May 30, 2011

Horrible Truth

I saw him at a funeral
Then I saw him again--
at his own funeral.
It took one minute to meet
the young soldier,
and one minute or so
for him to lose his life.
Perhaps if I never met him,
with a different equation, hence,
 a different answer.
As the world continues to
revolve around me.

Best Time of the Day

His voice, like light during the night,
chirps with faultless smile and word.
As my head dead on my ancient pillow
wishes for slumber, his smile and word,
like a stone thrown into a pond,
causes ripples of delight in the brain
of my dead head. So soon, my voice,
like light during the night, I hear smile and word
with him. Then, our chirps churn
the light that surrounds us, which begins a
 melodious myriad of harmonies, and we
hold magic in our hands. I call for him so
soft, he hugs me bear, and then darkness takes its turn.

May 28, 2011


my eyelids resting on air and
my chin asleep as it points to noon,
alas,my fingers, busy mexicans picking,
both ears hear a stream of words falling over punctuation,
my legs work alone, on a 24/7 mission to earn slavery
but my toes stay still inside of my Vans,
I honestly don't know what they're up to down there.

I Carve Fiction

I Carve Fiction: "No posts."

March 12, 2011


I took my usual bath today, I detest showers, and I saw my future while I waded in the hot water waiting for it to reach my up belly button.  I'm not letting anyone in on my fate.  It might even be as beautiful as a destiny.  The flowing water, my thoughts flowing forward, without haste and without intepretation, truly inspired my future to flow through me, in front of me, like a silent film.  For now, my brain thuds inside my head, but I still watched the Southland finale. Man, I want more! I think school is on spring break, and I'm pretty sure I had a stroke two nights ago.  My medication for hypersomnia the insurance company declared not approved, so now I'm forced to try a new drug, a more dangerous drug, at one time I might have said "Bring it on," but now I'm accustomed to a calm peaceful sort of fabrication of life,  and I don't want to fuck it up.  Do I have a choice?  Have I been fucked by the fickle finger of fate? Or does God have a seriously hip and jive plan over all. Stay tuned. My migraine is like a tide that has come in, but won't go out. I'm sinking, in the sand, losing feeling in my feet.  I'm waving like a queen does to the masses, good bye, my rain has been pulled by my psychiatrust and I'm tired. Tell my brother I'll listen to U2 if he'll listen to the new Eminem.  Chow,

March 8, 2011

After a shot of something or other

Sheen's Korner comes to mind.  Carnes' Corner looks and sounds much better.  Torpedoes of truth.  How about the one headed for Sheen's house.  Charles's only you will survive.  You're goddesses will die and so will all of your other fucking dogs. The dealer sneaking in the back, yep he'll go to.  In traction, the assholes at the hospital will release you to rehab. Talk about a craving, I crave that day.  You said you are not two people, the nice guy, and the crazy idiot.  You claimed to be just the crazy idiot, in the limelight, for all of the world to see.  You've morphed into Hyde, and anything that crosses your path you annihilate.  I bet you would like that idea.  It would serve your narcissism.  I hate that I think about you.  I hate that I worry about you.  My brother said your dead.  I say you're still above ground.  You are not smart, creative, a genius, or funny.  Your manic, coming off alcohol and cocaine, and I've seen more interesting shit inside a coffee shop I go to daily.  You bore me, I want to drown you in a toilet, I want to duct tape your mouth shut since the drowning option would send me to prison.  Please, stop polluting the airways, if your going to use, use, if not, do something useful.  Are you afraid of fucking a woman your age who might really know what she's doing?  You're a coward Charles.  Fuck Betty.

