Subliminal White Trash

Welcome. This site contains a cross section of my writing including stories, comedy skits, poetry, dialogues and observational humour with a satirical edge. Feedback is much appreciated. Coming through people! Clear a path! My e-mail is

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Location: Burlington, Ontario, Canada

After graduating high school in 1995 with a significant amount of embarrassingly cliched emotional baggage, Kevin "Subliminal White Trash" Pearce made his way to Toronto in a perfectly understandable attempt to outrun his past. After encountering many similarly desperate and stubbornly eccentric people, Kevin found his way into the acting and spoken word scenes. With an amazing and almost inhuman effort, Kevin somehow negotiated through his self destructive tendencies on his way to finding some kind of second rate enlightenment in his strange little world of reckless, impulsive creativity. After spending three years in Toronto, Kevin decided to return to the suburbs in order to preserve his diminishing supply of mental health. Sometimes he even thinks it was the right decision.

Monday, July 31, 2017

New Poems



Where is your youthful ambition?
You sit on a park bench
and watch neglected children 
imitating barbarians
You stare as if lobotomized
As if one too many hardships
ruined your faith’s protection
Like you have nothing to confess
besides the failure of your revolution years
and the obsolete language of your memories


I want it all and I want it now.
I've kept quiet long enough.
This is not a negotiation.
This has nothing to do with you.
You can have your afterlife.
I deserve some measure of solitude.
You are high on the waiting list
to be disqualified from the human race.
Surrounded by monuments celebrating
your monumental ignorance.
There is no healing you.
I was wrong.
It's always about you.
I secretly hate your indifference.
I was once an innocent man.
Now I risk everything.


Where is fear?
I have a score to settle
I want my life back
I want to find that bastard
I want to beat it dead
Then piss on it
Watch its brains
drip into the sewer
Send it to some kind of hell
While I calmly light a cigarette
and start my new life
I will no longer be a stranger
in my own mind

A Disposal

You’re not relevant to my pain anymore
Give me the right to wallow
in absurdity again or I will take 
your rights from you
I’m tired of playing it safe
My reasoning is fool-proof
And you are the fool
The sadness of your lies is your undoing
They crumble under analysis
Your philosophies make you incapable
of love or any kind of respect
I’ve granted myself the right to judge you
You don’t realize the burdens
of your confessions
until it’s too late and
with the urgency of a child
I flush you away
And get on with my day

A Simple Judgement

You can't handle solitude.
Your surface is utterly unremarkable.
You have created nothing
Your identity is scattered in places you never wanted to be.
Your life is a map burned to ash. Nobody remembers you.
You cling to strange virtues like a life preserver

then abandon them when you need them most.
You wish for some kind of immediate apocalypse.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

70 Poems, etc...


 This is the place

 This is the place where the weak
 suffocate on love
 This is the place where centuries
 are learned and discarded in seconds
 This is the place where great minds
 discover infinity
 just before the madness sets in
 This is the place where chaos becomes order
 then back to chaos again
 This is the place where the highway dares you
 to get as far from home as possible
 and never look back
 This is the place where futility is a virtue,
 a problem no medication can solve
 This is the place where language
 does not exist

That’s How It Was

a torn flag
flapping in the wind
a testament to a far gone time
I witness this in silence
small tornadoes of leaves
dancing around my feet
there is peace here
plenty of open space
purity in the air
I can finally breathe easy
the delicate truth
guides me carefully
through the night
Tonight I will dream
like a child

Innocent and free
My happiness goes


Give me the unpredictable
Give me uncertainty
Give me chaos
I don’t want it
I need it
It’s my drug
Manipulate me
It gets me off
My suffering is provocative
A badge of honour
I wouldn’t have it any other way
I offer you plagiarized emotions
Something you can understand
Enslave me to your pathetic ideals
I’ll pretend to give a shit
I don’t want your spiritual cleansing
I don’t need to sanitize my disgust
Give me your death trip
You depend on that weakness
My will is bullet proof
Secretly I am laughing at you
Now shut the fuck up for a second
I’ve got debts to pay


She had an intriguing
innocence in her eyes
A beauty so fierce I knew
immediately it was forbidden
Everything she said was magic
She lived her life like a weapon
I knew she was a perfect master
of the matters of the heart
Seemingly untouched by suffering
Boldly alive in a corrupted world
Never to be spoiled
I imagined our minds together
I imagined our bodies together
But the reality of the situation was crushing
Like all the old vows that haunt me
Men go to war for less

Never be Broken

How to explain?
Another confused nocturnal dream hunter?
Memory failed by spiritual temptation
My trivial activity hurts nobody
Endless sky full of mystery
Never cared for luxury
The mind re-invigorated
Add some wit to your solitude
Keep it interesting
Hit me with some wisdom
Make it feel like magic
Never risk aimlessness
Break your mold of cowardice
The void is not built of neccesity
This is it
The only world that matters
Let us share our instincts
Without shame
Only righteousness
Watch me penetrate your very being
This appetite will never be broken
I want to scream my truth from mountaintops

What I Need

I predicted my own spiritual renewal
Although I never say goodbye without a struggle
Unwanted thoughts melted away into some kind of oblivion
I wasn’t put on this planet to welcome some propaganda machine
I simply don’t have the energy to play that game
I won’t turn my regrets into something ordinary
Your beauty will never be degraded in my eyes
I risked defeat at all costs for even the slightest chance at victory
I wanted everything I ever accomplished to fall at your feet
Mercy and love I needed in equal measure
I am insulted by every man who ever looked at you
Tell them to bring their lies
I am ready to fight for you
Your absence has given me time to strategize
And you can bet your life I won't be wearing my usual disguise

A Judgement

You use silence like a weapon
I have lost sleep over this
I am trying to complete myself
While you hide in the place where
the end of memory stagnates
The silence chooses you


A stranger in a familiar place?
The people who died here still haunt me
Where have they buried my truth?
It only makes sense somehow in dreams
Where I pay my respects beside every grave
Until they become corridors in a maze never completed
An old hunger that now seems anonymous
The knowledge of necessity strikes like lightning
This certainty used to have a permanent home
Now a mind divided like chopping wood
Odd ways to find the answers to abandonment
To find the strength to do what I always wanted in life
Complete and total empowerment
Soon you will come to understand this
In your eyes I can be anybody I want


A Contemplation

A journey that’s hardly heroic
Trapped in a moment with no explanations
Breaking out of a foggy dream state
To deal with the purity of rejection
Some things you can’t prepare for
Although the night brings a measure of solitude
Wondering about the things you missed out on
Wanting to confess to missed opportunity
Cleverness only gets you so far
I need a clear and proper view of this
metamorphosis into uncertainty
And not a mind shaken by a temporary paralysis
Although you still dance perfectly in my dreams
I was always scared by undignified imperfection

Let Me In

I want to be the drug that takes off your mask.
I want to destroy that ghost you see when you look in the mirror.
I want to extinguish the flames that burn at your pride.
I want to neutralize the poison in your mind and return your innocence.
I want to tear down the barriers that isolate you from your dreams.
I want to bury the old world for you.
I want to give you back control of your fate.
I want our minds to unite in one perpetual orgasm.
I want us to live again.


Is it all a sad
confusion dance?
I may abuse the
apathy cruise control
but behind your eyes
are dead highways to
and I have to be


Good luck easing your guilt
You’ve made the world rot
with your very existence
Those with the answers won’t help you
They have the same sickness
You laugh about the world’s end
The endless rumours of things
that never happened
An obsession with all that is ugly
Time to sleep and stop caring
The world can’t always be wrong
Risking death is what lives
deep inside of me
A limp dick of dangerous silence
without end
Come share it with me

Life's Complaints Department (get over it)

Take it out on me.
That’s what I’m here for.
Make me work for it.
Make me feel it.
Your relationship is dead.
I want you to spit bile.
You hate your kids.
Let your tongue be your weapon.
The mortgage payment is overdue.
Show me that desperation.
You got some bad news.
Prove to me your diamond hard anger.
You’re having car problems.
I want the blood to rush to your head.
I am the wall that absorbs the wreckage of your life.
I am your temporary enemy.
I am a sponge with a face.
I calmly roast in my own public hell.
Forsaken by my fragile identity.
The sweat soaks through my shirt.
An accidental pain junky.
Ready for another fix.

