PolyEaster

I’m in Rubber soled Sneakers
held together by Glue
Made from Wild Horses.

Put together by fingers
on a Faraway shore
Driven by a master devoid of love and
Understanding.

Toe nails covered by cotton unkind.
Lessons of Love radiate

In my Mind,

The soles of my feet pray for rain
while neurons in my brain
fire this painful refrain.

The Comedian

I think the holocaust made being naked really complicated for everybody. It was like national geographic, as a kid, watching those documentaries in class or late night History Channel or wherever. You’d always see the piles of bodies and, as a child, my eyes would zero in and look at each man’s penis. Breasts and vaginas were there too I guess. But the penises I remember. And they were penises, not cocks really. Cocks started in 1974, I’ve decided after reviewing the footage. It requires a lot more leisure and nutrition than was available in those times to grow a proper girthed and manually practiced cock.

Honestly, I don’t think cocks really exist anywhere except in our heads. What I mean is cocks are the idea and fantasy, but the piles of 3inch flaccid penises are the reality. Looking at those black and white people was kinda like the high school gym showers, but more like the YMCA. The universal penis on display and it fucks everybody up. We can handle cocks, they blend into the scenery much easier. But I certainly ain’t the first to say penises are a bummer.

I grew up around here, outside the city I mean. Right on that line where they forgot to keep building shit. So there used to be trees and rocks and stuff like that. The woods would just take over, man, fellas with chainsaws would be out every summer weekend hacking that shit back to keep their yards from turning into savages’ playpens. Out back as a kid, right past the tree line, kinda swallowed in brush and leaves were these disintegrating tarpaper and twine chicken houses. Big ol’ crummy sheds to keep the little fuckers in, you know? Being a naturally stupid child I broke the rusted-over locks and would sneak inside. Then for whatever reason I’d dig down into the dirt floors—for treasure? Treasure, yes. I finally hit the jackpot one day, broke through that boring dirt barrier and got to the mounds of dog skulls, tuna cans and chicken rib cages. That’s a special day for a young man, to hold his first dog skull—probably some prized whippet from the 1890s county fair. Being a stupid child, who never really thought before doing shit—I remember kissing it on the teeth. Why not! But then I freaked out realizing what I did and just spat and cried and ran and washed my face out with detergent and just kinda shivered like a Mongoloid.

Haha, that’s stupid. So anyway, somebody once said that half of all problems start by ascribing lots of complicated reasons to something in order to avoid the very simple things at the bottom. You know, okay, suits me. Let’s try it. Maybe daddy drinks because of a bad accident he once saw on the highway? Maybe Robbie is such a shit because his grandmother found his 13year old thai murder porn stash and the old dame refused to rat out her own grandson? Maybe General Electric makes cars because Teddy Roosevelt had night terrors unless he was snuggly tucked in the back seat of a Model T with three or four gentlemen companions? Maybe airlines are terrible because cabbalist monks saw forty seven feathers descend from the Giza pyramids one Walpurgisnacht in 1963? Or maybe shit ain’t really that crazy, we just desperately need it to be. Like some hick 12 year old fucking a pig by candlelight, we just need her to be real and daddy not to catch us.

Whatever, it’s all stupid. I like cars, anyone else here like cars? God, I can’t do this. Sorry the car shit is over—I have a really intense memory of shame from being ten years old. It was the magic summer of masturbation, where one month before it was hot wheels and another later it was the hot heels in Spanish music videos. It was right then, the weekend after the first jerk session that actually meant something, that my Aunt decided to take me camping with her boys. I was a pig in rut. I ran to the little outside wooden shit trench, propped the door closed and beat off every twenty minutes. It was something. I remember my cousins banging on the door—Just a minute! I’d have to start from scratch, paranoid and sweaty. Finishing a half hour of tears later, only to desperately pretend all was normal when I got back to the campsite. There was a plastic port-a-potty by the beach and that was my castle. I took a pocket knife and cut a little hole, and just rubbed raw watching the ladies swimming—finally thought to use the hand sanitizer(wink) . That was a magic summer.

G’night Ladies and Gents, you’ve been great. Ricky Thomas is up next! Thank you.

The Pot

Roots from the earth guided by suns wamrth to form weeds.
From the roots, the stem splits from the stalk to form arms bearing buds.
Within the recess, trichomes of profound mystery.
However...
Where may she be grown?
Where can her profundity be shared?
Only Behind deadbolted doors and on a screen of brass.
Or trapped in a Skin made from her sister.
Hidden from sight; exiled to a street corner, lost in a crowd.
Kept secret in containers of glass with an iron roof.
She burns alone and misunderstood.
Bring her from the shadows of the BlackMarket
and radiate her golden Strength to all the
Wounded, Sickly, and Dieing.
Allow her grace to bless!
instead of confuse, blind and Strengthen the Wicked.

