So I am on this airplane.   I hate flying, but, as my destination would take me 20 years to walk, well, I had no choice.  I had to use fake documents to get on the plane because I am a wanted man.

So I am bullshitting with one of the stewardesses trying to get into her pants.  Why I want to get into her pants is a mystery, because they are at least two sizes larger than I wear.  And, for whatever reason, I make up this story how I was a fighter pilot during the Persian Gulf War.

“What kind of plane did you fly?”

Not having a clue, I respond with the first thing that popped into my head,

“Ehh…one of those real fast ones.”

She gets up and walks away and I silently curse myself and make a mental note not to tell stories in which I have no idea what I’m talking about.

I’m bored and start looking around for someone’s balls to break. I am a master ball breaker;   I am infamous far and wide for this daunting ability. There is this older woman next to me, actually she was probably 15 years younger but everyone is older than I,. even 15 year olds.  Can’t do that to her.

So I’m looking around and spot this boy who looks about 8 or 9 and this story pops into my head about the wing eating monsters that just happen to live in this area of sky.  And it might be a good idea if he kept watch on the left wing and I will do the same on the right wing.   Just in case they appear.  Shit! Can’t do that either; besides, his Mom looked like she could kick my ass; the last thing I need in my pathetic existence is to lose a fight to a woman.

I am compelled to amuse myself; which is bad news, because it only gets me into trouble.   I start thinking about mass murderers, not the John Wayne Gacy, Ted Bundy types but the Crème de La Crème of mass murderers Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot.  So I zero in on Pol Pot and wondered how does a monster (no way a man) wake up one morning and decide to empty all the cities in Cambodia in order to create a Utopian agrarian society.  Did the idea just pop into his head or was it something he was working on over the years?  Sorta like his doctorate thesis coming together?

I read Thomas More’s Utopia and quite sure it didn’t include killing over two million people.  Besides, the arm strength alone required to off so many people is a Herculean feat in itself.  Back when I was killing a whole bunch of people the highest I got up to was between 150/175  and I had to take a few days off.

All of a sudden “whoosh” the plane drops about one thousand feet in less then a second.  It starts veering left then right and everyone is screaming “We’re going to die!”  That always pisses me off because you are going to die the question becomes will it be now!  I got to hand it to men they are not screamers, woman on the other hand can scream at the drop of a hat,  Shit, they scream when they get engaged.

The stewardess  is giving her fake “everything is cool” smile and makes her ways to the cabin, knocks on the door and enters.  She comes out five seconds later and her face is white as a ghost and her eyes are the size of silver dollars.  Shock, I recognize it immediately.  She makes a Bee line to me and since she is in shock, she thinks she is whispering but she is actually screaming into my ear, “THE PILOTS ARE DEAD, THERE IS NO ONE TO FLY THE PLANE, CAN YOU?” The women start screaming again.

I’m annoyed and wondering why she is laying this hubris on me.  Then I remember  that stupid fighter pilot story.  I look around the plane and all eyes are on me.  I feel like breaking out into laughter and saying “you friggers are dead, man”  But the little boy’s eyes catch mine and it breaks my heart.  So, I mentally sigh and stand up and address the people.

Now, being a hero is totally alien to my character.   I hate it, it’s not me.  Absurdly, I recall the deep sea fishing trip I was on some years back, rough seas and three quarter of my buds have their heads over the side vomiting uncontrollably.  What do I do?  Of course I and another bud look at each other and we start cutting the heads off some fishes, stick them in our mouths and shove our faces in front of our dying, vomiting friends.  That is who I am.

Shit!  “Fear not fellow sojourners, I shall take the helm of this winged chariot and guide us safely back to mother Gaia’s arms.”  Not a bad speech, however, the entire plane starts screaming even the men this time and I recognize my mistake.  “What I mean is that I was a fighter pilot and I can fly this sucker.”   The people break into cheers.  They start slapping me on the back as I head towards the cockpit.  I have an annoyed fake smile on my face but I am doing it for the kid and I figure false hope is better then no hope at all.

