Monday, July 12, 2010

short movie I was in playing at SIFF this year.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

someone blogged about me at coney island high and mentioned you.

Check this out, I thought it was interesting. Found it when I did a google search of my name.

march 4, 1999 beavher was at coney island high for a few months. guests this night incl. george gilson from athens, alice from nj & nico star's friend kim punkrock. beavher was 1 of nyc's best 90s parties at don hill's but frank always had potitical trouble keeping it going with don hill. so frankie gave up & moved to LA. its sad.
frankie's hits incl. devo uncontrollable urge, beatles tomorrow never knows, iggy's the passenger, rockwell somebodys watching me, bowie lets dance & young americans, smiths how soon is now, and night fever. also opening sets from bands finger 11, shades apart & picasso jones. brian was on the door. frank's music was great; its a shame his music could not survive in nyc.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

kim punkrock at TV Guide's website

Pretty cool I must say myself.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

New Paintings Part 9

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

New Paintings Part 8

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Sunday, July 11, 2010

escape me never (short poem#31)

She thinks of me,
tells me how
much she needs me.
I say please pumpkin
fly to me.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Saturday, July 10, 2010

New Paintings Part 7

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Friday, July 9, 2010

painting alone ( a poem)

these hands paint
the lonely stroke
of life without you
This paint bleeds
the colors of
life without you.
these brushes cry
without your hands
to wash them.
This canvas cries
without your divine
purple heart to paint them.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

etruscan sexuality

When you get a chance read this, it is about Etruscan Sexuality and yes women were very into sleeping with other woman. Oh man I just kind of had some sort flashback of orgasm with you in Etrusca and it was fucking amazing.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

etruscan lifetime

We were in Etrusca which was in ancient Italy during the 1200's. This was an important lifetime for some reason. WE were women that were sacred and lived and were worshiped in a temple. We were brought up to be sacrificed. We were also lesbians, which I believe that most of the sacred woman had other woman lovers for some reason. We were very in love but you were not with me for some reason. Maybe things were chosen for us, but anyway, we loved each other so much that finally we came together and merged and saved something really special spiritually and ruined their sacrifice and saved the planet from their evil plan. You see the NWO or whatever you want to call it has been around since Babylon and even before in Atlantis. When we had sex finally, it purified their sacrifice when I was sacrificed. It was real important. You are really good at seeing the lives so when you figure it out let me know ok sweetheart. Anyway we are really important and when we finally come together this lifetime something great is going to happen. We need to make a screenplay about our midevil lifetime and the civil war. It is super important, maybe even WWII. There is another ancient lifetime that has to do with Freakshow USA. The short part of it goes like this, our society figured out a way for two woman to have a baby. You were one of the mother's and Christy Trotter was the other. I was the baby. It had to do with some kind of temple tower or something, It was real deep and important and it is for you to figure ok. WE need to make a movie or something about it. It has to do with Freakshow and is Real and I mean real important. In that lifetime you were killed after I was born and so was Christy because another woman was jealous that she wasnt chosen to be the mother. I am carrying alot of pain from this one because I lost my two special mothers and it is no joke. I believe the souls of Joan Blondell and Betty Davis took care of me, but I remember being really fucked up over it. Anyway when this happened when you were killed it ruined something really special on the planet that had to do with woman and women's liberation and other important facts. This one is for you especially. You are so important. I fucking love you so much.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

The Revolutionary War lifetime.

During this war we lived in a farm outside of Boston, my name was John Dresden and yours was Mary Elizabeth Dresden. We had a son. You died early, I never remarried and lived to be about 60 or so. I was a minuteman. You called me your redcoat killer. I use to sit in an tree and shoot them in the middle of the white sash they wore. I had something to do with the boston Tea party. I knew the captain of the ship very well and it was I that mentioned the idea to him. John Wayne was in that lifetime and he was my mentor. So was edward G. RObinson, Michael Douglas, Nevil Brand and a bunch of other classic film stars. After you died you use to hold me at night and we made love in spirit like we do now. I thought you would enjoy hearing about this one.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

How I love thee reprise 2 (short poem#30)

How I love thee
oh please sweet cheeks,
wont you please marry me.
How I love thee
wont you please make love to me
fix our painful mistakes in 93.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

sexual liberation (a poem)

I want to rub
my trannie cock
in between the
lips of your pussy.
back and forth
up and down.
I want to rub the
hole of your cunt
with my trannie cock
in and out
back and forth.
I want to hump
your clit
with my trannie cock
rubbing that cock
against you,
back and forth,
up and down
how we will come
take away the
eternal frown
of the distance
and long term
I want to rub
my trannie cock
in between the
lips of your pussy.
back and forth
up and down.
I want to rub the
hole of your cunt
with my trannie cock
in and out
back and forth.
I want to hump
your clit
with my trannie cock
rubbing that cock
against you,
back and forth,
up and down.
back and forth,
up and down.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Thursday, July 8, 2010

please (a sort of poem)

Please come see me.
take the first step.
I am on my hands and knees
begging you
to come and see me
and so is the universe.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

To heal the past ( a poem)

What we would not give
to heal with each other
the wounds of a war
not so civil
and the pain of
losing me during
world war one
the pain of losing
each other
during world war two
the pain of
adam and eve
and the eternal hump
we missed out on
in 93.
What I would not
give to hold my wife
in these wounded soldier's
pained and yearning arms.
No more guns
no more overseas
caskets coming
home to you.
just me and you
and a dog named boo
with a hump eternal
healing a war
not so civil.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

a book of pastel drawings.

