Stunning Brain Tumor

Stunning Brain Tumor

Can't shake this darn thing off
Look
It's stuck there, I'm stuck here
To my detriment
How did I come across?
Now
It's stuck there, I'm stuck here
But you don't belong
To me (No)

Stuck in my mind
You won't leave my mind
I think that I might
Have a tumor

And I'll fuckin' die
Should you stay in mind
Why did you have to be
So stunning?

I'd rather have you not
But
It's stuck there, I'm stuck here
El Scorcho I hum
I'd rather you be gone
Ugh

It's stuck there, I'm stuck here
Fuckin' hell what's wrong
With me?

Stuck in my mind
You won't leave my mind
I think that I might
Have a tumor

And I'll fuckin' die
Should you stay in mind
Why did you have to be
So stunning?

Be so stunning?
Be so stunning?
Be so stunning?
You're so lovely
Oh Modern Lovely

Soul Meets Body

A favorite.

On Repeat.

Now a " " of mine as well. Argghh. heh heh.

Memory for Memory

Do know to be experiencing these fine times there is a connected concern that such memories may move out what I need to remember most: That Santa Barbara Sound.

Corolla Fixin', Ice Cream Truck a-Singin'

JBoy tidying up his Corolla. Ice Cream Truck Rolls Along. "Lieutenant Dan!! Ice creaaamm!" Let's get some ice cream yeah. Teeg gets a Chocolate Ice Cream Sundae Crunch Bar. Good-o. JBoy gets Strawberry Shortcake in a cup with wooden stickspoon. Classic.

I get . . .

what else?

IT'S delicious and I am king.

Thanks JBoy.

Depart from Admire

With all of them seen I never took part in what made them the wonder that they are. I didn't get to see who they really were. There were no memories together that bookmark a smile. There was no soft embrace of last night. There was no tender look the other day. Above all there wasn't even a hello. The one-sided affair that is "me for my admire" has long kept me gasping for what I could never have. Additionally, who I am, where I am in my current status as a barely-entity is not the sweet prince that they wish for.

Girls do not want what is beneath them and rightfully so. They deserve yes even more than the promise of a great kingdom. They deserve the world. In this dilapidated cardboard box where I decay, there is absolutely nothing of worth. No promise or intent could ever be seen desired. So . . . my desire too must go. I will no longer yearn for what I never had. My own dreams are tired because of the constant running since that first fine girl over a decade ago. So too my dreams of her must go. To all those pretty girls I saw: Thank you. But I need rest far, far away from admire - I know it now to have actually been a burden.

Watch me breathe easy.

Watch me breathe free.

A Volunteer at the Ball

I haven't the juevos to actually do it but I've been playing with the idea of posting a particularly lewd Facebook Status:

I don't see such statements on Facebook (not with people I'm connected with anyways) and figure it would be a good laugh. What reactions would I get? If any? Does it matter? Maybe the point is: Facebook is all a front, yeah? What people put up on their accounts is what they want everyone to see them as? That's easy enough. To post a status update like that throws a wrench in the system of that masked perception. It's like some Grand Ball where everyone tries to look their best. But you know what? "I am not what you see. I am me - despite what my profile says." Or doesn't say. I'm at the Ball as well. My tuxedo and shiny shoes consists of not filling in "education information" and "work information." I am by many definitions a bum and I'm being coy about it on Facebook. Watch me take a bow.

Yes I realize the "volunteer" comment is a reflection of me. Admitted. Certainly the idea behind the statement isn't wholly embraced within myself but it's an aspect that exists or relates, however minuscule.

So who am I?

Not what you think you know.

It's past midnight, Cinderella.

There are many things I have kept from writing. Things of a similar vain to that seen above. They are amusements - just like everything I write - amusements nuh-uh PG-13. My mind has been dancing ballroom steps to the rhythm of "do I or don't I?" I stuttered on a step once because the moment was there and it stayed there when I left it.

You're welcome. Enjoy your fruit punch.

Now let's move on . . .

but do I or don't I?

Turn Again

I turn again

I do I do

Oh welcome blunder

you diligent fool

Where was you?

Snuck huddled under blankets

Known so well

to

Be-neat

Window serene-ardors

I turn again

I do I do

And sight dear friend

you blithering fool

Come hither

Blither beside me on seats

Known to be

under

shade-of

Wooden gallant-hollows

I turn again

I do I do

Say of night

that night we'll cross

When taken

Yes taken ourselves

No longer known

now sleeping

Foreign-ender

Wanting no-turn

To not turn again

In the

no time nocturne

I rest

To Row on Shattered Sea

Who rows alone?

I do

It's what I know

to row alone

I've

admired

I've

raged

I've

strained

I've

delighted

On this row alone

This golly boat

Don't

Broadside along

(You Would-Be Beasts of the Shattered Sea)

For it

rows alone

I'll paddle you off

Stay sea shattered

(You Would-Be Beasts)

and leave me rowing ascetic

Pathetic, call it

Golly you, I know it

I row

As one

Ever the sailor skeptic

Who rows alone?

