there was a group at a bus stop and they were exposing themselves for money. just get some actors and film it.

when people talk too loud i hate it because i am the one who talks too loud and doesn't notice it.

i am so fucking sick of having to have compassion and always gritting my teeth to do it and cracked broken crooked despairing smiles don't show any compassion, they are cries for compassion and i just can't help you, i just can't do anything at all ever, oh, no!

i really hate being there when a poem is being read aloud; if it is a good poem with a lot of meaning, it goes by so fast; and even if ther reader puts in the perfect stresses and special pronunciations added to a flairy fairy blockbuster presentation, you still can't get through the deep deep shit, get it through the audience's head, it's too complicated. and if it's a ditty, rhyming and galloping through puns and funny jokes and maybe it has a moral at the end or maybe not. well, that's just for kids isn't it?

the thing i hate the most: turning on the TV and switching the channels; closing my eyes and doing nothing. i do NOT hate drinking. what i hate the most is my hangover; but i'm gonna get up at 6 a.m., i'm gonna drink, and then, tomorrow, i'm gonna do it again.

9-8-11

man, during the yoga meditation exercise we do here every week before we start our free-write, well, dig: i was super-distracted by violent hatred and prurient lust. see, there are the males who come every week, only none of our regularly attending females showed up; however, a teacher from the liberal university came with a half-dozen nursing students - five foxy women! now what's a guy supposed to do with that?! my main thoughts were to murder the competition, then rape and kill the spoils, saving, i guess, two or three so i can have them to fuck and kill later. so, i know i am not supposed to be having thoughts like that except that they come into my head, and my intention heads in that direction when i absolutely did not intend to lust in my heart, i swear. if anything, my intention every morning when i get up is to love everybody, or, whatever the thing is, it takes so much fucking work to meditate on cultivating my garden of loving kindness!

 anyway, the guided relaxation has fizzed the heat...sssssss...we buried a hot coal!

i did not want to

i did it anyways though

who says i'm sorry?

my sentence is complete.

(prompted)

cross-pollination means at a commune in the sixties it got us a family of kids by the early seventies who then punked out in the eighties and said no i don't know who my father is; my mother was anybody who held me, fed me, protected me.

cross-pollination means hybrid cannabis, sativa with indica. it means different varieties of bananas and beans and be-ins.

i would want to think of a poll in the nation that was cross at the prez.

another thing that would be a good idea and i bet it's the correct choice that the teacher wanted and i also bet that the university students absolutely know that what we are supposed to get behind is how teachers, pupils, citizens, criminals and the tiny saints are all sayin what they think and then different people pick up different groovy notions and maybe they incorporate a philosophy, or maybe i think your pollen is ridiculous. only, hey, it got on me, and now i'm pregnant!

cross-pollination is about how the religions say god is pretty fuckin mad at us for screwing around, and so god demands that we pay! we have to pay! sacrifice a lamb on the barbie, give up for lent, sacrifice your only child. yeah! yeah! crucify him, crucify him! ahhhhh!

sept free writes

sept 1, 2011

so yeah i want to be a saint, for sure, a fuckin saint in the woods, beatin my meat, sex with sheep; dear deer droppings, yum; care for a ball of rabbitshit gum? seriously, though, i would really like to be out in the woods, with flowing robes, lions & lambs and all. i would just have to be able to get some concubines up there; they would have concubines available, no?

so, earlier, the over-fifty people started yakking about dating and how you're not sure what to think or say anymore these days - even though we used to fuck like rabbits in the sixties and seventies. but then the eighties came and a lot of people wound up acquiring deficiency after having sex, and so now people really never even talk to each other anymore, or it seems like that. plus, all that lying fucking bullshit about the free love - what a buncha fuckin liars! it has always been hard & fast. soft & easy.

i want to keep my personal life a secret; i know it doesn't seem like a secretive guy who writes pretty honestly about homicidal maniacisms i go through sometimes, and in my therapy group i am sure i make people sick, how fuckin off the charts and graphic are my descriptions of what i would do. but i never really do anything, except for what i actually do in my personal life, and i'm sure not gonna tell ANYBODY!

is there one minute

i thought there would be some more

one god damn minute?

(prompted)

her anger asked for a return scowl

her slug asked for a return slug

"oh, so whoever buys a single slug?"

