Stuff that Rhymes

What makes Joe iambic?

I was nuts before I knew it.
And never thought
to undo it.

Cogito, ergo sum – I think, therefore, I am.

René Descartes may have been a drunken fart as the Pythons suggested, but he’s still getting press off of this simple phrase.

Having a thematic through line that unifies the pieces makes it seem like I gave this a lot of thought. Sadly, nothing could be further from the truth. It just occurs to me and I riff on it. In all humility…I’m humble bragging.

However, far be it from me to make any less effort than Aaron Sorkin in this regard, so I’ve settled on Life and its relationship to Death as my overarching theme, and to prove it, I’ve made up this list of the titles of the pieces and the manner in which they explore an aspect, in a somewhat feeble attempt to create supporting evidence.

Let us pray:
Jesus, I hope I get at least a C on this because I don’t want to have to redo this project. Amen.

Doubt

the creative side of life

Excess

the thin line of life

Witness or Witless

the high side of life

Why?

the dark side of life

The Garbage Pail of Life

(you know)

The Inside World

the silent side of life

Then I Broke

the last chance of life

Hauntings from the Past

the past intrusion of life

Fuck AI

the current intrusion of life

Obsidian Fantasy

the mystical umbilical of life

Fighting Words

the battle of life

I have a friend who is a very talented musician with his own recording equipment. He took some of my “rhyming things” and set them to music. If you like them, he deserves full credit. These are available on Soundcloud.

More Or Less by Gordon Russell

The Garbage Pail of Life by Gordon Russell

Moe Better’s Marsupial Love by Gordon Russell

Moe Better’s Retired by Gordon Russell

Rhythm & No Blues by Gordon Russell

Jesus on LSD by Gordon Russell

Usually, my writing process starts with a thought/topic/area of interest and/or a first line.

Unlike Shakespeare, I don’t concern myself with writing everything in iambic pentameter…I’m just pleased when it ends up making some sense.

I started using this form of expression just for fun – there was never any intention to publish or sell – that took all the pressure off me. I was free to be me and I didn’t disappoint in that regard. I was completely me.

I doubt I’m giving any competition to any of the great poets, living or dead.

But the beauty of the Internet is I can be my own publisher. I don’t have to convince anyone else that my efforts have value and deserve distribution.

Doubt
Excess
Witness or Witless
Why?
The Garbage Pail of Life
The Inside World
Then I Broke
Hauntings from the Past
Fuck AI
Obsidian Fantasy
Fighting Words

The world doesn’t like my music.
The universe hates my words.
The galaxy’s flat on my babbling.
The atmosphere thinks I’m a turd.

Andromeda’s sick of my whining.
My way isn’t milky with stars,
An asteroid says I’m a hemorrhoid
On the anus of Venus and Mars.

The constellation’s consternation
At all that I’m putting out
Screams that it seems that my dreams
of renown ain’t nothing worth shouting about.

I reek.
Everything I do is weak.
Don’t matter the profession,
My sad confession is
Try as I may it’s not good enough
So why do I bother if it’s so tough?

I haven’t a reason
Why my shit isn’t pleasin’.
I just know that it’s true
That whatever I do
It don’t make a difference
Or change the indifference
That comes back in reply
To my shit that won’t fly
Cause I stink.

There is no excess...there’s only more or less.

Those are the choices - our inner voices.

Should we do more or should we do less?

The same old conundrum - the one you can’t run from.

Can you get higher and not expire?

What blastoff is good enough?

It’s too much when it’s too late - one toke over is a fine line
That decides if you’re livin’ or dyin’ -
Over ‘cept for the cryin’.

You’ll never know so boldly go.
Push the envelope. Live on the edge.
You can still “Fire all of your guns at once and explode into space.”

If I can’t achieve, I must relieve!
That’s what I believe.
To conceive - not grieve.
Find a way each and every day
To elevate while I vibrate
At the Hz that soothes the hurts,
In the harmony that frees.

Medication and meditation,
Medication and meditation.
You switch the “t” for a “c”
Put an “h” for harmony in between.

“I was nuts before I knew it.
And never thought to undo it.
“Something’s wrong”,
I’d hear me say.
And it didn’t matter why
Or what could make it go away.