You know who.

Sight from your Shattered Sea

(You Would-Be Beasts)

The dinghy deluded

Heavy

In filth & disgust

Corrupt this sea, immediately surrounding

On ready-corrupted sea

Am found peddling

the huh worth

of the ill paddle of what I know

Who rows alone?

I do, do I?

Golly the boat

I hate the sea

For no man rows alone

When he sits on dreaded sea see?

The admire

the rage

the strain

the delight

Seen from seas that

Crashed wet against boards now splintered

I ought to break almighty

this watered boat

and shatter

and sink

sink into this Shattered Sea

Simalucrum Cinque High

This is

This is

Such a mess this is

Scattered all about

Can't get things together

Put it here but it ends up everywhere

Put it there but it ends up here

Tornado'd by one fine thing

Being the Whoa Being

This is

This is

A fine mess this is

All about track 4 out of LZIII

Things together jumbled gush

It ends up everywhere when put here

It ends up here when put where?

That golly tornado

Had to be the fine Whoa Being

This is

This is

Such a mess this is

This is

This is

The "whip of the" missed

A

Tumbling, rutting mess

Gone on and on and on and on and on and on . . .

That Sterling Constant

These weeks without you
have shown
still
you
to be the constant
that sterling constant
that greets the every day

You are the shine
the glory
& the persistent good
The Acclaim that circles all
and a cheer
a kind cheer
carried like a box of sweets

Damn it's good to know you =)

Pwede ba na tayo? =P

Recording in the Season's Warmth

Hello Summer, you warm bastard. I recorded The Fleeting Ship in your heat, in sweat and with slippery fingers. Thanks. It was easier to slide up that fret board.

Leonard's Thirst

And I drank this cup of water

And it was good

But the thirst was from seeing this water

This

I understood

Still

I want this water

To see

to drink

to be

the water that gave that thirst to me

But that drank drink was but a sip

Now this thirst

Exists

As a Pacific empty

Thirsting

for more of that drink

The sight of water

The sip of water

Here I thirst more

for

a rousing drink of that water

that water that was good to me

But my longing thirst

has stranded me on a

fool's drained sea of broken grains

That drink

did not exist

That sip was neither sip

nor drink

nor water, the water seen

Delirious from thirst

I still thirst

For the water never meant for me

The Fleeting Ship

The Fleeting Ship

There it sails on by under sunshine

The sail it catches wind and it glides by

This ship a fine passerby

Since horizon seen a bow winning

Pointing ever towards its wanting

This ship a fine passerby

Sail on by

Bye bye

Sail on sail on

Sail on sail on

The build of the hull so sturdy

The touch of waterline so tempting

This ship a fine passerby

Sail on by

Bye bye

Sail on sail on

Sail on sail on

Back on horizon seen a stern sailing

Leaving me behind ever wanting

Sail on sail on

Sail on sail on

Sail on

Bye bye

Bye bye

Bye

041786-101206

She told me we could never be because I don't go out enough.

That's akin to telling an inmate he doesn't go out enough.

But what is my crime?

To have been born.

The Walk Through Detector

A dumpy specimen of a man tosses his loose belongings into a bucket to pass outside the 8-foot detector. His hunched shoulders and forward jutting neck twitch in the self question. "By what account did I? Ehh." A cross. Intertwined palm trees. Photographs. Guitars. Two weeks. A few words. The guard pens through the bucket items, pointing out to her partner the presence of the trees.

"Ridiculous. Paradise?"

"Yeah, did he really think? . . ." says the guard to her partner.

The man stands wide-eyed at both guards but at the same time not, breathing the long breaths of a time spent much too much long gasping.

"Uh oh yes, you may pass through now" replies the guard with extra-thick smarm. The dumpy man drags feet across the detector with no beep. Ahead he sees nothing. Behind him the haze of something less. He picks up the items with timid hands and dumps them unceremoniously into his chest pocket. The guard asks "Mr. Scarborough is there anything you'd like to? . . ."

Without looking back he drags his feet forward, head jutting towards the nothing, and walks the slouch on saying "You can tell the world it can go fuck itself."

In Defence of Seeing She

The perennial Christmas lights twinkle erratic on a fake tall plant in the playroom. The multi-colored dazzle gazed upon shift into mind, imprinted. Twinkle-red, twinkle-green, twinkle-blue, twinkle-white. "Gahh." The yuletide disco mixes well with the Goliath in my brain. It spins around. Does the splits. It pops back up and throws a karate kick in XXXXXXXXL bellbottoms. My head twitches from the Fever.

A sigh.

The contestation: Upon reveal of the basis of the admiration for women - I am accused to be a Creep.

