i think i'm going crazy i think i'm losing my grip i think i'm going crazy i think i'm finally losing my shit maybe i'm hallucinating but there ain't no mistaking the smell of burning bacon when i see blue pigs on two legs constructing androids and taking down names maybe i'm really just dreaming but there's a cloud coming down and i sure as hell ain't sleeping seeing zombies feasting in factories shamble out the back door looking more like machines i must be going crazy is it okay if i go a little homicidal one day? and blow away every racist homophobe who gets in my way will the men in white coats come and take me away? to some nice happy place where they know my name where the drugs are free and they all wear a smiley face well in that case babe, you can call me insane

blurred through the mumbling atomic cafe i thought i heard you say i am become deaf destroyer of words but you were breath become butterfly effect spiraling within the stereophonic white-noise drone of a static radio station tuned to the music of the silent colossal rotation of the planets, stars, sun and moon behind the drawn curtain of a vanished polaroid still these beating hearts to a murmur slow these breathing lungs to a whisper and attach the cello strings of your bloodstream to that glittering confetti cloud of satellites strobing, circling the sphere of our atmosphere strung out on geo-synchronicity the turning tunnel of the tides the aeon-spanning volcanic swirl of magma subsonically writhing beneath the magnetic pull of the ocean floor and just...listen... can you hear the flaming crackle of the fire burning in our bellies? if we slit our stomachs open the flames that spill from our hari-kiri'd entrails will fill the darkness in the corner of our closet and burn it to ashes in a dream i saw us laughing together many years from now when the blast-furnace of our blood, sweat, tears and acid dreams gapes wide we will laugh in it's face at the absurdities of death and taxes and as the years push through we will laugh as we go blind in our old age growing brighter than the glow from within the dollhouse home we assembled from sticks n stones and we will grow gray together and fill the soles in our shoes the holes in our soles with the dirt, rust, ash, concrete and angel dust of these city streets and we will laugh like pyromaniacs as we piss on burial plots soil our own graves and erase our fingerprint smudges from the blueprints of our jailbreak escape plan flames will erupt from the holes in our heads consume us spread in a tectonic shock-wave and lick the pale toes of angels and dreaming junkies hovering on ghost clouds of opium soot just above the foot of our bed the outlines of our bodies will liquify, disintegrate and reform as the jagged teeth of a cityscape skyline crowned crookedly upon the head of a crippled pigeon ascending in a stuttering climb towards a heaven that does not exist for us shaking ash and bone-dust from twisted feather our flames will spread further devour prehistoric forests suck roots and tree trunks to bare bone and march in a coronation parade upon the city gates behind a revolutionary brigade of angry red army ants finally, those flames will surround a broken boombox lost behind a landfill-mound of moth-chewed cardboard moving boxes containing the soft stains of dream and memory tagged, painted, and graffitied in white out, in sharpie duct tape peeling from perforated speakers the flashlight-sized battery compartment an empty coffin i didn't cry the day you died. i'm sorry. the reality that you had passed away at barely twenty-five didn't really hit me, even at your eulogy and that still haunts me. they say that denial is the first stage of addiction but I assumed that you knew that death was a possible side-effect of your prescription. about two weeks after your wake, it hit me like a train. i was riding the n judah to the end of the line at ocean beach when I passed a throw-up piece that you had painted a few years before in the train tunnel near haight and cole. it was a big letter "a" in lowercase with an exclamation point next to it. i once asked you what it meant. you shrugged and said, "i just like the shape of it," and something clicked. it was then that i realized (that) the flames of our light, love and laughter move faster than the speed of life and those flames pass us by in the blink of an eye if we're not quick enough to catch 'em and return the letters like stars we borrowed, typed, stole, scribbled and scrawled across the pages of the sky back to the sprawling library of the night where they belong where we belong

surprise he lost his eyes they popped out the sockets of his skull rolled away from his feet like little glass marbles thrown by the hand of a child on the sun-cracked street sometimes he'd flail his bruised limbs groping wildly for something solid in the dark lose his balance in his dizzy panic tripping on his own shoe laces winding through park sometimes he got so wound up he'd spin into the sky like a jet plane spinning through the rain burning brighter than m80s watching daisies swirl down the drain sometimes she'd pick those eyes up as gingerly as if she was picking cherries from a tree polish 'em down with the hem of her skirt or the edge of her shirt and gently close them in his hand and she'd say, "i think you may have lost these eyes. you might need to use them sometime."

