IT IS INSANE

 

It’s insane the way things go
and it does not matter
if it’s not getting any better
I had you by my side
it was a wild ride
yet you were brain food too

I twisted your arm and you died
If I said I loved you I would have lied

Forgive me the things I felt towards you
the hormones were to blame
and I went insane

Consumed by time
bitterness is like old wine
turned into vinegar

The young wine is nectar from hot rods
that see the light for the first time
they want to grow in strength
but not in wisdom

 

 

 

SEEKING ASYLUM

 

I am going mad
Maybe

I am mad
or a fool
or self deluding?
I am mad
I could take
a gun and kill
the bastard

 

Who?
The bastard
I could,
him,
him and me

There must be a better way
a simpler way
there is always a solution

for every problem,
one said so:
“I like to think there is a solution for every problem.”
How?
Is it true that if IT
does not kill you
IT makes you stronger?
How?

I am mad

and mad for

getting mad

I am cross
I am fuming

and
hit my head against
the wall
There is always a wall,
the invisible wall,

built for me
by the others

and the one I built
around myself

 

Peace be upon you
said the prophet
yet it brings violence
and people kill
for those they deem
PROPHETS

What if I kill the prophet
What if he kills me first?

What if

his followers
kill me

for him?

I am mad beyond words

for this world?

Am I?

 

 

GINGER B(ED)DING

 

Ginger headed
for each finger
a chick

singing
but no he is not
a prick

red flaming passion
razor-sharp rap
for he got the knack
of it

screeching
screaming
females

fans

paranoid
jealous
envious
males;

fans

up to a point
holding their
girlfriends
in a tighter grip

Pop star’s ego

equals
their vertigo

on the ladder

of popularity
signatures
sales
stardom

embrace it
the sky is the limit
but the fall so much the deeper

We are all made of
stardust

All shooting stars

one day

end up as stardust

 

 

 

TEARS FROM AFAR

 

 

I cry the tears of my heart
having repressed the pain
I need cuddles
sigh
words of sweetness
I die of grief
Where from come
these streams
of tears,
saline and dear?

I am adding some more.
Why so many questions
and no answers?
I added yet some more;
they get to me from the bottom
of my guts.

Mother how has life treated
you?
When will your journey of suffering end?
Have you not seen it all before?
We are missing each other
Separated by time and space

But I can hear you
strong as an earthquake
we are missing each other
but we are connected
like Siamese twins
good night, mum

 

Hold on       for Dana

 

hold me

and squeeze

the ash

out of

my heart

the sand

from inside

my skin

lean in

and sing

into my

ear until

the ghosts

leave

 

run your

cool hands

over my

118 degree

nightmares

and if

I start

to cry

all the

tears I

have will

you build

a boat

out of

your memories

of our

life before

the war

 

 

The “Red Cloud” shirt.

Now, unlimited time only, get ’em while they’re hot. The one and only seriously “un-psuedo”, cantankerous, politically certain shirt. The first shirt, the trend busting rustic beatnik boy smoking a hand-roll in the Beatnik Cowboy T-shirt, gave birth to a Native brother. Since that first Cowboy chapped his hide at the Beatnik Cowboy jam-bore brother Red Cloud has joined the wagon train of sweet lovin’ cowboys!!! Some real “rough riders” plying “rough trade”. Dominatrix cowboys, timid “Brokeback” lonely ranch hands, slobbering greedy butt-cracks, all are welcome at the Gay Cowboy Olympics. Because every gay Beatnik Cowboy, straight or otherwise, holds no candle to the hermaphrodite scrotum.

 

We here at the Beating Off Cowboy, in order to preserve the most perfect Cowboy, do declare from now on everything is its exact opposite, or as near to it as we can be. And we take this bipolar opposite, or as close as we can come to it, to be a new, inverted truth, we then act incorrectly upon. Again, as close to acting on this new truth as we can approximately come in choosing actions to give our inverted reality “real truth” view, we have noticed our idea of real approximate truth is in line with our praxis. That is to say our inversion and its theorized uncovering of “ultimate truth” appears correct. The crux of the biscuit may be; truth is its own polar opposite. And employing our opposite truth paradigm we will begin/began to see, with repeated use of our formulae, that the “unreal” is far more “real”, than the real. This is to insinuate good plays out horrible given passion, and agony, to be Frank James with you, creates better feelings in people than satisfaction or euphoria, ever could!