March 2, 2011

A Rant After 2 Episodes of Southland

Hey you, did you just look behind you? or suck your chin inwards, as if you is not a universal word for honey or douchebag? Listen, I freakin love this cop show. The antics of a drug addicted cop are all over the place.  I can't decide if he is worse then the grief ridden impulsive detective going off the books to avenge his partner's murder. In a way, they blend together to make sense of this absurd world.  Life only makes sense in books or on TV. When I try to understand why I'm crashin from a pill that "mocks" a stimulant that I take at 11:00am  for a condition that causes me to sleep all day for real, I'm crashin at 6:00pm, what are you serious?  Can the doctors raise or triple the dosage of this mockery?  If I mock you, I make fun of you by acting like you in one of your not so proud moments.  So WTF is this taking a mockery of a pill that legitimately amps up me like kids on koolaide?  So  I need a cushion for each brain cell, unfortunately it's Lifetime, and some food for my belly. Oh I'm so embarassed, Lifetime, an all time low.  Barbituates are lovely, just not so kind to me.  I eat them like candy, and they beat me like a husband on crack who finds me in bed with his dealer.  Actually, that might work out.  I'm losin it.  My head huurrts.  Enough.  Watch Suckerpunch when it comes to theaters. Send a dollar to a Bury Charlie Sheen's Body Fund, but distill the drugs and alcohol out of his veins to resell first. See yah=     

February 23, 2011

It's Over, Finally

I broke my right arm
when I fell off a flying
saucer.  The doctor took
off my cast and dumped
me in a pool of warm, soft
lotion.  I later learned we
call it water.  I took
navigation classes until I
turned five, then I joined a
team of swimmers who
navigated quicker than fast
forward up and down in the
pool divided into aisles.  I later
learned swimmers called them
lanes.  I kicked and pulled up
and down those lanes I bet
enough length to go to
California, and yes, I took a
flight to race in California,
So as I see it, I visited there twice.
Nothing obeyed me like water,
I cupped it in my hand, pushed it
under my body and flipped my
hand out of the water at my hip
thirteen times a lap.  Nothing
ever felt as predictable as that.
Last time I swam, the water numbed
my lower body due to its mountain
source, and my asthma prevented me
from actually swimming. Walking my
fat ass from the lake to my towel on
the beach convinced me to never
swim again.  Remind
me to throw away my medals and

(Cognitive) OCD

You’re cheating on me.
No Paige, I’m not.
But, that text message,
she wants to meet you.
Paige, my buddy gave
her my number as a joke.
I have no interest in her.
Okay Sean, text that to her.
If it will make you feel better.
Text: I already have a girlfriend.
You’re cheating on me still.
No Paige, I’m not.
But your text message,
It could be just for show.
It’s not Paige.
How do I know?
Can you call the girl now?
Paige, why? I just texted her.
To prove to me that
you’re not cheating Sean.
Fine, Paige. That’s it though.
Phone call: Hey, it’s Sean,
Yes, I just texted you, no
I haven’t changed my mind,
Please, just don’t text me
again, I have a girlfriend.
Yes, I know, thanks, bye.
Okay Paige, are you satisfied?
You still could be cheating on me.
What the fuck Paige, No I’m not!
How do I know you talked to the
girl who texted you on the phone?
Who the hell else would it be Paige?
Your buddy, who set you up in the
first place.
I called her Paige.
Well, let me call her and ask Sean.
I draw the line at certified, Paige.
What do you mean Sean?
So you are cheating on me asshole!

February 14, 2011

Date Night

Come lady divine lay
with me in the slums of
Detroit, to dine on dead
rat and desert on dumpster
cheesecake.  As your golden
tresses drag behind us, instead
of TV, let’s go to a shooting
gallery and watch dope fiends
juggle dice by shooting up
junk in their arms.  Next, our
date continues on the top
floor of a parking garage.
The lights of Detroit look like
pinpoints, the slums reach
out far into the distance. 
We begin to slow dance,
our pulse slows, our limbs
grow cold.  We prefer
this.  The dance slows,
we kiss, your tresses look
black from the streets now.
A car’s head light’s shine
upon us as we fall to the
concrete.  The driver mistakes
us for speed bumps, only in
the slums of Detroit.  

