Thursday, March 19, 2009

Let's Rock














Inspired by the world of “Twin Peaks” by David Lynch & Mark Frost

Deep in the heart of the wooded areas,
in the center of twelve sycamore trees,
appear dark red curtains, waiting to open.
Fear and love is the key,
and perfect courage will be your guide.
The jagged floor pattern leads you to a red room,
where the birds sing a pretty song,
and there's always music in the air.
The Lodge now has its new guest.

He sits down in the chair,
with a look of comfort and terror on his face.
Another friend.
The twangy bass lines vibrate in his mind,
as the lights flicker and flash.
Fire walk with me.

The girl sits across from the suited man.
Her words come out slow and odd.
She's filled with secrets.
She walks over,
kisses him,
and whispers the secret into his ear:
My father killed me.
She will see him again in 25 years.

This is the waiting room.
Going up and down.
Intercourse between two worlds.
Hallelujah.

This is no accident.
A dimension with many rooms alike,
but occupied by different souls,
night after night.
Our world.
With chrome.
Boneless.


They lived among the people,
above a convenience store.
They sat quietly for hours.
I’ve been to one of their meetings.
It was a dream.
They lived inside a dream.

The backwards jumping man,
with a face of paper-mâché,
and a long, pointed nose.
Screams out into the air,
but not to be heard.

The giant and the waiter join together.
One and the same.
To warn the man of what to come,
and offer him coffee.
It is happening again.
When you see him again,
it won’t be him.

The man behind the mask,
is looking for the book with the pages torn out.
He is BOB, eager for fun.
He wears a smile.
Everybody run.
Be careful not to turn the corner.
She prays she never sees that face ever,
outside of a dream.
The face of the man who killed me.

The little man from another place,
rubs the Formica table,
and declares green as its color.
The wonder of materiality.
He is the arm,
and he sounds like…
electricity.

The one armed man struggles to find his identity.
Without chemicals, he points.
Tattoo on the left shoulder,
but when he saw the face of God,
he was changed.
He took the entire arm off.
They once killed in perfect harmony together,
for appetite and satisfaction,
but he has now repented.
He, too, had been touched by the devilish one.

The twin woodsmen raise their arms in unison,
while the electrician manipulates the transports.
Fury of their own momentum.
They have descended from pure air.
And everything will proceed cyclically.
Thus time moves on.

The grandmother warned them about the corn,
We detest yellow food.
while the grandson hides behind the mask.
The magician that he is.
He lifts it only for a second,
and the primate is there.

The agent looks down beneath the ground,
in his idiosyncratic routine.
He found something.
And then there they were.
He followed…
with this ring
I thee wed.


The dwarf rubs his hands together.
Some of your friends are here.
He has good news:
That gum you like is
going to come back in style.

His dance will continue for a new clue.

The mother crawls to find the truth.
Locked inside a hungry white horse.
The owl peaks in from a far away tree.
The father watches the mirror,
and adjusts his tie.
I did not kill anybody,
he smiles.

Tonight is the night that I die.
It’s the only way to keep him away from her.
The later events have never been kept a secret.
She can feel his fire,
but she’s not afraid.
There is a man in a smiling bag.
The smell of scorched oil fills the pure February air,
as he gets closer.

Is it the future? Or is it the past?
The suited man asks if he can leave.
That would indicate that it’s the future.
But he is here,
and there is no place to go…
BUT HOME.

The lost soul pleads to the girl:
The good man is in the Lodge,
and he can’t leave.
Write it in your diary.

The magician performs magic tricks,
as the girl looks on.
Light of new discoveries.
He has one simple question:
Why not be composed of materials and combinations of atoms?
Yes, find the middle place.

The cave of secrets lies beneath the town.
The owls are not what they seem.
Time seems to stand still,
but sometimes,
things can happen just like
THAT.

He stole the corn.
It was canned,
above the store.
The look on his face when it was open,
it was
stillness.
Like the Formica tabletop.
Garmonbozia.
He cannot go home without them.
They need their pain and sorrow,
or the thread will be torn.

