's the predilection
you know not of.
You laying on the rug
lip bleeding
feeling OOBE
very Obi-Wan Kenobi
wondering what Dad's thinking
rocking his Lazyboy in,

in the dark.

Every step a jihad,
every breath a fight.

47%

I know he's making CD's of all my playlists

and all 22 blog views
were his hits,
he might miss this
as much as I miss that
and he's writing on the shiny silver disk with a black Sharpie in safety orange spandex speaking Spanglish.
Wondering whatever is on my mind...  ...if they'll find me
dead,
like Norma Jean
with my brunette hair
just as bleached, beached
on a Plastic Beach,
guerrilla in the sand.

My castle is a man.

I could still wrestle with gators but,
then I couldn't hang-glide with the aviators,
and while you strum on yer guitar
trying to become what you are,
all stop-lights mediators: 
avid avatars in their cars...

...I break lamps and dance.

Duality of Womb-man, October 18th, 2007

Part I

I'm a lesbian with one
abortion under my belt.

And you're just another 
Tim Nicholson, 

yelling out a scream
     at Timothy, 
confusing me.

The caress that is a pest.
     Now,
and seemingly forever.

All songs are you.

It's 52 Pick-Up,
     Uno &
     Jacks.

Was Megan the only person
who ever truly loved
     me?

I remember her like Tuesday.
     Polaroids, make-up
     & Karate. 

And this is how much you 
     mean to me.

I'm your Pocahontas
     golden ring

Hear, my purple heartbeat,
     Poe's feat,
solitary bird singing alone
on ceramic kitchen counters.

And my lower lip was in your mouth,
And your tongue was in my mouth,

so don't love me
     Dr. Pepper,

give me all my nickels
     back.

Because you have a high-school
    hallway knack
of exhibiting a pupil attack
     of my rack
and ass.

And your laugh...

I'm the kinda girl who shouldn't 
    own multiple razor blades
or raise children.

He's so brazen when he's hazing.
     Are you just another page in--
    --my---history---book--?

Look;
     I think you wanna do The
Dip, The Butterfly, The Spider,
     The Grind & Bump

~think you even wanna Swing~

All those arrows are stupid.

     Fuck Cupid,

backwards cowgirl in heels,

A real live jackass doing the
     Donkey Punch

Fuckin' Mexican.

Part II

We are both Sagittarians

& lipstick lesbians

     disliking stags

     when we have our rags

Girl, you know it's true,

I'd much rather play dress-up with

    you,

because boys are cruel.

.     They'll tell lies

to close your eyes

    & stick a worm on your tongue, than 

    run.

& they'll throw a fish at your back.
    Pat Kelly even once got whacked
with a dead rat.

     He's 
so eloquent when he's
    magniloquent. 

     She's
massaging a misogynist
   I'm massaging his ego
can't let go of this Eggo.
   Want a peak
of his mystic 
   physique
out-bound, in-bound, then repeat.

Ma-ma-may I please speak to ah, 
Mr. William Uno Animo Ahalee?--
     --with the long oh
     --& the salient E? 

I'll send you the letter,
send me the Bill,
for I am simply a fox
vox et praeterea nihil
sitting in the windowsill 
     with wanderlust,
Jamaica or bust.

& when my countenance
can become sunken,
    swollen & sullen,
I'll stick out my thumb
    & he'll come,
I'll stick out my leg
    & he'll beg
for a re-run of a panty-line
     or running nylon
a Plymouth python 
    can cause a maelstrom.
She's
    so nice & so sweet.
He's
    telling her to find her seat.
This year
    He
forgot his birthday
    & my new year's
Eve.
     Go ahead, check each sleeve
         you'll find 
         a bar none.  

I suppose I'll settle

for his bauble babble,

The stable & saddle 

if I can't get the steed.

Getting vicious when suspicious 

no matter how subtle--
    --I seethe.

And, yes.  I'll try

to beautify this butterfly

asterisks & ampersands 

it's all about
    
    men.

*Sigh*, so I hope you know what I mean,

it's a bowl with no screen,

SO, I'd much rather hang out with you

     'cause men are mean,
     boys are cruel.   

Breaking Up With Cleveland, August 2005

I wanted to call my mother to thank her for the mailed box of underwear,
but the kids killed the phone.

I wonder, who could stand, to have 5 kids with Hermanowski?
I'll tell you who--some 5'3" woman named 'Kim'
(she has an over active thyroid condition).

they stand in my kitchen and tell me I'm an artist,
that I could 'sell it.'
yeah, but, I could sell my body parts.
(I've been painting that painting for 4 years tots, but I thank ye lots)

the kitchen, it's got funny spots all in triangles and diamonds and in dots
"I ain't gots no diamonds," I say to Cory, "Glory girl, I've barely got the zirconias cubed."
Laura's got a silver of a real iceberg, a stencil of a real husband
whose dull remarks become quite cumbersome.
Kristi's asking me if I got a boyfriend tellin' me hers don't listen, insisting that she has gotten the diet bee dee that sucks you dry and makes you die.

