The Sun is Racist

Moses warned me
Touch not, and the sea will rise
trust the sun and swallow your pride
He mentioned nothing of sickness,
or poverty,
or pollution,
or suffering,
or the true nature of man
who hates the sun for his cancer

When I was a child I welcomed his arrival
but now old, I wait for it to set
Neither sites proving to me the existence of God
I've been blinded by the rays
Seeking the Eye hidden in the center
"The Eye of God" they say
But, like all Bigots,
The Sun refuses to show his true color
So he blinds me in spite

Now I curse his arrival
Sleeping in the day until the ecstasy of night
when the moon soothes my wounded soul
A selfish bastard, I am
Knowing somewhere beyond the horizon
A cold young girl prays for light
as her praying fingers freeze black
and her world ascends into darkness
while blessed by the bastard sun

A worthless circle of flame,
giving me only drought and distraught
Thinking of Moses,
who thanked the Lord for it's warmth
and of the tribes who worship it

Though I am no religious man,
each night I pray for that frozen child
So the sun will lift my own suffering
and depart my coast
to greet her in the morning of the Sabbath

Gray Suits

It's only half past noon
Sunday morning
I am drunk, yet again
waiting for the morning paper
the neighbors stare my oafish grin
noticing my intoxicated glory
laughing in their gray suits
off their day jobs, to pursue bigger and better things
I shake my head in disgust
For they're no different than me
To have such riches
is to first give up all hope
knowing that you will wake up each morning
to an angry wife and ugly children
hideous like the man you've become
demanding food and rent
leaving you empty and restless
but this is the fate of man
Gray Suits and fancy cars
deprived of joy,
withdrawn from morals,
even too tired for sex

And then you will die
your money given to the people you despise the most
to be wasted on all unnecessary virtues
wasted like every last dollar spent
Hell couldn't be much worse than this
So here I still wait by the porch
Burnt out and hungry
Going home to a worthless woman
and her ugly children
who once brought such joy
but now only shame
To the man in the gray suit

Heathens In Paradise

Here we are in the City of the Damned
Moonman wandering in clothes of sand
Yes, he died from the slumber machine
Pipe thin blood drips from a silver screen

Heathens in Paradise
Earth is but a landing ground for you

Four winged horseman, light the sky
Slay the beast who dares to fly
Maiden sees the angel launch his spear
In the woodlands found by King Lear

Heathens in Paradise
Only the fool may laugh at the truth

Midsummer night's dream in the Jazz Age
Langston Hughes has died today
Bathe in the Nile with your native sons
Cleanse your soul from what the white man's done

Heathens in Paradise,
Spare fine clothes for the wandering Jew

Son of man, your kingdom is night
Gospel of John will now rewrite
A story for peasants, told with a Gentile reign
Plant the seed of illusion for those who feign

Heathens in Paradise,
no room in heaven left for me

Proposition

Children fear for a plague is near
One of flesh to rot
Save your hide and protect your kind
For the poor and out of stock
It seems we're doomed yet it's overdue
A much deserved solution
So enjoy the ride until you die
Or simply use the institution

Jane in town

She was born in a no name town, somewhere in the east
Thought I’d pay miss Jane a visit to comfort her misery
But when I reached the gates of her home, a guard came upfront
He said, “Jane’s got no business seeing you tonight, now head back towards the sun.”
So I grabbed my sack and headed ‘til night
Thinking of all the times I could call her mine
But she’s a lone stone on the bridge, no rocks down below
Were to turn when the candles burn and fade with the breeze of snow
Who knows what she’d think of me these days, anyway?
I ran to the shore and found it a bore then headed back home to my dismay

Upon a time she looked so fine with flowers ‘round her waist
My blood was pure and coats of fur brought ease to my taste
I asked her, begged, on the side of my bed
Begging her to stay

She’s alive and well in some city street, a nice view of the sea
We’ve been living so far away, she don’t remember me
No time to slack and walk in the past, but the dreams were made of gold
Jane is tired of every guy, especially a fool like me so old
I thought, “Why not hang around in this town and find another gal?”
But then I fell asleep, passed out for weeks
Hating every swarm of these crowds
Walking alone in the sea of drones I light myself a smoke
Smiling at some for the fun of the dumb, knowing I’m now a joke
But my wit is yet to be sold

Upon a street she looked at me, kissed in the center of the street
Loved the way she stared and seemed to care about me
I spoke to her of love and heaven above
A memory bittersweet

Can She Dig?