A book of pastel drawings can be seen here. Too many to post.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

body changes revised.

TO see a picture of my cock on testosterone go here:

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Untitled pastel drawing #2

Originally uploaded by kimpunkrock

painting "heroin stamp"

Originally uploaded by kimpunkrock

another painting

Originally uploaded by kimpunkrock

painting I did based on our midevil lifetime.

The midevil messenger.
Originally uploaded by kimpunkrock

The heart of seattle

The heart of seattle
Originally uploaded by kimpunkrock

Untitled pastel drawing

Originally uploaded by kimpunkrock

The Spirit of the City

The Spirit of the City
Originally uploaded by kimpunkrock

new painting based on a drawing

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

see me in the civil war

Here are some pictures of me in a put together civil war uniform. I thought you might enjoy seeing me in the civil war. That war was really deep for us and my name was Robert DeLouary. In the Civil War I took you to NYC on a train. WE lived in Alabama. WE went to NYC to see a singer that you wanted to see. at first I didnt want to take the long trip but I took it for you. When we got there I had so much fun and it really awoken me to the beauty of music. It created in me a deep love for music. It didnt create the punk rocker in me but it was a big reason why you awoken the punk rocker back in me. The singer was Annie Lenox, well her in a past life. On the way home we made love like mad the WHOLE way home and I mean the WHOLE way home. It was a HUGE reason we incarnated in NYC in the next 3 lifetimes. WWI, WWII, this life for you and my last lifetime. That night we first kissed and you put on Annie Lenox, well sweetie that was the reason. That was the deep and I mean deep reason for it. If I wasnt such a drunken jackass, that truly was too drunk too fuck, I truly believe that we would still be together. I was so happy and had so much fun at the concert that I bought you so many gifts after the concert including a broach, a mink stole, a diamond ring, a bracelet, flowers, a necklace and a diamond tiara. We were rich and I mean rich. I saw our house the other night in a vision, it was immense. Meditate on this, it is a great memory for you sweetheart and since you live in NYC and our the queen of NYC.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

adam and eve

I love you,
thats all i want
to say
to you today.
I still feel
the same
when adam and eve
finally come together
there shall be
no more pain.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

New Paintings Part 6 and one of them is about this life and one is about the civil war

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

22nd street ( a poem)

How I wish to be
with her on 22nd street
How I wish to hang
my veteran feet
with her once
again on 22nd street.
How I will always wait
for that day
that we meet
how I wish to be
with her on 22nd street.
How the angels sing
outside her door
on 22nd street.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

They hit deep. (a poem)

They hit deep

My thoughts,
they hit her deep,
while they are not
always perfect.
I try hard
just the same.
As Divine mother
plays her game
I try hard
to not make
a mistake
with my thoughts
that hit her deep
and if my love
my mind should make
a mistake
remember this
my love
I love you
like no other.
If it wasnt
for the divine
murder of me
the thoughts
that hit her deep
would never cause
her any pain.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Thomas Chatterton-one of my favorite poets.

Apostate Will

In days of old, when Wesley's power
Gathered new strength by every hour;
Apostate Will, just sunk in trade,
Resolved his bargain should be made;
Then strait to Wesley he repairs,
And puts on grave and solemn airs;
Then thus the pious man addressed.
Good sir, I think your doctrine best;
Your servant will a Wesley be,
Therefore the principles teach me.
The preacher then instructions gave.
How he in this world should behave;
He hears, assents, and gives a nod,
Says every word's the word of God,
Then lifting his dissembling eyes,
How blessed is the sect! he cries;
Nor Bingham, Young, nor Stillingfleet,
Shall make me from this sect retreat.
He then his circumstances declared,
How hardly with him matters fared,
Begg'd him next morning for to make
A small collection for his sake.
The preacher said, Do not repine,
The whole collection shall be thine.
With looks demure and cringing bows,
About his business strait he goes.
His outward acts were grave and prim,
The methodist appear'd in him.
But, be his outward what it will,
His heart was an apostate's still.
He'd oft profess an hallow'd flame,
And every where preach'd Wesley's name;
He was a preacher, and what not,
As long as money could be got;
He'd oft profess, with holy fire.
The labourer's worthy of his hire.
It happen'd once upon a time,
When all his works were in their prime,
A noble place appear'd in view;
Then ______ to the methodists, adieu.
A methodist no more he'll be,
The protestants serve best for he.
Then to the curate strait he ran,
And thus address'd the rev'rend man:
I was a methodist, tis true;
With penitence I turn to you.
O that it were your bounteous will
That I the vacant place might fill!
With justice I'd myself acquit,
Do every thing that's right and fit.
The curate straitway gave consent--
To take the place he quickly went.
Accordingly he took the place,
And keeps it with dissembled grace.

