The not nice paradox

Nice guys don’t finish last, they get trampled on during the race. While the intelligent, spiritual, friendly, funny and good looking nice guy volunteers at charities and goes out on Friday night only to jack off in his trash can, the self absorbed, inconsiderate, loud annoying and not particularly good looking guy watches TV, goes out on a Friday night, and brings home the exquisite and fun to be around female only to shag her rotten and never call her again, or commence in a long term relationship that baffles everyone who knows how amazing of a person she is and how much of a prick he is.

She has a nice ass, is articulate and hilarious. He has a weird looking mouth, is proud to be ignorant and everyone wonders why he is still talking, everyone but her.

Nice guy includes everyone in the conversation; he has a truck and helps you move to your new place. He is eloquent, stays in shape and cares about how his actions affect people. But he’s been single for years, and women always tell him “I’m so glad that we’re friends”

The prick guy never goes 3 weeks without action, and always has his fucks… I mean his ducks in a row. Before the monkey moves on from one branch, he makes sure he’s holding onto another branch!

Beautiful women tell nice guy, “Don’t change! You’re the best catch in the sea! The girls that are worth it want someone that is beautiful on the inside and outside like you! I mean, you’re the… oh wait, sorry, annoying douche bag man-whore is giving me a booty-call, I gotta go, goodnight nice guy!”

He’s tried dating friends of friends, doing poi with the local fire-spinners club, and talking to random girls at coffee shops. He’s tried match.com, okcupid and craigslist. After the last date from hell from a girl that seemed nice at first but couldn’t stop talking about herself and her dog, he had enough!

With the question “Why do all good women only like assholes?” spray painted on the biggest sheet of poster board he could find, he marched to 6th and Congress Avenue with a milk crate in hand. He found his spot, set it down and stood up, brow furrowed and lungs filling ready to shout, until he was caught mid breath by a gorgeous woman around his age standing on a ledge across the street with a shirt on that said “Why do all good men only like bitches?” suddenly silent with arms caught mid-gesture.

Eyes locked, and 20 years later they’re still that happy couple that makes everyone want to puke. Ladies’ man douche prick is working on his 5th divorce.

Ode to Calculus

You are my salvation, and my greatest enemy.
You are my muse, in the sense that you inspire me to do other things.
You torture my brain daily with the flint you use to sharpen it.
You simultaneously make me feel smarter and dumber than I really am.
You are the foundation for reality yet seem to have nothing to do with it.
You are my lead weighted nun chucks, giving supreme confidence at times, but you are unafraid to beat the living shit out of me if I act like I know what’s up.

Who are you?

What kind of soulless beast would require I sledgehammer my skull to understand this?
It was bad enough making sense of numbers, then I’m taking the square root of letters, now I’m performing surgery in Greek and this is supposed to be math?

sigh.

You are here to rescue me from my lack of job skills, my stagnating brain, and my poor understanding of the toolbox of existence yet for some reason, a friend who wants to hang out, a tasty meal and a good nap always swoop in to try to rescue me from you.

Oh calculus, your puzzles make me delightfully suicidal, your logic fascinates the head I repeatedly slam against the desk, you make me say “HUH?” (I don’t understand) “OOOOH!” (I get it!) “UH!” (I found the answer!) “OH!” (It was wrong!)

You are robotic, emotionless, black and white, yet nothing brings out in me every color in the spectrum of the raw extremes of human emotion.

I remind myself with you that if all everyone ever did was make art, music, and dance, none of the problems of hunger, environmental degradation, poverty and un-sustainability in the world would ever get solved. Yet you are the biggest problem in my world.

I do realize that you are a beacon of hope that will help me achieve what I want to accomplish in life, and you may want to caress, fondle, and make love, but make no mistake. I will make you my BITCH!

Facepot : The tragedy of trading habits

As I get older, I become as increasingly tactful as I do inappropriate, as increasingly logical as I do irrational, as increasingly social as cooped up like a whale in an aquarium. This last aspect is an unbalanced self inflicted self indulging public spectacle of self mutilation. It illustrates in pixar clarity a struggle I experience with millions of young people every day. It lubricates the decline of society as we know it, it neuters our collective ambition, and reduces thousands every minute to a mere shadow of a figment of what they once were. It is the epitome of how cool I used to be, and how pathetic I have become.