I enter the cockpit and Wow!!!  Blood everywhere!  I look around for Freddy Kruger, Michael Meyers or that Jason dude.  Such horror!  The stewardess hands me a note.  My head wraps around absurdity fairly easily, it defines my existence.  This was tough.  Apparently the pilot and co-pilot were homosexual lovers who decided to execute a mutual suicide pack.  Of course, airport security being what it is, they couldn’t bring sharp weapons on board; so they pecked themselves to death with those toothpicks with the cheap umbrellas on it.  The kind you pay $30.00 a drink for in the islands.  Who could make this up?

I am torn between admiration and sheer horror.  I estimate it took between 10,000 and 15,000 pecks to produce this much damage.  They had to be at it for at least three hours.  I shuttered.  I’m not anti-suicide, it is a personal decision, however, went you involve one hundred and seventy five other people, well, it is beyond rude,  I grab the bodies and toss them aside.  I sit down at the nearest seat.  “Don’t you think you should sit at the captain’s seat?”  I look at the stewardess like she has two heads.  “Can you really bring us safely home?”

She is annoying me so I tell her the truth.  “I know I can bring us down, it is the safely part that I am not feeling warm and fuzzy about.”  She faints and drops like a sack of potatoes.  Good Riddance! She was a pain in the ass.

I sit down at the captain’s seat and survey the instrument panel.  I do not panic in emergencies, I am serious.  I guess my life has been one emergency after another.  Certain death?  Been there!

So I figure if two assholes that peck themselves to death with umbrella toothpicks can fly, why can’t  I..  I curse engineers because there are entirely two many switches and gages on the panel.  Should be only about six, take off, fly and land and a couple gages for wind speed and altitude but that is it..

Stupidly I think about the Oddpoet theorem,  which states that everyone is an asshole, it is just a matter of degree.  The so called professional types, the engineers, doctors, lawyers, judges?  I have absolutely no respect for them.  Why people hold them with such regard is a mystery to me.

The airplane is veering right and then left so I try to get it somewhat straight careful not to overcompensate.  Dam, it worked.  We are flying more than less true. I spot some headphones and say cool!  Catch some tunes , maybe some W.I.M. or “The End” by the doors, appropriate!  I hear panicked voices on the other end.  A radio!  Shit,  things are looking up.

I do not know airplane radio speak but I do know a smattering of that redneck, CB talk which was the craze in the 1970’s.  So I say what I know.  “Breaker, breaker, one nine,  what’s your twenty?  Ten-four good buddy, I’m laying the hammer down.”

I hear on the other end.

“Who is this asshole!

Normally I would skewer the frig but I have bigger fish to fry.

‘This is the asshole sitting in the captains chair, dick!”

“What happened to the pilots?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Terrorist attack?”

“Technically no, looks like a mutual suicide”

“That is rude!”

“No shit!”

“Do you have any flying experience?”

“I did have the Microsoft flight simulator but I threw it out the windows after I crashed on takeoff sixty consecutive times.”

“This is not good.”

“Listen, is there an auto-pilot here I am trying to stabilize the plane.”

“Yea, hold on.”

I can hear muffled voices on the other end of the radio.

“Okay, it is on the left hand side, halfway down the panel.”

I’m looking all over and I can’t find the sucker.

“Can’t find the frigger, how is it labeled?”

More muffled voices…

“It is labeled CPZ271.”

Of course!

I find it and flip the sucker,  Sure enough, I hear a hissing sound to my left and a blowup doll inflates in the co-pilot’s chair.

“You got to be shitting me.”  I lose it for a few seconds.

“Yea, just like the movie.”

The plane stabilizes and he walks me through punching some co-ordinates for the location of the nearest airport.

The plane accelerates briefly and executes a turn. Shit this is cake.  Okay,

“The auto pilot has this under control I’m going to get drunk.”

It was rhetorical, but I heard an “Ehhh” on the other end.  I wasn’t in the mood for an Ehhh…


“The auto pilot can not land the plane, it has to be done manually.”