You wonder who could make me melt
Tug the belt
Kill my health
She could talk a friendly game
Bring no shame
Take the blame
For all the men she’s cast a spell
Ring those bells
And bid me well


Can she dig?
Will she smile?
Can we make her stay awhile?
Time makes no mistakes in her motion,
She drinks wine from Tritan's ocean

You face her when the fear is clear
Yet still severe
A moment so queer
Now she moves her head away
What a sway
She can’t stay
For she’s the mistress of the tease
Hard to please
Everyman’s disease

Why’s she gone?
How’d we spawn
all the ruin bred at dawn?
Always these tides I couldn't stroke
Leaving a drifter's heart broke

Just

Greet the brand new day as you awake
Weary that nothing around us has changed
what to do with a pallet of sorrow?
Only sleep and hope for a better tomorrow
Lonesome in your trials to bear
Go in town, just for people to stare
Where to turn with no one by your side?
Fear stricken and nowhere to hide
once you find a partner to hold,
Remember it’s merely a story untold
one that will end as soon as it begins
Try to keep on traveling
For a beautiful world is in all our eyes
Unless you choose to only despise

Choked on the Flames

You’re dazed in the glory and soaked in the sweat
Of those who died early and lives they’ve regret
Came bustling and hustling down an old avenue
To come to respect my heartache so true
You’re dazzled and blind but still lead the way
Off a cliff made of nails to a journey’s disarray
Walked down the hills of disaster as you feel so blue
In time to rejoice this land own to you
It’s a burning desire that sets in the trace
Red to a crisp and robbed of all grace
Now you seek for the wind as voices around fade
Left with the image of a preacher on a stake
Stay clear from fire as you choke on the flames  

Morning Harvest

I’ve walked miles in my shoes
Done the tango and felt the blues
Waiting for the roads to end
Sleeping under desert space
Over with the human race,
Now all I want is a mere friend
All forgotten all can see
The desert now surrounds me
Speaking of the times way back when
Bone matter dripping from the caves
Who can act and who are they?
Watching the skies as they slumber
Out of answers, out of ice
Displayed upon a veil of rice
Fine dining is no way to plunder

Insomnia

 Nights like this make me look at the lights.
Glaze.
I haven’t stopped glaring at the bright, heavenly bulbs as they dangle from the ceiling above. A smile graces itself on my narrowed face and pale, starving cheek bones. The light of the day is good.
I’ll be just fine.
Now in this prison I have seen the light they at least give us, a small bulb in the hallowed land that is an empty room. The light reminds us there is a tomorrow, but even the light can’t prevent me from staring at the darkness outside the window.
The moon speaks for the outside world of night.
The most precious light of them all.
One day I will travel to this distant place. Not in body in spirit as I let the darkness consume me. The lost fail to see the light of the moon as they sleep. The insomniacs will wonder and wonder for the peak of the sun rising, which is quite a moment as well.
Here I wait.  

