Hookers or Cake

I wrote this while at a really shitty Blues Festival on the River Styx

I saw a cloud shaped liked Godzilla
devour the moon
I must’ve been hallucinating
because it was early afternoon
not even 2:30

The moon went in and the moon came out
spinning about some delicious madness
it had always known

Meanwhile the Devil rode around the outskirts of town
with one hundred pounds of frozen meat in his trunk
The devil wears welding gloves
because the steering wheel of his El Dorado is red hot.

and I don’t know whether he has a plan or not
but they say he’ll circle and circle until
all the flesh he’s got, putrefies
and sings to him of an ancient spring

and lullabies

I’ve had a few friends tell me that Tumblr and my site get blocked at their place of employment or at their school. It got me to thinking that perhaps I could send out a daily email. This also might be an excellent time saver for those that are too busy to wade through all the porn, kittens, and political gossip.

If you would like to directly receive my daily offering of silliness just (if the link doesn’t work).

Think of it as a singing cyber telegram - a cyber song of the self.

Om on the range - Jade

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Billy Joel.

Ink, paper.  Grit.  2012.

Fuck Yeah, my pal Mr. King is drawing again. I remember when he sold his first painting, It was of Beck and he’d painted it on a piazza box. He blew all the money on goofballs and French lessons.

(Source: herooflove)

  Part 4 of 4 - Start at the beginning here

“I heard you killed the monster,” says a voice behind me. I turn and before me is a beautiful dark haired woman. She looks familiar but its like I can’t remember her name. “It was just a rabid wolf,” I say. “Oh? I heard you went to the house on the other side of the lake,” she said. “I did,” I reply. “Will you take me there,” she says, “I want to see it.”  “What, the wolf?” I say. “No,” she smiles, “the house.” 

She has small features and large eyes. She looks like she is about 30 but she could be older or younger. Its hard to tell, every time I look at her she seems different. We drive in silence as she smokes her cigarette. When I pull out onto the highway she rolls down the window and slides herself up onto the doors edge and hangs out the window into the wind. She yells and and howls and screams and laughs. I look over at her bare legs and black skirt. She catches me and I feel an almost overwhelming rush of adrenaline, almost like a kind of panic. I calmly try to catch my breathe as she leans into the wind.

When we park at the end of the road and its still daylight but once again, inside the woods it feels like twilight. She is ahead me laughing and dancing around the trees singing a song about death and the sea. My hair is standing on end. I know she isn’t human. But I can’t stop myself. Inside my head I’m screaming ‘Run! Run for the truck get in and drive as fast as you can!’ But deeper in the woods we go. I feel like a hypnotized animal being led to slaughter.

In the clearing the house appears. “Show me.” she whispers. And I walk up the porch steps as the house silently roars through me. “Gimme your machete,” she says, gesturing me towards the door. I hand her the giant knife like a robot. It feels like I’m falling backwards inside of myself as I turn the door knob. Inside the house I am presented with a long hallway, a single door at the other end. I walk cautiously inside and open the door and there is another long hallway and another door. Once again past that door another hallway and another door. It takes me a few more hallways and doors to realize that each hallway is the reverse of the one before. I hear my new friend snicker. She does this sometimes, she likes to make fun of me and have a good laugh trying to trick me, my instincts open like a switch. Sometimes she hits me and tells me to stop, but she doesn’t fool me, fighting or writhing in my hands. I know she will kill me if I don’t strike quickly. Such tiny delicate bones. I feel her teeth at my neck as she claws desperately for my blood. My anger twitches and her neck is always so surprisingly small, so easily broken. Its then my love plays her cruelest trick on me. She tells me she was just some innocent girl and I’m a mad monster. That I’m delusional. I always believe it and I always weep. Her face always looks so soft and innocent. Its really tears me apart inside. It always seems so real. I would have liked to have had a little more time with her. I wish she’d stop making me kill her, my little devil rag doll. I take her down into heart of herself. Into the basement to the black gaping maw that reflects the nighttime sky. It’s always nighttime.

I once was lost and now I’m found

cries the endless yawning black hole in the ground.

I give her female form a little kiss on the cheek and forehead as I gently let her slip into the void. She’ll be back. She always comes back, she loves me.

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Victo Ngai. CW Cover - Cobol Braindrain.

Cover illustration for the ComputerWorld magazine about the Cobol Braindrain.

When the last Cobol programers retire, 50 years of business processes within the softwares they created may be lost. I was playing with the term “braindrain, and came up with the idea of a giant creature mourning over the lost of his precious programer blood from his third eye (the gateway to higher consciousness and knowledge). (from the artist site)

On Tumblr:

Remind me later when we’re fucking above average prostitutes in a shitty hotel and doing “ok” cocaine, to ask you what your favorite dream about birds was.

Mine was the one about the ghost birds that live in the backyard. How they’d sing to me all throughout the night. A quiet soaring note that echoed into the heart of the mountain.

I always liked this old Breton painting and I’m surprised Nick Cave never used it for an album cover. I actually used to own a print of it only I lost it to some dude (seriously the guy was a total bro) in a card game. I dunno why he wanted it. I think his girlfriend liked it or something. Whatever the case, she sure liked me. I was pretty drunk. I think that was the same summer I lost my grandfather’s knife in the river.

I never met my grandfather, my parents never had anything to do with him after he lost the farm. We’d drive by him from time to time when I was little. He’d just be standing on the corner in town with his two foot beard and his old wool coat wrapped in barbwire, muttering to himself. They said he carried an old seed bag on his side. It was full of beer caps and teeth. He salted the earth liberally with the mixture wherever he went. He was the sower and wherever he went he sowed.

After he died my father inherited all his old tools. His knife was mixed in with them, almost a foot long and made of steel. I stole it from my Dad and gave it to the river the summer after I got out of the Army.

TGIF

(Source: )