I’m having a real bad day and it’s getting worse.

“Are you friggin kidding me?”

“Don’t you feel that landing is the single most important aspect of this flying business.”

I’m really pissed.

“Otherwise, why don’t we just tie rockets to our asses and hope for the best!”

“We’re working on that.”  Was the sheepish reply.

Then the radio went out.

Sometimes you just have to hang it up.  It’s simply goodnight Irene time.  I slam the headphones to the deck,   Dickweed wakes up from her faint.

“Where are we?”

I look at her in disgust and tell her to fetch me as many bottles of vodka she can get her hands on.


I give her the look and she hurries out the cabin and returns with a handful of those small airplane bottles.  I down three of them and I light a cigarette and put my feet up on the console.  I’m going out with attitude; styling to the very end.

“You can’t smoke here!”

“As your captain I hereby suspend all rules and regulations, do you want to have sex?”

I can see the dumb bitch was actually thinking about it.

Could have been the vodka and the cigarette but I start rooting around the cabin for some book or checklist.  I find a weather report and briefly think about making an announcement, “This is your captain, it will be sunny and 79 degrees in Los Angeles when we meet are fiery deaths, drinks are on the house.”  I try the radio set and again…nothing.

And then… there it was, under the flight panel,  protruding slightly, “flying for dummies”

I ignored the ramifications of such a book on an airplane.

I will not bore you with the details but with the help of the book I was able to get us within striking distance of the airport.  I could smell blood.  I said goodbye to the auto pilot, and lower the flaps and landing gear. Too fast., I decreased speed and brought us lower, inching closer to that sacred place called earth.  The things we take for granted,  walking along a beach so simple yet,  how sweet it seemed now.

I could see the earth about 40 feet below.  Too fast!  It was balls to the wall time.  I cut the power completely, we drop and bounce up, down, up.  Each impact accompanied by the screams from the passenger section.  Frig them!  We finally stay on the ground.  But, I am struggling to keep the sucker from veering off the runway.  I hit the reverse thrust, the only switch properly labeled.  The engines roared to life and we come to a stop.

I allow my self a brief self satisfied smile and reminded myself what a bad ass Mo Fo I am.  I hear the screams of joy from the cabin and I’m glad the boy will live another day.  The rest?  They will die in their own time.

“We did it! We did it!”  Dickweed is alternating between hugging me and doing that stupid survivor dance people do when they escape certain death.

I stared at her in amazement.  “Yea, we did.”

“At the press conference I will make sure you get credit for what you did.”

“Very kind of you Hon, you were an inspiration throughout the crises.”

“You really think so?”

“No, but let’s make like sheep and get the flock out of here.”

I had to rip her makeup thingy out of her hands and push her out the cockpit..  And people wonder why I hate people.

I open another bottle and down it.  I lit another  smoke and took four deep hits., died it out, put my baseball cap on, aviator shades, grabbed my carry on and I split..

It wasn’t hard to get lost in all the confusion.  I was a wanted man.  I couldn’t afford  to be congratulated just before they threw me in the joint.  I got out of the airport and took a cab to a seedy section of town,   A place where the wanted and unwanted  live.  Home! I found a cheap motel and got a room.

I broke into the liquor cabinet, it didn’t matter, I wasn’t paying for it anyway.  I was no longer who I use to be.  I was a series of fake id’s and stolen credit cards.  If I wanted something I took it!  Only assholes asked, the law taught me that.

I took a drink and lit a smoke and I planned my next bank job.


To be continued
































































Draconian Laws regarding underage drinking

What’s up with that?  It’s time for our culture to wake up and smell the empty beer cans!  We are denying our precious youths the experience necessary to become functioning adults. Alcohol is the social lubricant that drives the business world; if we deny them this how can they succeed in obtaining boring, tedious jobs which they will regret for the rest of their pathetic existence?  Wake up America!

