well folks its been a long four years. dont know where to start, but i guess i have to start some where................

it's because i'm cool
whiskey bottles
dead end dreams
fuck it

no title

i'm sorry your tired
i'm sorry you woke up at 9 this morning and laid in bed till 10
i had been up since 5am done some work and was on my way to lunch when i called
i'm sorry you spent the day with your family at the movies and playing in the pool
i'm sorry you get to be home were i want to be
i'm sorry i'm away from home on buisness
i'm sorry i went out and had a little fun
for the first time in weeks
for the first time in weeks i wasn't working
working on the house
working on the bike
working at working
i'm sorry your tired from a day at home and around your family and have no time for me
i'm sorry that tongiht is the last time you'll get to talk to me for any given amout of time till i get home, and even then we won't get to talk because i have to finish moving us out of the old house.
i'm sorry

15 days on the road
15 hotel rooms
3500 miles
35000 random thoughts
3 houses
3 states
inumerous states of mind
white line fever
rivers of light
the city of angels
hollyweird
malibu
laguna
oceanside
mountain roads
wrenchs and screwdrivers
booze, always booze
booze to numb the pain
relax the muscles
kill the voices
after 10 hours driving
the voices begin to agrue
after 10 hours work
the voices begin to bitch
they want
booze
cigerettes
cocaine
a woman
a soft bed
a hard cock
and a wet cunt
if home is where the heart is,
then my home is 1500 miles
and days away

empty tip jars make no friends
cause worry and wince
and pay no bills

tips jars full of money
will get you free drinks
will get your story listend to
will get my bills paid
will make my landlord and crditors smile

empty bars make no friends
long expanses of pine or oak
polished to a gleem
waiting for a friend

time killed
shots drank
music played

a pocket half full of money
a pack of smokes and a hot dog

a pocket full of money
a pack of smokes
gas in the tank
and a waitress to bring me steak and eggs

my roommate never sleeps
he just sits in my easy chair
in front of the TV
a beer in one hand
a cigarette dangles precariously from his lips
and a booked layed carelessly across his chest
he sits there all night
with two excetions
to make god awful concoctions on the stove
for me to clean up later
bits of food and grease and goo
left as little reminders that i do not live alone
the other thing that he does
instead of sitting in his chair
farting, bleching, smoking, whining and moaning
is deposit the same fowl concoctions from the stove
in the toilet
after burning thru his digestive tract
to leave a stench of death and rotted life
in a room no bigger than a closet
with a paper thin wall next to my room
seeping thru the cracks and crevises
remindingme i do not live alone
he hates me
he envys me
he enveys my ease with women
and my taste for fine bourbon that i do not share
he enveys the women who sneak out of my bed for work in the mornings
he enveys the way i stay out all night
but he never sleeps
he just sits in my chair
staring blankly at the tv
staring at me
waiting for me to do a trick for him
clean up his mess
and bring home a girl for him
fuck him

days gone by and days to come

days gone by and days to come

along time ago, in a time almost forgotten
she sat upon a wall, giggling and laughing
in a torn flannel shirt, fishnet stockings and combat boots
a punk rock beauty
glances exchanged, retorts given, phone numbers returned
car rides to follow, parties attended, not so much as a kiss made
vows of devotion were proclaimed, friends till the end
best of friends
but he thought to himself
if only she would let him kiss her, she would know
she would know how much he loved her
days spent lounging on the couch, watching tv, listening to music
planning their lives
what they would do
where they would go
but alas it was not meant to be,
maybe another time or another place things would be different
but he couldn't wait forever
soon a girl came along and kissed him and her memory faded to days of youth
and punk rock glory
it was time to grow up and be a man
but he always thought of her
always wondered were she went, who she'd become
and he would wonder, what if?
hundreds of whiskey bottels later
a dozen woman with broken hearts
but he still wondered
what if?
he sat at the bar one lonely night
a old cohort asked, do you rember her?
everyday he said
call her she said
i have her number she said
and he did
she was still around
and on her way
she too had not forgotten
she too had wondered
she asked how will i know you
he said you will know me
it was another time
it was another place
they sat and talked
it was if a day had not gone by
and he leaned closer
to hear her over the music in the bar
and she leaned closer so he could hear
and they kissed
and she finally knew

a cold day in Texas 

water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.......

