Archive | June, 2016

Tomorrow is June 30th, June 30th

30 Jun


Tomorrow Is June 30th, June 30th


On June 30th’s

I always feel like I’m standing in Tokyo

but I’ve never been to Tokyo

so where I’m standing is a place

that I’ve made up based on words,

stock footage,

and missing you

in my head


on June 30th’s I live in a dream


and in the dream the sun looks like the moon

and the moon looks like a ball full of cats

purring along to the opening notes

of early Bon Jovi                  (Tokyo Road)


everything that’s shitty about everything

gets replaced by bowling trophies, sombreros

and trout


because in this dream

Brautigan put the gun down

and traded in all thoughts of pulling the trigger

for another shot of love and whiskey

and an entire library

of more time


in the dream Brautigan’s still breathing

he’s 81 years old

and the reason the world doesn’t know

he’s still around

is he’s been living

in my basement


on June 30th’s

he comes upstairs

and we watch Planet of the Apes

with the sound down


and write dick poems

about Charlton Heston

until we’re both too drunk

to spell ‘dick’ right


or we pretend the cats speak

Japanese and that’s why we don’t know

what they’re saying


one time we ordered a pizza

but our order got mixed up

and they brought us the Empire State Building instead


so for the rest of the day

we lived in the Empire State Building

and took turns being King Kong


until our hearts

had been made

out of bullet holes


and whoever the fuck

dream-owns the Empire State Building

kicked us out




(written while listening to 7800 Degrees Fahrenheit/Bon Jovi) 


I Live Down The Street From A Church The Size Of The Death Star

29 Jun



I Live Down The Street From A Church The Size Of The Death Star


I live down the street from a church

the size of the Death Star

and on Sundays if the traffic

happened to find itself sucked sky-wise

this traffic

would blot out

the sun


and yesterday morning it was Sunday again

(because the church doesn’t have to pay taxes

so it can afford an ark full of lobbyist to ensure

it’s always Sunday again somewhere) and after not leaving

the house for around 56 hours I figured

I should probably

leave the house


the cats needed cat food

and I’d run out of fake meat and lettuce

and felt like getting a burrito

that I wouldn’t have

to make



so I got in the car

(Helen, you see how easy that is?)

I got in the car

and the car needed gas

and why the hell did it have to be

so goddamn bright outside?

(I blamed the modern state of democracy

and the price of Ray Bans and all the White Walkers

who’ve fallen

for Trump)


so there I was

in the car without Helen and

the car was operating on E

because I’d forgotten I’d needed gas

the last time I drove it


so I turned right into the first station that popped

out of the horizon which happened to be located

smacked feet first in the middle

of the main parking lot of

the Flatirons Church


or the gas station was there first I suppose, and over time

the church had just consumed the mass of land surrounding it

like a blizzard consumes safe driving conditions

or how you can’t believe it’s not butter?

Well, that makes two of us


I checked the clock before exiting the car and committing

and I’d figured it was safe because I was consciously traveling

during the quiet period between sermons


when the streets were quiet between slaughters

I was traveling between the 9

and 11 a.m. shows


I should’ve had a good 20 minutes

before the 9 o’clock hounds were let go

and the 11 a.m. hordes choked the streets

dead with their sheer mass and their travel


I wasn’t being reckless, Helen

I wasn’t being like you or I used to be

I’d fucking planned this whole cat food/burrito journey out, damn it!

almost a full half hour before reluctantly

stepping out of the



(cue guitar riff from Dokken’s Dream Warriors: now)


but that planning didn’t stop what happened

after I stepped out of the car

that planning didn’t stop what happened next

(“I’m standing in the night alone!/for-EV-er!/toGETH-ER!”—Don Dokken)


I got out of the car and looked up

because when you get out of a car, that’s generally

the next step, ain’t it? How else are you gonna know

where you’re going?

You look up


so I looked up and I saw an entire army of movable bodies

pouring out of every orifice that church

had ever had built in it

a good damn 20 minutes ahead of schedule!

Did the house band decide to perform the slightly shorter

Pink Floyd song this week?