Twinkle-red, bellbottom hip strut to the forefront.

What is the premise behind the look at the fairer being? Singularity. In this day there will only be one she. In this week, month, year, decade, life - there will only be one she. From the infinitely possible combinations of mind, time, embodiment there exists one, just one girl that will ever be the life that she is. Singularity. One girl in all her remarkable distinction will be the only girl that is her throughout eternity.

For this I am called a Creep.

Sigh.

Take this into consideration.

People want to see surface emotion. They'll dip their mind into the shallow end of pseudo-romanticism by way of some radio hit r&b love pop song. They will swoon. They will tear up. "Oh I wish that could be me he was singing about." They'll wholeheartedly embrace those 3 minutes and glorify it as the greatest fucking representation of Love in the world. But they can't be blamed. People in general are ever ready to accept what is gift-wrapped neat and presented to them. The pretty pattern and fancy bow is the Love they'll accept. The effort to venture into their own personal concepts of what Love actually is is washed away by the simplicity of something gift-wrapped ready.

The truth is lost. Anything deeper than your pop song is labeled unwanted.

A posing point to the sky.

For this I am called a Creep.

So to combat the unwanted do I make a return to what every girl can easily swallow? (The humiliating size of my dick notwithstanding.) I have. My own written strummy guitar sing-a-long songs play on various topics of feminine worth. Take those three minutes and smile easy. The avenue for surface paints does play a role in the continuation of that ancient Love Cry. But when all one sees is the pretty colors - that paltry palette everyone pops for - the truth behind what makes a woman a woman, what makes love Love decays, lost under layers in thick hues of naivete.

The perennial twinkle in my mind flashes. That bellbottomed Goliath dances on. With the mess of what the popular world wants discoing in my head, do I fall into step with the rest of the line? Will I sacrifice a found truth? A truth that thus far has shackled me to these persistent denouncements:

Weirdo

Stranger

Oddity

Creep

"Will you leave me alone?" The only words said by one girl with whom I found this truth in Woman as Singularity.

A sigh.

"No."

An Excerpt from "Venus and The Motley Fool"

"At the feet off a colossal Venus . . . one of those so-called fools . . . raises his tear-filled eyes toward the immortal Goddess.

And his eyes say: 'I am the least and the loneliest of men, deprived of love and friendship, wherein I am inferior even to the lowest animals. Yet I, too, am made to understand and to feel immortal Beauty! Ah! Goddess! take pity on my fever and my pain!'

But the implacable Goddess with her marble eyes continues to gaze into the distance, at I know not what."

-- Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen

A Meditation in Prose to J Buddha

The following is a recent correspondence with J Buddha spread over the past 3 days. It addresses the fate of a muse, the suspicion of certain sweets, and diving Hawaii.

[MESSAGE 1]

So Modern Lovely is in great spirits with her current admire. If anything is to be learned from my many years in solitude it is that in a relationship (yes, I know even though I haven't beeeeeen in one blehh. heh heh) what is of paramount importance is:

Fundamentally
what makes the other person happy

and

to know that, to be aware of it is a happiness you find in yourself. Even if it doesn't involve you in any capacity.

So I'm happy and loco about it too. Woohoo!!

hah

Joy with and for others? That's an exquisite trait, Buddha. It never occurred to me that a sense of one's self-joy could actually be selfless. That's tremendous.

Random question: What's your favorite candy?

~LL

[MESSAGE 2]

Ahh no worries at all. Good times, Buddha. Glad to meet Modern Lovely. What was previously just another face online is now a complete, unabbreviated girl.

Whoa.

What was good will stay good
as with
all my past admirations
(Though often brokenhearted I departed in silence, as silent as the admiration itself)

Hah.

Anywho, more passionate fuel for my poetic ammo.

Again. Good times, J Buddha. haaah . . .

There was a Halloween where I received a suspicious-looking orange paper wrapped morsel from a Latin household. During that night's stash attack I picked it up with caution and unwrapped the orange to find a tan caramel-esque candy. Drunk on the sugar I had already partaken of, I haphazardly popped the suspicion into my mouth.

It tasted like shit. =l

I spat it out immediately. "Fuuck I knew it!" I thought-raged to myself.



Okie dokie, sister. You've got a sweet tooth with a particular delight in chocolate. Worry not, I am not Latin.

~Solitude ( heh)

[MESSAGE 3]

And I admire your approach to life. To walk on with bona fide strength, wisdom and mirth is a combination in bliss, yayo. As for sounding smart and the look up? Aw gee thanks Buddha. ;P It's the writing, dear sister. When I write it just comes out a certain way I guess, a way that appeals to me personally.

A few years ago I showed an acquaintance of mine a piece that I wrote and her response was that I sounded "upper crust," all proper-like ya know? I thought she was calling me a PRICK, hah hah, to which she denied.

But

Admittedly

I am a prick. At times.

heh heh . . .