Now I am not advocating unrestricted access to alcohol I suggest the age of ten be the cut off age.  Children under ten can stick to marijuana or prescription medication.  Let’s face it nine year olds are sloppy drunks anyway, who needs that!

My proposal is a win, win situation.  The faltering economy receives a much needed injection of cash and the kids get to enjoy the benefits of alcohol abuse.  The advantages are as follows:

Alcohol lowers inhibitions allowing our teenagers to enjoy promiscuous sex.  How else can our  children engage in the joys of unrestricted sex?  Please, think of the kids.

  1. If we allow our children to legally obtain alcohol it will stop the high price of adult drugs like Cocaine, Oxycontin, Percocet and various other legal drugs.  Let’s face it, teenagers competing for legal street drugs has really hurt my pocketbook and probably yours.
  2. A drunk teenager is easier to discipline than a non-drunk.  The little fuckers are quick.  When I beat the shit out of my kids they are much easier to catch and wail on than those not drinking.
  3. And finally it just makes sense.  Let’s face it driving them around to band practice, soccer games and boy scouts is a pain in the ass.  Isn’t it better to have them passed out drunk on the floor?  You know where they are, they are out of your hair and to don’t have to talk to the little dick weeds.

Now I am sure there are some goody two shoes out there that would make the argument about health effects and social implications of alcohol abuse; but the benefits far outweigh the potential harm.

Sure there will be cases of cirrhosis, venereal disease, impaired judgment and academic failure.  I submit that the paltry few who would suffer these ills are destined to face them when they mature into adults.  Isn’t it better to know your child is a worthless drunk promiscuous piece of shit now instead of later?

Come on let’s do it for the kids help support my legislative efforts in this important matter.

Respectfully submitted.

Eddie Mount






I will get through this piece without a single F bomb just to prove to you I can do it.

I will use frig, ass, shit but that will be it, so the “sensitive members” of my reading public will not be offended.


As a species, the human race has an overwhelming desire to acquire knowledge; it is hard wired in us.  We have to Know!!!  Many of you might define Epistemology in a different form, please don’t, I will kick your ass.


A case in point “Moi” I am not special or unique in any way, shape or form.  I use to think I was; but that point was brought home recently when I was “shall we say, away” ~laughing~.  This Dude, I did not know and who did not know me, was giving a lecture. Anyway, he nails me to a board much like an Entomologist would pin a butterfly.  Almost killed the bastard!  The point is as much as we like to think we are unique we are not!!!  We are basically all the same with slight variations.  The variations I have are a boundless passion, an insatiable curiosity and a natural ability to break balls.


I do not say this to blow my own horn but to elucidate.  As a result of a family tragedy I started a lifelong passionate pursuit of knowledge.  It started with Herman Hess, the first “hard core” dude I read.  Now I was only twelve or thirteen at the time so I did not understand a thing he said.  I had to have a dictionary next to me which I had to use 15 times a page.   I did it; most people use “context” to understand a word I HAD to know.  So from Hess I moved to Camus, Sartre, Kierkegaard, I needed the dictionary less and less because I began to understand.  From there I moved to History of the Punic wars, Julius Caesar, Churchill’s History of the British Isles, Einstein, particle physics, quantum mechanics, DNA replication, RNA transcription.  I’m bored but almost done.  As an experiment try reading a 10 page piece on RNA transcription, Try it!  Not easy.  I buy a bird feeder; look out the window, “Hmmm what kind of Bird is that?”  “Look, it is in the tree”  Mowing the lawn, “what kind of weed is that?”  SOOO Have to buy the Audubon field guide for birds, trees, and wild flowers in North America! Point being, WE HAVE TO KNOW!  I am no different; I represent you, only a tad more passionate.


When in my first college I started a movement to get the friggen business majors thrown out of the school.  I wanted the whole business program removed.  If you want to be a corporate whore go to a corporation and do it there, do not taint this place of higher education with your foul whore like business practices.  I felt strongly about it and I friggen meant it.  I got thrown out of that college.  Oh Well.