Herbert the Rat, beginning of Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Dylan’s presence is helping me get through this mess. It’s a strange place I’m living these days. I’ve been aloud outside my cage for an extended period of time. My systems were apparently too strong to manipulate and their medicine was beginning to give these almost incurable rashes. The sweat on my forehead is being treated by the locomotive sounding air conditioning that dominates this cold room. I’ve earned a pen and paper to jot down my various concerns and epiphanies. Most of it squiggles as my shakes which have been causing me to rush in the midst of words, it basically looks like scrabble.
My fucking God.
These people have no idea they’re hurting me.
Actually, I’m pretty sure they’re just too rich to care.
I puke. Such a mess to contain in this small room; perhaps I should sweep it off. Loneliness hasn’t left me yet. I’m in a community now of all mice. The mice aren’t bad people necessarily; they just seem too stupid to understand the concepts that make me ponder and lose sleep over. The mice fall asleep so easily...that fucking nitrous they give them makes them knock out hard. If only there was something that could make me feel as organic that these fucking mad scientists prescribe.
Idiot Wind...blowing every time you move your teeth,
We’re idiots babe. It’s a wonder we can even breathe.
Sing it, Bob.
Only you know the answers.
They’re the same questions that piss me off.
I just wish I could see the stars. They’ve been disappearing...being replaced with fluorescent lights and balloons that cover the skies infinite beauty. At least I have a small window on the ceiling. As cynical as I am no one can convince to not love the simple things in this lifetime. Cynicism is only a product of pure isolation and no feeling. Goddamn I miss the females. Outside of this cage they’re so graceful in their glory and outer beauty. Any man can become a fool over just one of them. Do I want a companion or will I remain satisfied with soaking up each of their appearance?
This reminds me I haven’t masturbated in two years. Can’t do the paper or screen at this point, lust is my only craving.
Maybe tonight I’ll masturbate.

Last Tango On Mars

I've traveled many spaces
Blinking my eyes blue
So I may tell your vaguely
This milky way is you

Watched the sun shine for us
Made the asteroids burst
Galactic cracking babies
Like comets at their worst

Come with me,
Come on Tonight
This tango starts on Mars

I make the moon bring thunder
To shy down a sunny day
But darling you won't wonder
This planet cannot fade

We'll stun the stars before us
Like gravity getting me down
So don't you freeze me up
Because I've spun this world 'round

Sweet Lily

Sweet Lily comes to me
I know just where she'd been, for
Her eyes have turned me gray
On a melting winter day

What's growing in her gown?
Such things make me look to the ground
I've seen beneath her sheets
Now Lily glares at me

Let's linger to her place
When it's whipped off of her face
She hasn't ran too far
Just the vacant ole snack bar

Coming home in August
I look down once she frowns
Now she's left me without a wallet
Living off my couch

Hot Tuna

Well that's a fine kinda drug
You're mistaking for your girl
Slimy and tastes like rye
In a polluted world
She's the shake that is the sneak
That bends your thighs and rots your teeth
Smoke rises from the fumes

Get loose.

She is craving for your soul
Making the tunnels turn to holes
Pours of green and tanks of gasoline
Skin death pale and in the sun
It bursts to flames and her work is done
Now you're all just crisp and numb
Knowing that you're rideled with her fun

The truth.

Waterfall

Drip, drip
Let yourself go
Slip into
The skin you'll grow
Reach down,
Feel the ground
Leave behind,
Make not a sound

Starvation

I stand here in my own grace
Digging from the toxic place
No one even knows who runs who now

It’s been long, the sky is clear
In my catatonic jeer
Thinking that the Gods are just laughing

We sit here to waste in piece
The bullets blown, the crowd at ease
Found salvation is clearly not working

They are strong but we are mean
Clouds so white and the ocean breeze
Days lay by and still we aren’t counting

They will show once we are numb
Our bellies fat and minds made dumb
By the crystal sky that keeps on cracking

So now I stand and play for dimes
Starving for my fruit of time
Thinking that the Gods are merely laughing   

Bastard

Bastard

Home is but a feeling.
Strung out and starving in my home now, I had to engrave the message of my soul onto something. The fridge was nasty either way, no use in trying to make it good. This place wasn’t gonna be mine for much longer, anyway. I’ll be out starving on the streets with the whole world free to judge while figures of my past still stalk me like a rabid wolf eager to attack. I’ll keep my distance, I thought. They can’t take shit from me at this point. I slammed the door behind me and left on a note rich with   bitterness and satisfaction.     
Home is but a feeling.
They don’t tell you that ‘til they throw out on the streets, when you’re old enough to wander past the neatly trimmed shrubs and friendly faces that pave a bright, chalk-decorated sidewalk towards a warm, Sun-drenched neighborhood in July. Now it’s much passed August and the faces have aged with the chalk now merely dust while the once youthful paperboy has become the neighborhood bum, scavenging dimes from the locals to fund the only habits keeping him alive.
You’re still young but have grown tall and lean with confidence thanks to a brutal upbringing. This was all worth it. You only know you’re a hardworking man when you’re used to waking up this way in the morning. Drunk and numb with a dry soul and an empty head ready to burst the moment you realize you’re swimming in a cesspool of your vomit. Just clean yourself up and head out of the house. Things have been this way for as long as you can remember.
It’s all fine and dandy when you’re a bastard, no one will ever fuck with you. Raw and roughened, no one can stand in your way. I knew this one kid...well, he was from Delaware...we used to beat the shit out of the neighborhood retard brothers because they thought it was funny to run across my lawn as if no one lived there...but ya’know that’s a story for another day.
Today I can only speak of the things I remember.
Those very few things.