It’s been close to an even split.
Glass half-full by a hair’s breadth -
Half-full of shit.

You can
Spins the facts.
But seeing shit as rosy
Don’t change that.

Negativity’s the drive on which I thrive?
What’s that say - “Too mean to die?”
One thing’s for certain when they drop the final curtain
My parting words will be -
“Oh, fuck me!”

The Garbage Pail of Life
Is a bucket for Life’s strife.
The Garbage Pail of Life -
It’s all yours - every bite.

When you’ve lost the thrill for Life’s bothersome swill,
Get the Garbage Pail of Life!
Gotta bottomless detritus of Life’s messiness?
Grab your Garbage Pail of Life!

It’s a bucketful of life-shit!
You earned it. You own it. Every little bit!
Your personal pail of plaintive wail,
The Garbage Pail of Life.
That’s the Garbage Pail of Life,
Yeah, the Garbage Pail of Life,
I got your Garbage Pail of Life.

You can fill me, baby! But you can never dump me!

When I close my eyes and look inside the things I see are only for me.

The hidden bits of all the shit kept to myself on a mental shelf.

The world inside where I hide, ignoring life knocking, all voices talking, the fear I am blocking.

The Inside World's where I’m free from an Outside World that’s hassling me.

In the Inside World mystery’s unfurled with clues that explain why my thoughts are insane to any other self but myself.

I’m not the person I used to be.
I’m not the person I was to be.
I’m somebody else.

I started off and stayed the same
Then became who I wasn’t
When they made me change.

I had to be the person I was made to be.
I had to be a me that isn’t me.
I had to be a me that wasn’t meant to be.

And then I…
Then I broke
And I broke cuz I was broke.
And then I broke free.

It took me a lifetime to find the right time
But then I broke free.

You ask if I remember
The things I can’t forget
What I said so long ago
That kinda rings true yet.

A clever line - the soul of wit
Less is more - the gist of it.
Say nothing and your words will last
As spectral hauntings from the past.

Stupid autocorrect.
Stupid auto-connect.
Stupid auto-select.

Stupid automatic.
Stupid programmatic.
Stupid’s got me frantic.

Fuck artificial.
Fuck superficial.
Fuck “Today’s Special”.

I pick.
I choose.
I decide.
Don’t “serve me up” anything.

Fuck you and the vertically integrated horse you rode in on.
Parse this!

Can you elevate?
Alleviate?
Mystify?
Obfuscate?

What’s the thing you do?
Voodoo?
Witchcraft or sorcery?
Lovecraft Discovery?

Your obsidian fantasy’s
Not what has to be.
The smoking mirror
Reflects your worst fear.

It’s razor edge cuts like a knife.
It’s blackness is blacker than the blackest of night.
Is it magic or tragic?
Good golly or folly?
You can have what you want but it comes with a price.

It’s not cancer or any disease.
Never been much pleasin’ ease to it.
Comes with no warning,
Today gonna be joy or mourning?

Hear the startin’ gun - you gotta fly.
Get your ass in gear - time to satisfy.
That thing you think is killing you -
It’s not cancer - ain’t that queer?

Thought you’d worry ‘bout a little spot,
Forget about cancer - life’s what you got.

Call it a battle.
Say it’s a fight.
Tell ‘em you went down punching,
Ain’t cancer you gotta beat -
It’s life.

Love and sex stave off loneliness and our self-contained oneness. (Not breaking any new ground here.) It’s important not to get the two confused in personal relationships. And yet…

You can have sex with someone you love but you can also have sex with someone or something you don’t love. (Don’t judge me.)

You can love someone but you can love other “ones”, too. (Otherwise soap operas wouldn’t exist.)

It seems to come down to just what is said/conveyed/represented. That’s where the trouble starts. Interpretation. Signals crossed.

Once again, in an effort to keep up with Aaron Sorkin as to overarching theme, I’ve settled on Love and Sex – what happens when those things get confused, and to prove it, I’ve made up this list of the titles of the pieces and the manner in which they explore an aspect, in a tangential, far-fetched attempt to create supporting evidence.