tonight is a night for a night on the town so paint it blood red and burn it all down lace up your boots or best dancing shoes turn up the bass and drown out those blues aging hipsters don't die they just get new tattoos fuck fixing a fixie, just dye yr roots blue darlin dry yr eyes and dont you cry when i die crank hickey and get high like it's 1999 cheers! dry those tears the end drawth near but it'll wait til next year cheers! have no fear the end drawth near but it'll wait til tomorrow, my dear coke tastes like shit except when it's free cut with plastic and laxative american dreams now you may be the queen of england or the king of the street but tonight when you sleep you're still a no one just like me

Who's gonna sneak into the S.F. public water supply system tonight? Who's gonna spin the tap and give it all back to those that jammed us all up for public urination, self-medicated sedation, and the Stations of the Cross we have all lost at one time or another? Who's gonna dump in hallucinogens that'll make em unzip their skin and repent for all their sins, schemes, and conspiracies? Who's gonna hijack an empty jet plane strapped with OJ n gasoline leaves n aces up their sleeves, bunny rabbits from magic hats and C-4? Who's gonna bust open the emergency door and watch all the concentrated ugliness of humans get sucked out in the air pressure differential? Below, There are bodies sequentially piling like sandbags in mounds in places we don't seem to give a fuck about to even pronounce properly I've never seen limp fingers withering like burnt tree limbs I've never seen crimson constellations on the ceilings of abandoned school buildings I've never seen vultures circling like hallowed, feathered halos above the sulfurous scent of barbwire-souled angels Rittled with riddles of U.S. shrapnel And they just keep poking more holes in the people, in the wells, in the soil of overcrowding cemeteries

American consumer death burger honky culture is doomed to fail Like the Roman Empire, Napoleonic France, and the German 3rd Reich came n went in the blink of an eye This 4th Reich is reaching the end of it's rope And we're collectively laughing until that noose snaps our collective necks below the trapdoor We won't be laughing anymore when OUR shit hits the floor Eyes peeled back like orange rinds in disbelieving death roes Dethroned from our cellphone deathbeds TV/ internet dreamlands iPod disconnects Missed Connections Her talons Full of figs and arrows How can she possibly land on the tip of a flagpole and remain stable, stationary When that pole is already creaking with red blood-lines, white-line Dogma and the blue eyed skies and seas speckled with the blinding pentacle purity of smart bomb explosions We've wounded her We stoned her and broke her wings We put our wedding rings on the bathroom sink We took shots at her and clipped her feathers She's been hopping from pole to pole since the fall of Nero's Rome She ain't on her last legs though I wanna wake up tomorrow with make up stains on my pillow I wanna see electronic guts n circuitry piled high on the pavement, Auto mobiles without wheels rocketing to the Sun I wanna see the guns that were made to be used in her name pretzeled Tears drying from the eyes of their barrels I wanna see her unafraid of colorcodes and timecodes Tapping out Morse-codes instead of barcodes I wanna see her in full bloom again I wanna see her plumage again I wanna see that The Eagle Has Landed on a mountain on the Moon without Old Glory, without oxygen masks On her own two talons Behind the trees, behind the curtain Prominent men make prominent decisions that cause divisions among us They give us just enough circus and bread to keep us just enough entertained and fed to keep us in psychic prisons But we're building Rainbow Prisms from stainless steel bars, ballpoint pens, and beat-up guitars We're wrapping our pinkies around the strings of stars and yanking them down from a forgotten sky And before you blow out your candles tonight, honey Ask yourself, "what have I been drinking?"

i was so sick you were so high i was so still unborn we ran through the night crashed through the sky then you broke through didn't you? things don't always turn out like you want them to we had everything and nothing and everything to lose wouldn't you? i was so dumb and you were something i wish i could understand

