Friday, October 1, 2010

Rain Dance

Under your dress, hairless God’s of forever



Spit up and down my neck, the dribble is soft

asking for anything else, it's a sin among sinners

for my questions, answers, for yours, nothing else

if I left my bags behind after my journey in

I would sleep on your heart, and make myself at last

for god's to commit under cardinal sin

we have to move, do it, fuck fast,

before they see us dripping from the clouds,

God's rain is blessing under fleshy constructs

excess of exchange, converging of brains, in basic

bare-back in bare-bones synapse

I collapse to the last o' thunder-claps,

o' moan! o' cries! o' deep breaths under fucks and gods, o' gods!

Yes!

Yes, lightning strikes, oh let it rain, o' let the rain wash it away!

Beneath the titans, children o' Olympia drink our rain,

tongues extended to catch every perfect drop of mana!

O' children, o' seed, inherit my sins, inherit lives lived and passed!

O' children, under our cardinal sin, under rain clouds of purity, under parents of scrutiny,

O' children, under the watchful eye of school teachers and lawyers, and judges, and Presidents,



O' children, under the rain, borne unto sin, somewhere between flesh and flesh, Find your way home!

O' children, your gods come from books. Gods are born of paper and ink, between reality and complex.

O' children, drink, drink of Titan's milk, drink of the sky its-self, indulge in our gifts, for you are not long for this world.

O' children, learn to love, learn to dance the rhythms of your body, learn devotion, learn to hum drum beats, and spit poetry.
Salted sea water drapes over our bodies, in every suction we gather electric between kisses and convulsions,



dripping into each other's, mouths, rain dance, rain dance.



O' children, rain dance with us.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Strangers in Paradise

Another old piece, but a favorite of mine.

Strangers in Paradise



Your heart shimmers under perfect suns,

it's godly gold, I'm godly under you.

Through steps over scattered minds,

navigate my sun, navigate my son.

Skip rope with heartstrings, under big shadowy chocolate factories.

Intoxicate my sun, intoxicate my son.

Big checkerboard time-tables, heartless hometowns.

Michigan.

Lake Michigan.

Open fields forever, stained green with education ending at seven, dreams wrecked with reckless abandon. Endless tomorrows filled with quiet recognition and empty hallways.

No-ones coming to class, but the bells keep on ringing.

Graduation happens as a whole, class not kindred, whole, not hole, whole. Class of '79, Class of '80, class of '81, classic rock stations showing their age- badly. Classical music composed by dead presidents and Saint Bernards, showing their age. Badly. Honest constructs smitten with their own deaths, in love with an idea, the idea of an end. Something you and I still haven't gotten right, but we're still sophomores, we have two theoretical years to argue the rhetoric before fuck gets his way. Before fuck fucks us. Badly.

I've been sitting shotty my whole life brothers and sisters, and lovers, and teachers, I've been along for the ride, and I've been watching, observing, listening. Loving on it all. Loving on every bit of humanism indulging on hedonism, my inspiration-

Comes from pornography.

Faint hearts take shelter, no room for the married past this point, the poems done, serious, don’t worry about it, close the book, turn the page, whatever you got to do, cause it's done and you aint missin' nothin'.

Okay, you gone?

PORN.

FUCKING FUCKING, that's it, self-indulgent art under fire, under-siege, under churches, and politicians, and spokesmen, and lobbyist, taboo, hold your tongue young man, or you'll be choking on soap and tied up in dental floss. Clean, clean kids, no exceptions, sex ed, the devil, drugs, the devil, the homeless, the devil, doing as I do and not as I say, the devil, the golden rule, HUMAN nature brothers and sisters and lovers and teachers.

HUMAN

What makes us up - up above the heads and the fiends and the addicts and the animals.

Holding each other close on camera.

Strangers in paradise.

Pressed up against your lenses as you indulge in the un-indulgable. The forbidden. The sick. The dirty, dirty boys and girls, who fuck like Christ so you can indulge in their sins.

Not your own.

Your clean, mama made it that way.

She's a good woman, but boy did she fuck you up.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Firewood

Semi-old piece now, but a favorite for performance. Check it.

