LIFE IN THE TRENCHES: Romance, Rebellion and Running Amok

THIS POEM IS CALLED "This Poem is Called Ronnie Dobbs"

as i take a piss.  i have a great idea.

and feel all inspired.  and think it's

completely possible.  i can do it.  i

can do all of it.  bring it.  bring

it on like donkey kong.  this is it.

i got it dead bang.  i'm a winner.

i'm a go getter.  i'm a do gooder.

i am going to change the world

and be myself and be appreciated

and loved for being myself the way

i do it and just as soon as i'm done

pissing i'm going to put it into

action

this is the best movie i've ever seen in my life. 

and this is the happiest piss of my life

and it starts now - almost now - in a second

- first things first - when i'm done.  

i hold the Rubicon of warm thoughts and laughter in my hand

like a bottle of plum wine laced with heart-gasm. 

"you can cut the flowers but you can't stop the spring."  yes. 

glory. 

but, when i'm done.  i don't. 

the thought is lost in a snap decision

to feed the cats. 

they are hungry and don't know any better.

ONE MUST REMEMBER THIS (aka; Fruit Loops for Everyone) - (More specifically - A poem and recipe for Elote - It's what winners eat)

Before the song

There was

The Moment

 

That made lyrics of

Everything. 

 

Show me what you

Are made of.

 

In the parlance of

Our times,

 

“Bring it”. 

 

Our times. 

Dear, god. 

 

You bet. 

 

+

 

In the parlance of our times,

Phrases like “Be in the moment”

Or “Be here now”

Or “Now”

Or

“One”,

 

Has become convoluted into the

Fair of fruit loops. 

 

Relax.  I haven’t had breakfast

Cereal for a very long time

But if “Fruit Loops” still

Exists and you remember

 

That was a good morning. 

 

A very good morning indeed.

 

And if you read and remember.

You’re still standing too. 

 

What were your mornings like,

Dear friend? 

 

And do you discount the power

Of a fortified breakfast? 

 

Did you wake up to chaos?

Again

And

Again

And

Again?

 

Or butterflies and breakfast meats?

Perhaps, breakfast sweets?   

 

Was McDonalds a vacation. 

 

Did it make you feel warm? 

Like all was well.

On Sunday. 

 

And you won the prize? 

 

What are you thinking about now,

My friend, the sausage and egg

McMuffin?

 

You laugh.  Perhaps. 

But remember.

 

What were your mornings like?

 

Do you relate?

 

Are you liberated from the sliding

Cart?  Aka; The Sting of King and

Blindness to Variable? 

 

Do you need a hug? 

 

Right now, I don’t. 

I am peaceful. 

 

But, perhaps you are missing

Peace. 

 

Congratulations. 

 

You’re a winner in my book.

 

Now eat some cereal. 

If that works for you. 

 

Albert Camus said in some

Book that everybody wants

A dog because they want to

Be able to kick it. 

 

(paraphrased, of course)

 

Also, some other folks from

That time said,

 

We are responsible for everything

But the very responsibility itself. 

 

(paraphrased of course – with no

reference - perhaps Sartre)

 

If you hold stock in the Existentialists,

They loved fruit loops too.

 

Just examine their language. 

And hold it up against the

Prism of Our times. 

 

Dear god,  Our Times. 

 

Courage. 

 

They killed Jesus, said Gibson. 

Who played Wallace. 

 

Who said, “Freedom”!!!

 

And Charles Bukowski said,

“Shit.  Everything shits, until it dies.” 

 

+ 

 

And at 1.11 am on a Friday night.

The night before Halloween. 

I’d like to say. 

 

Yup. 

 

Fruit Loops for Everyone. 

 

Breakfast meats or breakfast sweets.

If you are still standing,

 

We all had morning. 

 

And the song is yours.

Alone.  

 

But, you are not. 

 

+

 

Take it from me.

Your Lawyer. 

And

Chef. 

 

Who wants some G.D. Emote? 

 

An Echo Park gem. 

 

(* Emote is a pun for Elote)

 

end entry

 

TAG:  Bonus:  Recipe and picture of Elote (It’s what’s winners eat). 