"well, yeah, the customer bought a BOX of slug bait."

"what's wrong with the return slug?"

"the wife said it didn't match the others."

"was it a box of blacks, greens or mixed?"

"it was blacks, but it had one green slug."

"so the woman is angry over one green slug?"

"well, she's mad 'cause one slug isn't black."

"just give her a free box of mixed slug bait."

her anger asked for someone, anyone, soon, right now, don't wait another second, shoot me dead, please and she grabbed my gun and made me pull the trigger. there were blood and brains and eyeballs splattered on the counter top. i realized that my prints were on the gun, my DNA is in the house, and i went on the LAM immediately. here i am in paris; here i am in borneo; now, australia, new zealand, antarctica, brrrrrr!!!

write on freewrites
 

8-11-11

i breathed real fast and got high on it, and tingled. or something. and now i feel very relaxed; i was already relaxed, having hustled plenty already today, what with the primary care physician and his lecture that went along with the anti-depressant prescription, and then with the many lectures upon lectures at the dental office, where they gave me a payment plan and two torture appointments. see, i was really relaxed, man, because i went for care that i was scared about but it didn't hurt because i didn't let them do it yet, so yeah, it is like i don't have to start my prison sentence until later, i feel so free, so verily i say unto thee, free, free, now, free from your spell. that's just a song, and i can feel the feeling of the singer saying, "i didn't like your spell, it really sucked." except, see, all i wanna do is not have to get shots and drills and a numb mouth and pain, pain, pain, oh so much pain at the dentist, oh! oh! oh! i'm free from  that this afternoon, but monday morning...well, no, fuck it; i'm leaving town.

when i was a ute, i escaped to utah, and then excaped back to los angeles. after L.A., i escaped again to san francisco, no longer a ute. my ute is gone, i spent it, i remember the good parts and the times when i coulda had fun and sex and drugs but, oh, no! now that i don't have any ute left, well, shit, yes i do. i'm just as young a ute as ever, man! who says i can't get it up? who says i am afraid to jump? just because i was afraid to jump, i am no longer! i can jump! i can! watch!

i can jump so high

this high or extremely high

depends what you mean

what i mean by jump is hammer a nail.

(prompted)

the safety of her situation, as opposed to HIS, was that she had the money, all of it, and was in control of it, and there was a lot of it, and she was a fucking tight ass; her boyfriend began the relationship by stealing money from her purse, like as if she was a mom or a little old lady who wouldn't notice. he fucked her, and everything, yeah, because well, that is what she wanted, and what he wanted, but the cash he stole he used for some supreme happiness afterwards, and came back again for more sex and offered promises.

she was safe because of all the money in the bank, in her purses, pockets and wallets, and on her credit cards and shards. "shards"? what the fuck? you mean long sharp broken glass pieces puncturing pudenda? well, anyone with a lot of money can feel safe when they let their imagination run away to chardonay! klepto man also feels safe every time he robs and gets away with it, but see, he doesn't feel as safe as his girl, since it's completely up to here when the money is withdrawn; when the well runs dry, the boyfriend gets withdrawn. get it?

if i had money

i would buy some narcotics

i hope i get some

October 22, 2011, 09:32

one syllable free write

this is what i have to say one word at a time; it can be in a form i want if i choose to get this job; there is no verb to put curbs in burbs but to belch, not burp. slurp urps and oops goofs with goop we get at school, in class. i want to use the words "piece of ass" since it rhymes with class but to do so would be to show none. to cuss shows you have no class. say thank you please and fuck you big time. be swayed by pray freaks geek squads, squad car mods, rocks thrown by kids at cops who club kids at cost, get paid big bucks, don't go to jail, like to pass go for free park space. gas, lights, streets rails, roads, cars, jars of jam, i could go on and on but i won't and aren't you glad? I'M so glad! i'm glad i'm glad i'm glad you're glad we're glad they're glad; then, "glad," by now, sounds strange, like all of us have been had. all of us have been had. all of us have been had. all of us, all of us.

