First week worth of poems

Oct 31


Late-night poems

Spring to mind and fade away

The Shining is online

Jack Nicholson’s face is great for this day

You look forward to one day of fun

And it all goes to shit.


Of course.


I love Halloween, but I guess no one loves it like me; I live for costumes and for random fun

On the streets.


I’ve gotten bored of Thanksgiving and Christmas;

Don’t talk to me about Valentine’s Day, who needs that sham?


I’ll live with that pagan spirit in mind.


I’m fine with that.



November 1

A full day at school

Makes a weary man grow cold

Bob Dylan to get through the day

Shitty poems to try and unwind.


It’s not really working.

It never does.


I’m tired of college

No one’s forcing me to go

I’m tired of poems from the mind

Going to pen and paper and just never really

Getting anywhere.


If I had to pay for college,

I would be out of there sooner than you could say

Maple Sassafras; I don’t want to be a leader of men,

Let alone the leader of my friends.

I don’t want to be accosted by stupid, useless bullshit;

Let me be me, and we can live in prosperity.

Or just live a generally less-than-harmful life, but who’s paying attention at this point?


Not me, that’s for sure.



November 2


A long Friday awaits me,

And a million and one requests

Come to my inbox and invade my mind

Go to a movie, go to a fast food place,

Go out to the Grove, Go to this and to that

And I don’t want to go fucking anywhere.


I just want to stay home and read some Bukowski

And drink coffee and to relax and prepare myself for the work;

I’ve got a short story to edit, and a few more poems to write

And some video games to play.


And I only have a day to finish reading Ham on Rye.


When Bukowski says he doesn’t like the human race,

And everybody scrunches up their ugly collective face to shout him down,

I can’t help but agree with him, for the most part:

No matter how many times I try and love and try to forget and forgive,

The central message that has run through my youth is as follows, and don’t you forget it.


I hate people.


And I don’t hate people because they’re not good enough or they’re not funny enough or anything like that, it’s just that I hate them because of how much fucking time they waste

Hating themselves.


You see my dilemma, don’t you?


That’s why I try to be lively and lovely, and yet nothing gets over,

And college is supposed to be where “my freedom” is found.


Fat chance, fellas. Fat chance.


I’m tired of wasting time and of constant distractions from the human race.


Who cares about getting a driver’s license?
Who cares about driving a car?
Who cares about sports?

Who cares about elections?

Who cares about who screwed who in the parking lot at 4 am?

Who cares about how much you hate that one person that always asks for a pen and never gives it back to you afterwards?

Who cares about petty jealousies?

Who cares about long forgotten people that now hate you?

Life goes on, Bukowski knew it, everyone knows it except you.


Who cares about the past?
Who cares about the present?

Who cares about the future?


I know I’m evil, I’m okay with it.


At the end of it, life is limited and short and full of strangeness; why not squeeze every drop of fun, pleasure, and happiness that you can before it goes down the tubes?


That’s why I don’t feel sorry, anymore.

Not because I’m better than anyone, just that I’m tired of wasting time.


I’m okay now.


I don’t miss anyone or anything, not anymore.


Life goes on, and this poem is bruised and old.


I’m happy now, so nuts to you and to everyone else who doesn’t like it.


November 3, 2012


I love Johnny Cash songs

They help me out on dark days


Even bright days, too


Books and Books party


Bukowski books on the brain


No one wants to come or can come along


Oh well.


November 4


Woke up in a lot of pain


Walked for miles and miles yesterday, and only stayed around for an hour


Always the journey, never the destination

Same way with shitty poems


Never about the end of it, just the composition,

The rhythm, the feeling, and the half-assed jokes


Linguistic acrobatics; that’s a more honest term for this kind of shit


I’m too lazy for punctuation

I can barely type, every word and letter and comma is poison to my old bones


A friend’s birthday party has come and gone, and I’m feeling tired


But happy. And full of good food and good times, with lots of Netflix and UFC video games, to boot.


Now, time to read some Allen Ginsberg and William Carlos Williams, and to hit the hay.




November 5


Nabokov, Joyce, Chandler, Hammett,

Hemmingway, Fitzgerald, King, Lovecraft,

Carver, Colagrande, Beaty, Adams,

Wolfe, Thompson, Cain, Tolkien,

Shakespeare, Vonnegut, Ellison, Dick,

Ginsberg, Burroughs, Kerouac, Cassady,

Bukowski Bukowski Bukowski and more Bukowski.


All of these men line my walls, just like gadgets and photos and political ads line up for others;

I love it all, but my bookshelf is my own, and I need more; I need a fucking library all to myself, that’s what I need.


Go through life, and people worry about their landscaping or their green grass yards or their playgrounds or their color TV’s or some other garbage; if people can worry about that so consistently over their lives, then why can’t I do the same with literature?


November 6


Presidential race coming to a-head

Even with voting Green, I dread a Romney presidency

Obama is lesser of necessary evils

So fuck it; I’ll be a betting man

I’ll take Nixon at this point, just give me something that’s not bullshit

No more “lesser of two necessary evils”;

Benghazi, Drone Strikes, Slothfulness, Bain Capital, Façade, Bullshit flip-flopping,

Million-dollar Youtube commercials that show nothing except how the two are the same and how they’re different and I’m so fucking tired of it, God.

Give me something something something, PLEASE:

6.2 billion spent on this stupid election, and what do we really now?

All we now is how to spit out usual propaganda from either side, and to just think in simple-minded black and white terms

White vs. Black

Republican vs. Democrat

Liberal vs. Conservative

Women vs. Men

Man vs. Man

Women vs. Women

Hell, kid vs. kid, friend vs friend, family against family, God against God,

And for what?

To be in charge of this bullshit nation?

Gee, I guess I see the incentive there




Good thing is, no more election garbage for another four years. And that, whatever happens, gives me some small amount of comfort.


And now a national murder unfolds; 290 votes and counting. Damn. That Mormon special underwear didn’t help, and Jesus is staying on the planet Kolob, I guess.


Eh, Jill Stein and coffee and a good day’s worth of collegiate scholarship.


It’s been good. Good enough.


(Will start up next week’s worth of poems starting tomorrow.)


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