 

So remember to forget and mentally replace, and carry on just the same. And woebegone, behold the clear waters of the truth of trans-valuation. Don’t we all know persons state or signify in way of opinion or ideas held, all, or most goodly all, the opposite of what they state?

 

No matter, what I am talking about here is the new Shirt. It is mesmerizing, tantalizing, epic in its fantastitude. Quite simply, this article of clothing will definitely complete your look. So get ’em fast, lest anyone mistake you for a ‘heterosexual” of incomplete resolution. Our Native model, Mr. Red Cloud, is a person of some renown and much distinction. In Red Cloud’s War 1866-1868 the Oglala and other Teton Sioux bands/tribes successfully warred with the US military. Following two years of armed conflict a peace between the US Government and Native forces was concluded at Fort Laramie in Wyoming Territory in 1868. It is this treaty and Indian rights to land in the Great Sioux Reservation (including the Black Hills) it conferred that continues to be contested. Because of the US Government’s violation of these treaty rights (by subsequent taking of Indian lands), US Government cash payments to Sioux tribes are awarded.

 

Simply put, because as Chief in 1866-68 he chose to fight and won, suing at the time for a favorable peace, Red Cloud is the Man. Furthermore, because also, later in the 1870s, he choose not to fight and move to the reservation he too is the Man. For by deciding thus in consultation with his people, Red Cloud saved himself and his people from continued death and destruction at the hands of the US military. For when faced with the hopeless prospect of continued armed resistance, he is very much the Wise Man for deciding continued violence is futile, and will only result in extermination. For unlike Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull and the other non-treaty “hostile” Indians, Red Cloud recognized the inevitable defeat of the Indian cause and peaceably moved his people into Reservation winter camps along the west bank of the Missouri river.. Other Natives continued to resist and despite the hostile coalition’s 1876 victory over US forces under General George Armstrong Custer at the Battle of Little Big Horn, both Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull surrendered and were killed by US forces soon after. In the end, remnants of these hostile bands were murdered in mass by US troops at the 1890 Wounded Knee, South Dakota, where some two hundred Indian men, women, and children under chief Big Foot were slaughtered by US soldiers as they attempted to surrender.

 

So here’s to Red Cloud, most intelligent hero Chief of the Oglala Teton Sioux! Honorary Beatnik Indian and role model for all.

 

Now shirts come in sizes s, M, and Large up to 5XL and children’s sizes from infant by year up to adult size small. Every child should be dressed in Beatnik Cowboy art-historical T-shirts. Can you afford to allow your child to grow up without one?

 

$25 dollars per shirt. Make checks out to Beatnik Cowboy and send to Randall Rogers, 3410 Corral Drive, Apartment 208, Rapid City, South Dakota, 57702, USA. Thank you. Credit card purchases also available, call 1-605-593-2537 to place your order.

 

We must all pray to God for assistance in helping us become Atheists.

 

Life’s Sentence

 

Which punctuation

will mark

the end

of our

lives’ sentence?

 

A period.

An exclamation point!

A question mark?

 

Until then,

we’ll settle for

an endless

ellipsis…

 

 

Previously published by “The Weekenders Magazine” and featured in the Scars Publications chapbook Poems of Pain: BUMMER

 

 

 

 

Save Our City

 

 

A cloud-cover this morning

After last night’s stars pinpointing the sky

Vivid in their distance and majesty

 

Sirens echoing all around us

An easy-to-hear pattern of marching boots

Coming closer

 

Windowpanes beginning to vibrate

Our sanctuary becoming as the rest of the world

Torturous in the waiting

 

Many choose to ignore the sleeping giant

His yawn and grimacing rising from the tomb of our fathers

For the settling of scores

 

Smoke seeping under our doors

Frantically gathering wet rags

Placing them over our mouths and noses to breathe

 

Someone screaming

Buildings shaking

All stunned before the grand falling

 

Running out into the streets

Where they wait

Gathering us up into army trucks

 

The dark green of metal and canvas

Long lines snaking out to detention camps

For our sins

 

Another world of the old world ways

The giant gnashing his teeth

To the altar of our doom.

