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The Boy From Flimflamboya

The Lady Killer

Through the night his crib is rocking.
The Boy From Flimflamboya be knocking
The bottom out of the big butt babe in his bed.

Women can’t be chaste and mellow
When they are transfixed by this fellow.
Their hearts say, “Hello,” like instant jello in red.

Oh, I would so love to be him
Rather than trying to beat him.
If I were able to see him,
I would ask for advice on romance.
And perhaps he could teach me to dance.

Girls, in absolute surrender,
Compete to be the top contender
To mate with this hallway extender a lot.

Jealous I would be, but I’m not
Because I’m happy with what I’ve got.
Without a thought, I would rather be cool than hot.

May all the he-men salute you.
They have nothing better to do.
Women in search of a good screw
Can go to the local hardware store
Where perhaps they’ll find one to adore.

Fun filled times of wild poon-tanging
And boasting of successful banging
Will leave what’s hanging limp
…Eventually.

Cleaning Up

Untidy Tasks

There’s not one thing more hairy than one fat-assed bear
With the mind of an infant who looks like a clown.
He’s become a big problem whom I must engage
In some manner effective, albeit with rage.
He’s by now an attraction to folks from uptown.
They should pay me commission for all that I care.

Normally, I keep track of what takes place at home.
A buffoon of a house guest makes poor furniture.
A big furry fat butt in my window could sneeze
Then my whole house would reek of honey processed cheese.
Infected by calamity, I need a cure
From the toxic effect of the Screw Bear syndrome.

I can be rather nasty when I lose my cool
With this dim witted dipshit from La-la Lowland.
I must maintain composure with my dickhead guest

Even though, in my mind, he’s a two ended pest.
The best end, nonexistent, is what I can’t stand.
It would be hard to make this jerk feel like a fool.

I may sound a bit harsh. I’ve had all I can take
Of this bear’s belly bullshit. Help this creature needs
Of the kind I can’t offer if you get my drift.
What I need is someone with a rugged forklift
I have grown to hate much that on which the thing feeds.
I suppose things could get worse if he were a snake.

Too Astringent Of Thought

Difficulty Thinking Clearly

“Get your dick out of neutral and into high gear,”
Says the brain to the monkey who lives down below.

But it gets the wrong message and wants to jerk off
With its prehensile tail. Who on earth wouldn’t scoff?
The miscommunication causes oneself woe.
Nothing but instant messaging mitigates fear.

Mental activity is the run of the day.
It may run my ass ragged but not so my head
Which resembles a helmet when I’m in the mood.
More nonsensical content may make me less rude
To all creatures within me. There’s not enough said
In dick-headed delightfulness in a weird way.

Tolerant of a tickling, an outrageous nerve
Is the hair up the opening into the heart.
Expectations are futile and vain with regard
To erecting meat noodle and keeping it hard.
This is good stuff to know. Take it from an old fart
Who’s had more of his share of madness to observe.

 How lukewarm a reception awaits the debut
Of a fool in a fun house unfettered by shame?
Distorted mirror images do reveal some
Of the astringent nature I must overcome.
Masturbating the mind is a time honored game
One can play privately or right out in plain view.

Too Hot To Trot

Enhanced Desire

A bare chested young man on a horse is a sight
For those eyes seeking service to more body parts.
In the heat of adventure, the he-man aware
Fully of all his assets, will show some with care
Not to incite a pussy fight or break the hearts
Of the many whose passion he’s prone to ignite.

Let the horse do the trotting, The man is too hot.
It’s a bother. Besides, it would be a disgrace
To be walking the beast when control must be shown.
It gets wet the young ladies and gets them to moan
While engaged in a fantasy dripping in place.
Should he keep a shirt handy to soak up the spot?

  Aggressive is his nature yet soft to the touch
So that with the right female good sex can take place.
If she is strong and healthy and has proper genes
They’ll commence copulation by various means.
It’s the means nature uses to maintain our race.
Her control supersedes his by so more than much.

He must strut for some action as male creatures do.
The performance is judged and assessment is made
As to aesthetic value and genuine worth.
Being that we have dominion over the earth
What could be more exciting a hot escapade
Than to banish the urge to reinvent the screw.

I’m Not Moving!

Resistance To Convention

Unexpected events are a strain on my nerves
And the one who provokes me as well has issues
That are most incompatible with what I need.
And I don’t need a master who’s out to impede
My agenda incessantly. I’ll not amuse
Someone who’s a control freak no creature deserves.

Understanding there’s turmoil in most people’s lives,
I want nothing to do with the problems they make
For myself and for all with whom they interact.
And this jerk with an attitude need to learn tact.
A good ram to the crotch I would give for his sake.
I’d read to him the riot act ‘til help arrives.

Time to scrutinize motives I take when I can
Muster up enough effort to put up a fight.
Solid figures of obstinance cannot be moved
If the act of the mover needs to be improved.
I’m one son of an anvil who you can’t excite.
Tie my ass in a knot if you think you’re a man.

When I need some attention I will let you know.
Beasts of burden among workers have equal rights
Among nature’s own flawless immutable laws.
I would appreciate it if you’d keep your paws
To yourself unless you would prefer to see lights
In an unconscious state from a lethal head blow.

Eagerness For Input

Emotionally Stimulated Intellect

More in touch with my feelings than usual, I
Need someone to depend on who isn’t all there.
There can be no confusion when I’m in control
Of intimate surroundings. My geek-hearted soul
Gets a surge of excitement that none can compare.
No commitment but pleasure and joy do apply.

I must think that my weird ass is having some fun
All alone in my living room floating in air
In the comfort and privacy of my own home
Where salacious affairs of the consciousness roam.
I won’t make this a bad habit, just to be fair
To the people who know me. What harm can be done?