Will you ever let it go?
It's funny, cause when I look at you like this, you dont seem so far away.
You don't seem so gone.
I dont know if I'll ever be the same,
and I don't know if your'e the one who did this to me,
but time is short, and our lives are unpredictable, so what is life to you?
Do we really play with a full deck of where-tos and meant-to-bes?
Do we really play with a full deck at all, or at this point-
is it wishful thinking?
Life unfolds around you, for you, not because of you.
We unravel our own sweaters, and roll out our own golden carpet.
We spark the little changes, we dance the little lights in and out of play.
Behind every life.
State your subject matter, make it small.
It has to fit in the palm of my hand, only so many characters.
Fill your body with black ink and soul,
empty your every force on me,
slip it into the mail, seal it with a thank you to a god you dont believe in,
and trust me to still be in the same house next week.
It's a lot of faith for the faithless to have.
Something bigger is at play, but we cant get over ourselves long enough to really look at it.
We make a god in our image, without recognizing the true play on our stage.
You are not an actor.
Without you, there is no understudy, no stand-in.
The kissing scene just wouldnt be the same.
The scene where you walk away, blow a farewell forget-me-not and flap your wings.
Spell it out.
If we were so weak that you really needed me, how many poems would I forget to write?
We grow tall under the sun, we lite up like fireflies.
We lean on other branches, we discard what we dont need.
We never forget.
IN this forest of lost thoughts and transient continuum,
we collect dead flowers between the pages of unwritten books.
Books full of words and heartbroken authors.
We will never cease to see the sunlight,
no matter how much time gos by.
No matter how much moss grows upon my face.
We will always face a life, holding hands touched by the sun and moon.
Kissed by my goddess.
Press onward in the face of enlightenment.
The distance is never as great, time never as all consuming.
I will seek comfort and reason only after my body has failed me,
so that you may use me as firewood.

Monday, September 6, 2010

And Break

Break.
Consider this common sense.
Past tense literature.
Competitive science breast feeding art.
Deconstruction, abolition,
lost children of free form thought.
Taking grace.
Sweet drown hollow,
big city girl,
big pill to swallow.
Common sense.
Digress.
Decompress the living.
Exhalted and disemboweled,
the elderly lying open on cardboard cutouts of classrooms.
Scenic science.
Silence underlying, tight pieces of Flood.
Take truth.
Take honor.
Take heart and gold.
Take mother.
Take daughter.
Take the killer car crash, triple constructed, divine comedy.
Take onlookers and bystanders, all the hopes, all the dreams.
Every reality over-ruling your life-
Your liley hood.
Every most important thing held in higher heart.
Put your life on the line.
And Break.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

djBLUDhaven

Rip it out
over come me
Bring me to the cusp of life, let me fly
let my imagery be clear and crisp
and fresh and clean
let my hip hop attitude guide me through hipsterism
let my sexx symbol shine through
let me bleed out all my bloodwalls
fire walls, built by liqour soaked men
disembody them
embroider the women

I stand at the canyon
looking deep into my life
writing the freshest poetry
spitting the phattest rhymes
I declare myself the hippest
the hoppest mc- sippin on hops
and barley.

A boquet of bullet wounds.
Purple hearts
bruised.
Beaten battered,
split open by housewives,
cast over the head
a leg of lamb like a rock in the hands of a mad sibling.
Dont think a thing-
about it.

Flicker my tears, flashing lights
searching-

End sequence.

Start-fat-fresh-hip-punk
rock-legend-mic master-djBLUDhaven

Breathe.

ha
ha
ha

ha
ha
haaa

Deep breath.

Over there.
Black hearts, look, black heart, inside.

I awake to this hell on the other side of a pillow.
Every night.
Black hearts dominate.
Be hip
Be cool
B-unto others
As you would have them unto you.
Boy.

And that's my beta.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Monday, April 26, 2010

Friday, April 2, 2010

Dead Bird

God knows
that I rap like Christ
I can preach on a crucifix
make penance a compromise
I can play nice
I can dance with the other cannibals
I can wave around my cannonballs
loaded in my phallic laws
don't make questions
it's the worst thing you can do with regret
like a mother never forgets
the sting of your open wet
your wet mouth gaping jaw
interlocked with a woman's lips
loosening your wits
soaking through to open wrist
Call yourself above them
and call your sin a sanctuary
delicate, carry
cross-contaminary rosemary
life spikes in the meantime
no matter your intended sense
make fuck out of ingredients
and complicated common sense
basic instinct
versus laws of attraction
the rules of engagement
are never read back in Latin
the sheets we lay are satin
and the seeds we sow are everlasting

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Poetry from Booksense.