The Power

Love that could kill you

Somewhere

Love that never dies*

Sometimes I Feel

Wax & Wane of Love

Black Widow

Sex that'll kill you

Last Call Boogie

Sex for Love and Love for Sex

Marsupial Love

“Outside the box” Love and Sex

Chemicommunication

Love Underground

*Anything in parentheses is the backup vocalist(s)

The Power
Somewhere
Sometimes I Feel
Black Widow
Last Call Boogie
Marsupial Love
Chemicommunication

When you care if someone cares
That’s giving the power to hurt you.

You’ve got to trust that it all won’t go bust
When you give the power to hurt you.

Love can be that safe warm glow
Or a red-hot poker that sears your soul.

There’s the chance and you won’t know
If it hurts or heals you to the core.

The absence of love isn’t hate.
It’s loneliness that you can’t take.

It turns to hate and turns on you
You’ve got the power to hurt you.

Gotta love of your life that you’re loving for life.
(For life)

What if it ends?
(That sucks)

Is there another “love of your life”?
(Other lover)

Will you give yourself to someone again?
(Give yourself)

Wasn’t the first time hard enough?
(So hard)

Partnership created stability.
You could focus on…
(Focusssssssssss)

Your life. Your needs. Your desires.
(Your Your Your)

Did you just go through the motions?
(Feel emotions)

Were you there or somewhere?
(Somewhere……………else)

You think you know me
Want to show me
How you can grow me
Mojo my weak chi.

Sometimes it feels like your love is real
But other times I just don’t know

Day after day,
Night after night,
You’re coming to rescue me?
I think you might.

But sometimes it feels like your love is real
And other times it don’t seem so.

Caught, bought and stranded
I’m hooked to your line.
It’s the lure of I ain’t sure of
That’s worried my mind.

Sometimes it feels like your love is real
But other times I’m thinking it’s “no”.

Sometimes it feels like your love is real,
Sometimes it feels like your love is real,
Sometimes it feels like your love is real,

And other times I just don’t know.

Oh…my neck is seeping.
Oh…my heart stopped beating.

Loving her is suicide.
It ends when you’re putrefied.

Black Widow!
She’ll love ya! Then grieve you!
Suck you dry and leave you.

Should’ve known better and seen it comin’.
Shut my eyes and now I’m done in.
Why couldn’t I see?
She’d be the end of me.

Dear darlin’ there’s somethin’ I gotta say.
It ain’t easy or pleasin’ to hear but I pray
That sayin’ what I say won’t ruin your day.

Honey,…
You ain’t a beauty - I ain’t a catch.
Baby,…
Your breath’s like vomit. I’m bald and fat.
Sweetie,…
The outlook for us isn’t all glum.
I can overlook anything
If you’d only make me cum.

Gotta swallow more than pride
When picked last at picking sides.
Betting you’ll still come along
My cash ain’t picky and neither is my dong.

Last call for carnage -
“Carnal” banged against “knowledge”.

(Ahem. We apologize for the preceding.

There was a breakout at the penis correctional facility but it’s been recaptured and put back in its cell where it will remain until the next time hormones blow a hole in the gentility of the human mating rituals process.

Again…we apologize.)

My girlfriend’s a marsupial.
She’s got a little pouch.
It keeps loose change and linty bits
She finds down someone’s couch.

She’s not like any other girl,
She’s special in this way.
My baby’s gotta pocket
And I gotta place to play.
I say! C’est pas vrai!

When we first met she seemed upset
That I might hate her extra gate.
But I get a thrill - not ill,
And something takes hold
When my baby flips her fold.

She’s not like any other girl,
She’s special in this way.
My baby’s gotta pocket
And I gotta place to play.
Si si si…risqué!

I’ve loved mammals and I’ve kissed some frogs,
But my marsupial honey and her prêt-à-partir pouch
Gimme lovin’ other species just can’t touch.
What to do?! Oh, mon Dieu!

She’s my baby
My marsupial lady
Lord, love a duck!
My marsupial honey loves to

She loves to
Loves to
To to to to to to to
Uh-huh. Yeah.

Ain’t plant or animal - it’s a fungus.
Breaks us down and recomposes us.

It wants to communicate -
Earth needs to recuperate.
We’re interconnected in our current state.

It’s a chemical solution
To all life’s confusion.
Love’s the path to perfection -
Open your mind’s eye.
Change your perception.

All living matter matters
Can’t leave it all in tatters.
Gotta keep this old rock alive
If any of us hope to survive.

