No guns in Brixton

The card cheat turns thief
cupboards bare, out on his feet
no bells ring to save the day
the everlasting blue turned grey

Tired of the clouds
The crowds
The thrills, pills and England's green hills
In Tokyo

The fatal heart attack
Was the the thing he lacked
As the dogs bayed at the sun
For the moon was gone

Tired of the clouds
The crowds
The thrills, pills and England's green hills
In Tokyo

Those with their gods masturbating
A life spent with nothing but waiting
Counting the sins out and hating
the people they will never be
Monochrome rainbows o'er a blood black sea

Tired of the clouds
The crowds
The thrills, pills and England's green hills
In Tokyo

"guns out boys, there's queers about"
bronze age brains confused as lives they snuff out
Helpless, child trapped under the parent
And the catholics loudly repent

Tired of the clouds
The crowds
The thrills, pills and England's green hills
In Tokyo

White Light

I want white light
Like the stars at night
Sparkling, twinkling diamonds
Against a black backdrop which I cannot comprehend
I want white light
Like the full moon
Perfectly round, bright and sharp
I want white light shining down on me
When all else is appears so incredibly dark.

I want white light
Like the white lightning my father used to make
Secretly in our cellar
Every fall, he would buy grapes
Ferment the mash and haul out his still
The copper boiler on the kerosene stove
A blue flame burning day and night
My mother’s warning him not to blow up the house.
Drip by drip
White lightning: distilled through the coiled copper tubing
Drip by drip
White lightning: pure and crystal clear.
With his tester, “170 proof,” he would boast.
My father liked extremes: for him it was either his white lighting or
when that ran out, a cheap pint of Fleischmann's whiskey
Always an open bottle under the seat of his pick up truck
Which I’d steal small amounts for my weekend partying
Trusting he wouldn’t notice.
I was 16.
But today I can say: He was a man,
a product of his time, and he was kind.

I want white light
Not red light
Red light is obnoxious
Red light means “STOP” with capital letters
Halting progress
Dashing your dreams
Unless she has a red light in her window
I don’t mind paying for love
How does the saying go?
“It’s better to have paid for love, than not to have love at all.”

I want white light
Not red light
Red light means “No Go”
Crushing all creativity
Stopped at this red traffic light for so long, I could rot here
At least yellow light represents caution,
At least yellow light allows for chance
That you can still make it.

However, such ego-centric bragging, “I want white light…”
Something to take me 100 miles and hour
Something to zoom me through these clouds
Something or someone to take me places I’ve never been before.
This would all be a lie

I am like everyone else….
I am like everyone else
Hoping for
Waiting for
A simple green light….
A simple green light
So we can be free
Be free to be on our way

"At the Brink of Summer" by Ivy C. Machida

Standing pensively
At the brink of summer
Awaiting the warmth
And welcoming glow
Of the fiery sun
To drape me
In its flaming glory
Shielding me with its masterful hug

A tight embrace
Of fire and fervour
A tingling sweep of energy
A forceful hold -
A gripping flash of memory
Piercing the depths within
Drowning me in its intrusive reach.

I melt in the comfort
Of its all-encompassing grasp
Stoking the hidden furnace
Long dormant and cold
With the passing tides
And drifts of yesteryear -
Oh, summer me back to your heat again.


"The Poet's Wall" by Ivy C. Machida

Walls separate, walls shield, walls crumble
A sprawling walled-in hideaway
A sacred spread of greening glory
A haven of bliss and serenity
Away from raucous sound and sight.

A rippling meandering rivulet
Sedately glides around rustic rocks and trees
Flowering shrubs and blooming stalks
In tune with nature's wondrous hues and themes.

Alone in the vast embrace of earth and sky
Sheltered beneath the cloak at dawn and dusk
He sat and mused with his rocks and stones
And penned his mystic melancholic tones

Reminiscing, eulogizing and bewailing
His long-departed love
Who left before her time
In that cloistered garden they built together.

Bereft of her comfort, warmth and touch
He nursed and tended the plants
And snugly nestled her favorite ones
Grieving with each remembered joy and pain.

Once in the early spring when the sun was out
Half-hidden by a cottony cloud
A gust of wind swirled around him
Rustling the winsome sweet Forget-me-not

As he knelt to caress the flowering plant
The wandering wind gushed swiftly by his ear
Softly whispering, "Take heart, do not fret, I am here".
He felt her essence deep within, but the wind was gone.

He clasped his hands as the tears fell
And praised his caring, doting deity.

He lingered long in his wooded habitat
Amidst fragrant scents and chirping insects
And song-birds zigzagging in the air
Deriving strength to meet each dewy day.

And it came about, one day suddenly
When he felt the stab within his heart -
A call to relinquish all that's stark and earthly
And in zen-like meditative stance, take his leave.

He felt his knees buckling as he weeded
His legs stiffening and his chest suffocating -
His mind spiraled toward a gliding cloud
Hailing it as he reached out for a ride.

He cried to his deity
Yielding a reality that came his way.

He heeded the call to smash the wall
That protected all in his secluded hermitage
To let them fade and fall like all things archaic -
His rocks and trees and worldly whims.

I watched as he bade adieu to what he cherished most
The tears oozing like his roving rivulet
To reach the nooks and crags of his solitary realm
Now streaming down his barren neck and heaving chest.

