My life is a horrible game show

Lately, life makes me feel
Like a white trash in hiding
Yes, when I run out of smokes
I dig thru the dirty filthy trash
I have worn shirts around the house
For more than a day
With remnants of lunch

I am gassy
I pick my nose
Sometimes I have to steal tampons
The worst is trying to steal dog food.

I’m waiting for someone to walk out
And say ok you’ve been on a game show
THIS IS ALL FAKE

You no longer have to scrounge couch cushion change
To get a caffeine fix
Your days of using cheap messy eyeliner are over
No more shall you eat stale peanut butter sandwiches
And drink watered down kool Aide.

No one has
Yet

I reuse tinfoil and baggies
And I really don’t think it has to do
With the recession
Tho, the “recession”
Is their terminology for what’s going on
All over the world

I call it the revolution
We have all been set free from
Comfort
If you can’t make it here
You’ve been faking all along anyways

Momma was right

They will look you in the eyes
Smile and say something like
“Wow, I’m so glad to meet you”
or “Finally, I get to meet you in person”
but they are not your friends
in fact, they are your enemies
your competition

Remember that old saying that your momma told you?
Keep your friends close
But keep your enemies closer
As I get older, I find this to be more and more true
And as my standards adjust to my maturity
I also find I have way more enemies.

Hang out with these people if you want
Go to their parties
Go to their readings
Pretend to be interested in their drunk banter
And if you’re real lucky
They will publish you
And not fuck you.

Hello everybody.  I blurt today with a heavy heart. My dog Gonzo is in the doggie hospital and may have to have surgery. That is all I am going to say about that for now. We had no electricity for nearly 4 days. lost hundreds in food. totally sucks. I need to change my attitute.

Good things on the horizon. a flip chap, and a new monthly column that will kick your ass.  if i havent written you back or something…this is why

It really stuck with me

This kid on the stage
At the open mic
Put on a mask
And went on and on
About how crazy he was
And Brian leaned over and whispered
“I don’t need a mask to show people I’m crazy”

just thinking about all the masks
we each put on
just to make it through the day

we are parents
we are poets
we are friends
we are children
we are husbands
we are wives
we are ALL in here

so I suggest we not try to hide it anymore
Let’s let it all out
All over the page, all blood and guts man
Cause after a few years under your belt
Of juggling those masks
You are bound to have an identity crisis

He Swiped my PikiKiniK Basket

Lately, it has become increasingly obvious
That bears ruin clown themed birthday parties
Well, pretty much any themed parties
Casual get togethers,
Wakes,
If a bear is there,
You can be sure there will be trouble.

So, I was on facebook all of three days and had such highs as speaking with friends I hadn’t heard from in 14 years to repeating the bullshit that made me leave it all in the first place.   and so I left.

What to do now? The good news. I have my own writing and art studio in the redwoods here at our new place. Not shitting you, I’ll post pics soon.  There is a talked about book deal on the table and a column.   I just don’t know what to do with myself.  I will paint it out. Oh and if one more fucking person asks me to twitter I will gouge your fucking eyes out.

I  love you all, except you and you, you’re cool…..

The writing gets strange with this program when I mix text and pictures. OK, the Joie, Billy reading was one of the best readings I’ve been to.  I really mean that…Joie and William were SO in the zone. It was fabulous.  Paul Corman Roberts came out, I went up with Brian and Mr. Joe Pachinko.  I’m going to post a few pics from the reading, then a new poem. I always dig comments-good or bad.

Crowded in here

There are dead people
In my myspace contact list
And I went to the flea market

but there were no fleas

I don’t need your judgment,
Thank you.
“take care of your own inventory”
“day by day”
or
Being fueled by Satan…
Whatever works for you

Me I gots to get outta
The dog house
And into the pound
I miss the abuse
The chaos
The unknown.

You can always find pieces of chaos
Like slivers of a broken disco ball

from a forgotten Friday night abortion

You just have to look closely

The flea market has bugs planted everywhere
The Mexicans are agents
The pickpockets as good
As the artful dodger himself

I have to delete the dead people
YOU HAVE TO DELETE THE DEAD PEOPLE
Its simple logic that dead weight will add to your
Balancing act

Don’t walk when you approach the ocean,
Run
Run
Run.