DISTORTED DISCOURSE part 2 (part 1 is on the post below.)

Rebirth of confused killers through media worship
Destruction of family dynamics by kindergarten logic
Control of mental growth through obscene knowledge
Release of intrusive emotions through unknowable euphoria
Realization of subconscious alienation by disturbed miracles
Exorcism of creative thought from detached monotony
Confirmation of spiritual decay through intentional neglect

Dream Images

shape-shifting homeless evangelists
forging funeral invitations
sodomizing burnt out televisions
while filling the fridge with cigarette butts
jerking off in the back seat of a hearse
and mocking nuns in purgatory
short-circuiting brain transmissions
by destroying the cycle of hereditary genes
avoiding middle class cemeteries
by staying isolated from consumer trends
flirting with that girl at the checkout counter
by penetrating her sly web of intrigue
suffering the brutality of jail for sublime thought crimes
while the killers talk of tomorrow…

Suicide Girl (for Charles Bukowski)

I'm talking with this
laid back sociopath
at a dive bar with cheap booze
and he tells me he's got
this scrawny jewish girl
obsessed with the holocaust
suffering in his bed
She asks him to lick
her suicide scars
then they get down to business
while he wonders
"If she's an atheist
why is she such a cold fuck?"
We laughed
Just thought I'd let you know

walking alone

the harsh wind
brought tears to my eyes
so I thought of something sad
it made sense at the time
and then I kicked a piece of trash
onto the road
for no reason at all
and thought of something happy

Martyrs   (written February 4th)

Is it too late to show the martyrs LOVE?
To soak their sadness in bleach awhile?
Will they never turn back?
The weight of desperate ideology
a magnet that pulls a heart
that lost one too many battles
For some kind of THRILL
For some kind of PURPOSE
Soaking their conscience in
a stranger’s blood
What do they have to lose?
What do they have to gain?
All they know is a sitcom existence,
empty pockets and pain
The weak attach to the strong
for a piece of the glory
Another dream dead
Another atrocity committed
Sounds like the same old story

Opinions (written February 11th)

Your conversation
just isn't interesting
like before
You're starting to sound
like rejected old folklore
Then again
my opinions aren't exactly
selling on the black market

Drunk in Parkdale

Parkdale explodes like a vicious rash
all over my body.
The darkness grabs me like a clumsy whore
Disguising me from what hides
among restless shadows.
Bad livers and forgotten fossils drift on by,
choking on the night.
Am I making sense of the madness
or madness out of the sense?
I can never decide.
So I laugh at myself,
stupid and hollow and wonder
What day of the weak
does Capital Punishment come to town?
And why am I, once again
playing the role of the Neanderthal clown?

Reckless Beauty

She was beautiful in a ruthless way
A punishing God's unholy creation
Taunting men with a brutal lack of conscience
The whole world was in love with her
and she couldn’t care less
So she went on with her charmed life
Goddammit, that girl was blessed with the
true nature of evil
and I loved her for it
But she'd just look away,
murdering me with her silence
To her, I was about as memorable
as a scrap piece of newspaper
being swept along in a dry summer breeze
Feeling her truth was PURE SUFFERING

 Accidental Love Poem

 At first sight
 your clothes fit you
 almost too well
 Did I see your eyes
 turn my way?
 Maybe I want a nice girl
 Are you out of my league?
 Can I penetrate your intrigue?
 So please walk by again
 Although it would look good
 if I’m not talking to you like this tonight
 Because I’m as good as lost
 when you are nearby


how many worlds of the imagination
can you explore
until you meet someone
who shows a little bit more


do not fear
your eventual death
all of your questions answered
after one final breath


you are just
another memory
that's going to
my dreams


I'm telling you
that your dreams
are so beautiful and pure
that I need to reach
a certain state of drunkenness
to even begin to fathom them
because they just don't
make much sense
in my world


the sick, the depraved, the desperate
all the scum in this
weary city
do not welcome them into your arms
throw them back into darkness
refuse to confront them in the midst of their ugliness
ignore the rotten smell of body and spirit
eating itself alive
if you show them kindness
they will latch onto you like a virus
and strip you bare
do not offer your mercy
do not offer your pity
throw them back into darkness
it's what they understand


images blur into each other
sounds melt together
past and future join together
into living shadows
hypnotized by time
an oath against
routine of consciousness
how many miracles am I
supposed to perform?
don't you worry about ethics

Unattainable Something

into nothing
out of nothing
nothing between the lines
metaphors that mimic nothing
imagery equal to nothing
nothing worth understanding
nothing worth knowing
nothing wasting my time
back to the beginning
because in the end 

the whole effect

from my balcony

plastic bag
stuck on a tree branch
wind filling it with air
fighting to remain
before its

Believe It

I'm a bit misguided
I sometimes neglect my appearance
My brain has been through 
blunt force trauma
I speak the language of regret
I overdose on my emotions
I use sarcasm because it
keeps me interested
I have a mild death wish
My enemies are usually
figments of my imagination
An aura of disaster occasionally
follows me around
What does not confuse me is desire
So keep your heart within reach
Because I'm coming for you like the PLAGUE

what a lame show

they were terrible, stupid lovers
insecure, ugly assholes
temporarily in luck
running from life
running from nothing
fucking in a field under the stars
the molested mutant pregnancy of
sickly hormones
performing a strange autopsy
of the imploding night sky

makes sense

you can focus on
the ugliness
or you can focus on
the beauty
or you could go
50 / 50
that way you don't
miss anything


I walk past
a dead rabbit
on the street
A cigarette butt
sticking out of its
slimy guts

The image
burned in my
Never seen a
roadkill ashtray
Somebody’s idea
of postmodern art?
Or some simple
unsure of the
he’s made

 The Scene

 I end up at the same
 trendy bar that I tried to avoid
 in high school
 Same old songs
 Same old people
 Same old shit
 The usual boring melodrama
 Everyone trying to look like they belong
 Jocks showing off with obedient women in tow
 Obnoxious DJ’s and drunken sing alongs
 It’s too loud to talk to anyone
 A girl with a mini skirt brushes by me with that
 vacant, hard to get look in her eyes
 Or maybe she’s just incredibly stupid
 I try to make my way to the washroom and almost
 puke in disgust after being overwhelmed
 by the potent mix of cologne and perfume
 I drink and drink but the ugliness can’t hide
 After awhile I give up and play
 hard to get as I walk out into
 the indifferent night


 I looked up
 from my chair
 on the balcony
 and saw a seagull
 casually flying by,
 letting the wind be
 their guide
 I thought to myself
 'They're actually very
 graceful birds
 when their mouths
 are shut
 and they're
 not shitting


I find your
vaguely charming
Your flaws are starting
to grow on me
Always at odds with
your existence
Set adrift in a
mediocre world
with poor coping
We both have needs
after all
However dull and
unempowering our
desire is
It is still desire

The Great Stink of Existence

Defense mechanisms eroding.
Body weakening under the abuse.
Character flaws on course for collision.
Suppressed emotions bubbling to the surface.
Leaning over the edge at an unsustainable angle.
Plague coming in impossible disguises.
Running from all that is ugly.
This grinning sin.
This burning skin.
Trying to break free from forced molds of cowardice.
Restoring a system of ideals that were used in childhood
to recognize impending dangers to pure states of indulgence.
The unlimited potential for misunderstanding.
Feel the lie.
Suffering in the wrong perspective.
Trying to find the balance.
I had thought of all these perfect things to say
but they don’t make sense anymore.

