Current Status

The remaining twelve hours
Have been spent watching flowers
As they shut then open from dusk to dawn
And if any is many
Will a discarded penny
Be the much needed charm for the brains against brawn
Can the mind conjure up further powers?
When one’s strength matches that of a fawn

Have you really let go
Given up this sad show
That takes all your thoughts and steals them away
Towards unrequited fruits
From labors minute
To which you unwittingly dedicate most of your day
Can it really be worth all you throw?
Are you capable of more than you say?

And as time passes, the wounds will be healed
But without Neosporin they will visibly scar
You’ll be whole again but slightly marred
With hopes they’ll obscure as your skin might stretch
Or just fade with the age of the eons

May ’09

Rise Moses

Seventy-five flights of stairs
Help keep me live, keep me out of the chair
Thoughts while being found in space
Are being wrought from an adamant place
Can you disavow
And how will you show
A disheartened landscape where nothing will grow
Is this what you think
On the brink of insanity surging

Is there hope in this dark place
While drastic din contort, with fear, my face
Confounds my ears and ‘gainst my brain
Resounds a dull yet persistent pain
Can twenty-six see
What three fail to grasp
Like staff turned to death in the form of an asp
Can you see to talk
And then walk in a manner befitting

Joined in a dream but we knew
That the scene was one our mind’s eye drew
There we were set, odd it seems
Aware but in a very vivid dream
Can people awake
And take their ilk
To the fabled land of honey and milk
Will you make it there
Or just stare from the talk of the mountain

Oct. ’07

The Tale of Hydro Crondike

Content Advisory

The Tale of Hydro Crondike

He was, quite possibly, one of the coolest guys in the world. He had it all; money, women, power; he knew all of these things well. His job paid for all the benefits. But life, and its lessons, and its damn cruel way of being fair, put Hydro in his place. Hydro Chrondike. He knew it going out this morning… He knew, zipping up his jumper suit and Nike Air Sneakers, that he had the intention of going out today a martyr.He was a part of the Street Monkeys, a feisty bunch of collegiate go-getters from South City, Maritopia. Life was good for the Street Monkeys. Money was made performing charity vandalisms and terrorizing the weak.

“Hey, poor person! Give me your money!” Hydro’s kind of life was looked down on by the masses, yet looked up to by the underground and undergraduate elite. Hydro eventually undertook a more significant role in the gang-organized activities. Since there was no bona fide “leader” of the Street Monkeys, Hydro increasingly became more potent and influential on the minds of his fellow bangers. He led the missions, and he gave the orders, and they all listened and followed him. Hydro Chrondike lived in infamy.

His last mission was into Ballischwagh, a province 20 minutes outside of South City. He went with his Street Monkey associates, Seven Jackson and Artichoke Makelroy. They were in for some serious shit, not some Kibbles N’ Bits shit.

Their first encounter of the day was with a Ballischwagh porn titan named Samuelus Barnsteam. Hydro knew Samuelus, and knew he wanted to be a porn titan ever since he was a kid. Samuelus ascended to the stage of porn God on February 14th, directly as the result of a previous encounter with Hydro, Seven, and Artichoke. ‘It was bullshit,’ the Street Monkeys would say.

Due to Crondike’s enormous unpopularity with the masses, and also due to the fact that Samuelus was worshiped by the masses as their mighty porn god, it was now an incredibly difficult feat for the Street Monkeys to bounce back from. They knew this too… especially Hydro Chrondike. But bounce back he swore, and bounce back he did! It wasn’t easy… it wasn’t pretty… and it probably didn’t even make a whole lot of sense once things got under way… but it happened, and it is as follows.

So it happened to be that one of the street monkeys ‘happened to be’ the head of a Fortune 500 company, and thus had access to a rather large amount of funds at his disposal. He naturally didn’t think twice when Hydro asked him to spend those funds on two helicopters, fully loaded with enough bombs and likewise-destructive-instruments, in order to properly “Blow DA Shit Outta’” Samuelus, and preferably the surrounding five or so miles within which he operated. It took about a week to accumulate it all, and early on a Sunday morning at about 7:46 am Hydro Chrondike had at his disposal two helicopters and enough explosive material to properly… blow up Samuelus and the surrounding vicinity. The stage was set.

“Holy shit the bombs are coming!” Samuelus yelled out loud. His cronies came into view, behind the scene, shining multi-colored stage lamps in every direction. The helicopters were hovering above them; their shadows were covering where Samuelus stood. The grass was getting pulled up by the wind, and his shrubberies were getting blown away. Samuelus, brewing inside with rage at this social faux pas, grabbed his AK47 from off his back-harness and began blowing away at the helicopters up there, occupied by Hydro, Seven, and Artichoke. Their bombs were not hitting Samuelus dead on because the copters were too close. Instead, the missiles flew off into the air, in messed up flight trajectories, only to hit surrounding parts of the area. People… civilians… babies… They all were amidst the destruction. Samuelus, tear-stricken and hair disheveled (like some 1990’s grunge rock musician), did the only thing somebody looking like that would do… he picked up a guitar.