Thomas Chatterton
Born 20 November 1752
Bristol, England
Died 24 August 1770 (aged 17)
Holborn, England
Pen name Thomas Rowley
Occupation Poet, forger

Thomas Chatterton (20 November 1752 – 24 August 1770) was an English poet and forger of pseudo-medieval poetry. He died of arsenic poisoning, either from a suicide attempt or self-medication for a venereal disease.[1]

* 1 Childhood
* 2 First "medieval" works
* 3 Posthumous recognition
* 4 References
* 5 External links

[edit] Childhood

Thomas Chatterton was born at Bristol where the office of sexton of St. Mary Redcliffe had long been held the Chatterton family. The poet's father, also named Thomas Chatterton, was a musician, a poet, a numismatist, and a dabbler in the occult. He had been a sub-chanter at Bristol Cathedral and master of the Pyle Street free school, near Redcliffe church. He died in 1752.
The house in Bristol where Chatterton was born and first schooled.

After Thomas's birth (four months after his father's death), his mother established a girls' school and took in sewing and ornamental needlework. Thomas was admitted to Edward Colston's Charity, a Bristol blue-coat school, in which the curriculum was limited to reading, writing, arithmetic and the catechism.

Thomas, however, was always fascinated with his uncle the sexton and the church of St Mary Redcliffe. The knights, ecclesiastics and civic dignitaries on its altar tombs, became familiar to him. Then he found a fresh interest in oaken chests in the muniment room over the porch on the north side of the nave, where parchment deeds, old as the Wars of the Roses, lay forgotten. Thomas learned his first letters from the illuminated capitals of an old musical folio, and learned to read out of a black-letter Bible. He did not like, his sister said, reading out of small books. Wayward from his earliest years, and uninterested in the games of other children, he was thought to be educationally backward. His sister relates that on being asked what device he would like painted on a bowl that was to be his, he replied, "Paint me an angel, with wings, and a trumpet, to trumpet my name over the world."

From his earliest years he was liable to fits of abstraction, sitting for hours in what seemed like a trance, or crying for no reason. His lonely circumstances helped foster his natural reserve, and to create the love of mystery which exercised such an influence on the development of his genius. When Chatterton was six, his mother began to recognize his capacity; at eight he was so eager for books that he would read and write all day long if undisturbed; by the age of eleven, he had become a contributor to Felix Farley's Bristol Journal.

His confirmation inspired him to write some religious poems published in this paper. In 1763 a beautiful cross which had adorned the churchyard of St Mary Redcliffe for upwards of three centuries was destroyed by a churchwarden. The spirit of veneration was strong in Chatterton, and he sent to the local journal on 7 January 1764 a clever satire on the parish vandal. He also liked to lock himself in a little attic which he had appropriated as his study; and there, with books, cherished parchments, saved from the loot of the muniment room of St Mary Redcliffe, and drawing materials, the child lived in thought with his 15th century heroes and heroines.
[edit] First "medieval" works

The first of his literary mysteries, the dialogue of "Elinoure and Juga," was written before he was twelve, and he showed it to the usher at Colston's hospital, Thomas Phillips, pretending it was the work of a 15th century poet. Chatterton remained an inmate of Colston's hospital for more than six years, and it was only his uncle who encouraged the pupils to write. Three of Chatterton's companions are named as youths whom Phillips's taste for poetry stimulated to rivalry; but Chatterton told no one about his own more daring literary adventures. His little pocket-money was spent on borrowing books from a circulating library; and he ingratiated himself with book collectors, in order to obtain access to John Weever, William Dugdale and Collins, as well as to Thomas Speght's edition of Chaucer, Spenser and other books.

Chatterton used the pseudonym Thomas Rowley for poetry and history. Chatterton's "Rowleian" jargon appears to have been chiefly the result of the study of John Kersey's Dictionarium Anglo-Britannicum, and it seems his knowledge even of Chaucer was very slight. His holidays were mostly spent at his mother's house; and much of them in the favourite retreat of his attic study there. He had already conceived the romance of Thomas Rowley, an imaginary monk of the 15th century, and lived for the most part in an ideal world of his own, in the reign of Edward IV, when Master William Canynge - familiar to him among the recumbent effigies in Redcliffe church - still ruled in Bristol's civic chair. Canynge is represented as an enlightened patron of literature, and Rowley's dramatic interludes were written for studies.

In 1769 Chatterton sent Rowley's History of England, allegedly by Rowley, to Horace Walpole, who was briefly taken in. Chatterton now turned his attention to periodical literature and politics, and exchanged Felix Farley's Bristol Journal for the Town and County Magazine and other London periodicals. Assuming the vein of Junius - then in the full blaze of his triumph - he turned his pen against the Duke of Grafton, the Earl of Bute, and Augusta of Saxe-Gotha, the Princess of Wales.

He had just dispatched one of his political diatribes to the Middlesex Journal, when he sat down on Easter Eve, 17 April 1770, and penned his "Last Will and Testament," a strange satirical compound of jest and earnest, in which he intimated his intention of ending his life the following evening. Among his satirical bequests, such as his "humility" to the Rev. Mr Camplin, his "religion" to Dean Barton, and his "modesty" along with his "prosody and grammar" to Mr Burgum, he leaves "to Bristol all his spirit and disinterestedness, parcels of goods unknown on its quay since the days of Canynge and Rowley." In more genuine earnestness he recalls the name of Michael Clayfield, a friend to whom he owed intelligent sympathy. The will was probably purposely prepared in order to frighten his master into letting him go. It had the desired effect. Lambert cancelled his indentures, his friends and acquaintances donated money, and he went to London.