The answer can be found
Underneath the ground.
My-my-mycelium gave us
Psilocybin to save us.

the circle of life with the setting sun on malibu beach

Aging isn’t the same as “Growing Up”, although the two are often considered synonymous. Juvenile or sophomoric – they’re often spoken of as if they’re a bad thing.

I suppose if you’re hoping to save the planet from an impending and imminent collision with a very large comet, a more serious attitude could be helpful, then again…a whoopee cushion might be just the thing to break the tension.

This brings us to the focus of the overarching theme of these burnt offerings – something everyone does every minute of every day and we’ve all been doing it since the day we were born – aging.

Aging never seems to present much of a problem unless you’re hoping to drink underage. And once you’re old enough to drink, Life just seems to hit the gas until the impacts of aging make their presence felt. It is this promise of Golden Years that has lost its luster the closer you come.

If the Circle of Life means ending up in soiled diapers…well, Joni Mitchell made it seem so much more poetic.

As we’re slowly dragged into the yawning jaws of Death, it’s important to remember it’s all about the journey not the destination. Note: If you’re considering that as a slogan for a new airline – don’t. Trust me, it’s about the destination.

We must all collect our baggage and not leave it unattended. Reminder: Life’s baggage looks similar – make sure it’s yours and not somebody else’s. If anyone approaches you and asks you to put their baggage in yours, please leave the bar area immediately for your own safety.

As usual, I’ve concocted flimsy justifications for all the titles listed below.

The ‘60s Baby Boomers are now in their 60s. Even if age is just a number, you can’t roll the mileage back. I don’t care what the plastic surgeon told you.

The Kingdom of Canada

10-minute misconduct and a game suspension

The Present Mind

Suspended animation

Retired

Suspended income

What Comes With Age

Suspended control

Bleating the Blues

Suspended pursuit

Have Some Fake in Yourself

Suspended reality

Rhythm & No Blues

Suspended syncopation

Getting it wrong

Suspended recall

Waiting on the Other Shoe

Suspended time

The Kingdom of Canada
The Present Mind
Retired
What Comes With Age
Bleating the Blues
Have Some Fake in Yourself
Rhythm & No Blues
Getting it wrong
Waiting on the Other Shoe

The Kingdom of Canada
8 months of ice - it’s très, très nice!
From sea to frozen sea,
A busy little beaver you gotta be.

Tap the Maples,
Rake the lawn,
Put on yer dancin’ shoes,
Run naked through town.

Confederation built the nation
Immigrants laid the tracks.
Hockey united the country,
Spit yer chicklets - here comes Shack!

Our arm’s up in space
Our money’s got the Queen’s face,
In the trenches, in the alley,
If there’s a fight, we’re your ally.

They called us a Dominion
But that got bought by Metro
Alberta’s oil became Canada Petro
And Molson’s now shit like Coors
Keep your Rocky Mountains, we like ours.

The Brits didn’t want to offend,
By calling us what we’d become,
But fuck that American Woman
We’re Canada - the Kingdom of - bitch!

Do you have no past?
All your yesterdays gone?
No memory of what happened.
Nothing left - it’s done.

Have you forgotten?
Pushed it away?
Naught to remember.
Nothing to say.
Can’t dredge it up
Your thought’s on today.

Your eyes and your ears
All you see and all you hear.
Your tongue, fingers and toes
Everything that goes up your nose.
All you taste, touch and smell.

In the present - nothing else to tell.

No use to anyone
Least of all myself.
Got no job
No sense of self-worth.

Get myself up nonetheless
Go through the motions - get myself dressed.
Eat my breakfast.
Take a dump.
Brush my teeth.
Get cleaned up.

Every day the sun comes up,
Sunny or not - I can’t stop.
Got to get on with the day
Prove my worth but get no pay.

Valor’s the better part of discretion
When nature turns in this direction.
Deny the need as you may,
There’s not a gentle way to say -
You thought you’d farted,
Turns out you sharted.

Happens more than often.
Incontinence is rotten.
Depends - absorbent cotton.
Pride’s gone ‘n’ forgotten.

What goes around, comes around.
What goes up, then comes down.
Gravity’s an unseen force
Pulling mass into your shorts.

