Lysergic Acid Diethylamide Reportage v.03, a.k.a. LSD Reportage

Invisible or 

just dark on dark...

Do you feel 

the draw of it

like I do....?

I'm being birthed out the end of it

the wet bottom we all share

and now as the last strains die out

we stand up and 

we lie back down

I am become becoming become

the time striped old wizard gorilla

wizened by my travails 

my travels internal

Silver-haired and dappled

weather-weathered

silver chested 

whit of wisdom 

once weened from 

the mysterical tit

a lifted pear 
hysterically lit

lifted toward a fading vision

recanting recollection unwoven

retelling and retold 

and with each telling

re-dying, dying again and again 

on the same floor

the common ground fading

now patterned in intricate grids

layers of curving black feathers

woven by hands into silver 

edged black paper 

Victorian frames

on the lace-lined edges
all in motion

our very own 

breathing kaleidoscope
our very own bodies 

twisting pirouettes

these sad attempts 

to record the lost imperfections

of a bounding wordless nymph

sharp like contrast

blaring whores 

of a blinding bare page

leave us alone now

barren in our losses
kicked down and up 
and wanting nothing

but to sleep to sleep 

not "the eternal..."

just for a moment 

between clarion thoughts
alarming

having witnessed and told nothing

told none of the inter-dimensional details or designs

shared with no one 

newly discovered Fraddadian principles 

once stated now muttered

hexameters of heaving stumblings

arm lengths of catatonic cataclysms

remembered rec. room catechisms 

filling summer afternoons 

with the dull insect buzz 

of ignorant misinformation

Bathories of extent extant

deep in the whole

left behind like an abscess 
manmade crater made of man

the living skin through which we breathe

the sheath that holds us gently

the folds going deeper across time 

cut they fold again they bind

the feathers overlapping 

rapidly dissipating
patterns denigrating

rapidly approaching 

lost memory tumbled by time

a perpetual "one more tale before bed"

match head never failing to strike

at the very least left alive

climbing over my own body

burning wet blankets 

wallowing in waves of sweat

wrestling around in it

savoring the last sad cherries of a summer day misspent

burning angels with what's left of it

making angels not angles

let me sleep, if only for a moment, let me sleep

but begging who now...??

I shall return to this task when I awaken

marked and claimed I be

Pentangle of the Midnight Circumference 

sworn hence

to be star bound and 
howling from the balcony

through a doorway of my own making
in a mast of some others' breaking

"For the first time ever, I don't hurt!"

come then 

earn your pearls

earn these last mad trappings

the cold dark claiming 

these leathery 
dripped strappings

Submit now 

to these last 

burning angles
angels

Effective Usage

Walk around with no pants on 
like you wrote the book on it 
like you never got milk on your whiskers 
like your camera never runs out of power 

Pan down a little go on 
yeah the scene sure is set now 
correcting the instances of satin sublimity 

Cue the bullhorn shorn of its meaning 
yammering on in a language 
known only to the dead 
like they wrote the lyrics themselves 
on their outdated typewriters 
like they're good for anything 
more than tears and fading photos 
like their desires just ceased 
when they each left us behind 

Keep on going don't stop now 
the waffles are already on 
the proverbial dashboard 
the cards have been lain 
over the baby's face so to speak 
all the arms waving spastically 
irregular levers 
rendering no winnings 
but paying out nonetheless 
in fistfuls of filth 
and stinking dirty diapers 

Keep walking like a bass player 
behind a really hot trumpeter 
or a keyboard artist 
or running 
neck and neck 
with a sizzling drummer 
able to leap into and out of rhythm 

We all pull back then zoom in 
for a better view of the kill 
the killer groove 
shoeless and daunting 
taunting us to come correct 
in our serious jest 
in our vain attempts 
to stay abreast 

Behind the wheel or not 
behind the eightball on Eighth Street 
jitterbugging our sidewalks sideways 
beyond the satin sublimity 
of this or any other breathless twilight 
the lake does not care or matter 

Raise your horns 
toward the summit 
like you wore this trail 
into the side of the sunset 
with your own flat feet 
like you're never coming back 
down again 
like you'll never settle 
for anyone else

This Stormy Saturday

Clouds come and go

drag heavy fists

gray with rain

water like grains

escaping fists

clenched overhead

icy electric wind

cold on the skin

on the glass

raindrops flatten

not reflecting absorbing

surfaces light up

sucking light in

allowing light in

moisture slides

food blood and air in

through a condition of permeability

through the skin

glass-like pores

sliding and allowing

storms blown past

over other people

on a street

we may or may not know

even in electric quiet

behind thin skin

of glass

windows wet and windy

small trash blown

invisibly outside

David Bowie, ★ by Helen Green. May he travel well.

