'you think i'm kidding?'

Words and words and words and words.

we all talk

but are we

saying anything?

Tis 4:31 in the a.m

and what a day it has been

a day indeed,

a day indeed.

across from me sits

mr, wright

in all his belabored

exhausted glory

his triumphant return

denied, rejected

unwanted, even.

he sits,

but he doesn't know why.

he doesn't seem to sure of much right now.

but perhaps he'd like some snacks.

perhaps.

perhaps he'd like some tea?

perhaps I

will offer him some.

an offer was offered,

and a polite refusal

was returned.

he seems enthralled with

some sort of cellphone game

cellphone.games.

interesting metaphor.

1two3four5six

eighteen times

ring ring ring

no answer, the poor guy.

am i tired?

surely.

but do i have much else to do?

not really.

not truly.

alls that left to do is sit and wait

certainly, certainly

this is a silly competition,

but there doesn't to be

much of an alternative.

and so he sits and plays games

with himself,

music millionaire

apparently.

who is elvis presley's original

manager?

this is the kind of question

that preoccupies us right now.

perhaps

perchance

perhaps if i brought a sleeping bag

to the beach

this would have all been different

but perhaps

this way

it was for the best.

i hope.

i do.

so it goes.

so it goes.

vonnegut to the rescue!

so it goes!

so it all goes.

it's all one long joke and we're living it right now.

the only mistake is to take it seriously.

only seriousness leads to violence.

be kind, rewind,

thank ye.

what to do

and what to say

silence is all we got

we're waiting something

out,

and i'm not quite sure what it is.

oh well.

oh well.

so it goes.

ramble ramble ramble.

i hope music millionaire is going

just great

because this here

is moving along rather nicely.

break.

break.

aha! perhaps you accuse me

of mistaking

fragmented sentences

for poetry

aha! and i say,

perhaps i am mistaken

but perhaps i am not.

so it goes.

4:46 in the a.m.

game is on.

game is cool.

games games games.

it's bound to get old eventually.

it all gets old eventually

WE all get old eventually

it all dies.

we all die.

when everything's reborn,

maybe we'll be part of that everything,

but maybe not,

so don't you count on it.

this is getting old.

i am getting tired.

i am going to pass out.

i shall say

appropriate farewells.

to you all,

now,

farewell.

this night couldn't possibly

get stranger.

left and right

side to side

gensen poem

Credo - Matthew Rohrer.

I believe there is something else

entirely going on but no single
person can ever know it,
so we fall in love.

It could also be true that what we use
everyday to open cans was something
much nobler, that we'll never recognize.

I believe the woman sleeping beside me
doesn't care about what's going on
outside, and her body is warm
with trust
which is a great beginning.

message.

a week ago,
i sent out a electronic message
to my friends
via cellphone

it said:
never hesistate
to trade your cow
for a handful
of magic beans

which is just another
of my many
beloved tom robbins
quotations.

so i sent it off
to the world
with all of its
literal and metaphorical implications

to see what my friends thought
and here
are some of their responses:


s.g.-It's better to have three birds on an apple tree then one dead fish in a wooden bath.

t.p.-Talk about a monomyth...I'll keep that in mind for when i find my glass slipper.

l.g.-But i love milk-and the beans might be EVIL -Muahahaha

j.p.-Never Hesitate
to write me a short poem
when I'm naked in
My room
After seeing
the birds see
the sun rise

g.f-Fortune cookie.

g.g-Eat the red bean AND the blue bean.

t.b.-<3

t.g.-Are you in possession of either of these substances?

s.d.-I have a giant watermelon growing in my belly.

a.a.-You don't have to tell me that. I much prefer magic to livestock.


father's response:

y.l.-Fine but it can be also fake beans so just be careful

08/17/08 seattle, washington

six hours after this picture was taken

this goat

known as snowdrop

was brutally,

cruelly murdered

by its owner

with a pen knife.