free writes

October 22, 2011, 09:09

imagine that it is in the twenties in america or imagine being in one of those countries where it is very hard to find alcohol and you have to get your daily booze from a connection who might be dressed...funny. and let's say that you read a pamphlet that told you how bad it is to drink and it convinced you to go to sobriety meetings, and so you start going, and stay clean and sober for, say, a couple of days (i'm just sayin'). now, you know that there are many shabbies wherever you go, and say, i'm just sayin', one of the grossest-looking connections who you have gotten a hold of hooch from before and let's say that he was one of the ones who gives me watered down crap, or shortened jugs, or something, and you already don't like the guy. what you started to do since you started going to meetings is you make sure that you never have any cash in your pocket whenever you go outside; if you have to go to the store, you quick run there and get rid of your  cash, in case one of the alcohol sales professionals has a drink for you ready right here right now and you don't want it and it's a good thing you are broke, so you get to go back home and remain clean today. and let's say that you are going along just fine and maybe even picking up a thirty day chip or a ninety day chip or whatever and maybe you have taken on a commitment to be a coffeemaker or a secretary/leader of a meeting, and yet, see, by hearing all the stories, the war stories and drug-a-logs, the bummers of a bitter booze hound, and it wells up in you, man, you really are craving ethanol now!

so, since you are the secretary, you take home the collection money so you can deposit it; every week you put the cash in the bank, and send some of it to a main organization, or some such shit; i don't know what they do in other places or even if it is anything like i think it might be based on the meetings i've been to. so, anyway i was walking home, with cash in my pocket, and really struggling and even praying for the strength to resist temptation, right. so the most perdition-deserving shabby says to you as you pass him, he says, kind of under his breath, to you, "...moonshine!...moonshine!..." and he says to you i got some really good hooch here, only five bucks, and you pull out some of the offering and thereby get drunk...alone at your house; then, when it is gone, you take some more of the offering and go out to get another jug, and then another and pretty soon the money is gone and you have had so much that you pass out.

in the morning you face the musical hangover.

the first and last thing i want to do is assault and murder the shabby who got me started last night after the meeting, the one who shorts us; but then there was the last guy last night, the one who had compassion and friendliness and gave me a free drink on the spot, in the doorway by the corner, and he gave me an extra jug (since it was my last five dollar bill). do i want to kill him too? i fuckin' ASKED him, so how can i kill? besides, the good dealer and the bad dealer are both actually unaware of what they are doing, and if i killed anyone, they wouldn't even know what happened, and they would be dead, which, as far as i know, means, well, DEAD.

FANTASIZING MURDER, REALLY GRAPHICALLY MAKIN' A GORY MOVIE OUT OF IT, YEAH: it takes away my urges. am i bad?

October 15, 2011, 08:56

share the elf

they said take all the stock of a company and divide it up equally and give the shares to the employees. fuckin simple as that, where the original owners get somehow fairly compensated. why not? well, for one thing, the world would end after first everything fell apart and most of you have already died. of course, if they don't share the elf, you will die sooner, perhaps immediately. want to try?

September 11, 2011, 08:26

 never tell the truth. that's what i say because that is what they say, "Never, ever tell the truth!" when my objection is my mommy taught me to tell the truth on every occasion, my new alley-friend said let's go lie to the cops. why? because we provoked them and they chased us and they caught you, since it's your first time, since you are a small kid. i'll get away and you can say you didn't see who they were talking about they asked you specifically about a tall kid in a leather jacket and big decorated steel toed boots; when you said "I don't know what you are talking about" and did your best to look them in their sets of eyes, this little kid standing there, obviously lying, my heart is beatin so fast and these pigs are getting ready to pounce on my ass and i don't know if they are gonna kneel on my back and snap me and then they're gonna have to do a cover up and as i lay dying right up until that ever so alluring and distracting tunnel of bright  white light... i get to learn the exact details of how peacekeeping forces cover up children's torture murders.

August 04, 2011, 09:12

there is a capitalist library in my neighborhood, but i am at the socialist one, where they give me time on the internet, fifteen minutes, which is almost up. my tapping of these keys is making hella noise, and i don't like to make so much noise, so i am outa here!

July 23, 2011, 07:57

work

television radio books on tape digital video disks left wing radio station

on this internet journal i have made it public, so it is like a blog.

the only hits i have ever got are hits in the face, right?

as long as i use zero profanity and zero possible evidence i can talk.

i am storing this on this because i don't want to lose it on the internet i can keep it forever but it cannot contain evidence, no evidence here

lately i have been writing on sheets of paper on both sides not dates, just scribbles, and now they are strewn all over i gave up keeping track i just thought i'd say that.