 

Grilled corn on the cob is a popular street food in Oaxaca, Mexico.

Yield: 4 servings (serving size: 1 ear of corn)

Ingredients

• 3  tablespoons  fat-free mayonnaise
• 2  teaspoons  fresh lime juice
• 2  tablespoons  finely grated Parmesan cheese
• 1/2  teaspoon  chili powder
• 1/4  teaspoon  ground red pepper
• 1/4  teaspoon  ground cumin
• 1/8  teaspoon  salt
• 4  ears shucked corn
• Cooking spray

Preparation

Prepare grill. Combine mayonnaise and juice in a small bowl. Combine cheese and next 4 ingredients (through salt) in another small bowl.

Place corn on a grill rack coated with cooking spray. Grill corn 12 minutes or until tender, turning frequently. Remove corn from grill; brush with mayonnaise mixture, and sprinkle with cheese mixture. Serve immediately.

http://find.myrecipes.com/recipes/recipefinder.dyn?action=displayRecipe&recipe_id=1197178

PICTURE: Title:  You’re drunk. You want it.  And it’s lovely.  Shut up, bitch, and eat it.  Or just ‘Eat it”.  (For my Emote Truck Business – Looking for Investors – Just comment on this post and we’ll talk. ) – I will read Emote poems for the drunkards needing hug and sustenance.  (I joke, but not.)  One time, when I was young – I got pin worms from one of those bacon wrapped tacos from downtown, LA in the fashion district (Shopping for School Clothes) and I do not nor never have regretted it.  

WE PUT PINS IN THINGS (The great benefits of taking a bath when not sleepy)

In the realm of the wanking, there comes a point when you should

Just call it quits for the day.  When tired, only error comes of it. 

 

In those times, I suggest you take a bath.  I am not a fan of the bath.

I am half Korean.  And that makes me a powerful sweater.  My body

Runs hot.  What can I say? 

 

Nevertheless, take a bath.  Do your best to mimic.  Notice how your

Hair (just the bottom edge) gets wet and look upwards at things. 

Anything.  Your hair will be wet and you will be seeing things

That have gone previously unnoticed. 

 

The water cools too fast.  And then you have a thought. 

 

In the realm of the wanking, there comes a point when you should

Just call it quits for the day.  When tired, only error comes of it. 

 

This is why I’m writing now.  Because being tired and taking baths

And not being able to sleep when everything is right

 

(save a small matter of not being tired then sitting down to do some

real wanking work and fucking things up because you are more tired

than you care to admit and have more work to do in the morning) 

 

is when the time to write is best. 

 

There are no non-sequiturs.

 

Today, my girl and I went to get a burger.  The service sucked.  The

Server was irritable.  My girl called bullshit.  I shifted in my seat a

Bit – not because of the specifics of the moment - just because something

was off and I did not know what. 

 

My burger was uncooked.  I knew that.  And I knew that I was being

Ultra polite and the wind was blowing real hard and I seem to

Remember a hippy somewhere talking about physics and electrons

And the wind and ions and what nots and how that can make

People kind of sort of nuts, for a good hot balm in the palm of

The hand for a moment. 

 

Later we learned that the burger place was going out of business

And we were there to witness the splendor that is a burger joint’s

Last days. 

 

Eureka.  We found it. 

 

In this life of mine right now,

Everything that I ever wanted has grown to more and most and

Sometimes when its time for bed, I am not sleepy but very tired

and my balls itch so I take a shower – tonight a bath – to try

and remedy it. 

 

These days the thoughts blur like something fierce and I punish

When there is no punishing that needs to be done. 

 

Lately, I feel very upset by the way I choose to phrase it.  I don’t

Like the roundabout way it comes together (or not) – but sometimes

It’s the best I can do. 

 

To come together (or not). 

 

I should really say something specific.  Thanks for playing, thus far. 

I nominate us. 

 

I have never been here before.  And the person who got me here, up

Until recently, was not willing to admit it. 

 

Then to now - I am seeing things that I have never seen before. 

About the story I’ve spun and the family I’ve come from and the

years in between and the whole freaking a to z composition of the

pin that I have so willfully pinned on it.

