Savor It

Dear boy, you want love,
But it takes steps,
Listening to Ariana Grande’s,
‘Thank You, Next’
It’s crazy,
You look at Bradley Cooper and think, “one day, thatt’ll be me”
Just grown,
With my Stefani,
The Fame,
Crown prince of the pen game
And damn, maybe I’ll find her when I’m 40,
So until then,
I’m not worried about shit
Just myself, so I’m gonna savor it

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Le Cost

I need love
But all I got’s a bong and a Peep song

Ain’t nothin’ wrong, it’ll do,
Beats being sad with you

And I’m still gonna break your heart for leavin’
Stuntin’ in La Lolla like Cary Grant, best believe it …

What the fuck they ever think I was gonna be,
So go hop on some late alpha dick – see em at my age and he really wasn’t shit

But see me grown and you’ll regret it,
Should of made the investment

Wrote me off like a loss,
That shit gives me so much motherfukin’ sauce

But I’ll never be lost,
Never beleive in love like that again

That’s why I’m still writin’ poems after all this time,
That was the cost, my only friend

Ghostbusters

When I bust my ghosts,
there is no one to call

My radiant will accomplishes:
look mom, look…

But only I see,
only I am here

I, fool to my exes,
exile to my freinds

Hunter-warrior,
on edge of society

I shall run the borders of this town,
declare myself protector

Say, ‘you don’t see…
but the Great God Pan lives’

And were I less selfish,
i would sleep on forest floor and be sacrifice to bears, mountain lions, rodents

Say, ‘now you see…
The great god Pan is dead’

For I am he,
satyr, martyr, brother, son, lover

I,
whose magic they do not see

Magician’s Ode To Self

When I have good news, I am most lonely,
Having no one to share it with

No one to be proud of me,
Astounded at my magic

The radiant force of my Will:
Omnipotent, cause of causes

And so the magician is lonely,
This Wolf. Waldo. Black.

And so, I will never forget who was there for me.

Me, motherfucker.
me.

This Pain, Uncommon Thoughts

There were no old men who came before me,
Not a soul who wrote a goddamn-fucking thing down!!!
Nothing passed on but these well-worn genetics:
For this I am ashamed
How the fuck does this happen?
Tragedy
And I’m born into it
What the hell happened –
Exiled into this world,
In my mountain home, by the fire –
A product of a breakdown in culture,
Capitalism birthed me into poverty
Why did my family choose each other?
What the hell was so special about them;
I know nothing of my ancestors
Just a little money,
A lot of Irish, and the dischord between …
Exiled from my grandfather’s “will”
My own father hated by his mother;
Ugliness all around,
Sadness;
So my family has never really lived,
Just existed –
I’m a needle in the hay,
First one in generations who didn’t rush to breed
The very word speaks to its unconsciousness
And I’m disgusted,
Like a cow born on the factory farm,
Knowing in my marrow something is wrong
WHY THE FUCK BREED
Look; I’m not mad to be alive –
Just wouldn’t bring someone else into this until it made sense
Because I feel like the first to be conscious in generations…
And I am in pain
Wounds that were shared,
Never healed
A dis-ease
As far back as we go
And I don’t blame my exes,
I’m stuck with myself
Maybe to be loved after I am dead
But I’d rather that than to share this selfishness; this lonliness
This pain.

And I’m sorry this poem is so sad,
And I – but I’m glad to be thinking uncommon thoughts.

Where All Boys’ Dreams Begin 

Motherfvckin-go-in on-this-poem like-a-koan,
I’m a pure Brahmin spirit, ya I know-em,
I could clone-em:
Take in the yin and the yang,
Fire and the rain,
The Masculine and The Feminine,
And you heal all the pain;
All the sacred texts say it again and again:
You put the jewel in the lotus – om-mani-padma-hum – and again and again, a god you become –
Welcome to the truth,
It’s the sage’s only friend
Cause she’s alchemic, shamanic, hermetic, daemonic –
Hindu Kush is my favorite, oh Poet Vyasa that’s ironic –
Now I’m at the temple door and my desire is chthonic,
So I bring the dark to light,
Dakini goddess of the night;
Inner insight, my anima restored inside:
Two in one together, own the things I used to hide
Like the Thomas Gospel,
I am not Here to divide –
So people they meet me and they can’t even decide,
Is he a demon or a god?
You don’t know, but you like it;
He and Her makes Aman-Ra;
Even the Egyptians didn’t hide it;
So when we get naked, I’ll worship her as the highest;
For what the fuck else does a god look to, but a motherfvcking goddess –
So come with me, and return to yourself again;
And return me, to where all boys’ dreams begin.

