I want to be solitary. It's great. The best thing in the world is to get away from other people. It's glorious.

Said Charles Bukowski.

You can't beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
And the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.

Said Charles Bukowski.

If the people around you don't understand you, it probably means that you're with the wrong people, or you're just on the wrong planet. Your imagination is your rocket ship to all the planets that exist in inner space. Travel to one of them.

It's time to paint cats. Cats in wonderland. Yeah, yeah it really is!

 



Everyone likes to say they're different, to think they're unique. But they aren't. Not really. In the end, they do pretty much what everyone else does, believe in what everyone else believes in.  They do a good job of fitting in or at least pretending to fit in. Being truly different is no picnic, no barrel of laughs. It's nothing to crow about. You end up misunderstood by everyone, friendless, alone, alienated. If you're lucky maybe one or two people "get" you, not counting your cats. All too often, you end up at the end of a rope.

The Old Spag Factory

The last time someone wrote a love poem

without a smirk or an apology

it was 1987.

I don't remember it well.

I had vasoline on my lips.

I was a Chevrolet in reverse.

I was Chinese checkers.

Because petroleum president & the halibut hum

the apricot turned over

the sock & such

there were 1001 unique moments

when the butter was in charge.

Questions, questions

the toilet brush

the mozambique

it’s time to stay horny for the sun

clamp your perfume

to the stony chimp—

I blasted off from tulip bulbs

room deodorant

siren

I’m with you my hairy monster

a great reunion of Indiana Pacers

eliminates the air

Here’s your gumbo, sir

off you ride your table horns

to the secondary moon

& three day’s beard

& filomena egg stump

& egg

& egg

oh Dad

the lumbar region!