Eventually, we are corrupted.

Whole industries are built on our fear.

I don’t want to be beautiful.

That’s a young person’s dream

and an old person’s nightmare.

I have a sweatshirt

that looks as if I was shot

three times in the gut.

My golf shoes are molting like snakes

black

with plastic leather

flaking off

“You need new golf shoes,” My mother said. “They’re despicable.”

I looked at them, and smiled

I was becoming, who I always wanted to be

a mad magician

Suddenly, my footwear

revealed

my madness

within—it only took

a decade—that’s how long I’ve had my golf shoes.

I’ve seen more sunsets, in them

than in any pair

I’ve owned.

There is magic in each day, in the twilight

but most people miss it!

It vanishes, as quickly as it appears.

My mother and I

walked into our favorite bookshop.

Short stories, are my obsession

There are more good ideas in there

than all the novels written

in the last 50 years.

I pulled Hawthorne off the shelf

for 99 Cents.

Hemingway

cost 7 dollars.

Everybody reads the man who blew his brains out with a shotgun

because he’s easy.

Hawthorne’s stories are beyond a Rorschach ink-blot test on the wall

There is evil hidden in his vocabulary

if you can decipher it.

There is more classical music in the world

to lift your spirits

than all the alcohol you can drink.

There are more beautiful paintings

to look at

than all the pornography that steals your soul, and drives the internet to ruin.

The devils that run the world

don’t eat fast food.

They dine on Caviar, King Crab, and Filet Mignon

They celebrate the centuries

like the despicable creatures they are.

They don’t eat the shit off the streets

like we do.

They don’t argue

manufactured

obvious

lies.

Turn-off your recommended feed.

Stop speaking into your technology.

Play a real Piano.

Ask yourself, “Is this technology, feeding my soul, or stealing it?”

There are less and less beautiful people in the world

and more and more monsters in make-up.

We have to cover-up

our ugliness

because of what

we have done

what we have dined-on

Cannibals, eating each other

A fat person grazes on salad for lunch

and twinkies

at midnight.

The wolf devours himself

in the dark.

Our power

comes from the Spirit

stifled,

spit-on,

and denied

More real

than those microwaved meals

that taste like the boxes

they come in.

Rip them

and pour that cheap crap

into the trash.

Cultivate a Family

a Garden

Taste Something Real

and You will Feel

Connected.

We live in Gray Boxes

when we should live under the Blue Sky

We embrace manikins—our false selves

When we should love, flesh and blood.

I want to read under the cherry trees

on my own land

without any evidence

that it’s 2022.

How many years have we lived

without a sign of man’s machines?

I don’t need to drive a smart car

or tell time with a smart phone

because

Facts, are needless things

if you have the truth.