Nov 25

Proxy eyes

Banking on a yes 

There’s a word for that,

cycling through the past saying,

"He took a stand and look what happened."

Never was a lover

Much of my energy was spent

Crushing beer cans in the pussywillows

Spitting in stairwells

It’s no joke.

0 plays

Nov 25

P R E  W A R - My Friend, the Enemy

Oct 24

Sometimes when the band is feeling stressed out we load into into the band van and head for the closest Asian massage parlor. The ladies and gentleman at these fine establishments can do wonderful things for your mind, body, and spirit. Powerful hands can make short work of your twisted tarsals.

In this video demonstration, we see a professional musician working on his “chops.”

Oct 03

Pre War in the City of Drummerly Love.


Seeking: relaxed male. Valedictorian. Knows his way around a dojo. Strong hands. Wide hips. Shamus-type. Gets along well with Chrissy and Janet. Loves shark fin soup. Attractive (obviously). From sun up to sun down. Wears jackets. Knows when to stop. Goes down marvelous. Eats everything. Hand fed.

230 plays

Apr 02


Picture yourself, young master, tying your shoes, relieving yourself in our cafeteria, doing whatever it is you do. Can’t you see yourself, believing yourself, finally being free of yourself, and owning it all? Come, lie dormant for a while. Habituate. Lose yourself in the blue lakes of aphasia while a band plays knowingly in the background. Forget we are even here! Do you belong to daddy? Does reality own you, too? Hey, look over there! Ponies.

119 plays

More open ocean. Plenty of eyes on us. The queen exudes misery while Mr. M is in a queer cast of mind. The imbecile opens his mind, which lost the world—he’s a girl, beside a canyon fire, flickering along the rim. Sniper fire oozes from the guns. Wide-eyed children make way for Herod. No point in apologizing to civilization. Your allegiance has been pledged. It was all one great big misunderstanding.

90 plays

Jan 06


Dear Martha, 

Life at base camp is a hoot. The apple moon rises while the swallows are sorrowing in the orchards. Stan says hi. His noodle stew is vertiginous. Mangoes grow wild here and you can barely put a foot down without stepping on a rind or two. Still I’m somewhat blue. I miss you. What kind of life is this—taking core samples, harrowing the drifts, sifting silt for godknowswhat? Will we ever find what we are looking for? I feel like a fool. Captain Pout says we must keep our spirits up. I dream often of Tulsa, my home, where the bread bakes itself and the knives melt like poisoned soldiers. Wait on me, Mawmaw. See you at The Big Show! 

Truly Yours,

Captain Spengler

239 plays

Dec 14


Gaunt little nibblet. That dark pardon me feeling. Parsing meanings with a filet knife. An inexact science is what it is. Moments pass. Everyone lies down. ¡Que verguenza!  I am leaving now through this doorway. Can’t you see what is going on here? There’s snow in the hospital. Earthquakes in the night. Rain for weeks at a time. Time to dust of the ark, put the kids in it. The bees in their dark hives

140 plays