should i just wake up and sleep through life?

Good morning winterberries
as the starlight whispers to the dawn
Slick hot fat
runs down the edges of the page
as it drips off the leaves
The peak of Summer
Tennis and waterskiing
and dreaming of a fresh horizon where there
is meaning
where oil isn't so important and where money is safe
in a bank not from thieves with guns,
but from thieves with suits
the river of life keeps flowing
carrying the pollutants away
and sour tidings to the sewage sea
shark fins ripped gently through the fluid
the little fishing boat floating gently in the buoying tide
and all the floatng people eating Prosac in the soft crusade
There are no floatsam quills here
This flesh exploration
as PlayBoy fleapots sit idly by as the margaritas eat themselves in harmony
A black dog kingston obessively chews the town with only floss

yea, that's the ticket...

May all sentient beings be released from the bondage of self.
May the light radiate through the universe and dispel all illusions of separation.
May you be happy
May you be well
May you be free from suffering.

Analyzing Dreams

The polecat swears out
mouthwise
into the wind
with pictures of the modern age
The future mechanized
Daily jive on television
Cheap eats
Cupcakes in the oven
A claw descends from Heaven
pulling the word pirate from the ash heap
Prayers of anti-repetition
The roll to revert
waiting for the dawn
in conscious insanity
listening to dreams talk about reality
bleeding from the shoulder
from the feet
hobbling around on a concrete floor
trying to avoid a decaying elk
with fears of gangrene
and some Hawaiian is waiting outside for hours
in an idling open aired vehicle
waiting for the future
but the house is a history of pain
littered with the refuse of insanity
and the little Mindhead cannot escape
from this family home
The dead grandfather sleeping nervously in a hidden room
will not wake up
Has the summer of this human life ended
or is just beginning
as the third symbol of habitual love
ascends into the void?

A Short Novel

The slipline wipes itself off
with the dew of a hopeful morning
It's mind sits curled beneath the earth
Fingers gently grope the chest
on a playground for animals
during the dilapidation of the larvae and bacterial growth
This eye whispers desperately and shouts,
without glee
and the whole machine spins mindlessly
on perpetual motion
This dripping fat world
sprays the filthy meaty juice and plastic bags
and strangles us with information
Another timeline
and endless repetition of the same different things
So the spider crawls from inside
tickling the ear
with venomous innocence
and the nightmare of existence
prays to be a dream
and then again
becomes nothing

drawing a blank

Can someone please help me out? What's wrong with these celebrity types. Brangelina named their new offspring. The boy is Knox Leon Pitt and the girls name is Vivienne Marcheline Jolie-Pitt. Do these people think just because their kids are born famous that shitty names will not affect them? Knock Knock. Who's there? Knox. Knox Leon. He'll grow up in the world of soft knocks, a Hollywood boy with severely good looks, and a family bank account that grows 40 million a flick. A mansion in LA, a mansion in France, his mother has huge lips, and his fathers most convincing role was as a stoner in True Romance. Not that any of that matters. It doesn't. I just can't think of anything to write.

It seems like just yesterday that everything was grand, the economy was great, everything was rosy, the chemicals in my brain were pumping me with euphoric mania, and there were big plans for world peace and harmony. There was meaning, there was potential, there was hope. In short, we were insane.

How I long for the days when the Oval Office was used for the enjoyment of oral sex. Those were better days. Nowadays it's just a boring den of beady eyes, plotting the new world order with prayers for Armageddon and the blessings of Jesus in a war against "evil." Thank god our lives are in the hands of these rational thinkers.

What is the basic malfunction of this human organism? The tree of knowledge? Internet porn? Microwave popcorn? Religion? The ingredients of a hot dog?

What does it mean if we are all the same? George W. Bush and his brother Osama Bin Laden are just two examples of people acting out their beliefs. People are rarely as wrong as when they think they're right. The sound of the sheep is silence.

DUH MM

So if the glass is neither half full nor half empty, because in fact there is no glass unless we invent it, then the world is not bipolar, everything is actually not up or down, and therefor, everything must be just fine and dandy; unless you watch the news, or date, or follow politics, environmental policy, gun control laws, or international nuclear proliferation. Sometimes things don't look so good, but at least we aren't locked up, getting raped on a regular basis. I'm only speaking for myself here. Have you ever been completely delusional? It's like an inside joke that only you are in on, but then you wake up one day and realize that it's everybody else who is in on a joke that you aren't in on. You've gone around trying to convince everyone that they are crazy, and they are, but you are really the crazy one because you've gone about thinking that you had some existence outside the game. That's the delusion, and the joke's on you! Sanity in the modern world is an oxy! Moron. Things are way too insane these days to make any sense out of what it is to be sane. You are either functioning, and therefor qualified to live in this insane world, or you are non-functioning, running around naked, having delusions of grandeur and paranoia, and blissing out on the interconnectivity of the universe, which means you are probably close to losing your freedom. Going insane disturbs the status quo of those around you, and is therefor frowned upon in general. As good as it feels to lose it, we must keep it together. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together. Take your medicine. Shut up. Everything looks fine here Ma, ain't it grand the wind stopped blowing.

ripe fat kitten

The scourge mouthed bratwurst turned to its cousin and said, foul mouthed, "do not use me for your over-weight dice gamed floor shine schemes! I have had enough. With you, and your foolish games and capitalist whispers in your free market jive. Take a loaf and lick it, swine. The little ninny pants in his Out House in Washington. It's a free market free for all, and the chickens are coming home to roost. Big D! E! B! T! and a wicked yeehaw factor. Rich Rich Rich is how rich you have to be to not get screwed, and the hawbags have done garnered their prize. Now to rape the shorelines with a few black hole pumpers. Oh Well. Hello from Babbleon. Is there some compromise? Must we reap, oh bratwursts?"

