Tag Archives: america

Controlled demolition of society

Sweaty palms that slide down
wherever you end up tossing
a pale down the well at midnight
splashes out of you again—

You’re not above it in the hills
the greydeath of falling dust in the streets—
the dryrun symbolism is enough—

In the dark I listen to your fingers
break one by one and for a moment
I wonder what I’m doing here—

You want to break it
break it away from them—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

How many times
has the facade fallen—
there’s no better time than now
to drop the complacency
and want something better—

You wanna cry
about how it won’t work
’cause you need somethin’ to do—
you need somethin’ to do—

Yeah—sometime after they did nine eleven—
endless wars and soldier suicides
I think I stopped giving a fuck—
or what was it—the drone killings
growing exponentially without any regard
for the innocent—the widespread surveillance—
oh—maybe human trafficking—
yeah—the kids in Haiti—
Laura changed her last name after that—
it’s no wonder guys are going mad
with guns like they do every day
in countries used as proxies & pawns—
it all just kinda mashes together
after a while doesn’t it?

Or have you spent so long
getting your brain legally stomped in
at the surface that none of this
means anything to you?

U.$.A. flies it’s false flag
wherever there’s a need
for distortion of reality—
there it is right in your face
yet you still can’t even see it—
got a million articles on google telling you
you’re insane for thinking a pizza place in DC
could harbor a “Haitian special”

You wanna play ping-pong
with people and their minds?

Try to make sure next time the guy you pay
to take the fall doesen’t have an IMDB page—
and that your fake French name
doesen’t bring up damning screenshots
from your now private instagram—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—

I want somethin’ to do
somethin’ to die for—

I dont want
anything to do
with you—


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Jeremy 

You were the only one who seemed
to give a shit that I was new
even though in Florida almost everyone
is a transplant at some point
we looked similar in that we were both
tall, skinny, white but darker skinned
with short dark hair
I remember your baggy polo shirt
& skinny scene skater jeans
I could see you probably never
brushed your teeth
you were grimy
hence where you got your nickname
I thought it was so gross you’d wipe
your cigarette ashes all over your jeans
here I am almost 15 years later
wiping joint ashes into my shirt
the last time I saw you it was evident
that the tables had turned
it makes sense, you two have been together
probably like six years now
you’ve been tamed
you’re not hanging out of my car window
doing 120 down the interstate
or throwing quarters
causing a suburban to do a perfect 180
come charging at us full speed
it was a straight up high speed pursuit
you cracked its windshield & we tore
thru peoples yards leaving two long trails
of mud in our wake
we could have died then too or worse
I hid in someones yard but he found us
ripped out his badge said he was a cop
but nothing ever happened
nothing ever did despite it all
I don’t think I was yet aware
of how traumatized I was
your dad was shot & killed
when you were younger though
so I bet you at least had some idea
I have a lot of stark memories
from our friendship, feeling like
I had a brother
you getting so pissed off
I can’t even remember why
throwing your glass bong
& it sticking out of the wall
unbroken just to spite you
rednecks want to get drunk
off Milwaukee’s best at the river
get territorial & start fights
we’d be smoking blunts freestyling
to some beats about how dumb they are
flooring it in reverse in these fields
where the roads ended
spinning round & round
one of those
waterfront developments
built a five story tower on the Manatee
downriver from where I lived
I don’t regret kayaking there at night
shitfaced & on a mission
or during a wildfire with smoke so thick
the sun was just an orange dot
even you who smokes like a chimney
still to this day couldn’t stand it
we went down also ’cause they saw us
we were long gone with the white noise
of the boggy water before they could do anything
besides—what would they do
tell us we couldn’t do
what we’d already done
try to snap our pics
on their flip phones
from the window
of their white escalade
you got a bad ankle
but you still skate
I can hear Panda Bear singing
got to do
what you’ve got to do
what you’ve got to do
what you’ve got to do
what






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A reaction to a smile

I think it’s literally
laughable you want us all
to be afraid of some pudgy ass
little bitch in North Korea
way to take the focus off you
shine it right back in your
beadyeyed nonconductive face
shoot a firework off the coast
of the most densely populated
area in all of America how glorious
is our defense how insipid
they are for their near-famine
how about something that isn’t staged
for once are you even capable
of anything but a whirlwind
of death & lies duck & cover
when it comes it’s gonna sting
aren’t you mad & full of hate
I wouldn’t blame you at this point
if you knew exactly where to put it







