Saturday, February 28, 2009

new poem

"Possible Notes (my brain is on fire)"

these crawling bitches will terrorize

the garden, and though your lawn will remain

unchanged, there is still a curse somewhere

in this building, leaving you to wait

restlessly in the lobby. Did you forget

to get the right groceries? Prepare to be

more plump, more unhappy during your middle years,

years and years and still I do not remember

you, my dear and darling

Acrobatic Shotgun Wizard

BANG BANG!, I say,

but no one can

hear me here

in aisle 6


Friday, February 27, 2009

new poem

Ghosts of Palatine

When they wiggle out
of bed, I am again

tardy, totally

asleep behind
the Mastectomy

among other things,
there are others all
around me, nesting
their tired bodies
chemical shrub.

Kid creeps me out, your father said

after I left. When
you were
was when
you first disappeared, and
your mother called mine
and mine called another,
thousands of sad, sad mothers
dialing numbers to
find you, and

no you.

Still sleeping,
did I miss your
call? I bumped into you
at the mall?? No
way. Anyway, I'm
sorry, Stacy,
I don't feel like
me, see, when I

was ten was
first fell
the crater,

your father
the computer,

are you
still there? Sorry friend,


I must be

dead already


Tuesday, February 24, 2009

new poem

The Tripout Chamber

too nervous
to not blink
too much

sam steps in
then i step in
and by the end we are

too wasted
to find
our own feet


i do not see sam when

i step in
before him but
by the end my head
is spinning too fast to see


to step in
is to stop
seeing what i usually see

and when

i step in again


i see sam

behind me

Sunday, February 22, 2009

an even newer poem yo!

Gary, 73

You see, harder drugs, the big guns like heroin, they teach you more about life in the long run. Sounds crazy, but believe me, addiction problems and just hard times in general have helped me become the strong and wise man I am today, and someday, you, a young person, can be strong and wise too. Just listen for once.

Have you read Crime and Punishment? Dostoevsky, he believed suffering was essential for some sort of Christian mystical experience, and he was right and you should read up on him if you haven't already, young mister,Mr. Peach Fuzz, Mr. All grown up, ah geez I love you and miss you and

my ass hurts real bad.

My advice to you, little kiddo, little devil, is to fuck up your life as much as you can while you're still young. Just don't die. See, sooner or later, if you don't die, you'll be an old man like me, and you'll

be more like me,
just like me,
fuckin' shit up real hard
in the land of the free.

My ass still hurts real bad.


Uncle Gary

new poem

daniel, divisible

such a great

sure yesterday
to meet you today
not so great lost in space in

some strange neighborhood not
yours maybe ten miles from
yours jumped five fences i am
naked in a lot of
trouble trying to find
you you have no idea the pain

i'm in mornings should
never be
like today today
it is morning and
i'm on a million milligrams
of something
so come find me i feel
so sick
so lost out here
somewhere on
such a fucked up morning
without you


MySpace Codes

Saturday, February 21, 2009

new poem

Karl asks a question.

lets call them


two twentysix
year old
dudes, white
as glue with

baseball caps, both


well I saw them last night
outside the Chevron station,
the certified chillspot

for Floridian
hoodlums, anyway,

yes, I saw them there, Mike and Paul,

with two
young teens, two girls, two

nympho Goddesses
training, and I

started thinking
to myself,

Paul and Mike are
going to
fuck the shit out of these
beautiful teenage ladies,
perhaps even

pop their
shaved cherries,

so my question is,

why am I,
a classy kind of guy,
locked in the trunk of my car
about to die from swallowing too
many of my wife's


Thursday, February 19, 2009

new poem

Larry (and his buddy)

On mondays,
between the hours of three and five pm,

I leave my house to meet my friend named,
well, no, I'm not going to tell you his

actual name because
I could be killed

and I am afraid of death
and so are you

so stop lying to yourself right now,
you fucking liar you fucking liar.