I mean, literally HORDES of people

a couple thousand of em’ maybe!

and every one of them heading

towards the parking



that lot being the only thing that was standing between us

at the time, myself and that horde, an amount of traversable space

that would be traversed in the matter of minutes


(“Mee-nuts, Captain! Mee, nuts”—modern day movie Scotty, r.i.p.)


which means I had only minutes to get out of there

I could’ve made it, if I’d just jumped in the car

(do you see that, Helen. if you can jump in the car

but you don’t jump in the car, well, there are consequences


King in the North! inspired consequences #direwolves #sadFace #Boremeer)

I could’ve just jumped in the car

but the car was out of gas

and the crowd was getting closer


another two minutes and they’d be upon me

could I realistically choose the pay at the pump option

and get enough gas in my car to not be ridiculous

and get the hell out of there

in 2 minutes or less?


I didn’t know

I just did it


I swiped the card and entered my

very specific pin code

and I declined the offer of a car wash

and no, time is important here!

I wouldn’t be needing a bloody receipt!


and after getting the card approved go ahead

I pulled the gas nozzle out of the gas nozzle holder thingy

like I was unsheathing a valerian sword

and then I started laughing

until I started pretending to be

super serious


I turned dramatically on purpose

and stood there posed with the nozzle

just like Jon Snow was standing

when he stood down Ramsey’s entire goddamn army

in last week’s Bastard vs. Bastard episode

of Game of Thrones


I stood there all stoic, with the camera behind me

pumping gas as bravely as possible

as the horde crashed my way exactly like things happen

on Game of Thrones style

and Don Dokken just kept

on screaming


Can I be honest?

I want to smack things

when people say shit like

‘Can I be honest’


but let’s face it

(I’m actually not all that fond of

that phrase either)


I was pretty sure I wasn’t going

to make it

so did I make it?

did I actually survive?


I don’t know, I mean

(sentence deleted)


we’ll all just have to tune in

next week to

find out




(written while listening to Dokken)

Stairway To Vampires

26 Jun


Stairway To Vampires


which came first, the internet or the asshole?

spoiler alert: it’s the asshole

if only because assholes predate electricity

but this morning they’re interdependent upon each other

like they’ve-from-4-seconds-after-the-beginning-

of-goddamn-everything been interdependent on each other


like that Reece’s Peanut Butter Cup commercial

citizens my age have been raised on

‘You got internet in my asshole!’

‘You got asshole on my internet!’

‘Shit, am I the only one here who thinks this tastes delicious?’

‘Fuck no, buddy! Let’s be pals!’


It’s Saturday and I woke up pretty early

after day-before vowing that this weekend

I’d fucking accomplish some things

I promised myself that I’d do stuff like wake up,

eat a sensible breakfast, and finish hammering out this story about

Bon Jovi and volcanoes and bears


but when I woke up I didn’t have any real food in the house

besides half a pan of 5 day old fake meat

and a head of lettuce

the fake meat was fake edible

and who the fuck breakfasts on lettuce anymore? in this 2016 culture?

so fuck breakfast, as I like to pretend that Bea Arthur used to say

so what was next on the list? hammering bear things

so I sat down to do that but then I remembered it was early so I figured


hell, I’m already ahead of schedule

so I turned on my laptop

and because I’m a goddamn adult now

I have Amazon Prime

and I figured I’d watch a couple episodes of The Wire

before getting on with what I’d vowed would be

a productive day


(Historical Note: Screw you! No, I never watched The Wire. I’m only on episode 5 of season 1, but it’s not my fault. I kept meaning to get to it but I get easily sidetracked. In my defense, I’ve seen Planet of the Apes around 100 times by now though. Have you seen Planet of the Apes around 100 times by now. Fuck that! No you haven’t! So you know, Hodor! I mean, touché)


but before I turn on The Wire I semi-automatically checked Facebook

because that’s what us modern worlder’s are trained to do


it’s how we verify that other people still believe in our existence

or that we’re even still goddamn alive


so I fucked around for a while on Facebook, where I:


looked at photos from my Mom’s garage sale

allowed myself to get pulled into a debate with an obsessed Led Zeppelin fan

like-buttoned anything around that had anything to do with Cthulhu

and watched the new trailer for Jack Reacher 2


and honestly, collectively, as a goddamn species

we’re all globe ridden and concernedly fucked up

and I’m still not sure what’s more ridiculous

Led Zeppelin fans or the fact that they actually made Jack Reacher 2


but the majority of these action figures sitting

in the room right now agree:

spoiler alert: It’s not Jack Reacher 2


this Zeppelin chum was going on

responding to posts of his own posts

on top of his own posts

arguing the repeated point that Zep didn’t rip off

the riff to Stairway To Heaven because

that riff was actually an old folk song

that lives in the public domain


(Historical Note: The public domain was like an old folks home

for the un-copywritten aka uninsured.)


