The following is an excerpt from a recently uncovered story I started playing with in my mid 20's.

As a disclaimer I'll have it known that my inspiration at the time came almost solely from Jameson Irish whiskey and a rotating cast of back ally pain pills prescribed for my suffered aching being.



     "You're probably thinking at this moment that you're a murderer, a monster in a world full of pimps and cheap whores, a world that is on its way to self destructing in a giant nuclear explosion with the button pusher some green suited speed freak with a cold sweat swatting at flies that were never there. You're thinking you've extinguished an immortal flame but really you prevented a forest fire, like that king sized talking bear walking upright wearing a rangers hat peddling cheap tricks while preaching about the prevention and death of adolescent mischief. The truth is you're a hero and as such deserve the highest honor in our commander and chiefs armed forces, as it is the president is no longer accepting any correspondence from me because of a mix up of words that i sent his way by carrier pigeon hastily written while under the influence of several mood altering substances mixed with copious amounts of home baked spirits that i concocted in a lab in the desert that i found while on a journey to find and kill my spirit animal, I'd like to point out that any misgivings that you may have about my procurement of these mood altering substances are all for naught, if a prescription is required for any fact checking purposes I'd be more than happy to point you in the direction of my pharmacist, he is very easy to find in his back ally shanty made from sturdy brown paper and ski poles, I'm sure he'd be more than accommodating in explaining his trafficking of these life saving medicines and more than willing to supply you as well (I recommend staying away from the little green and white fuckers he tries to push on you as the high is great until it turns on you and demands the life of your first born child on the day his first tooth falls out.) I'm getting off topic. Today you killed a man, I can't imagine the thought that raced through your head as you smashed into some bat crazy lunatic wearing a blindfold and his best thrift store suit, holding in one hand a high ball full of wild turkey and half melted ice cubes, and in the other a signed manuscript of Richard Milhous Nixon's memoirs titled "If I had the chance to do it all over again..... I'd have gone by the name Dick". This book never reached print and was purchased by an acquaintance of mine in an antique store in Bangladesh from a one eyed chinaman half insane from the opium smoke steadily coursing through his lungs, mouth, and nose. The manuscript eventually came into my possession after a duel to the death involving a stun gun, 16 feet of rubber medical tubing (sterilized for the safety of myself and the others involved) and the poison of a torafugu blow fish native to the waters of Japan. Upon arrival the police will also find a satchel on my person. Said satchel will be chock full  of family portraits that were purchased from various second hand stores with my face savagely scribbled in between the fake smiles and eyes looking slightly to the left. The reason i mention these is because this is where this vicious splatter of blood, bone and meat all started, family, or lack there of. i was born in the Netherlands on a farm over looking the north sea that shares maritime borders with Belgium, Germany, and the United Kingdom to a Dutch agriculturalist with a drinking problem and a wandering eye, my mother a french prostitute that serviced my father while on a stint in the dutch conscription army. The farmers wife saw me as an abomination and I was soon sold for scientific purposes to a young american inventor that holds patents to adhesive for cereal flour and also drunkenly holds claim to inventing the first manure bomb used by Guatemalan freedom fighters in the Mexican revolution. Terrence Reginald Thurston was his name, you'd be hard pressed to find a more nervous tick ridden introvert this side of a padded cell. The adventures of the doctor you will have to save for another time for it is not for the faint of heart or empty of stomach. You'll find that story buried 50 paces magnetic north from the dying oak tree in the back yard of......."

strike anywheres are all but extinct.

jackie knows a secret. its a secret about a place. its a place with great trees. great trees with faces, with names. great trees with perfectly voiced opinions. its like being in a classroom full of nay sayers spitting out balanced theories on the state of gravity and its effects on small round fruit and struggling bee colonies. a wealth of knowledge from an army of thumb suckers hell bent on an endless recess. jackie walks like a ghost. astral and non committal, plotting to burn down the forest. purification by fire, the death and silence of the god damn trees with their god damn voices. fortunes and omens are just a hairs breadth away from rubber bands and rocket ships. angry course faces proficising the weather and the all consuming crash that follows. a fall from grace, the grace being ones and zeros with  a few points and currency signs mixed in. names become numbers and numbers turn to ash, the ash composed of atoms as indistinguishable as the next. worms of the earth fight for our remains and we become energy for the sake of decomposition. jackie is a cycle breaker, she sees a working system of heat, gas and electrons contained inside a perfectly formed environment that once initiated produces a reaction that fulfills the wishes of a chain pulling upright mammal also the work of a complex system of meat, bone, nerves and thousands of years of genetic modification. european aspen, potassium chlorate for oxidation, sulfur for combustion, glass powder to condition and animal glue to hold it all together. rub with red phosphorous and the reaction is a small yellow flame. the flame fed with oxygen and malicious intent brings the end. the end of the god damn forest. those god damn trees.

pocket full of smoke bombs, at least thats the idea

chipped black paint with a cold dead air
perfect drinking weather
the illusion of fun in small cardboard boxes filled to the brim with 1x3 blown out muddy omens
vile
flabby
and irrelevant
a full house of insults thrown around haphazardly with a chuckle or two for good measure
habitual intellectuals arguing the finer points of their favorite communist
all the while i try my best not to pay dumb
set your feet
dig in
you started out strong now its time to finish off this performance
it was going so well
it'd be a shame to falter now
darting eyes with the ability to guess age, weight and status of your fertility
its unraveling slowly
but only to your trained eye
one arm at a time
thats the ticket
thats your way out.