Melodramatic Bastard

Invite me
to your house
so I can 
all over your
pristine walls
until you feel
the desire
to pick up
the pen
and boldly
your individuality.

City of Filth

Upon entering the room
I climb silently onto the bed
and stomp on the pillows
with my filthy boots
caused by drifting aimlessly
through city streets.
Lay your head down
on your dirty pillow
Fall asleep
in this city of filth.

Mommy went Insane (thanks to CVB)

Once upon a time an ugly, wretched woman had a child
She locked him in his room and beat him senseless
Eventually her loneliness drove her insane
Her child grew older and became a man
He started to leave the house once in awhile
when Mom was babbling to herself
He found a girlfriend
He didn’t have much exposure to the world
He was confused by her love
But he decided it made him happy
Mom found out
She beat him severely
Made him bleed quite nicely
Broke his nose
Carved him up with a razor
Put him in the trunk
Drove him out to the country
Threw him on the road
Then she found his girlfriend
Mom poked her eyes out
Beat her with a tire iron
Broke her fingers
Drove her out to the country
Threw her on the road
She wandered blind for awhile
She heard her boyfriend sobbing
She went to him
Mom pulled up in her car
Clutching a shotgun,
she shot them both dead
in each other’s arms
The End.

A girl asked me

A girl asked me what I want out of life
I want blinding love
I want plentiful orgasms
I want to exploit the alphabet
I want to confuse a religion
I want to encourage a masochist
I want to suck back a little darkness
I want to start a cult
I want to deconstruct my identity
I want my dreams to be pure again
I want my childhood belief in dignity
I want to stay healthy despite questionable behaviour
I want to learn from your mistakes
I want some kind of desperate salvation
I want to have an opinion on everything
I want to get my laundry done
And eventually, I want death


 I dove into
 perfect flesh
 Under the blanket of night
 everything was quiet
 It felt like we were the only ones
 I felt invincible
 A tingling sensation
 crawled up my spine
 Giving my brain a lesson
 that love is stronger than lust
 Lust fades
 Tidal waves of energy
 This is what freedom feels like
 Any demon that still mattered to me
 was calmly pacified
 Perfection was what I got
 without even asking
 I could feel my heartbeat
 in my head
 The years I had wasted
 meant nothing
 I claimed my territory
 like a rabid dog
 and silently delivered
 on the unspoken promise
 All of a sudden I was
 everything she ever wanted
 The night slipped into magic
 And that was good enough for me

 Flirting With Madness

 Who the hell is Kevin C. Pearce?
 Did he go deep undercover?
 What is he, some sort of rogue?
 Is he abusing sedatives again?
 Is he the hunter or the hunted?
 Is his heart breaking on the instalment plan?
 What kind of debauchery is this?
 Are we supposed to believe him
 when he has so many secrets?
 The mind shivers at the thought
 Too late for mistakes
 Too early for the song and dance
 His soul stabilized by death threats in dreamland
 The telephone will be today’s chosen weapon
 Paranoid cults, drugs in the food
 Roaming scared in dangerous foreign lands
 Coded blasphemy for a noisy world
 Some days my brain is on fire
 The executioner is off today
 Give him a break
 He has the same sickness as the rest of us
 Give him your last words
 Wrap up your entire life in a sentence
 Keep visiting that gravesite until
 the guilt becomes manageable
 Goddamn memory bringing up a past
 I can’t quite handle right now
 Keep that cyanide tab in your shoe
 Some people can’t stomach the violence
 Their ignorance is what keeps them alive
 Put your fast food flag away for another day
 Burn your favourite book, consume the ashes
 I wonder, how much of your hatred is self-taught?
 Ancient sorrows dragged through the mud
 How much chaos can you handle?
 The greatest danger was believing your lies
 Although your nightmares showed great promise
 It seems nobody knows what an innocent world looks like
 It’s the slaves that make the best dancers…


Give me a moment
while I think of the things
I will never speak out loud
Give me a moment
while you stand there
burning and glowing
fully engaged
in my mind as
my heart withdraws
into itself
The problem is believing the
truth in your eyes
How very brave of you
Let me rescue you from chaos
if you’ll do the same for me
It seems I’m all dressed up
in a dreamless world
A simple mask
hides my gutless pride
Another ritual funeral dance
A martyr looking for a cause
for love crimes that make sense
until committed to memory
It is easy to see
I am ruled by desire


shivering behind rotting dumpsters
staring at grotesque shadows
making filthy noises
unworthy of any sort of
the unmistakable stench
of lost opportunity
an infatuation with failure
and the squalor that follows
the wrong side of insanity
grinning poverty
flickering streetlights
the wrong alleyway
I hear a window shatter
there are no victims here
just people who made choices
dying in front of my eyes
but everything
seems as it should be
when you go
straight to the source
time is dwindling fast
feel the honesty of a cell
you know you’ve fallen far
when nightmares comfort you
and all you have left is a
warm, sweaty pillow

A Day I Can’t Forget

It was a day of
unusual intensity
Everything amplified
They attach themselves
to my consciousness
like rabid mosquitos
sucking on blood
then continue on their way
Unaware of the damage caused
They wanted something from me
Something I don't have to give
Enough to send any sane man
How fast can I get home?
I felt disoriented
Didn’t know where to turn
How many times can you
regret one decision?
The witnesses didn’t even


Enough with the
crisis bondage
A simple apology
for unfreezing your
weakest assets
Taunting gravity with
spinning wheels
Some kind of security
in the heart
makes a whole lot of sense
What’s the motive?
Let’s forgive the forgotten
It could be an ugly extinction
God wants his penis back
Don’t ask


don't try to
to tear yourself apart
I took you away from chaos
I rescued you
you rescued me
eternity was a promise
no more bitterness
for the wasted years
old sorrows are merely echoes
of a past life
how can I explain?
no need
you already know
my words cannot express
the enormity of inner distance
that you effectively
dismantled in me
it feels almost divine
something in you
I never expected
no need to go back
to fantasy
I worship at your altar

Futility (from the archives)

How many dreams
do I have left?
I tried to mold
into something
they are not
as the rain melts away
the remaining scraps
of today's promise
I shed a silent tear
for a ghost
and wait for an
that never comes


beyond shadows
a new conception
an enormity
of emotion
I can’t express
stars explode
from my heart
this is a bold
adding a certain
depth to unknowable
forsaken by
a timely ritual
not yet understood
darkness pushes me away
to a dreamstate of
civilized innocence
my transfigured
is left to devour


I hate writing
about writing but
sometimes it
seems unexceptional
too many
clichéd emotions
too much
should I forgive myself
or forgive my audience?
time marches through the
I try to contemplate
the impact
of the night
I make my final
attempt to exploit
with precision
The pen hesitates…


how do you start a
when Man’s lack of
is such a pathetic
and merely
a form of


How many people
ruined by love?
Regret weighing heavy
on cramped minds
Dealing with the mundane
in an almost dream-like state
The heart withdraws into itself
A trembling cocoon of sadness
over missed opportunities
A feedback loop convincing that
the future won’t be any better
Grasping at some unreachable principle
to try to lessen the burden
The burden of being alone

For Elizabeth

May you forever burn free
in the glowing sunlight of my mind
Take in the universe with a single breath
Dress yourself in my dreams
Feel the birth of my desire
Dance to the rhythm of our passion
My heart is a magnet for you

For Elizabeth

Perfect skin
All soft curves
Devotion in our eyes
Our passion a river
We swim with grins
on our faces
to a distant shore
Hot breath in the night
We take the poison
from each other
and feast on the antidote
Old vows forgotten
Our dreams wrapped up tight
in each other’s arms
We walk through a
gallery of ghosts
towards ecstasy
Our gift to each other
a simple absolution

