Chasing Angel’s Wings (for Marcus RIP)

November 10, 2011


Visions I could never comprehend spill from his head

Inconceivable trauma most could not endure.

A mystic. A Shaman. A muse. A showman. A pure genius.

Lost soul. Strong soul. Sensitive soul.

Mind so open it hurts.

Christ like at times.

Judas other times.

Power untamed and loose.

Touches the wings of angels we can only dream of.

Sees and hears things out of reach for us laymen.

Superstar. Rock Star.

Once in a while I caught a glimpse of the man deep inside.

He was me. I- Him.

He called me the Jolly Joker and learned to laugh with me through our adventures in life. Our adventures beyond.

I showed him that he is everyone, that he is he and he showed me I am no one, that I am me.

Self centered yet so generous and giving until it hurt him at times.

Screams for help and no one hears him. Not really.

Self-medication and sedation from the evil that followed him.

For a moment he feels normal. As normal as a visionary can feel.

He chases the Angel’s wings and the demons abandon his soul

Don’t(Stop)- A POEM & SPOKEN WORD Blog & Video

June 8, 2010

Give it up. Don’t stop. Give it up. Don’t stop. Carry on. Business as usual. Rotten tomatoes spoil my . . .my . . .My oh my what a wonderful day in the life of addiction fueled by everything I look at and touch. Evil. I touch evil and it touches me back so nicely so I kick back and relax and forget about the horrible world out there in here in my mind. I don’t mind it most times. Most times I embrace the evil and thrive on it. Most days when the helicopters fly and the dog shits on my lawn I smile and look the other way. I own my life and you can’t have it.

I have intense dreams where I am with her with you with them. Sexual menagerie. Love triangles and octagons and pyramids that go on forever in the desert of my life. The spit and the semen-covered floor I walk on, eat off of and sleep in rolls around and around and it never stops until I go back to my hiding spot.

I eat worms. I drive a car that doesn’t like to go anywhere. I have friends in high places. I have friends in low places. I have friends in no places. I have no friends and plenty of friends. I live in between reality and insanity. Wherever I am today is where I’m meant to be.

The cockpit is tight and claustrophobic. I whistle as best as I can and pray to a higher power that may or may not exist ofrlove me or hate me or want to fuck me. I fly in the spirit of those that never had it so good. I cry for those who have it better than me. I die for nothing and no one.

My maniacal, manic and cryptic scribblings are worthless to the real world but they are all I have so I go on pen in hand or finger on keyboard mouth to air and shout out everything I am until it’s gone for the moment, The next time I don’t know.

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