April 16, 2014
late night posting
Lying in bed and finding typing difficult to do with any sense of rhythm.
I have Clifford Brown queued up on the iPod and Dawkins as my nighttime reading.
I type now, in the dark, by touch alone.
Medications have been taken and callouses removed, Ruger LC9 on the nightstand – I am naked ready for action.
My nails are long and the moon, nearly full, is no longer blood, calling for the end of times.
I rest easy – thinking long thoughts about David Ignatow, Russia, and the wars in general. I am not a purveyor of the selfie or silly quizzes though I take them out of boredom. I am heavy bored because I lack inner resources. Thank you John Berryman.
My wife wears too many clothes.
March 26, 2013
so what!
So, I haven’t posted in a while… So What?
I have no skin, but a basketful of protections from the sun and I am waiting for the coffee to brew at 4:43 pm. What I have in my cup is cold and coffee isn’t meant to be enjoyed cold – no matter what you or your fancy coffee iced lattes think. For coffee to be anygood cold it has to be brewed with a double batch of grounds and served over ice – even then I cannot stand it but normal coffee ice cold is no good, damn you and your alternate opinions. This is where the advantage goes to tea – I pour a hot cup of tea and drink some, forgetting about it for awhile and when I return to it it has become cold as forgotten things do – but I can drink it regardless of this as tea can be served hot or cold at the same strength.
advantage: Tea – but I enjoy coffee more and it is why I smoke now – to further enhance the coffee experience out in my garage where there is no organization but an ashtray and my motorcycle. Also a BB Gun to shoot raccoons in the ass when they get too friendly.
I just finished a Novel where one of the secondary characters suffers the same mental aberration as I and as where I can normally identify with my characters like this I found this character to be a reflection of popular symptoms and not reality – or his mental depravity was too close to home and I divorced my mental aspect from his. In the end the book wasn’t very good and failed to live up to the promise that the authors previous work had made. Now I am rereading “Dream Songs” by the one and only, John Berryman. This is never a let down no matter how many times I read them.
coffee, cigarettes and waiting
I am staring at this black piece of paper
with four poems waiting to be written;
drinking coffee but
wonting for something else entirely.
my ears are dirty with grime
and later I’ll shower.
right now I am not adjacent to godliness
but God doesn’t drink coffee
or smoke endless cigarettes turning on the next line.
my poetry isn’t in vogue at present
and I cannot support what is.
Bukowski imitators.
and I am going gray;
easily depressed by these rejections,
waiting for more coffee to brew
so I can kill myself
with these several cigarettes
or maybe a gun.
– Hoc Scripsi
February 25, 2013
poem
god, or somebody,
bless
him
I take the doctors pink and white pills
and the blue/green one
with water before bed and
again when I wake up
everyday
and, supposedly,
they keep me sane and stable.
it’s not pleasant to die on the cross
or in back alleys and one way streets.
when I’m sick I swallow vitamins
and drink a lot of orange juice.
it helps.
and my hair doesn’t fall out
any faster then the approaching middle age.
I do not have cancer
though I smoke a pack a day.
It’s not charming to be awoken after dying
without permissions from the dead.
yesterday I spent an
inordinate amount of time in bed
for no reason
and had a lot of dreams,
none of which I remember now.
life, is boring – Henry says
and friends, I believe him
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 