Despised Rituals

The top priority
A simple corruption
Extortion of the highest order
Giving labels to absurd enemies
for protection of the righteous
Another confused martyr rots on a
mutilated cross of his own making
Whispered death threats re-writing history
Repay your debt with the
weapon of your choosing
The direction you are facing is
regret and death
A certain kind of social suicide
The end of the line
The empty shell casings lose their warmth
At least make it look pretty

The Library

I go to the library
on a cold, windy day
I smile at people
They smile back
It's a simple process
It makes sense to people
Some days it makes
sense to me
I wonder if these people are happy
I wonder if I am happy
At the library I open a
random book
I read the first sentence
and the last sentence
then wander home
and imagine the rest


I am fighting time
with my bare hands
and losing
but what I lose
in decay
I make up for
in strength
adrenaline screams
in my head
victory pulses
through my veins
this is why I push
my will to its limit
this is what pain
has taught me

Some Kind of Manifesto

Conformity is my pedestal
It is an automatic response
Coded in my DNA
Stamped on my brain cells
And yet still I fight it
Every step of the way
I’ve still got my pride
My well rehearsed indifference
My stubborn identity
My bored alienation
Pain is my motivation
Feed me your lies
I get off on it
Bring me a mountain of bullshit
I’m getting used to it
I’m not going out like a
Goddamned statistic
I’m sure the vultures above
don’t care either way
They just want me


I’ll get around to it
It will be done eventually
Soon it will happen
It is a mystery I want to solve
I promise I’m working on it
It needs to get done
I hope I can do it
It might take awhile
There are things that are distracting me
I might need some advice on this
This is an unavoidable situation
It requires a certain amount of focus
Tomorrow sounds good
I’ll keep it in mind
I’ll do it when I feel like it
I’m really good at making excuses
This needs a certain dedication
This is quite a task
It might be more than I can handle
I’m not sure if I can do this
Do I have what it takes?
I’m starting to doubt myself
The outcome is improbable
This is starting to stress me out
Should I make time for this?
How important is it?
Maybe I’m just the victim in all this
It could be somebody else’s problem
Let’s go with that and call it a day


The way it fell from the heavens
Into my outstreched hand
Made me a believer
Just for a second
Your God is a weapon


My unknowable mark
on history
My undefinable mark
on people
My untraceable mark
on flesh
My temporary and confident
disappearing acts
A simple escape from the
shapelessness of time
It puts me in touch with my senses
Someday I, too, will be forgiven


I steal myself back
from her glances
My quivering voice
leaves me stranded
in the moment
I blow a kiss through
chattering teeth
All for nothing
Tonight I will get high
off the shadows
dancing on my wall
Giving form to silence
Maybe something more
dangerous perhaps?
Today I'm done with risk
It’s all rhetoric to me


Watch how obedient I can be
What does your desire look like?
It confuses me
I know the impact you have on people
I grant you the privilege of my jealousy
I hope you will surrender to my envious ways
I use strategy to overcome the pain of the past
I don’t need an audience for a simple burial
Let that teach you something
I’d still like to show you my scars
Now let me teach you something about temptation
How I have heard that you are forbidden
I may have the hands of a beggar
But I have learned to be brave in my obedience
If it be so, and I am discarded, I will go quietly
My humility is my purest asset

Some People

Some people fight demons
they were never meant to understand
Some people live in chronic pain,
every movement thrown into chaos
Some people live their life
while others imagine it
Some people never had
the luck to begin with
Some people can’t stop
thinking about death
Some people never get
a good night’s sleep
Some people don’t have
a prayer to give or a soul to take
Some people climb mountains
Look for me there


You don’t believe in angels
Too abstract for your liking
Your love is always conditional
You are obvious to yourself
Dreams explode from your head in sleep
If only you believed in them
You never give up on regret
It keeps you somewhat entertained
You are a hostage to your oblivion
And that suits you just fine
I accept your pain
Even though you never explain
I’m not interested in immortality either
My ego failed me long ago
I want to steal your life and make it mine
Wake up with you next to me
Because I am tired of counting days
Until my life makes sense
Until I find something beautiful again
Because it hasn’t found me in awhile
This is not a negotiation


This is about the madness and the chaos
This about the diseased minds of man
This is about the rage and the ruin
The unending riot of stupidity and failure
The melting pot of our unforgivable sins
Being afraid of your own mind
Chanting hymns of another grotesque massacre
Swollen, rotting, decaying plagues of hysteria
Unending guilt, shame and regret
The nasty debts that demand to be settled
The endless wars have failed us
You can almost taste the sickness
What have you done with all things beautiful?
Your hypocrisy has cast a giant shadow
Don’t be fooled by well dressed assassins
Your broken dreams have a knife at your throat
I can only hope that someday only the beautiful will survive
The beautiful in spirit
The beautiful in words
The beautiful in truth

Out of Focus

We move like shadows
Manipulating time with our frozen dreams
There is too much to regret here
No signs of life
You took the only truth that’s left
Yet still we fight through our exile
In search of our elusive desires
Foggy insomnia grasping at clarity
The words we will never speak


It is your fault
You didn’t try hard enough
You can’t escape the blame
Your shortcomings are obvious
Your potential is being wasted
Why do you keep fighting battles you can’t win?
Admit that you are guilty
I’m not telling you anything you don’t know
You didn’t fight hard enough
You are truly lost
Your will is weak and tired
Your eyes look empty
Your aura says HOPELESS
You bore me
Who are you trying not to impress?
Stand in line with the dead
Because it’s the only direction you will be led

Another Predictable Night (written sometime in 1996, re-edited)

Zoned out on the subway
Approaching last call
The early drunks surround me
Bodies like dead puppets
Barely awake
Petty laughter
Another slow-motion chaos ride
With the rumble beneath me
The dull hum of progress
Trying not to pay attention
There are too many humans for my taste
I try to think of the right things
I feel like a minor tragedy
Frail and beaten
The guts of the city fly by
I am unrecognizable to myself
I am in some sort of trance
I have something to say to every doctor on earth
“Find me a drug that works.”
I realize there are some dark themes at work here but this is how I unload my baggage and unwind.

Old Love Poem

I don't care about
the universe
the galaxy 
the solar system
These words mean nothing to me
I'm through with contemplation
I want to be your good piece of heaven
I need something from your heart in return
Sometimes I may need you to be strong for me
Your eyes against me make me wonder
Has anyone told you different?
Tell them to get out of my way

 Let Me Explain (from the archives)

 Take my heart
 out of this desert
 and lead me to the flood
 Help me dream again
 I am saying this because
 I am desperate
 I will burn my possessions for you
 I will cast off society and be
 a beggar for you
 I will live under a bridge for you
 Under all those people who aren’t dying
 because of your silence
 I’ll be the sinner and the saint
 Whichever you prefer
 You’ve already made me a coward
 I understand why some drink until
 their liver explodes
 I’ve often reached that depth
 But something always pulls me out
 This time it has to be you
 My imagination is useless without you
 Because I want you here, now
 My words are empty without you
 A ghost town
 I promise I will tell you everything about
 how I came to be this way
 How my entire life has been leading up
 to you
 Know that I am righteous
 My corpse will be waiting

My New Apartment (from the archives)

Even in daylight
every room is dark
the ghosts of dead junkies
roam the hallway
the walls are speechless
the fridge is committing suicide
the bathtub needs a victim
the toilet is beautiful
the neighbours are boring assholes
It may not be paradise
but it has given me new life
and the writing continues
with reckless abandon