July 02, 2011, 07:52

 first day of the (work)week

first day of the (work)week, my week starts on saturday on duty easy job. i got onto this live jounal so i could at least type, write. whenever i write here i have to make very sure that i do not use profanity, hint at criminality or blasphemy, and the internet is not a place to toy with hate speech. but i have been having a deblitating tennis elbow from typing and playing guitar, and i realized that i have to lay off for a while; but coming here to work with this intenet, cool keyboard, and i brought my wrist band, so i couldn't resist. it hurts like hell but when i don't type it hurts like hell.

the music is john mclaughlin, very smooth and you can tell it's him.

whenever i think about conservation i always think about the end of the world anyway my own death anyway is there any evidence that there are rats' asses given about our grandchildren?

i could go on and on but i have to stop because...oops! my arm fell off. it's on the floor. i just picked it up with my other arm and i had to screw it in, which was turning it around and around a hundred times; my arm i was using for twisting is not my dominant side and my entire bicep and tricep and forewristhandthumbpointer no exceptions so-o-o-o-o-o weary! and still the still the penis hadn't screwed far enough into the vagina, and there was wiggle and finally i got my arm that had fallen off re-attached and i was exhausted, and now i can't even type i am so exhausted...but wait, i can prop my tennis elbow up like this, i can lean back in my super office ergonomic reclining hot rod, oh, yeah. no, doctor, i don't feel any pain, i can feel the arm and fingers producing survival for me. i know i had to do this and i am doing it!

my question now is how did my arm fall off all of a sudden and then i had to spend an hour to screw it back in? the answer, of course, is, that's why we ask for miracles.

June 08, 2011, 00:39

 last hump day

i have been working graveyard hump day since i went full time; tonight, when i came on at midnight tuesday i traded with the guy who has been doing swing tuesday and from now on he's gonna do wednesday graveyard. so, that, of course, is very good, and it is what i wanted so i can now have a good yoga class on wednesday at 1:15 pm. as it is, it will be the last time i have this shift and have the difficulty of sleeping in the morning, so that will be great! next week, i can really be rested.

April 09, 2011, 08:02

it took a while, but it was soon enough, because here i am, listening to David Bowie Oldies, at work, with their computer and internet, and MY FUCKING SHIT THAT I WRITE THAT WILL (DEFINITELY?) BE SAVED!! just like for sure i am saved, thanks to the BLOOD OF THE LAMB, oh yeah! man i want that blood all over my jaws and neck and chest and dripping, dripping, and now i am puking lamb's blood! AAAAHAHHHAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

THE THING THAT I LIKE TO DO ON THE INTERNET IS CHECK MY YAHOO EMAIL. here's why: i subscribed to a muckraking website who sends me updates about nefarious deeds, dirty nasty doings, and our reactions to ACTS OF GOD. i love to read about how bad people are so that i can practice hating, more and more, over and over, humans are so bad, bad, bad. i already know that you are all a bunch of fucking asses, stupid asses, irrationalists!

HOWEVER, i feel an addiction to check that email, to surf the web for atrocities that the world is doing to me.

i know that the first thing they're gonna say is the fuckin' sex and then the war and, absolutely the elected officials. i am so sick of what they have to say about all those clean and sober types, and being a pig with a ring i am led to the lowest muddiest garbage pit: CELEBRITY INS AND OUTS. but i am also so-so sick of engaging in that shameful behavior; so, yeah, i go back to finding out about THE CONGRESS AND THE BOYS.

my favorite would be a lesbian story about some lady congresspersons getting together with one or two of the already outed gay representatives, and maybe THAT MUSLIM GUY FROM MINNEAPOLIS, too...anyway, they start the QUEER CAUCUS, and immediately the half-dozen or so lezzies in congress are immediately outed. right. and then there is a party. yup.

immediately!

the need to write and breathe: well, the need to breathe is a no-brainer, but there is no need to write; nobody ever ever said there is a human need to write. not on the same level as the need to breathe. in fact, you breathe whether you like it or not; if you have an assignment to do a report, you may not like it and may not want to do it and you can say fuck the term paper. you can't stop breathing but you can stop writing and i am sure you wish i would stop.

only i am not going to stop, because of the need to write; just like i can't stop breathing or doing anything that i do.

