LYLE: MIND

The battle of good and evil continues. Wars are waged against plants. Young men and women shot dead because of old men’s oil. The dinosaurs are reaching the next level of extinction. Imagine ceasing to exist at two distinct points separated by millions of years with equal import. Pretty fucking brilliant, if you ponder. So here we find ourselves again at critical mass. Decisions are made for us on a daily basis and the only thing possible to control is the mind. The only true power you have is the ability to change your mind. Do you have that ability? If so, do. Pick one thing that you truly believe in. If you’re bold, pick that thing that you believe the most in. Now, change your mind. Decide to believe differently… just to see if you’re capable. Consider the opposing argument. Embrace the opinion on the other side of the aisle. Optimize your ability to see the two sides to every story. Worship the devil.

I have said it before that as long as man wages war against a plant, there will be turmoil on earth. All these taboo trees, from the Garden of Eden to the flowers of Humboldt, demonized. Do you realize that the reason we are having a global ecological crisis is because we killed all the trees for paper and grazing land for cattle? Paper to wrap the goddamn hamburgers with and boxes to put them in, so they could then get sacked up and handed to your greasy fingers. My greasy fingers. We killed all the trees for paper because old white men made hemp illegal so they could pour petroleum down our throats. Trees regulate the moisture and carbon content of the air. We have a considerably lesser amount of oxygen in our air than our ancestors did. It’s difficult to breathe and we’re so used to it, that we don’t even notice anymore. Nylon is made of petroleum. Before nylon, hemp was the choice of rope-makers. A plant was the only competition for an old white oilman back in the ‘30’s, so they paid off the Federal Government to make it illegal and we’re suffocating because of it almost 80 years later. Those men are dead and we still sanction them to kill us. So all the paper would be made out of hemp and millions upon millions of trees would be flourishing and our air would be clean and the polar bears wouldn’t be drowning. We could have used hemp to feed the cattle as well. Not that we would need to. 08012008

My car should be running on hemp oil
Not the blood of our children

When I leave here, I’m driving over to La Mirada to look at a car.
Mine was stolen from me a couple of months ago and they found it without an engine or transmission.
I remember the smell of the oil permeating the cab when we opened the door.
Something in me changed.
Somehow something about the violence of the theft and the dismemberment
mingling with the rich smell of motor oil and gasoline and transmission fluid
made it smell like blood to me.
It was strange that when I looked at pictures of the car later
I could literally smell it.
Not a memory. The sense was experienced again
and it smelled like blood to me.
Probably the hottest weather I’ve been in out in the desert is 116° F.
I searched the key words: temperature in Baghdad
but the internet was mysteriously down
I was wearing shorts and drinking an iced coffee,
while across the world, someone’s daughter was shot.
That smell made my stomach sick of dinosaurs.
I got sick to my stomach that I had financed the murder of innocent people
and continue to do so.
A third of my paycheck goes to funding the future of rich old white men’s spoiled grandchildren
and I was giving them over $5 a gallon premium unleaded.
I suppose that’s not as expensive as my iced coffee,
but the smell of toffee nut and soy didn’t seem to bother me so much.
The car in La Mirada runs on vegetable oil.
It’s hard for me to believe, but they say it’s true.
It’s also hard for me to believe that this car has almost 500,000 miles on its chassis
but I’ve heard these lunatics claim they’ll go to 1,000,000.
I feel gullible, but I’m desperate.
The smell of gasoline is making me sick.
Those fumes that smelled so good when I was a kid
have turned against me and I’m having difficulty continuing our romance.
I’d rather the world reek of freedom fries than the blood of our children.
Freedom fries wrapped in hemp hamburger sacks squeezed into our endlessly empty belly tanks and running our engines.
It is a high of 113° F in Baghdad today.
Kids that wanted college educations are a world away wondering which one will die next.
I can’t help but feel a bit guilty
knowing why they are there…
knowing we’re doing nothing to change it…