Chatterton was already known to the readers of the Middlesex Journal as a rival of Junius, under the nom de plume of Decimus. He had also been a contributor to Hamilton's Town and County Magazine, and speedily found access to the Freeholder's Magazine, another political miscellany supportive of John Wilkes and liberty. His contributions were accepted, but the editors paid little or nothing for them.

He wrote hopefully to his mother and sister, and spent his first earnings in buying gifts for them. His pride and ambition were gratified by the promises and interested flattery of editors and political adventurers; Wilkes himself had noted his trenchant style "and expressed a desire to know the author"; and Lord Mayor William Beckford graciously acknowledged a political address of his, and greeted him "as politely as a citizen could." He was abstemious and diligence was great. He could assume the style of Junius or Tobias Smollett, reproduce the satiric bitterness of Charles Churchill, parody Macpherson's Ossian, or write in the manner of Pope, or with the polished grace of Thomas Gray and William Collins.

He wrote political letters, eclogues, lyrics, operas and satires, both in prose and verse. In June 1770 - after nine weeks in London - he moved from Shoreditch, where he had lodged with a relative, to an attic in Brook Street, Holborn. He was still short of money; and now state prosecutions of the press rendered letters in the Junius vein no longer admissible, and threw him back on the lighter resources of his pen. In Shoreditch, he had shared a room; but now, for the first time, he enjoyed uninterrupted solitude. His bed-fellow at Mr Walmsley's, Shoreditch, noted that much of the night was spent by him in writing; and now he could write all night. The romance of his earlier years revived, and he transcribed from an imaginary parchment of the old priest Rowley his "Excelente Balade of Charitie." This fine poem, perversely disguised in archaic language, he sent to the editor of the Town and County Magazine, and had it rejected.

Mr Cross, a neighbouring apothecary, repeatedly invited him to join him at dinner or supper; but he refused. His landlady also, suspecting his necessity, pressed him to share her dinner, but in vain. "She knew," as she afterwards said, "that he had not eaten anything for two or three days." But he assured her that he was not hungry. The note of his actual receipts, found in his pocket-book after his death, shows that Hamilton, Fell and other editors who had been so liberal in flattery, had paid him at the rate of a shilling for an article, and less than eightpence each for his songs; much which had been accepted was held in reserve and still unpaid for.

According to his foster-mother, he had wished to study medicine with Barrett, and in his desperation he wrote to Barrett for a letter to help him to an opening as a surgeon's assistant on board an African trader. On 24 August 1770, he retired for the last time to his attic in Brook Street, carrying with him the arsenic which he drank, after tearing into fragments whatever literary remains were at hand. He was only seventeen years and nine months old; but the best of his numerous productions, in prose and verse, seem very mature.

He pictures John Lydgate, the monk of Bury St Edmunds, challenging Rowley to a trial at versemaking, and under cover of this fiction, produces his Songe of Alla, a piece of rare lyrical beauty. Again, in his Tragedy of Goddwyn, of which only a fragment has been preserved, the Ode to Liberty, with which it abruptly closes, may claim a place among the finest martial lyrics in the language. The collection of poems in which such specimens occur furnishes by far the most remarkable example of intellectual precocity in the whole history of English literature.
[edit] Posthumous recognition
The Death of Chatterton, 1856, by Henry Wallis, the most famous image of Chatterton in the 19th century. The figure of the poet was modelled by the young George Meredith

The death of Chatterton attracted little notice at the time; for the few who then entertained any appreciative estimate of the Rowley poems regarded him as their mere transcriber. He was interred in a burying-ground attached to the Shoe Lane Workhouse, in the parish of St Andrew, Holborn, later converted into a site for Farringdon Market. There is a discredited story that the body of the poet was recovered, and secretly buried by his uncle, Richard Phillips, in Redcliffe Churchyard. There a monument has since been erected to his memory, with the appropriate inscription, borrowed from his "Will," and so supplied by the poet's own pen. "To the memory of Thomas Chatterton. Reader! judge not. If thou art a Christian, believe that he shall be judged by a Superior Power. To that Power only is he now answerable."

It was after Chatterton's death that the controversy over his work began. Poems supposed to have been written at Bristol by Thomas Rowley and others, in the Fifteenth Century (1777) was edited by Thomas Tyrwhitt, a Chaucerian scholar who believed them genuine medieval works. However, the appendix to the following year's edition recognises that they were probably Chatterton's own work. Thomas Warton, in his History of English Poetry (1778) included Rowley among 15th century poets, but apparently did not believe in the antiquity of the poems. In 1782 a new edition of Rowley's poems appeared, with a "Commentary, in which the antiquity of them is considered and defended," by Jeremiah Milles, dean of Exeter.

The controversy which raged round the Rowley poems is discussed in Andrew Kippis, Biographia Britannica (vol. iv., 1789), where there is a detailed account by G Gregory of Chatterton's life (pp. 573-619). This was reprinted in the edition (1803) of Chatterton's Works by Robert Southey and J Cottle, published for the benefit of the poet's sister. The neglected condition of the study of earlier English in the 18th century alone accounts for the temporary success of Chatterton's mystification. It has long been agreed that Chatterton was solely responsible for the Rowley Poems, but the language and style were analysed in confirmation of this view by W. W. Skeat in an introductory essay prefaced to vol. ii. of The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton (1871) in the "Aldine Edition of the British Poets." The Chatterton manuscripts, originally in the possession of William Barrett of Bristol, were left by his heir to the British Museum in 1800. Others are preserved in the Bristol library.