March 06, 2011, 10:46

 free will

the radio program says that some people think that the brain is a confabulator; so, when i do something, i say that i chose to do it. but it was a behavior that i did without choosing.

no one who ever does anything can do otherwise.

thinking about this, believing this gives me comfort, and i feel that i will never get in trouble for anything, at least with myself. if i get in trouble with someone else, they are making a big mistake; whatever i did, i couldn't help it.

March 03, 2011, 08:16

nothing exists

when i just read a book that convinced me nothing exists, it made me want to go wild. instead, i went okay.

 according to science, when you chop it all up, they used to say then you got the tiny atoms; then they started chopping up atoms, finding nothing, absolutely nothing.

so, if you got the world situation, and all your family and friends and people you want to meet; and maybe you're happy or sad...all you gotta do is chop it all up until it's quite invisible, intangible and non-existent.

remember, not everybody else chops the world into tiny bits; actually, nobody does. but when i see that everything is going according to no plan, and "life, the universe and everything" has no purpose, it gives me a lot of comfort, man. because it makes me innocent...Oh Yeah.

and even though i hate your guts because of how you harmed me, i have to forgive you. because it's all just happening.

plus, i can't prove that the world didn't come into existence five minutes ago, including all my memories, thoughts and relationshops (insisting otherwise).

March 3, 2011

 free-write

my routine here has been to not think ahead of time what it is i will be writng about. this has been about as impossible as you want to imagine! see, i have evidence (from the free-writes i saved) that i guess, every single time, i had been thinking about what i was going to write, and then wrote about it. for example, one of the things i wrote was about listening carefully to what other workshop members were saying and writing. this would be instead of my usual strongly enforced habit of not caring about anyone but myself; plus, being very upset and self-destructively reactive when you motherfuckers shine me on and are not in a onstant review of the many valuable features of John Duke.

the evidence that i was thinking about my free write ahead of time is that i actually remember thinking ahead. so, today what i thought ahead about is whether there is any freedom of will; my personal philosophy suggested that there is no such thing; and not only that, but nothing at all actually exists.

it is all a magical puff which immediately disappears.

that i obviously believe and speak and act otherwise is not evidence that i exist, or that the world is here. i feel tired and am looking forward to a good night's sleep, but, see, whatever is gonna happen is what is gonna happen, and i don't see things very clearly, anyway. obviously.

i find it a great relief to see that i can do nothing to change the world, even though i wanna try harder. i always feel like the shoe's gonna drop, or the other foot will come down.

March 02, 2011, 00:36

 hump day notes

i love my song

wednesday marks the middle

they call it a hump

a lump of information

in hour head

a three martini lunch

instead

a wednesday afternoon

is always dead

as we get led to friday

a day we all can see

wednesday is our destiny

wednesday marks the middle

they call it a hump

i am so fucking sick and tired of everything do you want me to make a list?

...well, sure, as long as your beefs are mine and if you are funny or grippingly emotional, shoot me!

here is the plan i have, since i work graveyard every wednesday, and have to go home and go to sleep in the morning and then go to my yoga class after lunch; i usually can't sleep, so right now i am incapacitated thinking about how i will be incapacitated at some time in the future, but, see, i don't feel so god damn incapacitated at this moment.

"at this moment"

right now

what does the left want right now

what sinister shit is the right wing up to

at the beginning of this hump day

what are the revolutions that are going on?

well, there are my own personal ones

and then there are the political ones

it all has to do with having and not having killing (uh, making a killing) and not being killed

everybody in my neighborhood scours the sidewalk for crack some people sift dirt from planters and vacuum bags what makes me not an addict is i don't go to meetings

i hate a particular actor

why? well, access to so much dope, for one thing prescription pain pills, for many medicine cabinets i also hate the little girl celebrities with their coke where is my coke?

do i have to sit here on this job all hump day?

and then have nothing?!