My car should be running on hemp oil
Not the blood of our children

writings on the wall
pain beginning pulses slips its fingers through the tightening forehead,
Enough to make
the children sing
from reality-dream to dream-reality
Anyday was okay
and she makes suicide marks with pencil
I attack when the prey is weak
and so I gather my pages
and as eternal as darkness
he walks about
and feels the rape
Can I disagree that God has
Why do stars
you are me
and they tell you their names
and road trips before I ever read Kerouac
but can the dream of everything
Not this time
I wrote this to say
and died with your embraces
silently held in past and presents
and the nights are long
and how quickly it all happens
“The way you came
you too will go”
starving souls
below the waterline
“what do people like you do when you’re alone?”, she shot to me
for this is where the pleasure is derived imagine, you must
and which among you is the greatest
to hurt me more
out the door
filtered through my smoke-filled room
within the grasp
Forgive your self
or reason
Merely, though, remember the nuances
the children sing
and “yes” as I vanished

Listening to "Clutching At Straws"
A digital copy of it played on vinyl
The first half of the first song recorded in mono
because I wasn't paying attention when I recorded this
3 or so years ago
When it kicks into stereo it's like your sinuses opening up
Pop
Just happened
with a slight vinyl static
"At That Time Of The Night"

I would say these were troubled times
if they were any more troubling than any other
Humans have cross-generational memory problems
There are troubling events all along the existence of man
Mayhem has existed from the beginning
If it is your goal to avoid the devil
you best prepare yourself to meet him
No running or hiding on this level of heaven

As far as overlords making puppets of people
I've never agreed with frivilous behaviour
If you've a battle to fight
don't send innocent men and women in your stead
to face your foe for you
The best way to kill your enemy
is to sneak up from behind
and take the life
before they even know you were there
Idiot

And men killing
young innocent girls
with guns because their dicks don't work
and they have to take it out on someone
Lucifer and I discussed a special form of punishment
Death will be the least of their worries
I heard him asking them to pray for him
There is no mercy here

Boring political bullshit while listening to "Sugar Mice"

10082006 2:52 AM

Was there a whatfor?
And why?
Before

Is it a lack of loneliness
That makes it all so unimportant?

I’d rather just look around on the internet
Go to the sites I’ve gone to countless
Ahhh, I could count it
Minutea that would get me through the day
So much entertainment
Am I entertained
Finally
Why do I still get that aggravation
During the days of doing for others
In order to do for myself
Damn dollars
That keep me going through the same old day
Bored
Still looking for that niche
A fit
Now that I’m not so personally tormented
Was it all just looking for someone that cares for me
Warts and all
Cure to my warts
Most of my warts

You can take the
donkey out of the
mule
but the mental
prick
remembers
& that's why we pull
these damn cars

A whore is a
door
you’d rather walk through
than showing up
as yourself

every expression of
man woman
is merely
tormented grunt
of bliss
existence
Babies cry because
it comforts them from
the pain of the body
The sheer weight of it
from the nothing womb
belly of woman

From my intensive
study of evolution
I have surmised
that we are all a
bunch of monkeys &
should fuck freely &
let the strong survive

It's a stupid astrological
story about an under
ground civilization
that moves to
the surface
when the
sun is born
2000 years ago
at which was
the dawn of time
& in 1000 years
this star will have
burned out &
you will be jetizoned
across time/space universe
into the opposing
consciousness
'til it be done

It is not the wine
that dances
but the dancer
The wine is fire
The dancer the fuel
The dance the smoke

I was sitting on some chair in a frat house. Neither an attendant...

