I am an expert in making myself feel bad

must do better must do more must

flip benighted

The hard frost cobalt
as my pace, theme and rhythm.
Myopia wins.

ones and twos

Never mind your blues.
Let the day be your water.
Time is but a blade.

distance

The morning moon rises.
My harbinger is elected,
Imminent calliope.

ripped

He sidled into the club
With that singular sense of self
That in the past was just smashing
His head into some fuckin wall,
bescrawled
above a urinal

smash it in there
shithead
where'd that
get you before

it got me a ticket
that said
I quit,
I'm afraid
To play
with the big folk

I'm a flea
The eagles
don't fly for me

Right turn, Clyde.

Phyrin Blanks found his voice yesterday
(finally)
Heaped under a pile
Of myth and allegory
At least he thought he found it
Never can be too sure
The world might say,
"It sounds fake to us."
Anyway,
How many more times can I lose this key?
Thought Phyrin,
while behind him, beyond
The pine and thistlestraw berm
That couched in his backyard
The long highway
rumbled and hissed
Same as yesterday,
And the day before,
and you get the picture;
Phyrin did. He took a pull
of Paisano
and mused:
The need to be technical,
he said to himself,
Technical expertise,
yeah,
so that's it
You've got to be so technical
if you want to maintain that easy inward way
Your own counsel kept,
not quite a secret,
Just invisibly trying to admit that
further reality
blue and silver
gold and red
aurally
arranged and fed
you gotta Let It In
to arrive at that weirdly
elusive yet no longer
deferred vista
That the all the world's
ambivaloids
but also the good folks at home
Just aint seen.

The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed

Cheezymandias crows to the girls:
I'm all grown now,
and ready to glint
away nightly
like the purple cosmos,
that sparkly span
so vast and clean,
rolling out
across the iron desert

His shirt pocket leaking
amber petals, a red rain
trailing at his feet
of mossy green,
He says, I am replete
With the new information;
I have the magic lamp.
Rub it and see
Me as I am,
For once
and all

Far down below
that vast plateau
in the town
of darkling night
the ambivaloids,
cowl and shawl,
tend to their
minor mead
and cornstock,
kettles,
biding time,
laughing over that one fool,

that drunk damned fool,
did you see him?
he lost his shoes,
must have thrown them away.
drunk damned fool,
stems and mites all in is hair.
Look at him passed out there
beside the wash,
lolling
glassyfaced in the hedge
just past the old school,
scrabbling for his greasy
specs

Well, that aint our Cheezy.
Not no more.
No. Our hero learned about 100 years ago
All about the crashing and the burning
And the lashing and the yearning and the cashing in on
A certain singular but outlandish understanding
of
(drum roll please
but no. Cheezy don't kiss and tell
no more
and won't kiss
and tell
no more,
no nevermore)

Shit. 11 years.
I say
that's a long fuckin time
for to be down
in the blink of an eye.
Yeah yeah yeah
And all of that
And all of that
But those should have been good years
For to have cut from your hide
But no,
Mr. Hide, oh no, Mr. Hide
long time there, Mr. Hide,
long time there, buddy,
Love you long time,
Mr. Hide,
Me love you long time
Mr. Hide,
Mr. Hide,
Mr. Hide
Me love you long time,
Mr. Hide

Cue that guitarissimo

Oh,
11 years, up and walking like a man
11 years, up and walking like a man
Say hello to Satan
Give him your right hand
And the blues fell mama's child
And it tore me all upside down;
And the blues
Is an aching old heart disease
And if you aint ever had it,
I hope you never will

Anyway,
11 years comes crashing down
from out the balcony
But flipping catlike
at the last,
he claims the stage,
11 years
gone and down
and back and up again from eating sand
And being like, Me no understand???
And all like that.
No:
Now he's up and grinning like a fox
on furlough,
a very fox,
and one on furlough.

ah, the grief the love the rage
the needless rage,
the heedless rage
the baseless breedless rage,
and fuck,

page after self-indulgent
page
after page after page
they all drift away now
Like ashes
On autumn smoke,
a bonfire,
October leaves,
Burning.
Take a toke before you...

Cheezy now,
come on now
Cheezy now.