Girls are attracted to assholes, right? Are there girls attracted to pricks? Oh Buddha if I could speak to a girl as confidently as I pen verse I'd be drowning in 'nani. =O I'm going to have to invest in quality scuba gear. First stop: Hawaii. Gonna breast-stroke through all dem fine wahines.

=/ =p hah

How are things over your way in the Philippines, J Buddha? What merry events have delighted you most? San Jose has warmed up considerably; an American summer awaits your return.

~LL

The Whip of That Step

It was regular

this step

Now irregular

Affected by

steps just past

Pavement shook

A crack

deep

into the wells

of Broken's origin

Now step the irregular step

Broken

A crack

Shook from regularity

To have

Step this step before

Why

do find more?

Go ask Leopold von

No no not de Sade

And in the

whip of that step

strife

swallowed, gargled

seized and made to be

mistress

Oh mistress

Yes please

Startle and shock

fulfill absolute

this broken step

before the

yearn uncertain

return

to regularity

It was regular

this step

Now back to regular

this step

to the

faint woes

about ghosts

made-up, perfumed pretty

When jiggered

was the step

woes sang symphonic

in full

from Broken well

Pronto

since unbroken

uncracked

unshaken now back

to the

monotony of a

regular step

yearn

one does

for the mistress with

the whip of that step

Ammirare

Yes the whoa they are
the wow they cast
by way of being
just being

These beings
they fly amazement
and stunned I stand
ever
in awe
in awe of who they are

Ahh girls

So many to
View
It's wow to glimpse
the billions
Configurations

"I haven't seen that one yet, whoa."

And it's amazing
to discover
the one
not yet perceived
That
sweet supreme being
All heart
goes my heart
to Kamala heart
that beats pah-rum pum pum!

in beauty

in flight

oh mighty!

The solo

trapeze thought

God

damn

she's

hot

Hah.

Yes the whoa they are
the wow they cast
by way of being
just being

It's really nice

to know of these girls

even though

it's just to see 'em

Miserere

A handful of songs stay, representation. Miserere. Yes.

Waiting For Buddha

'Shopped another picture of J Buddha. Hope it dun perturb her like the first time around, hah. Tried my darndest to NOT-a-not-not make ya appear all weird-like, sister, hah. Honest. =P

It's Been a Long While, Pulelehua

THURSDAY, MAY 12, 2011

Night

After checking Fry's off of Brokaw for what ended up being a replacement nunchuk (nope not the Bruce Lee kind, monkey) I took a drive to my Cousin's place for chill times and good talk. I slip into the curbs on the opposite side of the street and check the window for the light on inside; I tend to drop by without notice and such an interruption occasionally ends up with a chipper me and a sleepy cousin. Oh cool? Not so cool. Try not doing that, Lackman. But the light is on. Woohoo!!

Foot out. And then the other. Cane out yeah I brought the collared and brass tipped birchwood cheapo-bobo with hair bands on the handle just in case, ya know? Watch that fedora'd head when coming out - wouldn't want to knock me hat loose with my long hair flying every-freakin'-where on the street where my Cousin and her significant other be. Ding dong! The doorbell sounds as I eyeball the door knob then the peephole then the door knob then the kitchen window then the doorknob again. The light is open - I think - so they've gotta be inside, right?

Yup.

"Come in!" my Cousin says.

I turn the doorknob that now has my eyes splat all over it and the eyes splat back into my head. From there I look up to see the who's who.

And it's a surprise.

A rather nice one too.

I stand stunned as if hit by heavyweight contender. Except the shock isn't from fist-to-face pain, nope, the shock is from an intense joy at seeing the wonder before me. Whapak!! It takes wicked effort for me to not jump in celebration and what's left is a sway. And a smirk. I think? I'm not sure as the only thing in my head is that I don't act a fool in front of the one person that counts most. For inside that living room all couched out chilling were my Cousin, her boyfriend and his nephew. One, just one person sat all lax on the floor with her back towards the door. It is she. Pulelehua, yup. =) She looks over her shoulder and spots the fedora'd, caned, black dressed, blue tied (& vest) oh Lacking I sweating to restrain my giddiness. In her comfort clothing wifebeater and grey-black sweatpants she nonchalantly looks back to a laptop computer on the couch with nary a reaction.

Good.

Round 1.

I survived. Awesome.

Door closed and the doorknob now back outside I sit beside my Cousin and on we chat. Pulelehua sits just 2:00 of where I park myself. The proximity burns but I try to keep cool. Try to, hah. I hope that smirk stayed at the door. Again cousin and I drift into chat about any ol' thing . . .

