The Sock-Monkey As Alone

 Been quite awhile since I shared any of this novel so I though I would share the older chapters with the new. This is chapters 1 through 4 of this partucular book. The blue haired-boy rode his mumble-jumble across the green shifting sands of the barren dunes of Forget me not Desert.  He wore a copper-colored close-helm that was barely tolerable because of the heat, even with his shemagh-headwrap separating him from him from the unbearable heat of the metal. Likewise, his (Halloween-orange with purple stripes) thawb under his cuirass-armor left him unburned but feeling all of the weather. Like reaching into a hot stove with an oven-mitt.    The Mumble-Jumble wore nothing but a leather saddle and hackamore around its head. What is a mumble jumble? You may ask. It is a giant kangaroo-mouse with pink fur and black zebra-like stripes. It does not usually walk but instead hops like a rabbit through the sand and earth (though it can run faster than most critters).     The boy's name wa

Haunted, with to much medicine for my belly. Dark as when the ghosts were my siblings. Afraid no one will remember to read my suicide note. Or, worst... that when I get there, I will want to go home. That all of this is a punishment for my creation. So that I may follow or find where the spirits rest or creep. Tender as when we used to pray "now I lay me down to sleep."

I am frustrated as always, kind of struggling with my brain lately. Been thinking about my book for the last three weeks but not really writing on it. Then the other day I had a small breakthrough. I decided if I didn't like it than I would rewrite it. So that is what I have been doing.    Going to start looking for a publisher for some of the crap I write just because some people seem to enjoy it. The strange thing about my creative output is that most of my finished work I don't take seriously specifically my music. I never thought I would be able to write a piece of prose that was actually readable on a purely technical level. (than Grammarly changed my life, I still struggle with language, but now I feel people at least can get what I am trying to say, even if I tend to think abstractly and write in a straightforward literal way. This incongruence doesn't seem to be that much of a problem, though.) So I just recorded music non-stop to satisfy my desire for having a c

Stricken with decay in the corner of the idea. I say with disgust under my Breath "they are relentlessly godless." Karma speaks nothing, but I follow. His horns orange his yellow face smiling. He is gods jester, he is and will be. The pocket of some plaster and rotting cardboard. The moon hides behind blacks clouds. While a storm's wind carries the event to the borders. Infinite with originality as intelligent nonsense, My favorite words deny me. In the shadows display the misplaced memories  Of infrastructure of another time in our country. When descending the stairs to the basement With stars encircling my eyes, dizzy as the smell of rotting produce. When at the core of the hospital I find the spirit of God. The maggot squirms in the basement.

  Your one prime looking stargazer and I am looking for a bit of shine. so drop your gown like a razor, a fist of sand and a gut of grime. Where simple as the dreams I've had, carry from you to me. What was broken, tender and sad. Like a kettle screaming steam. Is now no more than nonsense verse, Free but without wit. Cream where your butter is churned. As the neighbors are to forget. That meaning is to be found in loss. Like love is sprinkled with sex. With veins that glitter with frost, you're my doll for a voodoo hex.

  “ Both read the Bible day and night , But thou read 'st black where I read white .” ― William Blake Down in the cellar, the little girl Elaine played. Her mother had left her there for most of the day. When she heard from the furnace voice that shook the steel she pursued it with bravery reserved generally for military service.    "who is there?..." she whispered taking a breath before repeating herself louder. When there was no response, she climbed the stairs to knock on the door. But remembering the beating, she got last time she thought it better that there was a locked door between her and her parents.     A tentacle wrapped around her ankle and dragging her screaming beneath the stairs. With several fingernails tearing loose from the eight-year-olds hand as she desperately grabbed for something to hold.     She was found by the police preaching the word of god in the park. When she was asked about her missing fingernails. she smiled

As if the question needs to be answered. I don't like being told what to do. Maturity slivers by and stings like cancer. While you have confused order for the truth. My avoidance of political correctness                      leaves me vulnerable. While your confidence leaves me blind. As if the moment that we cease to be human makes for a better story. Flaws and forgiveness what more can I say. Provocation of the simple minded, I have no patience for politics. No patience for what I can't trust. the shattered mirror         the blood and pain. you call me crazy    but never tell me what is sane.