Poetry out of booksense.
The pressure is immense,
making poetry from booksense,
baking thought into minds
thinking thoughts into heads.
Later this evening
a vangaurd on call will roam this earth.
Two feet forward, tail dragging in the past,
presenting the present with tomorrow's future.
Making sense out of poetry,
pulling poetry from booksense.
His weight is immense.
Sentinel sentry, idle eyes idolizing poetics.
Contracting lost data,
virus-ease contacts.
Very loose women parade the streets,
building poetry from experience,
writing books oft abstinance,
building walls out of booksense,
writing poetry in context.
Empty bottles clang together,
the trash man cometh
making music from trash,
writing poetry from emptyness.

Little lives get touched,
with our every action we write the world.
Pulling poetry from culture,
building culture into booksense.

Vangaurd, hear us call.
Wave your weight in our direction.
Flash your lights and show your teeth,
crawling beneath the skin of our planet,
god damn you.
Vangaurd, with your scaled skin so bright,
light our path with flickering bulbs,
extend arms, raise two feet, retreat.
god damn you.
Leave us alone in the darkness dear Vangaurd,
let us find our own way home,
let us live without you,
pulling light from nothing,
pulling poetry from light,
building booksense from clay firepits,
god damn you.

Centuries will pass without a sound,
building earth of man.
Order from nonsense.
Poetry from Booksense.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

A Heart Beating Free of War Drums

Happy Valentine's Day everyone. Not everyone's favorite holiday, but this is the first year I get to celebrate it. In observance, I'm going to post a poem I wrote for Tylai the night I fell in love with her.


Forgive me, but my Sin is flaw
Between every electric feel
Convulsions through Chords
Between every hot touch
it is God
it is time, time lost
Lost to all things, our things
Hot touch in all places,
Time is still,
Waiting for no man in all hearts
mine is beating
Beating free of war drums
Waving the flag of no king
Lost among lovers and loving
Loving on your every moment
Until now I am blade to flesh
Penetration, separation
Degrading in the eyes of us Until now I am hand to hold
Through all of us
all of us
Until now I know not love
Know not heart-heat beating free
free of war drums
free of a kings flag
free of a name - my name
OUR name in our everything
The beat stops
No time to keep
Our hearts - heat drop still
Touching, flesh to flesh,
chamber to chamber
my trust in yours
Blood flows outward- slowly
So slow, I can hear the pumping
The dry crawl of every drop
drip dripping
drip dripping onto yours
Through chamber to chamber
In my heart - out yours
Behind your back-
I extend my hands
so that you may resemble the angel that you are
Of God's children,
you are the finest
Among thieves
You are the holiest
Among madmen, Faust relapsing
into a coma-
you are the most conscious
Your fair heart, fragile flesh
Pumping against mine in yours
our everything is born from
Electric
our Electric is born
our Electric is God
and in that our everything
Has a heartbeat.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Accepting Commisions

So, I decided it would be an awesome idea to do commissions. For ten bucks, I will write you a short story or record for you a rap song, about anything you like. Be as specific as you want, I will deliver. If this sounds AWESOME to you, send and e-mail to-

desmond@liketitans.com

I'll have the finished product no later than a week after taking the commission, and will either post it here for everyone to share, or if you like, I'll send it in a discreet e-mail and keep it under wraps forever. Fun times to be had by all! You can find samples of my writing all over the site, and for my rap stuff you can visit-

myspace.com/desmondfox

for a sample of what the product might sound like.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

New and Interesting Things.


1. Odd Blood by Yeasayer
So the new album by Yeasayer is really just awesome. The whole thing is great and ridiculous. The band manages to sound completely anachronistic, yet totally forward and futuristic at the same time. The lyrics are interesting and poetic, delivered on Genisis-esque vocals. This instrumentation is the same kind of crazy as Animal Collective. I can hardly tell what instrument could be making what noise, making it sound almost orchestral. And that's pretty intense for a three piece band. It's great, it's weird, and I guess I havn't been paying attention, cause I didn't know of it's existence until the day of release. A definite buy.

