Turin Breaks

If things get real I promise to tell you its all fake
The gestures and genuflects are all planned mistakes
By the time fear takes you over I'll be making my escape
inside of a bottle where its warm and I wait.

Master Debaters

I love a good debate, or Mind Sport, as some like to call it. Muslims and Hindus, Christians and Jews, Democrats and Republicans, Atheists and the faithful, Gushers and Fruit By the Foot...the list goes on and on. Whatever the rift may be, I like to see it settled in the intellectual six sided ring of fire, no holds bar, to the death. As with any sport, I want to see the pinnacle of what it has to offer. And by pinnacle, I mean the debate that would have the most entertainment value, be the most hilarious. So, I propose we bring together a panel of hardcore drinkers and a panel of hardcore weed smoker, endow them with a limitless supply of their weapons of choice, give them a topic and let the comedy ensue. If this isn't the perfect pilot for the 1 A.M. Saturday Comedy Central slot I don't know what is. My question to you, my non-existent readers, is what should that topic be? At the moment I am both drunk and stoned and thus an impartial juror. Make the decision for and hurry the fuck up before I become distracted by some other ridiculous and pointless quandary.

Unholy Sonnet II

Try never to get caught in a lie to yourself
If you like being the picture of perfect mental health.
The invisible fib that you've built your house on
Will vanish the moment you call it in question
And down will come house with its roof laid in dreams.
The hearts of your babies will be gouged out by beams.
Crumpled in rubble you'll struggle to move
To piece back together your house of untruth.
But, what will you stitch your shack upon now
That your face has grown ugly and your God's out of town?
May I venture forth a firm basement floor,
Or some lies that I like for strong basement walls?
When know-it-all strangers ask what I stand for
I tell them, "Knowledge is power and love conquers all."

Whoops?

Dutiful Dad once told me, "Make good habits because bad ones are hard to break.",
But I was sixteen and my ears were turned inside out.
So I shrugged off the angst with cheap hot beer and speedingcarswithmyheadhungout
And stayed up late huffing vodka fumes with a clean homework slate.

Nights now are lived with my one eye closed; moved by the sounds
of crackling aluminum and the sizzle of leaves in stale beer.
A cacophonous collage which propels me the direction: down,
But drowned out by notes strumming burnt heart strings of yesteryear.

And what am I to do against this mounting wave of tainted self?
Whose shadow I've ignored to smile and slobber at the sun.
Yes, I should turn about to bear the brunt of the things I've done,
ignore the leaping in my blood begging me to be marooned in Hell.

Oh well...

Stop Talking.

I talked a lot tonight, of things I knew and things I didn't.
I wanted to be looked well on, not some antiquated fool.
The men towered above me and the women spoke above me
And though they mouthed in grand terms and in important tones
Nothing I heard sparked a flame in my heart, it was all shit.

Ugly Huddle

I huddle with the ugly girls and we decide
That love is the to do of those invited inside.
So we put in our hands and vote to run and hide
Because love is a waste and a hopeful suicide,
Then grow hair trigger funny bones and laugh at drab
But beautiful stranger's jokes so as to seem less sad,
Or develop frumpy tones warning the warm of
The rough and bumpy bones keeping out the harm of love,
Because we know time wasn't and won't be on our side
We view love as a game for fickle, wandering eyes.
But, we the ugly cross our fingers with surprise,
And wear pessimistic masks as our disguise,
Because love has been inbred into our veins,
Why bother trying to steer when its wrapped around our reins?