Nor a visitor. Had no real reason to be on campus. A simple security check would have proven that. But I knew where to park and where the party was at. You know I’d show up, so better be playing something I won’t break something to. Joe would dance around any broken rum bottle that could fall out of my back pocket. Only happened once, but J. and another friend danced around a broken bottle of fire as the music played. They had never seen long hairs, much less several dancing around spilled liquor. Shit. I was offered a song during a gig at this frat house right out of high school and I had poured all this brandy into a listerine bottle. Literally, 3 songs throughout the night… 1 each set and I’m crouched down like a roadie,.. sipping out of a mouthwash bottle. I could give a fuck, because if they’re talking about you… no press is bad press… I didn’t believe my own falsetto, but I knew how to be a front man. Right, so when it comes my time to sing I start asking the girls in front if they have any bandanas. Everyone is asking, “what”, “what is he doing”.. I’m wrapping their rag around my head and calling them all pussies: “look up my eyes, look up my butt, you’re all a bunch of fucking cunts.”
Yeah, I got in trouble early because I had some shit to say. Seriously, adult language is for adults.

the introvert embraces everybody
scared to let letting let go
clinging
pulling inward into loneliness

It is a scary place
hidden away in heart
it is a lonely
on ly
place

the extrovert pushes away
the self of every one
crying
loud and out loud
laughing to cover in security

it is an only place
hidden away in head
it is a scary
wary
place

the dead bury
as the live
dance
on the everybody grave
encompassing tomb
of earth

I like petting kitty cats that fall asleep on my lap
until I worry that they're dead
like one of those first early times
I slept with her
waking in fear that she wasn't breathing
so I watched it sweating
slowly up and down
her breasts
late October
five years ago

It can't be called neglect
because quite honestly
in this state of existence
affections are never owed
It's not a simple system of checks and balances
The undeserving writhe in the spoils
as the rich man goes hungry
To feel the kitty's belly vibrate
purr
What do I call this to be so hungry for love
like that monkey with wires jabbed in his brain
seperated from his mother at birth
neurotic jerks and twitching
Lab techs creating hell for all of us to deal with
I smell her spray on the sleeve of my sweater
sense memory over three years old
I wish masturbation were more consumate
I'd hold the ceremony tonight
standing over this keyboard
do I?
I do
and jack myself silly
but yang don't satisfy without that yin
as my equation stretches out into another problem
factored to the nth
Stretched out on the floor
earlier this evening
contemplating
Is loneliness person, place, or thing?
perhaps all three
Shit
I can't even appropriately assign
mind, body, spirit
Is body a place?
If so I'd like to leave this one
for a bit
and get tangled
in a new smell
Trying to remember where I found this sweater anyway
and when
Lost and found
pbbbllhhhh!

Desire that makes me run down stairs
jumping over the table to write this
Desire that I scream & grunt, empty in the room
tightening of muscles
nervous
energy
longing for a cute girl
that smiles
when she's alone

The fingers hold the pen
smelling of last nights cigarettes
and conversation
& 10 more minutes until
I can have my first beer
Happy fucking fourth of July

Desire
I remember desire
Man, cheeks are only muscles
made strong by smiles & laughter
I growl until my throat hurts
Desire
Desire is in love
I stink with desire
Eight more minutes
I used to watch her when I was younger
Smiles white teeth
I am hungry
She smiles even when she cries
I miss you
sweet desire
and today I grind my hips into the couch
I am in love with sadness
when she looks away
Five
I drool
Girls in jeans
The fall
The changeover & covering
No longer
dancing in sweat & exposure
I am hungry for Fall
I miss school
for denim
worn denim
stretched across young girl's asses

