Henry Kellogg, a lover of Flannel and Nirvana, came bumbling into this world with a mission to overwhelm people with Poetry and other various brain poision. His condition is contagious. Be afraid.
Three Poems (October 25, 2011. Issue 32.)
Finding Julia
Julia is a 2d blonde
On a television cartoon
From the 90's From Japan
And she is the ideal woman
But she is not the ideal woman
But instead the ideal love
Spike loves her
tragically
unto death
He lies heroic
beaten bleeding
And the last word uttered from his
beautiful bloodstained lips
is
"Julia"
Most living humans
are not space bounty hunters
but live in small houses
with small wives
Their loves have walls
Their loves are restricted
by their imagination
or lack thereof
"I don't really love her anymore
but I doubt I'll find some one better"
"she puts up with me, its all I can ask"
"Our arguments aren't too bad and we fuck pretty often"
No, no, no no No!
Julia is out there
The romance of a Sci fi television outlaw
is real
Go to her
This woman of your dreams exists
between the shifting faces of 7 billion people
she is out there
And she sees the cardboard love and plastic romance of the world
And also want more
She longs not to be in the arms of her lover
And feel lonely
Lonely in secrets
Lonely in lies
She wants a prince
She wants an outlaw
She wants a 2d man with black long hair and martial arts skills
Who is an ace with a pistol and can fly a spaceship
You don't know it yet
Because you haven't felt it
but you are that man
Once you dream that you can be him
Take your 2d dreams into the 3d world
Make your life be triumphant
Make your life be true
And find her wherever she may be
There will be pain along the way
but a life without pain
is a life anesthetized
Which is a life not lived at all
Find life
Find Julia
And somewhere in that dark part of universe between the bright stars
Find happiness
Beer from demigod excess to complacent tradition
Bukowski drank a lot of you
Hemingway too
they drank you through
Heartaches and jubilation
Break ups and hook ups
the terrible coming of the bleeding dawn
You have been bubbling
through all the worlds troubles
and their triumphs too
Mozart, drank a lot of you
I sit in her bedroom and hold you
your brown bottle
round in the clasp of my hand
and wonder
In the fire dreams of opium sunsets
why do these geniuses drink you
Am I such a genius
Because I am drinking too?
You have a neck and you have a body
But you do not have any feet
Maybe that is why when I am drinking you
and absentmindedly set you down
You fall so quickly fall to the ground
No feet to stand on
Home, The Grasshoppers, the field and me
In the swaying waves of a green ocean
Are the grasshoppers and a myriad of their friends
and enemies
They go Bzzz, Buzzzz, Clacky Clacky Click
They sing songs of love, pain, patriotism, and innocence lost
The field is their whole world, filled with both bitterness and joy
I look also upon the field
The centerpiece of my ancestral homeland
And listen to the grasshoppers echoing chorus
Who feels more for this field, I
Who have been rambling in far flung continents
Or they, the hundreds nay thousands
Who call this field home?
Who can judge whose sentiment is more joyous
Or whose melancholy is more nostalgic
What celestial judge can judge such sentiments
Me, Duh.
For while I may be small I am still a man
And they are only insects
Table of Contents
Amsterdam, strange city (August 20, 2011. Issue 30.)
All of the buildings here have Penises
The small houses have small proud points
And the the successful businessmen have big honking towers
One hotel had a very dainty demure white penis, with lace and frills
I'm sure all of the other owners of penis palaces laughed at him behind his back
In response another Massive blue Penis was erected next to it with square angles
I was sure that Penis had to do what it had to do in a hurry, it was blue and topped with a golden globe
Do not bring your wife to Amsterdam
I saw a man, or what might have been the remains of a man turned poodle
He was led by his wife with one hand and his back held many different small bags full of pocketbooks
Dragged along to a restaurant which cost more than my lodging, weed, and food combined
"Oh honey we absolutely must go to this place its so darling and Thompson's recommended it"
In his mind he was thinking, I must must must get that promotion, he also must do other impossibilities
I decided to get high
This seemed like the proper thing to do and I would be without for a while
So I walked into a place I had looked for last time because the guidebook pimped it
It was empty and they played Justin Timberlake videos on MTV 90's reruns and it was painful
I think if there is one thing stoners can agree on its a hatred of Justin Timberlake and a love of pot
I saw four German man halt for grolsch
One Stopped "wir hab' nicht Grolsch getrunken"
He stopped in his tracks "Helmut, Grolsch!" Helmut looked up with dazed eyes and changed course
"Ja Voll Bier" one of them said as they all rerouted course towards the massive green glowing sign
If you want to attract bar flies then you gotta make the sign big enough for the bleary eyes to see
Now I am at my hostel on the other side of the door from a hostile conversation
"I hope you put ALL of my clothes back because Because I have a WHOLE LOT MORE CLOTHES
"No, I'm not getting you ANYTHING, YOU SHOULD BE GLAD that I'm staying out of trouble
"NO dad I really HATE YOU right now, I'm just really pissed. Why do I even have to call you"
"Dad, you just being really stupid, I can't handle this right now, goobye,"the cell phone flips shut.
I live in the land right before the collapse
I don not know what that collapse will be or when it will occur I just have a justifiable gut feeling
That whatever this thing that is society can't sustain itself in its greed in it clothes and its pocketbooks
I have faith than in time we will come to a land of green fields and tall trees
I just do not relish the pain that we will go through to go from this to that, our perfect promised land