One hazy, half-remembered morning I vaguely recall walking down Dixie for either smokes or a nice warm drink. I stumble each time I approach a fresh avenue. The very volatile nature of my stance evokes chuckles that cause people to stare and occasionally make their witty, humorous remarks to keep you in your place. Since I primed into a young man I’ve seen the faces of these folks. They attempt to either haunt or warn me with their bitter glances. No skin off my shit.
A sweat-drenched Guatemalan gives me a warm smile, an almost hypnotic glance tells me we’ve met before; but his face is merely distorted and distant.
Inching in a bit closer, he lends out his hand.
“Did you heard about the three prophets?” he asks.
“Pardon me, sir?”
He continues with some enthusiasm rising. At this point I’ve found comfort sitting next to him at the bus stop by my favored liquor store. He’s a funny looking guy of about 5’5 and a welcoming smile. The eeriness of his voice disturbs my strung-out mind.
“Three prophets from Columbia saw a vision, looking past the earth’s core. They said they saw images of Hitler and John Lennon burning. They will eternally suffer for their sins in the pit of fire.”
For a second I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. Not only am I in the presence of a madman but one whose convinced a notorious dictator is dwelling alongside one of the most profound musicians this earth was ever graced to have. I’m in no mindset to argue with him, so I shed a dopey grin.
“Well...ain’t that strange...”
The sun was beginning to retreat in the high afternoon. My patience began to grim as the grittiness of the evening finally began to ease in. I had places to go tonight.
The prophet continued, “You must your heart over to Jesus to secure your place in heaven. You’ll end up in the great pit with people in the likes of...”
Silencing him at last, I intruded.
“Have you ever seen heaven?”
This was when he gave me those glares of suspicion that I was perhaps yet another Duke of Hell. He kept his distance sitting on the bus stop; minding his own space and keeping his subtle demeanor.
“You don’t need to see heaven to feel its glory.”
He was sure of what he had to say. No bastard could doubt the logic of this prophet. I still had no choice other than listening to the things he had to say...after all, it’s not every day you meet a prophet.
“Where are you from?”
“I hail from down the street, right by that drug store.”
“You live off 10^th?”
His tension became noticeable. No longer was he in the presence of a young Bastard but also one from a rough neighborhood. This was going to be strange ride for the prophet. He still seemed well kept and unafraid, but we surely wouldn’t be exchanging names.
“Yessir.”
“I’ve been down that street a good number of times...I can only give you my greatest sympathy. Every time I’ve walked down that road I could only feel the presence of evil. Nothing more.
Pure evil.”
I couldn’t fucking help it anymore, I gave the most devilish grin my laughter could unleash. His concern was now more evident and I could feel it. His sweat began to increase and he started rapidly tapping his foot on the pavement. I said nothing.
“Not saying all the fools around that street are evil...Well there is this one house, actually.”
He started to get a bit interesting.
“Oh yeah? Which one?”
He shuffled his hands and remarked, “It’s a little strange because it’s not really a house per se...It’s this right side of a duplex. White building with two blue doors and a roof...Building A.”
Now I’m thinking I’m sitting next to a fucking stalker. This guy new exactly where I lived and was probably trying to pull off some wise shit. He’s really started to burn me out now.
“What’s with that house?” I ask.  
“It’s the home of the antichrist. The forces that be told me one rainy morning I wandered down that street. They told me with a booming thunder that also warned me he was only a young, troubled lad. His soul was possessed at a very early age and will eventually arise and thus the rapture will begin.”
I really wanted to break it to him. This was just too good. In one minute I learned that not only was I living on a street of evil but I was also the antichrist. His fear was so ripe.
If you’re reading this and still waiting for me to shed any care or decency towards a stranger like this, you can go fuck yourself. These are the diluted fools who keep people like me unheard and their baffling amplified on the streets everywhere. He’s the kind of psycho who gets all the attention in this fucking country, not the real deal like me.
Me and my kind stay underground in this world planting all the hate and temptation into the faces we meet. Their goodwill tries to test us and at times will prevail but the bastards never go empty handed in the end. Still, I don’t know what this motherfucker is talking about.
“There’s been a lot of talk about what goes on in that little neighborhood. A lot of it has to do with that house. I’ve heard some things.”
“You don’t say. Like what?”
“There’ve been some girls disappearing and then some allegations of them getting raped and murdered. Actually, I think all of them have led back to that particular home. No one lives on the other side of the duplex, not sure what happened to him...”
I check my watch and hope this goddamn bus is gonna get here fast. It won’t be long before I’m coming down and begging for a cold shower. The strange man keeps telling me stories of how people have somehow been killed in the place that I live...even going so far as to say I even murdered my own neighbor.
How could he know all this?
I sat quietly and kept minding my own business. From the corner of my eye I swear I could see him trying to look me in the eye without me knowing. As if he was trying to peer into my shade-covered eyes. I began to feel uncomfortable. A sense of tension was now in the air that came in contact with my own unease.
I made no motion towards him; just let him enjoy the fresh southern sunshine blazing down on both of us. A look of horror seemed to be somewhere in his eyes. I didn’t want to make eye contact with this stranger. Like me he was nothing but bad news.
“Lovely weather we’ve been having lately,” I choked.
He didn’t make a sound at first.
“Weather. All signs from God.”
The G word always gave me chills when not spoken about in church growing up. When you hear the sounds of a supreme being outside of the fundamental Sunday marketplace, you may be in the presence of a prophet.
I smile.