The time is nigh to shed this brief temporal span
Return to dust what once was dust assuredly
And retreat sublime to the void of Zen tranquility
Eternally thus entwined with the rustling wind

In a garden anew with seeds of love and affection
A heavenly harvest reap forevermore.


Searching for a place to cross (tanka)

Watch the river flow
The river knows where it's going
But I walk with doubt
I search for a place to cross
The water moves rapidly

Tanka consist of five units usually with the following mora pattern: 5-7-5-7-7. The 5-7-5 is called the kami-no-ku (“upper phrase”), and the 7-7 is called the shimo-no-ku (“lower phrase”).

I’m no Nostradamus

I may wake up tomorrow
Or at least I hope so
You never know, I could die in my sleep.
Like my neighbor did,
He went out in the morning and bought his wife flowers
After lunch he took a nap
He never woke up after that.

You never know the future
And I’m no Nostradamus.
Nostradamus or Michel de Nostradame
Nostradamus wrote his first set of quatrains, four line predictions, in 1555
And Nostradamus is credited with at least 14 famed predictions
but let’s just take at look at a few.

Nostradamus predicted Hitler:
"From the depths of the West of Europe,
A young child will be born of poor people,
He who by his tongue will seduce a great troop;
His fame will increase towards the realm of the East."

Well, World War II, that was fucked up... when the world went mad.

Nostradamus predicted the atomic bomb:
"Near the gates and within two cities
There will be scourges the like of which was never seen,
Famine within plague, people put out by steel,
Crying to the great immortal God for relief."

The atomic bomb, man unleashed the means of possible planet destruction.

Nostradamus predicted the attack of 9/11:
"Earthshaking fire from the center of the Earth
Will cause tremors around the New City.
Two great rocks will war for a long time,
Then Arethusa will redden a new river."

After 9/11, I have to wait in lines and take off my shoes at the airport.
Which is supposed to make me feel safe,
In a world gripped in fear

Nostradamus predicted the end of the world:
He predicted that the world will undergo great floods
Did Nostradamus mean the rising seas from climate change?
And after which total destruction will take place
when a comet storm reaches the Earth.
A comet, or maybe Nostradamus meant a World War
World War not I,
not II,
but World War III
Nostradamus does not write anything about what will happen after this disaster
Which may lead us to the conclusion
There won’t be anything afterwards,
This is the end
There will be no survivors.

Okay, we have to give ol’Nostradamus and his predictions
some benefit of the doubt
After all, his predictions were made, call it, some 500 years ago
when philosophy, and not science, ruled and left little doubt.

I figure, you don’t have to be a rocket scientist
You don’t have to be a brain surgeon running for president
You don’t have to be Einstein
You don’t have to be Nostradamus
To predict bad shit will happen.

As Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami puts it:
“Everyone, deep in their hearts,
is waiting for the end of the world to come.”
If we keep going this way,
We make get our wish.


There ain’t gonna be no revolution.
Again, this revolution will not be televised
Not then, not now
They say, “Changing is what people do when they have no options left.”
There ain’t gonna be no revolution — political or otherwise.
Better bend over for some cheap grease
Don’t bank on trickle down
I feel pissed on.
Get out your umbrellas, fellas
Cuz this wind, this cold hard rain, it ain’t gonna stop.
And I know, I know my rant… I’m just pissing in the wind.
But I can’t shake, I can’t shake this mood..
This burn, I’m in.

They are fracking—cracking—the land under our feet
CO2 – Fuck that..
It’s not just 2?
I’m not fool…
It’s all fossil fuels
The earth is warming
Some call it alarming
Animals becoming extinct
Nature is on the brink
Global warming is not a hoax
Climate change deniers are a joke
Rising of the seas
Cutting down all the trees
Making 50 inch TVs
Crime shows for you, me and our kids to see.
The daily news of some asshole on a killing spree.

So did you hear? They are having an election this year
Electing the rich to represent the working man and the poor
Sure...tell me, how’s that gonna be?
Raising taxes, spending on wrong priorities
What’s important?
Our kids can hardly read
But video games, they are excellent at
They talk about the 1 percent
Yeah, I’ve got about one cent in my pocket these days
It’s a crazy world
Someday they are going to sell us the air that we breath.
Just more scheme—their game of Public Grand Theft Larceny
Politicians promising to keep us safe
From terrorists comin’ to our shores
One by land, two sea, three by refugee!
I’ll let you in on a little secret…It’s all fucking simple, really
You see, they don’t like the invisible God we believe.
We don’t like the invisible God they believe.
And people just believing in invisible things is fucking scary for me…
Yeah sure, all religions as the same thing
Love and peace
Treat your neighbor as you would like to be treated yourself.
That’s great until it comes to the poor, the sick and refugees
I swear Buddha must be laughing in his grave.
This is fucking insane.

I’d like to think differently:
Be hopeful, be optimist, look on the bright side, things will change.
Fuck that…
Still in here, in my heart, there is glint....
A flicker, on a shard, on a speck, on a pinhead
There HAS to be.
They say, every country has the government it deserves.
And when I think about
Currently or historically
I say:

The dirtiest joke I've ever heard

Some folks ride on fancy yachts
For the sake of argument,
Let's call them the 1 percent.
Others row their boats
Gently down the stream
Broadcasting their slogan to everyone
"Life is good" and "why can't you... no
"Why don't you feel the same way as me?"
Some just keep swimming…just keep swimming
Fighting daily battles; they don't give up.