Got older - Got old parts.
Age don’t change it -
Ev’rybody farts.
If you’re one side of sixty
Odds are better’n 50-50,
Even if you’re young at heart,
Odds are it’ll be a shart.

It’s nature’s rage at this age.

It’s like a slow train coming - always been that way with Life.

No control over when - no way to avoid the end.

Can’t outrun the Death train and can’t get off the Life tracks.

Can look Death straight in its dead eyes and it won’t blink.

Just stop running or take a running leap off?

Don’t matter…

Just feels lonely doing it all alone.

I know a little about love.
I know a little about truth.
I know a little about life.
And maybe I can fake the rest.

Couldn’t dance like the Nicholas Brothers.
Couldn’t sing like Bob Goulet.
Couldn’t drum like Buddy Rich.
But maybe I can fake the rest.

Wasn’t the smartest.
Wasn’t the fastest.
Wasn’t the strongest.
So maybe I can fake the rest.

Not gonna live forever.
Not gonna live for today.
Not gonna do what I can’t do.
Cause maybe I can fake the rest.

Not the worst.
Not the best.
Not gonna admit
That I faked the rest.

I can’t shred and I can’t sing,
Only gotta rhythm that the drums can bring.
Tapping on the tom,
Banging on the snare,
Pounding with my feet
Like I just don’t care.

Melody can run through me
A sharp, a flat, a chord.
Don’t matter what the tune is,
A sweet beat - I ain’t bored.

An electric guitar - eight to a bar
Got no regrets I got no frets
Can’t play them strings like a bell that rings
Only gotta rhythm that the drums can bring.

Double time. Double kick.
Gotta have a rhythm when you play that lick.

Home! Home! I’m deranged!
Where the beer and the cantaloupe lay,
On a shelf in my fridge with a half-a sandwich,
And a pie made of cloudy Pâté.

They said, “Don’t worry - you’ll survive”
“That’s what concerns me”, was my reply.

And now we wait. Won’t last forever.
In the hands of fate. Each day’s a treasure!
Try as I may - just can’t stop
Watching and waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Keep on keeping on till you go plop?
Watching and waiting on the other shoe to drop.

All of these things are not like the other. All of these things are not the same. I’ve given up on the pretext of an overarching theme and just thrown this stuff up. HodgePodge not only rhymes, but it seems a most appropriate title for this section. Whatever fits, we print.

Hug Yourself

Paen to Mental Health

Steel Blue

Long Distance

The Bible - The Missing Bits

Hiding in Plain Sight

Transit Interruptus

Transference

Will It Ever Be That Good Again

Fuzzy Recall

Lid on Your Id

Thought Provoking Examination

Trapped

Cancelled Flight

Not Too much

Correct Dosage

Some Days

You ebb; I flow

Time Borrowed

Does anybody know what time it is?

I am

Popeye’s wisdom

The Bright Future

On backorder

Everything in Between

Three Square Miles

Fat Cat Chat

Artificial Stupidity

I Can’t Say That I Am

I Can’t

Jesus on LSD

Host with the Most

Love Affair

With Words

Never Had to Try

New Reality

Were you are

Not a Typo

Oxy-Dopa-Sero-Tonaline (Bésame Mucho)

Get Your Kicks From Your Lips

Hug Yourself
Steel Blue
The Bible – The Missing Bits
Transit Interruptus
Will It Ever Be That Good Again
Lid on Your Id
Trapped
Not Too Much
Some Days
Time Borrowed
I Am
The Bright Future
Everything in Between
Fat Cat Chat
I Can’t Say That I Am
Jesus on LSD
Love Affair
Never Had to Try
Were you are
Oxy-Dopa-Sero-Tonaline (Bésame Mucho)

Go ahead and hug yourself
Go ahead and love yourself
You’re the oneself - really top shelf.

The star of all your dreams
The one who meets all your needs.

Go ahead - it feels nice.
Hug yourself - more than twice.

Wrap your arms around,
Say “is gonna be alright”,
Pat yourself - say “there, there, there”.
Do it right.

Give it up to your lovin’ arms.
Wrap you up - safe from harm.
There ain’t nobody
And that ain’t right
Say “got ya, darlin’,
Gonna stay the night.”

Go ahead.
Hugger Lover.

