Master Memory Master ~ Sunday, 27 August 2017

Mr Gabidar was not born a broken man but only became one after years of abuse or his own perceptions of abuse as a child still is it not the same when a child feels neglect feels the latch-key of loss turn his world inside out he loses direction loses his sense of fun engages with his sense of worth feels that values become arbitrary remembers the one time his mother went with him and swung him on the swings

Maybe that one event in his own memories occurred more than just once even if it happened often enough for him to look back at his mild maternal upbringing it could never erase his parents need to boss old Mr Gabidar as an adolescent into vile adulthood remorse over choices not of his own choosing lack of support carry years of needless struggle to earn a good living the need for worldly things

Master Gabidar saw the world differently than his parents and peers since apperception always was perception of self his memories became still-life motion pictures astral projections not unlike a director turning his point-of-view to one for his viewers to distance him for good exiting the battle of wills for what is best for whom and when a game reluctantly he played until he was too old to care who was victor

Modern Savage London ~ Saturday, 26 August 2017

Mr. Gabidar eats kim chi straight from the jar with chop sticks made of steel of little use is he to the economy so he eats at leisure delicacies so small no one would consider them even as trifles even so this cuisine from California was considered the real deal real in the sense of worth the value of each dish cost more than bone china nothingness was the height of his understanding as each plate was empty

save for a slice of beef a sprig of parsley leaf a spoon of horseradish a catastrophe of California cuisine mocking at the pleasure very simple dishes delightfully addressed could grant before rifles after sunset condemned as we all were to eat before our own kaddish granting each prisoner a meal to satisfy not even a diner everyone called The Fly for he weighed less than scales could measure a trendy

look only he could pull off in our small corner of the city center only Gabidar cared for The Fly too much to allow him to flat line not only did that speck of a man get his share of our sumptuous fare despite the pleas of weak undernourished inmates he received our order on demands by the chef that this one prisoner taste each meal to thus dine nonchalantly on meals meant for condemned inmates worse off than rags to wear

Murder Hidden Secret ~ Wednesday, 23 August 2017

Mumble Bunny noticed a strange thing with people he knew the other day unless he's known someone since birth something remains hidden about their past realizing that trust is formed by what he knows about people he meets dirt may or may not rise to the surface in terms of past relationships endless are the secrets locked away in a vault behind each person's face remember no one knows a thing about other people unless revealed

Human beings are known to hide their intentions behind false pretexts inside every person he sees hides a monster ready to murder him dirt doesn't wash away without soap and water but what about the blood-drenched shirt that must be burned lest someone else notice what might not stay hidden every person he knows casts a shadow of doubt as they pass his hard stare nobody sees the light emanating from eyes sharper than an eagle

Stare as long as he might Mumble Bunny could not uncover the secrets eating away at him inside other people so strange so well contained captured on a record only God can listen to like a symphony revealed with all its flaws only God hears the screams inside each musician existing in the notes she plays on the organ during their choir practice terrible his older brother planted this seed in Mumble Bunny's head

Two Slugs ~ Friday, 11 August 2017

I hope some stranger puts two slugs in the back of my head execution style because this life is so fucking boring so incredibly worthless that if I have to talk with another moron and receive a lecture about what a shift drink is and what it is not at the end of my shift you can all go to hell if your pour disappoints me because I'm sorry if you feel the need to argue with someone who works a dead-end job with no hope of a future y'all can go fuck yourselves because this life is dull so fucking dull I beg you to hammer two slugs in the back of my head because to suffer fools is not worth my time nor anyone else's please don't get me wrong I'm sick of getting the short end of the stick this life is shit seize the day suck up to dip shits who measure the world down to the shot shoot me please end this life it isn't worth my time putting up with your shit the bullshit that comes out of your mouth bores me to death so please end it shoot me end this horrible life with dull small-minded idiots that not to make a scene I hold my tongue and wait to write out my feelings deep-seated from years of abuse by the people who hold power over me and my need to succeed and finish what I start like the School of the Art Institute of Chitown may you all rot in hell

Imbibe Guzzle Tipple ~ Wednesday, 9 August 2017

If you believe money makes you better than poor undeserving welfare mothers with their babies crying from diaper rash poisoned by lead water bless your hearts beautiful people you are correct it's entirely their fault if you decide to live in poverty you trust government will take care beginning from childhood to make the right choices for you and your family even if government taxes you greedily before they would the rich

Government loves the rich and offers them loopholes to not give their fair share understand it's your fault because you allow them to write off their daughter zombie-loving film school student at NYU sitting inside a vault zither from Salzburg close at hand to play for friends later in Central Park leave her alone the tax write-off she did nothing to hear your homily effectively against both rich and poor watch out we'll burn you as a witch

