Wednesday, December 5, 2012

The Carpenter poet

All the number games
Make a man of letters feel far away,
A better builder of house roofs than temples for the mind to dwell,
Hip valley crippled, sloping with the common
Yet never touching the ridge
Never reaching the plate.
Functioning in a junction
Less than common
But more than a jack.
Knowing what is behind the wall,
Calculating the hard stone and subtracting displacement,
Placing the cold chisel to craft a passage way,
Leading ever farther astray
From literary competence,
Speaking in grunts and moans
Diligently delving into a dimension,
Where my opinion doesn't matter.


Every word forced
Trying to cohearse
Fire from stones.
Where is the spark?
The friction I've known.
Fact is easier than fiction,
The affliction
Of having nothing to report.
Out of practice
Spinning misery rhythmically,
Looking for a memory
To feed creativity
But every word falls bland
Too bordered in methodology.
Words as dead
As their Latin roots
As deep as the ink on computer screens,
As shallow as the garbage devoured daily.
Pressed hard against the realization
That reality is fed to me
With laugh tracks to my lethargy,
Burning through neurons
With hard facts.

The writer

Lauded by the critics
Award after award
Living of the winnings
All the fame literation affords.
Paid to speak at schools
And paid to read to crowds
His verses well rehearsed
Sentiments echoed across the crowd.
His editor and publicist,
Each taking their own cut,
Relying on his every word
To feed them in the rut.
Iron jawed best seller
With a golden tongue to boot
He could turn the crowd from tears to laughter and push a soul from birth to the great thereafter,
They would fill the room
To the rafters.
Snubbed jealously by other word crafters,
By the close minded and the dafter.
Till one day he met a little beatnik
A little slam that shook him
Took him out of his head
And he saw his own style a constraint.
He had sold his soul
To be great,
Catered to the creatures
Whose only critisism was,
Not enough punch lines and cliffhangers.

Saturday, November 17, 2012


I can't believe that
so truthful my truthful
I care... My English I truthfully
didn't think it cared...

Do you know what it means?

I didn't mean to turn you
into my new dope Hallmark Card

Sometimes I could agree to be dry...

(I love the taste of church wine)....

Monday, October 22, 2012


At the end of the rainbow
I found gold
Friends and family stand in awe
A treasure to behold.

Weaving through trees
Congratulatory scarves
Draped over and over
With well wishing smiles.

Words spoken to tears
Overflowing pride and thankfulness
A culmination of pent up
Emotions set free.

Swirling under lights
Blind to the surround
Spinning to sweet harmony
Blissfully unaware.

Boom boom boom
And a fire tornado,
Laughing wildly into the night
Embracing fleeting moments.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Kickstart the ICP 2

Haven't you heard
I'm just a nerd
One word away from absurdist,
Subservient to gizmos and gadgets.

Sunday, September 30, 2012


The Wedding Ceremony

Arrival of guests- serving of bhoe jha (salty tea) and desey (sweet rice) 2:30 - 3:00

Eli brings in parents, greets pastor, waits for bride
Signals children to come throwing flower petals
At Last, by Etta James plays, Taydon comes from top patio, joined by parents at bottom of stairs.

Takes her place, family takes their seats.


Welcome everyone, my name is Brian and I have the honour today of joining these two fine people in wedded bliss.

We are gathered here today to celebrate love. Love knows no borders or boundaries, it is blind to religion and race. Love is trust, compassion, honesty, sharing and caring.
Marriage is an affirmation of love and a commitment to uphold those ideals even when tested by life's trials. It is an agreement by Eli and Taydon to stay together to work through their problems when they arise, to hold through happy times and to share the rest of their lives together.
It is also the joining of two families, who despite any differences one may perceive, are not very different at all. Everyone here has experienced good times and bad, has known pleasure and pain, and has come here today to bear witness to the conjoining of these two loving people as man and wife.
You who have gathered here as witnesses are called upon to continue your support and encouragement as they unite in marriage.

Do you Tashi and Lobsang freely and willingly give your daughter Taydon, to be wed to this man and except him into your family as a son? Response: We Do ( hopefully)

Do you Jeff and Cathy freely and willingly give your son Eli, to be wed to this woman and except her into your family as a daughter? Response: We do

Today a new family is born, and we are better for its birth. Let us celebrate with a sign of peace. Shake the hands of the people around you and wish them "Peace be with you."

Our first reading is a letter from St. Paul to the Corinthians.

(Eva) Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on it's own way: it is not eagerly angered, it keeps no record of wrongs, but rejoices with the truth.
(Sarah) Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes. Love never gives up. When all else seems lost, three things remain: faith hope and love. But the greatest of these, is love.

Our Second reading is a poem by the sixth Dalai Lama Tsangyang Gyatso
(Chokey). If only I could wed
The one whom I love
Joys of gaining the choicest gem
From the ocean's deepest bed would be mine


Thank you, now just a couple of questions to the bride and groom

First you Eli.
Eli, you have chosen Taydon to be your wife. Will you love and respect her? Will you be honest and fair with her always? Will you stand by her through whatever may come. Will you give her the benefit of the doubt and forgiveness when she asks. ( I will)

Now you Taydon
Taydon, you have chosen Eli to be your husband. Will you love and respect him? Will you be honest and fair with him always? Will you stand by him through whatever may come. Will you give him the benefit of the doubt and forgiveness when he asks. ( I will)

Do you both promise to be faithful and honest with each other and work towards keeping your relationship happy and healthy. (We Will)

Now in the spirit of joy and affirmation I would like to ask you, the friends and family a question:
Do you, gathered here, give Eli and Taydon your blessings and support and wish them a wonderful life together. (We Do)


Taydon and Eli We come now to your vows. A vow is a solemn promise not to be taken lightly. It is a promise from one soul to another. What you promise today you must live, and though at times it may be hard, you must use your love for each other to overcome, and never forget the love that you feel this moment, that brought you here today. Please hold hands.

