Tag Archives: humanity

HER LOVE IS WAR

Her love is a
crowbar into
the stomach.

It’s a gun fight
in a closet.

It’s a black hole
in a paper cup.

Her love is a
grenade in a
gumball machine.

An electric chair
in a summer dress.

It’s a Third Reich parade.

Now i drive fast
with my eyes closed.

Scream into bottles
of Chardonnay.

Pick fights with
ghosts in long ago
basements

while looking
for reasons
in a cereal box
and empty parking lots.

THE PROBLEM WITH US

The problem is that
people have to have more
and more
in order to fill in the holes
in themselves
in each other
in the hours
in the empty spaces.

And so we dig
and gouge
and scrape
and burn until
there is nothing left
with no regard
or respect.

We don’t want to know
how things work
as long as it
works for us.

We don’t understand
how to appreciate
a world
that we do not
live in fear of.

We have made
things far too
easy
for and on
ourselves.

We have forgotten
the lion
the bayonet
the plague
the hunger
the fire the scars
the blood dripping from
a thousand crosses
the terrors the deaths
the darkness
at the end of every street.

But these things
don’t just
go away they are
still there
so far back and
just around the corner
sharpening their
knives
their teeth
their resolve
they are honing in and
approaching like a
thick blanket
a moonless night
a killer in a crowd.

They’re coming
-it’s coming.
-It’s here.

And it’s about time.

BECAUSE YOU ONCE SAID YOU LOVED ME

Maybe I’ll blow
my brains out
in a car on a
crowded American freeway
to Mozart
with the taste of steak
still in my mouth
as a fly searches
the windshield
because all meaning
has become
a handful
of paper confetti.

Because the obviousness
of everything has
murdered all emotion.

Because all the wells
have been poisoned
and everyone wants a drink.

Because the
existential emptiness
underlying all
conversations about
the weather
haunts the soul.

Because lawyers are
expensive
but bullets are
almost free.

Because you once said you loved me.

Ice Cream Truck Goes To Mars

When you’re high
or drunk
or both
it fucks up your piss
you think you’re done
or don’t
are you?
You’re not sure
but how long are you going to
just stand there
with your dick hanging out
waiting to be seen
maybe you want to be seen
you dirty fuck
so on that
you put it away
and walk a half block
further into darkness
only to have to piss again
and the dance continues
but it’s not a dance
perhaps people throughout
the centuries have struggled
with this maddeningly human
scenario of
pulling it out
only to put it away again and…

Do you hate me?
Do you love me?
Am I feeble
livid
reckless?

What am I after all
but just another
mad animal
rampaging through
the technology driven
wilderness?

And you consider
how you never calculate
into your day
the pisses
the shits
the eats
you never have as much time
as you think
ever
because you eat too much
you’re far too comfortable
without predators
you shit too much piss
way too much
and you don’t fuck at all
anymore
you might as well
be quarantined.

You’re a lost cause
aren’t you?

I really don’t know…
fuck it.

Ice cream truck goes to Mars.

COVID-19 SOCIETY: LIFE IS A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER

As the pandemic was unfolding on social media people were scattered in the frozen produce section of Costco staring down at their smartphones as if waiting for instructions. A lady was fixated on her screen beside a batch of tomatoes when her face scrunched up and she started to turn. They all did, not into zombies or vampires or werewolves. Instead, they all turned toward the aisle containing the bathroom tissue.

“Oh no, she has it!” A man said to his daughter.
“What, Dad? The virus?”
“No, Stacey, the hearing about the virus, virus.”

In one single motion typically reserved for geese taking flight, the people began to rush alongside and at times over each other in a desperate bid, not to grab the last remaining rations of ass-fleece, but to get it all, grossly more bog roll than they would ever use in their entire lifetimes. Fuck everybody else.

As can be seen on any given Black Friday: wrangling, scuffling and outright brawling overtook the immediate area in an implosion of bodies interacting in the most primordially deprived fashion possible. Yes, it was social-distancing at it’s best in aisle seven where humanity had rapidly devolved into a raging pile of limbs, gnashing teeth, pulling hair -and in the midst of the chaos freshly-ejected spittle freely soared, danced and coalesced to form a fine blanket of mist that soon settled upon everything (sleep well).