When the State gets involved with the acquisition of knowledge we are frigged.  It is usually to find better ways to kill each other.  We are never satisfied; we need bigger and more effective ways of doing it.  It is what we do best!  Started with sticks, stones, swords, catapults, guns, artillery, mustard gas, germ warfare right up to what I call the big firecracker: The Atomic bomb.  Even medical advances were fueled by warfare.  The object of war is to kill more of them than they kill of us.  So, we had to save as many of our guys as we could, not because we care, only because we want to win.


The big firecracker.   Robert Oppenheimer is credited with being the “father of the atomic bomb” He only ran the Manhattan project, which developed it.  The Knowledge required was cumulative, sort of like “dialectic(s)” I’ll bastardize it with: thesis, antithesis and synthesis.  This is an idea, a counter idea and new knowledge as a result of the argument.  This shit goes on and on and that is how knowledge grows.


Back to the firecracker.  Einstein and several other scientist wrote to President Roosevelt about how the Germans were building a really, really big firecracker.  So Roosevelt says” “How big?”  “Well big enough to destroy a city.”  Roosevelt replies: “we GOTTA get one of them!”  Oppenheimer heads the project and the bomb is developed.  During the initial “Trinity test” (irony?)  He is purported to have said, “If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky, that would be like the splendor of the mighty one. Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”  Proud of that one aren’t you Bob.

Always wanted to send him a happy father’s day card during the anniversaries of the dropping of the bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Well I am, as I told you, a real ball breaker.


One last point on the big firecracker.  We are so figged up as a species that we recently developed a “Neutron Bomb” Kills all the people but does less damage to the real estate.  We are a practical lot.


The Famous Shaman Crowbeak, world renowned mystic and metaphysical purveyor of absolute wisdom.  Well what people do not know was that Crowbeak was walking around eating magic mushrooms like he was popping tic-tacs!  He was so spaced out he would stagger around saying shit like “When leaf falls from tree and touched mother earth, gravity is thus proven.”  Someone overhears him and says, “What did he just say? Sounded pretty deep.”  Then, “When caterpillar eats leaves off tree, tree dies, and then tree knows it was alive.”  Pretty soon you have a friggen horde of people following him around smacking there foreheads saying, “this guy is brilliant”  people are writing his shit down yelling “get me more paper”  Point being, even if something does not make sense the human mind will wrap itself around it and force it to make sense.


Rhetoric, which means I know more shit about a subject than you do.  I am/was very good at this because I had a secrete weapon” The Distinguished Professor Wilhelm Von Schwimm.”  Well he did not exist; I made him up, but would often call upon his expertise on whatever subject matter I was debating to prove what point I needed to prove.  “Well according to the Distinguished Professor Wilhelm Von Schwimm Bla…Bla…bla…”

Well, point here is people do not like to think they don’t know something or somebody and will accept what you tell them because they do not want to look stupid.  Try it.


Hang in there almost done.


Socrates! My main man!  Developed the Socratic Method.  You can read a whole bunch of bullshit on this if you want but I can sum it up in two sentences and a quote.  In fact Socrates whole life! Not many people can do shit like that, well I am the Poet! Here goes:

  1. People don’t know shit.
  2. When forced to talk long enough they will prove they don’t know shit.

I will need to call on Oscar Wilde for the quote, “Oscar if you would, please.”

“When you want to tell someone the truth make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you.”

“Thanks Oscar, you can go back to the grave now.”


That is basically it.  And they killed Socrates because he was a ball breaker and he did not make them laugh.  For example:

A bunch of Athenians are in the Parthenon talking about the latest play ‘Dancing with the Nymphs” (And you thought ours was the only vapid culture? No, Vapidity has been around for a long, long time.) “I believe Themistocles dance with Nymph Amalthea was superior.”…”No dear Duceanees Lato and the nymph Arethusa were much better.”  Well in walks Socrates and the whole Parthenon rolls their collective eyes up to the sky and say, “Oh shit, here comes that ball breaker.”  “He would ask well what do you mean by better?” Duceanees would say “I mean superior…. ”  Well pretty soon Socrates would have Duceanees throwing his arms up in the air saying, “Alright I don’t friggin know leave me the frig alone!”  Well they killed him!  Bastards.