All the while, there are those sinking
the current and tide against them
Hanging on until their last breath is taken
No life saver gets thrown
Only compassionate words to follow:
"He is in better place now."
Maybe so, after all, it had been hell on earth
for this poor soul.

But under water is where some day we all must go
Six-feet under ground
Whether we deserve it or not
And that's the dirtiest joke I've ever heard!
What a heartless trick!
So who to believe
The preacher or the voice of temptation in my head?
They say:
We are what we eat
We are what we read
Buddha said, "We become, what we think"
Some just watch TV
Sooner or later, we become what is around us.
I don't know if it's the truth,
It's just a sociological fact.

Oh! If the kitchen could talk!

The potatoes were divine, lightly creamed with crisp grilled gruyere

You could not get better potatoes anywhere

His wife was a star

She had come so far

In the potato stakes

And the mistakes

Of her cakes

Her carrots sodden

Were long forgotten

And the gravy like glue

The boiled rubber beef stew

Now vanished from view

He loved her again

An oft repeated refrain

For a marriage pissed down the drain

But she had not forgotten the pain

That a luke warm dinner brought

When with visage fraught

With the fear of being caught

Wearing long sleeves in the summer

Brought many questions from a Mother

Who knew the truth through the pain of another

And when the fridge was beer dry

The slap and the cry

The floor crawling screamed “why?”

Had not been cleansed from her mind

When with one fluttering hand pass

She diamond sprinkled ground glass

Into the delicious potatoes for that ass

Who’d beaten her

As with a whisk she’d stir

The promises forever broken

‘Til death us do part

‘Til death us do part


The future is unknown
What I want to know is:
What happens when you
When you run out of time?
All those lonely nights
All those busy days
So why….
The world spins
The world spins round and round
The clouds in the sky
The clouds float by
The rain drops down
The water soaks into the ground
And the waves crash
They crash
Never ending
And it goes on and on
And on and on
And on and on
Long after I’m gone.
I can only give thanks to the Sun for waking me. . .
For waking me each day.
I can only give thanks to the Sun for its light
I can only give thanks to the Sun for making things grow
I can only give thanks to the Sun for warming the earth
And for warming my bare skin.
The future is unknown
What I want to know is:
What happens when you
When you run out of time?
So why….
Why do they make it only harder
When we only have just one life?

Points of no return

The point of no return
My whiskey glass smashes on the floor in a billion pieces
Like our friend Humpty Dumpty who had a great fall
so broken, no one could mend
The point of no return....
When you say something, you can’t take back.
Like, “I don’t love you anymore”
All the king’s horsemen and all the kings men
And you… can’t bring love back again.

The point of no return
Whether it’s at Niagra Falls - you’re going over the edge
Or falling off a cliff
Or jumping off a bridge
Pulling the trigger … bullets….They don’t come back
The point of no return
Into the abyss

One time, a rather troubled but handsome young man – a student –
lingered after class and asked me what I thought of suicide.
“Well,” I replied, “you’re a decent looking young guy…
Then continuing with my professorial advice,
“If you commit suicide you’ll never be able to pull some girl’s pink panties down.”
A look of confusion (or disbelief ) ran over his face,
As my student mulled over the image in his mind I had placed
Then he looked at me and replied slowly, “Sensei, I got it.”
I probably saved a life.
And in my view: where there’s pink panties, there’s still life.

Then there’s the point of no return when your plane is taxiing on the runaway, getting ready to take off
Your plane isn’t going to turn around….
that is, unless someone jokes about there being a bomb on board
Then the plane won’t hesitate and will proceed back to the gate
Where uniformed men are waiting, swiftly escorting the person off the plane.
I included this because I know someone - Ron - who pulled this stunt.
Spending time in a Japanese jail for about a month
But that’s enough of personal stories and history.
I have more important thing to discuss.

Our environment may be on a point of no return.
Climate change, or global warming –
But damn, I wish scientists would make up their minds
which one it is
Whether climate change, or global warming
Which one will doom us in the end.

Example: The Marshall Islands of the Pacific
As the ocean level rises, these once idyllic islands are now in a losing battle
My advice to the Marshallese people:
make sure your kids can swim
make sure they have a paddle.

They say “it’s never too late.” What a naïve thought is that?
Climate change is now past the point of no return.
Some still call it a hoax but it’s a fact
We can only brace for the impact.
The future is always uncertain
Especially now for future generations.

You see, this is not the first time we’ve gone down the wrong path
Past the point of no return
Letting the genie out of the bottle
The making of the atomic bomb
Man’s trophy of death and destruction.
I’m not a religious person,
But Dear God, don’t let Donald Trump near the red button.

Sometimes, I feel I’m like spaceship
Having gone out past the point of no return
They say once you take LSD, the world is never the same.
A tree is not a tree anymore, but a thing of wonder.
And I like to look at the world that way.
A spaceship that is lost in space
And someday drifting out - far out…
In lifeless darkness…Never returning, forever and ever,
Beyond the point of no return.

