when it turns into woulda coulda shoulda.

what if i did know the truth? what would i do with it? would i preach it to the world? would i use it to my advantage? would i make millions from it? would it make my life any better? would it matter at all? would it save me? would it hurt me to know? would i love it? would it stay the same forever? would it change for the better? would it change me? could i share it with my friends? could i keep it for the right moment? could i explain it to others? could it change me? should i let it be known? should i keep it in mind? should i give it all away? should it change me?
is it like those perfections that are unattainabley beautiful, but the instant we feel contentment it becomes imperfect? or is it the plain that all this is built on?
does it show itself the fleeting pale face of a lover? or is it there in front of my eyes, hidden like the gaudy sun?
would i know it like i know you? after all these years?

head locked in a box

de la poesie pour ton sale tete de pasteque, eh oh! merde! ca suffit alors!

this sun is too hot, i seek the moon
this water is too sweet, i seek the sea
this comfort is too soft, i seek the restless
this smile is too warm, i seek the staring
this food is too good, i seek the empty
this wine is too heady, i seek the thirst
this cut is too deep, i seek the bruise
this plate is too round, i seek the shard
this light is too bright, i seek the blinding
this bed is too soft, i seek the floor
those eyes are too knowing, i seek the stranger
this outside is too engulfing, i seek the beyond-the-beyond
this flame is too warming, i seek the lonely night-walk
this hand is too tired, i seek the resting
this drop is too rhythmic, i seek the broken
this ruby is too perfect, i seek the shattering
this fear is too strong, i seek the acceptance
this word is too right, i seek the denoted
this step is too firm, i seek the stumbling
this wind is too sharp, i seek the enhazed
this thought is too overborne, i seek the forgetting
this code is too cryptic, i seek the epiphane
this world is too perfect, i seek the flaw
this life is too short, i seek the dying
this dream is too real, i seek the waking

babylon by bus!

let me tell you a story: one night on a full moon, when i was still a young man, during a harsh blizzard, i went to see michael rose at a bar. i had seen flyers here and there on street poles and had decided that whatever happened i'd see michael rose. the day had come and i prepared by listening to albums of mine which had michael rose in them. i stepped out of the house and saw that the snow was up to my knees and the plows hadn't come by yet. i think it was the worst snow storm of that year. i was going to take a bus but they weren't running. so i trudged on. it was eerily quiet. just the soft whispers of the wind and the crystalline tinkling of the snow. the city seemed so weird, so hushed. the steady crunching of my shoes on the snow. the snow colored by the street lights and traffic lights and neon signs. not even a police car drove by, it was dead. it was like walking on the moon. i stopped by the canal after crossing the overpass and sat down at a bench. i lit a smoke and enjoyed the full moon. spumes of my hot breath and cigarette smoke curling in the dead air and rising up into the sky. it was so still, like i was a ghost. i finished my smoke and continued on my trek. all the stores were closed even most the bars, irene's, the oak, lansdowne, all closed. this was not a good sign but i trudged on. it wasn't cold, the walk warmed me and the snow meant that it stayed around zero. the snowflakes on the ground hadn't compressed or melted together and each one glittered as i walked. catching the light and twinkling. each one unique in shape so it had to catch the light just right for me to see it, but there were millions of them. it reminded me of kicking sand. i ran into a homeless man at the corner of gladstone and bank, he asked for some change and i gave him some and noticed his bracelet. "wwjd". he saw me looking at it and explained "what would jesus do?". "he'd go for a walk..." i said with a laugh. he laughed too. "take care brother stay warm" it was easy for me to say i was going to see michael rose then go home. i don't know what became of him. i finally got to the club. it was dead empty. i walked in like babes in toyland. a big smile on my face. i walked up to the bar and smiled at the beautiful bartender. she was in her early thirties with shoulder length straight blond hair and dark green eyes framed by square black plastic glasses. "when's michael rose gonna play?" i asked beaming. "oh. the show's cancelled, his bus broke down in detroit." she said. i shrugged my shoulders and smiled. "i'll have a guinness then".

burning books

what if i'm not as important to god's grand scheme of things as i assume? what if i'm not even the black color on the fiber of a speck in a dot that forms a line that's part of an abstract symbol that makes a letter in a word in an archaic phrase that's part of a sentence in a paragraph on an old dusty page in an obscure chapter of a forgotten volume in a dead language hidden in a library in an illiterate society? but then without me the pigment wouldn't show, the letter wouldn't be complete, the word wouldn't make sense, the sentence would be wrong, the paragraph would be useless, the chapter would mislead, the volume would be incomplete, society's knowledge would be lacking. spank that ass!

like dropping from the edge

colin powell charles bronson thoreau

willy jo back from the quar

willy jo is back, unfortunately cletus is still awol. i don't spend as much time on here though so i guess it don't matter none.