“Surely. And what good he’s done.”
This was when he finally laughed.
“Do you believe in the glory and good of God? Truly? Do you trust him that He controls the course of this universe?”
I swallowed a rough amount of phlegm and tried to remain serious. Now he was starting to bug me out.
“Sure. Why not?”
“What kind of answer is that? There is no WHY when speaking of the High One. He is all and we are nothing. We will die for him in his upcoming future. There will be nothing left of the material world to take away from us. All those who even question his massive might shall be banished to hell.”
I rolled my eyes again. There was the presence of a madman disguised as a prophet yet he was merely a stranger at a bus stop. What could I say to combat that? I had no theories I held onto like he did. It would be a cruel shame to simply mock another man’s beliefs. I once held that position to rain on his regime and parade, but that desire died when I saw the sunshine in a way I’d never looked at it before. He had a right to love life the same way I did, for we’d both seen the light.
“I’ve seen the eye of God,” I said.
“...and it was too fucking bright for someone of the likes of me.”
He only stared forward, returning to his force field that was strong of heart like mine.
When was this goddamn bus going to arrive?
The cars begin to race by before our eyes. So fast while reflecting light from their exteriors onto my shades that I only close my eyes to comfort a now dug deep within me to try and maintain. The light was winning.
The cars moved faster and faster.
Yes.
It was in fact real.
They were running at the speed of light.
“I’ve seen your kind before,” he murmured.
My eyes began to water and I melted in my seat.
When the bus finally arrived, I entered and hoped I’d be safe in the loud vehicle. Everyone on board looked in their own little world. Taking up to spaces I realized that my awkward bus stop companion was nowhere to be seen.
I look out the window and not a soul is present outside either.
And so on to the next town.

