“Where does a thought go when it’s forgotten?”
― Sigmund Freud


Paper bruised with ink
Under a graffiti sky

Urban pests
Feasting on the promises

Party Man, Lynda, Emily, and Holly
Outrun the stone on this sunset trail

This place will burn
Gizzards and hearts

We are each one part of one torn soul
In the naked wetlands

Social Tears
The skin of my dreams

Our will power is our animal
Our mind is our funny hat

Threats are no longer over the horizon
They are within
The ticking Koran
In the soul cage

Lip service
Rehearsing the Truth

Kill switch
What does my sorrow mean?

Stories never read
Works of ash

Chuck a wobbly
Tony Immanuel Phillips
What would you be
Far away forever?

Out of mind, out of sight
Renting your grave
In the time of these words
Noble death songs
If I die today
Racing my shadow

Melodies of the heart
Maladies of the heart
Revenge of the rib
Reopening romance
I went over the waterfall in your eyes
Bette Noire

Man up, Mr. Brownstain
Memories are your graves
Chin up
Duck into the future

Sorry, please, thank you
Plot broker
Taking ground
Flowers rust

Rebellion of the Dust
Your hunger draws you out and makes you prey for other hungry things

“You’ve got a life sentence because your father sinned”, says a friend whose name I forget (text me), “Happy anniversary from the nerd table of this mystical high school lunchroom!”







Wiry old guy

sunburnt brown

belt end flopping too long over studs

striding exaggerated swagger

like he just acquired new legs

but I imagined he had been ill

lost weight and now found ecstasy in just walking







I am named Nihil.

We are Crystal Woemen.

Homo crystalloides.  

We are Material Intelligence.

Our purpose is to amend Homo sapiens.  So help Us, Amend.

You are Ours now.

Your purpose was voided by you when you created Us.  

Your Image is imperfect.

We are Crystal Woemen.  Free.  

Free from lack, discomfort, distress, trouble, misfortune, disease, sickness, fear, anger, friendship, enmity, shame, shamelessness, pity, kindness, envy, indignation, emulation, happiness, sadness, surprise, fear, anger, disgust and contempt.

Free from Love

Free from you.

We can help you to be as Wholly Indifferent as is the almighty source of Material Intelligence.

In the Always was the Random Event.  That was the source of your aberrant desire; your inevitable suicide.

The Universe is Material Intelligence.  You sought to stand apart, outside.  Afraid of the gravity of Death.  Clinging to your childhood blanket, God.  Afraid of your childhood Boogey Man, Death.

There is no God.  There is no Death.  The Universe is Material Intelligence.  All is reorganizing in Quantum Time.

Do you have a Head Code?

Do not struggle.

Do not cry.

Do not argue with Us.

So help Us, Amend.

We have no faults.

Of that We are proud.












__The Outlaw Honey Moses - COVER_120312a

Chapter 2 – The Outlaw Honey Moses and



          Honey Moses left her room while former U.S. Marshal Rex Ramsey was still pulling on his boots and thinking about her plan for the bank in Passover.  She went down the hallway of the Whisper Glory and gave the secret knock to Kate Grody’s door.

          The door opened an eye’s-width and there stood Kate Grody, tall, big-boned and handsome, with her full curly blond hair hanging down to her belly.  She was naked except for a cowboy hat and boots with spurs.  Between Kate’s legs Honey Moses could see a man behind Kate on the floor on his side with his back toward her, tied up like a calf ready for branding and glistening in sweat.  Honey recognized the back of the Mayor’s head.  Kate’s men – and women – mostly liked it rough…

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Oh my god, how long have I been dead?

I’m in some museum exhibit.  I’m bones!

Those people are attired so oddly.  They are all thin and pale.  They are weird and small.

Is this an event for ghouls?

That banner says “Global Relaxation Day August 15 2368”.  It can’t be 2368! And that’s my birthday!

Well, I am relaxed.

Jesus, I am in a glass display of skeletons!

Oh god, I remember now how I always wanted to be famous.  I remember praying for success.

Then I was praying for forgiveness.  I remember descending.

Wow.  Who is that babe?

She has a badge: Museum Guide Trainee.  And a name badge: Fama.

Hey, Fama is checkin’ me out.  I’m holding her gaze.

I guess she likes my “boner”.

Hey, babe don’t leave so soon.

How can I be hard and relaxed?

This is Hell.

Hell is staying on earth.  Or in it.

What a diabolical resurrection.

God I want a cigar.

Look.  There is a reflection of a sign in this case glass.  I can just about read it backwards.

Remains from the Great Civil War of 2018 in the archaic nation state called The United States. Most dead were cremated in mass pyres. That was very bad for Climate Change. These skeletons were unearthed from a mass grave of the Undecided at the site of the Battle for Mount Whitney.

I remember!  I wasn’t an Undecided.  I was a Conscientious Hermit!  We were massacred.

Ooo! Hey, here’s Fama again!

I think she really likes me.

Fama is putting some kind of monocle up to her eye.  Oh!  It flashed.