The Triumph of Degradation (from my shock value days in the mid 90's)

a fresh start
a new hunger
a vicious and voracious appetite...
you understand
you can smell the fear
sharpen your axe
inhale the madness
committed to learning all the sins
everything has a purpose
anything can kill
another meeting held by cultural terrorists
testicles shudder at the sheer horror of it all
prosecute...execute...bury and piss on
refuse to moralize or analyze
keep the charade going FOREVER
now tell me
what's it going to be?
a hero's epitaph or a fool's siren song?
stop waiting for the prophet's handshake
he sold you out and left you
with memories of childhood spent in dream land
"Shut up" he says
"This gravesite is sacred...MIND YOUR MANNERS."
Atheists and Christians wait for the next city burning
Their kingdoms, ash.

this poem co-written with Sam Geezer

spread my evil around (also mid 90's)

won't you come down from your
drug and booze hit parade
for a moment
so we can discuss something important
so I can spread my evil around
and gently steer the conversation
between reality and fantasy
to complete my perfect vision
so we can join the others in an
orgy of madness
in this drugged out paradise of
numb regret
where is your beauty now?
our heartbeat's echo off the walls
like gunshots
as my eyes adjust to your darkness
you apologize for being selfish
for only thinking of your orgasms
as your womb eats itself


She sits by the window and says a silent prayer for her daughter to call. She can’t stand knitting anything anymore. She sits with her pot of coffee and her cigarettes and tries to ignore the sound of the neighbour’s lawnmower. Her faded dress is marked with coffee stains and burn holes. A little caffeine buzz won’t hurt. She had drank seven cups just to feel something. She isn’t sure what exactly. Life just isn’t that interesting anymore. The cat puke is starting to smell. A turkey rots on the dusty kitchen table. The newspapers lay in a pile on the verge of collapse. Unread. A cockroach makes its way quickly up her arm as Oprah casually starts another spiritual cult for the independent woman on the television. They may as well be talking in a foreign language. Faith won’t visit the forgotten today but sleep will come. Tomorrow, more of the same and nobody to blame.

Another Desperate Junky (fiction)

Thinkin about the pipe. Woke up on the floor. All is pipe. Hustle for pipe. Gonna cut my throat if I can’t fill my FUCKIN PIPE. Bitch took my last money and ran. Search the goddamn apartment. Roaches and bottles and empty pipes. No money. Out the door. First fuckin stupid face gets it. Knock the fucker straight off his legs. Watch him fall. Face hits the concrete. Empty thud. Right pocket. Wallet in hand. Grab his cell phone. Run like a motherfucker. Gonna get set up. Dealer says go. Run five blocks like unbelievable. Bang on the door. Bitch answers. Big surprise. See bro suckin pipe at kitchen table. Hug the fucker with tears in my eyes. Drop money. Hit on pipe. Tears come again. Relief. Massage my mind. Massage my spine. Massage my fuckin stupid guts. Stress whores gone. In the zone. Fuckin holy fuck. Shit is BUTTER.

JAIL - fiction

Got thrown in jail. No letters, no visits, no cigarettes. Nothing. Nobody around to care. A goddamn living hell. Inmates eyeing me down in the shower. Flexing their muscles with stupid grins on their stupid faces. Letting me know I was nothing. A piece of meat. Waving their dicks around like they know some goddamn thing. When the fists start flying nobody cares. Cowards. I’ve hit rock bottom and I never could have imagined the trouble I see. They say only after you’ve lost everything are you free to do anything. It’s a goddamn lie. You’re paralyzed by the fear. The way these people look at you you’d think death had its hand up their ass, manoeuvring them like some goddamn puppet. People do desperate things when love isn’t part of the equation. Most of these turds have never read a book in their life. Clueless idiots. I’m sick of seeing the hate in their eyes. Just get it over with and kill me if you have to. You’d be doing me a favour. Just try to make it as painless as possible. Either do it or just get out of my face. There’s this big dude with brain damage. Whenever he attempts to explain something he just repeats “It is what it is and it’s not what it is not.” That’s more or less the extent of his vocabulary. In some strange way I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. My cellmate gets bored and farts in my face when I’m trying to sleep. He’s human garbage. He’s a slimy piece of shit who should have been flushed at birth. He’s in here because he took some guy’s head off with a machete and stabbed him in the heart about thirty times. Real charming prick. He comes from scum. He’s a trick baby. His mother was a junkie hooker. The guards look at me like I just threw dog shit at them. Respect doesn’t exist. I want out. I want a lot of things. I don’t have a prayer. I’m gonna get stabbed. I can feel it. I don’t even care anymore. Enough writing. Let’s agree to put an end to this right now.

Dear _____________,

Look, I think it’s about time I just came out and said it. You are the most boring person I have ever met. You call yourself a writer but you have no life in you. Get some fucking life in you. You consistently manage to drain all the energy and rhythm out of the English language and this is an immense, unspeakable crime for a writer. Assault the reader’s intelligence. Keep them on the edge. There’s no danger, no excitement. I couldn’t give a shit about your cats and your fucking laundry. Quit being the bride of Christ and loosen up your values. Take a chance. I mean, where are you heading with your life? What are you hiding from? Are you going to show up at your parent’s house naked and crawl back inside the womb? Good luck with that. The womb is over. Just looking in your eyes disgusts me. Dull, dull, dull. It’s a fucking disaster. Your life is a quiet “Oh, shit…I better not have an original thought or people won’t like me” failure. Enough out of your stupid mouth. You are the defender of the mundane. Your life is smoke and mirrors and until you learn to inhale the smoke and smash the mirrors you are a horror of waste. A whore of waste. You are truly lost. Don’t tell me you cried for an hour, stared at a vase of dead roses and wrote a poem. It gets old. Go jerk off your psychiatrist. In the name of decent, productive suffering I banish you from the kingdom of my mind.


It is important to remember that your relationship to the universe is quite boring so let’s not talk about your spirituality. You don’t eat meat. Don’t tell me why. I will most definitely get bored. Yes, I forgot to notice that you’re eccentric. Very, very eccentric. Frightening. Wait at the back of the line. Yes, you are very politically aware. Write a song about it. Everybody can hold hands while I masturbate in the corner of the room. I’m feeling a bit bored. Yes, I agree that you’re very creative. You continue to find new ways to bore me. No, do not publish your poetry. Burn it quickly and methodically. You talk too much. I have nightmares about people like you with your immortal vocal chords. OK. I admit it. It’s all a pose. I am afraid of you. People like you have the capacity to destroy me. It builds very slowly and now I can no longer stand it. I secretly admire you. I am the frightened child and you are the adult wielding endless power. I’m still bored, though. Can I go now?

INNOCENCE (first paragraph true, the rest fiction)

  She had no idea. We were both sixteen. Me, with my awkward teenage body. Nervous smile. Her, flawless. Perfect skin. The most beautiful face I could ever hope to imagine. A body that alternately made me wish I was dead and gave me some kind of perverted faith. She was in my swimming class. We never talked. I just watched her every move, trying to understand. I thought about her constantly. Eventually I started dating but she was always there, lingering in the back of my mind. Soon after high school I moved to the big city to play the survival game.
  Fast forward. Age twenty-one. Locked up in a psychiatric ward after a four day manic episode that pretty much destroyed any reality I still thought existed. And there she was. Dressed in a hospital gown, biting her nails. A vision. I felt a shot of pure adrenaline send waves through my body. I stared at her for awhile. She didn’t seem to mind. After some kind of deliberation, I went over and sat down beside her. We finally talked. It turns out she had a nervous breakdown at school. Cracked up in the fast lane. She was taking a philosophy degree. She seemed depressed but to me it was pure radiance. We unloaded our burdens onto each other with a desperate passion reserved for the mentally ill. We connected so perfectly that I was sure my heart would stop. Something had to go wrong. But nothing did.
  We were released from the psych ward six days after our first encounter there. She stayed with me in my basement apartment just outside downtown. I was stable on medication and my love for her gave me an understanding of life that I hadn’t believed possible. True happiness. She settled in well. The first ten days we lived together we hardly spent a moment apart. She decided to go back to school part-time. I decided to get a job.
  Thursday evening. 6:48 pm. I arrive home after a long day of job hunting. I hear her favourite song coming from the bathroom. I knock on the door. No answer. I knock louder and call out her name. Nothing. I feel a shot of panic laced adrenaline surge through my body. I break down the door and see her feet sticking out of the bathtub. The water’s red. In a split second I pull her naked, bleeding body out of the tub and feel her pulse. I scream. I scream again. The song…my head throbs. I scream so loud I cough up blood. I smash the CD player on the bathroom sink. The song stops.
The sun highlights the dust coming through the window. Am I a piece of dust? The connection between mind and body has been severed. I hear my name. Someone is standing over me. A shot of adrenaline passes through my body.
“She’s dead.” I say. My voice sounds like a breaking window.
“What? Who’s dead?”
“___________. The girl I met here a couple of weeks ago. She’s dead.”
“There hasn’t been anybody here with that name. You’ve been here for three weeks now. You are ill.”
“Fuck you. She’s DEAD.”
I stare at the ugly face looking down at me. My mind is ravaged by psychosis. I start to cry. Innocence is over. I lost.