The point of no return For Jimmy

The tired mirror image, misted by the morning shower
His last stand against himself and the power he had not
Electric phillishave horrors had no place for him
He was a mans man, weak, tanned white and not thin
He had wasted too much time, ageing as far from fine wine
as a person could get
His nose however, was like a fine bordeaux, in colour
He hated those ears, FA cup to the english
taxi doors to others
punching bags for his brother
landing pads for the slaps of his mother
He was going through with it
He thought to cut off his dick like some old Lou Reed song
But as atheist as he felt, his nerves of a fuckless heaven worried
He should go Bunuel style, slice open his eye
He knew it was a sheep in the film, but it felt right
His hand shaking raised, as his left eye glazed
His mind the same
He could not stand the shame the mirror gave
They had put him up to this
Those faceless fawning fiends wandering his life corridors
Family they say
Parricide was not enough, they would suffer not
Only minutes not years
But a one eyed son in their blind kingdom?
That would show them
The blood deep in the eye would be ocean black
He knew this.
He had reached his terminus
He was tired of living with us
So dripping cold red hate
He wiped the mirror
Wiped his eye, uncut coward like
And sliced
Left an Aladdin Sane like stripe
Ladies first
He was a gent after all
And when you reach the sign in life
That screams "stop, do not pass go"
You laugh and remember your manners.
"After you miss"

And the lights came on

Somewhere over the rainbow
The superman now a shade
the future portrayed
betrayed by life

Youthful voices a memory
Something in me

Then I saw her dance
And it was alright

People forgot
Rock and roll
Talked arty rot
There's old wave and new wave
No tears from I

I saw her dance
And it was alright

When you rock and rolled with me
I was never on my own
Even when most lonely
That only the nailed up curtains spoke
In rustling whispers
The electric pulse
Colder electric blue from you than any before
I loved that distance

She danced, honestly
And it was alright

I never had the cheekbones
Nor the clothes hanger frame
You were our fame
Monochrome dustbins and chip papers
Turned bright orange electric guitar
Hooligans in eyeliner
Punching the stones from each other
Time took our rizlas

She danced young and pure
And it was alright

Kicked off buses, sing song noisy
"Is gay sex wrong? If so, you be the girl, ok?"
We were too afraid anyway
That's why we were not famous
Well, outside of our heads
He never went away
Still hasn't
Paintings, posters adorn
Music forever pulsing through the tawdriest dawn

She danced in the sun
And it was alright

The TV played the saddest chords
The stereo undelivered
Typical, you never got what you expected
There was old wave, new wave and...

She danced, like the DJ cared
And it was alright

Nice to look back in wonder
Instead of anger
The angel came, cape torn, union Jack
The green land will forever be lighter
While his chords fuck the air
and screw the normal
Freak out indeed

She danced as Ziggy played his final guitar
And it was alright

Improbably Impossible

The impossible relaxation of death
The breeze the only breath now
Curling its way across waxen cheeks
"He's in a better place now"
The believers, really believe in their cross bought heaven?
I see no parties for dead children.
"Yes! He's dead! Fucking great, mate, he is in a better place"
no, it is all tears and "he was lovely, sexy, noisy, naughty, haughty and dead"
Why do not laugh when your friends burn?
Or your Mom dies?
You do not even believe your own lies
The joy should burst your puritan minds!
The very thought of pulling up a cloud next to Jesus
Lord please us
Take his soul not mine, I am not quite ready for the divine
Fake, fraud
Purple Bubbling anger.
You believe in heaven about as much as I do
I need no 10 commandments to be good
Nor a promise of a place unreal
a place even you believers cannot feel
No matter how hard you wank your faith
You cry when they die
laugh, laugh if heaven is true
They are in a better place than you.
Of course Jesus was white
Bronze age Mesopotamia was very European
Back then
I hope your tails grow back in your heaven
Stop crying
Granny is with god
The capricious old sod
And please do not forget you are all actually jews
Is that ok?
Oh I forgot, your moral code
The commandments 10
There are three versions of them
In the inerrant book
So get some kegs in
Put on your best pink suits
Throw away the black
Repair the faith you lack
And laugh your tits off at the dead
They are happy now

"Spider Lilies at Kinchakuda" - by Ivy C. Machida

The chilly winds of autumn
Are rustling the wavering leaves
Turning them shades of gold
Dimming their once luscious sheen.

And you, flaming fiery spider lily,
Where's your rustling
What's your call?

Leafless, widowed and shorn
You stand alone, a crest of wiry whiskers
Fraught with anxiety and quivering
As if in dire need.

I see you there, a stalk forlorn indeed
Gracing a gravestone
Somber and cold, bemoaning your loss of old -
Summoning spirits with your wispy claws.

As I stoop to ignite my joss
And meditate my own inexplicable loss,
I sense the smoky trail of incense
Swirling its web-like veil, wrapping you in its hold

Lingering in the air
Caressing us, like lost souls
Grieving, as if you and I were one.

And yet, and yet, at Kinchakuda -
You reign supreme and proud with your companions
Entwined in clusters and lost in the crowd -
Transcending all in luminous splendor.

Zooming crimson carpets you lay out
Along the river bank - blazing paths of red
Fit for royalty, nymphs and deities
Partaking in a momentary dance

Of infinite joy, pain and circumstance -
Aspiring to rekindle what once consumed
Our minds and bodies - now extinct -
A needful reassurance of kindred ties

That bound our hearts and souls together -
Enshrined and emblazoned
In the bosom of sweet repose
Each autumn at Kinchakuda by the river.


