Scorned Earth and my Feet in the Mud

When things are rough, [creativity/ingenuity/resourcefulness] will keep you afloat. In times of calm, it will allow you to fly.

via Musings — Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha


Love the image, love the message, and love the way it’s composed. We need more of this on the internet my friend.


And I’m reminded of the words of our forefathers

The great Emerson, Thoreau, London

The sermon of resourcefulness

And we could all be Robinson Crusoes

Drifting away on tropical clouds

High above the scorned earth

The hurricanes

I usually describe my process as working on new material, hitting a wall, then working through a self-critical phase, and then the break through. The moment when I remember why writing was the choice I made.

It makes considering the process of change. One identifies a problem, as one thinks through the process to change that problem, as one receives more feedback (more practice in their craft) they begin to understand how to work the feedback into their work, and they change.

On paper it’s simple, but I surprise myself each day over how easy it is to lose perspective.


Erotic Stomach Surgery


Squeezing inches closer

A nice hazel

Cream cheese


I can’t stand it

When the raspberry jelly

Sticks to my fingers

We’re scraping the jelly off

The table

Pureed to the center

Of my favorite syringe

Oozing belly button puss

On robust tum

and we never gave it

a name

Bungee Bastard

They’re using my insides as bungee cord
To see how close they can get to hitting the ground
The intestines unravel
Bondage before they throw me overboard
And I sink to my death


Curious creature cast in darkness
Fear not, you have the lessons that can’t be taught
The land is the classroom for the soul
In the sun, snow, frost, in the cold
Life lessons, natural lectures, and lavish, love in the heart of the land.

Back Packing

Bowed branches
And the forever shifting ground beneath my feet
Saturated pine needles
And the sweat staining the shirt under my pack
No sacrifice is too great,
No offer is too esteemed
For purity is green
Not with jealousy
But overwhelmed with life
And God’s creation
If you want to belittle it
to their three lettered word

Creative Mind

I live in the back of his mouth
Somewhere in his navel
Behind the yellowing teeth
And the endless assault
Of smoke
And hallucinogenic

I live somewhere behind all of the work
All of the writing
All of the pain and the misdirected hate.

Limbo: A State of Mind

I used to hike up mountain sides
Now I hike up stairs
Fluorescent light
Consuming down turned faces
Lonely old men in children
Lonely old men in women
Lonely old men in me
Preparing for death, not quite ready
But not ready for life either

Love Life

You fight
But only enough
To keep me from quitting

We fuck
The hand are rough
The screaming jizzums splitting

Hiding behind
Imaginary assault
To keep genuine passion
In its holding cell