Dated 10-May-2008
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fuck all you assholes
fuck you right in the ear
I don’t want to know it
I don’t want to hear
your sniveling protests
your whiny complaints
your shoulds and you shouldn’ts
your ares and your ain’ts

Dated 27-September-2006
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When I was a child, I thought I knew it all.
I knew the sun was warm
And the night was cool
And a butterfly landing on my finger was magic.

In the years that followed
I was taught that I did not know it all.

I was taught about the planets
I was taught about the stars
I was taught biology and the basics of how things works

I was taught about taxes
I was taught about jobs
I was taught to balance a checkbook
I was taught stress, and anxiety and frustration.

I was taught there is no magic.

I continued being taught through the years,
Then I needed to search,
Which lead to wanting to learn.

Now that I have lived a good deal of my life
I have decided to grow.

I know many more things now

Then I did as that child
But I have realized some very important lessons.

I know the sun is warm
And the night is cool
And a butterfly landing on my finger IS magic.

Dated 30-March-2005
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“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
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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.