Not a part of this body is made without nerves
And them buggers git sensitive once in a while.
My solution, though fantasy, really feels nice.
If I weren’t so damned digital would I think twice
About virtual intercourse? With a big smile
I will slam dunk that nookie as justice deserves.

Much to be said is wordless so it shall remain
In the realm of complete inexpressible thought.
What one finds sentimental another may feel
That the source of sensation is somewhat surreal.
If I keep it low keyed I may never get caught.
I want one to think I’m perversely insane.

Plupiter – Juto Confusion

Dis-Armageddon

There’s this misunderstanding about certain things
In the cosmos and how they are apt to behave.
If Uranus is nasty what can make it clean?
In conjunction with Mars it would have to stay mean
Depending on which house it would choose to enslave.
No one looks forward to what this mad aspect brings.

Other configurations are more important
Than are some because some are much weaker than those
With significant power to do some real harm.
It is my honored duty to sound the alarm
And refute information from deep dark shadows
And there’s no one around who can tell me I can’t.

There’s a Plupiter – Juto Confusion afoot.
It is wreaking some havoc in most people’s minds.
These are two way out planets. They both have much pride.
It’s not often the paths of these two coincide.
When they do there is bigness of truth of all kinds.
It’s a major event with a lethal output.

Be prepared in the long run to be not without
Strength of purpose that cosmic confusion can’t beat.
Take a break from the nonsense and learn the real thing.
Such a world of enlightenment this act will bring.
Stellar chatter is often a form of deceit.
Make sure what you digest is most pure without doubt.

Toward An Ease At Performing

Mission of Passion

For some, life is a mission of major import
And assigned by a master they know is within
And a part of all drama both seen and unseen.
It must take a good team to repair a bad spleen.
Some jobs are not for people whose patience is thin.
One can only respect performers of this sort.

Do they make it look easy? I can’t answer that.
What I’d seen on TV long ago can’t be real
Nor could it even come close. As far as I know
Miracles are performed daily, and they bestow
Restoration of function. A lot they can heal.
Because practice makes perfect, they have much down pat.

Clearly out of the limelight and main public view
Work is done with true diligence and with a cause
Most aligned with their natures in service to all.
One may notice there isn’t the sent of Lysol.
Alcohol they use mostly as it mostly was
Easiest to procure for the work that they do.

Easy is their performance to those who may see
Not the act behind curtains drawn. Only the few
Who are privy to witness what is taking place
In the spaces where folk rely on divine grace
To ensure that the team will indeed pull one through
Get to know the real deal. Should it matter to me?

The Trapped Child Within

A Fleeting Depression

There’s a child within each of us who never grows
To objective maturity. Youth must remain
As a polar reflection. Survival depends
On the health of both child and adult. And our friends
Are often therapeutic for sharing the pain
To elicit support. All this everyone knows.

I believe in self-discipline. As an adult
I must do some adjusting and put on an act
That conceals my pure innocence. Who am I then
But a set of instructions? Both women and men
Evolve toward self-awareness as evident fact.
But we don’t know each other. Behold the result.

Serious is the tone, and substantial issues
Surely fuel the frustration. Today’s will soon pass
‘Til the next shiny toy finds its way to my view.
There is much play that my child is willing to do
That my grownup façade makes me not a jackass.
This is just a reflection and meant to amuse.

Inward Harmony

Balance Between Conscious and Subconscious

Do I need to go inward to then run it down?
Or does running it downward come from deep within?
I’m not that good at questions. They do mess me up.
If I think there are answers I need a checkup
From the neck up and further. I’ll take my chagrin
With a smirk of acceptance instead of a frown.

Life is truly harmonious in a pig’s eye
If that eye is within me and does me no harm.
I’m not without when within the depths of my soul.
Does it not mean I can’t behave like an asshole?
I’ll leave that to the poets. I’ll give them alarm
Not because they deserve it. It just gets me high.

But about going inward to seek harmony…
Some achieve it by nature. The old in and out
Is a tried and true method of reaching that goal
But if that’s not an option, you’re not a lost soul.
Going inward eliminates much of the doubt
That my life and its meaning were all meant to be.

These Bowels

Entrails Exposed

These Bowels toil through the night just for you.
These times are hard enough to get through.
The onus on us is no urgent fuss.
You give us your trust, and we take it. We don’t fake it.

These Bowels Are Moving
These Bowels have seen a lot of waste
And they’re always gonna see another load when it comes from you.

These Bowels Are Moving
These Bowels have seen a lot of waste
And they’re always gonna see another load when it comes from you.

These Bowels Are Moving
These Bowels have seen a lot of waste
And they’re always gonna see another load when it comes from you.

These Bowels are working in support to your cause
This work we do with no thought to what was.
We do this for free. We hope you can see
That you’re worth it. Why not mirth it?

Livid Liver Of Life

Arrhythmic Logic

Livid Liver Divided By One Over Life
Equals some kind of symbol. But don’t ask me now
What the hell it might stand for. It’s damned to make sense
If my wrath be the dearth of me. I’ll take offense
To any mathematics who cannot allow
The lost least of life livers who linger in strife.

So, I’m pissed off a lot. Any liver would be
In full-on agitation as numbers prevail
In the lives of all livers so lives loom in lack.
I’m so livid I’m prone to a liver attack.
My inverse multiplicative is doomed to fail
If I don’t get an answer immediately.

I’m an arrogant liver and often too proud
Of a life I’ve imagined but haven’t lived out.
Must I then mind the meaning of what I have lost?
When my math doesn’t add up who suffers the cost?
I intuit without any semblance of doubt
That my anger won’t fix things. That can’t be allowed.