Eli, please repeat after me.
In the presence of all gathered here,
I Eli, choose you Taydon to be my wife
To have and to hold from this day forward
For better or worse
For richer or poorer
In sickness and in health
In joy and in sorrow
To love and to cherish
And to be faithful to you alone.
This is my solemn vow.

Now Taydon, please repeat after me.
I Taydon, choose you Eli to be my husband
To have and to hold from this day forward
For better or worse
For richer or poorer
In sickness and in health
In joy and in sorrow
To love and to cherish
And to be faithful to you alone.
This is my solemn vow.


May I have the rings please.

Eli, please repeat after me
Taydon, I give you this ring as a sign of eternity
My love for you that has no end
Wear this ring as a symbol of my vow
And wear it as my best friend
I pledge you my love and respect
With all that I am, I honour you.

Now Taydon, please repeat after me
Eli, I give you this ring as a sign of eternity
My love for you that has no end
Wear this ring as a symbol of my vow
And wear it as my best friend
I pledge you my love and respect
With all that I am, I honour you.


Taydon, Eli, we have heard your promise to share your lives in marriage, we recognize and respect the covenant of marriage you have made this day before God and all of us as witnesses. May your love continue to grow and enrich your lives. In light of the sincerity of vows which you have pronounced, it is my honour and delight to declare you husband and wife.
You may seal your vows with a kiss.

We will now hold the Khatag ceremony, please join us in congratulating Taydon and Eli and their parents and offering your blessings. There are enough Khatags for all to participate. Afterwards there will be the signing of the register.

(Khatag ceremony, apr. 30 min)

Signing of register, Friend Geoff playing "god bless our love" by John Lennon

It is now official, and my personal privilege to introduce Eli and Taydon as husband and wife. God bless their love.

IkE, another bloody Ebook

Finally figured out a way to deliver to you my latest book. Download here for free. Feel free to share, comment.
Will perhaps start a kick starter campaign to launch a hard copy based on response to this soft launch.
Much Love,

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Married :)

Sweet little girl

Sweet little girl
From the old cafe
Hard to believe your my wife today.
Through years of laughter
And tears
You've seen every side of me
Even inside of me,
And still you love me,
And you know it's true
I love you too.
Here I sit
With our ring on my finger
Your presence enwraps me
Like the expectation of presents at Christmas,
A package I will open and reopen
Always to find your soft skin
Radiant smile
And dazzling eyes inside.
I wear the ring with a pride
That I am yours
And you live eternally in my heart
Always on my side.
Thank you my bride
My best friend for life,
To think it all started
With a medium green tea please.

Please visit, thanks.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

The count down is on.

The count down is on.
Down to days
Spit polishing the venue
Need to spit polish my ways.
Been to lazy in
Cleaning up my dirty habits
Need to grab my socks and pull
Put down the smokes
Which poke at my soul,
Reminding me how fragile
My will can be.
I need a cleaner happier me
Freed from the poisoned weeds
Unstrained by the chain of
An excuse that keeps pulling me down.
Need to get out of my cycle
Circle spinning certain
As the ring goes round,
Give up now for eternity
Silence the evil yearn in me
To suck another stick down.
Brown teeth and a poison spit
Cough up the flem
Till I can't stand the taste of it
Baste my buds with
A sweeter fruit,
Maybe apples.
The count down is on
To keep a promise I made;
To make a promise I'll keep
Till I'm six foot deep.

Please visit, thanks.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012


Two temples face
The Taj Mahal
One is sacred
One is just for symmetry
Looking backwards, useless
A showpiece pieced together
A reflection of the other
A mask of a mosque.
It reminds me of those
Who twist the words of the Quran
From its teachings of love to hate,
Who would take Mohammed's teachings of compassion,
That brought warring tribes
Into a fellowship,
And turn it into a war song
Against those perceived as more fortunate.
The Taj Mahal stands white
Stained with the blood of slaves
And the two temples gaze upon it,
One filled with reverence and devout praise,
The other a mere shell, to fool the eye into perceived balance
in a world that isn't black and white.

Please visit, thanks.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Living Poets Society

The first Tuesday
Every month
Congregated around the cafe table.
We share our words in voices
Scarce heard above the grinding coffee.
Every year we prepare
And take our show to the beach.
Our audience is much smaller then our
And we are thankful to all of them.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The poet and the painter

A poet and a painter
Went walking along the shore
Of a river.
They talked of their lives
And their art.
The painter proclaimed 
After drawing deserted squares
And war torn buildings
He had repainted borders.
In his own hands
Taken the brushstroke
Lithely and sharp.
Eagerly he had
Redrawn maps,
Whitewashed societies ailments,
Drew divisions so deep
Into weak psyche
That even after his final strokes
Were laid upon the canvas
There were people who
Believed his art as truth.