so you never know what you got till it's gone. an old cliche if there every was one, but then again cliches are there for a reason. yesterday my water was shut off. sure i could blame this person and that person, i could blame bureaucratic bullshit, but in reality i have no one to blame but myself. i haven't paid the water bill in three months. and yesterday a hapless worker came to my house, closed the valve and put a padlock on it. simple as that. i'd actually paid the bill, but i guess i dropped in the mail a few days too late. oh well. the other day i spent the night at my girls house. we had a wonderful meal. homemade beef stroganoff. watched a movie and then settled in for the night. i got up the next morn, brushed my teeth, had a cup of coffee and made my way home. got home, and went about my days activities. i phoned several business associates, made plans and then went to work to get more things done. a simple plan. go to work, make my arrangements for the day, return home, shit, shower and shave, then return for my tuesday night behind the bar. serving drinks for the brave souls who ventured into the dark deserted neighborhood for a drink on a tuesday night. i arrived home at dusk to find a red flyer on my door. damn! maybe it's just my final warning. no worry i sent the check off in the mail yesterday. once i arrived on my doorstep, my fears were realized. they shut my water off. my plans were dashed. it was getting dark and cold. i was looking forward to a modest meal, and a shower. to cleanse my body and my soul. oh well i've been camping before, no big deal. it'll all be straightened out with a phone call, and i'll have water in the morning. one phone call to the water dept and i discover that i'll be with out water for a few more days, unless i want to go in person to pay the bill that i had previously paid but they had yet to receive. drats foiled again! oh well, i haven't done anything to get dirty, i can go one more day with out a shower, i can wash my face and hands at work. on the way home from work i got a can of soda, and bottle of water. the water for myself in the morning, and the soda to mix with my bourbon. when i woke the dogs bowl was empty, well he got a bottle of fine spring water to drink and i got the half can of flat cola to wash the night away. but this really sucks. i have bourbon, some flat soda, and no water. and all i want to do is wash my hands. a glass of water would be nice but i really want to wash my hands. a simple task. but yet unattainable. i use a little water left over from a pitcher in the fridge and complete the task. but as i was doing so, being careful to not waste a drop, i think of all the water i have wasted. the times the faucet dripped and i was too lazy to get up and turn it off. of the time i stood in the shower for long after i needed. or flushed an empty toilet just to hear it flush before i used it. of just the other day when i filed the sink to soak some pots, or just let the water run to rinse the pot instead of just washing it and being done. cliches are tools and examples of life. they tell us what we already know but are too wrapped up with ourselves to listen. so the old cliche, you don't know what you got till it's gone? it's true. it's a truism. i have three faucets in my home, and not a one of them works. i took them for granted. i took for granted that every time i turn the handle, clean cool water would run forth. but not today. today all i have is a quickly emptying bottle of bourbon, three days worth of beard, and dirty hands. i hope i don't have to shit soon.

i'd forget my own birthday if it wasn't on my drivers licence

i can't even recall the number of times you've given me your blog address, i always seem to loose it before i can get home. can i get again?