EXCEPT for the One Wahine Wonder that sits but a few feet away from me. Cousin knows of my own admiration for the isle beaut. So does her brother. Aye? I'd rather they know then they get all weird about my getting all weird around Pulelehua. So it's not spoken about when Cousin and I chat because THAT would be weird. Maybe? Ehh. Dunno. If she knew now it would be just that wouldn't it? A recognition of admiration, one-sided as it may be? =P There are times when Cousin gets into a discussion directly with Pulelehua and I find such moments a most splendid opportunity to get a look or two at her with reason, otherwise I'd go just help myself to ogling her all night and THAT would be weird.

Why would I do such a thing?

I haven't seen her for what seems like 2 years. Yow. To step into this and see Pulelehua is providence and quite honestly I don't know if I'll ever get to see her again and I'd like to, yes. Maybe these moments of seeing sweet her will have to last me for the rest of my life? Oh darn, I just may never see get to see her again. So fly. For now these moments will have to do. And I cherish them.

But we don't talk about that.

The Red Wings are finally wiped off the playoffs list by the members of Team Teal. Go Sharks! The party of 4-and-a-half cheer on the victory in their own little ways. A smile. A silence. The thought of applause. The Wahine Wonder looks over her shoulder, pumps a fist and sighs a "yes!" Pulelehua pulls down and takes off her sweater in talks with her brother about further modifying her left shoulder/arm tribal tattoo. In distinct geometric patterns the dark ink is a biting sight. Every shape and check threaten to keep me at bay with their sharp points. This chick ain't about dainty things. She's not a child of sunshine, nah. She tells her brother of fixing the triangular bits. "It's crooked" she says putting a finger to it. I audibly chuckle. With reason I watch again, I am transfixed at her index digit cush pushing tan & tattooed skin, the indentation running across inked permanence rattling my mind knowing my own touch would commit yeah blood fire.

Woosh.

I keep the cool though.

Round 2.

"Breeeeathe, shit-bird."

"Hoooohhhh."

Ding ding ding!

Pulelehua eventually makes her way to the room at the rear of the house to get her tattoo touched up. This leaves me to chatting with Cousin about many a thing. Not once is the admiration mentioned or hinted or slighted at. We talk on and on.

Pulelehua drifts from out of the hallway shadows and back into the living room. She holds a flatcap which she handles with appreciation. There's also a smile, a smile that holds a cheery innocence that one could only call adorable. As per usual my reactions are not reflected outwardly. Though the carousal rush sprint the brain all that is seen upon my person is a controlled smirk.

It's only on the drive back I realized it would have been terrific to compliment her with the words

"You look good."

To her that would seem to refer singularly to the flatcap hat cha-cha but to me a . . .

general statement. =P

Cousin and Butterfly come to an agreement that it's too small a hat to fit Cousin's big noggin' and thusly the flatcap now belongs to Pulelehua. Away she flutters back into the shadows, flatcap twirling with a smile brighter. Cousin and I go back into our discussion with no mention of the adorable. Minutes later I profess my curiosity in the actuality of getting permanently inked. I make my own way into the shadows all the way to the room at the end of the dark hall. Boyfriend and Pulelehua sit with both their backs turned. With a tattoo needle he makes his way to her exposed arm of distinct tribal patterns. Contact is made but nada reveal of pain is seen or heard. She sits there as if it was kindergarten paint being gently brushed upon her. My mind rolling from the casual, super casual ritual of the tattoo - it is I who almost yelps.

"Wha?! . . ."

I walk away from the scene out of the shadows, back into the living room, back to talking with Cousin where everything, absolutely everything is talked about except . . . =P

With the the tattoo touch-up fini, Pulelehua bids the farewells. A thanks to her brother. A goodbye to Cousin. Like an idiot - on the couch, slumpy idiot - I raise my hand in half-waving "see ya", half -waving "what the fuck am I doing?" From 10 feet away *she scrunches her pretty-ass face (Yes, there's no other way to write it. I tried. This was the best way as it's to the point, isn't it? No fluttery poeticisms can best this.) at me wondering what the hell I'm doing and I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing but she follows through, nods her pretty-ass head (Yeah, this too.) and throws out a "Bye."

I'll take that. Woohoo!!

No formal "hello" but a scrunch-faced "bye" by one fine butterfly? Tremendous! =)

Kah-dum! The door closes with Pulelehua having flown.

I immediately turn to my Cousin and exclaim

"Ohhhh my gosssshhh!!!!"

in a relieved release of the gushingly contained felicity. "I'm soooo glad I dropped by tonight! Soooooooo sooo so glaaad I dropped by tonight" I continue as I roll victim to my own bliss and am caught from falling by jumbo couch cushions. "I know, I know . . ." replies Cousin who is fully aware of the depth of the outpour. Turn that tap on full blast.

Woosh.

I survived. Barely. 'Cause I'm flustered on the couch, hah.