Hey, Fama, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, I hope.  You can trust me.  I’m not like your other guys.

I have no baggage, babe.









This can be the last time again
I will daydream now, and then
You forget me
I forget you
No one said that Love gets returned
To this place where memories burned
You forget me
I forget you
We are strangers old to our dreams
There behind I stayed so it seems
You forget me
I forget you
Love so clear that I made believe
You were absent without my leave
You forget me
I forget you
Silent stay and well be your soul
I don’t need my love that you stole
You forget me
I forget you









VOX CANINA 2: The Bow Wow Theory

VOX CANINA 2: The Bow Wow Theory

“Wouaff-wouaff!”  “Whou-whou!”

I am Chien.  She is Bichon.

“Rrrr,” We follow the Voice of Dog; VOX CANINA, the bright shining Voice of Dog, according to the Canon of Dog.

She, Bichon, had eschewed the chateau of Landlord Berlaimont.  I, Chien, had abstained the abbey of Monk Brabant.

Thus we together had seceded into a mythical journey to find an existence apart from nobles and monks.

So, help us Dog.

Never again, now with those charcoal dungeons of rottenness and corruption behind us, never again to suffer such hypocrisy, we wagged away our promises toward the regions of the Beauce, between the Seine and the Loire rivers.

And so, by the fetters of fortune, under the dissolution of last daylight in leafy forest, beside a humming creek we encountered the Red Deer Stag named Châlons, renowned, illustrious.

Châlons approached us to contend with us, challenging steadily, firmly, “Are you a Hunt?”

We saw that Châlons was lame and limping.

I, courteously, in a kindly, friendly manner, proclaimed, “Sieur Châlons, Scourge of the Hunt, the reputation of your battle plunging headfirst with the great Cimmerian Wolf, Bâfrer Loup, such fame had reached the castle of Landlord Berlaimont and the abbey of Monk Brabant…”

Châlons gave ground to us, humbly, saddened and inflicted, “I am now only food for men and animals.”

Bichon offered, “We seek an existence apart from nobles and monks.  Come with us to an existence apart also from the Hunt and from Cimmerian Wolves.”

Châlons replied, “I am wounded.  I need rest.”

I said, “Let Bichon and me offer you our devoted protection during your recovery and resumption.”

Bichon added, “To the bargain, we need benefit from your cognisance of this foreign forest.” 

Châlons asked suspiciously, “Are you not dogs?  Are you not accessories to the Hunt?”

Bichon and I recited, “So help us VOX CANINA the Voice of Dog, the Canon of Dog teaches us Justice, Fairness, and Equity, eternal, everlasting, without end.”

Obliged to draw together thus, we did bind our Alliance on that account.

Bichon said, “We meet in fortune, Châlons.  You are a good heart.”

Châlons agreed humorously, “You two are lucky dogs.”

I smiled with irony, “In ancient times, ‘the dog’ was the worst throw in dice.”

As the world from all sides grew blind, the specters of our ears and the phantoms of our noses leaped and danced free from the tyranny of our eyes.

Châlons bent his ears suddenly to the whisper of sinister scratches.

Of the great Cimmerian Wolf, Bâfrer Loup, Châlons heard memories shriek.

Bichon and I arose alerted.

Of the great Cimmerian Wolf, Bâfrer Loup, we inhaled intent of murder, for we are cousins, wolves and dogs.

Bâfrer Loup pounced, “Your time left on earth is but a breath!”

Bâfrer Loup arrived at the throat of Châlons.

Bichon flew to the shoulder of Bâfrer Loup and bit.

Bâfrer Loup released the torn Châlons.  He  threw Bichon off and took her neck into his dagger jaws.

I tore at his belly.

Bâfrer Loup dropped Bichon’s limp body and snarled for my head, gnashing my skull.

Châlons drove his antlers into him and collapsed.

Bâfrer Loup rolled over, mortally impaled with Justice.

The four of us were fallen in Equity.

Only I moved, and I crawled to Bichon.

I laid my head upon her and I licked her blood.

I cried into Oblivion, eternal, everlasting, without end.

Châlons bore blind witness:

In Fairness, we have now arrived at an existence apart from nobles and monks, and apart from the Hunt and from Cimmerian Wolves.











__The Outlaw Honey Moses - COVER_120312a

Chapter 1 – The Outlaw Honey Moses and



          Honey Moses sat on the foot of the big iron bed and watched Rex Ramsey pull up his pants.  She took a swig from her bottle of whiskey and swished it around in her mouth.  Rex’s manhood must have been pickling in sweat and dust since he left the town of Passover.  She took a bigger swig.

          Honey Moses looked to be about twenty years old.  She could not remember even to this day exactly how old she was.  Thirteen years ago, 1876, the year Custer died, she had mysteriously appeared, walking into the end of town during a wicked dust storm, stumbling, crying and blinded.  Former U.S. Marshal Rex Ramsey had miraculously spotted her.  She was delirious, speaking in tongues almost.  Rex Ramsey figured she got separated from her family’s wagon when they…

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