Saturday, September 16, 2017

Letters from Syria


Dear Mother,
 I'm really sorry for upsetting you and dad. But, my mind is made up. I'm a grown man, I'm no longer a pup. No hard feelings, and please don't stay mad. It's only sensible to be respectable to the Koran. Dad said I make skinheads look respectable. That comment I still don't understand.

 The boss told me that I'm one of the chosen ones. So, I shall slay the weak and overcome.
We are creating a universe for our blood thirst. Destroying infidels will rid this curse, of open minded views. They will feel our blade, so their children can watch it on the news.

Dear Mother,
 Okay, I'll fess up. I think I messed up for answering the "Work in Syria" flyer
I grew my beard out, but I found out these guys might be liers!
One person I find acting strangely, is our manager Steve. We knick named him Mr. Gangely and
I think he wants me to leave, and every time he see's me he looks like he has the dry heaves. He was transferred from Langely, but this could be another trick up his sleeve. All this misinformation, he's hard to believe. He promised me freedom from my oppression, if I do everything he say's
Which is all fine and dandy, if you like your underwear sandy and having sex with things that  "Bah's" and "Neigh's". Anyway, the boss said, believe in me and you'll get three meals a day. It struck me funny, from the irony, that you get the same deal at Guantanamo Bay. If only I was born 3000 years ago.We would have been the best of buds, I surely know. Playing in camel turds, and having sex with goat herds. A splendid time it would have been.
So, it's up to me to keep this candle going in the desert wind.

Dear Mother,
 Other than the weather, things have gotten better. And disregard what I said about the fellas in the last letter because I don't want to sound like a bed wetter. We just misunderstood each other. And ever since my first kill, they treat me like a brother. I'll have to admit though, it was kind of gross.
Do you know how difficult it is to get blood out of clothes? I finally received my first pay statement!
Apparently, I weeks earnings is a plate of camel steak and an hour in the rape tent. And before I forget, let me tell you about our little ice breaker. My roomies prayer time turned into swear time
when I showed him a doodle on paper. I was expecting applause, but what I got was a kick to the balls, over a silly picture of Santa Clause. I didn't understand it. He just grabbed it and shared it with the whole encampment, acting like I broke some commandment. Whatever, right?

 But other than that shit, it' been pretty groovy. I've been helping them with this little movie. I can't give you many details, over the contract saying that they'll sue me. The caterings great! Between takes, we break for dirt porridge and dung soup! Okay...okay, I'll share with you a little about the movie, since I trust you. They are ninjas and I'm in an orange jump suit. But, that's it about this action flick. This will be a classic! I'm really ecstatic! You definitely shouldn't miss this. It should be finished soon and be out before Christmas.

Dear Mother,
 Okay, where do I start? I'm sorry for breaking both of your hearts. What can I say? Please, accept my apology. I really mean it this time, and no, I know I said the same thing when I quit Scientology.
Psychologically, there is something wrong with me. I was never fond of me. I never understood
myself properly, as well as the way my "brothers" respond to me.

Do you remember what I wrote in the last letter? Apparently, the ones that were friendly, thought
they would like me better, with my head dismembered! What up with that, right?

  Luckily, I was able to escape after a drone strike that knocked out their search lights.
It was total chaos! There were people blown away every where! When the U.S. was trying to slay us,
I messed up my underwear. Jihad John was really mad, along with his combatinents because this attack upset their nightly rusty trombone practice. He's been a lit match and a can of gas, ever since
the collapse of Iraq, and being bitch slapped for having his morals mismatched and unattached from this Cali chap named Pat. But now, he does ruddy solos in his buddies buttholes like a leather boy Londoner, while his back up band refer to him as the girly boy "Govenaaa".

Weird right? But, this is in the past. And all I ask, is for you guys to pay for my flight, home.
I really wished I let you steer me right, but instead I just moaned and groaned, and left on my own.
I feel like a douche. My short fuse and radical idealistic views, made me lose in the end. And now I realize that all I ever wanted was to be accepted by family and friends.