2. The Dark Side of the Moon by The Flaming Lips
Yeah, that's right. The Dark Side of the Moon, covered in it's entirety, by one of my favorite bands of all time. I would like to quickly note that KoRn covering Pink Floyd is massive fail, while The Flaming Lips covering Floyd is instant win. Why? Because The Flaming Lips are interesting musicians who are constantly testing the boundaries of established genres, much like Pink Floyd did in the years of their music. KoRn is responsible for the 'nu-metal' musical label, which basically means like metal, but even less interesting, more accessible to the public, and more likely to be played on self-proclaimed 'alternative' radio stations, and ultimately recorded onto a tape by a lamenting teenager who feels Monkey is the only person who really understands him, and his confusing emotions for his best friend.
Alright, maybe I went too far on that one, but still, KoRn sucks. The Lips do a great job at re-inventing the music, while keeping it true to it's original form. It sounds eerie, it captivates immediately, and isn't just the same sounds rehashed by different musicians. It really is a work of their own, and in the land of covers, that's hard to do. Not to mention Henry Rollins' voice-overs, which perfectly set the tone, and are in their own right amusing. My only complaint is that Steve Drozd just will not solo. The songs are complete without it, but it would have been nice to hear a Flips take on Floyds masterful solos. Oh well, maybe when they cover Wish You Were Here.

3. Mass Effect 2 on XBOX360
This game is perfect. The world is gigantic and full, so much to do, so many people to interact with, and there is such a rich history behind everything. You could literally sit there for hours in-game and just learn about the made up universe you are playing in. The game-play has been streamlined from Mass Effect one, upsetting some purist out there, but in my honest opinion, the game is only better for what it is missing. Your inventory is smaller and easier to maintain, if you like the micromanaging, really like the 'gear' and 'loot' components of the first one, you will be missing out. But what was important about Mass Effect 1 was the story, the people, the world, the places, the aliens, and the combat. All of that is still here and better by far. You don't have armor and health, you have recharging shields. You don't get new guns every minute, you get upgrades for a handful you start with. You don't reduce anything to omni-gel, you only use medi-gel to revive teammates, and unexplored planets serve primarily as places to mine, and not so much explore. So really, if you liked all that, you will find a less challenging and potentially less fulfilling game here. But either way, this game does a much better job at pulling you in, it creates a beautiful environment, and the game plays much more smoothly. Combat is definitely more fun, and less stressful. But hey, I'm the kind of queer that auto-levels his npcs, so what do I know.

Go Places! pt. 5

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Ultrasound Dos

So this morning I woke up early, and yes, that alone is news worthy in my case; but obviously not the whole story. We had our second ultrasound appointment today, bright and early before work. Today I found out that I'm going to have a daughter. I'm not just going to be a father, I'm going to be the father of a beautiful little girl. The tiny little human living in Tylai's uterus is a baby girl.
One minute your life has meaning, and the very next, that meaning is changed forever. There is nothing I wont do for this child. I will always love her, I will always put her above everything. My entire life's purpose changed in an instant. Everything I do from here on out, I do for my daughter. The people I meet, the money I make, the poetry I write, the places I go, all of it is for that tiny tiny little person who doesn't even know my name yet. This is what it feels to truly have unconditional love for someone, no matter what.
I want to be my best, I feel like nothing can hold me back from being the absolute best I can be, and my daughter is my drive. I can promise her the best, and I will deliver. I've never felt so selfless, but so strong.

I guess I'm rambling now, but hell, that's how I do. I love my life, my lady, and my little girl. Life is good.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

We Will Look Like Giants

So this website got it's name from a piece of fiction I've been posting here, and that piece of fiction got it's name from a poem I wrote not long ago. Probably still one of my favorites. I thought I would share it with you.

--------------------------

When the hammer falls I will be ten miles away.

I will be ten years before, I will be ten dead notes tied up in string.

Before the ceremony I will have forgotten the drops of blood that drip from the tips of my fingers.

After the bomb drops I will be someone new, I will forget.
Everything.

Her.

Tonight the clock will strike with swollen hands, I will love her like I have never loved anyone, I will be vapid, I will be livid, I will be thoughtless. I will be machine.

And they will think we are giants.

I will be dirty, I will be broken, I will scare her, and she will scream into the dirt.

And they will think we are titans.

I will drop this hammer. I will drop this bomb.

5 years.

I will pick up the pieces, and you can draw a picture on my heart.

I want you to draw a house. I want you to draw your home. I want you to draw us somewhere in between happiness and children. That look like monuments.

We will look like giants to them, and I will say the things you create.

I will tell them--

home.

I will tell them--

home.

I will tell them--

promise.

And when the world is back in it's bottle we can become the things we fear, the kings we were afraid to follow. The titans they thought we were.

