There is No Post-Production

Do you feel that twinge in your back
the one that tells you to wake up
and start your day.  Don't ignore it,
because it will continue to pester
you until you find your way crawling
on floor for breakfast.  It'll slither
you on through the door and self-drive
your car.   You will fester at work like
an open soar or boil that is waiting
to burst.   You'll gunk up the rest
of your co-workers with your gruesome
bile and all the while that pestering twinge
in your back begging you to wake up.
You will sit silent at desk, cubicle, counter,
and you will ponder the evils transgressed
around you but if you do not give heed
to that twinge in your back you will
be left with nothing in a world full of infinite
variability.   If you do not pick a number
that small twinge will spike and hurt you.
It will beg for release, and all that bile will
build back up just as it was before until
like a brain vessel bursting in your brain
its too late.   You'll be dead and you'll have
concocted a dozen or so million reasons
to ignore it, or poke at it, but not accept it
that twinge is the possibilities of tomorrow
but if you keep on keeping on, and keep
calm and carry on it will kick and stab you.
It will scream out to the ire of your friends,
family, lovers, acquaintences, up until, and even
passed the moment of departure.  It will scream
aloud, "I was the real you, I was your potential,
I was your inner child screaming to be set free,"
so chill out, sit down, laugh, love, and experience
the fun of your eager little hearts.

The Technician - synopsis.

It's the story of a man
consumed with wrath
against an abandoning mother
who likes to look at
other peoples memories,
ideas, and dreams.  It's
invasive despicable and
he knows it.  Yet he continues.
He strikes keyboard keys
on a daily basis, staring
at heartbeat monitors
and peaks at his clients
minds when he gets home
to his shithole apartment.
A failed med student is
his boss, a chatty single
mother, his co-worker, and
the one neighbor he has
he knows only from a
misplaced piece of mail.
On an ordinary Monday,
a new guy comes in to
visualize an idea, but
when our man sees this
idea is to perpetuate an
act of violence against
the most beloved man in
the world, he has to fight
with something he's never
had to confront before,
his conscience.

Nonsense Words Redux

on the other side of a locked door is a key
the key to the door that is locked from the other side
on the other side of that key is a door
a door that you are locked behind
in order to get the key you have to be the size of a flea
but the flea is not big enough to get the key off its place
no the key to getting the key with the flea is to attach a string
a string is the thing to attach to the flea, that is key for the key
and when the flea reaches key he must tie string to key for the thing
and the thing with the key tying flea is that thing must know how to tie
flea and key with string and returned to you but only if he tied the thing
all the time you sit and wonder just how in the hell you ended up
on the other side of that door you wonder about how much time you sit
and although the key is on the other side of the locked door and you can see it it is not something that will ever be gathered by you but its so much more than anything else
and in this moment there is nowhere anyone can go but its too late for the end of the earth
for the key and flea the thing on the string learning lessons
rising tensions and everything else inbetween.

ascending bowel movement

under a certain disguise i may have been something more than what i am,
but unfortunately whatever that may be is beyond my understanding
and here i am faltering to think of something to write because
i am tired of all the nonsense words that seem to keep
coming up out of my fingertips and mouth but
there is no one who cares to read them just
the incessant typing of my fingers on
a keyboard that is trying to scream
and yet no one is listening for
they are deaf to the noise
they are mute to me
silent and sickly
searching for
the thing
to say
now.
Why
do we
commit
our crimes
outright like
we do when the
truth can simply set
us free to get out of this
mess, but we just decided
to let death climb over us and
take its time in bringing us to old
age and there is nothing really that
we can accomplish if we are going to
be the key to the next generation.  So we
go on settling into the guise that we have been
given at birth but to what end do we dress up for
this non-celebratory holiday, because I cannot see
the reason in burning down the trees just to create paper
masks to parade our ignorance with when their are people who
wood work and grind away toiled into oblivion and they do know
the way to get back home, but here we are again.  Yes, here we are again.