"Ohhh my ohh my" I say with the goofiest look of joy on my face. I continue "I'm sorry but I just had to let go right now" followed by a big exhale as if my breath was held at the moment I walked in and saw the fine one who just seconds ago had flown out the door. "Do you . . . " I say with mischievous concern, "do you think she . . . noticed? I mean her back was turned but she did take a quick glance over her shoulder. Was I smiling, ate?" The trapeze thought occurs to me that I may have been standing with a smile that would bridge the entire Pacific. Continents an ocean apart were connected by sublime revelry in celebration of the Inked Butterfly Stunner. And it, I stood in that doorway unaware of the shine like a complete git.

"Was I smiling?"

"No" replies Cousin. "But your eyes were."

"Ahhhhh!!!" Back into the couch cushions I tumble in hysterics, in limbo, howling at true shine now known! "My eyes were smiling?!? That's infinitely worse! Hah haaaah! . . ." Orbicularis Oculi. It's involuntary. I had no chance, yow. Flash knockout, first round. Was every moment after just a dream?

Bridge.

Pulelehua . . .

it's good to see ya, girl. =P

*note: it was discovered during Cousin conversation everything but 'Hua's vision is 20/20. Makapo Pulelehua.

Proclaims the Emcee of the Degree'd

The Emcee

showstops me

to parade kings

"Didn't you know?"

"Hey?"

"He just graduated from San Jose State."

Parade

the degree'd kings

Ye introduced

by your

good deeds

held aloft

in the

better than thou

manner

prevalent

to the privileged

the puckering

the suckcess sucking

"Oh I'm a good boy, I am, I am!"

Again.

("Didn't you know?")

("He just graduated from San Jose State.")

Fuck the Emcee.

Comparatively

Should you continue

to mic the awe of the

university recognized superstar

("Did you go to San Jose State?")

("No.")

Then introduce me

Comparatively

By my failures

By my

Lack

of success

By my UN-education

By my constant jerking

By my filth

my sorrows

my suicides

my death

Introduce me

By the life that I

utterly failed

For who are we

but we as ourselves?

Not

what beseeches super state certified official recognition?

Hey Emcee!

Introduce me

Introduce me

Do Find Her, Will I?

I wonder.

If and when I do find her.

If and when I do find her

will my

mind's tongue

of rhythm & beauty (of yes she)

cease

to kick up, make loud, make known

to ALL the all that is this existence

how

heavenly

she be?

And bliss in the union

that I long wrote for

like fiction

now (in future tense) fact?

Will Silence take its throne

from where once

I

sketched dreams

of she

like some neon flying whoa machine

yet not seen

but marveled magnificent, yes?

When marvel becomes actual routine

will Quiet be crowned

and thieve this voice

of its chant

"Oh, how I Luh thee!"

For I (some next hour time)

hold the one

for whom

the cherish

was written.

Will I make known

to ALL the all the all

that is this existence

that that blessed beauty

you read

and heard about

is (tear, finally)

here

beside me?

Intertwined

we will be seen.

So what rhythm

what beauty

is there to verse for?

When

that fact Luh

is

already

seen?

But!

Eternity

sees more

than the time being.

If and when I do find her

will I?

Still?

Write?

Oh yes!

(Heed these words of infinity)

For we two

are more than

what you

what existence

what eternity sees.

Now where is she?

Since Recorded, Not Forgotten Strum Strum Strum!!

I recorded some strummy junk last night thinking "Aye, it could work."

I listened to it this morning and you know what?

"Aye, it could work." =)

Woohoo!!

I'm gonna have to slam lyrics on the newfound strum, yayo.

Gosh darn it, I checked past recent recordings and found that I backburner'd two worthwhile strummy bits. Gonna have to pick up and find something to write with those two, yoohoo.

Writing songs?!

Here we go!!! 8P

where the wahines at?

2011 Chemix Gonzales All Rights Reserved

This piece was done by one Chemix Gonzales.

Hat? Check.

Tie? Check.

Scarf? Check.

Ever on the search for dem pretty, pretty birds?

Hah haaaah! . . . check.

Thanks, Chem!

For Whom the Rose Holds Its Petals

I came across a rose

thinking

for whom this may be?

Its red intent held tight

holding on for a bosom

to be pressed against

with thoughts of

"My oh my oh my how lovely!"

Still

this sticker dollar'd

plastic coned rose

sat

uncoined

sat

with the gum

and beauty magazines.

I came across this rose

knowing

for (certain) whom this would be.

Yes its red intent going

to the girl

who is game,

to the girl clad

in repeat horizons,

to the girl who

not once

not twice

but thrice

had said my name

when I wandered to the whim

of my lonesome fold.

Her voice.

My name.

God damn I do exist.

And within

the folds

of

this rose

echoed the pleasant song

of when she

had said my name.

With a smile

I grasp this rose

by its plastic cone merchandising.

Drip drip

it drops water upon

my shoe,

water from the container

of halfbutt shop try sustenance.

"It'll never be."

What?

"It'll never be" again is heard

from the red intent.

Drip.

What? How do you know?