    "The great stories will always return to there original form."                                    -Neil Gaiman The metaphor has no reach, as a star in the sky. A sun that gives life in the eyes of the earth, in the storm of our grief... a category unknown. Surrender to posterity without belief.  As rich as soil but call me dirt. I rage forward forgetting that revision is required. Cliches of lyricism with confrontational sincerity. All the while pursuing clarity. The consensus is that my reduction is tame. While unable to comprehend infinity a cluster of words that can not live eternally. In his skull, the light of his eyes...  to candle flames that flicker and wane. The grim reaper stands on a harvest of souls. When sanity only able to entertain, while it Feels the loss of its reflection. as if clarity circles the drain    and we must drink or drown in the repercussions. in the revelation of the clarity in the consensus

 There is clarity in the consensus, you either know when everyone is right or when they're wrong. Democracy is failing the two-party system is essentially Fascism on the Republican side and a incoherent mob of social justice warriors on the left. Republicans and Democrats want to live in a fairytale world. the republicans one is well stupid, racist and sexist. The Democrats, is, well founded on the assumption that all white male are Republicans I tend to be a prick and a dumbass but the fundamental rule of my existence to is try not to do things that I will need to apologise for but If you want to live and let live this is a not so good time to be alive.    I wish I could clarify my own beliefs and to guide someone to understanding even if it was just myself.  Art is dying not because of talented people like me (because I am not!) are not able to get their voices heard but because talentless people like me (because I am not alone!) are unable to get on with distraction while the

                                                  Episode 1 The blue haired-boy rode his mumble-jumble across the green shifting sands of the barren dunes of Forget me not Desert.  He wore a copper-colored close-helm that was barely tolerable because of the heat, even with his shemagh-headwrap separating him from him from the unbearable heat of the metal. Likewise, his (Halloween-orange with purple stripes) thawb under his cuirass-armor left him unburned but feeling all of the weather. Like reaching into a hot stove with an oven-mitt.    The Mumble-Jumble wore nothing but a leather saddle and hackamore around its head. What is a mumble jumble? You may ask. It is a giant kangaroo-mouse with pink fur and black zebra-like stripes. It does not usually walk but instead hops like a rabbit through the sand and earth (though it can run faster than most critters).     The boy's name was Zia, and the mumble-jumble's name was Resham. Zia had been out in the badlands of the desert loo

Is the game worth the candle? Is the question Alan Watts asks and answers and his answer was "this game is superb, the game is to be fundamentally to be trusted! If you don't make that assumption, the game will not work." and that as they say, is that. So what is the game? You decide. That is the great thing about the mess we call life. Ultimately you choose, and this is the responsibility that most people deny.     I usually use the metaphor of a human soul like an island. I am afraid that this would be easily misunderstood. Since even an island is made up of a great deal of many things. Every grain of sand and every life that sets foot on us is part of our soul. The experience we create and the borders that define us...all are related to the island.     This was most of what I wanted to say, just an elaboration and clarification of some other posts vocabulary that really should have been more nuanced. Well, that and I am sorry for taking a few extra days to finish

                                                  February 3, 2018                                          Sure am scared of my dad. So I am sixteen and pregnant! Who would have thought that having sex with an overconfident asshole was a bad idea? Neil King (and no that is not his real name but a combination of my two favorite writers names. And if your curious as to why just look at the name of my blog...sure am scared of my dad? ...you better believe it. So all names used on this treacherous piece of crap are fictional. The rest is sadly true.)  got me pregnant and as much as I like the movie Juno the world doesn't operate on the idealistic level as fiction.    I don't know how far along I am and I really don't care. I am about to grab a coat hanger and impale myself, so I don't have the guilt of these questions or the fear for my life that comes with missing a period.    As far as I can tell condoms have failed me and I am too scared to approach any of the pe

  "The axe forgets ; the tree remembers ." - African Proverb The scariest thing I can tell you is...            "it is just good business." It is the thing people tell themselves.    when they know, they are doing wrong. But, even scarier people say it when they think they are doing right.                                   I refuse to be a slave to "good business."                                    but still, I spend my disability check                                     on things, I do not need or ultimately desire    "made in China" on everything I own        because it is good business.                          Despite the fact, they are human beings suffering       All for someone else's business.                                     To destroy souls for monetary gain,                                A system that can't help but leave you maimed.   To be reminded that your children must fight for scraps and fear the whip.