 

My favorite old time serial was a string of movies about a blind

Swordsman. 

 

Yes.  We put pins in things.  Ah, yes.  This is why.  This is the because. 

This is the reason.  There has to be reason.  There is reason.  And

There is always reason. 

 

This is the splendor of invention, laughter, the dwp, and local

Government. 

 

I have never been here before.  And it is important to state that

I am not angry or full of woe.

I am not afraid, nor full of words.  But the words are there.  I just

Don’t know how to get to them. 

 

I was very very fat for a very long time. 

 

Now, I am not. 

 

They told me I was crazy and I bought it. 

 

I am not.

 

I am not crazy – but sometimes – that message is hard to forget.  

And those things seep in.  And that’s what baths are good for. 

 

For France and humanity. 

 

Baths are good when you know where you are at and know that

You are not crazy and that all is well but your balls itch and you

can’t sleep.

 

Sit in the bathtub, in spite of the way the furnace burns, and get the

Bottom parts of your hair wet and look up at things you previously

Forgot to saw . . . and realize

 

They told me I was crazy and I bought it. 

I was very very fat for a very long time. 

I have never been here before.  And I am not angry or full of woe.

I am not afraid, nor full of words.  But the words are there.  I just

Don’t know how to get to them. 

 

This is the splendor of invention, laughter, and local government. 

 

We put pins in things.  Ah, yes.  This is why.  This is the because. 

This is the reason.  There has to be reason.  There is reason.  And

There is always reason. 

 

Hello, friends. 

 

My burger was uncooked.

The water cools too fast

 

These days the thoughts blur like something fierce and I punish

When there is no punishing that needs to be done. 

 

In the realm of the wanking, there comes a point when you should

Just call it quits for the day.  When tired, only error comes of it. 

 

My girl called bullshit.

We put pins in things. 

 

 

 

DEATH BECOMES THE DREAMER

I feel it slipping.  I feel time.  And sometimes,
I fear the dream is dead. 

Which is not a bad thing for a dreamer.

I am not complaining.  This is not a dramatic spout.
If a dream dies, death comes first for those that
Love them.

The drama of it all is a trap that shuts as it opens. 
Relax. 

A dream can condemn with as much grace as it liberates. 
Know it.

I will never forget the day when a shrink told me to treat
My family like mental patients. 

I love them madly.  But will cut a motherfucker. 

A dream can make people deaf, dumb, desperate, and mean. 
It can turn us into satellites and find that kind of life
satisfactory. 

It draws emotional vampires who come to feed
On your heart because they know your hunger and
smother with hugs that constrict. 

These hapless wraiths with ideas about who you
Are and stomp around with hot meals and blankets
To mask the rage they have for the bankruptcy of
Their own happiness. 

They are not happy.  They are hungry, scorned,
And jilted.  And they do not see you.  And, if you
Forget you can lose sight of yourself. 

Even if you are the one doing the seeing. 

Worship not these people.  Worship not your ache
for the way their limitations scorn you. 

Do not get lost to the dream of “shoulds” and “should nots”. 
And “Are we there yet’s”.  

It will rob you of smile and song. 

It can steal your time if you forget
That the dream is an escape plan.
A through line from the days that
Clung on to the belief of the lack
Of ache of later days. 

A belief that kept you alive throughout
the complete and total indecipherable
bullshit and absurdity of living, through
The Mechanism of a Dream in the simple
fact that you refused to accept it
and believed that you deserved
more. 

Which you do. 
The dream defies. 
The dreamer thrives in the belief
That there is no way in Sam Hell
That you are going to lay down
And take it like a dog because
You know you are very important.
No matter how subtle or not the
Transgression.

You are.  You do.  
You have a grand purpose
And one day this purpose will diffuse
And bring order to the bomb they baked
For you (that you ate because you were
Hungry.  It is not all their fault.) and make
light of the plight of the grossly misunderstood,
Underestimated, dismissed
And invisible. 

If you let it. 

Us freaks born ill equipped
for this life. 
Even amongst the strange. 
Of whom we believe we are the strangest. 

Don’t get carried away.
We are not.  Nor never was.
And living in this state may have been
The lie all along. 