Another Horror Halloween Story

I give up...
Hands up, don’t shoot.... I submit
aka. also known as: I don’t give a shit.
All the juice has been sucked out
Needle and tube in the arm
Or a razor to the wrist
Life-blood draining on the floor
Has turned me into Zombie,
A member of the Walking Dead…
In a world of fear
A world of indecision
A world of gray
A walking shadow
A ghost
Wandering the earth
Groping like a blind my on a windy day
The world has become one giant fucking shopping mall
With shit for sale
Piled sky high all around me...
Sameness and mediocrity
Everything and everyone for sale
And everyone is a salesman
Preachers telling us what to believe
Algorithms that now define me.
Making us pay
by Easy Pay
Your user ID and password
Guards at the doors
No exit

Black Lives matter
Police Lives Matter
All Lives Matter!
Are you shittin’ me?
First, I hate to tell you, but “Nothing Matters” – not really
Most of it is just make-believe
Go ahead, pray to Jesus
Go blow yourself up for Allah
Don'' worry, the devil always has your back
All Lives Matter must be why guns are made
All Lives Matter – how people treat on another
All Lives Matters must be why flowers are placed on graves
All Lives Matter – how we treat the other creatures on this planet

You know… I’m changing my view on guns.
Ironically, guns are the last bit of personal power –
A last gasp of freedom
Whether having to defend yourself against the crazies
Or just going on your own fucking rampage,
before they take you out.
Or whether to choose to blow your brains out
When you’ve had enough.

Yep, Freedom is on the march
Marching backwards.
While we are tethered to our smart phones
Where are lives are increasingly kept
We watch the world
In front of the TV
Believing what we see
We make up out minds after getting a good brainwashing
But I always wear a smile when I leave the house,
When I go out side.
I always wear a smile because I could be on
“Smile, You’re on Surveillance Camera.”

Naughty Sky Man

I get angry, angered and angsty
Sad, saddened and solipsistic
But never capricious
I am not in his image
I am not of his seed
Nor of his soil
I will refuse to toil
For a paradise I want not
While a hell where souls rot
Burns bright
Death worship
Human sacrifice are the foundations
Are the awful edifice of hate
That takes donations away from the hungry
We will wake up
To the lie
As we did with Baal, Zeus and the tooth fairy
come on, Adam and Eve, the first
Their kiddies Cain and Able got married
To whom? It does not fit
This poorly written
desert dwelling shit
There were no other folks
Maybe that is the greatest of god's jokes
Cain and Able were gay
But had kiddies anyway
Dear Leviticus had a few words
That rancid biblical turd
And suddenly we have rules
Over who can fuck whom
And there's a mighty doom
to swallow any who disobey
It is sunday, do not pick up sticks?
Who really gives a shit
No priest nor preacher
Nor sunday school teacher
Yet these are the inerrant words of the lord!
You pick and choose
Which rules you use
Well so do I
They are just different from yours
And have only one intended course
To help love spread wider than your lies

Lizard - 10 minutes I will not get back

Smiling like a lizard, on a train
Cold blood fighting the air
The sweat
The people staring
Scaly fucker
The monk shaves his head
Shining tako yaki dome
Cause he is supposed to
Cause others do
The lizard just smiles
Rips off his own tale
Uses it as a whip on his ancient lover
The snake howls, spitting
The tail grew back
The monk started singing
Droning on
Orange fucker
The christians said "good morning, enjoy your day"
The lizard smiled a "go fuck yourself" smile
Give christians nail guns
Step on the ants
Eat meat
Indeed! Only order meat
Do not hide it behind bacons, steaks and burgers
"Ready to order?"
"Meat please"
Draw a cartoon, prophet like
Eat bombs for breakfast
Glue them to amazon drones
Flying quiet to their homes
The failed maths test
The aftermath
The lizard smiles and thinks
Ningen Shikaku
Dazzling Dazai
"Let us jump and die together"
She slipped
He wrote a book
The lizard hated the lack of art
on his arctic walls
white, off white, white, off white
Smiling Lizard
Clean scales shining
Brooks Brothers smothers the truth
But the scales are there
The christian fucked the monk
Buddha kissed some christ
The Imam thought "that's nice"
The lizard flicked out his noxious tongue
and licked them one by one
then smiled
as the sun ran at the world
we all knew why the moon had always looked so scared
it knew what was coming
the lizard?
He was hit by a truck
driven by a 19 year old
on her way to college
to shoot some "fuckers"
with her nail gun
"god bless"

Remembering the Jubilee - a girl they called Albion

as the light starts to burn
from the bulb on the lamp
and life takes a turn
against a heart cold and damp
and too many pictures swirl
a lonely bowie tune invades
and reminds of the girl
a 1977 parade
of colour and hate
as a queen's crown is recalled
as the blind masses elate
fists are being balled
with knuckles off cream white
as the anger boils
the born lucky shine bright
with fear in their halls
as the power slips
and the girl's face shines
her beauty does eclipse
the unemployment lines
and the powder wraps strewn
begging you for a game
and the shadows in the room
ejaculating your name
the razor cuts well
as it it should that's its job
and a snow fuelled hell
unleashes a mob
of neurons sparking
and firing a mind
that a girl so sparkling
has left long behind
and the truth stays buried
in the fairytale well
where as children we tarried
ignoring the smell
of the sweat and celebration
spewed across albion's land
a girl as a nation
grasping for friendly hands

"I am fucking drowning! Stop waving back!"


When I was in high school we used an expression, “Eat me,” And then, the other person would reply “Eat me raw.” Har, har, har….