I will reach up above my head and tear a blanket of sky. I will fold it into a plane.

I will reach below and build dolls of mud to stand over this glass planet.

We.

Will leave.

Self-important godkings humming bass beats, tapping out drum rhythms. Our hearts a metronome, our minds gone, our bodies music.

When the hammer falls I will be ten years.

At the ceremony I will cry.

When the bomb drops on this translucent shell of infinitum, we will be above it all. Laughing as our bodies burn.

And to them.

We will look like giants.

Like Titans pt. 3

Ugly started walking away, and Boy quickly followed, pulling his attention away from the tiny lights. Earlier the field had seemed truly endless, but now following Ugly, landmarks began to appear, growing closer with every step. Boy decided not to talk, something about Ugly’s demeanor made it seem like a bad idea. Instead he quietly took in the sights. Above them was a flock of black birds, circling the moon, singing a beautiful song. It was the most soothing sound Boy had ever heard. The moon that shined on them was a beautiful blue, radiant with color. He felt warm in it’s glow. Ugly and Boy casually passed seemingly random landmarks. A windmill, a small farmhouse, a field of corn, a large Aztec looking pyramid, a group of fenced in cattle. Boy realized what they were walking towards. It was a small house, cozy looking. They got to the door, and Ugly turned the knob, opening it wide for Boy.
“Go on in, make yourself at home.”
Boy instinctually reached for a light switch, found it immediately, and flicked it on. The house was warm and cozy, a wooden interior, with plenty of red furniture. Pictures of a family he didn’t recognize hung from the walls. The fire place was pristine, and burning a large log. The stove was immaculate, and already heating a large pot of tea. Boy went ahead and seated himself in a big comfy armchair, and noticed a very peculiar thing about the couch across from him.
Before Boy were three rotting bodies, which he immediately identified as the family members in all the photographs. Boy was in utter shock. The bodies were that of a young man, a young woman, and a small boy, no more than ten years old. They were naked and huddled together on the couch, staring at Boy with blank expressions of fear. Each had a large hole in their head. Their skin was pale, and speckled with blood, mouths agape, breathing, slow, dead breaths.
“heeeeeeeellp…uuuuuuuussss”
Boy was terrified, crawling back into his seat as far as he could go without leaving.
“pleeeeeeaaaaase…heeeeeeeeeeellp uuuuuuuuussss”
“Are you really not dead yet?!” boomed a voice from the kitchen.
Ugly marched into the den and grabbed Father by his neck, tossing him onto the floor behind the couch. He did the same with Mother, and Son, muttering to himself about messes. As Sons body dropped onto the floor, the teapot whistled and cried for Ugly’s attention.
“Fuck!”
Ugly walked back into the kitchen and washed his hands, Boy still staring in shock at where the bodies used to be. He heard a clanging in the kitchen, as Ugly cursed and fumbled with various clanging kitchen stuffs. Ugly walked back into the room dragging a small table behind him. It was a round, ivory white table with gold trim, and legs in the shape and animal legs. Ugly sat down a red mat, and two small red cloth coasters. He walked back into the kitchen, returning this time with a pot of tea and two glass cups. He placed the pot on the mat, the cups on the coasters, and reached into the waist of his pants, revealing a revolver, which he pointed at Boy. The chamber was empty except for one bullet. Ugly spun the chamber, and softly set the gun on the table. He seated himself on the couch across from Boy, and poured them each a cup of tea. The tea was green and thin. Ugly leaned back into his seat holding his cup of tea, with a wide grin across his face.
“Go on kid, take a drink.”
Boy was wary. He waited for Ugly to take a sip before reaching for his own glass. He stared into the tea for a few moments, looking at his reflection, slowly becoming comfortable with the face looking back at him. He lifted the glass to his lips, and slowly sipped at the tea. It was peppermint.
“You’re acting ridiculous, we’re friends. I’m not going to kill you, I don’t even want to.”
Boy sipped his tea, it was certainly not poison, and was quite delicious. He could feel his nerves being soothed, but was by no means at ease.
“Who were those people? Why did you kill them?”
Ugly drank his tea, a small trickle of it running down the side of his mouth, staining his shirt collar.
“mmm, no one important, and don’t talk to me like that.”
“Like how?”
“Like that, the questions, they’re not going to get you anywhere right now. Two friends can have an afternoon chat over tea without it turning into an interrogation. How’s your day going?”
“Oddly.”
“How so?”
Boy figured Ugly knew more than he did, and was frustrated he was not taking any questions. He spied the gun on the table, wondering if the last bullet was meant for him.
“It’s not.” answered Ugly, not needing to be prompted.
“Not what?”
“Not for you, I’m not going to shoot you with the fucking gun. I promise, it’s like a trust exercise. At this moment we each have the power to end the other’s miserable existence, but if you shoot me, you may not get the answers you seek, if I shoot you, I’m out another friend.”
“Why would I shoot you?”
“Fuck if I know, why do we do anything? Why do we breathe? Why do we eat or shit? God gives and man takes away, we’re killers, and we don’t need a fucking reason. Part of you wanted to kill me when you met me, and the rest of you joined the rally when you met mama, papa, and son. But you wont.”
“And you would?”
“I might.”
The air was suddenly very tense. The two men stared each other down, Ugly’s grimace slowly turning into a smile. Boy clenched his fist at his side, his muscles tensing at every passing thought of the revolver on the table. Ugly was right, part of him did want to kill. He could feel his unconscious hand slowly making for the gun while he kept eye contact with his prey. God gives, and man takes away. Toss brek Drown Hollum. Ugly reclined with his glass, happily sipping his tea, pausing occasionally to chuckle at Boy’s anger. Boy leaned forward, switching his glare from Ugly to the gun. He went ahead and picked it up. He took the bullet out of the chamber and tossed it to Ugly. He took the revolver, and put it in his belt. He poured himself more tea, and continued to drink. Ugly smiled an ugly smile.
“Do you really feel any safer?”
“Yes.”
Ugly finished his cup and placed the empty glass back onto the table. He reclined again, and looked into Boy’s eyes.
“Who are you kid?”
Boy’s head screamed, he winced in pain.
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you from?”
Again, his head screamed. Boy’s eyes welled with tears.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“No.”
Suddenly Ugly didn’t seem to be having fun anymore. His face was solemn and emphatic. He took his stare from Boy and let his eyes dart to his hands, which he was twiddling together. Ugly took a deep breath, and twirled the bullet in between his thumb and forefinger.
Ugly stood up and walked away without saying a word. Boy stared at him as he walked out the front door, slamming it behind him. Boy sipped his tea, thinking on the events of the past couple hours. The house was very silent aside from the dry wheezing of the bodies behind the couch, and the soft tock ticking of his pocket watch heart. Boy finished his tea, and set the cup down on the coaster. Not knowing what to do with himself, he went behind the couch to inspect the still breathing bodies. There they were, the naked family lay twisted behind the furniture, staring back at Boy.
“Do you think we are afffffrrrrraaaaaaiiiid, Boy?”

