My advice to anyone newly born to this
planet
Try your best to keep the shit out of your eyes
If you want to be Lord
don’t compromise
(The Flies)
They panic when you relativize
In the attic, where children play dungeons and dragons
they see satan in the maneuvers to outwit authority’s bland magic
and I sympathize
with those who, lonely
fear the mob, the mass, the crowd
who chants stolidly and angry
‘we shall not be moved’
you can feel yourself apart
from all humanity in these gathering times
where reapers come to sow
but I like when you come to my door
and ask me if I want to walk with you
the march, it gets me out of my hole
Kerouac, before he drunk himself to death, was so zen and lovely
he had this theory, and I subscribe
that the vietnam war was a ploy by the vietnamese to get more jeeps in country
and private cowboy in that full metal jacket, though his main issue with being
at war was ‘there ain’t one horse in this whole country…
there’s something basically wrong with that’
i think the military and all the wars in history
have done a great service getting men up the courage
to wear their shirts tucked in,
and mop the bathroom, timely
but I long to ride away into the sunset
if only
the movie, she won’t end
Master, the campaign you wrote for your supposed friends
it’s a convoluted story
we came to slay demons and lay with bar wenches
I’m a bard, my friends are clerics and barbarians, dummy
We don’t know what to do with your never ending story
I could fade into the scenery,
become a supporting character at the local tavern, telling my story
to the adventurers who
come on main character trying to take from me my homely
I’d make a good dragon, if I could horde
enough of your meaninglessness to feed on
that’d be lovely
I wish my fight wasn’t the world’s, so much, not anymore
it was fun to be abhorred, in this vacuum cleaner dicksuck
trying to make people care how hard it’s getting to breathe
trying to save a place to bask in the glory of a sunny sunny
trying to penance last night’s mess to the record player
with a book and something yummy
trying to break apart the time
so i can pick the shell off my born mortal life eternal
hard boiled not-here-to-die upcoming
to summon a fire, cast a spell
and let the mob, the horde who will always be a class of enemy
disembowel and eat the boy who picks corpses for their sacred manuscripts
like perfume, you know (funny)
and longs to
fuck you running
with love and squalor, this goes out to you
James Dallas Egbert III
keep your maps tattooed on backs and secret safe and beating
The Haunted Typewriter 