we did it anyways

February 8, 2012

it was a mix of motown and tseliot. dylan and the drifters. eecummings and adolf eichman. virginity and wisdom. i was angry as hell. and always knew why. i knew i was talented and not good enough. afraid of being myself. and hating hypocrisy. in short i was young. and my friends were all mad men. in our mythology. suburban kids pretending to be from the east side. we were scared out of our minds. but we did it anyways.


and there was a bus. and a girl left behind. buried in a coat. and the motor gearing up. falling into a seat. and feeling eternity in every breath.


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god is not dead

he was merely blown up beyond all proportions/made light of

dropped into a glass of water

where he burst into a million tiny bubbles

with the hope

that he would bring fast fast fast pain relief

from historic indigestion


and ise eno esc ape

noe sca pe

nof ork int her oad.


the ad-men sit in a trance at SAM’S

ironing out their problems

business is slow

a spider is spinning his fine web of suicide across their eyes

the janitor is sweeping around their feet

lifting the left leg when necessary

lifting the right leg when necessary

the dust continues to collect

piling up history

he files it away in green plastic bags

that bleed internally


god had tired blood

he was the multiple million eyed monster (incl. cable)

with multiple million cataracts

surrounded by crow’s feet

that slipped up on him at night – sorrow stalking sleep – ambush


god became irregular

short of the holy breath

tired of sticking his nose in other peoples affairs

pensioned off

lost forever

swapped for ‘dialectical materialism’.


in the back of SAM’S the pinball machines is rigged

the ball leaping and shuddering like an orphan from pin to pin

in perfect retrospective patterns

“A thousand times i have recalled it

and a thousand times it remains the same,” smiles richard

richard bought out sam

but is now haunted by SAM’S habits

like the prisoner of a hotograph


ica nse eno esc ape

ica nge tno ans wer


the exi tsi gns pum pou tth eir neo nes cap e




our psyches have been burglarised


small bugs have been planted in the mob

small boys with their fresh pink bottoms torment the frenzied thought

love became the INFORME(D)R HEART

–         who will pay the ransom ?

the barbarians are at the gate

you can hear the crowd noises .

the barbarians have been inside the gate for some time,

their standards well in hand

tapping their toes , “who are the hypocrits coming back ?

must be the lawyers dressed in black.”

SAM’S place is hopping

some sassy gals are dancing up a storm , dancing to a tune


richard rubs his head that is beginning to swell like the

entrails of a puppet

the rest of us sit , and order , and wait

—    hoping to outlive the funeral rites







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