a ditch digger for half a day

swampy lips, murky minds;
twisted bits
livin off the land
diggin nails in the sand
just diggin a grave for time to pass by
'just say hi and goodbye!'
nothing to see here, folks
just hi and bye will do just fine
you see, its just the same damn line over and over again-
what are you lookin at? HIGH and fucking GOODBYE, FAGGOT!
its just that, you know, they say they understand, they say they listen, they say they're sorry
but
but does it-does any of it really matter?
does it?
nah.

doubt it.

only thing that matters is this, this damn shovel in my hand
and this permit of official fucking business that says I can go dig in this here spot
whenever and how ever long I damn well please
gonna dig to china
buy me some chickens
and cats
gonna start a restaurant called squawking breasts, hidden pussy
hahahaha.
and no one will ever say sorry
cause, well, they'll all be speakin fuckin Chinese of course
and the Chinese'll love me, ya see
like the poor dog they kick in the alley
but throw rice balls and hot grease at occasionally
its cool. its alright, I guess.
atleast it's honest, ya know?

I'll be cacklin,
hackin and a'howlin,
scampering about diseased and confused,
drunk on the filth and noise of my Chinese finger trap
no one'll give me dirty looks for being dirty either
its what's expected
instead they'll feel pity
they'll say things like, '有人要付諸表決,窮人狗,他的痛苦,'
or, '讓她走了! 讓她走了!'

our nature just cant be helped, I guess.
I guess, guess, guess.





 

On the Road.

Tiny drumbeats on an olive canvas floating down a river of coffees, from sea to swamp. I miss my hair and the way it kept the rain from my eyes, dripping upon my lips with the taste of clouds and leather instead. Who knows why. Now it storms down upon me, pattering across scalp and cheeks. The birds chatter as they shower from branches overhanging tannin stained roadways with depths unmatched by man-made lanes. Fuck the signs and dashed lines that followed suit I want lawlessness. I want freedom and truth. Am I strong or has domestication given me the illusion of strength? The trailing edge of the paddle slips from the calm waters into a battlefield of dumb bombs and bullets that shatter fragile skies , even if for a brief moment. The river drips from the plastic propeller, craving to leave such a ferocious environment back to its muffled mansion for dead leaves and relics of ages past. It’s had its fill of war. They all have. I crave the conflict and keep moving as if in a trance. I match the pace of nature’s snare. Heaven is hidden-we beasts are too shameless to watch as we carelessly kill, fuck, and drive ourselves to madness. Doesn’t bother me one fucking bit. Shadow puppets held by swaying arms cast their story upon the impact area below, distorted and fleeting images followed by the voice of god-what a fitting narrator-scenes of mass murder, angry and merciless soldiers raining down on the willing and unwilling. The fearful and the nihilists. I can’t relate. I move on in to a void on planet earth. The trees entrenched and intertwined above and below. I am in the womb. The waters narrow and all light escapes me, the sounds of the outside world fall on deaf ears and as I start to feel soft sand gracing the underbelly of my vessel I decide to walk onward, leaving all else behind. The ground sinks and hugs the soles of promiscuous feet. Palm fronds run their fingers cross my arms and chest. They whisper, “Don’t go”, but I must! It is my one and only wish to be reborn in the fertile waters of this all-knowing, forever flowing cunt. I stop as I feel a solution of sand and piercing cold water tickle the arch of my right foot. The end must be approaching. Who knew? My next few steps land me smack dab middle of a massive crater for quicksand and spring currents. Not Nobodies. In the darkness I felt for a bottom while fear and fine soot engulfed my body. The ground is going to eat me. The solution rushed from a bunker of limestone grabbing ahold of my shoulders and ankles. I sank to its soul and closed my eyes. If I were a fish I was eaten, if I were an alligator I was eaten, if I were human I’d have laughed until my lungs filled with water and sand. Thank God I’m Nothing and Nowhere, none of that shit really applies. Phew.

scooter squids.

Toro y Lechuza

ONCE UPON A TIME....





There was a toro.

