Captain

don't listen to that brain, it does not know what it's thinking.

OK Crew

Cawbirds. Let's just admit the game, and get this going. From now on we are in training. Let's get to it. We have work to do. Let's get to it. LGTI.

The Time Harpoon Salutes Mrs. Westinghouse

Well, well, well. Here we go old caw birds.
Ho Down Brown Town just came into town with his girlfriend Wes.
Oh Home
Smokie smokie hot cake taco.
and Hidei-son on the jumbo-tron popping prick on Downtown and Wes,
Oh Home parade, by criticizing their sushi eating as fake Japanese,
unlike his oh so precious traditional food.
No avocado in your shrimp tempura roll,
in your mind head on this day in 1975 with his ocean head with its mind medicine
Inside your own head cheese medicine man,
I'll eat my shrimp tacos my way with my head cheese and peanut sauce on the side please
and fuck you with your pivotal face swine herd
Your uncle Buck ate the taco truck
I'll peanut threaten your lamp shade fluid, Dweeb!
and go ahead and watch me as I eat my cabbage
Go ahead.
Eat it.

The top of the car stuck down
Tragic head cheese and the prince got robbed
Snatched the bills straight from the hand of the dealer-man into the hands of the french madam
and you know where she went, don't you?
Out of the house and into the kitchen,
the dining office of the flying dog ranch,
who ate the flying squirrel and bit off his nuts
like a true harpoon of the 90's
Oh yes
that was the truth of the matter, was it not?
hmm?
Franklin, did you not slide the harpoon handle down the avenue through the robotic arm?
I thought so.
The denus is in school
a compulsive procrastinator,
a hound of forever more,
a small vine of handies in the mind head house.
Didn't you think so mrs. Westinghouse?
I thought you did.
I knew you did.
Oh how dare you boy, have you really lost your mind?
Oh, I certainly did Ma. Can't you tell?
His alien space ship as the man reported
out here on the space hat
with the neighboring beings watching us on their monitors,
watching all the movies at the same time,
while we live them and make our own.
Just as long as we believe something, or ask ourselves what we mean.
What do our stories mean?
What do they say, these stories of ours, as they go,
as they lay themselves down the line,
one mark at a time,
rotating through their pages on the merry go round
inside our heads
as we invent reality and go to concerts and pack our brains with slime
Theology, history?
The blathering time harpoons,
Fogging up the place.

Baseballs

The Yankees are making a comeback against the Rangers,
with Georgie Boy W. in the stands watching his old team
and its making me want to root for the Yankees;
and time is getting eaten with the shapes on the Persian rug dancing on the floor;
and a whole lot of marijuana out here in California that I'm not smoking,
yet my brain is moving slower than it ever has before
and I'm totally sober in my red shirt and plaid shorts
with baseball music playing in the background,
the seventh inning stretch
instead of anonymous meeting attendance.
A ball and two strikes
and the whole universe unfolding.
7 billion Messiahs dancing and fucking all over the planet
And another Texas Ranger just got struck out by those damn Yankees
while George Bush looks on
and the baby in the E-trade commercial trades on a smart phone on TBS
and the Yankees take it,
winning the first game of the ALCS playoffs, October 15th, in the year of our Zord, 2010.

4/21/09

As the plane plummeted from the sky,
the calm pilot said:
"well ladies and gentlemen,
it's time to say your prayers."
He felt a tinge of joy as he saw the ground rushing up from beneath.
"We'll meet again in the next dimension."
Then he smiled as the world of illusion exploded
and he flew into the emptiness
to begin another dream

Late April 2009

The dirty little imp
with his hairy green spine
crawled back into existence
his nose covered with floss
his fingers numb