Our most recent submissions:

The Artiste

Category: Mind Change

They write. They rant. They expunge, proselytize, derogate, equivocate, excrete and ejaculate, and often, I like it. I’m not much of a writer, but then again, I must be qualified. I do have a piece of paper and a pen. I used to write poetry, but now it’s so minimalistic that some would call it “concept art”. I find the expression nauseating. The person who painted in garish lettering “Some asshole painted on this bridge” in six foot spray painted letters in a public park was a concept artist. He must have been good too, because that piece stands out in my mind. I entertain the idea that there was truth in the sentiment. If he’d just written “FUCK” there would probably be endless truths in that as well.

They paint and make music. Some sculpt. Some make topiaries and somewhere out there some genius is keying a car. They tattoo themselves and get piercings for a war that is both real and imagined. They laugh and they cry and it is beautiful and abhorrent. A blind man told me that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and a man with a vasectomy is telling people that birth control is wrong. The irony and the art are there as long as something thinks they are. Or maybe they are anyways. I don’t know. What am I, a writer?

A writer would make sense of the senselessness, one must, if one is to verbalize it. But all it takes to be a writer is paper and a pen. And all it takes to make an artist is consciousness. It makes me wonder why we have those words at all.

-B.

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Humbug Carol

Category: Poetry/Lyrics

Humbug Carol

Christmas trappings make me nauseous
Christmas shopping, Christmas lists
Christmas packing, Christmas wrapping
Christmas cards and Christmas gifts
Christmas trees and Christmas presents
Christmas turkey, Christmas pie
If Jesus wasn’t dead already
One look at Christmas and he’d die

So trim the tree and hang the stockings
Join your neighbors at the store
Go and charge it on your Visa
Max it out and shop some more

Tis the season to be jolly
We’re all jolly now i guess
I am jolly are you jolly?
Jolly’s another word for stress

Here comes Santa and his reindeer
He’s the fat guy in the sleigh
Somehow he fits down a chimney
At least that’s what the children say

I wish that people would stop saying
Merry Christmas all the time
if you want me to be merry
Just shut up and I’ll be fine

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Keep Dancing

Category: Poetry/Lyrics

A Calypso song:

Keep Dancing

Some people die with their boots on
Some people die in their beds
Me I don’t know
How I’m gonna go
But I don’t think I’m better off dead

So limbo, limbo, limbo
You gotta get under that bar
Limbo limbo limbo
No matter how old you are

Some people die when their heart breaks
Some people they lose their brain
You never know
How you’re gonna go
You you don’t get hit by a train

Everyone gotta go sometimes
It’s best to go when you’re old
Try to live life to the fullest
At least that’s what I’ve always been told

So limbo, limbo, limbo
You gotta get under that bar
Limbo limbo limbo
No matter how far gone you are

I’d rather be eating and breathing
And taking a walk in the sun
You can’t ever know
What death may bestow
But I’ll bet you it isn’t much fun

So samba samba samba
Let’s all keep dancing around
Until the end comes
And me and my chums
Are safely under the ground

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Tools of the Trade

Category: Poetry/Lyrics

A song lyric:

Tools of the Trade

She said come on baby don’t be afraid
And slipped her hand into mine
Then she explained how she had to get paid
But you know we’ll have a good time

I stammered and blushed, I guess I was shy
I was looking for someplace to run
She patted my cheek and tickled my thigh
And whispered, “Come on let’s have fun”

So we went to her room and took off our clothes
Then she crawled onto her side of the bed
She spread out her arms and gave me a wink
And I’ll never forget what she said

(chorus)

She said tools of the trade
Tools of the trade
You gotta use what the good lord has made
That’s why he made ‘em so don’t be afraid
So we applied the tools of the trade

Many years later when I was all grown
I took the sweetest young thing for my bride
She was so nervous about the unknown
I told her we had nothing to hide

After a while she understood
That love was a physical thing
And all of our parts fit together so well
And together we often would sing

We’d sing tools of the trade
Tools of the trade
You gotta use what the good lord has made
That’s why he made ‘em so don’t be afraid
So we applied the tools of the trade

(Bridge)
We had seven children and now they’re all grown
Many of them have kids of their own
I’m thoroughly amazed at the seeds that I’ve sown
And what a beautiful family I made
Now I’m an old man all withered and gray
I spend half my time asleep in the shade
Here’s a piece of advice I want to relay
You gotta use the tools of the trade

(chorus)
I told you, Tools of the trade
Tools of the trade
You gotta use what the good lord made
That’s why he made ‘em so don’t be afraid
Apply the tools of the trade

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Once Upon A climb

Category: Poetry/Lyrics

Life is funny,
It will beat you down,
Break you…

Then build you up again.

The delicate flowers are pretty,
But they can’t take the breakdown,
So the weeds survive…

And grow flowers through cracks in the wind…

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Our most recent submissions:

The Artiste

Humbug Carol

Keep Dancing

Tools of the Trade

Once Upon A climb

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