Different Guides

Guide Number Four
(1) Walk with INTENT
(2) Ask Everyone you encounter their proper "Christian" name
(3) Treat all individuals as soft furry animals sleeping in the grass
(4) Speak with Honesty, even if it puts a Colt '45 to your temple with a hollow point in the chamber
(5) Maintain appropriate eye contact
(6) Remember where you parked the car
(7) Remember to forget

Guide Number Six
- Respect the landlord
- Don't share your problems
- Don't show your weakness
- Don't tip the cabbie
- Only fill up the tank in NJ
- Supply, stock and shelve Boxed Red Wine
- AVOID ALL EYE contact
- Shoot the messenger (2 in the chest, 1 in the head)
- Only compliment yourself
- Only use "otis" elevators
- Wear wooden shoes up escalators
- Obey all stoplight signals

Guide Number Nine
- Replace all Church hymn lyrics with the word Watermelon (you will leave feeling better)
- Write Russian literature on company post-it notes
- Learn Spanish Cursive
- Lock your car doors three times
- Enjoy your HARD earned 3 day weekend
- Always be full of pride, even if it kills your friends and family while Strengthening your enemies
- Subscribe to Readers Digest
- Be the applause, NEVER receive it

The Red Head: There and Back Again, a Bachelor Party's Tale of New Orleans - Part 2

The storms of the day prior continued the morning Bilcole began his journey.  The sun had not yet risen in the East when he lifted his weary head from the soft comfort of his pillow and threw back the warmth of his blankets.  

Bilcole had hardly slept that night. The stress of the journey ahead had started a day early and plagued him until his eyes could no longer stay open. The storm had made travel impossible. Winds, sleet, snow and rain plagued the northeastern borders of Middle Earth that Bilcole called home.  No one who wanted to could leave, and most did not venture out from their homes. The land had been locked down, and the steel eagles Bilcole depended on to take him to New Orleans had been too timid to take off for fear of getting lost or damaged in the snow filled clouds. The unfortunate consequence of this was that Bilcole's comradeship was forced to disband.  In order to have any hope of reaching their journey's end, the Fellowship of the Bachelor was forced to go their separate ways and to try and converge again at their final destination.  This meant many things for the adventurers.  The Bachelor himself was forced to travel by ground with his brethern on an exceedingly long and trying over night journey. Others journeyed to the nearby city of Philadelphia, known for the great companionship and love with which it shows it brothers – they hoped to benefit from such open-ended comradery . Gan-Kwon the Asian was attempting to fly out on a different steel eagle with another companion, leaving Bilcole to fend for himself. A year of planning had gone by and in a single act of nature it was all thrown to the wind. However, the trepidation Bilcole had experienced when the adventure had first arrived on his doorstep had turned into excitement and expectation - expectation that he would not let down. After many frustrating hours of waiting and holding and dealing with the witches of the Delta, who held the passes to the eagles, Bilcole was able to secure a position aboard a bird hoping to take flight before the storms were at their worst.  

So that morning, when Bilcole awoke, he was filled with nerves. After all, the Delta witches had assured him two times prior he was to leave for New Orleans in the morn, yet twice he had been let down.  And with the others already on their way, this was his last chance.

--

In the twilight of the morning sky Bilcole left his adorned home and took the first steps of his adventure.  He went beneath the Earth itself to ride the iron centipedes that would take him to the land where he would meet the steel eagles, a grand palace filled with commuters, rangers, adventurers and all matter of beasts from far off lands, known only as JFK.  

Much to his delight, Bilcole arrived at JFK without a hitch.  When we came back to the Earth's surface however, he saw that the storm had already started and his gut was instantly filled with dread.

"I have come this far already." Bilcole said to himself.  "There is no turning back now."

Despite the storm his eagle was scheduled to depart as planned.  He boarded and nestled under the wing of the great beast, next to a sleeping dark skinned man.  Bilcole himself was exhausted from the lack of sleep and the stress brought on from embarking the adventure of a lifetime, and so he himself quickly nodded off as well.  

He awoke two hours later to find the eagle was still sitting on the ground, and had hardly moved since he had sat down.  The elves that tended to the animal claimed there was a "mechanical issue" and that this bird would not be leaving for some time.

This was grave news.  Bilcole had to meet another bird in the distant metal city of Detroit, and from there yet another eagle would take him to the southron town of Memphis where yet another bird’s flight would finally have him arrive in New Orleans.  All this insanity, of course was courtesy of the wicked storm brewing in the skies and those even more wicked witches at Delta.

“This place is more likely run by orcs then not.  Sauron himself must have cursed this trip for it to have fallen on such ill fate.” Bilcole thought to himself.

But he had no choice, and so Bilcole climbed down from the eagle and began to speak franticly with one of the elves of JFK.  The elf was nice, as elves are, and tried his best to help but his hands were bound. There was but one eagle to fly out of this part of Middle Earth, and it was going to the distant desert land of Dallas, home to the infamous cowboys.

“There is no turning back now.” Bilcole had no choice but to acquiesce.

--

Now, what happened next was a journey within a journey.  The factors are boring mostly and so the readers of this tale shall be spared them in detail.  But needless to say, Bilcole’s first, initially simple task of merely arriving in the city of New Orleans was made not so simple.  The birds took him to Dallas where he heard news from a fox and ate chicken from a man with popped eyes.  He was then flown to another southron city: Atlanta.  Bilcole’s time there was short as the next eagle was set to fly out just moments after his arrival.  And so, with hardly any time to catch his breath Bilcole ran through the palace that housed the birds in Atlanta and hopped onto to his next flight grabbing on by the talons as the beast beat its wings and ascended into the air.