 

 

 

 

The Pace of the World

 

 

The pace

of the world

now

 

Is too great

and too scatter-brained

to try to sort

or keep up with

 

Unless

we all do a little

to help

 

And maybe

we’ll slow it down

enough

 

That we all don’t die

a miserable death.

 

 

 

 

Pampered

 

 

The good in us

Dwindling

Ebbing away

Soon out of our reach

 

We could have stopped it

Years ago when we knew how

 

Now our minds

Diseased

Having too much

Sharing not enough

 

The butchers coming

Sharpening their blades

 

Many of us will flee

Many will fight

Too fat to win

Too pampered to last.

 

Not Happy Enough

 

 

Neither was Kurt Cobain

and Hemingway at the end and

Hunter

and Sylvia

oh thank Lord there’s no guns in the

house and they don’t have gas ovens

here cuz they don’t

bake things here in Thailand and I’d

never icky cut my wrists so no with

the knives and the doc won’t give me

enough pills or I can’t horde ’em long

enough to get enough of ’em to, as

they say, “get the job done”

 

hanging’s out too, what kind of a jerk

would do that?

Just imagine me dangling at the end

of a noose!

 

No, I’ll do my suiciding the old

fashioned way

with cigarettes

sex with prostitutes

too much drinking on occasion

non-stop pot smoking

ya ba and

living the

writer’s bohemian no job life

like other writer guys

that didn’t really take a firm hand in

outright killing themselves but

rather let the tar or nicotine

or the booze

the drugs

do the job enjoyably for them.

I throw my liver and lungs

in with that crowd.

 

I’m not down with the

immediate cessation of life

scene.

 

Vampires Suck

 

I don’t care

if she makes me

cum or bleed,

just as long as she

sucks all of

the life out

of me

 

with a hickey.

 

Previously published by ppigpenn, Nostrovia! Poetry and Boyslut, and published by Scars Publications in the chapbook Poems of Pain: BUMMER.

The Beatnik Cowboy

 

Some mornings a few years ago

but rarely now

when I go to sleep at

night

I don’t want to wake up in the

morning

back then, when dawn came

I was already depressed

thinking about the depressing

day ahead of me

and all the other ones I’ll suffer

through till I die

it is at this time

the individual needs

the solace and escape-invigoration-

inspiration

of mostly the illegal drugs

to my way of thought, suicide could

be the result of the patient’s lack of

the beneficial restorative (of the will

to live) of illegal

drug treatment

“I’ll tell you one thing,” the youngish

guy from Alabama told me, a guy

who sounded like and I’m almost sure

had more than his share of cracker in

him. The intelligent uneducated

American said, pointing to my stash

of methamphetamine, “that there is

the best cure for depression”.

Nowadays nary a day goes by

when I don’t take his hillbilly advice

and I don’t imbibe in this supposedly

most noxious

of life destroying evilest most sinister

and detestable in its powerfully

addictive effects chemical – hell

bathroom cleaning product, Vick’s

inhalers and battery acid consisting o

the most feared lethal dangerous

deadly destructive of our youth and

the older folk illegal drug substance

and taking this “Nazi Speed” I’m like

Mr. Confidence and poem essay short

story producing like a madman, like a

Philip K. Dick and Ginsy

it’s kind of like in Cowboy times with

me and writing, back then it was the

whiskey talkin’

here in the Twenty-first of these

centuries we got the tweakers

poeticizin’

I believe sort of firmly in this

the idea of safe irresponsible drug use

to offset the plastic fake phoniness

effect of our consumer propagandist

and TV movie defining unable to self

actualize in a false values, pitch

person shaped desires, created fake

unfulfilling even when the wants

desires expressed as needs are

abundantly met/filled social

organizational goal

Wealth accumulation as the ultimate

goal and retail therapy make or a full

unfulfillment in the beginning and end

the great Walter Benjamin was not

wrong when he suggested

the anomic and egoistic disruptions of

a person’s life

the detrimental effects causing social

and psychological states inimical to

the continued survival of the

tormented dude or dudette, may be

offset by the effects of drugs. Mostly

the drug effects of what are currently

(2009) considered drugs of the illegal

kind.