A toro who, in his free-time, liked to drink hard liquor and wander around in life harrassing everyone he crossed. He'd throw bottles at babies, chuck bats at old ladies, and steal candy from the corner store(which he was very good at, I might add).

His evil deeds went on and on, starting on the day he left the prison walls of a chinese torture facility(back in '06), to his untimely demise...
But we'll get to that later.

Toro had no friends. People didn't like his drunken banter, nor did they like getting whomped by bats or pelted with candy poo. Toro had lost hope in people, and himself. He had become the person he hated most,





Barbara
Streisand.

Toro woke up one day, hating life more than usual, and decided he wanted to die. He dreamt a super stylized suicide like it came straight outta Hollywood-or Afghanistan-either way, it was of super-epicness proportions. Atleast in his mind, ofcourse. He had it in his lil toro head that he was gonna stuff himself with as much nitro glycerin he could steal from the army men, run from their tanks and stealth airplanes, throw a noose over a tree in a quaint neighborhood park (disguised as a pinata, no less), and let the kids whack away. then they'd all go boom. Toro sighed in satisfaction as it played over in his head. No doubt Toro wasn't doing too good. Some might suggest he go see a therapist, but Toro would never hear of such things. He'd just scream and hack and scream some more in his dizzy stupor.

So as Toro started writing the last hate letter to Ms. Streisand, a knock sounded from his door.
Toro rose from the chair and turned to face this surprising distraction.
"...Toro? TOROTOROTORO!!!" screamed the bewildered little toro.
The knocks did not stop.
Toro, thinking that maybe there really were people that read minds for a living and that they had found out about his master plan, started teeter-tottering back and forth. Were they now here to take him back to his old dungeon abode? He shuttered at the thought. Toro stumbled about trying to burn all the evidence of his illegible scribblings in mureeka's fishbowl. mureeka didn't mind too much since Toro thought fish just ate their own poo-like he did. As he continued to stuff the little blazing bowl, his door opened enough for a beak to peak in.
"whoooOOOoo?" an eerie woman's voice called out.
"....TORO?!?"
"WHOOOO!"
"TORO!"
Toro had not noticed but...
He was on fire, and not like denzel...in that one movie, but really REALLY on fire.
Toro teetered and tottered some more, until his mysterious guest flew over him like a rescue copter and hosed him down with a bucket of mop water.
Toro now sighed in relief and looked up at his new found friend-his only friend in the whole wide world-and thought to himself, "Love..."

So from then on it was no longer Toro, drunk and alone; it was Toro and Lechuza, living free and together.
It's all they needed.
It's all they wanted.
Toro gave up the liqour, random violence, and forgot all about his Hollywood post-mortem movie deals.

Remember how I said Toro died? Yeah, well, That part's comin'.






So after a much needed visit to the optometrist(for the longest time
Toro couldn't tell the difference between tequila and olive oil),





Toro y Lechuza decided to head on over to the local REDBOX to rent a nice movie to cuddle to.





They arrived outside the HEB down the street, wondering what fantastiful movies
were held for them inside that fabulous red box.





Unfortunately, there was a line. So Toro waited patiently, and took a seat on the bench.





HURRAY! HUZZAH! The moment had arrived. It was time to make a selection.
After clicking through many of the different titles, Toro came to a conclusion on what he would pick: nothing. Everything was either about dane cook being a manslut and changing his ways or an 80 foot anadoo (half anaconda, half dugong or manatee or whatever the fuck it's called).





Toro felt a familiar heat rage through his veins.
A heat that built in his heart and whizzed out his ears.
A heat that fueled a fire that spread like buttered butt cheeks.





As Toro's returning anger flooded his mind, he glanced over at Lechuza, sitting peacefully in the truck.
Toro collected himself and got his head right. After all, he had love! They didn't need no stinking movie.
Once again Toro was a happy-go-lucky little toro. He loved babies, old ladies, and even retards.





And with that he headed to his sweet pookums, awaiting his embrace.





Then a Ford Explorer ran Toro over.