Herbert the Rat (Herbert speaks to the Doctor)

This is when the rate of my heartbeat begins to go haywire. I’m used to it; a friend of mine once told me I had a strong heart. I believed him until the day I was dumped by Rosetta.
She was really something. I can’t quite remember where everything went downhill. Most people tell me I fell too hard for her and hit my head rock bottom with what I assured myself was love. I know better now...but goddamn she was beautiful.
When the unit plays a slow, sad tune to soothe our aching ear drums I think of her. She had so much to offer for me. A perfect body, too. Nice and full of meat.
I’m thinking about her as I steadily work out on the wheel.
As the memories intensify so does the running, a typical part of the exercise.  Her gaze brought so much hunger to my starved mind as I am trapped in this institution.
The Doctor walks in.
“How is everything today, Herbert?”.
Shut your fucking mouth.
“Oh just dandy, sir.”
“Good to hear...very good to hear.”
“Just been wondering about my discharge date.”
“What about it?”
That motherfucker will never get me out of here.
“Well...uhm...sir, I’ve been here for about seven months and have had no contact with the outside world. Don’t you think it’d be about time? I never cause trouble or-“
“What’s wrong with your fellow mice, Herbert? Aren’t they your support group; your friends?”
“Doc...I’ve told you this. I’M A RAT!”
“Herbert. Don’t go there. We’ve had this conversation.
You are a mouse Nothing more.”
This is the torture I am faced with daily. I try and enjoy my small little world yet there’s nothing here for the pursuit of pleasure or even happiness. What a miserable fucking cage.
The Doctor exits. 
I know I wasn’t born a mouse.
Days like these make me feel like one.
So I retire from the wheel and sip my bottle.

Fair Oaks

The vine trickels,
All I have is a pad
with paper seething yellow
A stoned mind,
drugged by complaints
Fattened in the mess hall
to be alone in his cell
Left alone to rot while
the staff check in every 15
Whose here to really help?
No man is an everyman
Enemies?
Merely clowns

Surrounded by fools in a
fake white temple
They motion their intentions
slow burning and mental
Friends?
On distant isles

Awake, With the new Flesh

Awake with new flesh
Eyes turn to the closest corner
Pain in the lower back
So much time spent wasting away,
when will I rise to greatness as destined?

Days pass along
Birds sing their hymnal songs
In the morning when I wake hungry,
I refuse the morning brew

Forcing new rhymes
The television static blares
I keep it on for the noise
Only keeps me so sane

I fall asleep and it still blares
The images seem to crawl my hair
And chills as they haunt inspiration
Clean, premature ejaculation

Awake with new flesh
I haven’t taken my medicine
And so thrilled with this freedom
I wake to seize the day
To embrace the summer’s blaze

More from Herbert the Rat

The view of Drench City I’m privileged to have rests drearily from a distance. It’s an average sized city filled with diversity and absurdity (meaning everyone and anyone can have a good time). I’ve seen beautiful women pass the street corners, each one I spot equals one more minute on the wheel for me.
As we all know, these women are merely distractions.
So beautiful. So dangerous.
Like everything else worth it in life, so many feelings can derive from their gaze.
I dream of my perfect woman like I dream of a softer pillow. Both long with perfectly filled curves that give an almost abstract outline. I can rest my nose on such a beauty.
She can even fall asleep in my arms...even wake up next to me the morning after.
These are the things rats tend to think about. Only in these cages can we create our own paradise. While running the good wheel every few hours we can maintain strength and perfect our bodies.
Seems easy enough.

Sam the roach has been blowing me off. I know this because he always scurries off every time I make an advance to talk to him. He’s wise. Been through a lot in this life but still unafraid to speak his mind. He’s got what it takes to be a legend. I don’t think it matters much to him, though.
Most of my friends make plans in their other cages. They go out and party at wild and sporadically planned events I’m never invited to unless I’m with the pack.
Ah, the old pack.
The pack’s been broken up for some time now. I like to believe we’re all still friends but they hate me. It’s not all about me but I always end up ruining everything. Goddamn I never know when to quit.
I try not to venture out of my cage these days. I really would like to, but something always somewhat prevents me from seeking the outside world. Maybe it’s all the pain. Pain that agonizes the crotch and converts the spine into a substance similar to something like petroleum jelly. A lot of my former mates say I have a habit of complaining and spacing out into my own little world. I don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.
NO WORLD is suited for Herbert.
NO WORLD is truly safe.
NO WORLD will be without pain.
At least, not like the one I have right here.
Buddhism taught me so much about living in the present moment. It was good for the spine.