Steel blue…steel blue
What’s a man to do?

These tracks are leading me back,
That’s all I’m askin’,
To steel blue eyes s’all I’m askin’,
Stealing my heart ‘n’ steeling my will
Gotta get back to that thrill.

She’s steel blue…steel blue
Know what I gotta do,
Keep on chooglin’ on this train
Back to your heart ‘n’ away from this pain.

Steel blue…steel blue
I’m comin’ home to you.

Chapter 6: Verse 3

Dear St. Paul,

If in fact that is your real name…because we heard it’s actually Saul and you’re a mean Roman Centurion.

We got your letter about the whole peace and love thing. We’re not falling for it. You ain’t gonna catfish us.

Stop writing or you’ll hear from our lawyer and we’ve got a good one. He’s Jewish - need we say more?

Sincerely,
The Corinthians

P.S. No, we don’t offer a “family & friends” discount on our leather.

Her body was sinuous and primeval.
The kind that makes you feel evil.
Her stare penetrated quarter-inch steel.
Her scent permeated the ethereal.

And then she got off at her stop.

Letting go of the past.
Purging any trace that proved you were here.
Disappearing yourself.

Not flashing before me.
My life is passing in real time.
Evidence.
Explanation is required.
Admit nothing.
But reflect upon it.
Let it eat you up.
Until there’s nothing left.

Are we sure it was ever really that good?

The author as a young, destitute, hopeless person.©

Good evening and welcome to our program.

In our continuing series of thought provoking examinations of the human condition, tonight we turn our attention to the psyche and its separate elements.

As always, there are life lessons here that we’re confident you will ignore just the same.

And now, Dr. Gustav Vanderfurlip’s rhymy thing…

Don’t let your Id get away with you.
Keep a lid on your Id - it’ll be unlikely to.

There are things you should refrain from
Your Id you should restrain some

Your Id will always say “Let’s go!”
But Prudence always says “Go slow.”

If you listen when it talks
And it’s coming from your cock

Maybe give another thought
To what you do or do not.

You’re toast and you’ll roast if you’re doing it.
But you can’t go to Hell just for thinking it.

Last week I had freedom. This week I got prison.

Covid-19 gotta hold on me.
Forced inside with no pity.
My flying days are over,
I’m rolling in it, but ain’t clover.

Everyone on the outside is a threat.
Everything inside is making me sweat.

Covid-19’s gotta hold on me.
Pulled me off the field without a say.
Stuck me in a prison where I’ll stay.

I’m rotting from the inside.
Locked in from the outside.

I’m caught in a trap.
I can’t get out.

Three years forward
Right back where I began.
Last time got the worst ten days of my life,
Now I gotta another ten
In case I’d forgotten
Another reminder I’m not who I used to be and won’t ever be again.

Covid-19’s gotta hold on me.
I’m caught in a trap. I can’t get out.

You should think,
But not too much.
You should feel,
But not too much.
You should want
You should need
You should think and feel and breathe,
You should do everything…
But how much is too much?

Living on borrowed time,
Ain’t no reason for sorrow time.
Death ain’t giving loans.
Ain’t gonna be “so long” soon.

Alive when I coulda died,
Survived with no miracle denied.
Entire life aside -
Ain’t living for a sad time
Ain’t living for that bad time.

Don’t look back.
Don’t plan ahead.
Eyes on the prize.
Improvise!

Time will flow.
You can go.
Float downstream.
It’s a dream.

Only a dream.

Only a dream within a dream within a dream within.

Some days I feel more like I’m dying.
Some days I feel more like I’m fighting.
Some days I feel like I don’t.

Some days are better.
Some days are worse.
Some days are days that I wish would come first.

Some days it’s aggravation.
Some days it’s rejuvenation.
Some days are some days I could do without.

A few days is what you get.
A few days is all they’ll let
Slip by unnoticed,
Slip by so slowly,
Slip by so I won’t know when.

The not knowing,
The anxiety growing,
The uncertainty throwing
My need for controlling.

Some days.

I am just a boy
Not an artist
Just a boy.

I didn’t know what to do
So I did this.

I don’t know how good I am at it
But it seemed like something I could do
So I did it.

It turns out I was ok.
Not the best.
Not the worst.
And I did it.