I don't dare tell her about cataracts and my glaucoma.

Brooklyn has bumped her head and is crying in the bathroom.

I don't want to share my food anymore

I don't want to pick up another baby

I don't want another meaningful conversation

I don't want visitation

And no, I don't want to go.

Standing in the parking lot, talking a lot about nothing.
Yeah, man, it was something standing in the sun, charming everyone who crossed my path that that
was the good stuff that was the flip side of manic-depression, I care not what you could delegate.
Elaborate the staircase of silliness that spins and spins in a whirlwind of ups and downs...

I fully realized today that you left me

And finally understood,

That it was for good.

*~>whiskey<~*

-- "Babe," he told me,
    "this won't work, this 'we'...
          and...I don't think you need me.
               See, you like wine & weed,
                    I prefer beer & coke."

-- "But hun, we both was drinking whiskey right before you spoke?!"   

I Write To Know You're Wrong

I write to know you’re wrong. 

I write like John Wayne Gacy was a marauding clown.  I write like how John Curtis Holmes masturbates.   I write like how Billie Eleanora Harris Holiday sings “Strange Fruit”.  I write exactly how Henry Charles Bukowski got whiskey dick.  I write like how Lizzie Andrew Borden swung her axe.  I write like the one whispering voice in the back pew of the Sanctuary not having to compete with the loudspeaker voice from the pulpit.   I am the one true Poet laureate.  Richard Wagner foretold my arrival in 1849.   I am the avatar a Sundancer attempted to awaken. 

My words will haunt you in your slumber and be engraved on plagues, buildings, statues, and headstones.  My quotes will be tattoos.  I will be immortal.  My love poems will be read at weddings and funerals.  Mathematicians suffering from ennui will find my codes.  Muriel Rukeyser assures that I shall split the world wide open.  My time is nigh-hand.      

Be prepared. 

A Child of God

When I was a child I wish they hadn’t encouraged my greatest aspirations:

-being the first female president

-being a renowned science fiction author

-being an elemental poetess

-a recipient of the Pulitzer Prize

-being the next Picasso or Van Gogh

I wish they had told me to save my hands for manual labor,

I wish they had warned me I was prematurely wearing them out and wearing them down every time I picked up a Prismacolor or Sharpie, or a pen or a pencil to scrawl out the useless bowels of my soul.

I wish they had told me to save my hands for doing dishes and data entry.

And to stop making so many faces

Or else my forehead would wrinkle before thirty. 

Because nobody likes contending with an intelligent unhappy woman.  Ever.

I wish they had warned me that I was never going to know what ‘family’really meant.

Musicians, they had tried to warn me, about centerfold angels and not being able to drive 55 or vacationing down in the The Gulf of Mexico.

The Musicians, they had attempted to caution me about pink houses and Jane’s addiction. 

The Musicians, they sing chords & chorus of the Godhead, they warn all of us of the world we have trapped them in.  Their siren bellows lamenting all of humanity, knowing, that deep down inside, we’re all like lit matchsticks, crumbling down to ash and smoke.  Endeavoring to grasp the ungraspable.

When I was a child,

I made up rituals and songs.  I sang about Dodo birds without knowing that once, indeed, there had been an actual Dodo bird.  In my song, its plumage was that of a rainbow…

But there is much that as a child that I wasn’t told.  And much of what I was told as a child, was wrong.

Truth is a splinter that can’t be removed.  Truth is gin to the alcoholic.  Truth is an impacted tooth.  Truth, hurts.

The grand deception can be as simple as the bedtime story you heard as

a child.

Perhaps we never grow up, we just age.  

Ophiophagus-hannah

King Cobra,

never wanted to own ya'

never meant to pacify

those eyes that hypnotize.

Now I'm the one who's left out

in the rain,
    again;
            l
            l
            l
             ___ .

covered in lies.

Despise your poison
     while you're off musing, browsing, moping

I'm off mopping, hoping for eight husbands.

Gettin' beg bugs

only

in my brain.

Conversing with Teddy Ruxpins
    about how
         it's the world
              that's gone insane.

But it's all liquid curtains, we're all skirtin' tense pretense posthaste in past-tense --
    -- I'm certain.

This is better then flirtin'

In my living room falling to pieces,
    waiting for new releases
          avoiding the sneetches giving cowboy speeches

is sometimes terribly difficult to do,

but,

King Cobra,

keep on keeping on & doing you,

may there be enough RAM to see you through.