Saturday, November 29, 2008


A cold fugue

balances a shiny taste

of the new, on my war

with the old;

the should takes over

where there is no want,

& I have faltered again

& again

in silence

on warm stones

to picking the ground

with a battered stick,

the ant moves relentless

and swift,

finding no breadth of space too big

it diminishes

in the noon light.

there was a space of time

to stay warm,

and with this

A cold fugue

makes war,

the softest parts of me

bleed to end

the fragile figure

of life beneath

the wind-

Friday, November 28, 2008

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

burial / mixed media / canvas

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

changing of the guard / mixed media / canvas

Sunday, November 23, 2008


there's a quiet in my heart
I don't know it,
A foreign quiet
in the cold-
it makes a blank stare,
& A solitude

the curtain tears
the hem of your dress
rips neatly
in my hands,

to the quiet of
my heart,

A bereavement
considering the dark
& empty places
of home.


a wordless dead
man, on the verge of
dead business-
crossing the river
swathed in color
with wordless weaponry

there's a quiet in this place
I feel it creep across my bones,
when the music stops
i take it out;
the quiet
of silence

Friday, November 21, 2008


pulled by time
our moves
& like a flying bird
we try and trace
the path
through color
& light.

what I say to you,
you misunderstand;
my inflection
grave & harsh
its only the seriousness,
only the way i move
like with a knife in hand-
i make no moves to cut you
but watch where you tread,
trust the look of my eyes
brightness and the cold
makes them green
& joy will make them flicker like a candle flame,
the other side
may seem dark & sad
a pattern of pain
you need to know what you have
what you've gained,
if you're troubled
then find your sin within
and realize, I find no sin
I only want a way;

what you think
is caught,
is the grip of your soul
take care of how it spills out
it treads on your steps
on your lightness
your smile
the very things you want,

with infinity
but still alone
the gaping hole you see at night
when your eyes close
I have one too,
so let it be

through the burning fog
you walk along a river
to the sea,
past the silence
to the shouting waves
to the tumultuous
affront of nature
that's blind in how it deals
its company of screams
to us, to you, to me-

you need to know
that I love, that I'm in a war
with my soul
deciding life in every instant,
to my nightmares
every dream
assuages the waking eye, the trembling mind

through the night
catastrophe spills
on the wood, on the tile
the patio feels the thunderclap
the smoke curves through the
deep shadows
remembering meadows
& eyes looking
through the moon,

our struggling wings
beat the air
war with air
war all around
this is dangerous
you know the sounds i make,
so let your worry fall away
like a dead clock
and trust your hands
to know what to touch.
Marquee / mixed media / canvas

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

after dark / mixed media / canvas dyptech

Sunday, November 16, 2008



through the pane of glass,

the shattered dream

of love


cry with me my dear,
for our season is spent
and nigh is the black,
sweetly singing

clasp my hand
to the suicide
of a better place
A music for our hell

framed at midnight;
behind the moviehouse
smoking a joint
and crying,
with a .45 in hand
and no bullets;

the air thick with demons
and flying things,
and whispering softly
kissing my lips
to taste
my soul,
practice patience

life is hell
our season is spent
our river dry
our faces wet
with fighting
& spies
the birds

cawing madly
the leaves change color
and the night comes quicker;

oh my dear
this is hell
this blackness is hell
this absence is hell
its all around me
i must find,
the way through

without your light
or halo
i cannot
& am stuck

please forgive the silence
for i am lost.
Oh, yes
crusade / mixed media / canvas dyptech

Saturday, November 15, 2008

for victoria

down below,

water & fire

to the sky,

we scream! , we say

what we must to keep our lives

as the passing of living

makes everything more & fragile & important.

and the burning fog,

A call to arms; Master of

the wild soul,

keeper of the guard-

& apparent apathy;

let it fall

from your fingertips

& insight will spread

like fear

& you will run

& you will tap the timepiece

to shake it alive,

& you will pass the shrines

of our nature,

& bow

to nobody.