The poet laughed 
And in a rehearsed voice
Recounted how he had rewrote history.
How the verses so bold in imagery,
Had raised armies and toppled religions.
With words craftily slanted
Set revolutions of starving people
Against their own,
Simple psalms that echoed
Into the minds of the vulnerable;
Drafts generations took as god.
Moreover he spoke
About his feats of literature
Overcoming question, propagated to the point where truth was changed.
Rewriting a nations language and policies into a police state.
How his poetry echoes still through the institutions of learning,
His picture lauded by millions.

The poet and the painter
Arrived at a gate
The three headed dog bowed
Welcoming them to damnation;
For these were his masters
Who had sent so many his way
Through pretty words,
Grim paintings,
And false promises.

Please visit non-negitive arts, thanks.

The Greed of Infamy

The greed of infamy
As the  scavenger media
Drags fresh carrion into spotlights.
Well geniuses suffer fame
The ignorant and weak
Are so desperate for affection
They do unspeakable things.
In a high school world
Of popularity contests
People believing to be known
Is better then to be loved.
Shoving the envelop
Blood drenched parcel, 
In a culture full of deranged strangers with illusions of grandeur,
Encouraged by cultism.
Victims trapped
Attacked by egotist supremacists,
Cysts of a society on the catalyst
Of devastation 
If we continue to feed scum
The attention they crave.
Apprehended and given grand jury
When they should be taken out
The back door and shot.
What need for fair trial
When the perpetrators guile
Is sociopathic pathetic pleas
For cameras and headlines.
Dissecting the causes
Flawed individuals premeditating
How to become world famous,
Glorified defying all logic
Deaf to the cries of the dying.
Bereft of understanding 
the dying know no pain,
But the void of the lost
Can never be filled again.
The living suffer the circus
As the hyena plays its game
Laughing madly in the camera
Flash bulb burnout.
Every one too exceptional
For the common sense
This is a warning about no one,
To those who would seek
Infamy over fame,
Reputation is a tattoo nothing can erase.

Please visit, thanks.

Sunday, June 24, 2012


Been extracting gold
From each others souls,
Though something more precious
Then stones.
When the walls came tumbling down,
It was be buried alive or get out,
Half of me ran, half of me stayed
And I'm so tired trying to dig myself out.
So I'll leave that piece of me in your mine,
wondering if he is still alive.
Wondering if he is still finding gold
Fragments in the hard core.

I must scout the rocky terrain alone
Search for a new place to dig,
Knowing I won't always find gold
But exhilarated by the hope.

The stones I've carried for you
I must set aside
Knowing only time can erode,
Break them into little pieces
To understand better
What to look for,
What constituted my gold mine.
Examine the weakness of the rocks
That caused it to fall apart,
To help in the crumbling,
To prevent a relapse of collapse.

Those castles built of sand
Are easy to make, and easily break.
Gold is malleable in its purest form.

I still carry gold for you
Hard to spend, hard to share
Hard to make you aware
I want to move past
The trinkets of our past
But every twinkling eye sets
An inkling in my eye of the weight
I carried for you.

I'm apprehensive
This will make cents.

No easy way to explain,
What has been lost,
And the cost to my sanity
If I cannot plant in me
The fact I can live without you.

Dig till I break a sweat
Dig till my hands are blistered
Till my knees are bloody,
Till the lights are barely visible,
till the sky is my ceiling
And the hole is my home.

Safety and security,
Absurd as it may be
Brought when I am strong enough
To be on my own.

Please visit, thanks.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Dear Mr. Zimmerman

Hey bob Dylan 
I feel your pain 
This modern world
 Can really be pain 
And the hours we sweat
 To the dollar we make
 Natures gift
Is all society takes 
Bends it whim and will 
Through the modern age

Hey bob Dylan 
I'm singing your song
 Because nostalgia is the only thing 
Saving our souls 
Now they know everything 
About you and me.
But they can't see the souls the encapture 
With greed 
It is built to big for us defend ourselves

Hey bob Dylan
 They have posters of you
 And movies 
And billboards 
And famous dead people
 Have posters too 
In the subway cars streets and bar 
And stores 
We can't help but to want more.

Hey bob Dylan
 The cause is to far away 
The cure has but silent words.
The greatest trick 
The devil ever pulled
Was making them think
 He didn't exist 
I'm not a Christian 
But I realize the real meaning of this.

Hey bob Dylan
 I'm lost you know 
My Estella was Ice 
Carrying old flames.
I offered her my insolence 
And I deserve her scorn.
 Come in she said 
I'll give you
Shelter from the storm.

Hey bob Dylan
 I can't play guitar 
And my harmonica and me
 Can't hold a tune.
Say hi to Guthrie and lead belly, 
Lennon and Cash 
And Dylan Thomas to. 
I could only hope 
To inspire 
One of you. 

Hey bob Dylan
 Is what we have 
Really worth saving 
The pictures in dust 
And the CDs rust
 Our world is Biodegrading.
 Will my debts have me hung,
In an economy 
that's always failing, 
In these times of change?

Hey bob Dylan
 The ice bergs melting 
Add fresh water to the ocean 
Lowering its total toxicity
 And we cant put our faith 
In what we know 
Can destroy us.
I do not feel that good
When I see it around me 
And realize 
We're the disease.

From Nowhere

      I was riding my bike down the highway, the sun was warm and I had no destination. It was a nice day; cool breezes ran off the lake, the corn fields were knee high. Then came a feeling, I am not sure to this day why I followed it. Just a feeling I guess that led me here.