I’m rambling on...I do apologize for my intensity. I say this now because the sound of Warner Brothers blaring an introduction to the lights emitting cinema...the movie has begun.
Tonight it’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I always get choked up the scene they launch out of the elevator and into the sky. Those endless skies are the things that give me up. For a rat with bat posture I’m constantly looking up. Even barking like a dog at the two fish I see moving together in harmony deep in its image.
Ah, liberation.
The film ends with an awkward silence and I realize I’m the only one in the room with tears in his eyes. The doctors take notes as each tear runs down my scruffy neck. I hate to cry. Each time I cry I have a feeling I’ll only be in this dump longer as a test subject. Now my heart is racing about a mile a minute. I know this means I’m strong, but also very scared. It angers me.
Time for the wheel.

Rude Awakening

Fires forming in drops of snow
Signals tell the blind to go 
And take this guitar,
It will staple you a star  
If he'd only make it to one show

Played a puppet in his dreams
Sacked in favor for machines 
Their sounds now soothe his evil mind
Aching with a swallowing pride
Even the paperboy isn't who he seems

Shadows reaching from the dark
Children prancing in the park
Parasites aid his swarming mood 
Praised like a hero, svelte but lewd 
Shame is the mark forsaken 

Avian Lovesong

The owl calls,

Begins the day

In his realm he sleeps sideways  

Awaking the damaged poet,

Full of yesterday and wine in his veins

The owl howls,

One last warning to awake

He moves without control and falls

He claims much could be at stake

Pale blue sky,

Now the morning birds have arrived

Frightening the artist’s past

They’ve brought disease at last

In my footsteps I fear the road I once loved

They told me to stay away from those fucking birds.

To Rick Scott

Faces molding,
Every route
Tied up dogs
Bark and surround

Dump the arts
Win the prize
Jackpot legal
With a dim sunrise

We're still dumb
And if you stay
[you'll]
Save our ship
Or sink this bay

We love you, Rick Scott.

Will

America will turn an eighteen year old slacker who eats chocolate into a racist hate machine.
You won't believe what's coming out of THIS kid's mouth.
Ain't it strange how these chages become erratic with choice of words.
Who can we trust in this age of vunerability and trickery?
What words can we read if we're too drugged to focus on the starting letter?
Most importantly, where is there to study with the rules strictly enforced.

[tribute]

Liberation.
Oh, how grand.
The things only you and your best friend [sound] can hear.

Herbert the Rat (sec. from Chapter One)