I walked into my L.A. apartment. Still had some shit in it from the last time around, but I thought I had already closed the place up. The last things I ever move are my vinyls. They’re heavy as rocks and tempermental on top of that. (I should give a fuck how words are spelled.) I was pretty much wasted from the travel and ready really to just lay down. It turns out I was to meet with an old fuck before the new one came in town, but I passed out on my bed and my phone went dead and by the impressive time that it came back to life there were a series of messages… well over 32… and I didn’t even have time to figure out what they were when I answered the phone: “Hello.” Her plane had been delayed and it turns out it was much earlier than I had anticipated, so I pretty much just started bagging things up to throw out. I had already taken the good things… but then the space had turned into a warehouse. It was a very eccentric everything home furnishing storehouse. Actually it got weirder than that and went through passed roomates sextoy drawers. One of which was a whirly-bird type apparatus that flung a ball round and round. I personally didn’t see the way in which it would provide pleasure, but I had never seen it demonstrated. There was an electric toothbrush lying about as well. All those things were in the closet, of course. I couldn’t remember which girlfriend was supposed to show up, so was prepared for all of them. Both of them? Her. But by this time, of course, my friends have showed up and we’re going through all of these items… some obscene cement statue monstrosities and others that were quite fine Japanese woodworkings… as the evening progressed and things had been broken, I found myself in the room of antiques and there was a pumporgan in the corner, so I plopped down and started working the footpedals. A songs starts playing that I know from passed lifetimes. At some point it dawned on me that the objects accumulated in this storage were more valuable that the space necessary to house them and I decided to keep them and go into business.
Second guess: There was a lot of profound imagery that I feel I might have not conveyed. I suppose the interesting timeline discrep is the change from apartment to warehouse. I was in a small room and the entire thing opened up into this vast space. I mean there were a collection of riding lawnmowers in this place. I was greasing them up and putting them on the auction block.

these pages come complete with thought
no assembly required
though disillusionary form
must be purchased separately

I just wanted to say

that the night of the cold front
my tapping typewriter
accompanied Steely Dan
another encore performance
for you

or no one

ideas of milk-white flesh
and perfect breasts
surface
but only a pillow awaits my touch
tonight

I have dreams
of being a balcony
over Bourbon Street
identifying tourists
by their drunken sway

as the beautiful
black boy
and his shiny yellow trumpet
call them by name

cigarette butts
and streets for feet
and cops on horses
drifting across my border
americanos in search of el doctor
copasetic Mexico
awaits with open arms
and hands
sixty dollar scripts
lanky on long legs
more smooth than even Hollywood could produce
that smile and curly black Latino hair
everyman is a criminal

blue pills
and a five hour drive
warm Coronas smooth
the heated highway

crawling from the ocean
and down another famous boulevard
salt slits and burns as it bleeds
across sun baked skin
no saint ventures inland
along these streets
where wanting waits
and souls spent on dreaming
devour one another
spilling tears
to drain with gutter sludge

and further north
the fog crawls from the sea
filling the minds
of hungry poets
fresh from jails
and schooling
bridges tighten
as a city pulls away

up hills
into parks
and childhoods
filled with laughter
the musing of swing set squeaks
burn the ears
of the dusty bum
wiping the sweat
and oils
from his eyes

a raised yawn
toward heaven
as the razored Northern wind
severs humid memories
leaving them to roam about
homeless
in cold open streets

As ethers originally swirled
the physical realm held
status mainly as a weigh
station. By design, human
spirit is transitory and
temporary. The idea of
immortality was never
to be used in the base
way we see today. Vision
your first auto-mobile.
Vehicle – a car by the
roadside… If spirit were
in fact eternal, having no
end,.. then this particular
structure would lack sig-
nifgant important. Let me
allow you for a moment to
realize your cellular lack
of value. In future tense,
I will break down the
body into various co-dependent
organ systems, all of which
are naturally parasitical
by their very structure –
an exchange of elemental
sharing that we deem
- survival

A series of fences, surrounded by the green of lawn
Suburbia or internment camp
Lush green
Fences of silver shine and care
yet the dog runs vicious

An observation of lifestyles
and the children of my age
praying for the golden carrot
we donkey's drag the cart
w/ nothing to soothe the dreamers
but gentle wind across the laketop
& the dream
"...a cartful of possibilities..."
I read years ago
and left

Soothing comfort sought
a place of hay to lay the head
'til the crack of the whip
another day
The stable shattered by light
seeing these conditions
& the dream of the golden carrot

An upset of the applecart
The donkey rebellion begins
to find there's no one in the
driver's seat
but an idea misunderstood
A cartful of carrots crashed
so blindly dragged behind
hoping for the one
so blindly in the saying
"You can lead a donkey to carrots,.."