        At an unmarked gravel road I turned my bike, spotting it as my best opportunity to take a quick naked swim in the water unbothered. As I neared the tree line, I felt in luck, no cottages seemed to lie in this place. Not until I was into the trees did I notice a large red building, two brick stories tall, hiding under a flurry of untamed ivy. There was a hand painted sign over the door proclaiming this to be city hall. Half the windows on one side of the building were smashed, and had been boarded over quickly. Just the look of the place haunted me. I got off my bike to take a look inside. It was locked. I walked around until I found a window near the back of the building low enough for me to peer through. Many of the other windows to this room had been smashed, inside looked dark and dirty, broken bed frames lie strewn all twisted amongst themselves, only recognizable by the few stained mattresses that lie in the corner. I walked back around to the front of the building. "City Hall" was the question on my mind.


           I got back on my bike and continued with my ride into the woods, I came across a clearing where fifteen or so crudely constructed log cabins sat strewed in no particular direction. It was filled with strange silence; I found it odd but let it be. At the edge of what was the community lies a steep twisted road that led down to the sea.


           The bike was picking up good speed, when about halfway down the hill, my front tire caught on a large chunk of broken glass. The tire blew out, I struggled to keep control, a split second later the rim of the wheel dived into a pot hole and bent sideways. I flew over the bars into a pile of brush, and as my luck would have it, a thorn bush. For a moment I lay there in complete shock alternating between pain and anger. How I cursed those aluminum rims with vigor. I unhitched the front tire and threw it deep into the woods. I began to walk back up the hill with the broken bike.


          I had meant to bring my cell phone with me that day, but in my thirst and hunger for sun, I had left with ten bucks and the shirt on my back. If I could find a phone, I could phone my cousin in the next town to pick me up. we would have a few beers and laugh at my misfortunes. I never did get that beer, I never made the call.


           Sweat pouring off me; I came back up into the clearing. Looking in windows, nothing too spectacular, old beds. A big old television with turn knobs and minnows swimming in place of picture tubes. Then I found what I was looking for. Inside one cabin lies a telephone.


           The cabin was in disrepair and inside the dust was thick of years lying. The door gave easily, inside was warm and filthy, thick dust covered everything, from unwashed dishes to the uneven floorboards. One thing struck me as odd, lying on the floor looked to be a child's toy, hand carved and broken. The place was pretty creepy so I made haste to the telephone, an old black turn dial, i picked up the receiver.


             "Can we help you?"


          I almost shit myself, I swung around to face two poorly dressed, blond haired, mid-thirties, examining my every mood. In my shock I dropped the phone, never sure if it worked. I bent over and set it back on the receiver. He was probably thirty two, his eye lids were held half mast, his hair had been cut amateurly to shoulder length, his grin was stretched but friendly enough. She was another story, darting green eyes, skin tanned and pulled tight over her bones. She looked to be almost forty except for the perky breasts which were quite apparent through her white rag of a shirt.


            "Ya, I was just going to make a phone call." I sounded so dumb. I felt dumb.


          They explained to me that none of the hydro was working, and the only place to get ahold of anyone was to go to the city hall. Reluctantly I followed. He carried my bike for me, and she seemed particularly interested in politics and government, she picked my brain over countries and histories of adopted governmental policies. She seemed really interested in communism and its set of ideals. I started to relax a bit.


               When we got to the "City Hall", the man turned to me and asked me if i wanted something to cure my pain. Politely I declined, citing that I must phone my cousin. Then he said something I wasn't expecting.


             "Are you sure you wouldn't like to smoke some marijuana?"


                Next thing I know I'm sitting in the "City Hall" library, on a pile of mattresses, right, talking to these people who are my new best friends, right, and I'm asking them about all sorts of stuff and she is talking all this weird shit about revolutions and pilgrims and pyramids and orphans and just weird messed up stuff. He has this big grin on and I could almost swear his eyes were closed.


             "Hey man, you wanna see the grow room, the telephone is down there too..."


               So I'm Like "okay guy, lets do that then and i wander kind of trippy and i pass some other people and shake hands and everyone is my friend. There clothes are all outdated, but i was sure i saw a newish pair of reeboks, anyways.  We get down to the cellar and he's like


             "Wanna make the phone call now" and I'm like


             "Ya sure, whatever, probably take a while to find the place" and then I walk into the room an I walk over and pick up the phone,  the fucking telephone, the fucking telephone that doesn't work, and they closed the door, and i don't know how long i have been in here and i don't think i can last much longer in this padded room. I hope you don't find this in my state.


                                                                                            Rick Hartman 1979 - ????


My head is totally fucked because I just found this scratched behind a loose panels. Now this isn't a joke any more. It has been 9 days, Those people out there are seriously crazy. This is as real as that crazy tight skinned bitches dirty bmx t-shirt. Good thing I always carry my laptop.






Tragos de Spatziergang (tragady the walking)

>In the winter

>a man walks out of the trees

>sets down his gun

>pulls down his zipper

>and leaves a vibrant yellow on the fresh snow

>he does up his zipper

>picks up his gun

>and continues to walk through the woods

>he comes to a line of tracks

>slowly he begins to follow them

>he walks for an hour,

>following the tracks carefully,

>and arrives back to where he began.

>beside his footprints,

>and the tracks

>is now another set of tracks,

>he carefully follows them

>watching carefully for direction,

>after half an hour he turns around

>raises his gun

>and shoots me.

What is love, dear?

The man turned to his lady and questioned, "What, dear, is love?"

