Dated 30-March-2005
=======================

“I just don’t want to steal your dream”
You can’t… Dreams can only be shared
The moment it’s something that can be stolen,
It’s no longer a dream, its an idea
Ideas have a life of their own, and can die
Where as dreams are immortal, and never die,
They just fade away as the dreamer forgets,
Or dreams a different dream.

Dated 4-June-2005
====================

I want to drive a nail,
right into my head,
just to break the boredom,
not to make me dead

I want to drive a nail,
right into my head,
’cause the pain that it would cause,
is better then this dread

I want to drive a nail,
right into my skull,
just to break the boredom,
of this job that’s oh so dull.

Dated 4-June-2005
====================

I am not an artist
I have recently come to this thought
for I have no passion
there is nothing that I cannot live without
nothing I need to share
nothing that needs to be
nothing
I cannot draw
or paint
or sing
or dance
I can manipulate words
but is this art
I sometimes think not
at least not what I do
I just spout shit
and sometimes a flower grows
sometimes a weed
sometimes nothing
but the steady stink of shit
I am not an artist
unless I can excrete
art from my ass

Dated 16-August-2004
=======================

We like to dance the night away,
In the bars both straight and gay,
Smoking, Drinking, what the hey,
I raise a glass unto my Friend.

Chick-flicks and a glass of wine,
Expensive meals on which to dine,
Witty barbs both yours and mine,
I raise a glass unto my Friend.

To corporate ‘dos you are my date,
Of Love gone bad to you relate,
I’d marry you if I were straight,
I raise a glass unto my Friend.

But I am queer, and firmly so,
And now I have myself a beau,
But I love you badly even so,
I raise a glass unto my Friend.

Dated 16-August-2004
=======================

I threw my brother down some stairs,
just to see if he could fly
I killed my sisters’ kitty cat
Just so I could make her cry

In granny’s mouth I put some lye
She was sleeping on her bed
To see what noises she would make
As it burned into her head

I put some glue in grand pa’s cream
That he uses on his butt
So he’d explode when he went poop
‘caue his heiny was all sealed shut

I poured acid in aunty’s glass
When she had her self some gin
Because she really should have known
drinking alcohol’s a sin

I disemboweled my dad one day
When he dozed off on a beach
I grabbed his guts and ran to see
How far his intestines reach

But mommy dear I do not touch
I act good with out a hitch
I’m really scared of what she’d do,
Because she’s a psycho bitch

Dated 16-August-2004
=======================

Time flows by, slowly,
Like a cool water stream,
Washing the dirt and silt,
from my mind,
Leaving a polished stone.
The deposits no longer present,
No longer Blurring Perception,
But the effects still remain,
Leaving rings on the surface,
For as long as the pebble Remains.

Dated 15-August-2002
=======================

I’m sipping the juice from out of his eyes,
I’m roasting them both his big juicy thighs,
I’m stewing his skull for its cranial prize.

His Feet I have bronzed as cheap souvenirs
Yule decorations from both of his ears
And I toss the butt, I’m not in to rears

I’m drying the skin a goodly sized pelt,
It’s good for some shoes, or may be a belt,
Scalp makes a sporran though I’m not a Celt

His innards are soft Slow cooked in a crock
His balls are the weights on my coo-coo clock
I won’t even say What’s up with his cock

The bones I throw out, I’ve got quite a few.
Intestines are trash, and not good to stew
They’ve really no taste, and stringy right through

If you know some things, to do with the rest,
Please send out a list, to my postal address,
I truly hate waste, I’m totally stressed.

Dated 30-October-2001
=========================

Chicken soup and ginger tea,
This is what I need for me,
Warm and yummy
In my tummy,
Make me better speedily.

Blankets warm and comfy bed,
Big soft pillow for my head,
Safe and cosey,
head to toesy,
In my home and nicely fed.

Dated 10-September-2001
Failrly certain I wrote it in the late 80’s
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Red

My wrist screams forth red fury,
Angry at the world that forces its speech
Its words, Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
Forming a puddle on the floor.