Your school is a wreck but look what I can do with it, if you think Naropa's stupid now, just wait till I get through with it.

I think the Longmont DMV may be built on ancient indian burial ground.  There's this time-0-Dilating effect caused by sitting there in that light little room, pretending nothing else has ever been going on except the wait, and trying not to freak out out of sheer boredom and collective tension.  I need a body massage.

yeah and if we build smaller cars, it will force some people to lose mass. 

in a country where so many have suffered, and suffered under the cult of suffering quietly, and yet
so many have access to the global forums, we argue about the petty shit.  Where does the pain buck stop?  with the consumer, if they know restraint.

Even Jesus kicked a few bankers in the face when he wandered in that day and found them there.  I imagine he took apart their tables with a quickness.  That's the best jesus scene in the whole play.  blood and teeth and splintered table legs dripping blood and gore.  Of course I have the Tarantino version where he wears the Guy Fawkes mask.  A bit of the dude flipping out would be nice.  Humanize the character.  I think even Mel Gibson skipped that bit.  It's like this little sliver of his shadow, and dude goes to hell and back later, it would have been nice to see that bit too.  My imagination has hell looking like super mario 1-2.  

I don't know where to start, whether it's the real thing that has been gnawing at me, or if I should just keep joking. 

I just want to know why Derrick Jones gets to blow off my suicide intervention after I was fired for not being happy from same school, and then I get eye rolls whenever I want to talk about it.  I just hear "wah=wah" and "that white boy's got a problem". 

Its frustrating when talk therapy helps and no one wants to communicate unless you're pressing the fun button.

Kinda limits the conversation there starbucks. 

Although it does indicate a larger phenomena which would explain the way Ellen De Money, the countess de money, slapped my ass by way of introduction and then tried to lecture me every time I saw her after that.  The lectures were her having to do something not fun, and expecting who knows what so doing it awkwardly, and her slap on my ass was a crude attempt to find a fun button that works.  In either case, it was awkward and not engaging in any way that I would try to repeat.  I'm not an ass-slapper. 

My problem has never been an inability to get laid, it's been more a lack of awareness that I had any right to want or need anything other than more work. 

Ten years driving taxi, and I just got a learners permit for colorado, and I'm not even sure I should have it.

I need to talk to a doctor, or an adult, whichever comes first.

its as if there's a predetermined protocol for getting listened to, and it's built to exclude me somehow.  financially, to be sure.  I stopped at three places trying to buy food and getting more and more pissed on my way out of the DMV.  Missed banking hours too.  But no card no cash no bueno.  Cheques are blase'.

I don't have proper ID anyway, apparently. 

cannibal plashemy, not a religous statement, but a political one.  rome was not burnt in a day. 

hey I just read the black stallion, now I wanna be a pony

for the record, I didn't even BELIEVE in decent human beings until I got out of Naperville.

Oh perhaps, roaming the countryside in small herds, but never in a city.

Not Downtown.

Now that I've got that wrong, I need to convince myself not to be terrified of people.


Roaming bank robbers and mexican speed freaks

I gotta stop with the bugs bunny cartoons

rascist fucking stew

I've made it past the flying spheghetti monster, rode off on a pink unicorn, and now I'm lost.

Metal sandworm storm

raining into the sky

playstation set to psychonauts

metal bullets of the earth defending against a natural predator

metal sandworm storm

rocketing from the sockets of stone

sand trails fly behind as their ascent begins with a flash

or what did you think weaponized grey goo would imitate

stop the bullet reign

start the pencil rain

Better than McDonalds

Thank the heavens!  A goddess has descended with her consort to deliver me from sanity for a minute.

A heady indica, I can feel it in my shoulders. 

guy fucks day

I know not from whence this tremor comes.

I know not from whence this tremor comes.

But I can be sure I'm gonna write again. 

I may need to calm myself,  I fear I'm putting on a sick show for myself.

I'm not alone.  I'm not alone.  I can hear the rabbits chewing on everything.

Gnawing and gnawing in loving glee.

and writing this verse seems to be soothing to me.

I wish I was on cam and I wish you could see, how even this nothing is bothering me.

Lorenzo you bastard! now I tremor uncontrollably when the muse is upon me.

I know not if this symptom is mere symptom or condition unto itself, but apparently as I let my creative juices flow I now have a shiver and a shake above the neck.

Which makes this as good a time as any to return to the public record to mention a confusion I held alone.

