"despise a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy"
relaxin on something, telling indecisive distinctive modal and teaming with hard blows
to the body and chest, killing you softly with burnt looks at the bandstand, in car doors
trying to tell me about blowjobs and reality sandwiches, wide eyed freeloaders trying to get
at him in the moonlight, fission ancient rivers, nefertiti pyramids rising out of desert
playing a zither, cold throttled sounds rippling across the flatlands - out past low down
clubs, sequence moods and trifling played hardcore thoughts - bubbling
"sometimes you have to play a long time to be able to play like yourself"
past all else fells, cannonball to the west coming for our deviant sacrosanct soles and giving
us andalusia in the netherworld
underneath the past forgotten quiet bossanovas, st. louis looking over threshold and
seething brown
water tables out in the crowd, can't see faces but tries getting out and about to watch the
self free
baron samonei tipping his hat: what time is it
time to throttle sickle cell phobia and dressed purple suits hittin town, pimps players beaten
by police
in front of mariote plantation
gasping for air, stone scribes giving it away, liquor lips
"a musuem locked in glass like all other dead things"
things for the passage of green words on blank parks in the midst of extinct neighborhoods
phase two - gothic futurism harmonics coming back, short fatalistic
go home speeches, bam bo bahhh, get out clap to bop, agharta morocco hashish
bum
begging
for applause
and acceptance of speed seed dirty withdrawal
"don't play what's there, play what's not there"
play what's twisted in between - with your belly out - cosmic flattered
tough petals, siesta, dark shopping mall tunnels, plastic maple leaves
on ground of puke and orion rolling shores, crossroads, woodlawn
bronx cement blind sweeping gambling on crucifixion, withered
elbows against the brown stool bathroom, lethargic notions
dreg theatrics, assembly line decay
flooded syncopation
bloated
wide eyed
kind of blue
irag irab aaaarab get out of my head
eraq
al sadr i want to curl up with you and
kiss the palms
of your hands and paint a clown mask on your
forehead – complete with a red foam nose
and ask forgiveness to your decayed god
of destruction harmless intercourse
harmless collateral damage in the tears
of shock and awe inspiring glee
get the fuck out of my way, i need space to tear up shit and collect
rain drops
or salt water dreams
cowboys and their salt water dreams watch out!
death to the infidel
death to women and their kiss
death to armies and navels and the fundamental narcissism
complex
death to long drunken nights with red wine
and the hand of a fucked up
gimp
hard on
death to whiskey and a rose
sometimes i just drive around long curves watching the moon
sometimes i'm nostalgic for a feeling
of how my knuckle feels in another motherfuckers mouth
how about you
it could be you
scumbag bard wino bum, crinkled face leaning on a metal bench
under a southern wide oak tree
wearing a turban
alone in the mountains
spitting gospel bullshit by the cuff
diddly death to that moment when i met you and you corralled
me into thinking that i believed in love
and that somehow i had been wrong that
it is different
sometimes
you want me to hit you
get the fuck out of my face
i'll hit the notion that i am dust
and im collecting myself in that ashtray
by the door
i didn't hear what you said, i was
watching the wall and drinking southpaw
and that beats the hell out of listening to you
talkin about i'm not a man any day
corpses, burnt new stakes in torn brightly colored moving walls, whole cities of worn shoes and prophecy, lipstick cures on stop signs
laughing squirrels eating nuts with smiley face tattoos, i'm cleaning out the closet of indecisions and replacing thoughts with bombed out
crack houses and imperial libraries of insightful learning disabilities, african diasporas - collapsing saints, catatonic vaticans, atomic war
hackers of the heartache painful memories and illusions battled back and forth in dreamless seascapes, i'm cleanin out the closet of physical freedom
ten o'clock stabbed in back authority on the scene, dancing in ritual transcendent pleasure, pouncing cats clown in streams sanctified out across
wolves eating babies in heat, broken images impaled at the stage, a nasty forethought as spray paint blasted holes in hotel room parties at
the holiday inn, mc till three in the morning and my mom a'int home and lights have moved away into the distance, and i can't see my reflection anymore
and it has washed, tattered, been invigorated by back alley brawlers and mangled predisposed cement blocks covered in the excrement of autumn,
and a mushroom cloud of snow covered hills and corner liquor stores with neon lights, chrome rimmed el doradoes on intersections in brilliant suicides,
people on street living in trailer parks of motion and the moon thrown in jail for chump change and a bottle of smack
Ray currently resides in the suburban shithole known as Atlanta. It's not that bad, if you get into the city and away from the traffic. Check out his blog at http://mexicoblues.livejournal.com/.