"I know for I am a rose."

Yayo this SoCal girl the one I spoke wi- . . .

"It'll never be."

"I know for I am a rose."

(Certain) dampened

I return the flowery devil

back to its shop slop bucket.

Still, it did sit.

Sticker dollar'd. Still.

Plastic coned. Still.

Queried.

For whom this rose,

was this for?

Thoughts go to

the girl

oh she of of humble lovely fair.

The Royal Lady of Repeat Horizons

whose line

upon line

upon line

line my mind

with the paint

of

that pleasant song.

And fresh this coat be.

Just as fresh as she.

There she lingers.

This rose for her,

it be.

But upon the second grasp smiling,

red whispers

"It'll never be"

at which then

a petal fell.

4butt

A Love Fulfilled, Though a Love Unrequited

The following was originally a response to quote posted on Facebook: "In the end we only regret the chances we didn't take, the relationships we were afraid to have and the decisions we waited too long to make."

- Wiz Khalifa

"For I have loved and lost without a TOUCH, without a WORD, without COMMUNION with those I held in the loftiest of admiration. Grand they still walk the avenues of this mind for in mere THOUGHT did I love each and every one of them. Such be this love fulfilled, though a love unrequited."

- Leonard Lacking

Monolith Cat Recorded

This morning I recorded a strum-sing of:

"Monolith Speaks"

&

"Trouble" (cover of the Cat Stevens song)

Muse

"Yayo, she currently is the later idea."

The Muses (Ancient Greek αἱ μοῦσαι, hai moũsai:^[1] perhaps from the o-grade of the Proto-Indo-European root *men- "think"^[2]) in Greek mythology, poetry, and literature are the goddesses who inspire the creation of literature and the arts. They were considered the source of the knowledge, related orally for centuries in the ancient culture, that was contained in poetic lyrics and myths. The compliment to a real woman who inspires creative endeavor is a later idea.

[Click HERE to read the rest of the Wikipedia entry on Muse]

To See Her Stripes

Saw striped clothing at shop today.

I found myself thinking of you.

How you would fit.

How good you would look in it.

How if I were a stripey being

I might have a chance at ya, girl.

But horizontal stripes

accentuate

my fatness.

I would

be

the largest

striped

being

you ever did see, Modern Lovely.

And that's a set of stripes

you wouldn't want to wear, girl.

Too large to fit.

Devoured by the slump of it.

Now to think of it,

thank the heavens I am

not

a striped being.

For if I were something

you adore

yet still something you

would ignore,

my stripes would break

and dashes

you would see of me.

Fat, ugly dashes

of

detestable make.

Left hip crippled.

Poor, walang silbi.

Dashes most certain

you would further ignore.

Nay,

abhor.

Perhaps better to be

just me then?

And to simply

just simply

see

stripes at shop today.

And think good of you.

And how you would fit.

And how good you would look in it.

And to simply see,

just see

your stripes, oh Modern Lovely.

Monolith Speaks

This field is barren
Stand I so sullen
For years am barren
Then all of a sudden
There's a squirrel

Oh if I was
Paler then what
You now see
Before you
Oh if I was
Not the fat stone
You now stand
in the shade of

Would you care?
For a stone who sat
Alone
Alone
Should have not gotten
So close
Oh close
Best oh yes for you
To go
To go

This field is barren
Stand I so sullen
For years am barren
Then all of a sudden
There's a squirrel

Oh if I was

A wealthy stone

Instead of the

Bum before you

Oh if I was

Not ugly and

A match

To your own beauty

Would you care
For a stone who sat
Alone
Alone
Should have not gotten
So close
Oh close
Best oh yes for you
To go
To go

Oh if I was

Alive and well

I just might be

Something to you

But you don't care
For a stone who sat
Alone
Alone
Should have not gotten
So close
Oh close
Best oh yes for you
To go
To go

Yo Yo First Burns of DatM

Neighbor Kent wouldn't mind a copy of my songs thus far. He heard me rockin' the backyard lonely but shout is how I sing and thus it the BANG-BAM transfers to the nearby houses.

"I could burn you a copy of the tunes so far."

"Yeah that'd great."

His speakers are spectacular. The audio set-up whoa! Kent is a super sound hound so for my dinge to be playing at some point for whatever many/not-so many seconds will be awe-the-some.

So goes the burn of my demo reel . . .

Death and the Maidens

Why title the album "Death and the Maidens?"

That's all I seem to fucking sing about. Killing myself or swooning over chicks. So there ya go, Lackeys.

And here ya go, Lackeys.

The 1st and 3rd burn of DatM. JBoy has the second CD in his Corolla somewhere, currently unmarked.

Look closely at the tracklist. Something's missing. Enamored enamored I am enamored. So enamored am I, I unknowingly left Modern Lovely off the 3 initial burns

Oops =P

I'll catch 15 on the 4, 5 and whatever, whenever, if ever. ?

