My Utopia

I wake up in my bed

a place where it seems made up my head

A place where I am accepted

and thought was not intercepted

Those who complain and shout are silent

Hesitate and think before breaking violent

and love is returned once more

Without an abrupt end, to come to a slammed door


Where we can all come together

Despite our difference and faulty weather

We can believe

That we don't have to be alone, we can acheive

Without getting attacked, tied down and hit

Forced and not to stand in freedom, but relentlessly sit

Where we can be working as a team

Doesn't this seem like a perfect dream?


Where I sleep, and say it's okay

To those who struggle within the night

To those who hide within the day

But the glass shatters once more

An undesirable light becomes shone

Breaking. Disturbing. Injuring.


My once calm world

My utopia

Is only a shadow

That mourns behind me of society's constant unrest and complain

and leaves my heart shaken and torn, and leaves an unwashable, unforgettable stain.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Originally, this was a class assignment.

Saliva of Cherubs

Sit me down,

rocking in the mud, woven disease pasted.

Saliva of cherubs lap my cadaver, antiques in sunlight of lilac water.

And the slime.

A hat, a relic of sick.

5 O’clock shadow.

Pills pouring out a two piece bathing suit, onto gravel, dirty marbles into a mental dimension of Jell-O, late night talk shows.

Rape a baby’s blanket, blue with trim, green with chunks. 

It slathers and strokes.

Sit me down,

Holes rip from pores, goggling eyes peek-a-boo.

 A haze, a punk rock phase, built from dust of cities.

Golden oil poured, a deluge turning to drippings and hairnets and a mole with a hair that stands alone like herself that morning.

Floral wind, calico playhouses for relics of children in honey and mud and I am here.

Sit me down,

on weekends and holidays and open windows in winter time dressed as lawyers with square shoulders with nooses that convulse with each step.

 Limp, limping up wooden stairs.

Sit. Me. Down.

Lay me down.

Bury me deep.

Smells wavering,

 serpentine knives cutting without hands on arms and through the cushions, throbbing.

Hair dye sweat that sucks inside frames exposing pink,


wet parts that beat like a heart,

that’s on top;

The Queen of all the swollen mass that you are.



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Wake The Fuck Up World!

It's late at night and I read

the moon and stars above me

lit cancer stick in my lips

and I'm scowling and squinting

trying to keep my eyes from burning

when the smoke rolls into them

I'm doing nothing important

just coasting by as usual in this life

and I think the best things in life

are not easy to obtain, and most are free

but throw away is the foundation of belief

hearts and dedication mean little to nothing

everyone hurts, but they buy and trade and want

always wanting, striving to get the latest

when even the latest is obsolete

True happiness is dead, and buried

unless you disconnect from the bs

decide to chase your dream, your calling

regardless of financial gain

be who you want to be and who you know

is inside longing to simply be and function

in the manner you were made for.

Me, I am an unmotivated artist that creates not for others

so much as for my own mental maintenance and balance

It is therapy that repays instantly, and I almost never

know what I am about to create, it pours from me

sometimes disturbing, sometimes in my eyes garbage

but others, I impress and thrill my eyes and self esteem

It's a part of who I am.

The core... the most important piece.

If I conform, I sacrifice what it takes to know this

about myself, and to pursue and maintain my view

and I effectively sell that part, that beautiful, unique fragment

to the world at large, to this society that keeps us all safe

so we get along, and we prosper as a species

but a cog in the machine, that cares not for you , or you, or me.

But for the competition, and to measre falic status

proof that you ARE a better version of the same species, that

in the evolution game, you are king by holding the most

of an imagined thing, this paper, this digital record, credit

useless if the world falls apart, and I choose not to compete

Only to effectively ride out my days in this debacle

and stay under the radar but happy doing what I know I was meant to do

So long as the rest of this spiralling, corrupt, fake, and desasterous world of man

doesn't try to keep me from being me.

I could care less to be “rich”

I'm no better than him, her, that guy, you, them I'm only the best me if I know

ME in the first place.


