It’s a Jungle Out There

The other day I was walking into work and found myself consciously avoiding the cracks in the segments of cement sidewalk. I felt a little ‘Monk-ish’ and I could hear Devo singing in my head, “Step on a crack… break your mama’s back!”

But then I thought, “Wait! my mother’s dead. I’m free! This isn’t going to hurt her!”

Then I went and made sure to step on every goddamn crack.

The Bill Of Rights… sss (plural)

Hurray! for the day
when the NRA falls
and the rest of the lobbying swine

Amendment Two even
protects us from THEM
and the pockets of money they line

to scare you at home
is their main power point
as they scam-off and co-opt our rights

that amendment is ours
it’s as safe as the rest
they concoct all the dangers they fight

there weren’t liberal plants
to come for your guns
and that Q thing is frankly, bizarre

start using your brian
let go of your hate
the country we’re killing is ours

(for some more light reading, here is a link to an older post called “Some Thoughts On Guns”)


(for Cathy)

living out of the jewel in your heart
love, your connection to each
a filigreed heart for mother and child
fierce in your fight with unjustness

silhouetted by the hallway’s glow 
an Angel Trumpet on the breeze 
the gauze of your gown hued deep in joy 
barefoot to the earth, a smile to sky

you love like a martyr, taking on pain 
those in your grace, you cast a pure light 
together we draw, when you become near 
each fragment made whole by balm

pictures and paintings on walls
in every place you are missed
I wait again to smell your scent &
a crushing hug to bind my heart


a cosmic pulse goes out from you
like a sunspot on my mind
stirring and interfering with myself
and the ways I live and die

veering down an antique canyon
searching through rubble and pictures
for you, thru you, i come to them
regret rains down like foam

a testament to eternality
and the permanence of love
families go on, friends are gone
when the strings of you unwind

the gordian knot of grief, it shivers
resonates itself through space and time
the 7th dimension of too much hurt
revolves in time with Yamantaka

The Silver Lining

Sometimes I used to wonder if there was some way we could figure out how to tell someone is a racist shitbag. So that when they walk into my business, I could tell them they’re not welcome at my lunch counter. But of course, you can’t always see racism very easily.

Now we have a pandemic, and wearing a mask is suddenly a hot button issue. The thing is, maybe we should have required people to wear face-masks sooner. It really makes things so much easier.

What else is amazing is that the battle lines they’ve drawn are suddenly concentrated on the right to choose what someone can do with their own body. And no government (or local deli) can tell them what do to with their bodies!

I shit you not! They’re actually saying this now. Anyway, what I’m saying is that it’s easier to see them now…

guilt nurtures the hounds

turning and spinning
towards the center and back
esteem hits below the belt
love only takes one more

the inevitability of karmic debt
meets the prayers of the saints
halfway to providence and back
I should have learned it then

the silence I long sought inside
now returned an echo of dense
that old son of a bitch is dead
chattering on from his grave

chance took my chance away
with misery born of longing
solitude’s underbelly exposed
while guilt slow nurtures the hounds


I am currently going through an extensive list of normally successful* remedies that I use for migraines, on a massive f**king cluster headache that I was having…

The problem is that clusters got so close together that it morphed into some sort of super-migraine-cluster-headache-mutant-freakazoid-thing, very reminiscent of world threatening monster Frunobulax, that Frank Zappa refers to here in ‘Cheepnis’.

Anyway, I am out of ideas and cumulative substances for a single evening. I will now lie here like a bird that just flew head-first into a picture window.

Frunobulax, the Cluster/Migraine

Review: The KING, the MICE, and the CHEESE


Book Title: The KING, the MICE, and the CHEESE

Creators: Nancy and Eric Gurney

The KING, the MICE, and the CHEESE, by Nancy and Eric Gurney is a book I read at least 40 years ago, and I’m just getting around to telling you about it now. It was absolutely in the top 10 favorites I would reread. It’s illustrated with fantastic cartooning, especially the mice. I absolutely love how expressive their faces are.

It’s a lighthearted tale of your usual self-important, rich white guy who has a series of problems he needs to solve. In typical fashion, he throws his weight around and until he can get someone else to satisfy his petty whims.

His subservient advisors go to outlandish lengths to please their tantrum-prone Mucky Muck. They begin to bring in everything from cats to elephants in order to try to solve the latest problem. Yet each new catastrophe is really nothing more than the growing happiness of these animals as they begins to relax and settle in to the new home they’ve found themselves in.

Each one is brought there for a specific reason, with never a moment’s thought given to its well being or happiness. He would use them only for what he needed, and after they’d outlived their usefulness to him he would quickly mark them as the next problem his kingdom must eradicate.

The book itself is of course, a work of fiction. Nothing more than childhood stories of the outlandish. I mean, could you imagine the leader of a country being so self-aggrandizing, and so hyper-focused on only his own comforts and whims, yet so blind to the suffering of everyone and everything he can’t use somehow? Thanks just crazy talk.

That’s whackier than a mouse eating a nice cheese dinner, with very good manners.