West Texas neon and grease

It didn’t take long for Patrick to find a job. Years of hopping from job to job had given him the experience to find work almost anywhere he laid his head. This time he found a job in a small motorcycle shop. He worked long hours, at first it was to make up on lost cash from the road trip. Then to find a more permanent living arrangement. After only a few weeks in the motel, he had grown weary of the old man and his disapproving looks when he returned at night from his long days in the shop covered in grease and grime that would turn to money on Friday. Of his leering eyes while the young woman went about her daily activities of laundry, shopping, and lounging about the room. Soon they found a small garage apartment. A perfect arrangement indeed. There was enough room to park the truck and a bike away from prying eyes at night, and enough space above to keep from running over each other while they stayed in.
After finding suitable living conditions, Patrick began working the long hours for the extra cash to finally rebuild his bike. He spent many a night when not working on customers bikes working on his own. Rebuilding, repairing and refinishing parts cast off by others as unusable or undesirable, yet still more than satisfactory for his meager needs. What he did not need he traded or sold for the parts he needed to purchase new.
As time progressed the bike began to take shape and form. It was no longer a rolling, broken pile of rusty, ragged parts, but a rolling functioning motorcycle. Not necessarily the show bike he wanted, but he could soon put his face back into the wind. He could twist the throttle and blow his troubles away with the exhaust gasses. He had finally regained the freedom he had desired, even as short lived as it would become.
Soon the young lady disapproved of his late nights in the shop. Patrick was hardly ever home, and when he was, he was tired from long hours in the shop. The same long hours that put a roof over her head and food in her stomach. She grew weary of sitting in the apartment unable to find a job. Soon the magic was lost. She began making friends at the nearby bar. Soon she was spending more time away from the tiny, sparsely furnished apartment returning to bask in the light of a jukebox and a neon signs. Men began to take notice of her again. For a while she resisted, but eventually she fell prey to temptation. It was a man who didn’t have dirt under his nails, or grease stained hands. He was a normal man who spent long hours in the bar that she was beginning to call home, instead of working on his bike or hot rod. A man who had a job and provide her with drinks and fine food. The same man who took his own bike to Patrick for repairs.
Patrick came home one night to find a note laying on the kitchen counter. It read “ thanks for the ride, Nina”

10/3

shots of jager and empty glasses of water
living out of an empty tip jar
bills past due
water, phone and electric getting cut off
drunken posts about nothing.
longing to love
long to live
a round of shots
jager running low
put another bottle on the chiller
and pour me another round.
fuck it! thought it was time to crawl out of the garage,
guess i was wrong.
i'll go back now.
to tools i know how to use
metal i know how to work
machines that know my hands
the cool touch of metal
warming in my hand
a strong 4/4 from the speakers
drowning out my thoughts of flesh
sharpening my thoughts of
grease, steel and oil.
tolorences and tourques
spinning, whirling parts to keep my hands from.
things that make the world go away.
a machine doesn't care if i'm cold or tired
doesn't care if i'm drunk or sober
doesn't care if i'm hungry or full
it only wants to work
it olny wants to spin and whir
breath fire and turn it to power
FOR ME
it only knows what i want it to know
it doesn't want to be friends
it wants to me
****************************************************************
she loves me
she hates me
when i don't show her enought attention she gets cranky
when i treat her too harsh she falls apart
she tried to kill me
she has saved my life
she loves to be touched
she loves to take care of me
she bleeds for me
she longs for me
she loves me
so much she wants to take my life
so that we will never part
i thought i had gotten rid of her for life
but she came back
she can not let me go
and i her
she lives for me
i and for her

the truth does sting a bit, doesn't it?

You Know You Drink Too Much When...

