Ask the Flowers

Are the depths of cruelty boundless?
ask the flowers,
ask the roses and lavender braided
in our hair.
We sit and stare upon their every care
and watch while
they shrivel and die like a man cut
at the roots
and placed in a bowl of his blood.


I was in the restroom at work, ridding myself of last night’s turkey and provolone sandwich when two guys started chatting as they washed their hands:

“You remember So-in-so?”

“Rings a bell,” the other says, “Why?”

“Cause, I’m gonna get laid!”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, got a date with her Friday. There’s a pause, I assume they look at each other in approval. “So get this. It shows up on my Facebook that she just broke up with her boyfriend, right.” And he’s like, “Hey, I got an extra ticket to this show on Friday. A little Molly, some whiskey…”

“Damn straight, man. Tell me how it goes.”

That conversation is the product of rape culture. We really need to start seriously talking about CONSENT. Praying on the distraught and feeding them happy drugs so they lay there while you fuck them is not consent.

It’s scary how prevalent and casual rape culture is, particularly, I feel, among men. Guys will openly and candidly talk about rape yet blush when consent comes up. If this doesn’t feel relevant yet, then you haven’t been following Bill Cosby’s trial.

Cosby admitted to drugging women of which he wanted to have sex with, and yet the jury could not come to a verdict so a mistrial was declared.

So since it’s not completely obvious – if you have to drug, coerce, or by any means circumvent an individual’s right to consent (or ignore their consent altogether) before engaging in sexual activities then you are committing rape.

Dear World,

I’m very sorry about our current situation here in America. This obviously wasn’t what we wanted. Capitalism, neoliberalism, and “democracy” aren’t working out. We’re poor, our healthcare sucks, and our labor is exploited by some jack-off in a suit, selling stock for a third yacht.

Issues that are now, really drilling into the middle class. Moderately wealthy white men are feeling the sting of looming debts, recessions, and inconsistent work or hours that have affected the poor for hundreds of years. These people elected Donald Trump.

Trump blames all those problems on people of color. It’s a very old narrative the money controllers and property owners rely on to keep white people from uniting with black. America’s élite know if that happened it would mean the end of their power and domination over the rest of us.

Currently, we have more pressing issues. We’re polarizing. There is a tidal wave of race-based violence sweeping through our cities, north, and south. Hate organizations are recruiting and radicalizing impressionable white men. Holding back the tide is the anti-fascists—nazi punchers—but our police don’t help them.

Our federal government is in a stalemate. If we had any obligations to or promises made with your country, I wouldn’t count on much. This is, however, a great opportunity to get to know our states.

Alone, we crumble under the weight of tyranny, together we rise and cast it off our shoulders.

Yours truly,


Pray for Me

I like it when people tell me, “I’ll pray for you”. Yes, it’s a condescending thing to say, and yes, it really accomplishes nothing. That’s exactly why I like it. Can you imagine what would happen if people put their hands down and opened their eyes? It would really fuck things up. We’re really lucky these people, people who’ll just believe for the sake of it, evangelicals especially, believe a dude in the sky is going to make it all OK. Otherwise, they’d be waving guns with the others who’ve figured out God ain’t got much to say.

I pass the sidewalk chalk
my feet tap the concrete top
I hear the ocean-voice plea
the electric-air scream
look at me
past the fence
through the park
rising with the highway heat
chase me
by the siren’s flash
the whistling night train
love me
despite every sprawling crack.

June 2

I don’t know why exactly, but I always start to feel sad around my birthday. I joke about having to bide my time on this rock, it makes for a good nervous laugh. It’s not that I’d rather be dead because now that I’m here I feel compelled to stick around and watch it all flush, however, I wouldn’t have complained if my parents had used protection. I love the ocean, the mountains, and the food, but Jesus…the people, what the fuck is wrong with the people? It blows my mind how someone can sit in a pew one day and cheer as bombs drop the next. Our capacity for love is so quickly overshadowed by fear and hate. Bummer. But it’s not all bad, even if we go extinct, we’ll be back after a few hundred million years, maybe less. Imagine archeologists of the future, digging up fossilized cell phones, plastic bottles, and pornography.

The Big Death

Both of our major political parties are corrupt and useless. But the dynamic of the two works really well for capitalists. One is constantly doing such fucked up shit that you can’t help but stare, and the other does just enough to keep everyone from rioting. They’ve joined hands with the bankers, and landlords so they can rake in cash while we’re drinking lead and bathing in fracking fluid, problems which are not leaving. As long as money is exchangeable for power the majority will always be poor. But there’s hope and it resides in the looming threat of the Big Death. If we’d taken care of the planet and actually learned how to share the resources, assuming all else goes somewhat okay, that gives us a few billion years. But not anymore. Our weather system is in the birth pains of destabilization and when that belly’s ready to pop it will utterly devastate food production. Spring will come too soon, summer will last too long. Crops all over the world will collapse, iceberg lettuce will cost $60/lb, putting the only fiber most Americans bother eating out of reach. Cows, pigs, and chickens will be swept away in floods that dry out as fast as they come. Starvation, forced migration, war, and all the skin-melting diseases currently thawing under our feet all fuse into Apollyon, the destroyer. And it unlocks the gates of the underworld, freeing an army of undead, which the south mistakes for Confederates, who they desperately need to outnumber the north in the midst of a raging second civil war. But the zombies don’t give a shit about any of that and continue to overwhelm and feast on anyone who stands in their way. Putin seizes the opportunity to destroy both America and Hell’s army by dropping the Tsar Bomba on every major city. Then all the other nations panic and start firing off their entire arsenal at each other until every mountain is leveled over every trace of existence.

And that’s why we need to put people over money and political parties.


A few people are making a stink over gender and public restrooms. Well, today when I went to take a piss I saw a dude shitting in a urinal. So I’d like to make the case for more stalls. Take out the urinals and replace them with cubicles, planks of plywood from floor to ceiling, with bidets (it would really save a lot of paper), and bio-hazard boxes. Folks need a place to drop their needles, tampons, and condoms. And since we’re overhauling restrooms, why have two separate rooms with stalls when we could combine them? One room where people can take care of their business and their kid’s without having to worry about what anyone has between their legs.