The Experiment

Agent 23 has gone missing. Degraded and perhaps destroyed by his own people. Last time we saw him he was lost in shadow. He could have gone rogue. The operatives want to know what secrets he is keeping. Give him the oblivion brain scan. “We must preserve the status quo.” These people move so fast the eye can’t see it. Glory over repentance. Believe it. What kind of disease are they selling on the corner today? Any type of wisdom ends up in the gutter. They look at your genetics as a threat. Another reckless martyr sold out for capitalist hysteria. “We must protect our pharmaceutical assets.” Another boring conspiracy on display for those who are plugged into the grid. You could at least keep yourself clean when in the company of tyrants. How do you define this intolerance? Who ultimately gains from this? "Answers people! You’re paid to deliver ANSWERS." Watch them slowly lower the oxygen levels. Abandon your logic. It just doesn’t work around here. When pressured all they think about is their genitals anyway. I hope you’re healthy, it will take time to deconstruct this mess. Engage them in conversation. You will see. Completely transparent fools obsessed with broken identities suffocating on information. They have the temperament of sewer rats but the work ethic of mules. And they win every time.


Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Bob-isms and Spam Collage, etc...


Bob lives in my apartment building.  I've known him for about twelve years.  Bob is a bit 'eccentric' mostly owing to his delusions which are harmless but somewhat memorable.  Here's a few.

-calls himself "The Bingo Bug Doctor/Cleaner/Giver of Life".
-once blurted out "Bubba bubba bubba eat shit eat shit call my lawyer".
-he once left my apartment because he was being chased by "an invisible light saber".
-thinks that some psychiatric drugs are made with Jim Carrey's DNA.
-he's convinced that the Oakville Ford Plant is a space station.
-says that it takes one minute and thirty-two seconds to teleport to Kingston.
-sometimes calls his medication "massacre drugs".
-his favourite thing to say is "you're a fine young man" and he says it so often that you have to tell him to come up with some new material (which he rarely does).
-reminds people that there are no parasites in his body.
-once said "Where do people get depends? The Crotch Store?". (straight face)
-occasionally mocks people with down syndrome.
-blurted out "Did you know that dirty underwear can save a marriage?".
-often talks about opening convenience stores in Iraq and Afghanistan (straight face).
-"You don't have to go to school to be a medical practitioner. There are 127 different things you can do in your office; Put on a cast, medicine, anatomy..."  (huh?)
-"I had a dream and I know how I'm going to die. It will be in 2087 (he'd be about 115) from a double snake bite."
-this one might be the craziest thing I've ever heard.  He says that his chiropractic appointment cost $111 million dollars. I tried calling him on it but he wouldn't back down and eventually told me to change the subject.
-asked a friend of mine if he served in Vietnam (he was three when the war started).
-talks about the army recruiting him to hunt sharks in Afghanistan (???!!!).
-yelled off my balcony "I LOVE STOOL SOFTENERS" six times in a row.
-thinks Las Vegas is its own nation on an island despite having been there.
-doesn't know our prime minister's name.

this is an ongoing post...

Spam Collage

It was a painstaking process, going through well over a hundred spam e-mails just to find very few interesting word combinations.  It was a huge editing job and correcting the grammar alone was a nightmare.  Some of it was so cryptic that I ended up adding a bit of my own writing just to keep myself interested and for the sake of some kind of continuity.  I think this bit is pretty much open to interpretation.  Feedback appreciated.

Hugs are swell, but that doesn't merit your poverty.  Hold yourself from having an internal organ drift through laxatives and fearless statements like spices that operate a good deal quicker than uncastrated telecasting.  For competitive advantage location is crucial to give birth to a well-read artefact to ingest and eliminate.  This pregnant proposal needs a bluffing flag for any theory in the cognitive content industry that determines decay.  To make an odd perspective manipulate the easiest material possession.  Your gift to copulate the becoming line of work in a monetary system by eliminating your attorney and be a vessel on the intelligence position.  See the coupons and pay the debts off and don't be dumbfounded by brainwave stimulation.  Never conceive of the genuine style tip to remove semblance and lesser information.  That is the hook to the sun in the winter if you want penetration try the multitude communication channel.  It is comfortable to gain undisguised neediness.  Be steady to engage a teacher and do it if you use your dimension capability on them.  Manifest your currency rather than nutrients for general knowledge by ensuring your computing faculties.  You should drink or your existence may suffer.  Locations are around the path to urinate true to your customer interactions if your poverty is victimized then buy your new wholesome lifestyle.  Use testimonials from individuals whose knowledge of inebriation of the soul has so far been non-existent.  To deepen your psychological feature as you age, a sheltered line of reasoning is what you desire to give when you are not wasted.  You should add cranberries into your options to hold back a significant common statement forwarding strategies such as the grunge stains from carpets.  Perpetrate doomed family tree vessels and the responsibility of advice from criminals trying to conceal it.  In that respect stop on a hot implement being a canned meat maneuver.  For the best show target protein intolerance.  The noises provide location as your legal document modifies your winnings in magnitude by creating a wholesome intellect of the new you.  A fee may process your credibility but do not weaken in front of cameras.  Have the noises divided into vessels.  The financial obligation combination is unanalyzable but useful with effort that is mostly unremarkably inaccurate.  Discuss loss and convert your prey into your present impoverishment of currency to expand your leader of advisable deprivation with saint-like opportunities.  Make an odd perspective to secure and manipulate.  Use your gift to copulate with rewards being a monetary system.  A marriage ceremony is a show that says get over a social unit to command a dimension splice of code so don't ask.  Encouraging someone's perception may result in a prison term.  The image might be you if it's a thought trap.  Hopefully this planet has a little more patience with itself.

this is an ongoing post...

An old poem I wrote in the late 90's that went viral on a poetry site...


alcoholic actors age artificially
frustrated feminists fornicate fiendishly
clever cops cripple conspiracies
nervous nannies neglect nurseries
morbid ministers murder martyrs
jealous judges justify junkies
lazy lawyers liberate lunatics
paranoid pimps pacify prostitutes
emotional eccentrics execute evangelists
gullible gangsters glorify graveyards
horny hypocrites horrify humanists
impotent invalids inspire incest
scorned schizophrenics sabotage sanity
disgraced diplomats destroy democracy
tormented terrorists terminate treason
reformed revolutionaries regret redemption

Here's one from deep in the archives. A little background on the following piece "Texas wants me dead". I wrote it in March of 1997 about a week before traveling on the Greyhound to Austin, Texas for a Spoken Word Festival. I was in a very fragile state of mind so I thought I'd take the paranoia I was feeling about the trip and write something that went completely off the deep end just for a laugh.  I've read it at over a dozen poetry slams over the years and audiences seem to like it.