            "I don't know," she replied. "I should suppose it has to do with chemical reactions, fate and timing. Theirs has to be a fair share between laughter and despair. Theirs must be the chaos of two burning hearts poured forth into one beautiful, shared idea.  Certainly one would require both respect for others and themselves. Trust would be another keystone forming their ideals of love. In no case whatsoever can a relationship grow anything but sour over undisclosed perversions, submitted feelings and withheld inclinations. Verily, more then all this I believe love must be believed in, in order to be ascertained. Surely if either party cannot believe in the splendor of love, it would die like a greek god, believed only to be a myth that old ladies whisper of well celebrating decades of union. It seems as time progresses, as well as the lives living said time, there seems to be clutters of ill informed information. "Love is dead," seems so callous and disregarding to the human condition, and yet when it is spoke and repeated and believed, it becomes as real as love could have been. Unfortunate it is for those who are so afraid of the concept of love that when it comes to them, they are so afraid of it's pain that they cannot except the wonderful passion, hope and beauty which it can inspire.  And as to those who have fell victim to false hope and promises, who feel cheated by there emotions, one can only pity that they are so trapped inside the past that they cannot except a future, no matter how superior or changed from their last encounter. Furthermore common interests play an important role in the shaping of a relationship. If partners can't form compromise or share opinions then the relationship may develop into a bland ménage of quiet waiting and sudden outbursts; whereas those who have similar interests and ideas may find themselves lost in conversation for years. Lastly, and most importantly, is communication. For a truly successful love to develop, communication must be truly free and honest, no secrets hid and nothing worth hiding. No judgements….

            He turned away. 

At The Station

Sitting in the station,

Here again, gone again, to return again.


Every time like the last,

Like the next,

World without end.


Looking at life I smile,

All the precious earth at my feet,

Swarmed so thick with air

I breathe freely

Such relief.


Step out of the city, back to country lanes.

Step back to the nurturing nature

To refresh my soul

To relieve my brain.


Oh cold city,

Your cement face

Stone arms

Tied to you and sinking in the quarry.

Oh cold city,

You exhaust men.


So glad to know I can survive

Need a few days free from striving

Or strife.

A few days to remember I'm nice.


Sitting in the station,

Here again, gone again, to return again.

I say farewell, but so soon we meet again

Oh cold city, your shiny mirrors harden the individual,

By making all men equal in greed and need

What have you given him

But unfulfillable desire.


And my desire is filled

Because I choose to be simple

There is ample for me

Because each day is a new luxury

I lust not,

For she is all I need.



The river runs beneath the train

The hills are clotted with trees

The clouds are large and changing

Riding high above the breeze.


The sun is warm, inviting

The grass is soft sweet green

I think of your eyes and realize

Maybe your thinking of me.


What joy to love and be loved

What blessing, what bliss

I can't fin d words for this feeling

So upheaving

In the clouds and trees

In every clod of earth

The harmony of nature rings true

This is the beauty of you and me.


Oh, that we should wander through green valleys

Chase each other in unfettered delight

To know no wet in the rain

But be warm, weak and dry in each others grasp.


There are surely mountains to climb

Paths that lead us back and forth

Holding hands with a universe flying by

Creating a universe, a reality between us

Ours to cherish and glorify.


To take you where you've never been

To go with you where I've never seen

To share something new, like the world has never known

Like time and place and the human race have not allotted

Every day is new, it is always the first time.


Each kiss magical splendid and individual,

Each caress born soft and new

Each moment we move forward

Each moment I want to share with you.


My reality and yours entwined

In dreams awake we play

And poets speak and cry and mourn,

For that which between us has been borne.

And fools, don't realize it's the only thing worth anything.

Post Apocalypse

There I sat in the office. My leather chair musty with the years of disuse.  It was nice that things were finally getting back to normal. The apocalypse was a cruel time for all of us.

Well, it turns out there is a God, and he fucking hates us.  He drove war machines across the world, unfathomable chaos descended upon man and his very free thinking mind.  All the billions of explosions actually caused such a fantastic change in the temperature of the earth that most of it just died. Great forest became engulfed in flame and disappeared under the watchful eye of cattle; the cattle became as dead as their foraging grounds. Famine rolled its way up to the low middle classes in my own city. In those who could survive the famine among the lower middle class, most of them became ill from the toxins that dead bodies and unhealthy people produced. It is said in one part of the country a plague started in a small town where they had been burning the bodies of the recently famished.  Bell boys, waitresses, telemarketers, nearly sixty different people buried on top of people who had lived off the charity of man. The blood ran into the water reservoir.  They couldn't quarantine it. It escaped and raped and destroyed lives left and right. The weirdest thing about the plague was before you died, you would burst into sporadic Hysterics. You would laugh suddenly and uncontrollably, and then slowly it would overwhelm you into panic. The disease was a microbe much like salmonella, and so light that it floated on air, unlike salmonella. Like A humming bird to feeder it would crawl its way into the sinus then burrow itself into the mind. One head drinking off the adrenaline gland while the other head went strait for the serotonin. The two heads would fight each other when they were full of their mental chemicals. When the two heads split it would kill the host by flooding it with mixed signals.  No Zen Buddhists are have heard to have suffered, but many soccer mothers SUVs flew off roads. It could live in a host for days, probably the most ordinary days of anyone's life, unless you liked cocaine. Cocaine users got it worse then anyone. The chemical reaction between the cocaine and the microbe led to its evolution into a gruesome worm. The worm would make not only the split into two entities but also crawl its way out the ear as the laughter began, causing deafness, migraines, and the worst slowest death possible. I had a long book to write in me, but no one to read it.


