Come Down On Me

A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.

~Alexander Pope

"I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded,
Without knowledge, or lustre, or name."

~H.P. Lovecraft

 

Mad Boy

Devil's son

with the Botticelli face
and the raven's eye

Atop a spring-form body

cocked, locked & so fully loaded

It would make MichaelAngelo cry...

Are you carved out of granite?

Nah...
Though you are composed of every precious 
bit of ore on this planet

Reflected in 23 cracked mirrors

Fooling all of Orson's gilded Gildas

with that five law sky mind...

 Still
You seem all made of smoke

Yes, you've got my mercury rising

your every bass lick of my heart's liquid piano strings

sends me reverberating, 

sonorously cascading

flick flick flick 

with the light of your Bic

Shanghai Nights

On The Road 

To those tropical streams

Your tramp steaming Viking ship is colliding

on my milky moon wet dreams

You all Singapore Sling street visions

and alley cat longings

dangling on a hot tin roof

after its owners moved and left it behind...

Scratching & mewling living on discarded fishbones

Stranded on a dusty desert of discontent

Yet without you I seem not to exist 
except in the dusk & must 

of some purgatorial twilight

Come on help me live again
Bring on the night...

You are the only thing there is as far as I want to know...

You told me there were no gods

just you

Humanity anew

A leap of faith

for the lust forsaken

A divine arrow

Our Tarot 

the very marrow of man...

"I'm coming down on you", you say

in your husky musky bow wow wow

yippy yo yippy yay

Atomic Dog way...

And I pant 

as I dance 

to your lusty prophesy

For every breath you take, mein herr 

I gasp for three...

Come down on me

Like a thunderstorm

Yes, rain on my skin...

Come down on me

with fire & brimstone

Like Moses from Sinai, 

Hit me with those Tablets...

Burn away my sin

Where is the ark of your covenant, Mountain Man?

You were drawn from the Nile 

and I foamed up from the sea

So...

Come down on me

You smell like the sun & you taste like the wind

Be the source, the supply & the drink I swim in

Quench me

You have drained the oceans with your thirst for knowledge

Let me soak you up like the nymph sponge that I am...

Let me wash in your torrents

Set my cycle to spin

YOU are the lightning that licks me 
with his Ra tongue...
I don't care if all my free radicals are damaged

Go ahead
Put your phasers on stun

But please...

Come down on me... 

Like magma from those mountains of madness, 

Spew on me, Erebus

Scorch me

Like the meteor that kisses the willing earth 

Mark your path as it passes through dimensions of my mythical time...

Whisper your name in my ear

Make the profane sublime

Come down on me.
Come down on me.....

And Another Day Dies...

Fireworks burst in bluest clime

The last glowing embers 

of the light shrieks 

Day's tenacious 

hold on life

Jealous Night slays the dragon 

of Hyperion's desire

leaving bloody trails of 

evidence

in Sky's crimson tide

Hot slashes tearing deep 

in tender places

reflect in cool Neptunes's 

tear-filled eyes

and He tries to 

lick the wounds

but never reaches

So another Day 

in deep despair

slowly dies.

And Another Day Dies

C.C. | Myspace Video

Photo is the view from my living room

It's The End Of The World As WE Know It!

Cimex lectularius suckmydicktus

Since time immemorial these creatures of the night have wrought havoc upon all who have the misfortune to cross their bloody paths. Creating bedlam and chaos wherever they go.

Merciless,

these bloodthirsty motherfuckers feast hungrily upon the innocent.

Cunning sonofabitches that they are, they choose the hours just before dawn to wage their vicious attacks against humanity because, as I'm sure you don't need me to tell you, my loves, people are most vulnerable deep in their R.E.M. sleep, when our limbic brains are in full throttle inhibiting the release of certain neurotransmitters. This causes a kind of physical fucktitude called REM Atonia.

And no, my smartass reader, REM Atonia has nothing to do with the fact REM's Michael Stipe bears a striking resemblance to Puck a known morning wood fairy that Shakespeare invented for shits & giggles one night when he was tying one on at Ye Olde Taverne after enjoying a bit of morning lumber himself during a particularly kickass Midsummer's Night Dream.

(Michael Stipe = Morning Wood Fairy? Maybe....) 

 

(You gotta admit there is a little resemblance between Puck and Michael Stipe)

BUT I digress...

