Hookers or Cake

My first impulse upon meeting God was to lick all her fucked up little teeth. She had thousands of them, all different flavors.

Some sang old country & western songs, others whispered of the crushed fragile mysteries. We didn’t run out of gin until the 3rd millennium.

And some may think it wrong to destroy the earth’s core for just a few bottles more, but I tell ya, it was more than worth it. Infused with millions of years of pent up boredom and suffering, such a sublime sweetness.

It’s not where you go

or what you do

There is no who, why, or what

only shoe-be-do-be-do

So relax

Everything is singing

This song is for you.

Whether you’re alive or dead

some things just make sense in the head

Was it something that hot wild bitch said?

or can we blame it all once again

on Right Said Fred

I hope my singular mind unwinds and disintegrates in time

so I don’t miss my favorite TV shows

I hate watching TV when I’m the all devouring singular eye of consciousness

because the only parts of sit-coms that make any sense are the laugh tracks

those robots of a past happiness

extolling us to relax into an eternal surprising roar of delicious madness. The stars in the sky whisper “Laugh bitches! You’ve all been dead for billions of years, laugh forever after.”

And I don’t get it, how are we gonna sell Subaru’s with this kinda attitude.

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

Ignorance is bliss

So I pissed my pants in the rain

at the parade

For years I thought a Saint Patrick’s Day parade was when you got so drunk you pissed your pants while walking home. And maybe that’s how it all started. That’s how the game charades started. A happy accident. A man came home early from work and found his wife kissing a priest. The priest said they were only playing a game and invented the game charades on the spot. The audience was God.

I played a game of charades once. I was trapped at home with my car in the shop when my wife was having a girls night. So I played along and cooked them all dinner and they all had a little to much wine and somehow we ending up playing games. I was killing at charades when I was stumped by the answer Sigmund Freud. How do you pretend to be Sigmund Freud? Snort cocaine and take notes? Anyhow, I was determined to nail the next one. My wife slipped me the next card. It said Blow Job. I looked up at all the drunk bright giggling in front me and I briefly wondered if I could pull it off. I glanced again at the card and realized it actually said Blow Up.

And sometimes people argue

What came first, the chicken or the egg?

when we all know good and well that God doesn’t play charades

Especially when everything everywhere is constantly getting laid.

The lightning strike was a bright hot bitch

whose explosive short life told

the truth about the universe

We staggered back into the house

only to realize we could no longer control

our media devices

sure we could change the channels

and tweet hilarious things about famine

but nothing ever changed

Mona Lisa shook her head like a wolf

but in her portrait

she was still

Mona Lisa

Time stood naked and we saw all of it

from the big bang

to the collapse of the sun

all in one instant

that we found to be

eternal

and well hung

The 53rd President of the World

was a sad clown

hired at a gypsies funeral

God dies alone in the end

but we did not

thank God

Actually if the camera were to zoom out you would see that God died on stage in a packed house, to a standing ovation. Sure, the critics thought it was tripe. Roger Ebert gave it two stars and shot himself in the ass.

But the devil went home with everyone

and nonetheless remained

a sparkling virgin.

I was 5 years old when Elvis died. I didn’t know who he was. They called him THE KING! He looked like some exotic fat sweating Hindu love God to me. Today is the 35th anniversary of his death. May his soul sing for all eternity baby!

Last night I was visited by 3 Elvis’s

The young, crazy vibrant Elvis

The fat, drugged old Elvis

and the massive dead Elvis

They told me to change my ways baby

that I was losing hydrogen and helium at my core

while expanding in mass.

Then they asked if I was going to eat that. They were pointing at my kitchen wall. I said no and stepped aside.

With a high leg kick and pelvic thrust young Elvis tore the wall from its studs, his manhood making love to it in several different ways and yet somehow all at once.

Fat Elvis snorted up the dust and sang a jaunty ramblin’ tune all while cooking the larger remnants of the wall into a red hot cosmic frittata.

Dead Elvis held the entire scene in his infinite mouth. His massive mutton chops closing in upon it from time to time, obliterating all light and sound. Then the giant Tibetan horns sounded and the mutton chops lifted and the whole cycle began again.  This repeated itself throughout the commercial break during the age of Kali Yuga and then we went for for some ice cream.

This story and drawing are from the book only $8.95 on Amazon, baby!

(Source: hookersorcake)

Sometimes I feel like I’m sliding down the side of a mountain.

a ride that traces the places and faces of flesh died

and born again anew

Grew Grow Flowing

the undertow of life and tears electric knowing

A prophet

reduced into metal and light

questing deep in to the night

a forest that we always knew

Father Mother inseperable from eachother

a love that exists only when split in two

Someones epic poem?

or just another commercial for Mountain Dew

If you’re looking for happiness in your head

you might as well go back to bed

and wait for the madness to come find you

You want the ocean and infinite love

and you come prattling round with your teacup and glove

Lucky for you, you don’t run a goddamn thing.