Chatterton's genius and his death are commemorated by Shelley in Adonais (though its main emphasis is the commemoration of Keats), by Wordsworth in "Resolution and Independence", by Coleridge in "A Monody on the Death of Chatterton," by Dante Gabriel Rossetti in "Five English Poets," by Henry Wallis in his painting "The Death of Chatterton," and in John Keats' sonnet "To Chatterton". Keats also inscribed Endymion "to the memory of Thomas Chatterton". Alfred de Vigny's drama of Chatterton gives an altogether fictitious account of the poet. Herbert Croft, in his Love and Madness, interpolated a long and valuable account of Chatterton, giving many of the poet's letters, and much information obtained from his family and friends (pp. 125-244, letter Ii.).

Two of Chatterton's poems were set to music as glees by the English composer John Wall Callcott. These include separate settings of distinct verses within the Song to Aelle. His best known poem, O synge untoe mie roundelaie was set to a five part madrigal by Samuel Wesley. Chatterton has attracted operatic treatment a number of times throughout history, notably Ruggiero Leoncavallo's largely unsuccessful 2 Act "Chatterton"; The German composer Matthias Pinscher's modernistic "Thomas Chatterton"; and Australian composer Matthew Dewey's lyrical yet dramatically intricate one-man mythography entitled "The Death of Thomas Chatterton".

There is a collection of "Chattertoniana" in the British Museum, consisting of works by Chatterton, newspaper cuttings, articles dealing with the Rowley controversy and other subjects, with manuscript notes by Joseph Haslewood, and several autograph letters. E. H. W. Meyerstein, who worked for many years in the manuscript room of the British Museum wrote a definitive work - "A life of Thomas Chatterton" - in 1930. Peter Ackroyd's 1987 novel Chatterton was an acclaimed literary re-telling of the poet's story, giving emphasis to the philosophical and spiritual implications of forgery.
[edit] References

This article incorporates text from the Encyclopædia Britannica, Eleventh Edition, a publication now in the public domain.

* Works by Thomas Chatterton at Project Gutenberg
* The Rowley Poems at
* "Chatterton - A Novel" by Peter Ackroyd, Hamish Hamilton, London 1987

NAME Chatterton, Thomas
SHORT DESCRIPTION English poet, forger
DATE OF BIRTH 20 November 1752
PLACE OF BIRTH Bristol, England
DATE OF DEATH 24 August 1770
PLACE OF DEATH Holborn, England

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

How I love thee reprised (short poem#29)

How I love thee
and constantly
think of thee
how I yearn one day
to make love to thee.
How you just constantly
inspire me.
My purple heart
streaming media queen.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

painting I did about us in 93

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Sunday, July 4, 2010

A man's cock ( an old poem about an old friend)

A man’s cock

A man’s cock
Sings to me
In thrashing ecstasy.
I do not need
A man to justify my existence
I crave his gun
To bleed
To fuck
The body is a temple for god
An instrument for art
My pussy is the paint
Your cock the brush
Dip it in baby
With one big thrust.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

thanks for all you share with me

Every now and then you share with me things we did in WWII. It means a lot to me, more than you could ever know. We are severely being fucked with by a master guide and a few other spirits. It is causing me great pain and I mean great because we have great love for each other. I am in great pain here in Seattle and I mean great because of what is being done to me. I am not sure if you are aware of how hard you try to fix in spirit what happened and I greatly, greatly love and appreciate it. I really hope we get to see each other again I fucking love you. you are so powerful and important. We really need each other and I hope we get to see each other again and so do a lot of other people, especially all the classic film stars we have karma with.


PS. if someone is constantly harassing you in spirit and u think its me I can assure you its not. I have to say this because I am getting the feeling that this is happening because it is happening to me. It is probably the asshole master guide. I am not suppose to talk about what is happening but fuck it you know. I really love you and it is causing me GREAT PAIN and I mean GREAT. If it wasnt for you helping me I wouldnt know what I would do. Nico I love you and I know that one day we will fix our mistakes that we made in 93. I want you to know that we were greatly sabotaged in 1993 by the same asshole master guide that wants to incarnate with my past lives and karma because they are so great. We did so many great things on this planet. I love you so fucking much. The divine wants us to make a movie together and so do all the classic film stars. It is really important.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

The movie we met at during world war two

We met at the Roaring Twenties. I did not know this until after I sent it. We first made love after we went and saw one of The Thin Man movies. It might of been the first one replayed, but I am not sure, it also could of been one of the sequels. But The Thin Man movies have deep meaning for us. You should order the box set from Amazon.

The painting I did for you called If She were A Flower is really about world war two when we met as little kids in an abandoned lot and I picked you a flower. That painting is really deep.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

New Paintings Part 5

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Soldier in Docs (martins)

Soldier in Docs (Martins)

East Village
Mountain climbing
Reaching the peaks
With a big quantum leap
Hanging onto that
Feeling only she can give me
Is sweet dreams
Where she said
I will always wait
For my soldier in docs ( Martins)

I needed too

Didnt kiss you
when I wanted too
Didnt hug you
when it was right
didnt fuck you
all night

Didnt see it
when she wanted me back
Didnt feel it
two hours away
didnt grasp it
threw it all away.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Jen Synthesizer otherwise known as Come down (poem written in decemeber 2006)

Jen Synthesizer otherwise known as Come down

Drink coffee all night
And paint pictures
Better than dope
But I want to get high
I want my life back
But its something I
Can never have

I’ll try not to come down
I told her
I’ll try not to come down
I felt it
Let me come down,
Come down
Come down on you.