REM Atonia is a state in which the motor neurons are not stimulated and thus the body's muscles do not move.... PERFECT state of paralysis. Your heart beat & breathing rate are erratic. Your body temperature cannot be regulated, yet oddly enough THIS is when you are getting busy with the morning wood fairies.

During REM Atonia, both men & women experience erections.

For women, the clitoris becomes engorged NCT (Nocturnal Clitoral Tumescence). There's increased vaginal blood flow, too.

Men, of course, experience NPT ( Nocturnal Penile Tumescence) charmingly called a woody or morning wood. Hell, there's even a website dedicated to this physical phenomenon, I kid you not! It is called awkwardboners.com.

Here is an example of their splendid offerings:

We at the Closed Captioned For the Thinking Impaired do NOT recommend playing Whack-A-Mole with your friend's boner, lest morning glory turn into dick of fury

This phenomenon was also a famous philosophical treatise done by the one & only Beavis & Butthead in their groundbreaking episode, Morning Wood Fairy:

Now during the night, men & women can experience these erections anywhere from 1 to 3-1/2 hours...

THAT is when these scourges of the insect world strike!! Often time, leaving their hapless prey ravaged in their most intimate body parts. Now these hell-spawned vermin love nothing more than a fully engorged bit of flesh. It's like a ribeye, buttery mashed potatoes, creamed spinach & bottle of Chateau Lafite all rolled into one..

It's no accident that they choose the morning-wooded hours for their missions of mayhem. Nope those bloodsuckers KNOW that's when all your tasty bits are at their ripest!

Their preferred habitat is YOUR mattress, but they'll happily settle for your sofa, your throw pillows, & even your underwear drawer. They have a particular fondness for Victoria Secrets underwear models, but who doesn't? They love bedframes, nearby furniture, carpeting, baseboards, inner walls, tiny wood holes, or bedroom clutter. Basically anywhere you can stand, sit or shit....

Let's face it, we are all fucked... they can get at us from anywhere. They have the means, the tenacity & the technology. They practically shut down NYC in 2004! So heinous were their attacks that an act of war against them was called for by Congress, but, we KNOW how well that shit will pan out, don't we...

As all good world weary New Yorkers say.... FUGGETABOUTIT!!!

So deeply ingrained is the fear and knowledge of these bloodsucking sons of unmarried mothers that small children learn early on that they have no choice but to beg the mercy of whatever invisible divine being du jour they believe in to help them live through the night....

(See illustration below for depiction of these tragic circumstances)

Heartbreaking, isn't it?

Poor hapless child....

Sleep tight, kid!

*SIGH*

Now we got all kinds of gods whose ass we could kiss:

Some have unusual places of worship:

Interesting Holiday Customs:

But one thing all of these deities of delight have in common is

that cannot do jackshit about Cimex lectularius suckmydicktus!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG...... EWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!

Hell, we are only kidding ourselves by praying for any divine intervention.

Let's face it these demented deities CREATED these pests to fuck with us!!

Nothing gives an almighty asshat a bigger chuckle than watching you try to scratch your testicular sac "discreetly" in front of your fuckwit boss or Mothra-looking mother-in-law!!!

These creepy crawly bastards travel easily and quickly along pipes and boards, and their bodies are very flat, which allows them to hide in tiny crevices. In the daytime, they tend to stay out of the light, preferring to remain hidden in such places as mattress seams, mattress interiors.

Cimex Suckmydicktus can be found on their own, but they are party animals & more often go about like marauding bandits in a Sergio Leone flick, so they congregate in groups and gang bang you with their amazingly efficient & hairy " suckers".

They are capable of traveling as far as 100 feet to feed (meaning you) but usually remain close to your ass in bedrooms or on sofas where you may sleep after you piss your husband off by spending all night MySpacing or something...

The University of Kentucky collected "wild" bugs from all over the United States & in their study drew the conclusion that basically we're screwed! The ones out in the "wild" aka as your bed are several THOUSANDS times more resistant to insecticides than "laboratory" bugs.

No shit, Sherlocks!!!

SO WHAT??

So, there is nothing to do but suffer!!

Seriously... short of detonating a nuclear bomb which might have quite a bit of "collateral" damage to general population, all know remedies are just palliatives, temporary band-aids...