Your loving son,

P.S. Can I have my old room back?

 

Monday, September 11, 2017

Two Worlds



She wonders....

How two worlds collided to make herself?

But at least she's not alone, she has some one else
She watches, her brother build mountain tops
And then, knock them down again
She's worried, but at least she has a friend

They've wandered through an adult world of pretend
Jumping through wormholes that will never end
With two fractured souls that learned how to mend

Nothing can stop the wirl wind, just let it spin

They stand, together hand in hand
Another crowded station, and more demands
Their mothers wishes are over bearing
Their father insists that they are over caring

A couple that acts as if nothing's wrong
With two children wanting to belong
He wonders, why he doesn't look the same
Too much praise from the others fills him with shame

He watches, another one of his kind being shuffled through the crowd
Their eyes meet, and wish to speak, but these two worlds are too loud

He looks up to his sister, and realizes then...

That she's the only one that understands
Mother is tired, and looks stressed out
Father tries to inspire but filled with doubt
The children are pressured, they just want to play
"Hushed", she whispers in his ear...

" Don't worry, it gets better, live for another day."

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Surfer Girl

She was a surfer girl... Living in a white trash world
With a mix of crips and Lompoc locos
I was a metal head
Surviving in the land of the dead
Washing dishes at the neighborhood Cocos


 Upper echelons and Friday night drink o thons...

Was her life in this little Cali town
Head Banger Ball sing o longs
Skipping classes and loading bongs
Was what kept me in the down and out

The first time I seen her
I wanted to do something obscene with her
But my lack of confidence shut me up
She sat at the front of the class
Blonde, blue eyed and full of sass
She had nothing to do with a fourteen year old pimple faced pup


And as the days passed, I would just dream of her thies
And that bottom crack of her ass, which was always a nice surprise

When walking in late for class
She would pass me by
That smile on her face
Would make me fantasize, it was for me

But it wasn't....
The surfer girl had a skeleton in her closet
When I saw " I love Tom " on her book, I nearly lost it
My friends told me I'd better pause it
Because I started to believe my own bullshit, until I saw it

It was around 11th grade, when I felt betrayed
With something I created in my head.
How could she not love a nobody, with no money
Our make believe romance was buried and dead
And what really made it worse was when "Tom" emerged
And proposed to her after graduation

He was our P.E. teacher
When he was creeping with her
While I used her for masturbation....

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

The Punk Years (Part Four)

We had finally scored a victory, due to the Santa Barbra show, and were finally able to break apart from the other shitty bands...with our own brand of shittyness. When we were packing up the car that night, Mr. Mohawk (The promoter) ran up to us, fuming at the mouth.

Mr. Mohawk- You motherfuckers will never play here again! You're fucking banned!

And while he was ranting and raving, our new found minions were chanting our name as they exited the parking lot in their parents pick up mobiles.

 Even Scott was in better spirits after that show, but after two more years of causing mayem, he finally threw in the towel. No one was really upset about this, since he was the odd man out in this group. So, we said our farewells with our middle fingers, and Todd became the new axe man of KFC.

But what about the drummer position?

Well, our buddy Raj joined us. His band at the time went by the name of None The Less. I don't remember the whole story but I think his band was on hiatus at the time, so after a few practices, he was able to gel nicely with the rest of us knuckle heads. He only played for us for about a year, but the time we had spent together was a blast. Raj was a cool guy.

I was a booking maniac at the time. So, with the help of "Book Your Own Fucking Life" I was able to put our first tour together. B.Y.O.F.L. was created by Maximum Rock and Roll. This handy little guide pretty much had every phone number and contact name to whomever was putting together punk shows in America. That three dollar investment got us twenty shows from LA to Longview, Washington and back. I think we actually profited a good thirteen hundred dollars with that two weeks, stuffed in Pauls Honda.

 For the next two years though, the revolving band member door began to move. Raj was feeling the pressure from his other band, and after we played this crazy show that involved fifty plus people fighting in the pit ( Skinheads verses punks ), he said his goodbyes.