Her, Him, She, We / Like Magnets / More Than You Ever Dreamed

“I want to swim away but don’t know how.”
Jesus fuck I love Blue October
Love her,
Love my pain
This stoned, emotionally overwhelmed feeling
Just how many poems can I write to say your’s was a heart I never fully entered
But I hope my pain left you a key, as your’s was to me
Because I am open now: I am in my own heart as I’ve never been before,
And there’s no more sitting outside on the stoop, smoking cigarettes,
No more pouring poison down my throat because I can’t get in;
No more abandoning myself;
No more needing protection in another;
Finally, having awakened to the duality of my inner and outer, male and female consciousness:
Yes, complex people have complex identities and require solutions more complex than in your books –
And I think about her, and my Anima, and how she wasn’t who I tried to project my inner, feminine self onto,
And I think about how I too am dead to her, in that she knows I am also not the inner masculine she projected onto me,
And I know we are both freed
For, I know Her now: She is in Me
And I hope she knows Him, or finds him in someone else…
But it can be HELL trying to find yourself in another
And you could get lucky, but you better hope to fucking god you are simple in your heart,
You better pray to be a basic #happilyeverafter bitch,
Because you’re probably not
I looked for myself for 15 years in other women, relationships,
Other as in separate from Self
And my heart was mechanically separated, like a chicken on the factory line, every fucking time
That was the price
But in seeking, we find ourselves – the gold in the pain, real treasure: Jules; Althaea;
Parts of Her were found in her, and in her, and in her, and in her, and in her
I could describe my inner feminine self using a portmanteau of my exes;
Their best traits are all in me, living, present, graceful, alive, in this room with me tonight
And She’ll keep expanding outward, in twin flames and in soulmates and flings, and friends, and they’ll hate us for Our security, sincerity
Because We’ll never confuse her for Her again,
Alas, the anima gets no other avatar than the Self –
But this is a gift once you realize
Literally, your Other half, which you found in your other other halves,
Goddesses born and dead,
We find ourselves in other people,
This is how it works, like magnets attracting and repelling.
But god it hurts. Until She or He emerges in you.
Then you’re whole. Then you can look outside, complete within.
No longer afraid She is Medusa or Grendel. Or your exes. ;)
But You. More than you ever dreamed.

A postscript: It’s a Game of Monopoly and We Don’t Even Have Pieces on The Board

A postscript:

Yesterday, a list of 10 things, including becoming wealthy,
Today, a communist poem;
But these things reconcile, you see…
Until we change the world, we have to play the game as-is:

And the game, life, is economic
Money is better food, supplementation, medical care, rest and relaxation:
In the future, it will likely mean survival even more than it does now –
They aren’t going to let billions extend their lives, but those with billions will

So, fuck the man, but also, try and become the man,
Because that’s how everything changes;
We want to say, “fuck the matrix”, but until we are out we cannot unplug anyone else –
And what disturbs me, is the lack of people at the top fighting for those at the bottom

A wise man once said, “Capitalism is a playground for the rich and a hell for the poor.”
Or as Victor Hugo put it, “The paradise of the rich is made out of the hell of the poor.”
The problem obviously, seeming to be that those who escape the hell leave the rest behind
It has been said the Republican Party is the prep school party – and they don’t know what it’s like:

And we’re not invited for a seat at the table, we don’t attend Mar a Lago,
We spend our lives in stress and toil, to keep the lights on –
Only, politics have manipulated social issues to secure the economic wellbeing of the few at the expense of the many,
Because, we are just fucking cattle to them, every one of us, without a game piece.

Young Prince

I’m letting go of her,
Committing to myself, my plans,
To being secure in myself;
Maybe 5 years single,
If need be:
I’m Walt Grace and Walter Mitty:
I have my dreams;
Secure in my loyalty to them
I’m laying in bed all day,
A black robe open, stoned
Cookie dough and colby jack for snacks
Jackson Browne’s ‘These Days’ (Live) on repeat,
Reading Carlyle’s ‘On Heroes, Hero Worship, And The Heroic in History’
My great-grandmother’s copy
A singular hand me down,
But a treasure, a key in itself,
For her great grandson, whom she never met, would be pondering the divinity in humanity, himself,
92 years after she wrote her name inside the cover 
Talk about a relic (Ready Player One),
A story that had me in its destiny long before I – 
And within it, ideas I hope to enlarge in my own life, wonder 
And Sunday night now upon me, I say Assuredly 
Unto myself eternally:
Relax and trust, young Prince,
Relax and trust… young Prince. 

The MS-13 Killing Fields

Preface: trigger warning. non-fiction violence. historical mass genocide.

… Soy un artista y solemente tengo respeto por las personas y la historia de El Salvador.