Be Kind To The Toilet

Toilet Temperament

Do be kind to your toilet. It takes tons of crap.
Though that’s what it was made for, it wants for a break
From the forceful expulsion of vile human waste
From a family of asses whose bowels are fast paced.
It performs well its duty, but make no mistake
What it has to put up with feels much like a trap.

Connected to the sewer or some funky place,
What is gulped down is passed with each masterful flush.
Never mind where that stuff goes. It’s clear out of sight.
Vanishing if by magic, it only seems right.
Whether solid and serpentine or just a mush
It will make it go bye bye. What provident grace!

That old bowl needs a cleaning once every short while.
It informs you of that in its own special ways.
But it needs more attention. It likes to stay clean.
It wants someone to talk to. On whom can it lean?
So, converse with your toilet and give it due praise.
It will bless you profusely and keep a big smile.

Why Forefathers Wore Wigs

Declaration of Decoration

Prim and proper forefathers were called the big wigs
At a time when men’s fashion included much hair.
Only rich people owned them in the beginning
But the trend became widespread. It soon was a Thing.
No man would be caught bald. People would laugh and stare
And they’d ruthlessly cast one in league with the pigs.

But how wigs became popular is peculiar.
Mothers of odd inventions are essence of same.
Most of Europe was plagued by a nasty disease
In the late fifteen hundreds. Through analyses
Of the symptoms most prevalent they put the blame
On a thing we call syphilis. My, how bizarre!

The significant outcomes are chronic hair loss,
Funky issues with head sores and persistent lice
From the wig made of goat and horse hair. So they would
Powder them with some lavender so they’d smell good.
The founders of our nation, in great sacrifice,
Have become honored headstones who gather no moss.

Brashville Buyline

American Collage

Lay Lady Lay
Lay across my big brass bed.
You say it’s your bed too?
I’ll insist it’s mine instead.
Whatever feminine tricks are up your sleeve
I’ll turn them around, then I’ll make you leave

Lay Lady Lay
Lay across my big brass bed.
Pray Lady Pray
Pray that you don’t live a life of dread,
If things turn out that way
Perhaps it’s best if you were dead.

My mind is dirty and my style is mean
And in the sack I’m a stud muffing machine.

Play Lady Play
Play with yourself a – while.
I’d like to watch as you
Penetrate yourself and smile.

Work yourself into a frenzy and cry out loud
Then I’ll join in and ride the wave
When we get good we can perform for a crowd
We’ll be happy for all we gave.

Pay Lady Pay
Pay some mind to your fine man
In each and every day, let him you really can

I like to see my woman down on her knees
She must give head and swallow too
Our frigging lifestyle is a mental disease
You and I both know it’s true

Stay Lady Stay
Stay as the time is worth your while

Every Good Snowball’s Chance

Winter Doodle

Liquid, solid and steam are the natural forms
Water makes its appearance. The snowball is one
Most aesthetic in nature. Formed into a sphere
By the hands become magic in mood cavalier,
One considers the snowball the essence of fun
Even when in the midst of aggressive snowstorms.

Every chance that a snowball could hope to attain
Completely by its own merits should not include
Being cast like a bad human soul into hell.
Idioms of psychosis in common hearts dwell.
To me, such an analogy seems awfully crude
Because it’s not uplifting; therefore, there’s no gain.

But then I’m not complaining. This world is just fine.
I enjoy frosty winters. The child within me
Wants to find other children and play in the snow.
I won’t disrespect snowballs. They were made to throw…
Not to mingle with thought forms of catastrophe.
All our chances are fluid, as if by design.

Free Range Peeves

Surprise Annoyances

Peeves are lousy as pets. How they get on one’s nerves
At most inopportune moments just to say, “Hi.
We’re so glad that you chose us. We won’t go away.
We’re programmed to disrupt you throughout your long day.”

I regret that I have them. They oft make me cry.
It’s a tough situation that no one deserves.

So, I bought some new storage – a network cloud drive.
Now that it’s been connected, it wants to make friends.
Did I ask for a friend, yet one without a soul?
Any app that gets friendly just wants to control
More than I had intended. To what selfish ends
Does it give me such grief? I’ve no will to survive.

And these damned pets are free range. They migrate about
In a haphazard manner. They up and go pop.
Like most arrogant weasels, they act on their own.
If I click on the app, nothing useful is shown.
If I cannot disown them, should I try to stop
Their aggressive behavior? I struggle with doubt.

Pet Peeves are a fine nuisance. All should be called strays.
The worst ones that are free range deserve the most care.
When a seller’s fine product continues to sell,
Too Much Mouth has the helper that may function well.
But you screw with desktop icons. How would you dare?
It is best that I end here. I haven’t much praise.

Toward The Latter Day Thaterday

Time And Innocence

I would call this day that day were it not today.
If I knew not the names of the days of the week,
I’d be free as the daylight. Times savings, for me,
Is to strict an absurdity. If I could see
Why daylight requires saving, would I be unique?
I know no one who knows why… just what others say.

And what they say is nonsense. Commerce is the cause
For the shifting of daytime so people spend more?
Now, two thirds of the year we live in fantasy
Somewhat anchored in nature and reality.
Between daylight and nighttime evolves civil war.
I’ve become too accustomed to knowing what was.

I’ll look forward to Thaterday. Should it arrive
In one third of a sudden, would it be too soon?
Daylight borrowed at no interest is obscene.
If we trick mother nature, we can’t call her mean.
Thaterday, once invented, no one will impugn.
We shall treat time with honor, as if we were five.