We were playing at the time when this little incident went down, and on top of that, I booked the band that brought the Nazis. So, we got red flagged by the punk rock community for a while. I actually got death threats for a good week after that show. I tried to explain my position of business and that we were not apart of this group, but no one wanted to listen.

I will go more into this story in the next posting.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Zosters




The world needs its monsters....

So, that its people can check off their moral rosters

And eliminate their personally elected imposters

 Idealistrc mobsters, living like rock stars
Think of them as zosters...
Erupting every now and then....

And like the gannet...
It doesn't matter how fast you swim...
Singing a death hymn trying to smack the world
In the chin....

Turning hopeful to grim
While the peace light quickly turns to dim
And your soul is released from within


But, if they are the righteous
I might just be the devil
Less them human vampires, multiplying like rabbits
Taking crazy to another level

War is a necessary evil for our race to thrive
The masses will never believe you...
When you tell them without it,
We would have fucked ourselves to death
And ceased to survive....
Brought to our knees, with famine and disease
Because we are never using our minds
Just living for sex, until we are out of breath
Losing focus and wasting our time
And this is when the Zosters erupt again
Cutting us down like swine

 

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Tony the Bully


The bell rang, it was recess time....

 

I was a small boy of eight, around 1979
 

We had twenty minutes....

To raise hell...
 

Before returning to class

Which always felt like a prison cell
 

Being force fed reading, writing, and math

And If I was given the chance, I definitely wouldn't go back

 

Oh, what to do? 

Got no time to stand in line....

I might as well forget about the swings

And try my luck at the slide
 

But before I knew what was going on

Something had terribly gone wrong

When my face was slammed into the dirt

By some Italian jerk....
 

Who was wearing a "Chewbaca  Rocks" baseball shirt

Oh, what the hell? This means war!

But before, I could get up, he pushed me down, once more...

 

He said, " At three o'clock at the park, your ass is grass!"

I agreed to this battle, trying not to laugh....

 

The clock struck three...

I waited with my friends for the Italian bully

I tried to look courageous but inside

Fear was overtaking my foolish pride

And that's when his sister rode up on her bike

And skidded to a halt at my side, and said...

"My stupid brother is on his way. He's going to stomp your face, DEAD!"

 

I gulped, I shook, but I stood my ground

I probably would have split, if none of my friends were around

And that's when I heard the sound....
 

Of running sneakers, in the distance
 

Tony was on his way, angry as always, and with persistence 
 

He yelled, " You're dead punk. I'm going to do this slow."

He swung, I ducked, and then flipped him with a judo throw

Everyone just gasped because they were surprised to see...

I just laughed, and said, "I learned that from watching TV."
 

And my finishing move that gave Tony disgrace

Was a handful of sand into his eyes and face

I definitely couldn't have had won, and destroyed this jerk

If it wasn't for my master James T. Kirk

 

Don't take shit from anyone....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday, August 17, 2017

No Borders


She was shown the stars...

 From their apartment rooftop.....

Locating Venus and Mars with an old scope
Propped up with a boot string, tied to a crude mop

 Pop, then took out his compass from his jacket
While shaking his head about the traffic down below making a racket

 And introduced the mechanics to her with excitment
Hoping that she would listen long enough
To gain some knowledge and enlightment

" To the East of here is where I was born. I was a sworn warrior from California, molded and worn from its shores. The red tailed hawks soared above me, as the waves carved  the warm sands. Leaving the beaches crippled and torn. To the North is where your grandparents still reside. Make sure you spend time with them when they are still alive. Thier stories will make your mind healthy and wise. To the South, is where the birds fly when it gets colder. Us humans follow suit, when we grey and get older. And to the West, is where the sun dips, so the moon can take over. And be the beacon of light for the poor crossing man made borders. But, where ever you go, respect where you are. And the world will take care of you like its own very star."

They then stood there in silence
And gazed at the heavens
A dog barked in the distance


And Pop realized it was almost eleven

Without saying a word, she agreed with a yawn
And before packing up, he thought to himself


His place of birth will light up with the dawn

Letters from Syria