Texas wants me dead

The State of Texas wants me dead.
I live in fear of Texas every day of my life.
Texas has dismantled and rebuilt me in the image of its anger.
Whenever the phone rings, it's somebody uttering death threats on behalf of Texas.
Texas has been planning my funeral since the day I was born.
Each time I breathe Texas takes it as a personal insult.
Every time a murder is committed in Texas I am directly responsible.
Every time somebody commits suicide in Texas it is my fault.
I am to blame for every teenage runaway, junkie prostitute and serial killer in the State of Texas since the day I was born.
Texas tells me that I belong on Death Row without an appeal.
They won't even give me a goddamn lawyer.
Texas has already signed my Death Certificate but refuses to pay for the funeral.
I've tried to negotiate but Texas hates the sound of my voice and won't let me speak.
Texas has gone to great lengths to neutralize my semen. It was the only weapon I had left.
Texas has isolated my DNA and will try to stop the same mistake from happening again.
The State of Texas will not rest until I am dead and there is nothing I can do about it.

"I hate your guts."
"You've never seen my guts."

"She was a good friend.  I have her autopsy on my wall."
"What?  Do you mean obituary?"
"Yeah.  Obituary.  Whatever."

Thursday, October 10, 2013

In my Dreams, etc...

THIS IS AN ONGOING POST...It is currently October 8th and I'm still adding to it.

A little background.  I haven't written much poetry in awhile but recently I have been inspired to do so. However, it is the easiest art form in which to be completely terrible.  So don't judge me too harshly on this.  Also, despite the negative tone to this poem my dreams aren't always this dark and dysfunctional although there are some reoccurring themes here.  I have plenty of happy dreams.  They just aren't that interesting.  Hope you enjoy.

In my dreams
the car never has brakes
the gun is always loaded
animals are ready to attack

People get hurt

In my dreams
childhood memories are no longer sacred
understanding comes with a price
the pillars of sanity are on fire

People get hurt

In my dreams
my heroes betray me
love fights its weary battle with apathy
uncertainty rules the night

People get hurt

In my dreams
desire is just out of reach
temptation leads to regret
guilt and shame are the biggest show in town

People get hurt

In my dreams
crushed by the weight of abstract symbolism
starving for air
I disappear into the crowd
and pretend that nobody got hurt

I write pick-up lines to amuse myself and's a few.  More coming soon.

"I'm kind of a big deal here.  I know the dishwasher."
"You look like you're pretty high maintenance.  Fair assessment?"
"I saw you on the dance floor.  You looked like a retarded goat having a seizure."
"Your friend is hot.  Is she single?"
"I never flaunt my money.  It wouldn't be fair to the other guys in the bar."
"Didn't I see you on that porn website?  You're good.  You're really good.  No?  Never been in a porn?  Why are you looking at me like that?  It was a compliment.  No?  Hmmm.........awkward.  I'm gonna leave now."
"I've got my grandma on speed-dial.  She's a nice lady.  She's expecting us for dinner tomorrow."

short poems...not be continued

my old roommate once said
"Why are you trying to poison me?"
his mental illness shone bright that day

senior citizens moving slow
staring at the ground with nowhere to go
soon they will join their friends down below
and on their graves flowers will grow

never prank call 911
the operators don't like humour
they have a job to do
and their ears are
overwhelmed with death

An old lady in my apartment building died yesterday
The Salvation Army truck was out front
Her worldly possessions stacked high
Strangers will soon find them a new home
as the cycle of life and death perpetuates
and mutates together as one

Do not fear the grave
It just might be an eternity of
silent oblivion
You won't feel a thing

the night after Halloween

walking home from a lifeless downtown
I see a poorly made skeleton
hung by a noose
blowing in the wind
tied to a tree branch
older than I am
as leaves dance around my feet
until I kick them away
and silently wonder
"How often do people lie to themselves
to move ahead with their lives?"
There are no more hills to climb
No more childhood mountains
to conquer


It is a death
in and of itself
giving death
no meaning
just part of the
inexorable routine
while the words
eat themselves

I've taken a bunch of acting classes in my Toronto days but I still don't know how to act normal.
Rob Ford blah blah blah.   Can't we all just smoke vitamins?
I once witnessed a girl reduced to a sobbing wreck when she couldn't score weed before school.  Pathetic.  Yawn.
I'm watching CNN and they're interviewing a retired ATF agent and he has a black eye and a bandage on his forehead.  The guy's retired and he still can't catch a break.
Today I walked with purpose but not urgency.  Such a fine line.
I eat too much yogurt.  Seriously.  I think I have a problem.  Also, eating too much peanut butter gives you a headache.
Which word do you prefer.....PUKE or BARF?  I think barf implies more of a projectile can puke in your mouth a bit but BARF sounds like you're emptying your stomach across the goddamn ROOM.  Also, let's not forget about VOMIT.  It carries a certain authority.
You heard it here folks.  I pick my bacon right from the TREE. No, wait.  That was a dream.  A TASTY dream.
To all you phone addicts.  I have something called a 'landline'.  I can also see dinosaurs out my window.
I'm concerned about my concerns.  It's very concerning.
I actually took the time to read the latest bit of spam on my e-mail account.  The usual bullshit but it ended with a gem:  "The problem with adult sex cams is that they are often full of lies."  Hilarious! 
I asked an 'associate' what his novel in progress is about.  "Life."  He said.  Wow.  That narrows it down.  Yawn.
There's a new reality show on TLC called "Best Funeral Ever."  I don't know about you but when I find out I'm going to a funeral the first thing I think is 'Will this be the one?  The funeral I've been dreaming about all these years?  Funeral perfection?  Will the sandwiches really be THAT GOOD?'
I'm not paranoid.  You're just uninformed.
I was watching a show about the destructive powers of weather and then I stepped outside and the sun felt like an orgasm.
I've seen a band I like four million times.  Divided by a million.
Dear ______________.  Get off the tit and put your big boy pants on.
Don't get too close to me.  My bullshit filter is strong.
Being a writer means keeping your friends on a long leash.
In the future, everyone will pretend to like Andy Warhol for fifteen minutes.
The previous confusion was incorrect.  However, the apology will be even more confusing.
Say something interesting enough that I will remember it tomorrow and I will forgive you for yesterday.
If I ever need an organ donor I really hope they don't die screaming.
Your bacon etiquette is surprising yet effective.
A friend on Facebook wrote "I'm so grateful for all the supportive people in my life." so I replied "I'm so supportive of all the grateful people in my life."
When people write 'LMAO' are they temporarily removed from their buttocks due to the intensity of the laughter?  In a metaphysical way?  Or something?
A friend of mine told her grandma "Stop going to the casino and spending my inheritance."
Breaking up a fight at a holiday party:  "GET OFF OF HIM GODDAMNIT.  I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS.  IT'S THE HOLIDAYS.  SHARE THE LOVE GODDAMNIT.  You stand HERE and you stand THERE.  ARE WE DONE WITH THIS BULLSHIT?  Next time you open your mouth drink some GODDAMN EGGNOG."
A friend of mine told me that she doesn't care if she ever has sex again.  She can have an orgasm taking a dump or crossing her legs a certain way.  Must be nice.
I find it funny when people stumble over the word 'articulate'.  The irony!
Some lighters have a kill switch which is why the Zippo is the preferred lighter by junkies and arsonists alike.
We've all been there.  Where memory lane intersects with regret avenue.
Never underestimate the power of wearing comfortable socks.
I was watching a spider on my balcony, dead center in the middle of his perfect web and for a second everything made sense.  The next day the web and the spider were gone.
Live every day like it's your last?  Sounds like a lot of crying and good-byes.  Try doing that every day and watch your family and friends disappear from your life in a hurry.
Why is it that people automatically look sexier when wearing aviation sunglasses?
I never understood the AC DC song "Thunderstruck".  Shouldn't it be "Lightningstruck"?
Some people bottle up their feelings.  Many of those people use the bottle to deal with their bottled up feelings.  How appropriate.
Funny bit on COPS (TV show). The cop tells a suspect who is supposedly stalking his ex that she has panic attacks when he's around. The suspect says "She has panic attacks when her dog won't take a dump or her cats won't breed."
Let me be clear. There is a difference between being a hoarder and being a slob. Hoarding is an anxiety disorder and being a slob is just lazy, willful ignorance. Don't get it twisted. You know who you are.
Here's a funny bit of spam I received:  'Put away your endeavour, where you sit depressed and hand their LSD throughout the intact traverse you get the egg with you.'
It was a candid moment that we candidly shared with other candid people until someone ruined it by saying 'candid'.