and his point was that it was ok to steal something

and pretend you wrote it if the thing that you stole

was in the public domain


and my point was: despite the fact that

I’d vowed Old Man Logan style not to get into

this back and forth Facebook shit again,


“I’m not like that anymore.” –Clint Eastwood*


*see how fucking easy it is to do that?!


but truth be told I’d just woke up

and hadn’t smoked any weed yet

so I was naturally organically jumpy

and hyped up what with reality chomping

and figured, what the fuck


so I jumped in with my point, my point being:


The novel Dracula is public domain, but if somebody decided to re-type it themselves and call it Stairway to Vampires and spend the next big chunk of years claiming it’s an original composition while refusing to mention Stoker, that’s not really rock n roll. That’s called being an dick. I haven’t heard Zeppelin announce that Stairway is an interpretation of an old public domain folk song. If they did, I apologize. Good for them. Naturally if they were borrowing an old folk song they provided the proper writing credits on the album when it came out. Did they do that? Or did they just re-typeset Dracula and hope like hell that everyone in the band would be dead before anyone figured it out? I mean what was it, the 60’s? How the hell was Led Zeppelin supposed to predict the internet? Dick casts for everybody! Who the fuck’s gonna find out?


(Historical Note: the Zeppelin fan doesn’t understand reason

the Zeppelin fan only knows that they really love Zeppelin.)


but this is what I’d jumped into

and four minutes later I was bored


so I shut down the internet

and my plans to watch The Wire

and I sat down to that thing that the day before I’d promised myself

I’d sit down to do, the story about Bon Jovi and the volcano and the bear


but remember that bit earlier

about my being easily distracted?

yeah, well I sat down to write that one thing


but another thing leads to another thing

and I ended up writing

whatever this thing here is



(while listening to the albums Slippery When Wet by Bon Jovi and Eat Em And Smile by David Lee Roth)

That’s Not Where It’s Supposed To Go, Helen

18 Jun



that’s not where it’s supposed to go, Helen

(LV 37902 -3)


that’s not where it’s supposed to go, Helen

but you put it there anyway


and now Donald Trump is dancing the poles

towards being the new President




the days piss warm reruns

and cold 7 Up


is that what you were looking for, Helen?


there ain’t nothing vegetable about an asshole

so why do they call it a tossed salad?

an asshole is meat and a tunnel

for excrement


is this the world you were shooting for, Helen

was it worth it?

was anything worth it?


global warming

vs police brutality

vs a beheaded lion


and him I guess,

you’ve got him


is this how you envisioned it?

are you happy?


am I really still writing about this shit?


I should be watching Planet of the Apes

so I’m going to watch

Planet of the apes




I’m no longer sure what’s necessary

but I’ve still got the wrist watch…………….


do the days fry you with glee?

LV 425 1/2

17 Jun

jon b j


LV425 1/2


my dick caught

in sorrow’s mouth

and its own zipper

at the exact same time


your vagina willingly capsized

on the shores of another man’s

coconut clipped island

3 blocks from the last time

my chest broke open like a cracked comb


Moscow Russia

as opposed to

Moscow Spain


we were in love like drunken geography

and every goddamn metaphor for love

ever used in every song

ever sung by a long haired Jon Bon Jovi

and then some


but then Pluto ceased being a planet

in textbooks and you stopped loving me

or something like that


you stopped loving me

to the point where I get it

but still limp


like a swimming pool

going down on a plate

of Young Guns 2 movie reviews

between H.R. Gieger’s deathbed

and the last bottle on earth

of diet cherry







(from The Planet Poems Or Something Like That)