Which makes a great companion for
Anxiety, self loathing, and panic. 

Do not panic.  Have no shame.  Speak freely.
The eyes will roll and the reactions will not
Match the risk you take for opening up.
Your ideas will be shot at and ventilated
As both preventative medicine and murder. 
As well as sometimes larceny.  You are
Bright.  You are strong.  And it shames
Them.  Because they want it and are
Afraid to say it for fear of failing.  Do
Not fight them.  There is no insult. 
Only purpose.     

Know that yours is the beautiful belief
That you are completely unique and entitled
To all that is in and isn’t in the universe. 

And I am the type, as well.  Here now. 
Still standing with scars.  Later in life. 
Humbled by the limitations of my imagination. 
Fighting to follow through.  Make good. 
Prove the well wishers wrong.  Snuff the lie. 
The stench.  The black sheep on the couch. 
The malnourished.  The discontent. 
The Hungry.  Squeaking like a wheel. 
Or not. And moving now, like never before. 
It has never been about them. 

These days I live with great urgency, love
and conviction. 

The dream is changing.  As I have cast it. 
The dream is changing.  I see now with
What and how I assembled it. 

The dream has changed as I open. 
Technology comes.  Technology changes. 

The ground dries up.  The prey skips town. 
The stubborn hunter wanders around looking
for mice with a machine gun amidst
a stampede of buffalo. 

Licking his finger to check the wind with
eyes upward, waiting for -

Angels. 
Rain. 
Fog. 
Sunlight. 
Ticker tape. 
Kisses.
Flashbulbs.
Cries of adoration. 
Trumpets. 
Parade. 
A wink.
Justice.
Windfall. 
Currency.
Revenge.   
Same but different.
Algebra. 
Money.
The omniscient.

To fall from the sky.

In this we go somewhat mad at the miraculous lack of echo
That comes back at us if we forget what we are doing. 

Dressed in black, twirling your mustache, shaking your fist
at the sky screaming, “BRING IT.” 

Death becomes The Dreamer. 
Like The Spoils of War getting tongue fucked by The Runner Up.  

Fret not. 
There is no time. 
There is no schism. 
There is no peril.
Have no shame. 
Speak up.

You are and have always been independent of tragedy. 
But not exempt from it. 

Admit it.  Drop it.  Say it.  Even if its weird. 
Keep moving.  Evolve.  Be present.
Do it better.

But fall not victim to the mechanism.  
 
I am happy.
I am happy.
I am happy. 
The world is opening up to me. 
I am the Walrus. 
I am the fisherman. 

The gifts keep unfolding. 
There is a porch swing in the garden.
There is much work that needs to be done.
Every day I become a better man. 

Which is a process that is uncomfortable
And goes hand in hand with the illumination
Of my shortcomings. 

Not unlike popping open an umbrella
In the desert and holding it up like a torch
in the bright. 

In the realm of poetry it is my belief that
The Runner Up does deadly best and
Becomes what he never thought of
Himself . 

And becomes. 
And laughs. 

Because he isn’t. 
Never was.
And always is.

Like you. 






 
 

DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE “THERE-THERE’S” AND “PAT-PAT’S”

My Love. 

Right now, I am sitting in a shaded
Pedestrian walkway on a wooden bench
Next to a fountain.  Two pots of flowers
On either side of me. 

The light is nice.  People seem less like people. 
This life less stupid.  A thought just a thought. 
Sometimes, I feel like I ask for too little and
Expect too much.  There’s not enough time. 
Not enough quiet.  Then I sit and share my
Private Moment with you. 

This Thing of Nobody. 

Wooden bench.
Two planters.
A fountain. 
Odd light. 

Fuck the crooks and bastards. 
It’s weird that I have worked here
For four days or more and haven’t
Hugged my sister. 

Someone smile please. 

And don’t break your face while doing it. 
Some poor motherfucker is gonna have to
Sweep it up. 

1)  Nice light.
2)  Lunchtime. 
3)  Brought to you as it comes.  
4)  Live and direct from the back lot of wherever.

Doing things we don’t want to.    
My Love. 