Saturday, February 6, 2010

A Generation Lost in Thought

Stop.
Keys on a keyboard, a generation lost in thought.
Do not-
Request information from a seeker.
Children aged and grown to become men and women,
a thought provoking tomorrow.
Our sorrow floods the streets,
drowns worlds shakes cities,
our pity knows no bounds.
Fellow man, natural enemies.
Honor thy father, protect thy brother,
countrymen connected beyond tradition.
Our empathy spans oceans.
The ugly commotion.
Space travel, infinate expansion-
Rocket fuel resisting fiction-
Gravitate towards potential-
Die before first contact.
A generation of dreamers.
These are thinkers,
doers done dead.
Rise.
Feet to the floor,
metaphore to the metal,
metal to the sound system.
Be with them.
Or against them.
These times surfing on an open conciousness contempt,
contraception,
intercept ideas,
replace with re-invention.
Re-inventing things that do not work.
Capsules, filled with powder.
A power surpassing medicine.
This world cannot begin to fathom,
a generation lost in thought.
Caught mid-spasm.

Go Places! pt. 3

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Go Places! pt. 2

Go Places! pt. 2
Bonus points to anyone that recognizes the net sprite.

Photobucket

Go Places! pt. 1

Blogger doesnt agree with me. I am of he opinion that the full comic should be displayed on the home page, blogger thinks it should just show you most of it, you'll have to click the image to see the whole thing. If anyone has an idea on how to remedy this, by all means say something. Until then, enjoy most of a comic, and then the rest later after you click it.