Reading for You're Going To Die at SF's legendary Make-Out Room

SB Stokes from matbrady on Vimeo.

Start With Black, Always from rabidmonkey69 on 8tracks Radio.

At Your Own Risk COIL live

Sarah Bethe Nelson - "Fast Moving Clouds" (Official Music Video)

Deep Dreamed & Amsterdamaged (1996 / 2015)

2 Days Ago in Tianjin, China

The Only Birds That Stay

unwanted and rudderless
on another underground Sunday
flub-dubbing my way
through the weeks 
the months lost 
like episodes of shows
I don't watch anyway
lately few words come to me
fewer thoughts stay
landing for a moment
on my wires
then gradually
but inevitably 
fluttering away
my hands 
the only birds who stay
busy doing other things
driving cars 
flicking lighters
rarely touching anyone
mainly holding tight
for another 
friendly fire fight
the train I'm on rocks 
and roars me through 
tunnels dug by 
dead men

One of my fave cuts from one of my fave jazz albums...

Sufjan Stevens, from Carrie & Lowell

Come be a part of it. Oakland, California, USA.

During Leg One of Beast Crawl 2015 - Saturday July 11, 5pm - 6pm.

https://www.facebook.com/events/1421128474872931/

Fully In Character

If there's an anthropomorphic cat we are screwed I'm just saying when we get in there elbow-deep in the shit together don't forget what I told ya the music really cues you the music really kinda gives it away but in slow motion oh and watch for the trip wires they're fucking everywhere and no I don't think it's weird that you're cool with doing it in the middle of the Van Halen "California Girls" video set soundstage dressed as "Sonny and Cher"-era Sonny Bono and the full-grown human-in-a-fake-fur-suit approximation of our entire solar system pinioned to a mattress saturated with fear of any color planet other than a white white planet like bleached nearly to rotting holes burned through all over the place can you hear me alright because sometimes I can't tell when I wear this mask/wig combo

Honey Walnut Pron

You're like Chinese food
for my cock
dropped off in a 
slightly soggy box
hidden wrapped
in brown paper
like you're ashamed
dirty secret fortune cookie
cracking up at the bottom
slurping you already
I pay the man

"She Came In Through The Bathroom Window" as performed by COCKER POWER! San Francisco, Great American Music Hall - April 03, 2015, Legendary, Historic, Joe Cocker

"Let's Go Get Stoned" by Cocker Power! live in San Francisco

Outside the Latin-American Club 04

I thought I saw you yawning, Gabe
in the passenger window of
a passing Passat
silver like the night
half ice and alcoholic 
expectation

Kid Congo Powers sings "Sex Beat" at SF's legendary Make-Out Room...

Sorrow Knows 'Sex Beat' (w Kid) HD from Alphastare on Vimeo.

San Francisco sunset: DOG SHOW

For you, while you're in L.A.

This book lies unmade
a bloody bed sandwich
What is it between us
makes the whole world
lay down flat
folding neatly at the corners?
All my strings still vibrating
from your last utterance
Are you kidding me, Universe?
All this and more?

WOO!

The Sonics

hunting

born in a rusted trap
gnawing off another piece again
clenched in a doomed attack
metal jaws chomp through the meat of me

not dead yet
this unrelenting morning
wretched piece of meat sky
leaving behind an attempt to survive

the day flashes in and out
I'm still here
my broken rhythm still pounding
slow blood pulsing out

bleeding until floating drifting
splayed out but legs bent
twisted breathing comes fast
cold water climbs inside of me

soon my lungs will sail
across the bent and blackened grass
just another part left behind
congealing

I can crawl a little distance since
the night came on indifferent
the sky doesn't try to hide itself
the trees offer nothing

whispering and dancing overhead
I cry
when I find the strength
but the frogs and crickets don't listen