YJS update.

Today, if only i'd had a camera at the store! I have to laugh. We sold a yellowjumpsuit and a cow suit this fine summer day, and the young gentlemen are now in neon, off to skateboard and swineherd the greedheads! These youths, entering their freshman years of high school, will be well prepared and glowing bright. Can the people of this small town, with its ridiculous rents, keep this little hole in the wall store from closing? The demand for bright yellowjumpsuits waxes and wanes like the light of the moon, the same moon I was on when this particular genius struck me. Sunglasses, glass wear, fine art, bright clothes, surrounded by bright yellow paint, here we are. It would be sin to close down, but sometimes you have to fold a hand to fight another day. The rent is stupid high, and my prices once reflected that, but, though I can tell a lie, I don't see why, and we slash prices like swashbuckling pirates. Aspen, Colorado, and here I am, just another ass with a pen, and not quite rich enough to feel right about surviving the coming off seasons. Business plan!? Hah, we laughed in the face of a business plan, and instead dressed in suits, signed the leasae, and painted the store. We built it, and the people have come, and then returned, but we are difficult to find, and we may not be best suited to this high end retirement community for the supremely rich. Maybe we should add gold plated adult diapers to our inventory.

The Green King... I wrote this a few years ago, june 14th 2006, and I think it's my fav. Same old shit

The Green King wets his mind hat

In the flower breath of tortured faces

Shaking the looks 

Heart mouthed out

Fetching nothingness and

Castles drop bottom faced 

Through his shoe horns.

A cracked beak shines bold

Faced on his rotten snout

Fresh parsley crowns his tarnished head

But he is pure green and couldn't be happier 

Eating his pimientos.

They are so green and

Hot red bread sauce 

Pours out his eyes onto his shaking hands and

He is gorgeous gorging his fat 

In meatball popsicles and french death

Drink his Coca Cola light 

In fetid 

Stupid

hash hating 

tobacco faced 

greasy

slimy

clammy

soft

pudgy 

Snail Rotten Shrimp sauce.

Everyone on the metro

Wore Green

And he was the Green King

In his green shorts

green Slippers

And a famous green shirt stuffed with French Cuffs and Shrimp Heads

What more was there he asked himself

Eating fake death every day and swallowing yourself in slime.

Does Gonzo really pay? We have to admit that this marvelous way of thinking ended in our hero philosopher blowing his brains all over the kitchen. He perches hawkishly over my stove, next to the ice box, smoking a cigarette.
"The Rifle cracked
The Pig Ran back
Then over the Cliff
To his Death
I plucked out his Eyes
And ate Them
His spirit Saluted me"
HST 10/22/94

Big bird is up in Heaven, looking straight back with the inside line on shoulda coulda woulda. Was there any choice in the matter? Or are we just doing exactly what we have to, and whistling away at free will?

Camus said:

"There are many causes for a suicide, and generally the most obvious ones were not the most powerful... What sets off the crisis is almost always unverifiable... But it is hard to fix the precise instant, the subtle step when the mind opted for death... killing yourself amounts to confessing. It is confessing that life is too much for you or that you do not understand it... It is merely confessing that that "is not worth the trouble." Living, naturally, is never easy. You continue making the gestures commanded by existence for many reasons, the first of which is habit. Dying voluntarily implies that you have recognized, even instinctively, the ridiculous character of that habit, the absence of any profound reason for living, the insane character of that daily agitation, and the uselessness of suffering.
What, then, is that incalcuble feeling that deprives the mind of the sleep necessary to life? A world that can be explained even with bad reasons is a familiar world. But, on the other hand, in a universe suddenly divested of illusions and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land. This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his setting, is properly the feeling of absurdity. All healthy men having thought of their own suicide, it can be seen, without further explanation, that there is a direct connection between this feeling and the longing for death."

The jumpsuit project is having a crisis of direction. It's a crisis of leadership. Is an embrace of the absurdity of this insane reality we have built up around ourselves really the best option under the circumstances? Is it sensible here in this post post relativistic modernity to continue to embrace meaninglessness? Can we reconcile the fact that it's meaningful and meaningless at the same time? It is, or it ain't might be more like it. Relativity produces insanity. When it means something we go up, when it's meaningless we go down. Society is bipolar. We are running out of sense.

It's a crisis of thought. I don't really want to go down the road of one of my long time heroes, HST, blowing the absurd contents of my brain out through the back of my skull. I want to live life desperately and eliminate the dark habits of decay. I like what Baudelaire said: "Let us admit for a moment that hashish gives, or at least increases, genius; they forget that it is in the nature of hashish to diminish the will, and that thus it gives with one hand what it withdraws with the other; that is to say, imagination without the faculty of profiting by it."

blah blah blah...