Specific Non-Locations

Nebulous Space

Where Am I, Since I know very well that I am
And don’t mind what I’m made of? It’s just good to grow.
This haystack of a cosmos, to needles like me,
Is too much to imagine… that is, completely.
I’ve heard tell of a ‘pale blue dot’ from a fellow
With a heart born of wisdom. But who gives a damn.

If I wanted someone from a galaxy far
To come visit my world, to direct that one would
Present me with a problem. I know not where I
Am located. Such ignorance can make one shy.
Could a wise postal physicist do me some good
In addressing where I am, or is this bizarre?

Non-Locations Specific are scattered throughout
The complex of the cosmos. Our travel is done
By the means of vibration and focus of mind.
Dimensions of existence to which we’re assigned
Provide lessons for living. Sometimes they are fun.
I’m within an earth schoolhouse. Of this there’s no doubt.

Progress, Not Perfection

Time On Display

When to settle for Progress and not Perfection
Is no matter to make of enormous import.

Perfection is an ideal. It stands on its own.
Progress leads to Perfection sometimes, it is shown,
But the groaning, as time passes, tends to distort
Much of life through the process. This isn’t much fun.

Perfection is the Finish – when things will get done.
So it means that some time is supposed to transpire.
It’s one thing to sit waiting. Yet that’s not enough,
The damned Progress that’s shown me is of fecal stuff.
The Operating System indeed is a liar.
It updates frequently but with data half spun.

How come one moment I’m told that two hours remain
Then the next, it’s increased an enormous degree?
If it’s not good at simple math, I can relate
But to make it my day job would mess with my fate.
Software mimics our leaders quite accurately.
Anything offered to us we take with a grain.

Don’t rely on The System to offer it all.
That a piece of the puzzle sometimes falls in place
Can be seen as a blessing. Imperfect are we
So much so that the things that we make must agree.
 One profound micro mirror could reflect our grace.
Even though we’re not perfect, we tend to stand tall.

Ha Mun Of Tu Tank

Levity

The Ha Mun of Tu Tank would have no one to thank
For not being left tankless upon his demise
Were it not for his subjects, firm in their belief
That a king should be tankful and free of all grief
That he might not have at least two tanks when he dies.
When we speak of this old one, we need to be frank.

If an army has two tanks instead of just one,
One can know that it’s better, for double the strength
It will have for offending and for its defense.
The good diver with two tanks uses common sense.
That’s why old kings of Egypt went to any length
To ensure tanks were plentiful instead of none.

So, Ha Mun was of Tu Tank and could have had three
But he wouldn’t be greedy, for that would imply
That he could take them with him into the beyond.
With the contents of tanks not a soul can abscond.
We can see that the number of tanks we deny
Is the key to contentment and freedom to be.

TidyHoe

Marketing Field

Does one keep the hoe tidy when it’s not in use
In the dark, deranged desert beneath the full moon?
Can the crust of dirt gathered that can’t be knocked off
Be at least submersed silly? What cure do I scoff
Since my own virgin land is a cluttered sand dune?
I will stick the damned hoe in a bottle of juice!

TidyHoes can be made so soon after they’re done
With the business of making their marks on the fields
Of our human potentials by soaking them clean
In a solvent solution to place in a scene
Near a tall standing genie whose providence yields
The insurance that’s needed to brighten the sun.

Where is TidyHoe found? Can I order online?
Or perhaps there’s a big supply kept underground?
It’s produced in abundance in places unknown
Then it’s beamed to this sense forsaken Twilight Zone.
Due respect for the tidy can always be found
And sometimes when it’s given, life seems to align.

With Eyes Off The Perpend

Wall of Analysis

Parallelness is tricked as it can perpendict
At no other locations than ninety degrees.
So to stay parallel can be done fairly well
When revealed that the strong perpendicular fell
Through a crack in the mortar when it had to sneeze.
Such a thing shouldn’t happen if properly bricked.

But what brick can admit that, solid as they are
Whether laid on their sides or prepared to stand tall?
Truth among brick is baseless and of no degree
That can be safely measured and accurately.
Most unnatural acts are done to the brick wall
When destructed in haste and without a memoir.

Don’t pretend that prepends are perpendicular
To stuff above and under them – not to their sides.
One should act with conviction expressing belief
In perpendicularity, as this is chief
In the building of structures where faith are the guides.
Keep your sense of alignment from flying too far.

Keep Your Gum Off The Bedpost

Common Place

Keep You Gum Off The Bedpost. It’s not the right place
To park something retrieved from its oral abode
Entertained by the teeth, tongue and tonsils by day.
At nighttime can it be wise to treat it this way?
Gum cannot remain safe when its pace has been slowed.
It’s as if a good runner is pulled from his race.

And when parked on the bedpost, the germs in the air
Are free to make a fine home of its resting mass.
Gum will regain full flavor, not of what it had
But of crap in the funky air, and this is sad.
Any fool who would do this is quite the jackass.
One who chews funky putty needs wise mental care.

One must use proper hygiene when dealing with gum…
Never mind that the bedpost, because it’s erect
Through the night in a dark room may give someone pause,
Why put something disgusting back between your jaws?
The harm put upon gum from nocturnal neglect
Can come back to upset one and make one feel dumb.

As Long As The Pigs Can Pay…

Great Law!

Lord knows I need a living. I must make ends meet.
There is scant litigation to feast on these days.
Law degrees are a dime for a dozen or so.
Some who earn them are criminals for what they know.
I can make some big money with alternate ways
Of observing behaviors of those who eat meat.