Like Titans pt. 2

Part Two

Questions brewed in Boy’s mind, “Who am I?” “Where am I?” “Why am I those things?” Oddly enough, questions he had all asked before. None of these thoughts were new, so there was a sad comfort in thinking them. A familiarity with the unknown. It seemed the least Boy could do to at least explore. Perhaps begin a search for the answers in the endless fields of green that lay before him. Boy went to his knees and ran his fingers across the turf. The grass felt wonderful on his skin. He swept his hand back and forth as the tips of every blade tickled his palm and fingertips. He giggled at the sensation and decided to dive in for a closer look. Boy pushed his face to the grass, waving it back and forth over the soft vegetation. He decided long ago this behavior would most certainly be seen as unusual, but preceded onward without a shred of concern for his ego. Boy closed his eyes and imagined a thousand pixie hands reaching up and touching his face, gently goading him into the earth. They grabbed onto his hair and pulled him in, while he gleefully accepted. Gentle pixie breast caressing his hands and cheeks, soft voices calling to him like sirens, his burial was heavenly.

Upon opening his eyes, Boy saw the exact image projecting onto the backs of his eyelids. He was enveloped in thousands of nude pixie bodies, being pulled somewhere, passed along from cluster to cluster like a baton. New questions floated to the surface. “Is this my creation?” “Is this coincidence?” and of course, “Why are there thousands of tiny naked women pushing me around like a crowd surfer?” They were calling to him in soft whispers, tiny beautiful voices, all saying the same thing.

“Toss brek”

“Toss brek Drown Hollum”

Boy was positive these were silly pixie words, but was sure he had heard them before. When he tried to think of when, his head burst into a blinding pain, quickly discouraging him from diving any further.

“Toss brek”

“Drown Hollum”

The pixies began to glow, their chanting slowly turning to screams. Each tiny woman shining with a white hot heat, releasing Boy and spreading their arms and legs. Boy realized he was falling, as the pixies got smaller and smaller, their screams more and more distant. Turning his body in mid-air, Boy saw the grassy field he fell into getting closer and closer, and a human figure staring up at him. Boy began to scream, wishing he could do something to slow the fall.

Thud.

Boy’s body was sore, and his mouth was full of dirt.

“Get up.”

Boy wanted to, but feared every bone in his body was broken.

“Get up asshole.”

Boy decided to try, and to his pleasure, was relatively successful at it. He was sore, but still in working condition. He lifted up his head, and looked to the figure standing before him, as he spit dirt from his mouth. It was a man, slightly overweight, thin brown hair, he was wearing a tucked in, button up white shirt, and black slacks. He had a kind of fat face, wearing a blank, sort of agitated expression.

“Come on asshole, you shouldn’t have too much fun with those girls.”

Remembering the pixies, Boy looked up to the now night sky and stared up at the stars.

“Are you Ugly?” asked Boy.

“What do you think? Come on.”

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Like Titans pt. 1

The following is the first scene in a piece of fiction I'm currently working on. Comment, leave ideas, tell me what you think. I'm excited to work on this more. The story's called Like Titans, and it's about the last dream you will ever have.