(nothing like what rich people pop-n-snort) so i hate them all the same way i hate myself when i overdo it?

no. i don't imagine blowing my own brains out.

actually, i don't imagine killing anyone it's hump day what's going on is this going to be edited?

the leader who everybody says is crazy?

who isn't crazy; i have guns here and will use them.

if the bad guys were passing out tablets of acid, wow!

how does that make them the bad guys?

the good guys are the riot police

get some good peer counseling from a cop, sure.

i would say that as long as i have a fortified house, there would be no need for me to worry about a thing; now, of course, when i go somewhere, i might get mugged, but what are you gonna do, not never go nowhere? skip work, play hooky from school, shine on my friends and relatives? either that or decidedly do stuff, you know, your thing. do your thing does not mean kill your penis or fuck your life goals. my thing is mass murder. not doing it, just thinking about it, and thinking it through to a mental wank.

after the satisfying mass murder (let's call it a triple murder) i get away somehow (it doesn't matter how it really happened - see the director's cut) and now i hope they pin it on the wild one. just think, though, i am coming down from the high you get from three kills (and boy were they so fine!), and i am getting comfortable and even starting to actually fall asleep curled up in some bedding behind a bush in the park, and i am debating with myself: you better not move from this spot for probably as many as three days. but what about water and food? and if i fall asleep, they will handcuff me in my sleep and take me in! but what happens is i can feel myself falling alseep and i win the argument. my little ol' id wins again, since i just can't fucking help myself and the final argument which said just stay hidden and still and no one will ever get you won. it was better than stay awake and get ready to run. run where. i'm outa here. g'night. mmm...

so, then, and remember it doesn't matter what the facts are, this being a director's cut (jugular vein). they come and put me in jail or i wake up amazed to be uncaught, well-rested, non-awaringly strolling into a hamburger joint and getting breakfast, and i see the headline: the wild one is on the front page, and he was judged juried and executionered. i can't believe that all i have to do is go home and shower and go to work; the only problem is my bloods, my homies...because i know i am gonna have to tell somebody about this, how fucking damn cool it is to be free after having experienced the high of indiscriminate mass murder. rat-a-fuckin-tat!

 February 25, 2011, 08:32

people think that my writing is amusing.

my psychologist had to cancel my appointment because he was taking his partner to the emergency room; not only do i have sad feeings about my friend and his friend, i also have concern about my recent journals which are locked in his cabinet. these journals have so much good stuff in them, just like all my journals from the past, well, decades...containg good stuff, words i can publish in little chapbooks and sell.

my thought has been to actually print up said chapbooks, but i am waiting. for what?

February 20, 2011, 07:59

the first thing that comes to your mind right after you make a decision to record it is that your arm hurts, you have tennis elbow or bursitis and yet you are typing; is it because you have a paid dispatch, is it so you can eat? no. i am not hungry. well, i mean, if i am, i have food. here. at work. yup.

it goes along with my philosophy

love of knowing where-it's-at

whatever happens is not the result of me or you or them; well, it was "them" if it was anyone huh? nope. see, the whole, say, concept of one thing causing the next, the whole idea of next is, well, it's next to go. it's a present moment thing and you can get it when you get it. or help it along with drugs and workhouse and yoga? or, whatever. i really don't believe that there is a damn thing you can do about it. "it"!

i do not mean to say that you cannot do your exercises think of the ones that you do sometimes YOU CANNOT SAY I CANNOT DO THOSE good point; you would win that argument.

but i don't want to argue; do you?

if this were a web-log i would tell you that i am eating hamburger helper dinner with no meat cooking it in the desk clerks' microwave, adding my own cheese and crackers.

February 19, 2011, 11:42

subdued

the sub dude was subdued

to subdue is to tackle

i am subdued by my deep notions-

why go through a courtroom

if you're not going to carry it out?-

look what gets clung to

the best feeling ever is both

grabbing and releasing

letting go and holding on

the purpose is not to give you salve

i just can't stop The Bib Bang from oozing it isn't what you never had and it's not your choosing

you think you got it made

is that the bed or the deal

you didn't work, you played

live in the house upon the hill---

if only all people drank continually

who would drive the trucks?--

the pure experience

since you are where you are at, and have this experience, it is pur. adultery is rejecting its purity. what is wrong there must be something wrong. you think wrong is the betrayal, but it's all very pure.

a pure experience includes acceptance and productivity; and acceptance of productivity (and products!).