Earth to Charley


Mexican free-tailed bats spiral out of my soul for you!
It’s the mental effort and organisation I respect
The bats are hungry for pests like corn earworm moths
the organisation is a bunch of New York mobsters
sitting around a large rectangular table
 while ominous music plays in the background
pups flap into the night sky
swooping down on people in their underwear at a pool party
Panic ensues from the false news report 
I kill my television and browse the internet
It’s a mad house like Charlton Heston said
Are you taking the night off?
If she’s afro-latina she’s still black
Never mind
I’ll tell you about it in the morning

Scientists think they’ve heard the voice of God

Or they think they’ve heard the voice of angels

Or the voice of aliens, or the voice of devils

A naked bald man sitting in a forlorn alien desert

Hell bent on taking the fun out of everything

Powers up the holographic inferometer

To find out if the universe is a hologram

It was an amateur’s exercise, a one-person parlor game

destroying our only opportunity to understand

whether we exist for research purposes or entertainment

Donald and his nephews
dreaming of buying a lawnmower
and starting their own business
before all the money and
drug problems and glamor

Donald and his nephews
wielding machetes and a noose-gun
The giddiness they display
while committing heinous atrocities
I can’t stop thinking about it

It quickly becomes apparent
that they are a group
of self-absorbed narcissists
selling their souls to the Devil

I would go so far as to say
This is often what makes a comic
so funny in the first place

Veronica Lake, who else


Unicorn arrest warrant
She killed him with an adze
Raskolnikov’s sock
They found him in a wife beater
On Archie Bunker’s chair in the Smithsonian
A relic to Brando, Matt Dillon
Bukowski and all the rest of those fools

The atmosphere was nasty
Muslin dirty maggots larvae
The unicorn’s guts spilt out all over the sofa
As the cops interrogated the suspect

Caught him redhanded
Doing foul things with the unicorn’s horn

Remember the Mapplethorpe, the one with the whip

Where were you the night the unicorn entered your life?
All you can remember is
They were beating a horse
So high that night
You wet the bed and didn’t wake for another week

Prefigurement is everything
You’re damp darling
Is my story turning you on
That much


The important thing to remember when writing a crime novel is
to wait on the lady

The universe around us is dying

All humanity’s striving counts for nothing

When, all of a sudden, something exceedingly awesome occurs

somehow we get sucked into a big crazy adventure

You might call this a nervous breakdown or psychotic break, it doesn’t matter

The point is asthma inhalers, eyeglasses, credit cards, toupees and cell phones

can’t save you here

We are headed for the deepest level of the unconscious mind

Anything goes down here

According to Freud, there are dirty pictures of your mother down there

and we cannot reach it encumbered by all that crap we used to think was important

Here finally is the sphere from which emerges in one immense orgasm all that exists

I have been circling a similar drain for a while now

including getting it on in a graveyard

We always try and be as respectful as possible

Once in a while a TV show does something that actually happens in Real Life

High school students light homeless people on fire

Penises as crucifixes with heads coming out on three ends

A Ninja Turtle fucking a rectum with an eye until it explodes with blood

People quote the Simpsons like the Bible

It’s sort of like that little old lady from the old commercials

who goes, “Where’s the beef?” but cuter

I wouldn’t say there was any particular reason it started happening

A girl looks upset, goes swimming, and emerges from the water looking happy

Teenaged losers play hooky from school and walk around town on LSD

Together, they get high and shit talk things and have misadventures!

This is a story about bored teenagers and what makes them amazing

Sonnett II | Ted Berrigan


Dear Margie, hello. It is 5:15 a.m.
dear Berrigan. He died
Back to books. I read
It’s 8:30 p.m. in New York and I’ve been running around all day
old come-all-ye’s streel into the streets. Yes, it is now,
How Much Longer Shall I Be Able To Inhabit The Divine
and the day is bright gray turning green
feminine marvelous and tough
watching the sun come up over the Navy Yard
to write scotch-tape body in a notebook
had 17 and 1/2 milligrams
Dear Margie, hello. It is 5:15 a.m.
fucked til 7 now she’s late to work and I’m
18 so why are my hands shaking I should know better

it started as the art of freedom, destroying taboos

They dress in black, wear Halloween masks, wave flags, act viciously

challenging and unlikable to the masses, confusing and oft-times menacing

appearing a little dazed as they dutifully take out their iPhones and produce their selfies

I do not criticize the strategies, but on the contrary

I consciously take advantage of it to carry out my social experiment

against stark white walls under bright white light

a succession of emotionally dead pop culture trophies

the only people who wore white coats were the technical wizards

We discovered why Rastafarian hats are better than trucker’s hats

I go home and change into sweats and a smoking jacket

I wanted to scream, just like the girls outside

in the underbelly of the tri-state area

jumbo-sized renderings in mirror-polished stainless steel

constantly metamorphosing, transforming

reinventing with multifarious identities

while Somewhere, in the noise and delicious chaos

the small stone Buddha statue stares impassively at the broken object

Despite the cultlike devotion

God Is Disappointed in You

The disaster is already under way

Eyes are gouged out

and arms are terribly mangled

Texas Tom, the deformed cowboy

dies in what remains an open-ended

Hollywood murder mystery

Townspeople band together

not out of shared ideals

or a need to save the world

But because they live in fear

of the zombie-infested wasteland

A malevolent supreme god

can be an absolute nightmare

scrutinizing our every thought

and toying with us against our will

Fortunately our protagonists

have Heroic Willpower

so expect them to keep being awesome

right to the end

Cast out due to a terrible cosmic abortion

an unlucky-yet-annoyingly-optimistic Baby Jesus

travels to Earth where he starts a peace-and-love cult –

A haven for weirdoes, nerds, borderline sociopaths

pregnant children and assorted misfits with attitude problems

The police falsely accuse one of the women

of poisoning an herbalist in Chinatown

But the situation is even worse than you thought

The real killer is a disembodied, spirit-based, extraterrestrial

Outcast in his hometown

Apart and alone because of his physical deformity

An amateur detective gets drawn into the case

His services are required because the police

are useless, corrupt or both

A tough, cynical guy with a lot of Street Smarts

he manages to get his hands on some real, government grade DMT

from his girlfriend on the force

A hallucinatory trip illustrated with bright colors and surreal imagery

provides him temporary access to what amounts to Psychic Powers

And then he finds a gun in a dumpster

Christmas is fast approaching

The world is full of cheery colors, people are smiling, happy and helpful