The world is
and the only
in this life
are the shits
When this life gets to me,
when the system we all struggle under gets to
when the loneliness encompasses my very
being and I am left with just the
dread of going to work that night,
I at least have two legs to strut to Ralph’s,
two arms to carry BBQ Pringles and a
six pack of Pacifico and a
king sized Kit-Kat bar
I grabbed at the checkout.
Few things feel better than having the
freedom to do just that.
I praise America with
the swipe of my card,
I delight in the consumption of these
my soul leaps and strides,
my heart becomes overwhelmed with
an inexpressible joy for life.
A can of chips does not have to be just a
can of chips.
A six pack does not have to be just a
These things represent true freedom
in it’s truest, most organic form.
Cherish these moments,
they are so few and far between.
(A few weeks ago I dropped acid on a cliff in Malibu overlooking the PCH and the Pacific Ocean, which resulted in this poem I wrote, addressed to the prisoners of the San Quentin Correctional Facility.)
my heart is with you right now.
I wish you could see the roads
and the sand and the vehicles,
and the mountains,
and the sky that never ends.
From here the road just looks
like it’s been taped thinly
against this layer of rock.
There is a strip of clouds
that looks more like the
smoke left from a go-kart,
zip zip zipping across the sky.
I know that the world hurt you.
my heart is with you.
I’ll continue to
project my fantasies
onto you until you fulfill
them or someone else does.
Don’t mind me then,
It just keeps me going.
Who says what is normal?
you end up
each of you
were at the
Rain rattling the roofs and trees.
I know it’s cold out there.
I’ve been avoiding things.
Air in the tires. Insurance change of policy. Writing, story ideas, screenplays. Friends and the power of the mind.
Can’t be close to more than one person at a time.
Don’t know how to distribute what’s in me to give.
I can hear Miso licking the floor in the little room.
I imagine a carousel outside, slowly turning while the rain wets it all over the cold metal.
My skin. My bills. My distractions.
The rain has subsided.
God has shed tears for this city yet again,
and we are inconvenienced by it.
Watching the sun set.
The ocean is becoming flat now.
I can see it’s grid.
No more shadows from the cars.
The sky is falling asleep.
The sun is gathering it’s clouds,
where tomorrow the process
will reverse itself.
The sun says a lullaby
and wisps away,
hoping no one will notice.
The ocean is a grid now.
The streetlights start to come on.
Evidence of a civilization here.
The sun rests over the ocean now,
it rests in a net made of earth and
clouds and thought,
and now the clouds sing a lullaby
to their mother, the sun,
and the only sound you hear
is the ocean snoozing against the earth.