Samuelus picked up his special guitar; gifted to him by divine craftsmen, created with the sole purpose of launching off wave after wave, limitless waves of surface-to-air missiles. He looked down at the floor in front of him and started tapping his foot on pedals of destruction, locking in different variations and potencies with each combo he stepped down on. The chemical toxins and uncontrollable aphrodisiacs and unforgivable stenches and unbearable blasts of a thousand surface-to-air missiles came with each strumming of his guitar-string mobile detonators, tightly strung to the spectacular body of a navy blue, red tribal-striped Fender Stratocaster. Each chord fired off different surface-to-air missiles of varying potency and aroma. You could truly smell the napalm.

Hydro Chrondike didn’t expect this shit at all. Missile after missile started popping in front of his helicopter, smudging his windows and forcing his copter astray. It was a fucking war zone. Seven and Artichoke yelled after him when they saw shit go down. A desperate clinging of the window took Seven’s hands off the wheel, and thoughtful music filled the air. A slow motion scream brings us full circle, back to the war on the ground.

Samuelus’ floor was set and the controls were working fine, but when he pushed on the pedals, his missiles did not come out anymore. He pounded the ground and strung the strings, but there were no missiles of varying potency and aroma anymore. He blamed it on his father…

His father had been an officer in the Surface-to-Air Missile Corps, and planned the Khmer Rouge’s missile strikes against the Aggressive Nordic Tribes (ANR) back in whenever. For this reason, Samuelus always expected his father to fulfill his entire household’s demand for surface-to-air missiles. However, his father failed. His father had failed to protect him. His father had taught him everything there was to know about growing up and maturing into an aspiring Porn Titan, but he didn’t show him everything about surface-to-air missiles! ‘The bastard,’ he thought.

Samuelus broke into a cold sweat and darted his eyes about, searching for something with which he could possibly bring down not one but two helicopters, holding within them enough explosive material to blow him well away and beyond this world. He couldn’t find anything at first, until at one point he gazed upon a giant spear. It was eight feet in length at least, leaning on a nearby wall. “With this, my last and only hope, I will do what my father could never teach me! He could teach me to be a Porn ‘whoever,’ but I must now teach myself to be a bringer down of helicopters, and I will do it with a giant spear.”

And so Samuelus ran out to confront Hydro Chrondike and his helicopters, frantically firing his AK-47 in one hand, and heroically grasping the giant spear in his other hand, ready to hurl it through them. Through waves of drastic gunfire, Samuelus ran forward and (with little hesitation) hurled the giant spear at the helicopters.

The Giant spear soared through the sky, and with an almighty-porn-god-crash, it ripped through one of Hydro Chrondike’s helicopters, the one piloted by Artichoke Makelroy. The giant spear made its mark, and successfully incapacitated the helicopter, bringing it down to the ground with a thunderous boom.

Samuelus was overjoyed at his success, “I thought I had a snowball’s chance in hell when I threw that spear, but I’ll be damned! I tore up that lousy helicopter pretty good.” Samuelus had never felt more proud of himself. That feeling was short lived however, for about five seconds after the helicopter hit the ground, it exploded with an almighty-porn-god-boom. Due to its large amounts of explosive cargo, it was effectively turned into a rather larger bomb, and knocked Samuelus on his almighty-porn-god-ass! It not only destroyed a great deal of the surrounding area, but it also blew Samuelus about a hundred feet into a brick wall with yet another almighty-porn-god-crash. Things were not looking good for him.

The wall under Samuelus gave in, and he fell through the wall into a spacious warehouse-type situation. Hydro’s gunfire followed him in there… He clapped his hands, and the lights came on, only to find a giant stockpile of surface-to-air missiles. It was a surprise stockpile of warehouse missile supplies! It had everything: green boxes, blue boxes… and even red boxes! He recognized these collections before… they were his father’s!

Hydro was running out of options. It was like trying to talk to someone right next to you, and they are completely not listening to you. His bullet ammo was running low, and still no sign of Samuelus. But just then he saw Samuelus emerge from the rubble, guitar still in hand.

“This show isn’t over, Hydro!”

“You got that right.”

Hydro opened fire with everything he had. Four gun turrets firing .50 caliber bullets at six bullets per second. Eight missile silos, each containing thirty missiles now (since the earlier barrage). All the wonders of modern military technology were finding the absolute bull’s-eye on Samuelus, synchronizing the launch and distance of their shot, when all of a sudden Samuelus takes his guitar and strums it as hard as he could. It was the F chord, Hydro will remember. The F chord sounded so deep and so profound. Everything lit up after that, in a clusterfuck of white and gray, and Hydro ejected his seat moments before the cavalcade destroyed Chopper One.