Come storming back
upon your thunderous steed,
no mere mare or stallion but
a bronco of deep maroon and gold,
and you with your guitar slung low,
just like one of the breed,
just like Mr. Chain Blue Lightning
hisself,
the very same

Get the wine and get the mead,
9 million barrelsful,
Quickly now,
it's a gonna be a feast,
a return unlimited engagement
of 11 thousand nights
or 11 million shows,
whichever comes shambling first
from out and down along
that dusty cimarron road,
surging and shimmering
clear away
and gone
from the past

the great engine is getting up in the morning
and etching yourself onto the day
can't you understand that
once and for all
and never forget?

the great engine is all that you do
nothing more, nothing less
can't you understand that now
once and well
never again to forget?

wheeling birds
wheeling stars
wheeling embers
fireflies
twilight
thoughts
human energies
whatever's all
in the sky
in the night
in the light
is the great engine
the one true
you and you

can you understand that
once now and
again?

oh, I just remembered

that the grind gets exponentially easier if you just listen listen listen to all the music all the music you can find for fuh fuh fucking free on the fucking Internet while you grind it; never mind easier it is the only way to bear it, the grind

this is a tandem thing now

I'd like to post some songs here

soon's I get my shit digital

*

art megalomania
was never a good
trip

grind grind grind this is a grind grind grind you've got to grind grind grind
to get through to the open land
cantankerous glutton you're a hard guy to feel sorry for
went back and read your letters and I have to say
they did not feel like me and they did not move me
you need to pen yourself a slogan that can wrap up the pas
match yourself like you are gas

*

patterns, I see what you mean about the patterns.
the great debt, the great karmic debt. the reds
the whites
the blues
the blacks
and green and gold

momentary blasts of eternity
sound
that's some slab
boy
that's some chunky
(come again?)

*

the old old ways the old old ways
signal back, indicate
show don't tell
don't feel like hell
don't drink too much
don't think too much
lurk
work
don't
be a
jerk

*

some things you should crush out dead
like your last cigarette
and other things you think you've killed
you realize later can never die
never go away
these things that are a part of you
that are more than just you
I'm talking about the big picture
the big groove
the big spinning platter
round and round
cathedral canyons
craters
of sound

*

it is a storytelling device
and a meditative device
and your dogged savior
it is
your guitar
and you own
it

they don't believe it and she don't believe it none of them can see it but I have always been able to see it when I have looked for it and what's more now is that can see it as I hear it and do it. only he knew who he was dealing with. it was ok. lots of people had the same knack. the thing was to blow out the whole huge tapestry and panorama. i said for me it is mainly a narrative tool, a tool for the waking dream. there is a lot that goes into it, a lot of absorbing. to take notes on it like this and like those over there is really really boring and not cool why do you do it well it is just a way in on a tired day but you know what they say practice makes the man they never believed him they thought he was crazy because it drove him that way once but he believed it and it was an act of belief that sealed it

oh fuck it can't you see that I'm just trying to purge out the page

crude and humble Aslan Billy Bibbit analog tapes Radio Shack the blues personal shapes own your influences be that human song yeah yeah yeah it went yeah yeah yeah and no no no

there it is there it is

forty lines, he said
alright you write em and I'll sing em up for ye
no, he said you've got to sing them in the cave
what cave
the cave by the meadow
what meadow
the meadow by the blacksmith's
what blacksmith
aren't you the blacksmith?
no, the only thing I've ever been handy
with around the house is a guitar
look at these fabulous lithe long-legged creatures
I can't see them
you have to be asleep to see them
asleep where
asleep on the berm overlooking the road
5 am creeping slow in the snow
the new morning snow
good night kid you got a long
way to go till morning but let
that song be your light
red blue and green
synesthesian late bloomer
is all I have been
forget that past
put in in a webcast
lash yourself to the mast
and give them the show
pseudonymous
pure
hidden
obscure
and with
terrible allure

you too can be an anonymous loser
with rage problems
and a pseudonymous champion
and echo channeler
it's easy all you gotta do is
believe and stop cursing it

I shaved into the face of radio

Pixillated by decibels
They all got crazy themed
In the synesthesia
They all got clinical
Lycanthropy in the masts
They all got subsumed jejune
In mercenary gloom
They all said terrible things
Screamed them really
In the three forty a m

And it was all because of fear
And burnout and fear of burnout
And it was all in the song
Of her and for her and another
For her and
You changed the names but
Not the ideas; you shaved into

To the face of a late bloomer and said
Hey, at least I still got

My radio

woah now

that was fast
I have so much to tell you about
and so much left to tell

does it

still respond

yes it does

it was a good age

for soulful introverts