But let me digress a bit to when I was about five years old. My parents took me to a slaughterhouse to buy meat for the freezer, before the raw cold Connecticut winter set in. The Stafford Springs slaughterhouse sold meat from white refrigerators to the side of the slaughtering area. And that day was, Kosher day. One at a time, huge all black cattle were grabbed live by their hind legs and hoisted skyward by winches. Upside-down, the animal screamed and fought with all its might. Then rabbi walked up with a huge blade, and after saying a very brief prayer, with a swift movement cut the head off the screaming animal. Its head dropped to the floor in a pool of steaming blood. The sound of torture, killing and death was unbearable. I ran out of there, escaping my mother’s attempt grab a hold of me. I threw up on the dirt parking area.

I thought how fucked up… these men dressed in their black suits with odd hats and scraggly beards. Their killing an animal in such an extreme manner for our benefit. Though not for us, actually for themselves…. Jews.

At Catechism were filed with ideas heaven and hell from the Catholic nuns, showing Jesus standing on pillowy clouds. The book had pages of pictures of the damned being tortured in hell: burning tar being poured on heads, naked men being sawed in half, a man standing wait deep in human excrement. We were told non-Catholics would never get to heaven.

Sunday communion offered purification from my childish sins. We lined up waiting to be given the body and blood of Christ. At en early age, I sensed how fucked up all of this was, as I was trying to make sense of it all... make sense of my little world.

Oh yeah…. "Eat me.” Har, har har…. Little did I know at the time, that the expression “Eat me raw” would lead to a path to where I am today - in Japan.... where eating things raw is the norm. But even getting here, Japan, I encountered many things that were raw along the way,

I remember those long and raw cold in the Connecticut winters. Growing up, there wasn’t much raw food there. My father loved his meat. He liked his steak very rare - bloody. I always asked my mother to cook it for me…. a little more.

Raw. Those memories of growing up. That slaughterhouse and more that I’d like to be able to forget. But let’s stay with the food theme…

It wasn’t until I reached Saipan in 1977 that I ate raw fish for the first time. It was in the island’s Palauan bar, named the Tappa Bar. It was dark and sleazy. My new-found island friend, Jose Camacho, ordered sashimi. What’s sashimi? I thought. But this was an island…. raw fish… Sure why not?

Little chunks of dark red raw fish were delivered on the table. He doused it with some dark soy sauce, and he waited for me give it a taste. With a cold beer, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so excotic – so raw.

Eating something raw like that for the first time - well that’s not exactly true.... In college, I worked part-time in a machine shop on weekends and the lathe operator Al said to me: “If you eat her pussy, she will never leave”. Well, that wasn’t true either.

But going back at the Palauan bar, the entertainment that night was a young lady on stage who could make smoke come out her pussy. After demonstrating that, and some other tricks with her body, she gave some guy a blowjob on stage. It was a bit in of a shock… I had never seen something quite so raw before…well, at least not publicly. In the Tappa Bar, raw fish and now this - public head. Well, today you might say… let me put it this way: I like oral sex, I just hate the phone bills.

Where was I? Or rather, where am I? Tokyo… We eat many things raw here: sushi, sashimi, salad…. Even raw horse – basashi, and raw whale. I’ve eaten raw chicken, tori sashimi. I don't know if you remember, some six-year-old kid who ate raw beef ball a few years ago, and died – bacteria. His father, who took his son to the restaurant, was on TV. He cried.

And I’ve even heard of a bar that serves raw pig liver. But there are some things where I draw the line. Actually, I’m quite conservative. Politically, I may be so far left that I’m off the map. But I’m quite conservative…. about sex -- where to stick my dick. You see me and my little Richard… we’ve been best friends for a very long time. And you’ve got to treat your friends right. Kabukicho can be pretty raw. Been there…. The mind was strong, but the flesh was weak.

Buy the way, what is your favorite sushi? There are so many tastes that come around in a kaiten-zushi. Fishy raw things - at least most are eaten raw: maguro (tuna), tako (octopus), uni (sea urchin), I like raw ika (squid), call me weird but it reminds of …… it’s fishy sweet taste and it’s smooth texture. Speaking of such things raw, who doesn't like raw oysters? I like to touch my tongue on the wet mollusk while not touching it’s shell. Moving my tongue around pretending to hear it giggle.

But what I like most raw… The thing I like most that’s raw is… the raw truth. Don’t sugar-coat it. Don’t pack in it lies. Let it be painful. Let it be true. Because I’d rather have the truth and be unhappy... than be happy….. with the lie.

Death on the shore

I just saw a picture of a child
Flat, dead and grey on a beach
She looked like my daughter
It hurt like glass in my eyes
A disastrous juxtaposition
The holiday sand
Rendered cruel by the hands
Of us
All of us
Blame the politicians
Blame some capricious god
Blame, the game we play
to keep the truth at bay
that every filthy fuck
sitting in their gilded chairs
have us to thank for putting them there
the shame is burning my eyes
as tears crawl down a face
that is wrinkled with their salt
like the child's skin
mauled by a sea
as without feeling as most of us
And I write words
I write words
And do precisely nothing

You The man

No, I am not, not today
The clouds in the eyes, stoney grey
the lids blink, broken indicator like
No light

Feeling sicker than a jackpot machine
Just spewed the last coin
A mean and cold despair
Is knocking, knocking

Watching the planes
Silent, moving across the sky sea
Sunless, wishing away
Fingers crossed 'til white

The bomb that turned a desert green
The beheading video
The silly crucifix fixated
Pain for sale

Wanna buy some?