The truth is those fucktacular feasting beasties are going to take over the planet one bedroom at a time!!!

They are plotting, planning, devising their eventual domination of the world!!!!

They are patient, too.

They have all the time in the universe.

WE ARE DOOMED!!!

Armageddon

Your yearnings...
They call to me..
from a distant past
to an uncertain future...

Echo Echo Echo
In the ancient forests & dense thicketed mangroves
that lead to the chambers of an illusory time.

All those
 dreams... sweet dreams...

Ballasts of hope
sailing over the high seas

I feel you like tenterhooks
on the fraying fabric of my lusty memories
Fastened tight
In my brain
In my veins
Pulling & pulling...
Until you yank the heart right out of me

It flies to you hapless & willing
On butterfly wings
Firefly lit & milky moon soaked
Dripping with desire

Your words devour my soul whole
Swirling it like drams of brandied madness
all over that silvery palate of yours

You don't even have to chew
because I melt as soon as I hit your tongue
And dissolve on it like one of those rock candies
That burst with a

POP
&

There goes the weasel, Daddy

Can you taste me?

I'm not bad
I'm just drawn that way
And so are you...

Your words should be scribed into hieroglyphics
on the immortal walls of forever;
Chanted by warrior angels ready to do battle
With the wicked mindfuckery
That pervades a witless Pavlovian society,

but I really don't care about that 
Not right now...
Fuck the world

I'd tattoo them,
They...
Those...

The things you wield as weaponry 
Yes...
Your words

Allover my body

Cover me with your sinew & spew.
 I offer myself as living art
Dedicated to the glory of you

Burn into me
Brand me with your need
Color me crazy
Paint me pretty

I throw down my shield, lift up my veil
and invite you in...
How high are you willing to climb?
The rungs to my ladder lead all the way up to heaven.

What are you waiting for, Trojan Man?
Armageddon?
C'mon... CHARGE!!!
Let the games begin...

Everybody Hurts.... Sometimes

I originally posted this July 2008 on MySpace.
But this is a time of the year where so many may feel need to read this...


Anguish.

Sorrow.

Loss.

Pain.

They seem like the constant companions of love, don't they?

Sometimes it could be because you have lost someone that was integral to your life.

A horrible accident.
A terrible revelation.
An unpardonable sin.

You've lost your right arm & your heart, in one fell swoop.

Sometimes it happens slowly, like Chinese torture...

drip...
drip...
drip...

All the life, the love, the laughter, the candy-kissed sweetness slowly fades to black and you're left in an empty theater with stale cold popcorn on your lap & a flat warm diet coke in your hand.

You have to discard them.
You know you can't eat them anymore.

They have no flavor.
Satisfy no hunger, no thirst.
You taste it before the final toss & it saddens you... the finality.

The End.

It is a devastation that few could overcome philosophically, mentally or physically.
We cry, we hurt. We tremble with a cold that seeps deeply into every membrane, every corpuscle, as though someone has drained all the blood out of our body and replaced it with freon.

We know the drill, we hear the platitudes.
If not from without, from our friends & family
 then certainly from within...
Who hasn't read the pop psychology that pervades our culture?

Who doesn't hear the sweet voiced angel we all have inside encourage us, regale us with whispered enchantments, magic words 
that remind us "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger?"

But sometimes, we tell that voice to fuck off.

We're not ready to handle the bright shiny light.
It hurts our eyes.

We need to sit in that dark room, with the pillow over our heads, swaddled in our comforter, fist clamped in mouth and listen to Mazzy Star.

Until... suddenly.... we don't.

We're all cried out.

Finito.

No more tears...




We look around, yank off the covers, pull up the blinds, open the window & allow the grace of Nature to enter our dark place. Whenever my grandmother opened a window in our apartment in the projects, she would push the window up high & practically sing these words out, "Que entra la Gracia de Dios!" Let the Grace of God enter. She said it every day with every window she opened.

At first, the light is blinding, painful... we grimace, cover our eyes and resist but man was made to be a marvelously adaptable and resilient creature. Our eyes adjust to the bright again. Then, we allow that breeze to blow through our hair, caress our cheeks, embrace our souls.

It feels so damn good.

Still alone but alive.
Alive.
A Live...

Truer, better, fitter, readier for the next evolution in love & life.
If we choose to go on, we must do it as blithely as we can & not be defined by our circumstances but instead somehow enriched by them.