 "there is nothing a loser like you can teach me about living with shame."                                                                              - Mugen, (Samurai Champloo). So I have been productive, but it doesn't change anything. I have been gentle, but that makes you fragile. The whole thing about life is it is made of contradictions. One of them is that we choose to believe in absolutes when we can pick and choose. Without even the understanding for most that we can't follow traditions without the self-getting in the way. Or put another way we are always an island till the ocean takes us. We can follow the rules of the other islands (or to make this metaphor really literal) make alliances with our neighbors but still, you will be you, and I will be me. The ocean takes everything be it the void or the light we always return to where we came from.     I have failed at everything in my life even my suicide attempts. I have done bad things and did not h

"life is filled with abstractions, and the only way we make heads or tails out of it is through intuition. intuition is seeing the solution, it's emotion and intellect going together."  -David Lynch   "You're right on the money with that. We're all like detectives in life. There's something at the end of the trail that we're all looking for." - David Lynch Thought I would sharpen up my mind by flexing my writing muscles and doing a real blog post for the first time in a while. Been drawing a bunch lately and writing poems though tonight I am going to try to finish a short story I started a couple of months ago but didn't finish yet. It has been on my mind, but I was temporarily lobotomized by a medication that called Trileptal. That was sold to me as an anti-anxiety medicine but was indeed a "mood stabilizer" which is a clinical way of saying it is designed and works best when it is lobotomizing you.      So I am just getti

“Anarchism is democracy taken seriously.” ― Edward Abbey “People have only as much liberty as they have the intelligence to want and the courage to take.” ― Emma Goldman         Part 1, a fearful noize.  Precious as the primordial ooze,     Anarchy gives birth to order. it's not a truth you can quickly lose     discord and disorder on the border. The Democrat says,  "I will stop these bullets with good intentions." The Republican says, "It's our second amendment solution." The Anarchist says, "There is no reason to civil when the shit hits the fan."            Part 2, meditations on the free worlds Alamo. The truth is a massacre for those who choose to dream. While I will look after her or, remind you of her screams. I see no point or purpose in your hostility. And No compassion from me for those who are enemies. Yet we are always there, romantics beneath your gun. Martyrs for sanity before the revolution.      Part 3, survivali

The vocabulary of treachery    is unknown to the speaker. The alphabet from A to Z,    meanings that destroy me. The shortcomings of intent    in the poetry of ideas. Iniquity in my lungs                and on my tung. Laughter is the enemy                  of the law. All the while afraid of consent,    his mothers favorite.

  Distant in the green              of a filter, I have chosen. In the flicker of the womb beneath the sheets...              I feel something tighten and take a hold I adore and am taken by the stream              Spoiled by tenderness to blunt to feel shame as if it is time to settle something.              "I will never forfeit," I say as you forgive my naivete. "do it as much as you want..."  you whisper,             your face sideways on a pillow. In the flicker of the womb,   til we forget who we are. In the flicker of the womb,   till we share each other scars... In the lowlands south of the milky way                                   Beneath the sheets, we tremble and pray. infinite and finite as the universe   unsure of who to thank, but grateful.

  “Let's get really fucked up and full of sentimental despair and then finally decide life,                         despite every heartbreak and anguished cry, is worth each pulse and breath.”                              ― Jim Dodge You have taught me so much...             but I hide these truths from others. Not because I am selfish but because as Mary Poppins would say            "a spoonful of sugar, helps the medicine go down." However, in my case, the truth is as sour as a green-apple or a kiss after sex.             I may be the shadow of the light that I seek, but I only paraphrase you out of respect. You have taught me so much...             still, I have so much to learn. An economy of style with the public domain honest to goodness moral truth.               With a desire for my life to be as much of a poem as what I decide to put down on paper. I have a hard time writing this because most of what you have said in casual circ

                "It means what it says."                                       - Samuel Becket.                               I The lousy child screams out "she's hurting her!"                       The father says "I am in control, nothing bad will happen." The lousy child says "something is already happening!"                        All the while young daughter and mother struggle and scream. One twice the size of the other and happy to go off.                        Stuck inside of childhood recollections, you do not need my therapy.                             II  The evil grown man says "So I take it God is not Morgan Freeman?" Morgan Freeman as God says "this is he." The evil Grown man says "I take we all have someone to answer to now don't we?" God no longer sounding like morgan freeman says    "shut the hell up, or I will reach through this radio and grab you by the throat." With pr