Personally I suggest the use of strong

marijuana, type

cannabis sativa, soil grown, from

Jamaica.

Show me a higher breed of cat than

the Rasta. As energetically and I

suppose happily bursting into song so

suddenly it makes one jump startled

a people I’ve ever come across.

 

 

Thank Allah for Cigarettes

 

special k kreates

bloated

dimension drifts

and personally inflicted blood

bath-like

personal wounds

when you do that first or those after

that first

one too big a shot.

careful, kids and adult old women and

men

transvestite and transsexual

psychonaut curious in your chair at

home or with good folks risk taker

journeying learning

old hippie or, “the receptors are there!”

might as well

thinkers world and beyond

alike

be careful:

 

this is some powerful shit.

 

 

 

 

The You of You

 

Satin streets

and

alleys paved

with fool’s gold

that’s America

the USA

just to inform

you dreaming would be

immigrant – or help us you

terroristas

if you is still

got the notion paid the smugglers

to get you illegally or legally

into this fine

always been always will be

country and people

 

because nowadays

as the social philosopher types

tenured or not

arm-chair

or actually read a book

and finished it

last year

person you are not

Dare I say:

if you

keep looking

things

in the end and on the way

will definitely

not be alright

nor ever near so

why?

Because you lie

as you have been told, no forced,

the truth or

future past

it passed

and was in turn

passed on to

as the whom you think is the fake and

spurious real

you, of you.

 

 

 

 

My Generation

 

They said

we couldn’t

do it

and we didn’t.

 

The only thing worth

living for is dying

and those Twilight Zone episodes

you missed

 

given the conditions

of the day, year, moment or hour,

are always ripe for

Spontaneous suicide!!! Yikes!

 

Learn to live with this

and less

is the whole of the law.

In the here, now, present, past

and future continuous?

Which just may not too exactly

nor not

though maybe

might

be you

or whom you should or should have

been or will be

though again maybe

you

nor not you?

Forever.

 

 

 

 

Never Understood

 

Where the hell

Have the frozen

Mists of immemorial

Time shut their portals

To matter and mind

Ponder-less

Speculation

In a basket

With fries

And coleslaw?

 

I saw myself slowly dying

Then awakening to live again

Before

An ability to achieve

Joy, happiness, comfort or

Satisfaction

Left me

Alone

And upon wakening

I asked why?

Regular Shots of Liquid Valium

 

They say we’re only dancing

on this Earth for a short time,

my problem is, I don’t dance.

Dancing is for pussies….

 

So let me bait you instead

Islam is fundamentally flawed

as are all religions

You fucking German war pigs….

 

Jesus, Muhammad, all charlatans

Buddha,

cool dude….

 

But with Buddha no “out there” God

directing traffic down here

that can be called on to control

things, actions, cure diseases

miraculously

Nobody to pray to at night pleading

“Dear God,” “Help, I need help,

again,” and then

always ending the prayer with “and

please make me a better writer

and guitar player and get recognized

and get the fame and the groupies

and may I grow old gracefully

get a grizzled old man good-looking

face

that can still attract young and older

women

and help me to curtail the panic

attack freak-outs

that send me to the emergency room

where I get a room and

regular shots of liquid Valium.”

No God out there to call for help on

that stuff

according to Buddhists,

it’s all inside

gotta discover or bring it out

and we are all alone

but a drop in the ocean

of All.

And….

Oh shit.

That scares me.

 

 

 

The Convenient Delusion

 

It’s out of habit

necessity

sculpts

a fool’s head.

 

Brackish

it’s Obama

stereophonic

play-space with

your woofers

and tweeters

pushers

and policers

incarcerating

mighty

empire dread.

Yeah it’s

a real palace

of wisdom

your drunken head

hand drawing

art? Inside

mine skull.

Just remember

in realities

less real

and profound

one may not

equate mountain lion = cougar

or eventually discover

after thirty eight or forty

years of hard study

life and reading

’tis a strange sensation

when you

discover

there is

no “d”

in privilege.