The End.

smokescreen opera

I love you, she said.
“I love you and don’t worry, you’ll be fine…I’ll be home soon enough, okay baby?”
She wraps her lips around me and looks up.
“okay. I love you too, it’s just that- I just wish I coulda came with you.”
I’m the only one coming, you idiot.
“mmmmhm-I know baby. I gotta go, baby-Clara needs me.”
I shoved my dick in her mouth in between those broken sentences. She said goodnight and hung up before he could reply, I pulled her head back and came onto her freckled cheek. She smiled.
“mmmmm baby, I love it when you come on my face. I love your taste.”
“hmmp.”
Fucking slut.
“Can we take a shower now?”
“Greg.”
“what?”
“I loooove youuuuu.”
“I love you too, now can we wash the sex off? I smell like straight up vagina.”
she giggles as the come drips off her chin.
“okay, baby.”
He drifted along her words for so long. He never wants to fall, but doesn’t even realize that’s what he’s been doing since she said yes. Michael didn’t make her feel wanted, but he gave her the security she craved-a feeling of control-the fact that she can create a relationship. A public performance for everyone to witness. An act that she can take a break from whenever she feels. He loves her and will never leave. Brittany told me he’s never even so much as kissed another girl before. He reminds me of myself from another time.

Kind of sad. I remember when we went to Corpus Christi and she told him that her mother was sick. He wanted to come with her, but she had said that it was best if she went alone. In reality her parents didn’t even stay there in the winter. We went down there and fucked in every possible nook and cranny. She lies to him so much, but doesn’t keep anything from me. I used to think it was because she wasn’t afraid to lose me. I’ve since come to believe that she knows that she never had me. He, on the other hand, has this beautiful story that’s told to him every night before he lays his head to rest-she loves him and wants to be with him forever-It puts his weary head at rest and puts a smile on his face. She so desperately wants that to make her happy. She wants to be passionate about something. Someone. She just can’t.
I hope I don’t end up like that. Passion is what fuels us to transcend the boundary we create for ourselves. These days it seems to be a scarce resource…

so here's your spectacular send off.

Hours, minutes, seconds. Every moment that passes by is not recognized.
I am stressed, weary, and confused. So unsure of everything I believe and trust.
It’s just so fucking hard to rely on anything these days-even my own convictions, it seems...
Fuck it. I’m getting out of here.
It’s bad when the door seems so much freer from the inside. Maybe I need help? No time. Got to leave.
I take my bag and walk past the sink, but something catches my attention. I backtrack and stare into my empty eyes, through the mirror and past the drywall. I’m alive. I think. I grab my notepad-shove it in my bag.

“This should be it.”

Everything seems ready-I know I am. Slip my shoes on and slide past the door. Instantly the winter breeze nips at my legs and fingertips. I don’t mind though; soon enough I’ll be in the passenger seat of a car, just trying to ignore the numbing sensation of my ass.
As I come to the bottom of the stairs, I notice Brittany waiting for me; her smile is warm and I can feel it on my face.

“You got everything; clothes, deodorant, toothbrush…condoms?”
“I got everything”
“you-”
“yeah, let’s just go.”

Corpus Christi. I’m pretty sure that’s where Selena was from...I hope the gulf is as beautiful as this bitch makes it out to be. I need a distraction.
I help Brittany put her things in the back of her Kia, while she blabbers on about how she wishes I would drive half the way. Fuck that. I’m already a liar, don’t want to add death to my conscience’s piling list of issues…

“Wanna stop to get somethin to eat?”
Drive, bitch.
“Well?”
“Nah, I’m good, babe. Can we just get a move on? I don’t wanna get there too late.”
“Well, I’m hungry. I’m just gonna stop at the shopette to get something and buy gas, okay?”

Sigh. The next time she masks her own desires for a concern I’m going to drive-right into a wall. I hate how you get to know some people and it just seems to be a burden.