February 11, 2011


I’m nuts, framed by cuckoo a
bird.  They put a cuckoo clock
inside my forehead, so every
hour a bird pops out of my worry
lines, scares the shit out of my cat,
and reminds me of my amended
mental status.  It’s terrible to have
been sane, no pane, when everyone
sees that you’re not sick, but swell. Now
with this clock inside my forehead and
a beak courtesy of beak surgeons, I
look disturbed. Crazy, I feel more human
then ever before, besides are not the
bastards who changed my appearance
not the sick ones?  Shouldn’t someone
shrink their twisted noggins? I learned
to live with my idiosyncrasies.  But I scare
the shit out of the “people” who made me
this way.  Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

February 9, 2011

Back Walking

I saw his back, walking away.  Hobbling down the icy stairs, kicking the salt about as his feet slid, barely scraping the pavement.  A brown knit cap covered his head, pulled down so low about his ears covering the lobes.  His jowels, jutting out are all I could make of his chin.  He wore a tattered and old black leather coat, now more gray than black, and drooping faded blue jeans.  His sneakers had to be 15 years young, if not more... wrinkled and worn, laces loose. They scraped the sidewalk crunching the salt and spraying it and the melting ice about.  His breath almost froze as he hobbled along, keys in his left hand, paper rolled into his right.  Damn he looks cold.  Damn I'm cold.  This is what cold looks like walking away...  a demon, shuffling along, quiet, reserved, blending into the world.... frigid.

February 4, 2011


I can't look away
My soul is locked
onto your eyes

Pools of crystal
and green
Soothe my pain
and cool my heart

Your essence
has pierced
my beign
and enriched me

Your eyes
have pierced
my soul.

This one is recent.  9/9/2010

Visit me at Discrete Beauty

February 3, 2011


I’m driving on aloe roads
twisting and turning,
windows agar, cool sweet
green density the sun emits
as I hang my left leg out
the driver’s seat window.
A screaming stream below
a groaning cliff, sends shivers
down my plastic spine.
The fearful car pines for
paved roads, but instead
a chocolate hail storm
begins.  I withdraw my
foot from the window
to sit straight up inside
the car.  I close the windows,
and turn on the razors I use
in place of windshield wipers.
Shaved chocolate looks
so pathetic right now.  Night
comes from somewhere ahead,
so I beam, and continue my
trip to party at a giant cupcake
mansion with a pink icing roof.

February 2, 2011


I think I am
on a shined glass horse.
Downwards, to break/
the silence
of a candy rainbow bliss.
Tears drip from my ducts as
the glass hits the floored
lollipop suckers-
Chaos bits of red, orange
yellow, green, blue and
purple glass rain down-
A veritable Utopia.

January 29, 2011

A Struggle

It’s paramount to me
that I’m seen.  So why
can’t I look in the mirror
and feel noticed?  Why
the fuck do I split into
two when I walk through
a crowded room?  The
insecure babbler inside
my head, and the breathing
consciousness estimating
how many times I break
a social law as I drag ass
across the room.  Oh,
For Shame!  Why do
people claim the opposite
happens to them?  How
does one calculate what’s
truly opposite versus what’s
meant to happen?  Which is
the opposite sex?  It depends.
Why the hell do I expect me
to receive a once in a life
time chance? You know, to
be published.  Perhaps
because every day is a once
and a lifetime dream.  Jesus
Christ, I almost died in an
overdose or two.  The reason I feel
invalidated in a mirror is the
age old vanity retardant.  Hell,
I should get props in the honesty
department. If you used to know

Who Cares

Who cares
For the lost souls of humanity
What will become of them?

Who cares
For the ghosts of society
Where will they go?

Wandering aimlessly
In search of meaning
Looking for a light
Out of the darkness.

Who cares
For those who don't?


January 28, 2011


Pessoa taught me the
fine points of a thoughtless
life.  Stressed the blessing
of an awareness not my
own and not God’s,
but perhaps your’s.  I
intend to travel without
moving, to love without
loving and to help without
helping.  A meditation so
fine tuned that my body
becomes merely a vessel,
like a ship or a plane.
I wonder why it’s so
hard to divorce self
from self, especially
if one thinks about the
despicable self.  I find
that part very simple,
enormously easy. But
I think, it’s that self
that hinders a divorce
from self, because then
I want to improve it,
pay more attention to it.
It’s time to make a mad
dash for the forest and not
look backwards, other than
that, I don’t know what the
hell to do.    