A star in the sky

the apocalyptic desire

burns & shivers 

to an eye looking straight at us,

it blinks several times and fetches

new meaning, new curiosity
for a better look;

the message made me reel towards

the parts of me

that were deep below

An icy sheet,

you've warmed the crust

A dream keeps us together-

A drink keeps us closer

A time makes us who we

are, shards of glass

pierce my arm

& stay there to become companions of reminder-

& crows pick dust at dusk.

Wandering a green forest

where waves break the coast

sprays of cold pricking regeneration

tossing the end of days to the

muted sunset of the North Sea-

perilous orange fire, gray

dawn an infinity away, a touch to my temple

sitting at the wooden bench

reminds me of our adventure.

Friday, November 14, 2008

for it is a dark frail thing in the abyss, but i will take it as it comes and cherish each breath it gives. for love cannot last forever it is human made and human things all come to an end. i will leave love for more as love does to everything. until it stands otherwise the only thing is to move and be moved, and to not hold anything in the painful grips of an immortality. take care of time presented, love will come and go. desperation will breed a lack of love because it cannot be forced; but the conflict remains, what is love if i do not hope for it dearly in my heart in every instant. love is the culmination of our frailty, the disappearance of hope to reality. i do not want love but it will come to me and i don't find that troubling. i only find it as the way, as the wind, as pain, as joy, as nature. 

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

A wild soul

what gets a woman naked in daylight,
what gets her in your sink with her eyes-
looking up at you, drunk & demanding,
what gets you drunk at 7 o' clock in the winter,
what gets her to push past her fear-
and yours
what gets the music to my heart faster,
did my home go,
what got us dead,
what cut me so deep-
that I froze forever subjected
to the cold.
what got us lying here in the morning
without thought,
what got us crazy,
what made her tear,
where is the animal hiding
beneath the covers, wild.
what got us up in the morning
& forced us back to sleep,

the sound of emergence
made us run

laughter and pain

waking to find 

something better


what's here is good,

out there is more

out where?

waking to petroglyphs

to falling snow

to regret the stab of death to what you want and love;

to the bank teller and her black dress
& her smile on her face
to her looking at me
to wondering what she knows,
and if she wants a kiss
on her cheek;
if she wants to.

lost in clear weather

to the fake joy of a pill
my body shakes and smiles
to lies.
little joy without
joy's bad pill
after a rescue party finds us

the bleeding arm of release
the catastrophe
of a sharpened switchblade
cauterized eyelid
of bad food and being drunk,
without a sponge
for the sadness,
there's only sinking deeper
until you shatter glass
on the table.

a kid with an Iron
threatens A life,
to digest the reality
of pain-needing to strike it out of the heart
with force,
losing teachers in your years
to more teachers,

then waking up
without a guide,
to teach yourself.

A wolf in the road
Lapping up rabbit blood;

to the flow
of falling sand
in an hourglass

tomorrow turning it over
but it keeps coming back

wishing for summer on the river
under willow trees & songbirds
and dragonflies darting along the water
splashing silver in the air-

from over the way,
to the stranger
who is what my friend wants me
to kill,

because she is beautiful
& beauty is powerful
& the powerless,
wish nothing more
than for things to be

sunlight dies too quickly in
the winter.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

after a drunk


please excuse my behavior. 

hard ventures

i was a mess I know, but-

We couldn't help but rob the taco shop,

or drive around with a requiem
for our past selves

past the bells
dead trees
swinging door,
A floor huddled four

outside the coolness
breaks the dizzy spell
of bad air,

it feels like there's something to apologize for,

A bright morning
without birds

its like waking up from being dead.

what was that
was it me?

I know I'm wasted when I can't see green.

cradled self,
I'm apologizing over and over to my 

my feet
my head
my stomach
my love
my despair

A best friends whisper

in my wavering hand
how the shrouded moon


your smile was a weapon
even if you didn't know
your laughter daggers in the night
your coat a covering from my stare

take care.