“Wake up boy.”
The voice was new, a bit of a British accent maybe.
“Come along now, it’s time to get up. Rise, greet the world!”
Boy opened his eyes for the first time in what felt like months. Everything was a blur, slowly coming into focus. He was certain he was in a doctor’s office, though the room resembled more of an antique store. The walls were decorated with all sorts of clocks, each ticking to the same exact tune. Every second that passed in this room was echoed by a beating heart. He was certainly on an operating table of some sort, and he was certainly not wearing any clothes. He reached to cover himself, but his arms didn’t move, something was wrong. The blur was slowly fading away, the room was a warm red, easing him into a new reality. His head hurt, but his chest was open, spread agape by iron medical tools. The room was ticking.
“Welcome to the world of the waking! I’m the doctor with no name, and a clock for a face, it’s wonderful to have some company. Most of my patients don’t take as well to my methods as you did.”
The doctor was not lying, his name badge was blank, and in place of a human head was the face of a golden pocket watch. The doctor stepped over to Boy holding a pair of forceps in one hand, and clenching what looked to be the inner bits of a clock in the other.
“Your ticker stopped ticking, so I made you a new one. I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty.”
The doctor reached into Boys chest, his arms delving deeper into his open cavity than seemingly reasonable. Amazed at his own comfort with the situation, Boy managed enough breath to ask what seemed a perfectly reasonable question.
“Am I dead?”
“No, not yet. But the same could be said of all of us, no?”
The doctor continued to fumble around in Boys chest, meeting no resistance. It tickled. Boy could feel every movement, but found himself in no pain or horror. Just the mild discomfort of his innards being molested. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember the night before, but when he thought about it, a sharp pain spiked in his head. Learning quickly, and figuring he was not yet meant to remember, he decided to focus on the here and now. He stared at his own reflection in the doctor’s shiny head, and saw a face looking back at him he didn’t recognize. Short brown hair, full beard, big green eyes, soft looking skin. The stranger in gold could not have been more than 25 years in age. For a moment he felt terror, but quickly dismissed the apparent incongruence among the other oddities of the situation he found himself in. He tried not to worry as the doctor again spoke, after only minutes of ‘operation’.
“There we are, you should be in tick tock shape in no time.”
The doctor grabbed a near-by thread and needle, and began to suture Boy’s chest.
“Rest assured friend, your gratitude is the only payment I require, though if I do say so myself, this must be my finest work. My only concern is that your ticking backwards. Less of a tick tock, and more of a tock tick. If you find yourself aging backwards, or right dead, do give me a ring. I’m in the book, the only number without a name next to it.”
Boy sat up on the operating table, and instantaneously was dressed. He was wearing a nice black suit, not one he remembered owning, but he was finding it harder and harder to remember much of anything. Almost instinctively, Boy reached for his breast pocket and removed a folded piece of paper. He quickly unfolded it, four times over before discovering a scrawled note. “It’s a loner. -Ugly”
“Alright, alright, I’m sure you have your responsibilities, people to do, things to see, you do look awfully important all of a sudden. I suppose you must be off then.”
Like that the good doctor was gone, and Boy was alone in a grassy field. No knowledge of his past life, no idea where to go, and no way to get there. Just a black suit, a note from a friend, and a pocket watch heart.

Sunday, January 31, 2010

A letter for baby.

Photobucket

1-18-2010

This is a letter to you baby. I say baby because we don’t have a name for you yet, we don’t even know the sex, really all we know is that you are probably going to come into being really soon. It’s been unreal, the past couple months of my life have been so crazy, and I want you to know that you saved my life. I love you more than I love anything else in this world. You are my life, and I’m devoting it to raising you up right. You’re already so beautiful, even if I can only see you in sonogram form, you are so beautiful. I heard you’re little heart beat, I’ve seen your little body squirm and shake and shimmy in your mommy’s tummy, and you are so beautiful. This world is a scary place sometimes, but we’re going to take care of you, and keep you clear of as much of the injustice as we can. Baby, you mean everything to me. My name is Des, but you’ll call me daddy, you’re mommy’s name is Tylai, but you should probably call her mommy. These are good starting points for you’re growing vernacular. You’re mommy walks around with one hand on you at all times, and when you’re born, that with probably graduate to holding your hand. I cant wait to hold you’re hand baby. I cant wait to hold you, and show you all the great things in this world. I cant wait to show you flowers, and comic books, and toys, and the Lion King. I cant wait to take you to the park and go down the slide, and I cant wait to take you to your first day of school. Baby, I love you so much, and you are the most beautiful thing in the world. I want you to know I will always feel that way. There is so much I cant wait to show you. You’re going to love Christmas. Christmas is so rad. You’re going to have a big family. There will be mommy and daddy. There will be grandpas; Desmond, Robert, Robert (again), Bill, and Patrick. There will be grandmas; Stephanie, Carrie, Liz, Blanch and Martina. There will be uncles; Rendon, Weston, Quinn, Shay, Collin, and Stuart. There will be aunties; Tiffany, Tenyl, Riley, Issabelle, Savannah, Sidney, Michelle and Kristen. All of these people are going to love you, and all of these people are going to take care of you, and look out for you forever. You are a shining star in a world I cant wait to share with you. I love you baby, and I will love you forever. Never forget how much mommy and daddy love you.

So that didn't happen.

Welcome back.

Obviously that album didn't happen. I'm still recording, but things flew on the backburner for a while. In the time between my last post and this one, I've met a girl, moved twice, dropped in AND out of school, danced in-between jobs, and became an expectant father. But hey, I'm back. I'll be a lot more active around here from now on. Lots of stuff to share, poetry, comics, music, opinions, etc. So yeah, that's about it, I don't even have any content to greet you back with. How sad.

;(((((((((