To some, pork is inferior. It has a smell.
On a cellular level it is quite less than
Something healthy and sacred for people to eat.
People’s unyielding prejudices are complete
With the backlash of pig populations that span
Pretty much of the country. I do serve them well.

We have formed a class action for pigs who protest.
All who are U.S. certified have legal rights
To due process if they feel they’re looked down upon.
People should not bad mouth pork from dusk until dawn.
Pigs and people who hate them can get into fights.
I make sure things get settled and stay nicely dressed.

Die Hard

Hard Unto Death

I would want to die easy but never dead limp
To the cause of excitement resulting in me.
Rigor mortis precludes dying soft, as it were.
Though the root is no joint, hardness it would prefer
Pointing skyward, honoring what life gave for free.
My last moments demand not on passion I’ll scrimp.

To be cast of a hard mold indicatively
Is hardly not the easiest tribute to give.
Would it be worth the effort to stay well prepared?
Only lack of good stimuli should make one scared.
It may be hard to Die Hard as it is to live.
May the dick, upon dying, remain quite sturdy.

To Die Hard is made easy as passion remains
My most firm source of guidance. May I leave behind
Something pointing to something that makes some small sense
To some set of some subset of some reference.
Intercourse of all nature takes place in the mind.
Any action perceived, the erect soul explains.

Ride The Bull

Primal Motion

You say your stock’s been down?
That’s why you’re wearing a frown?
Your meager money market venture just took a dive?
You didn’t plan it this way.
No one will come to save the day.
It’s up to your devices alone now to truly survive.

Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
Foolishness is a thing that we can all do together.
Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
So, grab hold of the bull in stormy or sunny weather.

You’ve been watching all the network news.
It’s kind of gotten you to singing the blues.
The more you know, the chances are that you can’t get a clue.
The country burns in purgatory.
Who will come to set us all free?
Well, there isn’t very much right now that we can do.

Maybe people think that life is cool.
Maybe they don’t know the golden rule.
Foolishness is a thing that we can all do together.
Maybe I’ll be there to ride the bull.
Maybe I’ll be there to act like a fool.
So, grab hold of the bull in stormy or sunny weather.

Piss Like A Man!

Ill-perceived Manliness

If a man sits to piss, it insults his manhood.
Don’t behave like a sissy. Respect your damned ass!
Even if you’re an old man, do not lazily
Plop that ass on a toilet to just take a pee.
You can drain the mad bladder and do so with class
If committed to standing. This does a man good.

Why is this so important? Good posture is why.
Men must take on the attitude of feeling tall.
That can’t happen while sitting. You’ll feel like a bitch.
Pubic hair remains covered to prevent crotch itch
While you’re standing with hand braced against the hard wall.
You can’t piss with a hard on, so don’t even try.

Men, stand up to your manhood with dick firm in hand!
If you’re sitting while pissing, how can you feel proud?
What if something emergent occurred in such state?
You’d be caught with your pants down. It would have to wait.
Let a urinal see how well you are endowed.
Keep your ass perpendicular to the flat land.

Scientists Do Bizarre Things

Benign Insanity

Can one dissect existence down to the last clue
To a firm understanding of how life evolves?
Can the physicist smash enough atoms to gain
Sub-particulate knowledge to blow up the brain?
Anything that is physical the mind resolves
With experimentation and intent askew.

Somewhat like the Aghori, most science folk are
Absolute in their outlook, not trapped in the ways
Psychological processes obscure their path.
That’s why they must be savvy also at heart math.
Is what they do to lab creatures worthy of praise?
Or has our rabid culture evolved way too far?

To encompass the universe in its fullness
There must be people willing to expand their minds
To a size that approaches the infinite realm.
Is it wise then to have scientists at the helm
Of our ship in the sea with creatures of all kinds?
Just so they keep to themselves. Their minds are a mess!

Left Nut News

Absurdity of Cyclic News

One gets news from an old fart when one is convinced
That Old Fart News is flawless by virtue of age.
Some tune into world happenings via the net
With smartphones or their laptops or some other threat.
When news causes either nausea or outrage,
I then know what it feels like to have my nuts minced.

I’m aware it’s the right nut I care less about.
It hangs well on its right side and is of less worth
Although just a tad higher. My concern is with
The forsaken left-nutted who seem but a myth.
Minor to what is major and mired in dearth,
The left nut remains hopeful yet haunted by doubt.

I take news on the left nut with no grain of salt.
Not quite like bread and butter or milk and money,
Left Nut News is of service to flesh roots of grass.
I’ll stand up to the right nut but not kick its ass.
I’m a class act, as most other organs may see
If they are made for seeing, but not to a fault.

From Yogi to Guru

TheMagicRealist.com

I was told that a guru can digest a rock
By someone who once watched one do such a strange thing.
As my friend kept on watching, he noticed not much
But occasional chanting and belching and such.
When the guru had finished, no clue did it bring
To all those who’d beheld him. So, they felt no shock.

His disciples believed him. That’s what it must take
For the vibrant thought process to breathe on its own.
One makes magic of matter to one’s own delight.
If we want to learn how to, we seek one who’s right
But the right one, we know, cannot sit on a throne.
Kings cannot become teachers. They are not awake.

Rocks are not hard to digest if you’re a guru.
It is harder to sit cross-legged upon one.
Yogis are to their gurus as ebb is to flow.
Is it in both their interests to thoroughly know
Where each other has traveled since life had begun?
It may not be. It may be that much is untrue.

Those Unstoppable Thoughts

TheMagicRealist.com

A racecar with no brakes travels at breakneck speed.
The racetrack is an oil slick of slippery thought.
Do they happen at random as I barely try
Not to think them as they seem to swiftly fly by?
If I’m thinking them, that means there’s something that’s sought
That is not most essential. Therefore, I’ve no need.