January 26, 2011

A Lament

A natural disaster
occurred one year
ago, to a well human
being when she sat
at her favorite spot.
The day hugged her
with chills, the sun
poured vile gold rays
onto her body, and two
people coughed as they
walked in front of her.
 Since the natural disaster
a tiredness nibbles at her
muscles and clouds her
already grey matter.
Headaches assault her
and rob her of the only
currency that exists, time.
 She puts an SOS on
Facebook every day,
but so far, she figures,
since she refuses to
post a picture, no one
sees.  What the hell,
she’s starting to sink
into the carpet like
quick sand.  Good-
bye sweet breath.

January 25, 2011

No Joke

Never mind the guy
that pushes a rock
up a mountain for
eternity, I drag one
behind me one day
at a time.
 I realize the Ironman
symbolizes strength
and endurance, but walk
inside my skin one day
as it starts to drag
 on the ground.
 Some believe God
never gives us more
than we can handle
in a day, bullshit, I
eat dirt with a low signal
emanating from my sagging
skin, secure in the fact
that this is an end.  

January 24, 2011

In and Out

Cold steel
Empty time
Endless thoughts
fill my mind.

The reality of
my concrete walls
brings memories
of soft passion.

What seems forever
is an instant
What seems an instant
is forever.

written 4/3/2000

January 22, 2011


Feeling good.
Life laying in
front of me
like a resplendent
grassy meadow.
A slight breeze
brushes my face,
and I here birdies
chirp lightly all around
A plane flies above,
with the word “Detour”
on a sign tagging along
behind it.
 I observe my surroundings
again.  I stand in a
parking lot of a
state hospital. Sent there
because of my tendency
to try and kill myself.
The brick building
looms over me.  I follow
the case worker inside.
She neglected to let me smoke.

January 18, 2011

A Spiral

Thorzine, Moban,
Closoril, what
a physical thrill.
Ambien, Lunesta,
Ativan, a sleep
managed by man.
Luvox, Effexor,
Welbutrin, the
doctor’s guess
as good as mine.
Lithium, Depakote,
Tegratol, am I
rock steady yet?
Serequel, Zyprexa,
Risperadol,  I’m
400lbs. but I’m
not hallucinating.
Methadone, Morpheine,
Oxy, opiates that increase
The pain, mental.
I’ve taken more meds
than this in my lifetime.
I’m still insane and
searching for the right

January 17, 2011


I love grapes.
I hate olives.
If I ate a small,dark,
But thought of a black
I might taste an olive.
I venture to say I may
Like the olive.
Life would burst with a
new meaning, I may prefer
opera to cinema and caviar to
Hell no!
A grape is a grape.
An olive is an olive.
And olive grapes.

January 16, 2011

I Know

I know what that
chair is for- to hurl
against the enamled
walls.  I get that the
CD's are to be whipped
like razor sharp frisbees
out the moving car
window.  I feel that
I received a permit
to bang my head
against the wall at
a fantastic decible.
I understand that every
now and again I can
accidentilly trip an old
bag.  What I don't know,
is why the hell science
never answers my desperate
call?  Might as well pinch
an infected area, assholes.

January 14, 2011


My soul, hangs from
my heart, heavy like
when a punching bag dangles
from an unsuspecting paneled
ceiling.  Heavy limbs, heavy breasts,
heavy, not sexy, lashes that tend to
shut my eyes, blind me, add to my
debilitation. A heavy chin, that shows
off my Rosie O’Donnell, damning,
double, drooping chin. My demeanor
heavy and exasperated, in need of
a Ritalin for a break, from the heavy
doors of my perception.  Pep up, brief,
and understated.  Yet the soul remains,
yawns, heavy and left on a the tail
of a prayer.

January 3, 2011

The I Doctor

Appointment you
scheduled for
Remember to tell
the I Doctor the
exact nature of what
ails you.  Which part
of the I rots inside of
your flesh canister?
What do your eyes
divulge to you, as you
screw your head inwards.
Tell the I Doctor all.
Leave no door unopened.
Expose every shade of your I.
Look the Doctor in the eyes.
Listen with every pore.
The doctor usually cons the
I out of me and throws it in
acid.  It fizzes into a nonentity.
Lighter, humbler and happier,
I return from the I doctor,
A veritable you. Welcome.