Your doctor finds traces of blood in your alcohol stream. The back of your head keeps getting hit by the toilet seat. The parking lot seems to have moved while you were in the bar When you go to donate blood and they ask what proof? You think the Four Basic Food Groups are Caffeine, Nicotine, Alcohol, and Hotties. You have a "happy hour" at home When you are sober, people ask you what's wrong? You spend all night making a board game called Alcohol Land Although you drove home the other night you can't remember how you got home or where you parked your car "Hi ocifer. I'm not under the affluence of incohol." Your favorite drink is ethanol. "Why does everybody think I have a prinking droblem?! - I don't have a prinking droblem!" "I don't have a drinking prob..pleb..prub.. *hic* Pash me another, tarbender." You can spend a whole night holding up walls to prevent their (your) collapse. You instinctively know where the alcohol is in a store you've never been in before Clubs raise their drink prices because you haven't attended in a while You think beer and ramen make a good breakfast You frequently urinate outdoors. When you first wake up and you're afraid you're gonna die and a half-hour later you're afraid you won't. You fall asleep taking a dump. You believe that spilling a beer is alcohol abuse. You go to the john to hurl, but you take your beer with you. You find it's easier to study drunk. You're on a first name basis at the detoxification center. Beer ads make sense. You wake up to the sound of your dog drinking out of the toilet and you're so dry that it sounds mighty thirst quenching. You wake the next morning and start drinking a few of the half empties left sitting around the room. The space on your driver's license that tells your eye color reads "bloodshot". You fall down a flight of steps and DON'T spill a drop of your beer. You mix your cocktails by the litre. You grow a beard because it stops beer that's running down your chin. You put off urinating in hopes of reaching that near orgasmic Zen-like piss. When the bottle says 20 standard drinks but you only get 5. You spell Alcohol with a capital letter out of respect You lose arguments with inanimate objects. You have to hold onto the lawn to keep from falling off the earth Your career won't progress beyond Senator from Massachusettes. 24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case - coincidence?? - I think not! Two hands and just one mouth... - now THAT'S a drinking problem! "Norm!" is what they say when you enter the bar. You can focus better with one eye closed The parking lot seems to have moved while you were in the bar You fall off the floor. You discover in the morning that liquid cleaning supplies have mysteriously disappeared. Hey, 5 beers has just as many calories as a burger, screw dinner! Beer: it's not just for breakfast anymore. The glass keeps missing your mouth. Vampires get woozy after bitting you. At AA meeting you begin: "Hi, my name is... uh..." Your idea of cutting back is less seltzer. You wake up in the bedroom, your underwear is in the bathroom, you fell asleep clothed. - hmm. Every night you're beginning to find your roomate's cat more and more attractive. If you're on a diet, you cut back your food calories to allow for alcohol calories. "Take me drunk, I'm home!" You wake up naked lying in the corner of a bus depot. You drink to get over a hangover. You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends who drink too much.

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going insane

i decided that i'm going to grab mu whiskey bottle and go crawl into my toolbox for awhile. if you need me i'll be out it in the garage.

you talking to me?

this is the part where i go insane.

broken heart 

my jeans

blood, piss and cum,
vodka, whiskey and rum.
human grease and bits of food,
grease and oil, very crude
my jeans have become.
things in my jeans, some
times comes out in the wash.
other times the paryt is just a memory.
a torn cuff,
the waiste gettting rough,
a stain, or spot of bleach
sand in my pocket from the beach
my jeans.
they clothe me,
protect me,
save me,
comfort me,
hold my things and my body.
bloody, bruised and broken.
happy, sad and spoken,
they tell the life i live.
human grease, blood and rum.
axle grease and cum.
today is wash day.
stains wash away,
memories fade.
scars heal.
glory last forever.

with apologies to music.

a silent phone,
and no pool.
a pet ,
half pack of cigarettes,
and empty bed.
a full couch,the remote is mine,
but out of reach.
dirty dishes in the kitchen,
waiting to be cleaned.
and dirty thoughts,
waiting to be fulfilled.
the computer light
filling the empty room.
visions of girls dance on the screen.
but they are out of reach also.
paint smearing, mind reeling
whisky getting warm on a cool night.
cigarettes burning carelessly in the ashtray.
thoughts on a screen,
thoughts beyond means,
words in my head,
while laying in my bed,
with empty hands and dirty sheets
the clock a constant reminder,
of time spent alone.
freedom to act, is not with out consequence.
freedom to be alone.
freedom to stay away
freedom
freedom
girls winking
girls flirting
drinking for free
teasing
taunting
holding out
wanting, but pushing away
giving in.
gone at first light.

When you call out my name..........

You know me by my name, i know you by your drink.
young pretty girls drink light beer and vodka tonics,
young men do shots of whiskey and schnapps between their beers.
old men drinks scotch and draft beer.
old women drink wine or drinks with simple names.
i hate you all.
for different reasons of course. but i still hate you. because your loud,
your rude, you don't tip, and you don't know what your talking about.
your talking to hear yourself talk and to
make your self feel important.
why on earth do you want to talk to me?
is your life so un-interesting that you find delight in my
mundane life?
Fuck You, Pay Me!

thoughts

"Somebody at one of these places asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?" You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like it's looks, you make a pet out of it."
- Charles Bukowski