What does all this mean? (God I love when I say shit like that)  Well we have come full circle, right back to the Existentialists: Nothing, life is absurd.

One last point and I am done.  I am a Negative Empath, meaning I feel pain and sadness with an intensity that would shrivel your soul.  I had to turn off my emotions because I could not take it any more.


Twenty Five years ago a young Father was driving down interstate 95 with his two young sons in the back seat, it’s Christmas eve, and they are singing Jingle Bells and Joy to the World and all of sudden an asshole in a pickup truck with the tailgate down and a large unsecured motor in it, hits a bump, motor flies out, goes through windshield and decapitates young Father (giving credence to the theory that no two objects can occupy the same space at the same time) A miracle the two young ones survived.  YES! Life is absurd.


Can never, never get that out of my head it is burned in there and I still cry when I think of it. (Yes, I recently turned on the old empathy spigot and I cry all day long)


Here it is:

  1. We have to know shit.
  2. Killing each other is a large motivational factor in the knowing of shit.
  3. Even if we don’t know shit we will force ourselves to know shit
  4. No one wants to admit they don’t know shit
  5. When push comes to shove no one knows shit
  6. What is the difference because life is absurd.


Well all wrapped up in a nice package, not bad, even if I say so.

Life is absurd, however find your own meanings, make it moral, be good to one another and choose your own God or higher power and believe.  Else, I will be forced to come to your fucking house and pull a Socrates on you fucking ass.


Yea, I lied about the F bombs.


I remain, never humbly,

The Oddest of Poets






I write in obscurity

Sometimes with blood

Most times

With cheap rack bought pens

Forging forgettable words

Shared with things to do lists

With doodles

With calendar entries

Ignoring the next cancer doctor appointment

Or Johnnies’ next shrink appointment

Little Johnnie spends too much time dreaming

Can’t have that

Not properly socialized they say


Everyone is eventually forgotten

The green leaf that sings in spring

Withers and dies in autumn

Can you stop the wheel of time from turn­ing?
The sea­sons march inex­orably onward
New­ton­ian laws
That can not be unplugged

Life crashes on

Like waves slamming a beach

Taking grains of sand to some distant place

Forming islands

Only the Sun can see

It’s a mystery I can never pierce


We are all grains of sand

Whose destination is determined by an uncaring wind


We all pose when the camera freezes time

Our self portraits are pure deceit

Wearing makeup scoured from the clay of the earth

With smiles that give lie to our lives


Our lives are but plays

Scripted by men in suits

Who wear faceless smiles

Priesting altars of greed


The marionette strings are visible

If you look hard enough


I knock on the door of dreams

Its steps littered with

The bloodied bones of suicides

No one cares to hear them scream

Their mouths stuffed full with insurance circulars

They leave

Only claw marks made with desperate intent

They form no words

Only howls of pain gouged in wood


Tis a holy place

You can see it pulsing in the darkness

The last magik of this world

I stand guard at its portal

I wonder if those obscure words go somewhere

Have a home







My Butterfly

I sit in my garden why I don’t know

For it is steeped in blankets of new fallen snow.

Naked trees clothed in sheets of ice

The landscape is beauty filled with sunlight and white.

Winter doth grips my heart so

The tears and the sadness from my soul flow.

But the beauty and promise.

That soon… my sweet butterfly will show…

I am not given to speaking words that are sweet

I am blacker than madness from the demons I meet.

The battles that rage alone that I fight,

There is no moon in the darkness of my night.

It is beauty and love that I do indeed seek…

Where is my butterfly? So humble…so meek.

Winter unclenches its furious grip

It is sweet spring from whose cup I now sip

Fervently I wish from the seeds that I sow,

Soon…yes soon my sweet butterfly will show.

I patiently wait alone in my chair

My garden has grown at which now I do stare

The flowers they bloom, through love and my care

But where is my butterfly? so pretty so fair.