He l''ked d'wn at his watch and knew that he w'uld be late. He didn't care. He had spent 

his wh'le life being c'urte'usly early 'nly t' find himself waiting a little l'nger.The day 

was seas'nably c'ld and dreary. The N'vember rain was quickly turning the fresh sn'w int' a 

sludgy gray slush. The smell 'f r'tting leaves and car exhaust wafted thr'ugh the air.The 

sidewalk was slippery.
Suddenly he slipped 'n a wet patch. His feet flew up fast, s' fast he 

didn't have time t' prepare a safe landing.
 His head hit the gr'und with a dull thud; 

everything went black. 
When he w'ke up it was dark 'utside. His face and fingers ached; his 

cl'thes were s'aked with the water 'f the dirty gutter in which he had landed. The back 'f 

his head ached, as did his neck.  He sl'wly pulled himself t' his feet. He felt unsteady, 

His knees w'bbled beneath him. He was s' 'ver whelmed by the pain and exp'sure t' the 

elements, he puked int' the rain filled street, watching the v'mit wash al'ng the surface 

'f the water and slide int' the st'rm sewer.  

He l''ked d'wn at his watch. H'w l'ng had he 

been 'ut? But he c'uldn't read the watch face in the dark, that's when it first caught his 


Where are the streetlights? Where is the traffic?  H'w did I spend all day passed 

'ut in the gutter with n' 'ne n'ticing 'r caring that I was there?

He dug ar'und in his 

p'cket, fished 'ut a cigarette, a lighter, and his cell ph'ne. The ph'nes face pr'claimed 

it t' be 2:37AM, and he had tw' missed calls. Lighting the cigarette with a shiver he 

dialed his v'ice mail.

First message:  "Hey, I'm really s'rry, I'm running ab'ut fifteen, 

twenty minutes behind, I'm c'ming but I will be ab'ut twenty minutes late, h'pe y'u get 

this message, see y'u in a bit. Peace."

Sec'nd message: Hey, maybe y'u didn't get the 

message I left, shit, anyways, well whatever, we'll meet up again s'me 'the..." 

The message 

cut 'ff with the s'und 'f a large crash.

Wh' was this pers'n he was supp'sed t' meet? 


c'ntinued t' shiver. He walked briskly sm'king his cigarette gingerly. He  w'ndered at the 

fact there were n' h'use lights 'n. 'nly after a c'uple bl'cks walking did he realize he 

had n' idea where he was. In fact, he wasn't even certain wh' he was? He searched his 

p'ckets f'r I.D. but failed t' pr'duce any. He pulled 'ut his ph'ne and l''ked at the list 

'f names within. N'ne 'f the names seemed familiar, s' he decided t' call Adam.
N' service.
N' service.
N' service.
N' service.

He sat d'wn 'n the c'ld wet curb, put 

his head in his hands, and began t' cry. He felt s' al'ne and scared and l'st. Wh'ever he 


Wednesday, May 30, 2012


You've got it backwards.
Don't you know you've got your outside in;
You're much too penetrable in such soft skin.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

spy vs spy

in the now
the anti static,
forever, moving forward.

Friday, May 25, 2012


You've been stressed up
Dressed up to nines
Messed up by lines in sand
Crushed broken shattered
Holding hands.
Let go.
Don't let the scars affect the blood flow
Don't be a clot, don't stop
Everything in your being
Will try to stop you from bleeding
But your heart beating
Pour faster
Braced for disaster
House of cards windstorm warning
Get out of the way of the run away
Train storming through your veins
Vain attempts at sanity
Planting feet greedily
You need compassion
Accept you're needy
But don't hold on to anchors sinking
Drown down *ed around
The smiles and laughter
Over the surround sound
As the eyes that love you most can
Easily tear holes through
Your skin,
Have to know when to let it out
How to let it in.
The world gushes and rolls
We are stuck to Teutonic flows
Pulled apart and smushed up daily,,
Railed by the stale disposition
Our own decisions carve incisions
Through space and time
And the time we share
Can't compare to the time apart
Broken heart fist plaster walls
Tumbling madly the sanity falls
By the wayside
And we get stuck
Trapped within
With our fears laughing madly
At us
And the justice we seek to
Speak of
Reeks of entitlement
Like we're owed a steady flow of
Happiness from the world
Like we should be able to govern it.
But no,
We've been raised on idle TV
Idly buying into idols
And philosophies that success is guaranteed, taking for granted we can get all we need.
But every seed planted doesn't grow
Harnessed by our environment
By the lack of opportunity
If not the lack of trying
Lying to ourselves to say we're not lazy
Dreaming of pushing daisies to skip the denumont,
A climax unforseeable
Not able to relax and agree
That it is better to be then not
Trot horse blinder caught in the race
The chase
To put value to faces and
Come up cherubim aces
Laced with all our
Frustrations that won't
Ever go away
Until we let go.
Let it flow
Cry honestly,

Please visit, thanks.

Old Friend

We used to sit out
For hours
After the lawn was done,
Talking about warplanes
And raccoons and cars.

A cup of tea
And a donut
A stockpiled kitchen
And a smile

Lottery tickets and the tinge of smoke
Layered on everything
From years of being to old
To change.