This soldier’s war
Try not to sleep at night
Look at her picture
There goes my fright

Have sex she told me
The lesson
Bites down hard
Here comes the bombs

Come down at night
I’ll try not to come down
I’ll try not to come down
Come down, come down
Come down off of you.

Wish I never fell out of love
Falling back in
Words that never came out of my
Mouth created the biggest sin.

The pain of my universe
The pills I swallowed
My life,
Something I can never have

But I’ll try not to come down
I’ll try not to come down
Come down
Come down
Off of you.

Come down
Come down
Off of you.
Something I can never do.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

staying clean (short poem #28)

staying clean
thinking of thee
wondering what the future
holds for you and me.

my sun flower
how I yearn to hold thee
and your purple heart creativity
Please future send her to me.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Past Life revealer (poem written in 1999)

Past Life Revealer

Dana Scully
Dark and Sunny
Painting heroes
bitten and scratched
when I am around you
I want to get high
what does it feel like
to be with men
broken and beaten down
my mind is a mess
Intense jealousy
grips my vagina
It doesnt matter
what you blow me with
I am all ready dead

Live for Chicago
painting and skating
I smoked pot
it created past life regressions
almost too much to handle
bitten and scratched
blow by blow
she cooked me dinner
my habit cut short
heroin fixes the broken glass
upset...I flounder.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Riding into the Sun.

Jan. 19th 1999

Riding into the sun

Riding into the sun
just like James Dean
My vision escapes me
now I got a gun
Free coffee in the cafeteria today
Pissed off that I cant watch the X-files
on FX when the show was actually good.
But Hey Chris Carter-"Hats off to Gillian and David"
How lame, I am out of pot
Big Lamo
Big downer in school and out of pot
I have always smoked pot
and never knew there to be
anything wrong with it

Reading Rimbaud catching up with it.
Trying to get an education
catching up with it
Need a smoke?
Be like James Dean
Had a dream last night about Dana Scully
we were running from
an alien nightmare
Mulder shrunk into a doll inside my pocket
"what did you do to Mulder? she asks
"what did you do to Mulder?"
I just keep thinking that I
loved him more than life itself
still doing the same thing
my heart lonely,
hanging on to its last breath
I may have outlived her.

Double fisted-"coffee and soda"
"I am happy to see you." she said
"Jesus or a gun" I asked her.
"both" she replied.
I said-"Be like James Dean"
"I cant" she said and slowly floated away,
I need weed.
Breath in, breath out
feed me with your french tickler
The field where I died
I want to get high so bad I can taste it.
Damn the needle.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

She says (Short poem #27)

She says
"bring me to your body"
In spirit as I hump her.
I say-
"just come."

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Agent Mulder-Living in Chaos. Part 2 rest of book

Giving mulder head new York city
The lower east side
Queen Maragrita
The killer tomato
New haven rules
Loving life
The I only attitude sucks
This sucks
I did it for the money
Enigmatic Dana Scully
IT’s only the natural progression of life
The munks created coffee
The catholics said coffee is the drink of the devil.

Mulder’s Dream
In the field where I died
I swam to the surface
Broken and Battered
I dreamt of a woman
In a long black coat
Beyond the sea,
All souls go.
I felt a rush as she touched
My hand,
The woman in the long black coat
Came to be.
I had a dream.
It was one week,
It was the way she use to look at me.
Touch my hand and say-“Mulder”.
I love her; she is the moon, the stars
And the little green men.
Never again had I felt
Her sweet touch.
Then there is the woman
In the long black coat
I understand now, she is Scully.
I now understand who I saw that day
In the field where I died.
The woman with the long black coat
Raises her head, our love
Yet unfulfilled.
Demons in the X-files
Demons on the planet
Punkrock genocide
Degenerating mess
Satan in my life
My deep impact on the X-Files.
Whippets at Whillobys
In the bathroom,
Designed by John Flick
I shot up my ashes
And did the troubadour twist
Live everyday as if it was your last
On the prowl, sweating outstanding.
The breath on my face
Awoken me to be broken
FBI promises Did Mulder
Ever leave Scully
I heard they were partners
I burned my bridges
(under orders fropm God)
As fast as I could.
“They scream” he said
“cuz there having nightmares”
(the truth is out there)
She’s throwing fits cuz she has an answer
To the question we all ask.

Kicking Fox
IT’s the two parter
Everyone is making a mess
It’s my life and I don’t care
Lucky I checked my back pocket
Territorial picking
She’s defamed
Sings it all with an O and an X.
In everywhere possible I made many mistakes
Chances that I call my own.
At first word I did get tired.
My old ways cut me like a knife.
How the east village never
Leaves you though your 100 miles away
But in your mind you’re always right there.

Full Disclosure
Broken soul
Heated disagreements
Failed innuendos
Battered and beated
I tore apart my art.
Waiting for an answer
Give me a sign
I am living by own design
Not going to be with the monster guide
Waiting for the next big parade
Laughing my ass off at staying clean.
Full Disclousure
I think I lost my face
It’s all right when I am doing it
And your not but when it’s
The other way around
You gotta love it
Pot head junkies
Keeping their distance.

