And so it begins..

My American Dream is coming to life.
© The.Holy.City Web Design

MJ morning. Grumpy and Stupid

Thanks for running away asshole.

The Hypothesis of a fucking moron.

You tune out the city
with your steel radials.
The sun reflects
of your tinted soul
reclined in rusted beach chairs
killing the day
driving over a hundred
with the wind cutting crop circles
into your bed head.

For too long
these feet paced the area
of the smallest rooms
counted every carpet fiber.
followed every fault
in the weak floorboards.
Drank the black jelly
between the world
and everything else.

My eyes are fixed
on the air between
myself and the distance.
Nowhere is where im going
and maybe ill never get there
but if it takes forever
at least
i can meet a few good faces on the way.

You are so prone
to the negative approach
of every single morning.
But opposite
day cant just be a word without purpose,
Its gotta happen now and again....
Even if you wake up too late.
And you fucked up.
Holding out in between those days
was your golden spoon.

Nothing matters.
all my crosses left
in closets
next to
skeletons from past lives.
You could kill yourself
enough times
you wouldn't have to serve the life sentence.

If nothing matters
does the absence of anything still amount for something?
You could roll up your sleeves cause you dont give a fuck
today,
But is that just perspective based
to the giant knife wielding cunt
painting x's on your postcard back.

If nothing is a place in nowhere USA
you could make a lot of enemies
with just a smile and a wave.
Silver tongues so smooth
you knew they were guilty
but the jails would let them loose.
with a rope around your neck
because no one wants
an honest man.
with troubles
and demons
and good intentions.
Get the fuck out of here.

"Just passing through..."

"Just passing through..."

Play me.

The antisocial was given a gift by god

Sound
The fourth dimension
The way the words
make your heart break
welcome to hell

Im terminal
in all black
kicking dynamite
down hot blocks
with a gas rain
spectators throwing matches
just to cheer on pain
waiting to see my spirit
pour out of small round holes
from being too nice
too long
but even "too long" has an ending
thats short and devoid of a heroic setting.
You see the arena in everything.

Neutral expression
like a low end funeral parlor
undertaker
letting things pile up is just business.

Your friends with the cold
and you seen the other side of the mask
its just a collapsed star
that sits in the back
of your head
swallowing light
like hookers in church.

Short term memory
is replaced with
legal pad and pen
holding lists of words
relating to organ donations
and blood debts
i owe to the last drop

Super slurpee vampire
brain frozen like the time
after the land before time.
melted to ripped up leather seats
God save the queen
because another horseman arrived for me.

A few shallow breathes
and you wonder
is this really the end
or is it just someth

The time you asked me if i believed in telepathy

We should just bury it in the woods
and catch splinters hopping the old fence
crossing our chest
like a bat out of hell
on the run
from the restless spirits
If my head
was your movie
oh baby we'd be a western.

We took the pale horse
and headed south
to the tomestone
lawless country
where southern women
poison the river
washing off sins
and i drink down stream.

I exert hate-o-active waves
the company of sketchy shadow
on high noon at puker mountain
my wounded knee is calling
the Geronimo in my boney cavity
to stop beating

For a second i feel the whiskey
hold off unending hand tremors
come and go like the seasons
and its been a long winter.

the survivalist
sucks the juice from a berry
before biting
consuming to its end.

the fool
insomnia has you
catching sun ghosts
you cant trust yourself
and you leave things
just so
half - buried
in the woods.

What manner of business is this.

The V in defeat.

Take it as it is.
Is it you or me.
is it us or them
or none of us
and just them
was it ever a place.
where was the time.
i could see
the way we talked
i could count the moments
i was dangerously reclusive.
eating web spaghetti
in a cave full of metal horses
clanking restless feet
my black bones
avalanched to the floor
cigarette ash monolith
tipping forward onto
a shitty beard you wish
would shave your face
grow a new forest
full of tree spirits.

im sorry i cant make better sense
my finger is broken
unhinged from angery nights
fused to electric sockets
call me crazy
call me alone
call me blondie.
dont call me that you fucking idiot.

I am a comprised of eighty percent water
the remainder divided by Cuban European waring skin pigments
im afraid so much
because i go out of my way
like a burning man opening the door
for a beautiful lady
the goodness in me is drying up
and the distillery
isnt distilling the poison from my bloodstream
clogged pipes of bad thoughts derail in transit
to the sound of screaming banshees
buried in the basement
clawing at the walls
shaking skeleton chains
from the closet bolts.

My pussy demeanor
is crumbling under my student inquisition
aspiring
to be all i can be like road side bombs
flipping your geometry.

the curvature of the planet bends light
and the prism light
discos the devil
in a blue dress
inching closer
hiking the fringes inch by inch
grabbing parts of me
like my name was Orpheus
and my guts were in the river.

a thousand degrees of intermission
vaporizing my spirit
like the cold blue light
from the heart of the sun.

You cant sleep
so you embrace the day dreams
and fleeting alternate realities
you flipped a coin to choose.
I always said tails
when you followed me
out the door onto
the longest short porch
in the molasses summer
sweat drenched front seat phantom
i felt a piece of myself
fall out the escape hatch
and being made whole
is a feeling ill never know.

Cement sneakers
clinking beakers
like a wizard looking for the cure
to what ails me
in the deep end of a dirty pool
full of spiders with loose bikinis
draining me for attention.
With blurred eyes
the colors lose composure
but the star never fall out of focus
when they fall on my parade blimp.

I get accused of anger
in the third degree
or breaking and entering
the dream scape
when you forget is when you find
a pillow
in your bed head
shifted
displaced
ajar
open door eyes
flood for a minute
before the pumps start up
the thrusts
the old news papers
crumple to dust
on the ghost ship
out to sea
looking for a brave new world
where you can be alone
with everyone
and the skeletal double max prison
can keep your blood muscle
in solitary confinement for
the murder of two kids
just trying live forever.