It's the only way to live.



Yes, there are those whose obligations to love us unconditionally are failed to be met by them for their own reasons. For instance, the damage done to children's psyches because of that lapse of maternal or paternal love can make a person eternally cynical, damaged. 


It can leave a big flaw in the diamond, an imperceptible hairline crack in the Golden Bowl (Thank you, Henry James).

The healing is ultimately a choice.

Some of us like to wear our scars as badges of honor, picking at them, showing the battle wounds to others every chance we get. Never allowing them to heal... because we have decided to allow those scars to define us.

We need them to fill a void or to avoid what we think will be further damage. 


Not all hurt is raw.

It just starts out that way.
If you give them enough air over time the scabs & scar tissue forms & it isn't as raw anymore. It's just dead tissue. 



Sometimes, though, as we pick at that scab, we can cause it to bleed again & then it becomes raw once more. 
We don't let it heal. The cycle of pain is renewed.



But when we allow ourselves to heal...

No more raw wound.
Just a couple of battle scars.
Scars are good.
It's tough skin... a scar is.

Not as resilient as unscarred tissue but much stronger.
As long as it's just a couple of scars, you should be able to bend and flex with the best of them.

My wounds came very early in life. Those scars have all but vanished.

Just a few faint marks left that I occasionally like to slowly trace over and over with my fingers to really feel that rough skin & know that it is my symbol of surviving what was once a raw bloody gash.

To know that I can take the pain & transcend it!


Fear.

Fear prevents us from putting balm on those bruises.
The fear of being bruised again, hurt again, sustaining further more extensive damage. 



What some of us fail to notice, though, is the more you fear a thing the more likely you turn that fear into a self-fullfilling prophecy. 



Now you're on the perpetual merry-go-round, cycle after cycle, recycling the same ride because it is oddly comforting in its familiarity even as you are sucked into its vortex of misery.
We seek the familiar.
Why?

Fear of the unknown.
Even if that unknown thing may ultimately be our salvation. 



Silly gits.

When will we learn?



When we get tired of being dizzy and nauseous from going round and round on that painted horse & realize that there's more to the world than our little pains.
 When we finally realize through Providence or electroshock treatments, or just some sweet dream from our guardian angels, that enough is enough and we want to feel whole, integral, happy!



When we realize that life is shorter than you think. 

In less than one hundred millionth of the bat of the galaxial eye, your life & the lives of all around you will be over.





Do you really want to spend it all feeling like shit?


When you can finally ask yourself THAT question, you are well on your way to being healed!



The world is still a glorious place.

Sure there's plenty of mud lurking in boggy corners of it & sometimes you'll get the hem of your pants sullied with it.
But, hey, you can wash 'em.
No need to burn them.

They can be your "walking in the mud pants".
We all have them hanging in our closet.

Wear them when we need to get down & dirty.
Wear them when we need to clean house.
When we don't want to ruin our "good" clothes.

Funny, I know I should feel like an inmate to an asylum with all that I've experienced in my life. But I never have.
That's not a credit to me.

Not at all.

I think I was born with permanently implanted rose-colored lenses.

That ability to paint the dark in rosy hues after acknowledging that it is dark.
Not before.

Denial is fool's gold.
I will not play the fool.
Not even for my own sake.

I feel the pain, the hurt, the sorrow, the doubts, the insecurities but I think it's okay.

I've always been okay with that.
Those feelings of angst.
I embrace them. I've never felt imprisoned by them.

They are a part of my humanity.
I love life.
I love all that it entails.
I love living it.
My way.

It may not be your way or anybody else's way.
It's the only entitlement I've ever felt.
The right to live and love the things of my choosing, so long as I do no harm to anyone else or myself. As long as I don't impose my views, valid though they are to me, on others.

It's my choice.
Aren't we fortunate to have one?

Discernment and judgment are good gardening tools as long as the soil they are used in is fecund. That soil must be enriched with the many nourishing minerals of a life well-experienced, otherwise, you'd be planting ideas that can never grow.

C.C. says wear those "mud pants" when you do work in that garden of good and evil. That's what you keep them for...

It feels too good not to...


Speaking of feeling good, give yourself another little treat today and play R.E.M.'s amazingly poignant video, "Everybody Hurts"... I dare you! :P