The suited man is chased by his doppelganger,
as he follows the non-linear path,
running from curtain to curtain,
but only to find the wrong way.
His hands begin to tremble.
As his bravery begins to fade,
his conscience turns to black.
He is wrong.
He can’t ask for your soul,
so I will take his.
The mistake of imperfect courage,
will utterly annihilate his soul.

She is my cousin.
But doesn’t she look
almost exactly
like you?


It’s him.
It’s your father.
He pleads to the doomed soul.
Don’t take the ring.
Please, don’t take the ring.

The primate looks around,
and whispers her name softly.
Judy.

As the killer places the letter under her fingernail,
her body is wrapped in plastic.
It floats down the river,
cold, and without protection.
It will be discovered by the pure and innocent,
and send shockwaves through the atmosphere.
You must be mistaken,
I'm alive.

The man awakens from his slumber,
only he wasn’t sleeping.
He stumbles to the bathroom,
and observes his new agent in the mirror.
Blood and glass cover the floor,
as he laughs like never before.
Fell a victim.

The girl sits in the chair,
as her angel watches over her.
What does she see?
What does she hear?
With the suited man by her side,
she lets out tears of joy,
because she knows everything will be alright.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Innocence

Innocence is the quiet before the storm.
The tension before the explosion of energy.
A brief period where everything seems to make sense and has hope.
The sense of optimism that overshadows the negative wasteland,
That was created out of spite and fear.
A time when things seem simple,
And life is just a beautiful dream.
In time the quiet will die,
And the mechanics of reality will come to fruition.

Greed

Greed is a bare branch.
Once there were leaves as its values and morals,
But they all came off one by one.
Now the branch stands alone.
They have turned their back,
Against the once pure arm of life.
Cut down in the heat of passion,
Ravaged by the cruel seasons.
Its quest for more and more,
Has reached the end of its rope.
It realizes this,
But is it too late?
Maybe next season.

Monday, December 1, 2008

8 Ways of Looking at Religion

He will look upon me,
And judge me,
Fire and brimstone,
But He loves me.

The only way to be saved,
Is to give up my faith.
I will turn my back,
As my heart will turn pure,
And my soul will turn black.

The only way that is fair,
Is to blow away the town square,
With children there.
Virgins await,
As my soul will enter the gate.

Hocus pocus,
From over a millennia.
A sad reality,
No one gives into rationality.
The answers are clear,
But they turn a blind eye.

Heaven is coming,
I’ve said my Hail Marys, St. Josephs, and Jesuses.
As I grab my crucifix,
The afterlife,
Is it just another quick fix?

Transform into something new,
The gods will renew,
For all the pain I suffered,
Please, Lord, give me another.

Even though I have killed,
His Holiness will bathe me,
For He died for my sins,
And the life he gave me,
So I must eat his body.

Maybe the answers are not clear,
Maybe we are prisoners of fear.
Maybe the worlds just collide,
Maybe we are along for the ride.
Maybe there is a purpose,
or does Heaven only exists on the surface?
A more intangible idea,
in the minds of the people.
Whatever you believe,
it is all for the world to see.

5 Ways of Looking at a Styrofoam Cup

Speaking into it,
Hearing the garbled message,
Clear for a second,
But only in silence.

Elixer of the gods,
The purest wine flows.
To taste the lips,
No one knows.

Falling infinitely,
My cup runeth over,
Burning citrus covers the floor,
Like the Great Flood,
In time before.

Change will find its way.
Into the cup so deep,
There’s no where to go tonight,
The price of freedom is steep.

Crushed on the pavement,
It once had a great run,
It will someday serve its purpose,
Again, in the great cycle.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Random Word Poem

Precision changes dreams,
Brisk vigor gives greed a future.
Independence receives relentless seeding.
While future tempo is still beating.
Complex emotions,
Fuel a seeking pursuit.
An own personal goal,
Where desire is at root.
It will only get better,
In time, the idea will simmer.
Growing into something more,
Where mind wins the final score.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Sleeping Free

Sleeping free looks impossible,
A smart way to indulge the sense and soothe the soul.
Body is willing, but thoughts override instant sleep.
A place where headaches and pain flow like a jolt of caffeine.
Alienated from slumber,
running scared in a dream.
trying to unwind,
wake me up,
please.