We pull up and park. She leaves the keys in the ignition, to my surprise, and steps out into the clusterfuck. I wait impatiently, wondering what she’ll end up buying. Did she really believe I brought condoms? Let alone any other thing that would lead to her on top of me… I hope so.
I see her hair flicker in the sun as she exits out the shopette. She is a beautiful girl, but nothing more. She catches my stare and meets it with contentment.
Opening the door and throwing the bag into the back, she sits down and looks at me.

“I love you.”
I smile a fake smile and meet her half way.
“I love you too, baby. Now, can we GO NOW?”
“Mmmhm!”

About two hours in, my butt cheeks got to the point of predicted numbness.
I ignore her texts. I turn off my phone.
Fuck. This could be worse; she could be talking to me. That’s one thing I do appreciate about Brittany, no problem with silences.
As we kept passing the same monotonous scenery, I came to ponder out loud-big mistake.

“Could everything we live be a painting that is changing instantaneously?”
“…WWWHAT?”
“ Time, as we perceive it, could just be an illusion of what happens to only be one moment-where everything is and always has been. Maybe there is no real differentiation between me and the seat I appear to be sitting at in this very moment. “
“what ar-“
“And god-what if god is this moment? This moment that has no definite beginning or end. That everything we see, hear, know, want, touch, love, hate, deny, embrace is god.
Not a being. No deity, but this. “
“Uhhhhh-“
“God is a product of our observations and reactions to those observations. We may never know what fuels our reality because it is nothing but a part of ourselves-of an all encompassing, singular moment that we cannot look outside of. God is this epic poem of explanations, and excuses for the unknown, that we call life.”
“Wow, Greg. Where the hell did all that come from? I swear you have the most random fucking thoughts.”
She chuckles. I want to fucking hurt her so bad.
“Where’s my note…pad…”
“Well, where’d you put your bag, Einstein?”
“Will you shut the fuck UP?”
“What the fuck is your problem? I’m just playing with you; I swear sometimes you act really fucking weird.”

Silence. Finally.

Myyy-realityyy-is-yourrrsss-it's-just-changinggg-too-fassst-for-us-to-rrrealize.
There; all written down in the volumes of my yellow paper. Most of my thoughts are fleeting, I either have to write or draw if I want to hold onto them.

Brittany and I don’t exchange words for a while. Minutes pass us by; they disappear in the rearview mirror. After about an hour, I apologize for what I said. She didn’t say anything back, just kinda smirked and put her hand on mine. I felt better.

It took five and a half lifetimes to get to this fucking city. I can’t feel my legs-or my bladder. It seems I have aged 60 years in a matter of hours…hmmn. What a predicament. Brittany is stressing over the directions to her parent’s rental home. I’m just laying back, staring at the fluorescent lights. I can still remember what they look like from above-fucking beautiful.
Damn, I miss her.

We pull up to a small home, opposite to the gulf. I jump out and stare out at the whispering darkness. I feel the cool moist air and it livens my spirit.

“Let’s go walk on the beach.”
I miss you.
“Greeeeeg, I’m tirrrreddd. We can spend the whole morning on the beach, can’t we just go inside and lay down?”
I need you, baby.
“Sure.”
“Kay, I love you.”
I followed behind her, through the door way, and planted right into her arms.
“I thought you were tired?”
“Yeah, but I’m also horny.”
Her tongue slid passed my lips and I pull back.
“We gotta get up early, baby, can’t it wait?”
“Are you serious right now? A minute ago you were all ready to go out and explore, and now you don’t even wanna put your fucking cock in me? It’s not like it would take you long anyways…”
“You wanna be fucked, baby?”
I hate you.
“Mhmmm.”
You are not human.
“Fine.”

I picked her up and met her lips with mine. Pushing her against the bathroom door and manipulating the head to the side-I pull my puppet’s strings every which way and as hard as I please. She doesn’t mind. After all, she wants to be abused. Wants to be powerless.
I hate her.
She whispers against my neck. She wants to be fucked.
I carry her to the couch and throw her down. As I unzip my pants, she sits up and explores what lies underneath my shirt. My clothes come off. Hers follow.
This night will be a charade.

Maybe it’s me who’s not human.