“Take that motha-fucka!” Samuelus roared with an almighty-porn-god roar, giving up his remaining ounces of strength to lay out the greatest guitar riff known to mankind. The sweet melody brought upon a chaotic scatter-storm that filled the sky. He laughed his laughter at the clusterfuck of missiles unloading unto Hydro’s chopper. The missiles exploded with great force, and food ration shrapnel hit the copper with extreme hostility. Samuelus’ father had a large collection of ration missiles, the type of missiles used to send emergency food aid to Somalia and avoid the Somali pirates at the same time.

The rations ricocheted off the copper and landed hundreds of feet away, picked up by the crowds of people who survived the destruction. Some were not so lucky… some got hit by the shrapnel. At this point Samuelus didn’t give a shit. He was on his knees, held up by his guitar. He was thankful, praying to his father in thanks for providing him with that surprise stockpile of damaging explosives. Samuelus considered the day saved, his title and status as “Mighty Porn God” would remain. He would be getting so much sex later, it wasn’t even funny!

Hydro was drifting down to earth via parachute, shortly after a scary few seconds trying to initiate the chute from the pilot’s chair. He fell to the earth three times faster than man, and almost messed it all up, until he smacked the damn seat and the trigger activated. He unbuckled from the seat and kept the chute attached. He landed somewhere away from the center of destruction. His touchdown was quiet and unnoticeable. Samuelus was yelling out loud now.

“You crazy motha-fucka’s! You’ll never take me down!”

Hydro was in good health. He was limber, and had a strong-caliber pistol on his thigh. His sneakers gracefully sneaked Hydro around the debris and behind Samuelus. A click of his gun makes Samuelus freeze.

“Think again, asshole.” Hydro hits him over the head with his pistol butt. Samuelus is out cold, the guitar falls to the ground beside him, and he falls forward over his knees.

“This is for Seven and Artichoke.” Hydro had no other choice. He wanted to go out dying on this one. He wanted Seven and Artichoke to carry him off the field, and burn him. He had a feeling it wouldn’t work out this way, and it cost him his two best friends in the Street Monkeys. Samuelus was one tough bastard, and he ruined Hydro’s chances of advancing through Ballischwagh’s hierarchy. A wrath unlike any other overcame Hydro, staring down at the lifeless body of Samuelus, sticking his ass out at him. Did he hear a fart?

“You fucking bastard!” Hydro yelled with all his might. He ran up to Samuelus and shoved his gun right up his ass. There was no undoing the past after this one. He fired round after round through Samuelus’ body, coming out in different parts of his body. Whatever unconscious state Samuelus was in previously was now gone, taken by the force of Hydro’s hit. His father could not protect him after all. Samuelus succumbed to the grotesque method of his demise, and fell with an almighty-porn-god crash onto the rubble beneath him. He bounced off his massive erection and rolled down the hill, until it stopped him again. He was good and dead.

Hydro walked away from that gruesome scene humbly… he walked away and had avoided the honorable death painfully given to his close friends, Seven Jackson and Artichoke Makelroy. He felt cheated. He felt like things were not supposed to be this way. But he survived, and he will live out his life knowing the painful truth behind Samuelus Barnsteam’s death and destruction. So much destruction over one lousy porn titan! Revenge was bittersweet.


Zucker, Slesnick, and Greer

Arrows Let Fly

When arrows fly they always point
At those that they will soon anoint
With red wine and its cleansing toll
Which pours whenceforth from uncorked hole

And when the wine has cleaned his eyes
The anointed one a vision spies

I see a field of forgotten Greeks
Surrounded by far off mountain peaks
I see brother Ulysses scheming there
And Daphne with her leaf-like hair
Achilles tells me, “Tis better to slave
Than rule for eternity in the grave”
And so I leave him and cross the plain
For council I might ascertain
A sign in cumulus, nimbus sky
The same revealed to Constantine’s eye
When formed, the sign reveals afar
The Shepherd King’s personal star
And the Blue Man’s hand descends from its veil
To whisk me to heaven by my lone ponytail
The Last Great Prophet now I meet
Who speaks softly in a voice most sweet
We converse for hours but do not walk
In a dialogue where I rarely talk
Until he asks to where I’m off
I say “To the highest mountain top”
And when I start on my journey
The prophet brings the mountain to me
At the peak, ‘neath a tree, sitting cross-legged
Is a wise man with a large bump on his head.
He says, “Embrace diversity
But accept universal unity
To the air, the sea, the Earth, the plants,
And the animals from the yak to the ant”

And then I see a blinding flash
And exhaling, I have peace at last


Shouts Drowned Out the Tide

Shouts Drowned Out The Tide

Trickle down the river
‘Round the bend into the sea
Speaking with a shiver
Loud enough to voice a plea
Trying not to quiver
Standing steadfast on both knees
To drain one’s life with teeth and knife
Alarming grates against the gates
It’s no small wonder a sound of thunder will give a child the shakes

Skulking in the shadows
Out onto the other side
Tried enjoying waves had no
Shouts drowned out the tide
My wise and dear old Dad knows
Falls antecede one’s pride
It cannot be what one can’t see
The person dead won’t rise from bed
Alarming grates against the gates are all within your head

Nov. ’07