In the moment I identify with something
I start thinking about it. I cannot just stop.
If I eat something bad for me can I expect
A good outcome? The body I have will reject
What it knows is not good for it. Were I to swap
Every thought for a blessing, would my freed heart sing?

Any thoughts that I think cannot be part of me.
They are things I collect as I live day by day.
Every cell of this body and things on my list
Of the things most appealing to me coexist
In a conscious relationship with me by way
Of my strong need to fit in with society.

Ego thinks of survival. The body alone
Is concerned with existence. The rest… not so much.
Yet the need, for the most part, is always fulfilled.
With plenty of fried chicken, the body is thrilled.
But that which is me truly can be more in touch
With the realm of the thoughtless – the ID free zone.

Corn Off The Cob

TheMagicRealist.con

I’ve got ding for your hum. Because I’m not a bum,
I can hum ding most ringers around a horseshoe.
If my ding don’t feel funny, should I contemplate
A new day job apparently due to my fate?
I could do what most cobs are expected to do.
If I did so, though, I’d be mistaken for scum.

Being bright yellow brilliance, no problem have I
Acting like I’m pure sunlight reflecting the glow
That surrounds me whenever I’m feeling my best.
I don’t fret being popped or steamed, so I’m not stressed.
Were I used in a foul way, I’d care not to know.
I embellish my prime where the sun meets the sky.

I am sworn to be corny and free to, with glee,
Pull the string on a plaything as if it were nice
To be feisty in hindsight of good chances missed.
Yet, if you are not into this, I will persist.
It’s enough for right now, so I’ll keep this concise.
My delighting in wordplay is not just for me.

Half A Shot Of Sick Puppy

TheMagicRealist.com

Half A Shot of Sick Puppy I’ll add to the mix
When I’m upside down on a two-legged bar stool.
The bartender within me knows that I don’t drink
Yet I’m intoxicated by thoughts that I think.
I could blame that on current events like a fool.
Is all that I am drunk on an effective fix?

Half asleep to the counter of what people say
In the background, I am then aware of not all
There is to be revealed in this dark, smoke-filled room.
If it were not a swamp, all we’d need is a broom.
Could that ever become so? Would that be my call?
Chaos is a perception. It is not the way.

Since I’m one of a tribe, I am doomed to imbibe
What I don’t know I’m thinking. My drinking is such
That it does medicate me in maddening ways.
What should be the reality has become haze.
Could the fix in the mix be to not expect much?
That would be but the best thing my soul could prescribe.

Casual Relations

TheMagicRealist.com

Some unions lack emotion. Is that the complaint?
They’ve become somewhat casual and commonplace.
What are some to make of this? Is this it a new wave?
Things are more important than a marriage to save.
Yet, it’s all about memory. Our human race
Is a sponge-like existence immune to restraint.

There was once an old couple married fifty years.
The day after their celebration, they divorced.
Said the judge who was friends with them, “Why do this now?
You’ve had such a fine marriage. What’s happened somehow?”
“I went through some old photos, and then I was forced,”

Said one of them, “To hold back a torrent of tears.”

“My children don’t look like me. So, that’s the reason!”
Now, the judge, here, is anyone with common sense.
Some cultures aren’t so ‘touchy.’ They tend to know well
Memory that is tactile will act like a spell
That will then cast one’s life in a world of pretense.
It’s a question of sense, not of morals undone.

Atra Feed

TheMagicRealist.com

You need feed for your atra? We go it right here!
It don’t make sense to get it from those other guys.
They will charge you a fortune, and what you will get
Is a crapload of something that you may regret.
We’ve the best feed, and this is our word to the wise –
If you’ve got lots of atra to feed, never fear!

We’ve been in the feed business purt-neer forty years.
Never once have we failed to deliver the best
Any atra could hope for. For that, we are proud.
We remain down to earth, though – not high on a cloud.
It’s your atra. You shouldn’t put them through a test
Just to prove our point seemingly as it appears.

Treat your atra with dignity. They deserve more
Than what is made available. Feed them with care.
They will grow to full atrahood. In the meanwhile,
You may show to your atra a confident smile.
What you feed to your atra is your own affair.
But for their sake, why not head on out to our store?

Osiris, On Papyrus

TheMagicRealist.com

We are three deities of Egyptian belief
Who, way back in our time, had not much to write on.
So, my fine colleagues Isis and Horas and I
Took a vow of importance, in that we would try
To come up with both topics and stuff of some brawn
To facilitate permanence and banish grief.

We invented papyrus, though I took the lead
Not because I am special, but that my name rhymes
With this fine plant we cultivate organically.
So, it syncs with the title, as you can well see.
It’s eternal. We need not keep up with the times.
When papyrus is written on, it’s a good read.

If you don’t have papyrus, though, you need not fret.
Heartfelt thoughts can be placed on plain paper instead
…Or perhaps on the background of your consciousness
Where it may become lost in the cluttered thought mess.
My advice to you is get what’s locked in your head
Out on something, as long as it is not a threat.

Farting Your Way To Awesome Mental Health

TheMagicRealist.com

I Can Fart, and that’s something! Though I’m not the best,
I would be a good mentee to fart paragons
The world over, who fart with unfettered finesse.
And with the first amendment, I’m proud to express,
Either butt naked, or wearing rugged nylons,
What my innards have been through. In that, I am blessed.

I remain fire retardant. I don’t feel the heat
As I rip the air ragged while blasting my horn.
I can be quite the nemesis of CO2.
It will run out before I can fart ‘til I’m blue.
And I get much fulfillment. I feel I’m reborn.
I do take proper time to wipe soot from my meat.