Anyway, my nameless friend was injured badly
several years ago in a horrible accident

and he lost both of his legs
and both of his testicles,

so now he lives alone in a modest
little home and on

mondays I meet
with him, my friend, between three

and five pm because
he provides me with the

all the firearms and ammunition
I need in order to protect myself in this

increasingly dangerous world.
So my friend, the gunslinging cripple


happens to agree,
we live in a world which will eventually

implode or explode or be taken over by
homicidal alien creatures,

and, God Forbid, if such a thing happens,
at least my nameless friend

and I will be
prepared to kick ass and prove who's boss

in this vortex of

unbridled freedom

three of my favorite films part 2

new poem


Everyone at
Bingo is diseased,
even the folks of my
friends, like my

friend Sal, his
mother Marge
is all about
Bingo, goes there every

until recently
when Sal's Dad
found out that Marge was
a liar liar pants on fire
and that

Bingo was not Bingo and that
Bingo was a bar and
Bingo was some other dude's dick.

My friend Sal,
his family



Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

new poem


Naked, between two oncoming Hondas.

My friend or fuckbuddy or whatever named
Wanda got killed that way. Naked and dusted
out of her skull.

Wanda liked to strip down so much she even
made a living at it. She stayed at my place
for a few weeks and used to smoke a ton of
crack in the bathroom near the kitchen.

I told her it was cool as long as she helped
clean up around the house sometimes,
and suck my dick daily.

Okay, so one day
Wanda was gone and
so was all my money.

I got so angry
I threw my TV at the stove.

It's fucked up, but
at one point I even wished
death upon that bitch but
then like

two days ago I heard she was dead
and so I was like "Oh shit" so I started
writing this and so now i'm done

I guess? Yeah.

Monday, February 16, 2009

three of my favorite films pt. 1

MySpace Codes

MySpace Codes

MySpace Codes

Steve Martin is seriously one of my creative heroes. I think I might do a blog dedicated to him with an essay or something like that.


new poem

Kenny's Valentine

yeah i fucked her like 2 months ago or some shit and she kept callin and callin until finally i was like look bitch whats done is done so go find someone else to fuck

you NASTY SLUT BITCH but anyway like

3 days ago or some shit i heard that bitch tried to off herself with a shitload of her moms xannies and some beer or some shit and so they had to pump her stomach and send her to the hospital and all that so yeah

shes alive now and i know shes gonna keep buggin me so sometimes i wish she took bunch more benzos and a bunch more beer and sometimes i wish she never woke up and sometimes

i wish that stupid fucking bitch was dead

where I live.

MySpace Codes

Sunday, February 15, 2009

new poem

To Jason

your stepfather,
the fifth grade science teacher,
treated your mother very, very

so eventually her eyes became so bruised
she started wearing these jumbo-sized
sunglasses, the ones from Jewel-Osco,
and her friend Beth, the only one left,
would ask your mother daily,

"Susan, what's with the sunglasses?",

and your mother would just lie and
we'd just get high in the attic
while your mother and stepfather would fight

until one night
when the police pulled up
to your house and your stepfather,
the fifth grade science teacher,
was gone for good and

we drank the rest of his beer
and like three years later I heard
you went to prison
for possesion so

I hope you don't get raped.

Monday, February 9, 2009

new poem

Julia, 1st Period Algebra


too stoned to bone least im not thinkin bout you when im this high

so high in da sky superfly butterfly NINJA 4-LIFE

and fuck da haterz and don't show this to anyone tomorrow youarewaytoofuckingstonedfuckingidiot just stop writing stop it cant stop it stop this no ones gonna stop this fag! uggggh




Sunday, February 8, 2009

new poem

A History of Kenny

said its in my past,

am no
longer a
sex object
for my Uncle


and the


drinks beer with.


I am different,
not a Sex Object
or a

Sperm Vacuum



and the


drinks beer with

say I am.


I am a different person not
as a slave,

as a Vacuum
for the sperm


and the


drinks beer with.


I am just me,
just fine being
the king of my neighborhood.

my name is

Special K
so I hope you respect that.

I hope you do not decide to FUCK with

Special K


Special K

will FUCK your shit up and leave you and your


dead or injured seriously.

You see,

either way,

it doesn't truly matter




Special K,

king of the

motherfucking jungle.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

new poem

"Nathan, Age 11"

fuck school

fuck you

fuck faggots

fuck bitches

fuck stupid faggot bitches

bitches love me

I fucked your mom

I fucked all your moms moms



two rules

be chill

act cool.