Neighbor Song Jive, Yeah

I went outside to walk the house's block of Jim Dr. with Sage yellow/orange-stripe strapped on to practice K.P. & Envyi's 1998 Hip Hop hit single Swing My Way. The approach is quick-fire verses and a swell singing chorus.

"Shorty swing my way, you sure look good to me . . ."

Across the street on the other sidewalk I walk the walk, singing (or shouting according to your . . ok ok it is shouting =P) out the million word song I'm trying to memorize. There are stutter stops of course, so much info into such a little brain is a Johnny Mnemonic-type O-VER-LOA D. I cross the street again and on the return 40 yard trip back to the house a door opens. It's the door of a good ol' neighbor Robert. But it's not Robert upon welcome, nah, it is his wife, Marlene.

"Good morning!!" I says in joy.

On a phone she speaks away towards my direction, smiles asking "So was that you singing out there the other day?"

"Yup that's me" I reply, smiling back.

"It's good! I had to stop talking to my friend on the phone so I could listen!!"

Awesome, I think to myself. =)

She asks if those songs she heard were my very own. I tell her yup I have written 12 ditties now.

Marlene says there is a particular song that she especially marked for and based upon her lyrical 4-5 word recital I surmise it may either be the Hall & Oates tune I covered or a Decemberists chow I like to holler, Engine Driver.

"You should be on American Idol!!" she says with delight to which I am very gracious and thank her mucho. "Will you vote for me?" I ask. "Yes!! Yes."

Have a nice day, door closed.

Tremendous! =)

I walk back to the front of 613 with a bit of Engine Driver, "and if you don't love me let me go."

In to the kitchen I stand, guitar in hand, smiling, telling Parental Unit A & B of the yahoo compliments received from neighbor Marlene just a minute ago.

Unit A is apathetic.

Unit B has a look of disgust on its face.

Thanks for the support, guys. You're incredible. Really, you are.

The Man Who Came To Write

What is writing to me?

It is both friend & enemy.

It is the di di mau,

the gun to the head.

It is the rescue chopper

flying over head.

Tortured, I scream

"Them damn rats

gone eat my legs."

Write

I wither as withered,

better to pen cripple

than to get bet on

with a 'volver to the head.

BOOM!

I am not (yet) dead.

Still I write,

I write

of being (when) dead.

BOOM!

I am not (no) dead.

Yes I write,

I write

of living a life

sentence.

For write do I do

'Tis the voice

I

may or may not have.

Just read these words

and learn me

and learn what life is seen

through the di di mau

now slowed down,

for it is written.

I write.

I am not yet dead.

So friend.

So enemy.

In my stead.

Exist beyond the simple touch of pen.

What is writing to me?

It is to live

beyond

being dead.

So friend.

So enemy.

Go on.

Eat my mind's legs.

Go ahead.

Rescue thought chopper

fly overhead.

Both matter not

for I write.

And it is written.

And it is written.

BOOM!

I am not (will never be) dead.

Lacking as a Marx

So I'm in the shower, splish force splashing away the yesterday and Marx comes to mind. Specifically Chico (pronounced Chick-Oh, get it right monkey) Marx who got his name because he was a well known "chicken chaser" - he sure love them chicks. So do I, Lacking I. The difference being that Chico had the swagger and the suave to fulfill his desires to be accompanied by many a female.

I got shit.

=l

So as I shower I ponder "Which Marx brother am I?"

Chico is out of the question. That guy is pimp. The pimpiest of the pimps of the Marx Brothers clan. Groucho? Am I Groucho? Nope. He's got such a quick wit that if he did his stuff in slow motion in his sleep I still wouldn't be able to keep up, no sir. It would be awesome to talk fire like Groucho but alas my words typically come out only after minutes of ultra-careful deliberation. Then rehearsal. Then a mic check. Then a second rehearsal.

Not Groucho. No.

Nooray for Captain Spaulding.

Harpo? Honk honk!! Negative. His innocent mischief is unmatched while I walk these modern days as an utter prick. Additionally, there's no way I could shut up and throw a hoopla on physical antics alone. As loud as I write, I am loud as I speak (when enthused). AND I can't play the harp. Honk honk no. Be quiet, you're not Harpo, oh Lacking One.

So that leaves . . .

Zeppo Marx.

Huh?! Zeppo Marx?

Wait wait wait wait waaaait. The straight man? The boring one? I'M Zeppo Marx? Ahhh crap. Margaret Dumont was a more well known straight man then the lesser Marx. I might as well be Gummo!!

Despite the refreshing shower I STILL goooooooot shit.

=P


[ FUN FACT: Chico's real name is Leonard Marx. Playa. ]

Yes Indeed It Is the 1st of the Month

"Hey Life, it's me, I STILL see ya!! And it's the 1st of the month. What up, homie?" Enjoy.