“See Honey,” Father said as her brought his daughter close to witness the spectacle, “this is why we aren’t going to make it as a race –because when under duress we lack the ability to think about the common good and instead become dominated by our own self-interests in immediate and irrational ways. What you see here? This is a true reflection of our society. What you have to understand is that everybody’s nice until you start messing with their livelihood and after that…there’s this.”

The final bulk pack of toilet roll was won over by a lady the size of a Whirlpool fridge who manhandled a millennial.

“Dad, I’m scared!”

The father smiled warmly, “You should be, especially when you consider how quickly we all can be reduced to little more than contagious self-serving vermin controlled by an increasingly authoritarian government.”

“I don’t understand!”

“Well, after a lifetime of being sold your own self-image while following the trivial pursuit of achieving Instagram-worthy selfies it must be very difficult -if not downright impossible- to suddenly wake up one day and realize that it’s not all about you.” He gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “I get it. Your whole generation’s going to be living in a dumpster-fire cause of climate change anyway.”

As callous hordes of people ran by waving around over-sized loads of scrumptious, fluffy toilet rolls with blank stares in their eyes he said: “Don’t worry, we can always wipe our ass with Scruffles.”

“Not my cat!”

“Oh yes, and that’s just for starters.” Father gave her a look that made Stacey worried about what would happen after that resource was exhausted.

As another horde charged through with what looked to be the last remaining stock of rice, pasta, eggs and flour (because everyone was going to suddenly take up baking) Father said, “Who knows? We might have to eat her too.”

Stacey began to cry as her dad nodded to an old lady and gave her a tender look that would make anybody feel at home right before clothes-lining her as she was walking by for the six-pack of hand sanitizer held against her chest that he was going to dilute and sell online at an absurdly marked-up price.

”Welcome to the new world!”

THE PARTY DRUG

Tom lost his fiancé at a party. He didn’t like being without her in an apartment crowded with people. He didn’t like people. He didn’t know what to say to them. Stacy was the only one he could talk to. And now she was gone.

That’s when he saw the boy standing in the living room with an open Ziploc bag handing out pills like it was Halloween candy. He looked so nicely cooked that you just wanted to be him.

“This is Eddie’s shit, Man. Best in town. Y’all know Eddie, right? We’re just around the corner so hit us up. Nice chill buzz. It’ll get your girl in the mood. Spread the word that I’ve got free samples cause I’m only here ‘til it’s gone. Only got fragments left, Man, fragments.”

Largest reason why Tom didn’t like being around people was that he easily saw into them and mostly didn’t like what he saw. The boy with the bag didn’t add up at all. Beneath his entrepreneurial bravado he looked scared. Of what? It was a party, Man, not even a particularly exciting one.

People were snatching pills up as word circulated around the apartment. When the boy gave out the last one and noticed that Tom was watching him he took the empty sandwich bag in both of his hands, blew into it and then popped it with his fist. He mouthed a word slowly to Tom and made for the door, fumbling the knob on the way out. Tom couldn’t make out what he had said but he barely tried.

Fuck, where was Stacy? She knew better than this. Tom didn’t want to seem desperate enough to go looking for her either. It was one of those situations that exemplified exactly why he was dragged here by his balls and Tom was just going to sit there and wait a few more minutes like a good dog.

That’s when the laughter in the kitchen started.

Everybody was laughing in there. What a riot. Good times. They kept on and on. They didn’t stop. After a while Tom could tell by the way that people in the living room had stopped talking with eyes nervously darting back and forth that it scared them too. A couple of them started laughing themselves. It was catching on, whatever it was. Something was happening.

The laughter became louder until it was all anyone could hear and it wasn’t only coming from the kitchen now. People were bent over here and there having a fit. It didn’t look fun; it looked forced. Tom realized that he was gripping the sofa he sat on with white knuckles.

Tom wasn’t sure what was going on but it was strange enough to potentially send him over the ledge and all the way down. His short bursts of breath were signaling a coming panic attack and Tom wasn’t about to have one here because there was nowhere to hide. Stacy would be disappointed, even if she didn’t show it.