Finally, after many arduous days (17 hours by the time of humans) of flying, running, and trudging through snow and sleet, Bilcole arrived in the great and legendary city of New Orleans. It was time to reconvene with the fellowship, and for the festivus of Mardigras to begin.

Genesis

Nothing is black and white
However, with the two we can define a point in space.
From one point (in any direction) a line can be made
Another point gives definition, but does not end a trajectory
With intersections (perpendicular, obtuse, acute)
a plane is made. (or is it a web?)
Can we even begin to stand?
How long until a place is made,
Better a home.
Can we define our existence in this time and space?

===========

Definitions.
The guardians of rationality.
The first line of defense against,
the chaos of mental disintegration.
Everyone-of-us; Lost in Translation.
Ideas are birds in cages of words.
Cleanse the doors out of which our perception gazes,
Not to be consumed by the infinite, but rather explain it.
Dispel this bewitched intellect; reclaim mental integrity.
Define The Void, within the void.
To begin with nothing is to begin with something.

With Socratic Atoms falling from our mouths,
may our Dialogue be warmed by the Dry Light of friendship
and stand firm on Definitions and mutual admonition.

Rotating the word dial on the safe of philosophical truth;
The right words in the right order,
 and the door swings open wide
with child like ease.

With agreed definitions, concepts are presupposed.
Should we start by agreeing or disagreeing?

Our words collide and bounce down corridors in our minds.
Have we begun? If so, when?
This discourse started long before you or me,
and will continue long after...

Can the inward Truth within me be shared with you?
or is it mine alone?

===========

Let me know.
Let me know, that all death and pain are but shadows of the moment.
Let me know, that the evil forces that pass between your truth and me are but clouds before the sunrise.
Let me know, that my Truth is mine forever and greater than any pride or strength that dares to mock my manhood.
Let me know, that I can put..
Can put all the shadows back into their boxes.

================

Armed with natural and instrumental power;
mind, strength, wit and spirit fused with faculties, friends and reputation.
May we conquer our differences
And rise above our lack of precise philosophical knowledge.
Let us not be consumed by our endless negotiations
between Power and Fear.
And Share one Truth which shares The Mark
Within me and Within you.

The Red Head: There and Back Again, a Bachelor Party's Tale of New Orleans - Part 1

Lo thy 20 souls gathered for their departure to hell.
Masks asunder, handles purchased, and plans of debauchery and merriment planned years in advance.
Yay, the men of old friendship forged in the fires of  Mount High School some 10 or 11 years ago (more for some) would soon gather to send their first off to the slaughter.

--

Bilcole was a tall individual - gangly some may say. With a burst of fire atop his head, and wisps of flame around his chin, he was all in all a merry sort of fellow.  He had settled into his life in Brookiton rather nicely and had grown to enjoy all of the fine customs that came along with it like craft beer and artisanal pizza. The bohemian life offered such splendid comforts as 2nd breakfast and 1st dinner. And he often tended to his abode with great care, making sure the mugs were separate from the water glasses, and the water glasses from the beer steins.

Yet one day, about 100 years ago (or 10 months by the human calendar), he was invited to an event he had oft heard elders tell stories of, and seen depicted by motion picture in such epic fables as "The Hangover" and "The Hangover 2": a bachelor party.  It seemed an old friend had chosen a mate and the mandatory celebration of of drinking followed by misogyny, followed by blacking out followed by vomiting (repeat) was to commence.

This was no ordinary bachelor party either. No, in order to attend this party, Bilcole must needs go on an adventure. An adventure far over the ridges, hills, mountains, and plains of Middle Earth (known commonly as America) to the great city of New Orleans for the festivus Martigras.

Bilcole had never been to New Orleans, but had heard it was an odd place and that many strange creatures dwelled there: elves, gnomes, masked marauders, trolls and the worst and most terrifying - the drunk college girl, who kept such evil company as the feared and hated frat boy. The city streets, it was said, were filled with hoards as far as the eye could see, its gates strewn in black gold with the sounds of jazz filling the air like the sound of a dying nazgul.

"No I quite like it here. I don't know what business you have to just knock on my e-door with this message demanding I go on some adventure." Bilcole thought. "I might never return. And if I do, it'll be dead, broke, and beaten."

But the fellowship of the bachelor party was strong and persuasive and would not take no for an answer. And so it was that 100 years ago Bilcole took his first hesitant step of his quest and booked a flight on the infamous Delta Airlines.

--

Many moons passed and Bilcole continued his little red headed life as usual. Going there and about, tending to his home and office, when the day arrived, as it inevitably would.  The sky was gray and the air cold, and a fresh snow blanketed the ground when a small, stout wizard by the name of Gan-Kwon the Asian, a figure from Bilcole's past who had oft symbolized a bizarre combination of silliness and foreboding, came arap-rap-rapping on his door.

"It is time Bilcole, for your adventure to begin."