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Back home

Now they’re finally saying
the war in Afghanistan
which they never planned
on ever winning
is too expensive
for us

Babies grew up
into hand me down drivers
in the time they’ve spent
racketing away at the trap

It’s no wonder heroin
is cheaper than it’s ever been
sometimes I wonder
why I’m not doing any
easier to get than a ‘script
a gateway sanctioned
by a board meeting

Yeah I mean I know the answer
I know the other answer too
I chainsmoke flowers
while I write

Let me elucidate
the fallacy
of opalescent economics
the psychopathic travesty
of profits over people

They say it’s cheaper just to use
the private contractors
who are over there right now
guarding the poppy fields
vantage pointing horizons
that covertly expanded
while our soldiers
tried to instill a pseudodemocracy
no one gives a fuck about
& died a freakish death
which they tried to cover up
a long time ago
back home

Back home where they are more likely
to kill themselves
than die by anything else

Back home the alien planet
the contractors relinquished
to kill on command until retirement

Back home in duffel bags unchecked
after nine months a new batch
the temptation must be profound

Back home flooded with fentanyl
from China & other even stronger
opiates overdosing just by the touch

Back home where states are suing
big pharma for knowingly setting
everyone up to turn cold & blue
 

Back home with CIA psyop brainwashing
on every channel every messageboard
every social media network to control us
how we think & how we act

Back home phishing for clicks with bot
accounts & links to malware for anyone
especially some more than others

Back home not too far from where the contractors
want to wrap everything up on their terms
whatever the fuck that mean$

Back home sniping innocent refugees
after Katrina just like they did
to the unarmed folks of Nusoor Square

Back home where their best idea
is to go big or go home with military & surveillance spending
they know what’s coming

Back home collapsing desperate
until the very last second it’s
already too late 

Back home where solutions will become
inevitable talking points against
an opposing party to strengthen theirs

Back home where they’d probably try
to kill us all but they’re vampires
that feed off us just ask Virginia

Back home hyped up & bitchslapped
by fear into blind compliance
scapegoating distractions deflect

Back home where you should go
it’s cheaper to do what exactly
if we already know all of this 

Back home not buying it but still watching you
just to see the type of bullshit & candycorn
you’re feeding less by the day
 

Back home cooking dinner in bacon grease
adding cannabis to everything
a dark orange hue that blankets the woods

Back home brewing like a kettle
for a cup of coffee watching it all
unfold from within the confines of a gulch

Back home ensnared but cut loose filtering
the bluelight getting a good nights sleep
I always keep a sharpened blade on me

Back home dusty & wildfire faced
black shirt, black lighter
black everything





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Skyline

   