Wake up world. Mankind RIP

I Know.

i see you struggling to get by...

you keep fighting to keep up...

trying to not let many know of these battles

that take place deep inside...

i try to just let you be,

because i know that you feel ashamed of the confusion

society knows of your ever lasting feminine ways...

but deep inside you fight this need to be the perfect wife.

you see his mistakes and you console him...

you hear his disappointment with you and you feel shame...

to the outside your outspoken, smart, beautiful, confident, full of life, no one can stop you...

but i see your doubt,

you doubt every word, you question your beauty, you struggle to keep up...

you hate me because i know you know .... i know...


what people think is life in your eyes...i see the almost tears


why keep up with this charade?

they would understand,

your family wouldn't judge you...

who cares what society says...

they all make mistakes...

point me the perfect asshole ... i'll show you their shit.




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skilled verbiage






a beggar's 


poor choice


rolls him 


gently from 


curb to 




as the wealthy


roll over


in interest.




cutting words


spoken with 




like an ice pic,


hold the gentle,


subtle power,


to leave cracks 


like fault lines


in ignorance


left from











5:23 AM 8/4/2013 ©








Author's Notes/Comments: 
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gazing past the moon and stars


 my eyelid begins to close


as i reflect back to where my soul was left,


in the bottom of that dumpster,


among the kitchen drainage and waste


of slimy, rancid and maggot ridden rubbish,


swept away from a darkened, smokey room,


laden with guilt-stricken, human auric toxicity,


a mother lying spread eagle 


upon a bare and blood-stained wooden table


from the local goodwill store,


clad with nothing but a worn and well used sheet,


a metal hanger tearing the walls


of her vaginal vault,


i am erased in a moment she took to


her grave,


and remain a secret


that never died.


guardando oltre la luna e le stelle


  la mia palpebra comincia a chiudersi


Mentre rifletto di nuovo a dove la mia anima è stato lasciato,


sul fondo di quel cassonetto,


Tra il drenaggio cucina e rifiuti


di viscido, rancido e larva spazzatura cavalcato,


spazzato via da una buia stanza fumosa,


carico di sensi di colpa al panico, tossicità aurico umano,


una madre che giace spread eagle


su un tavolo di legno nudo e insanguinato


dal negozio avviamento locale,


rivestito con nient'altro che un foglio logoro e ben utilizzati,


un gancio di metallo strappo i muri


della sua cupola vaginale,


sto cancellato in un attimo ha preso a


la sua tomba,


e di rimanere un segreto


che non è mai morto.


mirando más allá de la luna y las estrellas


  el párpado comienza a cerrarse


Al reflexionar de nuevo a donde mi alma se fue,


en el fondo de ese contenedor,


entre el drenaje de residuos de cocina y


de viscosa, rancio y gusanos basura montado,


barrido de un cuarto ahumado oscuro,


cargado con la culpa del pánico, toxicidad aura humana,


una madre que miente spread eagle


sobre una mesa de madera desnuda y manchada de sangre


de la tienda de fondos de comercio locales,


vestida con nada más que una hoja desgastada y bien utilizados,


un gancho de metal rasgando las paredes


de su cúpula vaginal,


estoy borrarse en un momento en que llevó a


su tumba,


y seguir siendo un secreto


que nunca murió.





 traduzione da Inglese a Italiano eSpagnolo da Google

Music by 'Live'

Foto de la web




11:17 PM 7/24/2013 ©







Author's Notes/Comments: 

Abortions of the past hopefully stay in the past.

Aborti del passato si spera rimanere nel passato.


The photo is not of my creation. I got it from the web. It fits perfectly.


Inspired by:




Latent Prince





Part I of II



This is the story of Larry Joe Prince

And the way Arizona stole his innocence.

It is written with hope that there may come a day

When a wise judge will grant him his moment to say

All the things so conveniently left out of court,

Made American “justice” look more like a sport,

With a high-priced attorney that didn’t think clear,

And the false testimony of one with much fear,

And the state prosecute thought “I’ll surely reach fame”,

He said, “Hell, I don’t care who the state wants to blame,

It’s a paycheck to me; I don’t care about truths,

It’s my ego I feed, I’m a low lying sleuth!!”