Well we are all one
It has me tapped out
I want your cliché
Juices all over me
You call me here
To warn me of the truth
Though she does not listen
As a matter of fact your in
The body on the earth plance
Intense jealousy of the god within
Bitten by a nasty bug
Thrown away like a pawn
In the chess game of life.
On the internet juices of life’s reading
Mulder and Scully getting off on it
Internet chat room
Tomorrow I am playing basketball
With Jim Douchvey
Thinking about Nico and nothing at all
At the same time.
Wearing a black onyx bitten
By the Sara Gilbert bug
I just keep thinking about how
It could all be different
At this jack off school
Is giving me a hangover reality

Courtyard Christina
Ran into her
Though I thought it was her
But still unsure of it myself
Too busy walking after my gunner’s mate
A floating swan spoke to me in parables.
I thought it was you
But again she is in Italy
And I am walking after her.

Have some compassion
The business is upon us
Bringing you my medals
In a flag drapped coffin
We use to be the nephilim
Circus freaks and side show attractions
Boundless energy,
Boundless love
I love you and its jesus or a gun.

X-Files Orgy
Five people in the internet chat room
A user’s room
They start to cyber
4 girls enjoying each other
For the first time
One man enjoying himself
Welcome to 0our X-files orgy
She rode her,
She rode him
She fondled her and she rode her
4 girls enjoying each other
For the first time
It took place in an internet chat room.

Thinking of you (for nico)
So far away for me to hold
My hands paint the broken vision
Two models hidden in the back streets
Of a small suburban transit system
That has not run in years.
Two broken poems
My dysfunctional life
My best friend, she’s gone,
Left my life.
My words,
My pens,
This emotional strife.
The world is a wonderful place
Painful to leave all of this behind
Blind to the master within myself
My poetry, love and the paintings of her memory
Cant die,
Leave all of this behind
I am so alone
I could scream.

Playing for her
My youthful innocence
I would not let you go
She went the other way with it
We still would not let her go
All she knows is how it makes me feel
I lost all my money
I lost all your sleep overs
Talk to me baby, I missyou.

Why I am doing this
Why do I want to over dose
Die, doing heroin,
I might cry.
She cries because she wants to be a guy
Maybe then someone will love her
Her dreams,
Her passions can be fulfilled
She wants to make a woman happy
Take care of all her needs
She wants to be a guy
Not lonely anymore
I want you to talk to me
I miss our sex.
I went crazy without you.
I wanted you to let me in,
Let me stay with you
Please love me
And fix the god within.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Thinking of you (from Agent Mulder-Living in Chaos)

Thinking of you

So far away for me to hold
My hands paint the broken vision
Two models hidden in the back streets
Of a small suburban transit system
That has not run in years.
Two broken poems
My dysfunctional life
My best friend, she’s gone,
Left my life.
My words,
My pens,
This emotional strife.
The world is a wonderful place
Painful to leave all of this behind
Blind to the master within myself
My poetry, love and the paintings of her memory
Cant die,
Leave all of this behind
I am so alone
I could scream.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

please note (short poem #26)

She fixes my spirit
from 3000 miles away
there is nothing she
cant do.
Please note,
that I love you.
the forces that keep up apart
want me to fuck it
with you.
But please note
that one day they will pay.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

thank for telling me about Coney Island

Thank you for telling me about Coney Island and world war two.
We went there on some of our first dates.
I won you a teddy bear at the shooting gallery
I won you a heart shaped pillow and a gold fish.
We made out on the Ferris wheel
thank you for telling me about it
it means a lot to me.
also thank you for telling me about my pigeons that I kept as pets.
It really mean a lot to me.
I love u.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Thursday, July 1, 2010

On my back (short poem #26)

I love you on my back
she is always walking after me.
maybe someday she will be
walking besides me.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."

Agent Mulder-Living in Chaos.

Agent Mulder, Living in Chaos
(partially transcribed)

There’s more to heaven than Mulder…
This coffee runs through me so fast that it keeps me on my toes.
MY poetry kills.
There’s more to me than creative insanity.
I can hide behind the wall
Not so much a guru but a lost chicken
Will she ever make it anywhere?
My back is falling apart.
I am a child and there is way too much homework to do
And not enough free heroin.
There is more to heroin than my agent Mulder
Your 12 stepping on my head
I do whatever the X-Files tell me to.
I get off on being fucked up.
They call me junkie Christ
And I just want to get paid
I feel your fire within my existence
Can my power save me now
Can my creativity save my Mulder
Drinking cough syrup to fill my famous void,
My famous nod
If I was famous I wouldn’t be in this mess
Burning out my brain I am perfect whole and complete.