A skinny blonde girl stumbled out of the kitchen cackling like a rabid hyena. The people that weren’t laughing started screaming –her face; her fucking face. Tom sprang from the sofa and sped to the back of the apartment calling Stacy’s name and going into every room until he found her.

“We’ve got to go, now!” Stacy saw enough to not protest and held Tom close as they made their way back down the hall towards the front door. Stacy looked into the next room they passed and screamed as Tom pulled her away.

Uncontrollable laughter was only a symptom of becoming something far worse. What they saw now were no longer people. Their faces and bodies had disfigured into some morbid curiosity. It made you sick to look at them but you didn’t want to look away as everything was happening so fast.

Tom knew that it wouldn’t stop there and that this was the beginning of an event that was beyond his comprehension. What he did comprehend was that they weren’t going to make it past the living room. Not with what he saw happening up ahead. Nothing should make a person look like that and do those things. Rage wouldn’t describe it.

Passing by the bathroom Tom saw that it was empty, pulled Stacy inside and locked the door. Not satisfied, he held the doorknob with both hands. Tom now felt shut in and trapped but at least he didn’t have to see what was going on out there. Screams filled the apartment. Screams and laughter. It was pandemonium. It was a living Hell.

It was only then that Tom thought back to what the boy had said to him and realized it was, ‘I’m sorry.’ If it didn’t make much sense then it was much clearer now. But what in God’s name had he done?

“Call 911!” Tom shouted, but Stacy wasn’t moving, until she lifted up her face. Her mouth had already frozen into an sickening grin that almost met her yellow bulbous eyes trapped in a blank mad stare that was both haunted and haunting. It was a face that would have been comic had it not been terrifyingly so.

“Oh no, Baby. NO BABY! No no no no…not you too…” Tom reached for her and began to cry.

Stacy began to laugh.

Part 2 of 2. Catch part 1 here: THE DEALER

Mr. Snow Plow

He’s been pounding back the sauce
since his wife left and took the house
the kids
the dog
now he lives in his snow plow
at the end of my street
idling,
waiting
for me to come out after the storm
to start shoveling.

He can barely see me
as through his alcoholic haze
I am just a moving blurry
insect-like object
but his face cracks into a
twisted toothless grin
as he watches
and shoots a tiny spoonful of
white marching powder
up his weathered nostril.

As soon as I finish and
-feeling ancient
and existentially exhausted-
wearily hobble back inside:

‘Yee-Haw!’
He punches the roof of his cabin
and stomps his foot on the gas
gathering up a tidal wave of the
thickest, filthiest, heaviest,
wettest
snow he could possibly muster
heaving it all across the driveway
feeling like he is touching God
by making my life an unimaginable Hell.

Always the next day;
always I awaken to find that
Mt. Olympus has
sprouted overnight
in front of our house.

And it’s never over.
And it’s a slow murder.

Some days not even
a single patch of white
could be found
anywhere in sight
deep into July

still there will be that
dirty heavy heap of snow
-possibly shipped in from Alaska
blocking my driveway
ten minutes before work
and somewhere in the back of my mind
I can hear him
cackling maniacally
because he hates the universe.

He hates babies.
He hates Jesus.

His life has dissolved
into a derelict world of
cheap motels
and five-dollar hand-jobs
from blind 50-year old hookers
and for some sick reason
or no reason at all
he has targeted me.

He is the antichrist.
A poltergeist.
The dirtiest, meanest,
snarling, snow-slinging,
heathen
there ever was
on four thick bastard wheels.

Mr. Plow,
I am on to you.

The Dust of Long Dead Sheep

I almost feel like begging
for the big grand knife or
the slender shivering blade
in these abundant alleyways
filled with uncertain strangers
with cartoon eyes and
teeth yellowed from manic sweets
(clowns, jugglers, thieves
in sharp expensive suits)
but all that they do
is kill me with conversation
until sleep gravity takes me down
wondering
why
the pen is too often so heavy
when everything else seems so much
like air filled with
the dust of long dead sheep
and the constant drum
of outdated machinery.