"i am heaven sent"

im in a forest and its chasing me.
i can smell its fetid breath.
hear its labored breathing.
i can feel its hunger.
i willed this creature into existance and now i cant seem to will it to rest.
my muscles are tiring.
i cant stop to rest
stopping is capture.
my surroundings are a reflection of my inner doubt.
this god damned mist will be the death of me.
a light comes on.
a warm presence.
a guiding light willing me to take control.
salvation lies within this light.
within me.
we build these things around ourselves.
we are the master.
face it.
stop it.

stop.

end of the world party

omens

theres a black dog starring at me from outside a rainy window

..... for the second time this week.

if it happens again i'm sure to wind up in hell.

sollicitudo est Monasteriense sub nostrum beds

wake up on the floor.
limbs tucked in,
wrapped around my body for warmth,
protection from a chill that isn't there.
people are shuffling by.
stand up.
stretch out the kinks of a body numb from sleep.
look closer at the mass.
they're happy,
sad,
content.
they're normal.
its like a stream of fish.
they're living life,
shooting the breeze,
carrying on.
the instinct is to join in.
catch up.
take a step.
take another.
the impact is teeth rattling.
forward motion violently halted.
look for the reason.
theres nothing there but a sea of normalcy.
take another step.
this one slow and exploratory.
theres is something there.
pupils dilate and iron appears.
its a bar,
connected to a cage,
my cage.
look around.
i need help.
turn to the people.
they're not like me.
i cant call out,
scream.
they'll know.
they'll know you're not one of them.
they'll know you're not normal.
play it safe act natural.
take stock.
theres a cage.
there are people.
i catch glimpses of another cage in small breaks in between the endless parade.
i stifle a shout.
the normal ones cant know.
carrier pigeon,
message in a bottle,
save our ship.
i must know the sins we have committed to be quarantined like this.
composure.
i must control my breathing.
get rid of the erratic heart beat,
the hollowness in the pit of your stomach,
the feeling that your chest is on the brink of explosion.
i see another cage.
i search more and find another.
there are many.
im not alone,
but i am.
its not working,
my heart beat has reached a crescendo.
they can hear it,
taste it,
smell it,
they can see it on my face.
"help me to be like you"
i shout in my head.
i turn around.
i see another cage.
this ones closer.
its a girl.
she's staring at me.
there is fear in her eyes.
her features tremble.
i silently will her to still her beating heart.
these bastards will have her for breakfast if she doesn't control the chemicals in her brain.
the chemicals that separate us from them.
the chemicals that are causing our own bodies to rebel against us.
i cant take it anymore.
neither can she.
i try to shake the bars.
the fear is diluting from her eyes.
the bars don't budge.
i shake harder.
still no play.
i shake longer.
i scream.
i curse.
a boy stops.
he turns
gives me a curios look from a tilted head.
i stop the commotion.
the mother comes back,
gently grabs the boy by the shoulder and gently reinserts him back into the stream.
it hits me then.
we are the unseen.
we are the lost sheep.
we are the ghosts.

"you're good to no one this way"

but its all i know.

it can only be seen in the setting sun. hidden but to those who look.

stop



breathe



you're letting your mind run away from you.

the chemicals are amassing in your brain and your body doesn't know how to  compensate.


your heart beats erratically


breathing becomes labored


the key is rationality

but I'm fresh out

one organ fights the other and we all know who wins.

the one that feels the most pain.


some of us are slaves to it.



i only hope you're a slave to it.

a drunk tank is just a think tank with more b.o.

the sun peeks through the trees like harsh fluorescent light through stainless steel bars.
its morning.
there is a voice in the air.
 it belongs to a blind hyrax with no mouth.
his voice is the wind.
i dont know how he accomplishes it but he is telling me of mans latest invention.
he tells me of a man from Nantucket flying a childs toy with the key to his liquor cabinet attached and with this contraption he harnesses the power from the heavens...