Metamorphosis

This place filled with people
runs rampant
these people run rampant
they are all from somewhere else
wild-eyed or pie-eyed or both
Nothing can be anything
larger than a bonfire
and because it's smaller
they call it a village
this place
these people
lounging in the street
ignoring the deadly nature of traffic
they laugh at the illuminated screens
of their decorated phones
they don't say much
just drink their beer
or margaritas yelling
throw spent butts on the tired cement
of the ground around
the black battered ashtray
Can the world ever truly know us?
know the ceaseless exertions
of our night burning minds?
we burn electricity like charcoal 
or whale blubber or teardrops
grown under the auspices
of cruelty 
or of an ignorant disregard 
for the raw nature of kindness
some of us hidden
alone in our dark soups
Sometimes hand claps are gunshots
are you scared enough?
when we all wake alone
in the wind of a valley
or a canyon high
made of stone
or at night on any Tuesday
outside a bar fading
a neighborhood forced 
to bear witness
to witness youth 
being wasted
spilling out of themselves
onto the pavement
"It's okay," I say
in a series of dry short coughs
their wet-eyed antics
their pedantic actions
precipitating 
scattering travesties
and when we try
to ignore them
we already were them
or become them
even more readily

Finger Licker

I KINDA WANNA

I kinda wanna fuck both of you

right here on the sidewalk
right here in the wet spot
right now with our hands wet
right here with our pants hot

what's up with the hot shit?
what happened to the laugh track?
right there in the blood clot
slipped right through your mail slot

I kinda wanna fuck both of you
fast-forward to our cumshots
you'll wonder where the time went
feet dancin' to bebop

at the 5 Spot The Black Kat
The Magic Room The Cracker Jack
The Rickshaw The Flip-Flop

I kinda wanna fuck both of you
right there where your folks slept
right there where their minds went

collude with your ranch hands
smash down your weekends
lay flat your pop stands
get deep into mind scans
traverse all your lifespans
crouch low into handstands

I kinda wanna fuck all of you
right now while the moon wanes
while our love flames
while the lowdown strung up
truth still hangs
feet twitching over

last ditch piss stains
I wanna make it
with all of you
while it still matters

Tchotchkes

for Jennifer Brown
What are we all doing here?
other than nothing
Ian What's-his-name 
barely singing the lyrics
technical bursts 
of metal growling sounds
right in front of Joan Rivers
she's modeling the height of 80s 
plastic surgery technology
the TV is a trap 
designed to be a trap
his Da calls to wish 
a happy birthday
Aw!
the band hiding their faces 
behind greasy styled hair
kinda puffy, but definitely 
supposed to look dirty
doing the Vinnie Barbarino 
heh-heh 
in the background
hired guns 
L.A. guns on a set in L.A.
draping all over the gray couch
like vines wrapped 
in shiny black leather
(digital farts 
coming from 
actual butts!)
that rescanned TV buzz
so distracting in 
the near-silent nowadays
(the same way 
"Christicles!" 
is a contraction of 
"Christ's testicles", 
actually)
the fan makes clean white noise
drab cocoa carpet
unfortunate stain color
camouflaging
honky tonkin' 
on a Sunday afternoon
hiding in a shaded room
is it sad that no man 
wears a sash?
papers just some 
business papers
forget about the Creedence

COIL - Time Machines (Full Album)

Doing What I Never Do

My body covered

with scars

some I chose

many I simply 

survived trying

hard to 

let them heal

not pick until

the blood returned

like a bad man 

lightning nightmares

cutting deep

the delicate skin 

of dream

Fellow wizard

do you live 

by the shapes 

of your nights?

Of course not

of course not!

The mirror 

would never 

allow it!

Triangles, rectangles

the geometry

never quite made 

sense holding order 

by its logical throat

never rendering 

the correct amount

of perfume 

to grant normal

dismissive glances

gawd

the streets render

with a crayon

made of something 

worse than shit

I don't know but 

that covetous feeling

comes from 

so many directions

The most unexpected 

human history

told in honest layers 

of micro-dirt

Derek Plaslaiko Boiler Room Berlin 12 Hour DJ Set

Photo and Flowers by Suki Jones.

single jingle (a prayer for survival)

run rampant tarantulas
scrabble and scramble down
the scattering basset hounds
astound the 'round massed crowds
with hoary feats on hairy feets
aground agog
heading toward 
the roar of sound 
or inlet tide 
riding up the shore 
toward town
children drag families 
expound the merits of 
merpeople versus werepeople
and studies have since found
that minus the fur 
but plus the scales
you would be 
hard pressed to declare 
with any certainty
which was which 
when found
dead and flattened of life 
at the bottom
of a barrel
a river or thereabouts 
in sandy vicinities or parts 
nearby or around

Sunset Over the Bay Bridge Yesterday