There in the musty kitchen
Court TV and
Condensed milk steeped tea
Dads oatmeal cookies.

You loved animals
Hated the neighbor
Quit smoking and handed me
The final pack.

When his wife passed
He remembered their youth
Fishing out in boats

When he lost his license
I knew his days were numbered

Knocking on the door
Bill's not here anymore
Resting in peace
I hope.

Please visit, thanks.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

tractor one ninja zip

in the state I am in. 
not fun.

under a big fucking rock

the taste,
hard to say.
lovers block.
hard to stay.
who gives a fuck.
steeping in the rain of May.
under a big fucking rock,
this is where I lay.
waves of discomfort,
scrapped dreams,
too short to sort.
nothing is ever what it seems.
sort it out mate..

before it's too late.

there is only so much you can take. 
before you break.

Sunday, May 13, 2012


Rotten from the inside
With coffee and cigarettes,
Morning time cleansed
With habits that I'll regret.
Looking at the sunshine
Unprepared for the days ahead.

Looking at the skyline divided,
I feel fine
Give me a 360 skyline, and I'll find
My peace of mind

Chewed nail stigma
Choosing paths never well defined
Wading through a jungle
Getting hung up on loose end vines
Staring at the landscape
Never knowing what choice is mine.

Looking at the skyline divided,
I feel fine
Give me a 360 skyline, and I'll find
My peace of mind

For what it's worth
My little space
On a spinning earth,
I just spend
My days paying
Thanks to chance.

Looking at the skyline divided,
I feel fine
Give me a 360 skyline, and I'll find
My peace of mind.

Please visit, thanks.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

all is fine, all will come to pass.

all will pass.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Countryside Suicide.

Thursday, April 12, 2012


Dark heavy feeling
Up between the brows,
Supposing the prose
Might reveal why I frown.
Grown weary of waiting
For the next start,
Weary of wanting
And striving in part.
Wearisome pacing,
Poised with no where left
To run.
Stand my ground
Till I overcome what's got me down,
Drowning in quicksand
Need to lie down,
Even my weight.
The struggle is to bring
My feet even keel with my head
To spread my weight evenly,
Not be beaten by the crippling,
Knee high sands of time.
Hour glass filling and I'm not
fulfilled not fulfilling a days work for daily bread.
Led myself to a desperate corner where I don't know what I want,
So would be happy with any chance
Even if it may not improve
My circumstance.
I struggle with the fear that in this weakened state,
That I may accept too soon,
Having waited so long,
Get it wrong, and only frustrate myself further.
Unfurled and fury against
My incompetence,
The broken cog in the clock of my existence,
But time goes on with or without me.
There is futility
In stating my case,
One so oft begot
In this human race,
Where we strive but end up stranded
On the islands of our own making;
Forsaking the shrouded path
That led us to such place.
To afraid to lead and to tired to chase,
afraid of change and strangers, scarred and barred from that which we should willingly embrace.
Face down in the gutter, sputtering endlessly to myself,
Knowing the face of depression
Has many eyes and stories,
And I live a privileged life
I shouldn't worry.

Please visit, thanks.

Friday, April 6, 2012


Thursday, April 5, 2012


Pleeeease son
This shit be easy peasy
Enough to please ya,
No squeeze and all lemon aid
Being paid my dollars(literal 10)
To teach seniors how to scrawl with the mouse keyboard and all

I'm making no money,
Be ad words
Not ad sense,
Not paying bills
Just thrilling it up in rankings
Hell who knows how many click accidental
Odds favor the more eyes
The more one might savour the sight
Kids going bored to bed every night
Hitting a hundred eyes in Ukraine
Who wouldn't crane their necks to see
If I walked down the street,
Don't be beat down
Trod on
You got more promise then I got truth
I ain't feeding lines like Don Juan
Telling truths like the big one,
Funny you think we're making cake money,
There ain't no icing
We be licking dry batters
In wife beaters
Setting it out hoping the world will see us
Make it half way
Playing with words
Blurting absurd
Making no money, funny we bother
But my brother see, it is
Funk and funny to be
In these times
Where we can bust out lines to make a stranger smirk,
On another continent and be content
Even if we can't prove any one is reading it.

Study hard, discard your doubts
You'll be the better batter
When we've all struck out,
Sticking necks out
Whether hit on or shit on
The world spins round,
You can do it, see through it.

P.S. if you want a free ebook, click ebook above, open one, download it
Do what you please, check out
For music, check out
For art, welcome to discussions, repercussions
From the heart.

Please visit, thanks.

On 2012-04-05, at 9:45 PM, Dios Astro wrote:

yoO guys no how to rock this ad sense thing so hard,

it makes me wanna just go and go sleep xD

i guess it must be the hard work,

i'mm a have to check the google ad joint


and as for the chinchilla.. well.. a friend

told me about it, and then i heard a song

there, with a boast about the chinchilla flubber


jeez i don't know whether to laugh my ass

off or throw up..

i'm not as ad savvy as ya'll gentlemen, so

all i could do for now is sit here and watch

ya'll play until i could get savier...

i guess the old saying was when your

friends can, especially over you,

especially when its good for you, and

you don't really know how, then.. well..

six pense(pensative) non the richer


100 bones flyin' my way

sounds nice, but, hearing about ya'll

making some cake money on it,

sounds fucking fantastic!!