another poem based on a dream

vast jungles of flesh
giants of monotony
these intellect crushing beasts
disguised gardens of deceit
from a petri dish poisoned by mutant chemicals
what's left of the beauty transforms to become wings
sometimes I wonder if I should speak of these things
who could be listening in?
breathing the thick air of lost opportunities
crying heavy tears of expired love
witnessing a higher form of intelligence
undeserving of humanity
and my frail sanity
who could be listening in?
time to destroy the evidence and move on


to dream without a conscience
is for the weak and vulnerable
it gives them a chance to break free
from familiar prisons

"I'm going to degrade and destroy a few pints tonight."
"Just a few?"
"OK. More than a few."
"Sounds like a drunken shock and awe type situation."

Friday, May 10, 2013

Food Bank Skit

An elderly man walks into a food bank...

"Hey lady.  I'm looking for crackers."
"Is that someone's nickname?"
"Probably somewhere.  In this case no, lady.  Just old fashioned crackers."
"Well, you're in luck.  We have crackers."
"Good.  Is there a senior's discount?"
"Sir, everything here is free."
"Right....right.  Why do they call it a food bank anyways?  You ever been robbed?"
"No sir.  Everything here is free."
"OK.  I'll take everything.  Sorry.  That was a joke."
"So, you want crackers?  What kind?"
"Lady.  Look at me.  I'm a tired old man.  When I was a boy we had one kind of plain crackers and that was the end of it."
"Well, we have eight different kinds."
"Lady.  I don't think we're on the same page here.  Some days I don't know if I should go to the doctor or jump out a window.  I want plain crackers."
"Well, come have a look."
"I trust you lady.  Plain crackers."
"Well, we have different kinds of plain crackers."
"Lady, everyone I love is dead and everyone I hate is alive.  Work with me here.  Plain crackers."
"Well, here you go."
"Thank-you.  You know what I do with them?  I feed birds.  I sit on a bench in a park and feed birds and sometimes a squirrel.  That's my life and I'm pretty sure the birds don't care about name brands.  Oh, and the squirrel.  That greedy squirrel.  He's a quick one.  Little bugger.  Do you know what that makes me? A typical old man with nothing better to do than stare at a lake and people walking by while I feed birds.  Oh, and that squirrel.  So what I'm doing is basically just perpetuating a stereotype.  That's what my life has become."
"Uhhhhh......OK.  Anything else with that?"
"No.  I mean maybe.  I mean yes.  I need peanuts."
"What kind of peanuts?"
"Lady, are we seriously going to have this same conversation again?  I want PLAIN PEANUTS.  Not barbecue.  Not salted.  Not deep fried.  I don't care if God himself sneezed on them.  Plain goddamn peanuts."
"And you want them to feed the birds?"
"Yes, lady.  And sometimes I might even eat a few.  It doesn't matter.  What matters is that squirrel that's stalking me."
"Sorry to hear that.  Here are your PLAIN peanuts.  Anything else?"
"Yeah.  One more thing.  Do you know where I can get a cheap gun around here?"
"No sir."
"OK.  Just remember my face.  Remember that I'm one of the good guys perpetuating stereotypes to contribute to the illusion of society so people like you can sleep better at night.  GODDAMMIT SOME DAYS I WANT TO EXPLODE.  Ah....fuck it.  I'll be dead soon. Goddamn squirrel.  We'll see who lives the longest.  I will eat that furry little prick on my goddamn barbecue.  Do you know where I can buy poison around here?"
"No sir."
"OK.  You've been a big help.  See, NO.  These past few minutes have been very distressing to me.  I'm tired of being nice.  Is the squirrel being nice?  No. NO.  He's being greedy and selfish and rude and annoying and that's just me temporarily running out of adjectives.  Well, I'm off to the park.  Goodbye."
"Have a nice day sir."
"I doubt it.  I really doubt it."

Two teenagers at a bus stop...

"Which movie did your mom go see the other night?"
"That new Iron Man movie."
"No shit?  Your mom likes superhero movies?"
"Yeah.  She's seen pretty much all of them."
"I guess the only superhero my mom likes is Jesus."
"Is that a joke?"
"My mom was watching superhero movies before I was born back when my dad was jerking off in a welfare apartment.  She said that once at a dinner party after a few too many glasses of wine."

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Trevor - A Christmas Story

This was written around the millenium.  I thought I'd re-post it in all its absurd glory.

     It was Christmas eve and the church was buzzing with open heart surgery love. Jane March and her department store catalogue family were sitting in the front pew, blessed and fully dressed. The 8 o'clock service was about to begin, after all, and the people wanted servicing. Just as the minister approached his flock, a middle aged man named Trevor walked through the entrance. Trevor was well known to the church. He was mentally handicapped but served on just about every church comittee he could in hopes that he could one day play video games with God. Trevor was a bit of a lonely sort and his heart jumped when he saw Jane beckon him over to sit with her family who, incidentally, had never been scuba diving. As the service began, Jane introduced Trevor to her family as they took their seats. Jane and Trevor chatted during convenient pauses in the service, floating along on an ever expanding cloud of good cheer and an absence of reptiles. Suddenly, Trevor reached over and gently squeezed Jane's thigh. Jane felt confused for a moment but figured it was a gesture of holiday goodwill and the conversation continued. About thirty seconds later Jane noticed a certain look in Trevor's eyes that she couldn't quite place in her mind. It was then that Trevor leaned over with his tongue hanging out and gave Jane a sloppy kiss right on the lips, followed by a fart that reverberated proudly off the smooth wood where he sat. The minister took two steps to his right and smacked Trevor on the back of his head. Trevor jumped out of his seat and with one swift movement, knocked the minister flat on his back. He then jumped on top of Jane and started dry humping her with reckless abandon. Jane's family and the rest of the congregation watched in horror as Trevor unleashed years of sexual frustration on his helpless victim. If the truth be told, Jane's husband found some level of enjoyment at the proceedings even if he would never admit it. After what seemed like an unholy eternity, Jane's oldest son wrestled Trevor off his mother where he pinned him to the carpet in the aisle. Trevor began to wail like a newborn once he accepted defeat, soiling himself in the process. Jane sat with a blank stare in her eyes, rocking back and forth in shock. The minister rose to his feet and dragged Trevor out of the church and launched him headfirst into a snowbank, temporarily forgetting his Christ complex. Jane's family took her home and the service continued while Trevor unleashed a river of tears face down in the snow. After a few minutes he walked up the street and grabbed a porno mag and a cheeseburger and began to walk home, alive in a way that few could ever dare hope to comprehend.

Note: This story is not a slight to the mentally handicapped in any way. If this material offends you go watch Friends or something. Isn't everyone on that show handicapped? And people LOVE it.

I usually stay away from writing rhyming poems but this one based on a dream just kind of fell into place.

dream poem

I don't have God or the Devil
standing in my way
It seems I already know what people
are going to say
A part of me lost with a price
I can't afford to pay
as I try to honestly
greet another day
What could have been
is forever here to stay

random quote:

"I guess he marches to the beat of a different drummer."
"That's no excuse for being an asshole."