Mulder and Scully sitting in a tree
There is no one I want to imitate
Practicing emotions from god
The visions, the poems
Are beautiful butterflyes
Coming off my canvas
Warrented, out for my arrest
Mulder and Scully are very both blessed.
Naked New York Homeless
How do we know when the road ends,
Does it ever, Do I ever really lose you?
There body’s are so temporate
Closed class is in session
Afraid of being homeless
This is the field where I died
Too bad she’s broken
Damn that painting
Breaking passionate girl
It’s all over and done
Up, up and away
Broken casket
Breathing to be alive
Could be because I am smoking
Drinking, coffee and killing time
Living of route 109

Is he giving me what I need
Still I have so many questions
Broken questions
Never becoming answered
Hidden behind all this
Earth plane cancer
Does any of this really exist?
Lower east side atomic bowling
It’s my body the earth plane body and it sometimes
Gets in the way.
Being buried on earth
My time is pasted
A battered dream of truth
Therefore through this broken dream
I do sit in hell
Its 2 am and I listening to Los Angeles
If it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead
She really talented and gifted
Though I want to believe in her
In her computer and yahoo.
Painted heroin nighttimes
Fainted heroin flat lines
Scully the believer
Mulder the clown
He’s a poet and I break my paint
I die a little each day every moment she is away.
Love is in my arms
(and my new tattoo)
Petty argumentative people
Have no resentment to forgive.

He means everything to me
It’s beautiful and I can take it
Time is a jailer
X-File reruns I am in jail.
Every time Mulder and Scully pull
A gun on each other drink
This is the field where I died
Once a long time ago in a suit of grey
Broken arrows—it isn’t ok.
I wish I could talk to her
I have so much to tell her
Mulder wont lose her
There are many mulder clones
The poet in me
I took a dive in his ocean
Just one kiss before you go
The X-Failed
And then I am dead
Broken homes and more broken dreams
Mulder and Scully want me dead.

The job is your habit
Getting high with Mulder
It aint so bad not being
Mentally obsesses addicted to heroin
My bones are breaking apart
From the methadone
She’s still on pot, but weaning
Ever so slowly to the ground
These cockroaches will kill you
In Mulder’s town.
I rode through Rhode Island last week,
Thought of Mulder
It rained that day
I was just running away
But always running back
If you cant learn from your past mistakes
There is never any learning
She is as stubborn as a mule
Him and his legs
Hey kim watch this
And how you were a latch key kid.

Not much changed as time passes by
Her orange is passing by me
Haunted by an old X.
In the fire that waters bloom
I sing this song to you
As the tides slowly weep0
I bring my paint to you
You my guru
I lay them at your feet and throw
A garland around your neck

He hangs up
She gets frustrated
I am humble at your feet my lord
All right I AM AGENT Dana Scully and I am a federal agent
Now everybody just calm down
I cant stand Mulder crawl into my body
Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your voice
Hey Mulder thanks I can breath again
They are always so funny but oh so serious
Everybody loves Mulder
Artistcally I couldn’t be better
It is all pieces of you.
Scully kicks a hole in the sky.
It’s so cold in here
I am breaking out in a sweat
I don’t regret
You should see all the people I have met
There als just so pissed off
Mulder kicks a hole in the sky.,
They call me spooky, spooky mulder
That’s better
The real streets of Washington
Nothing changes on New Years Day.
Reinstatement of my X-File must
Be undeniable
They are Defaming my god within
I said a prayer to myself.

I couldn’t stay clean today
Oh what a day
I may be alone but I am bothered
Now Dana….Fox.
Mulder lies beyond the sea
Behind the field where I died
Here’s to when I was an Anasazi.
Skinner says-“Oh Mulder “humbug” Scully
Greets the ghosts who stole Christmas
Many people died on the piper maur
Mulder says he has a house for you.
Remembering the past, I screamed
I rejected god because nobody
Finished telling me who god was.
Safe and Broken
I am beaten to a pulp.

Walking along Washington Square
My design impaired
By my love
And punkrock
Greedy is the mind of another
It doesn’t get much better than this
I am walking along Washington Square
Lots of friends lost by drugs and recovery
Spitting in my eye
I said-“damn” and skated on through Washington Square.

Reeling in tender motions
I regret many of my life’s choices
I reject you so stay the fuck away from me.
Mulder tells Scully he would die for her
Scully cries.
I find myself on an internet chat room
Wherever I go.
My brain has been eaten away by heroin.
I smiled and everyone got happy.
I am only in this class for 30 minutes
And all ready I want out.

Sara Gilbert crowd control
Movie idea about Yale girl and star.
My story I get into Yale
I get deeply involved with a professor
The plot twist.
Shakespeare, love and hate.
She loses control at Yale with love
And friendship and learns a valueable lesson
Through it all.
Sex, money, drugs and Yale.
“You pay a price for a pipe dream.”
I just saw Clair Daines from a coffee shop window.

Uncle Jesus
I just got high off your body.
You pay a price for your mistakes.
It’s all the punkrock it’s my entire mistake.
Never let go of a dream.
Punkrock is ripping me to shreds.
Drugs destroy dreams.
Dyslexic heart.
I have no idea what just happened before
But I liked it
I can feel my body parts like I am tripping.
This coffee is ripping up my stomach
And millions of fans become aroused
Of Dana Scully and Fox Mulder in my pants
And everybody plays a part at Yale.
I am so glad to be off methadone
Her hands stroke my heart wildly.
I live in a town where no one smiles.
A love affair with New Haven CT.
Kimpunkrock pick’s her nose.
Kimpunkrock here come the heroin police
A new breed of terror-heroin.
Shit I have to take a piss.
I think about when I was in prison.
And I am bleeding from the heart.
The dream I had about the X-Files
Has fixed my torn apart heart.
The corridors of Yale,
Lab suit troubadours
Telling it like it is.

"Wars May Come and Wars May Go But Art Is Forever."