There are enough people to some and to some these beings are animals,
But there’s ancestral pain behind it, much more than an anthropological story,
But a story, of a people stripped of their religion, their culture, their everything.
And gangster rap and the Kardashians projected upon them; well, guess what,
These are the real hard motherfuckers,
Society left them one role,
In total fucking poverty like you can’t even imagine until you feel it in your stomach.
Add alcohol and the worst drugs, meth, PCP; fucking no options in life,
So, these kids, without whole societally integrated fathers for generations,
Well, they’re gonna play that gangster role like its their last..
And if you were them, you probably would too;
You think you wouldn’t: but you would.
Just like you play whatever role you play, whatever mask you wear, whatever hand you’ve been dealt.
You play the fuck out of it.
Because you have to: it’s all you have. All you know.
So, just further marginalize them, stigmatize them, or like welcome them back into society,
So their whole culture isn’t a fucking scary Gotham City villain.
The face tattoos are just owning the villain’s mask.
The crimes – the killing is just fitting in.
What other chances do these youths have to move up in the world?
If you had only one shot to be a big shot, would you take it?
Some always will, particularly when there is no other respect to be had, to be found.
When there is no power, fear controls, and when there is no future there is no fear.
So lots of violence,
At least in prison, they’ll be with their people, safe.
They don’t lose any respect by going to prison; what fucking shame do they fear?
Being a pussy. Not being a man.
And worse, not getting any fucking girls. The teenage hormonal equivalent of dying alone;
So it’s ride or die, no big deal. Shit, death, they grew up around it.
Nothing to fear. Only getting hacked to pieces with fucking machetes. Multiple assailants;
Strength in numbers. Gangs.
The original human social groups: what do you think a tribe is –
And they have to have an enemy, someone worse than them,
Because no one wants to be born at the bottom.
But some are.
In countries practically without economies, and in societies with lost, usurped cultures.
What the fuck do you think the inquisition did? Burned people and worse,
There is great ancestral pain in a million broken family stories, great sadness,
And shame to be from the dirt. And only the lowest jobs available. Forget about education.
Just violence, ugly drugs, and bullshit to worship: gangster rap. Tony Montana.
The guy getting head from the fine girls blowing him to score.
What are you going to do? Be a fucking pussy and maybe get killed, in a terrible way (So your enemies fear you),
Or are you going to choose to live as a man; to do what you have to do to compete in your culture – to advance – to survive?
We hardly even live on the same planet as them,
And outside of maybe academia, no one gives a shit about them, in-fact, they’re not even wanted,
Sub-class.
And they’re teens: schools won’t even fucking admit them (For fear);
Damn FBI MS13 Task Force might make a lot of dicks hard in Washington but deportation only grows the numbers: surprise, surprise; El Salvador has the highest murder rate in the fucking world,
Their own government hunts them with fucking death squads: El Sombre Negra: The Black Shadow.
They hunt them in LA too, these clandestine Salvadorian kill squads. It’s the inquisition all over.
The nightmare, the slaying of indigenous people never ended.
Now a small number of elites, Palestinian Christians largely run the country
And the original Lenca language is extinct.
Then came the Olmecs (After the Lencas),
Then the Mayans,
Then the Pipil people,
Who called the place Kuskatan, meaning, “The place of precious jewels”.
And these people were ready warriors when the Spanish came, telling them, “You want your weapons, come get them.”
An they actually defeated the conquistadors until subsequent expeditions, led by the brother of the first conquistador, succeeded – almost…
Legend has it a Maya-Lenca crown princess, Antu Silan Ulap, travelled from village to village, uniting all the towns against their Spanish conquerors, whom they drove out and prevented from rebuilding at San Miguel for ten years, until the Spanish returned with more soldiers, including 2,000 forced indigenous peoples from neighboring Guatemala… who chased the Lenca leaders into the hills, allowing the Spanish to recolonize in 1537.
It would be almost 300 years, in 1821, when El Salvador would no longer be under Spanish control.
Then the powerful coffee families ruled. Oligarchs who raided the coffers. A coup here and there,
And then the threat of communism, until La Matanza (The Slaughter), the Salvadorian Peasant Massacre of 1932, in which 10,000 to 40,000 were murdered by firing squad after being forced to dig their own graves.
It silenced dissent and was another twelve years until the son of a bitch – hijo de puta – was forced out of office, by the student led ‘Strike of Fallen Arms’, in which people just stayed home.
Once doctors and professionals joined, society was crippled, and Maximilliano Hernandez Martinez was out…
Follow that a bit after with a 12 years civil war 75-92, in which 75,000 were killed,
Including women, elderly, and children, as in the El Calabozo massacre, another slaughter,
This time US trained soldiers did the killing, and they used acid attacks too: government still hasn’t admitted or even acknowledged it;
A government slaughtering its own people,
This is the whole fucking history of this country, don’t you see?
But godddamn does that volcanic soil make a good tasting cup of coffee.

To a Lost City.

I am myself,
And you are the past
Yet, there are nights when I cry in a rain-filled mudhole,
Wildly calling out,
For the two we were –
Four with the dogs –
For they don’t make ’em better than us four,
I’ll tell you that

If only you or I could have accepted our small, struggling life –
A life of nothing promised –
How hard that is,
It decided our seemingly little fates

As for me, I got the dream writing life, in the mountains
It fell in my lap –
And you were gone
The four, now one

But I can’t shake it,
The lifetime we lived,
It was mine, it was real
And I’ll always be wildly missing it,
Carrying it with me

Our map back to the great lost city,
Of Lawrence and Sarah