CHIPS AND DIPS

Overheard conversation between two men at a Chinese restaurant:

"I seen on Facebook that they are gunna start putting  microchips in people soon."
"I saw that too!"
"Yeah, I guess it's so the government can track our location from space and some shit. Anywhere we go, they'll be able to track us. It's bullshit! That's an invasion of our rights."
"Who in the world would want that? You couldn't pay me to do that. I don't want people knowin' where I'm at."
"Well the article said that you would be able to buy shit with it like it was a credit card."
"That's fucking crazy! No thanks. I'm doin' just fine without it."
"Same here. Let's mosey."

Both men put on their jackets and grab their iPhones from the table.

FALSE AMERICAN IDOLS

Every night I find myself wishing that something would come along and put an end to all this mediocre, insincere shit, that the majority of the world calls music.  I'm not just talking about my opinion on what style is best, I'm talking about all genres. I can't find anything new that shakes me. Sure, every now and then I find a great song or two, but where's the beef America? Can we please take back our music from pre-teen girls and stop jerking ourselves off to the likes of Maroon 5. I just want some substance. Something that turns on my caveman brain! I say, whatever music is allowed to be played in shopping malls, shouldn't be allowed on the radio. It's all bullshit, and it's bad for you! Listen to what you will, but I've had it! This shit kills me inside. To hear all this auto tuned, soft core, limp dick, product pumping junk that is supposedly banging, just kills me. SO I declare, on this eve of my brothers death one year ago, that I will dedicate my life to the pursuit of honesty, truth, and an extreme retaliation towards all "artist" who fake the funk, pretend the pain, steal the soul, jive the jams, bubble the gum, polish the pop, soft the rock, crap the rap, level the metal, sell an image, demographic the magic, distribute but don't contribute, bunk the punk, and last but not least....WISH TO BE AMERICAN IDOLS. The whole dream of "making it" needs to be tarred and feathered. A real musician doesn't write music to "make it", They just write to make music. GIVE ME BACK MY RAW, UGLY, GRITTY, BARE BONES, IMPERFECT MUSIC! I know it's just music, but honestly, good music is about the only thing that makes me feel much of anything anymore. It's a sacred vibration that comes from within. If there is such thing as a god, or a universal truth, I guaran-damn-tee that it will be found in music! I here by pledge my life to writing music from my beating heart and rotten guts, waging war on today's music industry, and burning all the false idols to the ground! Hail, hail, rock and roll. Look out America, I'm a comin' ta getcha!

DEAD ELECTRIC and TWICE ALIVE

A PIT OPENED IN MY CHEST
A BLACK SINKHOLE THAT SEEMED TO SWALLOW THIS WORLD
TO BECOME THIS WORLD
TO BE AS ONE WITH THIS WORLD

NOW IM THICK WITH ITS FILTH
AND RICH WITH IS CARNAL TRUTHS
SOMEHOW DEAD ELECTRIC AND TWICE ALIVE
A SINGULARITY OF THE PUREST HATE
IN COPULATION WITH THE INFINITE DENSITY OF THE TRUEST LOVE
CANCELING EACH OTHER OUT IN CONFLICTING CLIMAX
PLANTING THE SEED OF ABSOLUTE VOID
OBLITERATING EVERYTHING THAT WAS HUMAN IN ME
WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY GIVING BIRTH TO MY NEW BEING

REBORN A SELF-MADE BASTARD BEAST
BITING THE HEAD OFF THAT WHICH GAVE ME LIFE
NOW SEEING IN NEW DIRECTIONS
HUNGRY FOR RAW INTERACTION
NAKED ATTRACTION
RUNNING WILD
LIVING ON THE LIVING

I AM THE NEW JAWS OF LIFE
RIPPING AT SPACE
TEARING AT TIME
LOOKING FOR SOMETHING FUN TO PLAY WITH BETWEEN THE KNOWN AND THE UNKNOWN
ALL THE WHILE VIVID WITH EXISTENCE AS RED AS THE BLOOD ON MY FACE
WITH DEATH BY THE THROAT, AS IT HAS MINE
KNOWING I WILL LOSE, BUT AT LEAST I'LL KNOW THE TASTE
WHEN THE HUNTER OF HUNTERS DRAINS MY BEAST BLOOD COLD

PERHAPS TO BE BEAST IS TO BE HUMAN
AND WHAT I THOUGHT I WAS
NEVER WAS

EXTINCT I WILL GO
A PIT WILL OPEN IN THIS WORLD
A BLACK SINKHOLE TO SWALLOW ME WHOLE
TO BECOME THIS WORLD
TO BE AS ONE WITH THIS WORLD

EXOTHERMIC BOY

This is a poem about the cremation of my brother Linn.