Monday, May 30, 2016

fuck yesterday


It was like trying to roll a cigarette with wet thumbs, seemingly possible but a guarantor soft ripping failure and unfilled hunger.

No. That’s not quite it.

It was more like missing your glasses for days. The whole affair became little more than squinting and bleary guesswork.

Of course, there was a brief triumph in finding spectacles beneath the bookcase. Happiness merely drowned in disappointment, because the damned things were scratched beyond use.

Maybe not.

It’s like trying to fight in a world of uncaring marshmallows. No matter how well they were torn, beaten, or worn away, the grinning fools just kept on grinning. They sang their cheery little songs  even as sticking clumps of massacre on some summer sidewalk.

Okay. That’s a little closer.

I mean, the whole situation was like a perfect example of superfluous action bereft of meaningful consequence.

I mean, fuck. 

It was powerlessness without bonds, with a totality of free movement. It was all of this to no noticeable effect.

It was pissing in the wind only to have your urethra suddenly explode.

It was picking out the perfect fantasy football lineup, only to have all your players benched for cocaine dog fighting.

It was surreal consequence divorced from probability, and all likely causal events.

It was life I guess.

Yesterday was life-full as fuck.

Fuck yesterday.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

swallowing dreams

wet waiting
drown in salty tide.
convulsant.
seeking needing 
wet and swallowed
an Ouroboros

wet seeking, needing
fulfilled and fulfilling by turns
wet bright need
and swollen, pink perfection

joyous waters flood
wet happy tears

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

blushing spring

The chrysalis chips in a promise breaking free.
A quick flap of color spells the barest hint of a wing.
Blossoms part like red, laughing lips.
What more beauty could be than this?

Monday, May 23, 2016

Hectic heretical the spectacle
indelible painted on…
Bombastic and elastic, such tragic
ways to die,
to yawn.

To force of invisible trains.
By way the mystery rings

I like this way it reeks of treason
Met halfway,  abandon’d of reason
I cry. Guess why?
I yawn.

Psychedelic is the relic
And a sock full’a secrets

why do



i yawn

Thursday, May 19, 2016

The Birth and Armaments of Athena


Her gestation was long and dark within the incredible void of his organs. Violently she burst free from him. She tore wide his terrible skull, like an angry egg.

Was the sea wine-dark that day, I wonder?

Did she carry a labrys? Was there a serpent in her hands?

She was what he had swallowed, refined by long torment, a pearl of imperfect femininity. She brought war with her, but also wisdom, and weaving, and olives.

She entered the wretched world in a triumph of accidental justice. (She remained more twice-born, and much harder formed than Dionysus.)

I believe her only helm to be manumitance, the bleeding red of rebirth and liberty.

Her shield was nothing more than foresight. 

Her hips were a round promise. Her cleaving falcata matched the line of her strong legs, the exquisite bow of her lips. 

She slaughtered, wisely, but, alas, in vain. The weary world was not, is not, ready for her reign.



Source and License for Image

Thursday, May 12, 2016

accidentally taking a break from this blog

Homelessness ain't conducive to regularized blogging.

How fares our grand experiment? How am I? How are we?

Here is where we're at:

When I asked Olan (our 2.5 year old) if he was happy yesterday, he said, "Yah!" 

It was so much more than that, though:

He said yes with a tone implying any other response was ludicrous. We are doing well by him at the very least.

My pain ebbs and ebbs, waxing overfull. 

Sharaya remains particularly pregnant.

We continue to be homeless in/near/around Portland.

I can't look for work. I can barely function.

I limp. I wince my way through a world of uncertainty; only pain, sadness, Sharaya, and Olan are constants.

We could use some help.

Ways you could help, maybe:

patreon for this blog : CLICK HERE!
you can buy this book I wrote: CLICK HERE!
you can donate via this fundraiser: CLICK HERE! 

or donate directly via paypal: punkrocumentary at gmail dot com
(We're drastically overdrawn, so paypal is the most direct way to help us.)





Friday, May 6, 2016

rest your weary head

Deep red sheets were tightly tucked. Corners covered in right triangles, folded under into a crisp, perfect pleat. An ecru blanket lay in bulk atop an old mattress, smothering the vague lump of pillows beneath. The single form atop it all was, of course, a shining sham in marigold and rust.

The dark wood and sanguine piping of an ornate headboard leaned in and down. Looming in decumbent imitation of vines, it hung heavily upon a dusty wall of lathe and plaster.

The bed awaits your weary rest.


Sleep deeply.

Thursday, May 5, 2016

thanks, yo

Before the medication,
Before the caffeine (almost)
Ok so I've had a little coffee.


Thank you.

I wish I could have been eloquent.

Maybe, maybe it was better this way?

I had to blurt out my feels without the elegant pretext of pretty words.

Anyway, I hurt. My world is made up of shadows and pain.

But, I am better.

Thank you.

Maybe I will understand how to human someday.

If I do, it'll be somewhat your fault.

Ո     Ո
| (• ◡•)| (❍ᴥ❍ʋ)

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

nouns alone

breaks, bones, wounds, and secrets

fear, pain, sorrow, and void

fall, death, and leaves
red, purple , and blue

pages, parades, and pregnancy
pins. eyes, prophecy, and horror

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Inevitable,
It swirls, and pulls of seeming
Direction, it is
Not wholly given
And random and  haphazard,
But partially choice.

Monday, May 2, 2016

horror pony business | part 2 – blood butterfly



Stony Twinkle
Hardy Sweets


It was messy in a way I’d never seen, and I’m no stranger to dead ponies. In abstraction, it was oddly beautiful.

Or maybe I just decided it so. I had to keep it together. Going noodle-y would do anyone any good so I fought to keep it distant, abstract:

a delicate tangle of intestines spread out into unlikely wings
aortal spurts spelled out a rough dream of antennas
it was a chrysalis of death

I stumbled away to vomit. Hardy stepped in to stand between me and the body.
“Royal Guard’ll be here by tonight,” Police Chief Dandy Prance woodenly declared, looking at neither the corpse nor the crowd. His apple green eyes were too wide, and his big green face decidedly pale.

I looked hard at the ground. The yellow cobblestones seemed supersaturated in the hard morning light. A tiny, rusted red spec wetly gleamed. A hoofstep away, another sanguine droplet shone, then another, and another.

I walked away with my head hung low, muzzle towards the ground. Hardy fell in behind me.The trail took us towards a shaded back lane. I could clearly hear the tip-tap of Hardy’s lead “fighting” shoes.

The old bruiser was always ready to scrap, the sort to try and buck his way through any and every situation. I was glad to have him at my back.