You the man


Melancholy Mind by Joe Zanghi

Bad news sinks the heart
But there is no reason to ask "Why?"
Every road is built with accidents.

Some days promise gold
Other days lie beneath a dark roof
Today is like that.

Saturday hangover dribblings

A thought popped into his head
It died of loneliness
So he decided to run for mayor
People screamed it was unfair
That a dolt with so little to offer
Could get his hands so close to the city's coffers
But they voted for him anyway
Animal farm
Baaa Baaa Baaa

"Come over here darling!"
The group attraction line
Works every time
Until their Mom opens their curtains
And says "time for breakfast son"
I should say the same to their Mom
Let the festivities begin
Fists swinging
"Momma I just killed a man"
God save the queen

"After you miss"
Vinegar and piss
Is the reply ejaculated
Better spoken than spattered
As if courtesy matters
In this PC world
Don't hold the door for that girl
Punch her
We are equal
And then there's the sequel

"A Good Man Is Hard to Find" by Joe Zanghi

"A good man is hard to find." Are you shittin' me? It’s practically impossible!
Of course, I’m not including any of you good men here in this room
I’m talking about all the others - outside
A good man is hard to find
First off, all men want to do is fuck
Now, I don’t think fucking is so bad
After your horny testosterone years - full with idealism, confidence, rebellion, and walking around with a boner all day - you know...the age just ripe for the military - the age when you either want to fuck it or kill it.
One day, reality sets in and you get some lame job that finally zaps all the piss and vinegar youth out of you.
A good young man turns into someone else - a Republican or worse, a redneck.
And a “good” man gets even harder to find.
Yep. each year life gets a little worse
Your hair goes gray and/or goes away
Wrinkles appear, your face gets saggy
After decades of beer, your body gets flabby
You look back and remember the good old days
They were the good old days only because that’s when you were young.
Each year life gets a little worse
Until, one day all you have is a dangling short piece of rope between your legs
That’s why they created Viagra
But, did you know that the oldest man on record to father a child was 92
A good old man is hard to find.

How about a good woman?
A good wo-Man is hard to find.
Or as Flannery O’Connor put it:
“She would've been a good woman," said The Misfit, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.
Or as my Uncle Louie used to say, “People are no damn good, but women are worse.”
Yep, A good wo-Man is hard to find.
First, women, the good ones….
Good women get gobbled up quick - high demand, low supply
I’m talking statistically here, not individually
They get fucked - and fucked over - mainly by men
"Women are the Niggers of the World. Yes they are."
I didn’t write that - the "N" word, and neither did John Lennon
Actually Yoko Ono wrote most of the song. It takes a woman to write that.
And nobody liked that song.
Even banned on the radio. A song about gender equality
Gender equality, how's that progressing?
Racial relations, how’s that going?
And, at the time, nobody liked that Jap bitch Yoko supposedly for breaking up the Beatles.
Dear John, who art in heaven, if I had to write pop songs or just another silly love song with Paul MaCartney, I’d rather go solo, or be dead.
Wait, John is dead -- Shot by some fucking lunatic
Evidence, a good man is hard to find
And a great man is hard to stay alive.
Kennedys, Gandhi, Martin Luther King. They even killed Jesus and look what that started.
I guess it’s just better to stay an inconspicuous asshole.

A good man is hard to find?
I figured that one out early on
And is one of the reasons to date women.
I like women. Like my uncle Louie used to say, “Women, you can’t beat’em.”
It’s really a game, isn’t it? Relationships.
A game I mean - you all know the game jun-ken-pon
Scissors beats paper. Rock beats scissors. Paper beats rock
But nothing, nothing beats a blowjob.
Actually a bad girl is hard to find - you know, one who swallows

A good man is hard to find. A good woman is hard to find - Sac le bleu!
These days, it’s not PC to single out one gender
That would be sexist. And fuck I wouldn’t want to be called that.
A good hu-Man is hard to find
So if I said I hated the entire human race, would that still make me a racist?
Men or should I say people aren't just needy they are also greedy.
The history of MAN has 4 Gs: Greed, God, Guns, and Glory
On this note, Donald Richie wrote:
“The world does not like nice guys. Not really. They always come in last, says Western wisdom. And Eastern wisdom acts as if they do. They are charming, fun to be with, absolutely trustworthy, and so what? So says the world.”


Normal headstrong mildy, never ate carrots
Killed his family with an old iron
Kept his Mom's old head in a new washing machine
A zanussi, he liked their adverts
Back in the day
He remembered the yellow colours

Blew up a safe to tamper his school reports
Everyone was so proud
Back in the day
It got him a new bicycle
Made him feel like a Syd Barrett song
Almost famous, always hoping

He found jesus at a bus stop
Inside a plastic bag of solvent
He asked him his thoughts on the third Reich
He could not remember the answer
But he liked the smell
Back in the day, his jesus smelled of glue

Woke up, leather jacket gone
Wearing an old nazi helmet
felt like a new haircut
Back in the day, straight sides
Swore off mandrax after that
The old gods spoke too much

He liked all races equally
"All shit tasted similar"
He knew his subject matter well
He smiled at the moon
Because it felt the same as he
Back in the day

Before the moon fell
Before the moon fell
before the moon fell
afore the fell moon
back in the day

Time to sharpen your axe boy
There are wolves out there
With political masks
Daring you to ask
That one honest question
"Who the fuck are you?"