Untethered
the fat lonely ass
drunk on dreams to contentment
falls asleep by the roadside
next to the shattered
empty cart

woke up with a phone call
5:30
she spoke
No consequential conversation
The sharing of a hang up

but following thoughts...
of elevators and wrapping legs
tightened grips
video camera hidden by mirrors
she and she and me
on another bed
on another plane
glued by sweat
She that I broke the rule with
when pushed away
rejected by other
we
swimming
floating liquid sea
in-between dream
and reality

and gripped the moment
and gripped my moment
and drowned
down in no-thought
forgetting all fantasy
no past no future
no present
no time
no she
no she
no me
just one with one
the one
sea swimming within sea
within me
no me
explosion
within
without
a universe convulses
no universe convulses
convulses
and comes in a dirty sock
rolling out to sea

5:45

No heat
No fire to reach this lonely place
exposed to winter's wind
but for the wrap
of burial cotton
here
among log and limb
for the warmth of the living
placed by quivering sobs
and silent hand

weeks agone
or months
the leaves of fall
replaced by the fall
of snow

Forgotten
No heat
No fire
No rest for the winter's dead
buried below ice of waning tear
under snow of illumed night sky
Lost
a flesh
of sorrow
frozen among the pieces
of memory
and rememberance

No burning vigil
as the soul craves
the comfort of the thaw
Forgotten
until the thaw

cold
hard
six feet
of frozen earth
Bury me
in warmth and shelter
below

and this
this body
by the woodpile
where your foot falls
ignored
as you shiver
chilled by wind
and the mound
of covering snow

and this
no flesh
but soul
where your foot falls
ignored

six inches
of frozen flesh
Bury me
in warmth and shelter
below

and when the thaw's wake
reveals the hidden earth
and fertile soil
is opened to embrace me
Bury me
in warmth and shelter
below

She sits in front of
me in the theatre
Sitting beside her man
Reaching back, she grabs
my crotch I place my
dick in her hand. She
jobs me. I come in
my hand & reach it
around to her mouth
as she licks it
clean

Worry is relatively
similar to being
over anxious

One waits when
expectant
when one becomes
accustomed to
having his desires
satiated
A pain is felt
suffering
disappointment
This is a psychological
dilemma
felt as, but not
actually, physical

If a child is spoiled,
depending to what degree
rotten,
they will carry the
original experience
as an underlying bitterness
that layers w/ each
expected offense

This neurosis is one of
many demons associated
w/ physical disease &
ultimate cancer death

Within the body
that now hangs on you
are memories
as old as humankind
naturally craving
the perfection
of ease
walking through meadows
and trees

The immediate layer
craves which is most recent
and familiar
for instance
why crave hot cocoa w/
cinnamon and marshmallow
unless it revives
past comfort?
You will eat the same
meal twice, if not more,
this week.

Open again for heaven's release
Shall you doubt my sincerity because of the scent of a beer
falling from my lips
or a cough
But don't expect me to mock the sacred
because I doubt the orthodox
God has found me among beers and scribbled pages
and yellowing stains on apartment floors
between the legs of a love that I believed
though a confused lie
as all romantic gestures
The taste of salt on my lips
and sex is such a powerful and disgusting weakness
The taste
of my mouth in nether regions
below the underground
to the sucking pleasures of moans
and gasping
How I digress at the mere thought
and yet am totally untouched
for I understand the belief of the erotic
as artistic expression
and realize it is but a fairy tale
for the weak of will
and the sad of procreative reality
Austin, Texas
the cigarette is lit as the evening ends
to begin another day
and I'm not even sure why my memory leads me here
alone, as usual
sitting looks out the open slid glass door
of an early sun pouring itself on another worlds waking
Which day shall I point out
or world shall I live in?
What is any of this but a momentary delusion
and escape from the moment?
I really don't know except for memories sake
The memory of a chance taken
recalled in the absence of one now.
How sad it is when I long only to quote my self.