(The tree hyrax is a small nocturnal mammal that is distantly related to elephants and sea cows. They have 4-toed front feet and 3-toed back feet with rounded nails, and rubbery soles that help them climb)

(im still trying to find the chapter on their infatuation with human flesh)





.........sounds like bullshit to me.

time of death...... 12:04 pm

today i realized i'm not going to live forever,
the illusion is gone.
muscle deteriorates and atrophies with time.
chemicals finally start eating away at the fortifications you knew as a child.
i feel like i should say some words to ease its passing but it would fall on deaf ears
for all those i choose to surround myself with are also blindly subscribing to the same ideals i just now saw through.
they are still immortal.
its bitter sweet because i'm tired
but the thought of the comfy chair,
the warm blanket
and my stories sound so dull.
i had a good run
and i showed them who's boss on more than one occasion
but i don't know if i've got it in me anymore.
a long winter is coming
i hope the provisions i've stocked and buried in the ground will last till the bitter end.

or until the next relapse into a long forgotten era.

chop chop chop. tree gonna fall down.

i feel it coming on, slowing seeping in as the shadows grow longer in the day, seclusion. its a different kind of seclusion though, one that modern science cant achieve. i want to run to a different time, where things were simpler. where i'm not stunted by the heavy dependencies and limitations of today's day and age. where expectations aren't so high and you can appreciate all the beauty and simplicity that we take for granted in these great steel and concrete cages we've built around ourselves. i want to live like i earned the roof over my head and the clothes on my back, i want the satisfaction of knowing the material things that i treasure in my life we're produced through my own blood and sweat and if these things fail then i will learn from my mistakes and will know better next time. i want to provide for myself, but only the things needed for survival. comfort is a plague of this world, we've grown so accustomed to it not even thinking if we deserve these things that stunt our growth as a species. we want what we don't have but not what we need. all i want is to live an honest life and at the end of the day feel blessed that i have a sunset on the horizon and nowhere else to be. true freedom with no worries.

i'm usually not one to poach..... but

i've never heard a more perfect example of what i'm attracted to in a woman.


We call her G.I. Josephine, standin in line
even though she could climb throught the opening
she got the doorman under a spell, knowin damn well
she could have him livin out her hand if she felt
it's alright, cause when she gets inside
she'll have a room full of dudes do the Electric Slide, 
she got a lotta attitude, but it's never rude
she keeps a level mood, it helps to get her through
the work week, makes her thirsty
crash the party and jack the body til it hurts feet
reach ya peak, try to tire the physique
cause she been takin friendly fire all week
she where the sidewalk ends
she stops ya pace, you try to talk, make friends
then poof, she's gone, but nope, you're wrong
she's in the corner by herself singin a soldier song.

- Sean Daley

i've never much cared for january

it feels like the sun is sitting in the wrong place in the sky, nature is rebelling and your decisions are what will bring about the end. your allergic reaction to the universe's pull will be the death of us all, but at least i died a long long time ago, the day you made your choice. claims of the stars not lining up are a farce, you cracked the heavens when you followed your illogic impulses. we are all doomed and by the time you realise the catastrophic consequences of your actions it'll be too late.

you've doomed us all you fool

doomed us all.

problem solving in the age of bed wetting...

Mary Poppins got game...

I love this picture. It's candid pictures like these that make me think that back then was just like now. It's human nature to chase fun, guys scamming on girls, girls pretending they don't love it.  The pursuit of happiness is written in our DNA. This just makes me imagine Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrew out at a bar on a Saturday night getting into all the trouble that we seem to find ourselves wrapped up in.
I would scam on Julie Andrews like crazy...

Wake up and write it down 1.1

It started out in the lobby. You, me and the general other riff raff. The kind of folks that pass easily from the system but when in eye shot its like a punch in the face from a prize fighter wearing his best brightly colored tutu. Spirits are high and also bountiful. There is a shimmer in the air, a charge, its a feeling that at that moment in time this is the only place to be. We were born for it and once the moment passes we will all just cease to exist. There is a line but no one seems to know what for. It's like a parade of tranquilizer soaked Gila monsters Eskimo kissing as if the war depended on it. Thats it! The war. What war? Fuck if I know but ill be God damned if we aren't going to be on the winning side. The men stand around the TVs with their ties loosened, slapping each others backs exclaiming to each other "I told you so, didn't I tell you so" the whole "good game" mentality sickens me so I chase a different scene, one where I don't feel like I'm in a forest of giant dinosaurs being hunted for sport. As I about face the horrors of the lobby might as well have never happened. I'm in a forest and I have a friend. We are in his house, it can't be sanitary to live like this. He shares a bathroom, its like a high school gym bathroom, it includes showers. There is always a few light bulbs out and there is always a puddle in the shower, I'm not sure how I know these thing because I've never been here before. Maybe to others like it. There is a feeling of something wrong the light sits funny, has a weight to it. The shadows hold secrets. I try to find a way out but all I find is stalls and showers, then more burnt out light bulbs. Panic slowly seeps in and it all fades to black...

A swing and a swing...

I perused an old friends blog tonight. Why does everyone else's work make you feel like yours is crap.

God I hope I'm as clever as I think I am....

This village is damned. Saves yourselves, I beg you, save yourselves.

The sky opened up tonight. Cracked bleeding lips whispering insignificant breaths in between a deep starry void. The complex equation that is the cosmos ransacking its way through my delicate neural passageways doing more harm than good. Let's just pray for all our sakes that when I wake up and the toxins have passed through my system that I still hold the answer.

Please still hold the answer...

Nonanimate

I'm afraid to write down what I feel for fear of the monster that will look back up at me.