Sunday, November 09, 2008


a weapon A mask

apply lipstick apply defiant

A secret behind the makeup,

that no one knows but her-

not even her lover will know,

hiding from the otherside,

from the conflict machine,

from the fake open doors of embrace.

women have been hurt more than men,

they thrive on life and life hurts them,

from the suicide

from the machine

from the pulse

from the fake kiss of a lie-

living a constant life of hiding-

women form the underground,

scattered communication across the globe

the conflict of desire for the enemy,

forever tremulous because of fear,

at a young age each one learns or is taught

the value of secrets

A woman with more secrets than any other living thing

applying makeup in the bathroom

the only one that knows is her reflection,

the biggest gap from the face to the glass-

a curled fist, a breakdown which consists

of tremors fear and failure,

of not doing her job

which is bringing life into the Chaos-

weight of meaning,

no wonder they learned

to hide,

no wonder it means more than you know,

when they sleep over and wake

without makeup

Saturday, November 08, 2008

the smell of cinder ash in the morning, from my mother

burning documents in the yard and the dog stands there

listening to an unknown piano.

the day sharp and cold, bright, the day energized by daggers,
by falling leaves, blowing dirt, the last hope of fruit before
it freezes, blankets, fur, warmth-

take everything-i don't want it,

with regards:

undercover cops
knifes & pipes
the ocean
getting wet in the middle of the night,

to become a shivering mess. 

with pains:

catching the afternoon diamond show,
on the loft wall
in the downstairs kitchen
An orchid moves nearer the sun
in the upstairs bathroom,
residue of desire, dreams, hate, self loathing, Admiration, caricature & love
scribbled on the doorframe


shining riches adorn the walls,
ready for a thief
in the rose chest
smells like stains of comfort & safety
rocking chair
anniversary gifts of tears and kisses,
I remember hearing laughter in the common room
when i was faking sleep
when i was nine.

smile / mixed media / canvas

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

shroud woods / mixed media / canvas

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

heaven battleground / photo / floor & paint lid

nature / mixed media / canvas

Monday, November 03, 2008

remark about the strange nausea i feel in the morning,

awake with the cold touching my toes-sticking out of the blanket,

hoping the house is empty,

i am up.

there are some things i instantly look at when i wake:

how worn my desk looks,
my stained floor,
a broken clock set for 9 o' clock,
the streetlight,
palm trees,
see if my brushes have hardened,
how many empty cups are lying around,
stacks of books,

i dread,

hearing footsteps or a television or someone on the phone
knowing there's nothing for breakfast
not having a book to read on the toilet
overbearing heat collected in a room
no one to kiss good morning
someone to kiss good morning

the first word i probably say,

is an affirmation.

rising is painful
succumb at night to relief
between is the substance
that makes the reality,

something happened-
sometimes my eyes are wet,
before i sleep.

old people drive their golf carts to the wells fargo branch in sun city. i stop off there sometimes to cash a check. one of them went up to the coffee machine which read, 'Do not touch, hot' and she had crazy wild hair and looked at me and said i couldn't touch it. then said she had a problem reading any sign she saw outloud. my hand smells like a grandpa when i leave. someone must have been fingering the deposit slips.

Sunday, November 02, 2008

townie talk

if i ever were to be buried with a tombstone, it should say, 'Fear is the Mindkiller' 

click the red link for the dana point townie talk

no show notes; no edit.


Saturday, November 01, 2008

the phone won't ring tonight,
forget about saviors-
forget about it ringing,
its 6 AM. just relent
& pitch a tent inside
your head. 

walk home if you have to,
the weather is another Intoxication.
better than the mind sludge-
of dust motes,
and falling leaves,
fryer smells,
spilling whiskey on the kitchen table,
looking at the clock A hundred times,
throwing a glass out the window-
to hear it Crack!-,
pushing people away,
desiring the girl playing pool,
thinking about Everything better,
thinking about past friends,
wishing-which is painful-,
listening to a myriad drone.
pass out.
pass out.
pass out,
afraid & worried-
about the hold on tomorrow,
and then more afraid-
of the future After tomorrow.
i'm spitting too much in the sink-
its got some blood,
time to wipe away the cold tears from my eyes,
every beautiful woman i've ever met,
they sit on top of me smiling &
Naked. every hour is a wake up,
from this dream.
there should just be a woman in my bed
but the phone
won't ring tonight-
so forget about it, turn it off and you'll win
the phone won't ring
pass out, naked & sweat-
give it up
close your eyes,
let the glow of the phone
dim out, like sleepy eyes-
hear a bird-forget about the nightmares

there is no control
pass the hope & the bottle
im finished.