Do Not Accept
Do Not Accept
Ad infinitum
Ad Nauseam

Unwanted Dead or Alive by JZ

I turned on the TV
To scenes warning...
A warning that the scenes could disturb me
Me? Disturb me?
Now that's seems a stretch, don't ya think?
A black boy shot dead lying on the street
Video of a big man being choked by the police
A bomb goes off in a far off land
It's an exclusive report
The camera zooms in on the blood
The reporter points and says "See"
Should scenes like these bother me?
Have I become accustomed, numbed?
To all these faces wanted dead or alive
In the mirror, I ask, "Does all this bother me?"
Staring back, a face on a poster
A face that looks just like me!
With the words in bold below

I figure mostly we are Wanted Alive
At least for a while
Now born to produce and buy
Shop til you drop - it's good for the economy
Certainly we're not Wanted Dead
When you're dead…
You and me
What good can you be?
Maybe we are not really wanted at all - not really
Once upon a time, the air was pristine
What have we done to the air, land and sea?
Life is breath
A soldier's last breath
Who dies fighting others for reasons
For reasons that frankly are beyond me.
Life is breath
Those dying of old age...
Of natural causes - the cruelest joke
Our lives smothered by time
Maybe no one is Wanted - not really

So while I still have breath
Just leave me alone
While I try to make my way.
Just let me be
Just let me be UNWANTED
Dead or Alive

"Aflame" by Ivy C. Machida

An emptiness waiting to be filled

Almost all the pieces in place -
Robust and broad-framed
A confident swagger
A friendly grin so eager
To please and tease the ailing heart -
A stir, a stiffening
A cry lost in the breeze.

An emptiness waiting to be filled

A shudder, a thudding
A streak of lightning
A flash from above -
Thunderstruck and struggling
I shifted my glance
And looking askance and about-face,
I found you once again

A brimming vessel of resplendent grace.

On my TV

There’s alien abductions
Volcanic eruptions
Tidal wave destructions of the poor and oppressed
Distress beacons with no bulbs or batteries
These are the headlines
Mine’s a double whisky with earplugs
And drinkers made of lead
Half a million dead
No bread on the table for the widow and paralysed son
Buy a gun to shoot the breeze
Knees chaffed from praying for something
Nothing on its way
No one wants to pay
Land mine assault courses on the way to school
Man from the States shot himself in the face while working on his new stool
How we laughed
Under staffed talk show hosts with Ladybird questions to the VIPs
Multiple choice
Just multiple choice
The voices of billions crying out for change
Crying out for a wider range of choices
But not today I’m sorry
Not until the moon explodes and roads are built
Odourless guilt pouring out the screen.

I watched the video of Eric Garner's death on TV

I watched the video of Eric Garner's death on TV
But I didn't see any black man forced to the ground
Five Men in Blue wrestling one large unarmed man to the pavement that day
Five of NYPDs finest holding one guy down
One having him a chokehold
Another pushing his head on the concrete.
I didn't hear Eric Garner call out "I can't breathe"
I didn't hear Eric Garner call out "I can't breathe"
11 times
While a few other police officers looked on.
I watched the video of Eric Garner's death on TV
But I didn't see anything wrong because my TV screen was white
And I believe the police have a tough job to do.

I watched the video of Eric Garner's death on TV
but the TV speakers went mute so didn't hear the news reports
How Eric Garner sells loose cigarettes for a living on the street
From my perspective, it seems like a tough life, don't you agree?
Enterprising, but doing it without a license
And that's a crime, you see
That's a crime on a Staten Island street
I guess, selling loose cigarettes would be a crime on any US city street
Hell no, Eric Garner! You can't do that!
Everybody knows that.
And now, Eric Garner 43 is dead

I watched the news but I didn't see the tears in Esaw Garner his wife's eyes
when it was announced that no policeman will be indicted
And I didn't see the tears in his widow's eyes calling for justice….
calling for justice "until her last breath."
I didn't see Eric Garner's six grieving children
and his grandchildren he left behind
You see, I didn't hear or see anything
Because my TV screen was white
and I believe the police have a tough job to do.

And I'm not going to do anything when these kinds of things happen
When unarmed black men are killed by cops
And I'm not going to say or do anything about the racial situation
Stop and frisk (or some version of it) is a good idea
if I think... it makes me feel more... safe
In my book, we should all just follow the rules:
Stay home
Watch TV
Own a gun
and eat
Hey, the New England Patriot's football game is on tonight

I watched the video of Eric Garner's death on TV, but I didn't see a thing.
I have other things on my mind...
For example, I'm fightin' in the War on Christmas
A Christian soldier yelling "It's Merry Christmas" and not fucking "Happy Holidays."
And damning all you atheists to Hell.
So as you can see, I'm already feelin' a little stressed out
Because I've still have a lot more "CHRISTMAS" shopping to do
So forgive me, while I put my head in this wet sand
In the bucket under my real "CHRISTMAS TREE"
keeping my perfectly decorated "CHRISTMAS TREE" green for a few days.
I watched the video of Eric Garner's death on TV...
But I didn't see a thing.

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