You must be told, the "Voice" class in Reichian Tremorwork I was lucky enough to sit and stretch and yawn my way through at Naropa University in Boulder Colorado (yes I put down the pipe long enough to go to classes).   It seems this may have been a bad one to attend, for as I listen to Warner Brothers cartoons and hope to get a line of text out between shakes, it seems they haven't lost their fervor.

My shakes it seemed, may be symptomatic of a greater need for care, but may simply be the side effect of a study that should have been and was burned to the ground at one point. 

A thousand words for my lost easel, give or take a handful.

Black and silver, lost in light
lost not lost but stuck at the last couch

and I can barely punctuate the meaning here

For your simple lines, your sliding screws,
the way you hold my thoughts

a million paintings and a million more, as you will surely outlive me
with care to take for not to break
or bend your shape, I love you so.

that's not nearly enough words to express the way I digress
as I try to impress up on the world

high, pregnant or or drugs, or on top of the world

I pause

to roll another cigarette, and take my leave of the keys for a heartbeat,
a dying breath to bring me calm,
where without you I am not as much the artist I would be.

Simply a beard without a face

the fading memory of nine or more skulls left to a bitch who wouldn't have me

so sober so calm so finally in a sanity psychedelic without aid of smoke,
I roll tobacco for another poke.

I don't need drugs, I AM DRUGS.  If you don't believe me suck on this!

Labor day, bah, I wish it were DORIS DAY!

And these I leave for the Daves I know. 

My quivering lips holding death itself as I puff on the drum slowly.

I will not make Jack's mistake, and hold it in anymore.

I will not make Jane's mistake, and squander my reality show.


If I am to be lost in a sea of information, to lower and finally lose my station, let it be with a fuckton a metric fuckton, of text.

for I know what I am capable of.

to string together without punctuation, safe a few drawings and paintings petunias and whales to wonder.

where humanity left behind such grand vases for vinces vines and vices.

As a silent midnights twilight leaves me to my piece, and my mind to pieces.

Where oh where, or are you where I left you my black lover.
Silver's sliver holding a trash bag and a cardboard backing, for watercolor's lovely dance.

my only trustworthy friend, my base my spine my favorite instrument,
greater even than the brushes and paper that fall through your jaws. 

Oh fuck this wordpress and fuck your wordcountless abcess.

Blogger you spite me, for I alone can see what marks my crayons make on a screen.

Where my canvases and papers, my favorite flavors, my color my madness my lover in sadness.

where once I drew a mouse.

Oh boys, you've done it now.

Perhaps to the horror of my family and less so, I would hope, those who count themselves as friends; I just read Bukowski's letter to his first patron.  I fear I may suffer the same fate, drinking, and more hopefully smoking, as I write until I am fell unto that beast Panopticon. 

Which is to say, I fancy myself a wordsmith of the lowest caliber, without funding but with friends and food that I might enjoy the simple pleasure of cooking for large enough groups (wherever two or more are gathered). 

Perhaps with a head full of Bullwinkle and Firesign theatre, watching schoolhouse rock, and with a library to be rivaled by Rome or Alexandria, I may suck seed. 

Having found my errant razor, I shave off those bits of hair not designated as a beard I would like to listen to as it grows.  Under the sink, you fink!  I also found my makeup kit, so I might go out wearing enough black to show my mood. 

So, broke, and broken, lost mind and listening to the voices in my head as the work of Centennial Peaks Mental Facility to force me back into the light, by never darkening the night, has clearly failed. 

I have a blog, and I will whine and moan into the poor house as I want.  My plan to become someone else's animator, is frustrated for lack of computing power, but I have the Ipad I received as a tip from rescuing those fine gang members from a handful of cops, whose keen eye saw a drunk at the wheel.  I offer no anger to the cops who circled me as I trembling stumbled away from my scholastic activities, and I would hope to continue their giggling as I did that day. 

The Joker is wild in my mind as I have found my way back to my favorite hoodie.  MC chris can go fuck himself, and I hope he finds more effective and better funded animators.  I am content to grow my beard and my ire and I hope I inspire with my humble offerings here, until I can buy some damn typewriting equipment. 

I still intend to tell the tale of Naropa and all that transpired to convince me that compassion is just another word to abuse in the service of a dollar.  But mayhaps ten years from now when I've made it off continent, and away from Tibet's death throes.  Shove that up yer nose!

And now I need nothing more than time to think, and smoke and drink.  Where I find my friends may be kind enough to allow me to continue my slow demise. 

Conjunction Junction, don't forget your function.