Take your satire elsewhere we have no need to read your lunatic nightmare intervention for greed and abject poverty while the homeless zombies pretend they cannot work and make America great again we deserve plenty more than the tax service offers our kind hard working privileged dark lords of the underclass our daughter did no harm telling us the stories elegant as film of the homeless as zombies at the Federal Reserve

An Apology ~ Wednesday, 9 August 2017

Before you start begin with your own conception try to conceive the past otherwise than being your own singular birth out of your mother's womb maybe you were stillborn and the person you are today is just fiction born out of lies brother autobiography you play the critic cast a stone you without sin righteous with your ego your bloated drunken self you judge without support lacking all compassion your greatest fears come true

Care within the family as the first born son was different for you than me ostracize the poets like in the Republic for we place in a tomb life as we understand time between birth and death from first cry to diction and articulation lessons with our father reading Bible stories because Mumble Bunny rarely if ever spoke out loud left on the shelf as dust covers bottles of alcohol when dad got sober his rage grew

Ignominious son of the father my shame hides dumb lacking manly strength to tell the whole world I am not just the child you thought you knew so well laugh out loud at denial the hateful fear of love intimacy children as an adult I chose wisdom over family suffering and worries needless to remember but memories persist from a desire to tell drunken brother of mine these lies I speak in truth are mine thus to defend

Sick Muse Scum Musick 2 ~ Saturday, 5 August 2017

Since the band went defunct after eighty-seven the chance to perform live in front of a large crowd only took place during a poetry reading creativity took shape by means of the pen and a sheet of paper kindred spirits fellow travelers showed up for these events where we thrive

Maybe for a moment then burn out like a moth caught by the candle flame until I was twenty I thought I was hot shit I'd found my true calling sick in the brain my muse watched me spiral downward until I lost all sense energy low spirit followed me on the path up until our wedding

Six years later she filed for divorce confusion bit me like a viper crushed I moved to Hyde Park where I've lived for ten years I worked at the bookstore under the direction of the cellar dweller jack of all trades his name meant to hide or conceal in a Roman temple his demise caused falling

My days there were numbered by losing my aegis I lacked shield as defense unable to withstand the barrage of forces seeking my removal surrender seemed the right decision the only choice I had left was move in a fight for stalemate as endgame came swiftly I left out the front door chess ripples from center to edge in terms of power players know how brutal kind faces can become a duplicitous smile leaves a trace to disprove

Sick Muse Scum Musick ~ Saturday, 5 August 2017

Shaved heads never made sense as a political statement nothing to shock ignorant bystanders with a clean skinhead look but that was just the point conservative right-wing we never understood they had a right to voice keen beliefs to keep with moderate policy our doves against their hawks

Maybe they liked to fight to hurt others to harm as sport or to threaten unkempt bastards like us who fit in with misfits actors artists poets social outcasts who formed bands to play our own songs against hatred and war exactly as we did so did they the soccer hooligans to anoint

Some rabid bolt to sing on their behalf to work them up to chant rejoice collectively in angst against losing their jobs to foreign elements understand racism was legalized years back hard to place that weapon morbidly in the grave but not all skinheads fought to keep blacks the lowest

Minority deprived of economic growth social parity floor under the glass ceiling the success of the rich baffled us all how do some people make it big old money makes puppets dance and speak for their cause ignorant of vast power dynamics we sang songs lacking intelligence central to our own form of agency as punks music was magick true key issues were at stake women's rights poverty all built into the laws

CS 3 ~ Silence (1987) ~ Friday, 4 August 2017

Whether they kicked me out of the band for missing a gig on Halloween or Priam and Zamir left to jam with Aram it no longer matters nobody cares what took place thirty years ago it keeps no one awake daylight enters the room I fall asleep in bed the pipedreams of a teen ended a splash cymbal cracked I threw a drumstick impaled into the wall remember those lost years smoke from my father's pipe dissipates in the air

Wishing never made much happen back then or now nobody knew the past informs every last step before the next the fog machine blows smoke scatters noticeable amounts of dry ice in the path of stage lights for the sake declared it looks damn cool we never got the chance to play at Budōkan outside Orange County nobody knew our sound we never got the call wonders never happen if you can't stick it out never say life's not fair

Wash off the soot and grime from inside the chimney fire burns what cannot last after the band broke up and our second attempt with just drums and bass failed soon as I sold my kit everyone moved away and I went stir crazy however many years spent learning karate I never made Shodan every reason happens because we want something but if our ship has sailed reason rears her wrecked face to remind us a harsh truth we were too lazy