The City lights blinked out forever--literally overnight--with a sudden finality that caught even the most nuclear-winter-prepared/Guns N Ammo reading/Campbell's canned soup and distilled-water stocked/backyard-fallout-shelter-owning-survivalists completely off guard. Armageddon had always been there, sleeping just beyond the horizon line of our periphery, but it awoke fully clothed and ready to go to work that day. It was an ordinary Thursday, just like any other. The MUNI lines were choked as always with angry elderly women clutching plastic shopping bags full of pungent vegetables, poultry, and recyclables as if their lives depended upon the contents of those bags (maybe they did) and the usual gaggle of gibberish-mumbling crazies talking to themselves with cellphones plugged into their brains, some without.  That day, baristas were 5 minutes, 23 seconds late for work on a city-wide average. Bartenders were making their rent in tips as rowdy soccer fans converged in their local Sunset, Richmond, Mission and SOMA district faux-Irish pubs to watch the latest big championship match between Ireland and...some other country. By Saturday, less than two days later, the desperate siren-blare of emergency vehicles, the insect hum of DPT tri-bikes carrying cutthroat ninja-sneaky meter maids ready to make their weekly quotas by slipping bogus $55 parking tickets under the windshield-wiper of your best friend's beat-up, barely-working mid-90s Mazda you were borrowing just for the night, and the cloud-cutting rotary-whine of channel 5 news traffic-report helicopters chopping through the sky had been silenced forever.   As if sensing the absence of gardeners, street sweepers and garbage men, weeds grew out of the cracks of the streets and sidewalks with the newfound urgency of a wildfire. Leaves swirled through glass and concrete skyscraper canyons, settled, and slowly began forming mounds as if attempting to fill the spaces that angry elderly women with plastic shopping bags, cellphone schizophrenics, and drunken soccer fanatics had once occupied. Speculation about how the End of the World would actually occur had always been a theological reference point for religious zealots hell-bent on giving the Book of Revelations some validity, but had taken on a tone of comical absurdity in the hands of post-Y2K pop culture and disaster movies. A horde of zombies rising from their graves and feeding on the flesh of small bands of living human survivors was one of the more popular, albeit fantastic, apocalyptic theories. Some predicted that robots would enslave us, some thought aliens would invade us, while still others--baring signs reading "THE END DRAWTH NIGH," arms stretched meaninglessly up towards the hollow heavens in the sky above--believed biological or nuclear warfare to be the most likely form of humanity's demise. But by the following Thursday, speculation had become a moot point; none of it had mattered at all in the end as the power-grid of the City, and then human civilization altogether, had been suddenly switched off for the last time by an alcoholic rent-a-god, leaving the face of the globe devoid of any trace of the spiderweb-night-glow of terrestrial city-lights.  Only the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea were spared to fill the blank pages of history that were to follow human(kind's) fading footprints. *** Aeons later... When those birds learned to read, they would see cryptic symbols inside a crooked heart jaggedly carved into a tree trunk surrounded by a mote of fallen leaves and ragged newspaper pages blowing through the streets like tumbleweeds. Aeons later... A trickling trail of bleeding hearts would lead back to the worm-eaten remains of a pair of skeletons holding skeleton hands beneath that tree. And that tree would become a monument to the fire of an unwritten four letter word.

This one's for the honey's with the flames in their hair Pump up yr hearing aids, dentures in wheelchairs Downtown, the shoppers are so perky and bright Twitchin' headless chicken flappin in the night Now you got nothing else to prove Needles skipping in the groove When you got nothing left to lose You got the broken record Broken record Broken record blues His lobotomy left the bulding in a taped-up baseball hat Scribbling in the gutter watching androids getting fat Yuppies on Segways out the window rolling down a one way street Passing Garbage Pail Kids spittin rainbows and broken feet Chewing up computer chips: delete alt control Concentration level: approaching zero Sheep counting sheep and the wolves just lick their teeth Something tasted funny in yr drink as the shepherds fell asleep