Her gossamer wings alight on my plants,

My heart races to a beat that enchants.

I am stricken by madness, with a heart that so yearns

My beautiful Butterfly indeed has returned.

You can not touch beauty; it is but a wisp of smoke

Clutch as you may tis but a dream you invoke

It can only be seen and loved from afar

Alas…..if I could… share the words that we spoke.

I watch in sweet bliss as she does her dance

Hopping from flower, from flower to plant

I smile and nod as her beauty unfolds

Ahhh the story of love that she told.

The trees cry leaves which tumble to the ground

With a wistful, wishful, whispering sound.

Autumn has come it cannot be denied

The green of the grass cries as it dies

The seasons impose their will upon all.

My eyes which do tear

And a heart that does yearn

That my sweet, sweet, butterfly will someday return.

Devil Wind

The devil wind blew through town all cool and shit like a Sinatra tune

Snapping fingers and jazz ass jive

Saturnalia wildness on the street

People wanting their share

Of the cool

Of smooth moves

Of three car garages

And trophy wives


Drunken women with too much makeup

Who laugh too hard

And too easy

Forcing swollen feet Into glass slippers

Needing the hum Of electric Princes

Amped on Meth

Promising kingdoms of plated fool’s gold


Everyone felt that cool breeze

The fools became wise spewing half remembered lies


The cigarette smoke haze played like heavenly mist

We all pretended our lives were real

We danced in that clouds of nicotine

To the syncopated beat of Devil Wind induced madness

For some There was no passion in the script

We couldn’t pretend anymore

The band never gave up pretending

Throwing trills our way

Wearing shades in the dead of night always laughing at the joke we never got.


Our fake smiles hurt our faces

It was the plague Disguised as cool

Death masked as glory

The chill of the grave

We began to die

Musicians were the first to go

We had little time left We wanted to dance

The plague was upon us

We wanted to suck the marrow out of Life’s bones.

But there was no one left to play

The Devil Wind blew through town


And man it was cold…

Don’t throw the corpses on our doorsteps

Bullets take leisurely strolls through Children’s heads
Bottles the color of a rainbow
Fall from the sky like satanic manna
Embedding themselves in flesh weary skulls

Gangs defy natural law
Float like angels
Through kneeling crowds awaiting the sacrament of death

Wind whistles through skeletons
Hung like piñatas
Crashing to earth as fine bone china
Spines snapping in time
To a Chuck Berry song

Giant earthmovers
Push the garbage
The refuse
The tears
The broken
The lost
To remote stalags
Black as onyx
The weight cause continents to sink
The Earth to wobble and dance
Like a mad king
Like a vengeful God

It’s okay
It will be fine
Just don’t throw the corpses on our doorstep


Color left the world
The Sun called it in
A pen light
In tombs
In misty grave­yards
In silent hells
In undis­cov­ered mass graves
In yawn­ing pits of despair
In the widened eyes of the murdered

In the halls of the damned

The dead call to me
In tongues
At once
Only I can hear them

Objects are dimen­sion­less
Depth flees
Width and length
Have no size
Only shad­ows
Only shadows

The world stops
I can hear it strug­gle
To breathe
Sip­ping breath
Like an elixir of doom

Smiles become winces
Joy – hys­te­ria
Love – obses­sion
Altru­ism a car­cass
By beaks sharp­ened
On the cloaked shores of mys­te­ri­ous lands
I can hear waves crash
In unimag­in­able vio­lence
I can hear screams as bones snap
The watery sound of sev­ered throats
Plead for mercy
Plead for meaning

They’re only voices
Only sounds
Only shad­ows
March­ing to war
To a cadence
That has sounded
Through the ages
Can you hear it?
Deeper than a heart­beat
Shak­ing moun­tains
Like a hur­ri­cane wind it blows

It will never stop
It can never stop

Only sounds
Only voices
Only dark­ness
Only wind
Only one heart beat­ing
Only shadows