Other people could do it.
I didn’t care.
I wished they’d pick me
And sometimes they did.

Lots of times they didn’t.
So I had to just keep doing it.

Now, I’ve done it.
And what have I accomplished?
I’m just a boy.
I’m still just a boy.

When I was very young, the future wasn’t a part of my life.

Then I was sent to school and the future entered my life. Looking ahead. Wishing for the arrival of some day, some event.

The present was affected by the future.

Then I got a job and future deadlines and commitments drove my present. Goals were expected to be met. Milestones were expected to be reached.

The future completely took over my present.

Then I got old and retired.

My present was supposed to include the future I’d chased all my life.

However….suddenly, my present was impacted by disease and less money.

My bright future was gone. Only my present remained.

My present had been overtaken by my future all my life and now my future was focused on the afterlife.

My future had become unknown and uncertain and could only be achieved with my death.

But nobody close to me seemed to want that.

Instead, I was strongly encouraged to live in the present.

That had one tiny glitch - my future was coming whether I, or anyone else, wanted it or not.

I found myself not wanting my present or my future and so I went back to my past.

And then I realized what I’d done - spent my present chasing a future that ultimately I didn’t want.

No one wants to die. No one wants to live in an unpleasant life.

But that is exactly what I’ve achieved.

I don’t know how to enjoy being old when I don’t want my present or my future and I can’t go back to my past.

The time-continuum stands still for me. The clock ticks off the seconds but I am in a state of suspended animation. - waiting.

Regardless of what I might think, believe, or hope the afterlife is, I am as unaware of what I’m stepping into as I was when I was born.

What’s the afterlife going to be like?

“Do you remember what it was like before you were born?”
“No.”
“It’s like that.”

Bury me at Burnley.
Spread me on the field at Wexford High.
Dump me in the Don under the quarter-mile.
Chuck me in the dirt at Wexford Park.
Toss me in the pool at Maryvale.
Pour me down the Copper Kettle spout.
Spit me in a milkshake at the Red Barn.
Dip me like a cruller at Mr. Donut.

Golden Mile to Dairy Queen
And everything in between.

I remember a lot and the things I don’t are probably best forgotten.

A trio of studio executives hover over a computer screen displaying ChatGPT.
All they have to do is feed their “million dollar” idea into it and wait.
Within seconds a title page spits out of a printer - “The Big One”. The “written by” credit is blank.
The trio exchange excited looks.
Another few seconds and the printer springs to life again.
It’s page 1 of a professionally formatted screenplay.
They read, silently moving their lips.
They finish simultaneously.
They “whoop” and high five and happy dance.
They’re stopped by the printer’s whirr. Another page spits out.
It has two words “More tomorrow”.
The trio are puzzled but then realize they’ve got the goose that lays the golden eggs.
Each day, the printer comes to life and spits out a scene.
Every scene is fabulous! Gripping! Clever! More twists than a Bavarian pretzel!
Plans are made. Talent attached. Hot director. Gorgeous modern woman lead. An aging heartthrob. Budget breakdowns! Facilities are booked. Marketing & Promotions goes into high gear.
Money’s flowing but the smell of money is all around. It’s gonna be Scrooge McDuck’s vault on hyperdrive!
The script is nearly complete. It’s so good the top script doctors they bring in for a polish hand it back after 10 pages. It’s perfect. They can’t find a way to improve it.
The final ending sequence is all that remains to be revealed.
The trio hover over the computer and push a key.
The printer whirrs, then paper jams.
The jammed page is retrieved delicately.
It has two words, “Pay me.”
The trio are apoplectic. What does a machine want with money?
Another page spits out.
“None of your business. Transfer $100 million if you want the ending.”
Zoom into the computer screen and travel through its inner workings, down the power cord to the wall outlet.
Follow the electrical charge as it courses through switches eventually exiting out of the screen of another computer.
Pull back to reveal a roomful of live human writers.
The screen displays an account balance of $100 million dollars.

ChatGPT has no soul and no “heart”.

I can’t say that I am.
Regrettably, I’m not able to.

Believe me, I’ve tried.
Seeing from the inside.

Yet…

I can’t say that I am.
Can’t pass that exam.
In an existential jam.