So they all drew their “guns” on that guy Mr. Prince,

Absolutely no shred of secure evidence,

They proceeded to send him to death row to sit,

For the murder of one that he did not commit,

And the biggest and worst sin of all that was done,

Was the way that the people held on to their “guns”,

They embraced all the lies to evade what was clear,

As revenge prevailed justice with each little tear,

And for those in the grave who just watch from above,

With no longer a voice to teach them that real love,

Is not proven by putting the blame on a man,

Just because he is there….cause the courts and you can,


See the proof of one’s love speaks out so very clear,

Even after the grave when one’s body’s not here,

You will hear their soul cry, and you’ll then know for sure,

If they’re resting in peace or they’re haunted some more.


There are families that hide from life’s reality,

The dead man in this case begs you hear his soul’s plea,

Make amends for the errors you’ve made in the past,

And put down all those stones, and those already cast,

If this dead man could speak he’d have something to say,

Of the circus that ran through the courtroom that day,

And if not for the dead man then do it for you,

Cause we all have to answer to God what is true,

Larry Prince knows he’s clear and he wins either way,

                              Cause he’s INNOCENT judge, the state’s in disarray.                                

So please read all with care on this day we implore,

Please don’t look at this life as a game where you score,

It’s integrity that is of stake in this court,

And it’s not mine or yours it’s this country’s that’s short

Of a quality no longer active today,

If it dies, it’s the lives of our loved one’s…they’ll pay.

Take your time, read it all, and be true to your heart,

And we’ll all pray it’s not too late for a new start.



Part II of II



They all loved cocaine but they hid it from Dad,

He just couldn’t believe that his kids could be “bad”,

So his eyes he did close, and they stayed tightly shut,

While his best offspring died with that stuff in his gut,

And they said, “It was murder”, and placed the blame there,

Yes, it’s true ‘bout that bullet and blood in his hair,

And the roots of that crime have been hidden so well,

By the real guilty ones with the lies they did tell,

For those self-righteous ones that just stared and stood by,

And condoned this deceit without batting an eye,

For the cowards that watched as the killers went free,

Be aware this could happen to you or to me,

And your sons or your daughters could one day be led

To a place where they wish they would rather be dead,

So now don’t be afraid to let truths in your ears

When your children are hurting with eyes full of tears,

Don’t you cower or shudder, don’t whine and don’t wince,

And remember the story of Larry Joe Prince.


Written in parts, from 2000-2002

Original Copyright 2002 

Registration Number / Date:

                   TXu001112792 / 2002-12-02




07/21/13 ©



Author's Notes/Comments: 

The story of how justice can go awry when emotions rule instead of justice ruling.



The Way Of Ignorance

All this time,

You were thinking 

I had nothing to say,

The cockamamie way of

Those who blind you,

Blurring your reality,

Bringing you only

What is meant for you to 












Act on,






It is such 

An Intentional

Violation to

Your being,

And to society

As a whole, 

The obsession with




The removal

Of free-thought,


With malicious intent,


Infects us all,

And strips away,

Chiseling at all

That inspires








And self-worth

Of the individual

Destroying any and all

Human rights.




The awareness

Of Divinity,

















All lost at everyone's cost.




To know,

To see,

And possess








And achieve




As it exists in 


The Ethics of Human Rights,


Is not possible


Under this 


Blindfold of deceit.




But the law 

Of opposites

Tells me,

That one must 

First know 

What having a veil

Over their eyes



Before knowing 


It is 




3:51 PM 6/30/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 



I am what you would call a maniac,

A manic.

I am the Hyde to a Jekyll,

A creature with clawlike talons and razor sharp teeth.

But I am no monster of the deep,

I am simply an animal with desire, passion and love, forced

Through my veins by my ancestors.

I am no harmful creature,

But one that should be pitied.

My Body is wired,

Like an android I stand,

Helpless to my desires and instincts.

Society deems me a brute,

A monstrosity,

Yet the human species deems me perfect.

Live, Die, Breed

We are a natural process,

Subdued by societies concrete walls,

Imprisoned in ourselves,

Subverted to a nature that slaughters the souls of men.



Bring me my death, for life's meaning is massacred by the weight of suppression.

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