All these trials are worth it.
That’s what they’re telling me.
Or at least, that’s what my father always convinced me of. I had no reason not to believe him. After all, he’d raised me well enough and I’d grown to be just like him.
I did, right?
No matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. I’ve had enough of his shit, anyway. He’s constantly smiling while writing shit down on his notepad like I’m some kind of test subject. The worst part about that confident bastard is all his please-please-you speech pattern and deceptive charm. He just seems to give it out like a salesman. He’s not even a rat. He’s a man. I haven’t seen him since he sent me to this cage. What an asshole.
Like I didn’t fucking earn it. Our ears pointed and erect like our prominent noses. Everyone in our family has gotten some shit for the absurd positioning of our features. At least my dad found a nice gal like mom who would love more than simply judge like the other mice in Drench City. They didn’t love each other forever and visiting her grave only assures young romance is never meant to last, the flowers I plant keeps the tension low. I can’t help but think the disintegration of their love had something to do with me...they were divorced around the same time I was born. Over the time my stubby legs grew into lanky towers I saw my mother transform from youthful and thin to pale and plump. The weight sheltered her many children and large family, to say the least. I was the first born. I am the rat they want. I am the ultimate rat. They’ve just assured me I have to be cured until they say it’s time.
What a time it shall be.
The sad thing about being the first one who popped is that you can’t help but feel guilty for all the troubles both you and the pack undergoes.
It’s nothing keeping me out of the bar this day and night, as I’m penning this story on a liquor-stained napkin in a dimly lit tavern. The ecstasy of the pretty gals coming and going out the door remains and you can probably assume I’m still over excited and eager to chase these tails who continue to dilute and tease your humble narrator. The looks they give stay with me as I guzzle down the last of the harsh nectar, looking forward as I slam the cup for more fresh meat.
No one gives ‘ole Herbert a chance these days.
It’s not even that I’ve aged these past few years, only grown more isolated in my own terms and conditions. Working my ass off day and night in this class only pays off at the end of the week so you can pray you’ve got enough to keep you sheltered and sedated. Sedation seems to be the only real way to realize those daily woes you avoid telling your roommate, co-workers, boss, passing women...why unload such thoughts to them? In my lifetime they’ve only kept their nodding to make sure you’ll make it through the rest of the evening. In reality, they can’t even handle hearing you bitch. And if you’re even thinking of bringing some sweet lady back home, you won’t even dare make yourself seem vulnerable.
Yes, this is our world today. Everyone must work hard and keep their head on straight or you’re in the gutter or like me in a cage.
I do have a nice cage, though.
Simple and to the point. What I actually need and not what dad is trying to give me. He’s trying so fucking hard. He’s not like the white coaters. The white coaters know just where I need to be. They speak my language. They’ve been telling me all the things I never knew about myself for so long. They have the same uniform that fucker dad has. They’re dressed in formal attire with a meter and persona ready to kill, yet kind in their treatment. Somehow they know the cure for all of my tension. It’s all in the juice. I have to be in my cage, trotting on my wheel but still ready to be sedated in the time of element earth.
Element earth is the first stage in this unit. I’m only a small rat and there are so many others like me who are kept in isolation in their own personal unit. How lucky us rats are, to have our own personal cage at such a premature time.
The goal is: we’re not ready to be free yet.
So said the Doctor.
He says this because we have too much energy when we are bred. The mother whose milk kept us going in a way we couldn’t understand yet still embracing in womb was trying to kill us. Her milk is poison.
Freedom is earned. Being young means dumb.
Right?
The process of this is for us to grow and infiltrate as young mice so but train the mind in order to truly romanticize the glory of freedom.
I’ve always wanted the view.
The mountains I gaze at each night, romanticizing the beauty of 4:00 am insomnia, are waiting for me. I’ll be able to find my members by the time I’m free. I’ll be ready then.
We are those whose voices will be heard once the time is right. We know this for the doctor is always right.
Right?
We must be drugged in order to know love, they tell us. What does that even mean? Are they trying to show us the glory of rape with the grime of beauty? Protesting the higher word and fighting the vicious forces in charge only makes you a broke man with a crippled reputation. In my times of worrying, fighting, and defeat I’ve found keeping your mouth shut is the only way to go. People will always ask you if everything’s okay, if some underlying demon is pulling the strings to your heart...you know the drill. You can’t put yourself out there for shit these days. I try and stay optimistic. As optimistic as you can, that is. It’s not easy being among the last rat family in this universe. Ever since the mass extinction 25 five years ago, which occurred before even I could walk, my family were the only ones to survive.
Right?
Some days I’m wrong.
All I know is this here cage and the glorious wheel my energy becomes channeled in. Twice a day you’ll see me in my cage (the one with the fancy white lining that really puts the room together and attracts the white coats) running like a bat out of hell in sweat and fury. These are the golden years of my life; unfortunately I must spend them within the confines of this artificial life so they can one day release me and thus pure happiness.
Simple. To the point.
Like father said, these trials are worth it.
That’s why they keep me on the wheel.

The view of Drench City I’m privileged to have rests only from a distance. It’s an average sized city filled with diversity and absurdity (meaning everyone and anyone can have a good time). I’ve seen beautiful women pass the street corners, each one I spot equals one more minute on the wheel for me.
As we all know, these women are merely distractions.