On Tue, Apr 3, 2012 at 2:11 PM, monkman. wrote:
We are all generally ignored, all we have to do is what we do. Just love life and post when we can.
Eli is on to something. And it works. Pretty cool too.

I'm going to follow that advice and try it out.

I'm still rocking maintence on the site. ( custom donate button for eli's ebook page and bleed poetry. )

About to promote a bunch of things for the music and code everything.
While trying to find a job, without crumbling and sweating pounds.

Just have fun with it.

send us the flash animation when your finished :)

Sign up for google ad words with email address
Go half way, don't buy anything
Walk away
Wait till 100$ cred comes your way.
Phone them for setup help, or read carefully and do it yourself.

Much love,

Dinner's on.

On Tue, Apr 3, 2012 at 5:09 PM, Eli Thomson wrote:
YoOo Diooo,

Don't be disgruntled
I advertised,
With free cred
Got another lined up.
Besides in the stats,
It's your shit eaten like candy, tootsie roll
I'm generally ignored.
First impressions of the site
Are monkmans five
And your chinchilla pop.
Post up in non neg and I'll send some google ad
Your way. And tell you how. Can't wait to see your creation
Wish flash worked on iOS phone work station.
Much love brothers,

Sign up for google ad words with email address
Go half way, don't buy anything
Walk away
Wait till 100$ cred comes your way.
Phone them for setup help, or read carefully and do it yourself.

Please visit, thanks.

On 2012-04-02, at 11:36 PM, Dios Astro wrote:


damn auto shit...


it's kinda fucked up yoOo!!


gets all the goodies yoOoo


On Mon, Apr 2, 2012 at 11:35 PM, Dios Astro wrote:


it's kinda fucked up you


gets all the goodies yoo


On Sun, Apr 1, 2012 at 11:43 AM, monkman. wrote:
Hey E,

Have you seen your growing stats?
Please tell me your tricks to directing that traffic!?

Pageviews today
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Pageviews last month
Pageviews all time history


Pageviews today
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Non negative arts

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Monday, March 26, 2012

Welcome Stranger.

Just keep putting it out
Into space
In a world of chance
You glance into a strangers place.
A little earth
Our feet hold on to
Spinning constantly,
Hard to consume
The vastness.
We are connected
Pixel to pupil
A dot in your existence
My heart beats like yours
Though we never meet
Though our opinions vary
On how to deal with mortality.
Moderation is the key
To a healthy morality.

Please visit, thanks.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Friday, March 9, 2012


It is propaganda. The cause is worthy. The video is obvious schlock to pull heart strings, but people are generally deaf unless you can bleet something to get the attention of the sheep. Do I agree with their tactic, not really, do I hope they catch Kony before April 20th, absolutely.

I think Kipling was referring to White Mans Burden as the burden of work being put on foreigners shoulders, not our guilt which is the late 20th century by-product of accepting other races as equal. The Christian groups should have to fund and take care of this problem, their damned missionaries created the monster.

Win hearts, win minds, all forgiven... Right? We save those Ugandan children, they have our backs next time there is a war in Africa, right? They are already trained as soldiers, so that's handy. I better walk away from this before I cross a line.
No, we are being asked to donate money, or at least propaganda in favor of bringing down an African warlord, I hope they catch him before April 20th when people are expected to litter our cities with stickers and posters. Trash to get rid of trash seems a bad policy. Killing the guy would be easy, it is bringing him to trial which these bleeding hearts demand. Personally, give him the same stick Gaddafi got up the ass, turn the kids against him.cant see how an army of 300 armed children couldn't bring one man down if they were so inclined. That's where the conundrum lay. Are these children happy in Neverland, fed rhetoric and gospel, blissfully ignorant of their nature. Not sure who the last line refers to, it umbrellas a lot of people on both sides of the Atlantic.
Glad you found all the flaws, never read the rebuttals to accusations and are contented on one side of the coin. "A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest."-Paul Simon. If I've learned anything in life, it is there is no black and white, and anything you believe with certainty can be torn apart quite flawlessly if some one wants you wrong. I'm pro choice, if you want to help, think you can make a difference, go for it. I guarantee change will come, what that change will be however is beyond the scope of any one mans vision.

Why knock?

I aim to please
In a world where
So many people seem
Pleased to aim.

Please visit, thanks.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Poison environment

Poison environment
Sludge lungs
Coffee burn tongue
Silica air
Caulking fingers
Sawdust eyes
Depleted strength
Running nose
Aching back
Diarrhetic bowels
I won't tell you I'm not okay
I won't waste my breath
Stay in school they said
And I laughed.

Check out

Monday, March 5, 2012

Thursday, March 1, 2012


And now you're all I see,

Cos you're in every memory,

Full and plump with possibility,

Navigating your big old sea,

You're on everyone's mind,

Just almost all the time.

And now you're all I see,

Cos you're in every memory.

How can we possibly,

Leave you to our memories...

You're more alive even now,

Than most of us will ever be.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012


Bar high, bar low
The minute minute you realize
You should have went
Back at the bar.
Waiting sedated as
The subway comes to pass
Glasses full emptied
Into the system
One way tract.
Contemplating honestly,
Truth is the gift
Of the nothing left to lose
The omnipotent nothing
Middle path truth
An acceptance of existence
A beer strained youth.
A hunger of the not getting
Any younger
The thirst of the worst is coming
Humming as we hem and haw
Over the wars that have been
The struggles to come.
As the words flow I know
This is just a distraction
From something I should have done
Back then
Back when
Facilities were available to me.