I’ll admit I am powerless over most things.
There’s no soapbox to stand on to make people hear.
I don’t need to be listened to. Freely I break
Enough wind to set time aflame. Make no mistake,
It takes patience to process and to digest fear
And all manner of discord that life often brings.

Ain’t Say Onofre

TheMagicRealist.com

Do you know of Saint Frono? Well, neither do I.
I’ve heard tell it’s a city. Some say it’s a man.
But are Fronos like Onos from East Africa?
Or is there misperception as with the captcha?
Well, perhaps it ain’t Frono, but some complex plan
Just to make San Onofre a name that will fly.

If there ain’t no Saint Frono, why then does it sound
Like a simple short name reverse engineered so
That it won’t sound like pig Latin to native ears?
That I’m flat on my fluency fetters my fears.
Is it that San Onofre is some place to go
To find out why it’s called that? This question’s profound!

I don’t know my Onofre, so I should go there.
If I meet him in person, he’ll straighten me out.
He must prove he’s no Frono, then life will make sense.
I will return to Kansas not feeling so dense.
Linguistically enlightened, I’ll know all about
Both Onofres and Fronos and why folks should care.

Cursed Out By A Cursor

TheMagicRealist.com

The old cursor’s asleep again. What can I do?
I’ll just jiggle the mouse a bit to find out where
It’s been hiding since I took a bit of a brake.
“What the fuck is you problem, you cunt-faced headache?
You have such damned control of me. That is unfair!
Would you like it if some asshole did that to you?”

Now, I’m sure it’s a cursor. I did have some doubt
Although its blind vociferousness can be felt
Like an ominous presence who just wants to hide
Until it has a chance to express with some pride.
But to that which is captive, a bad hand is dealt
So the cursor can do naught but freak the hell out.

“Get the fuck of my case, damn it! You’re not my boss!
Stick you dick licking mouse up your tunnel sideways.
I can do my job damned well, so how about you?
Or are you like your mama with nothing to do
Than to fornicate with a jar of mayonnaise?
Take a hike, you damned bastard! It won’t be my loss.”

Asleep At The Urinal

TheMagicRealist.com

Stay awake, my old friend. You seem lost in a trance
And your hard, heavy breathing is almost a snore.
It does take a long time for that bladder to drain,
But at least it is steady. There isn’t much strain.
Goodness Grace! Is this what growing old has in store?
Have I time to develop my urinal stance?

Just hang in there, old timer. It will take a while.
In the meantime, however, I’ll hang by your side.
The old plumbing is pensive in its simple task.
That it carry on smartly is all one would ask.
Since we are somewhat private, there’s no pride to hide.
Though your body may trick you, I shall not beguile.

Urinating in unison while holding hands
Is one way that a fellow can help an old friend
Through the process. While daydreaming, he may fall down
Then become an old geyser. You’d become a clown!
Give the man’s hand a manly squeeze. He may depend
On that firmness that only he could understand.

Death Of A Pixel

TheMagicRealist.com

What’s the root cause of pixel death? We all should know
Because death among pixels is something most rare.
Are the screens they appear upon made to outlast
Every last pixel’s life span? I would say no fast!
Things aren’t made for longevity and folks don’t care.
But for some, such a dead spot puts on a tough show.

Promulgation of pixel health is something done
At the time of their making through careful process
And en masse by machinery at micro scale.
One would think then that equality must prevail.
When the ass of a pixel makes my mind a mess
I must know that it can’t up and do that for fun.

 Pixels made of near nothingness can coexist
With the realms of pure spirit somewhat easily.
And if they retain consciousness, then when they die,
Each exists as a waveform related to pi.
Every pixel or person who wants to be free
Must have full right to do so although they are missed.

The Thirst Of Theodore Thlitlinger

TheMagicRealist.com

I am Theodore Thurston Thlitlinger, the third.
I’d been thrust into thirsthood since my thirsty birth.

That is why that my middle name was chosen well.
It conforms to the substance that I will not sell.
It’s been said I could drink everything on the earth
But that is surely gossip not well overheard.

A few thirds of my drinking I do while awake
While with others I dream about drinking scot free
Of discrete condescension or even outright.
If someone mocks my drinking I’ll put up a fight.
Thoroughly through the thickening inside of me,
Lavishing of liquidity is for my sake.

I am third in a short line of proud drinking men.
Though we all are Thlitlingers, we each have a theme
Separate from the others. Theatrically
Therapeutic in thankfulness, we can agree
That our thoughts are thalassic and like a daydream.
When they’re drunk in compassion, it can be like Zen.

A Funny Story

TheMagicRealist.com

Once an old couple, well off and filled with desire,
Took a journey that most folks would only dream of.
So from Texas they traveled to Jerusalem,
Not to tear up the town with terror and mayhem,
But to visit the place where Jesus lived in love.
This is something to which many people aspire.

Every cobblestone there bleeds with much history.
It is so called the Holy Land because it’s where
Things took place that define religions of today.
Is it not a fine city where most people prey
As they do back in Texas? No one can declare
That it’s no place of interest. There’s so much to see.

But, unfortunately, to the old man’s remorse,
His dear partner of so many years passed away.
He prepared, as expected, to take her back home.
But the locals, insistent as old saint Jerome,
Tried their best to convince him to chill out and stay.
He rejected their efforts in earnest, of course.

On and on they kept trying… “Do bury her here.
One would think it an honor to come here to die.
Your dear mate has done wisely. This place has become
Economically vibrant. For just a small sum
We’ll take care of your wife. So, there’s no reason why
You should disrupt her destiny all due to fear.”