If I strain I can remember
but life without conflict is easy to slip into
You'd be surprised what doesn't bother me these days
knowing it's impossible to lose
big fucking fear that used to loom
was just a ghost
which are true and real
but can't harm you at all
can't even touch you
They're not allowed
Not even that they'd want to
for the truth of the matter is that
there is only one world
and it's all the same time
and you are just as much a ghost as they

I slowly creep my head around the corner
of the kitchen hallway door
catching her making tea
slowly
so as not to startle her
for she is elderly
and when I haunt I enjoy my caution
No need to make a scene
in these old apartment houses
of San Francisco
creeping up the backstairs
four flights up
Three doors at the top of the stairs
and I'm dumbstruck
remembering
this the dream
looking down at my hands
not recognizing
Reality breaks down

Not as easy to get lost these days
what with all the signs
I forget where I'm going and up pops an arrow
That man on the corner with the sign
knew that I was coming
I remember when the end was near
as the neighsayers smirk themselves to sleep
I remember when you used to worry about me
If that twinkling in my eye
would get you through the night
and I guess that over the years
your silly little fears have worn through a bit
Cancer doesn't sound like such a bad idea any more
Scary movies are a bore
I think we're all ready for the horrible truth
The Big Lie makes a lot of sense
(not to mention cents)
The worst thing you experienced wasn't enough to kill you
because it was all a bunch of fake bullshit to begin with
This world isn't real
like you wished it was

catching my first train
Man, if you could just see yourself
the way it really isn't
but a bunch of beliefs balanced against each other like so many rotting stones
gritting blood corroding their very canals
just to make it into the body
Your first mistake was answering to whatever they called you
Second believing that it was really you
as if they could see into the invisible and just conjure you out of the essence
If you could have ignored them
with that childlike knowledge
that this was just another daydream
back against the tree
and if you merely let the images dance
they can never harm you
but it's so easy to be confused by the angels
thinking that they've grown
The world is a bar
with dark sunglasses
as they walk in and out
thinking it's all going somewhere
God is the last lonely drunk you ignored

It used to come like church camp
into, through the windows
damp like cold summer night
screens, freedom and protect
perhaps a struggle at times
thought usually subconscious freedom
do you remember the hallucinations
staring for hours
within conversations
at the trees
barely lit by sidewalk lamp light
a queen of forest surrounded by her court
and the talk about the angel
halo glow
somebody saw on the other side
near the girls' cabins?
We sat up
and sought the angel
with eyes of vision
though saw none
only that throne
and she that sat
surrounded by men with animal faces
and minstrel grace
We were holy enough
I do not doubt that
but believe it all a dream
as this is a dream
as all life is a dream
She
they
saw the angels
two of them
that sat watching
from the open holy windows
of dream ethereal vision and days of lack sleep
as the others slept around us
and clung to their mother pillows
We saw the creatures of night time
that those no others see

everybody knows what they want to say
sometimes dressing in sparkles
Here comes the winter
we've all been waiting for
blue tip match sticks
blue tip flame to match
hot white smoke of burning paper
words to worthless again

a picture of perfect pickups
empty the bars for the night
meaningless trade stay over
remembered in numbers
names changed to fit the mood
dumb luck and dumber still
the dance of the dunces begin

filled up with acceptance
stomach empty and sick
alone but still
a shadow in an unknown room
flicks of a lighttime
pains of a masturbation
even the pleasure is work

the frame without a portrait
sitting on the table top bed
leaned against the wall for support
any little bit to keep it from falling
hungry the monster underneath
jumping to beat it to door

the garden outside the window
pretty with nothing grows
trading stories with the angels
invisible wings and the story is told

The sea spoke to the river
"flow into me"
as it twisted and turned
and fought
and crashed and churned
and said, "no... no, not I"
and the rains fell
releasing stagnant pools
"no... no, not I"
"flow"
"no... no, not I"
and they flowed
"no... no, not I"
as the sea swallowed
filling its beautiful belly
"no... no, not I"