                        Come on

                                                               let’s go

            we’re going

                                           to Skyline

      way up windy

                                                  Highway 9

             the windows down

                            thru the redwoods

                  to the ridge

                               just to see all

          the sodium lamps blink

                                             from miles away

    on one side of the street

                                                 maybe the ocean

   at the end of the forest


                                                    or a sea of clouds

  on the other side

                                                where I got a djembe

 to bounce off a distant mountain

                                   & cried like quiet fireworks

 on the fourth of July

                              I’d eat some rootbark

    watch the lunar eclipse 

                            on a blanket

                smoke bowls

                         adjust aperture settings

                         until sunrise 

                they never used

                                       to bother us

           we got lost back there

                              ran jeanslapping & ticklegged

         on one occasion too

                                    all the way down the hillside

  like flatlander baffoons

                                what if this small community

never broke apart like I did

                              who left still rides the 9

  way up windy Skyline

                       the other way to castle rock

         or the old trail that led up

                 to the boulders on the top 

                         of the mountain overlooking

          San José, Los Gatos, Saratoga

                                 Campbell, Milpitas, & the bay

     they shut it down 

                             because of spotted horned owls

  just a gate you had to hop

                    probably more an excuse for the art 

& other forms of debauchery

                          we’d perform like a sacred ritual

  until sunset getting so fucking high

                                   we couldn’t even figure out

           the local kids took a screwdriver

                                        to the tires on the car

                          it had been dark a while

                          before the tow truck driver came

                                  said he grew up driving the 9

                     while we went over waves full speed

                      tears of sparks cried from the mirror

             I had to wonder if you were a fan 

                     of sucking the glass dick

                                 one night we were out there

         & the weirdest thing happened

                 we stayed until sunset smoking blunts

    the shadow of the mountain 

                           crept it’s way over the blinking 

streetlights turning on down there

                                    we could hear a television

    on loud from hella far away

                                   way way out over yonder

                  but it wasn’t actually

                                 we listened closely

                      we couldn’t believe it

                                 people were playing 

                                 the hokey pokey

                      somewhere down the mountain

            where our laughter must have roared

       echoed through the thick forest

                                                       we were above

  though the sounds grew louder

                                             the people were slowly 

getting closer

                               that’s when it dawned upon us

  it was an old recording

                                                maybe from the 50’s

     looping over & over

                                 from a small raspy speaker 

                coming up the trail beneath us—

         You put your head in

   You put your head out

          You put your head in

                           & you bang it all about

                                         —I wanted to stay

                           one of the girls booked it

                                     we all took off like a mob 

                                  into the dark forest

                                  the only flashlight we had

                                      started strobing 

                           then totally died

                                         like the beginning

                     of a horror movie

                                                    left open ended

          there were these tunnels

                                      you’d have to crawl under 

      somehow forged thru manzinita

                                     by wildcats & rock climbers

  we’d get on our hands & knees

                                          with backpacks & the acid 

already fully metabolized

                                                  waiting for the effects

  that would hit us on

                                                      the sandstone rock

    overlooking thirty miles

                     of the Santa Cruz mountain range

             a single oak tree growing up shading

                                                      like a symbol

                        bowls & shelves formed

                            into it with lichens at the surface

                                        barefoot in the sun

                                        back when pipes 

                             still had personalities

                                             we’d speak in paradox

                       or not at all

                           gaze out over the whole forest

               dancing & the pastel mandalasky

                                     rippling forever & ever 

        we got to see it with our own eyes

                                     & yeah we were a little late

      getting back to the cars

                                                  everyone was gone

  except a ranger with his light

                        shining in our dilated faces

most of us still carrying our shoes

            after soaking our feet in the water

                          I had to talk my way 

  out of a ticket I was so sorry

                    for wasting their time

    we didn’t know how long

             it would take to get back here

             we were so far out there

       enjoying the park

who was it that put on

     Stevie Ray Vaughn 

                 I couldn’t handle it

I had to drive back home

                        down the windy 9 in the dark

   You need to turn this shit off

                               There are snakes in his throat




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Jasmine in July 

       We made a pact
                                        never to tell
                a single soul
how long did that last
    I wonder
                  I don’t know


             you made up this word
                                snaggleclatch
         you’d bark it incoherently
                                   until they banned you
                            from saying it at school


             we made a pact
’cause we even knew it
                way back then
there’s only one thing
worth living for


         how were we supposed to know
       a pact
                  like anything
            can die
                        a friendship bracelet
                        that no longer exists
          & once bound us together
     like bearings in San José
      near Nickel City


we made a pact
never to tell
                                                a single soul
     chugging jolt cola
               watching porn      wondering
                     how to pronounce cüm
         scrubbing the history
          even though we’d always hear
          your hot nurse mom getting pounded

Grandpa was a retired sniper
                  he’d let us scope in with no loads
                  on neighbors from behind the blinds
                  with his tricked out h&k
            we were out on the pavement dreaming
      of handrails
up to our chests
      we’d never be able to hit
             not in a million years


      I’ve never
been much a stranger
 to being watched



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The sound of ten toes cracking

With their tires moving thru the rain
I won’t be the one who says you can
You know that your knife’s getting weak
Boy getting weak in your hands
To Beercan island with those old tires moving thru the rain
Into the parking lots of unsuspecting condos

sometimes running on the pavement to the beach
Where shiny new shoes and hammerhead sharks on wheels
wouldn’t dare past a swoop
but we would with our barefeet moving through
the white sand beach between our toes in the night 
Where dreams should have been glowing
there were other ones between our lips
Like little blue stars of the oceans living swirl
in the dark waves lapped the shore of everything was
In the night with our toes moving through the wet sand
We called it Russia like when we were all
over each other by the bonfire it was snow
between the trees growing up from it like a warm forest
where we joined fueled by whatever stars we could fit
in our packs and find by the fire lit
that night glowing galactic & jealous
Living liquid like the ocean into both of you
lapped up the shore glowing
Let’s leave this world tonight
 That aint right
         Yes it is
         Yes it is
         Yes it is

 ‘Cause honestly
I’d rather just wear my blue hoodie
& my underwear I’d rather just
          yes the glowing world tonight
                  sitting there smoking a blunt
             & having an orgasm
                                                      I’m one of
                                           the last poets
                                                ever to live