Signed,

Mr. Awesome. 

THE STRENGTH OF DULCINEA

Do I keep drinking?
Do I go and turn off the television?

Upside.  Downside.  All around side.
Test. 

I would intentionally fuck with Them. 

That’s the upside of a test.  And The Thrill of
Living. 

Are you alive?

What does that picture look like?
The Thrill. 

Do you need a pen?
Or paint?

Or minutes? 

Like the lost swim.
Or the oven.
Or some other freaking painfully
Ordinarily posited thing. 

Nope. 

I would intentionally fuck with no human. 
It’s hard enough. 
To know which side is what. 

I understand cutting ties to roll up the rope.
But the wheel?
The role? 
The whole shebang.
The mechanism. 

Is that my heel?
Is this what gets pulled from the pond
While gazing into it?
What are you hung up on, really?
And why?

+

Who believes in karma?
Raise your hand. 

Yes.
Story. 

No.
You don’t have to.

If anything is anything and anybody is anybody.
Nobody has to physically raise jack shit. 

The lucky wonder.
Frame.

Posit.
Wonder.

When I was a kid of suicide
I did not understand rest.

And morning. 

But how long must one examine it?

Is there no end?  Only promise. 

+

Men are from Mars.
Women are from Venus. 

Do not look up a pig’s ass for a pork sandwich.

Thank you, Dr. Phil. 

A stamp.
A stamp for all of us. 

If you draw your own picture you can get one made
At Office Depot for somewhat less than fifty
Bucks. 

God damn.  A stamp.

I will shit can nothing for love. 
But seriously. 

I hate the sewing circle.
Those who sniff smug from the concerted
Ostentation steaming off their mug. 

Shut the fuck up.
Who the fuck do you think you are? 
God?

(Yes.  I do.) 

(Don’t you forget it.)

+

Steadfast.

This quake is normal.

Post it.

There is no betrayal. 

You live in Los Angeles.

I said it before, I’ll say it again. 

It’s a wonder how anybody gets through this life
Without becoming a mean son of a bitch. 

I mean it. 

+

In life, there is no reward for your achievements.
There is no absolution for your suffering.

Plates.  Topography.  Chaos.  Temperate climate.
Homes that go up in flames for those in Malibu
With no smores. 

Homes on
Stilts. 

Know where you are living. 

Things will get lost along the way. 

Those things are delicious. 

+

You cannot fight the angel of death.
Do not waste your life fighting the non negotiable. 

Make nice.
Move on.
Get happy. 

“What a view”, I say.   
As I sip from my mug. 
Knowing things. 

+

Romantic comes after through assessment. 
Epic comes before from within. 

What a word. 
Epic.

I choose it. 
There is no stamping it. 
This is the pallor of living from within. 

+

My friend and windmill.
The Strength of Dulcinea. 

Never was and never will be a king.
Never want nor never was a prince. 

I know nothing. 
Fuck the planets
And your medicine.   

+

Salvation; Blah. 

Blunt said; Rebel. 

Fuck you with your square pegs and round holes. 
I reject your test.  I know who I am.  I am not
A monkey. 

I find all of this hoopla suspicious. 

Move template.
Repopulate.
Refill. 

Exhibit. 

This is both the blight and bright of life. 
I capitalize but find capital in nothing.

Such is life with currency. 

+

Go Los Angeles Rams. 

My ghosts of childhood, dirty hands,
Super powers and misbelieving. 

When I was a kid I used to put tighty
Whities over my head, and with a hair
Tie and a Los Angeles Rams helmet
Worn like a cherry on top as I leapt I was: 
Spiderman. 

+

Spiderman says whatever the fuck he wants. 
Words are a pony ride.
He divines defiance through north
Like a kid at a birthday party at an arcade
With no quarters. 

With no home on stilts. 
He massages the moment
And feels the earth beneath his feet. 

He does not fear the spin. 
Even if it stops or someone pulls
The plug on gravity. 

That’s the best part about being Spiderman.
You don’t need it. 

+

And yet, my last thoughts are of him sitting on the
Throne with no shit tickets.

+

Costco, bitch. 

+

I think of this and laugh heartily.