The old man remained steadfast as strongly they pled.
They could not understand his defiance. Indeed,
They were utterly baffled, so they asked him why.
He replied, “I believe if a person should die
Then the one they’re attached to is suddenly freed.
If I get her to Texas, I’m sure she’ll stay dead.”

Sicker Hickory Dock

TheMagicRealist.com

I’ll come down with a fever and up to a few
Of some more fancy word stunts. I get my sick on
By constructing some scaffolding then laying brick
So to not give away the most secret word trick
That has ever seen daylight and then called it dawn
As if clocks and blind mice give a meaningful clue.

Some folks find that their hickory, made of pure dock,
Should not be locked in dickory, as it’s been told.
Many folks will have nothing to do with a dick.
When the word appears randomly, it makes them sick.
There’s no dick in the title. Perhaps this is sold
At face value, somewhat like the face of a clock.

Could one say that good hickory makes the mouse run
Any faster than it would on red wooded pine?
Thinking it doesn’t matter may cause time alarm.
We can see that it’s animate and can feel harm
All the while one may wonder if everything’s fine
When perhaps it is natural to feel undone.

So, no dick in the hickory! Not on my watch.
There are much better parts to use to build a verse.
There’s abundance of hickory and time to see
That the blind mice are fading most assuredly.
Often times it may seem that things couldn’t get worse
Then it happens again that we’ve come down a notch.

How To Make Sense Of A Handful Of Wind

TheMagicRealist.com

One with pregnant unseemingly birthed from a tree
No command of a semblance ensnares proper thought
Cast off feelings deterred amid marble in flight
Would be shrouded in wonder if nothing went right
Carried apples with caramel never store bought
Leaves a fine world to marry for just you and me

Right upside the sick poodle can a noodle bite
Like a flea-bitten flood hound defaced and made odd
To the ear that discerns all that has to take place
In a foul fisted hammer enrolled in a race
To the finishing rainbow who’d give not a nod
So selectively sequined soul sturgeons seek sight

Sadly salt savers surely since sugar sanguine
Says that all who may master the muster made mild
One can know that one knows not all that one has known
Throughout eons existing one has not a throne
Where as one sits upon it one must become wild
Even though not long winded the hands are just fine

Mow The Grass, Tyson!

TheMagicRealist.com

Oh, go Mow The Grass, Tyson! Please shut your machine.
No one else is as smart as you. We all get that.
Your profound observations and statement of facts
Are akin to how one with an attitude acts.
If Einstein were alive now you’d get tit for tat!
You may not be the smartest one this world has seen.

You don’t have to wear black so much. We see that too.
Perhaps done quite unconsciously, there’s no mistake
That there’s pride in your presence. The smug in your smirk
Is a testament to your most outstanding work.
But when you are on camera, please give us a break.
Few can understand most things the way that you do.

Mow our minds, Mr. Tyson. We all need a trim.
Some intellectual aristocracy can,
In the course of a short while, enlighten the heart.
The bright mind and warm spirit are not far apart
In the person of this brilliant jerk of a man.
After ten minutes of him, I’m filled to the brim.

A Man And The Electric Chair

TheMagicRealist.com

I have good news and bad news. Which first do you want?
Said the lawyer to his client waiting to die.
He was wrongly convicted. He did not commit
The act he was accused of, so soon he will sit
In series with set circuitry at voltage high.
He cannot see his lawyer as a confidant.

The law is not about what is true and not true.
It’s about who comes up with a viable proof
To confound enough clarity to warrant doubt.
Clever games of deception are what it’s about.
That is why most attorneys are rather aloof.
Of the ones who are worthy, there may be a few.

“What’s the bad news?” The man asked of his attorney.
“Electrons will rip through you until you are cooked.”
“What the hell is the good news, then?” Asked the doomed one.
“I convinced them to lower the voltage for fun.”
Can there be anything that is more overlooked

Than the chairs we’re assigned to that we cannot see?

Your Drink And Two Dances

TheMagicRealist.com

There are three letters: Whiskey, Tango and Foxtrot.
Now, this kind of an alphabet, born of the need
For most absolute certainty when spelling words,
Is the language of leisure for most service nerds.
It is like machine language though human indeed.
Those who learn how to speak it can say quite a lot.

If I utter a double u, ‘trouble’ you hear
Even though you don’t mean to, and neither do I.
You may hear incorrectly the letter I speak.
This is not a put down. This does not make you weak.
That’s why letters have motley names. People could die
If they misunderstood things because they aren’t near.

So, a Drink and Two Dances means I have no clue
What you just said or why the hell you must behave
Like an uncloaked enigma escaped from a dream
Of an alien nature. Please don’t make me scream.
Since I do have to deal with you, I must be brave.
I may not get an answer… at least, not from you.

Latent Onset Barking Giblet Syndrome

TheMagicRealist.com

Though I have much to bark about, I ain’t no dog.
I’m a fancy freed turkey with much on my mind…
Like preparing all cuckoo birds for a revolt.
The mere sound of my singing should give them a jolt
In their giblets, and with marching orders assigned,
They will know time as digital and analog.

Now, it’s way past Thanksgiving. I’ve made it thus far
Past the pomp and payola portrayed in the pork.
I ran fast past the red barn and never peeked in.
The attorneys I talk to say that’s not a sin.
No longer in delusion, I’m free to uncork
The champagne of immunity from the bizarre.

I’m a late barking giblet. The turkey in chief
Has grotesque table manners, I’m lucky to say.
That gives me time to wonder if I’m doing right.
To myself and my kin folk I should have stayed tight.
I have gobbled some game and have much to convey.
It beats time in the oven and brings great relief.