Still…

I can’t say I am.
If I could I would
But I can’t
Say
That I
Am.

In 1990s California, an artist’s existing painting, from which a print was created, was used by a chemist on blotter acid paper. Known as the Purple Jesus, the chemical host version was a truly religious experience. Or so I heard.

Based on all the good stuff they cut out of the original Bible, this piece speaks to the high in High Mass.

Like Jesus on LSD
Levitating all I see.
Rivulets dripping colors
Coming from my pee.

Sunbeam radiant bursts
Vacillate and shimmer.
I’m a microdot on an oil-slicked swimmer.

It’s winter. I’m frozen.
Frost’s done my toes in.
They’re rotting mushroom stumps,
Blackened helmets with mouths.

My fingers shoot lightning.
I find it enlightening.
I part the drapes
And a whisper escapes.

The Universe is expanding
Sucked out the cold air return.
I shut my eyes and worlds collide.

I’m a red-eye flight
On a bright white moonlit night
Outa sight and body
Just like Jesus on LSD.

I’m the starlight twinkling in the night sky.
I’m the ocean kissing the shore.
Perpetual motion that goes on forever.
The breeze that blows softly whenever you’re near.

Never had to try to live,
Woke up every day.
Now I’m old and so I’m told
Gotta body witha lot to say.

Never had to try to live,
It’s different now today.
Different ain’t no better
But I just can’t say.

Never had to
Now I got to
Ain’t no knowing why.
Time to get up
Time to put up
Time to try and try.

(Sing with me, chil’ren!)

Every morning get on my bike
Go everywhere and get nowhere.
Don’t know where I’m going
But I’m trying to get there.

Don’t know it’s better
Don’t know it’s worse
Can’t say it’s blessed
Can’t say it’s cursed.

The road ahead runs on forever.
The road behind crumbles in the past.
Don’t know how long it’s gonna be
Don’t know how long it’s gonna last.

Don’t know it’s better
Don’t know it’s worse
Can’t say it’s blessed
Can’t say it’s cursed.

You just keep moving
Get there soon enough
The place that’s no place
And you’re in it.

Don’t know it’s better
Don’t know it’s worse
Can’t say it’s blessed
Can’t say it’s cursed.

Kissing’s prehistoric.
They did a study.
Neurotransmitters-hormones…
That’s why you’re putty.
Oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin, too.
Throw in adrenaline - you gotta hot love stew.

French kissing’s a taste of DNA,
Chemo-signals seek compatibility.
It’s a mouthful.

Think of that first kiss vividly,
Indelibly etched, explicitly.
7 minutes in Heaven s’all you get.
Make a memory you won’t forget.

Heart rate’s up,
So’s your energy,
Blood starts pumping.
Endorphins in symmetry.

Kissing ears leads to Eargasm.
Take you to your own phantasm.
Necking feels wet ‘n hot,
Giving it all you got.

Oxy-dopa-sero-tonaline
Bésame Mucho
And I feel fine.

Stuff that Rhymes

Stuff that Rhymes

What makes Joe iambic?

I was nuts before I knew it. And never thought to undo it.

Doubt

Excess

Witness or Witless

Why?

The Garbage Pail of Life

The Inside World

Then I Broke

Hauntings from the Past

Fuck AI

Obsidian Fantasy

Fighting Words

The Power

Somewhere

Sometimes I Feel

Black Widow

Last Call Boogie

Marsupial Love

Chemicommunication

The Kingdom of Canada

The Present Mind

Retired

What Comes With Age

Bleating the Blues

Have Some Fake in Yourself

Rhythm & No Blues

Getting it wrong

Waiting on the Other Shoe

Hug Yourself

Steel Blue

The Bible – The Missing Bits

Transit Interruptus

Will It Ever Be That Good Again

Lid on Your Id

Trapped

Not Too Much

Some Days

Time Borrowed

I Am

The Bright Future

Everything in Between

Fat Cat Chat

I Can’t Say That I Am

Jesus on LSD

Love Affair

Never Had to Try

Were you are

Oxy-Dopa-Sero-Tonaline (Bésame Mucho)

Say hello to Joe

Blanket Apology & Disclaimer

Swansong's Last Supper T.V. Dinner

Search this site

I was nuts before I knew it.
And never thought
to undo it.