I have replaced pot… with facebook.
I would wake up with a bowl and some Ween and Flaming Lips.
I now wake up to facebook notifications and NPR.

I would change up my routine by getting a new bong and smoking with a friend.
I now change up my routine by getting a new profile pic and adding a “friend.”

I used to have an experience and relish it with a cloudy THC tingle.
I now have an experience and wonder how I will word it in my status update.

But honestly, let’s delve into this, are they really that different?
I’ve replaced superficial acquaintances based on burning joints,
with superficial acquaintances based on burning daylight.

I’ve replaced using weed to pay people to talk to me,
with using twice as much valuable time to pay people to talk to me.

I’ve traded an inability to complete sentences,
With an inability to stop arguing with my fox news aficionado friends from my small town while looking at people’s travel pictures before realizing that it’s 2 in the morning.

Both time vampires, slippery slopes of social ineptitude, and border line habit forming to addictive by products of human culture are forces to be reckoned with in our modern society. But for me, NOT ANYMORE!
I kicked the last habit, and I will now kick the final habit by committing facebook suicide!


Alright, facebook.com, email and password, account, remove my account!
NO NO NO I’m not sure CANCEL CANCEL CANCEL!
Sigh…. Oh cool Raga Fuck is playing a show tonight, let’s go!

Tired of me

I plant the beanstalk from the rants that I talk that stay with you like an STD, at first a curse as it lays nesting, as time goes by you realize it was a blessing, taking your outlook and spinning it, forcing new views to come through to you while I’m spittin it.

My words are ear worms that dig in like sperm, that accumulate and impregnate, my zygote expands and grows hands that command and shape your brains intake of the words that I make

I spit lava on the mike, erupting explosions of passion pulsating penetrating the people like pain, putting wrinkles on brain.

I wreck this shit like I eject my shit when I eat too much chili and get on a moon bounce.


I...

I…

I’m fuckin tired of talkin about me

We plow down coral reefs and turn them into a parking lot where only jellyfish can survive, we flood the Amazon with petroleum waste, we turn our own West Virginian mountains into piles of exploded coal and toxic streams.

We pump billons of dollars into governments that stone women to death for being raped, that enslave men extorted to believe they can feed their kids if they hop on the boat, and while we train, arm and fund armies that commit crimes against humanity.

Children die every minute because they can’t get a clean glass of water, while we use 20 clean glasses of water to take a shit.

I’m fuckin tired of talking about me. This reflection is a deflection from how bad shit has come to be. I’ve been so obsessed with caressing my own self esteem that… I’m all I can see.

I know I’m not alone.

The maintainability of my passion will be free from enslavement for sure when I realize that only sustainability, compassion and engagement can cure.

I’m fuckin tired of talking about me. And I know I’m not alone.

If we don’t all put down the fucking mirror and open our eyes to see the world so we can at least be tempted to do something about it, none of this shit’s gonna ever change.

I'm here to help, Part 2

I will give you a face you can relate to and confide in. I’ll tell you soothing words you’ve been waiting for and make you feel at peace. I’ll give you just enough hope to make you apathetic because then, you’ll be easier to control.

Please, pamper yourself in flattery, numb yourself with chemicals, and convince yourself of whatever it is that you want, just pay for my drug prison war machine, shut the fuck up, and dude did you hear about the new QB for the cowboys this season? we're goin to the superbowl baby!

Ahhhh how easy it is to pacify the masses. I send their children off to die for imperialism, I spoon feed them truthiness to hypnotize them into submission, and help them kill themselves with their own cancerous consumerism so they can make way for the next harvest.

I breed their prejudices against each other, turning urban against rural, gay against straight, new immigrant against old immigrant and watch the inter-tribal warfare ensue while I do with them what I please. I enslave the inmate, massage the dictator, and profit from mass murder, drug addiction and planetary rape because talking about politics depresses them, and they don’t give a fuck. Its not big government, it's not small government, its my government, because they let me have it.

If anyone thinks outside of my blue and red box, I let good-hearted, misguided common Americans drown them out with flags flying high displaying aborted fetuses, Hispanics with heads of extra-terrestrials, and two gay dudes that are destroying your marriage for some reason.

With a non-white face or a good 'ole boy as a body shield in the white house, who cares about 2.3 million Americans behind bars, who cares that a quarter of all fish in our streams are poisonous because of mercury from coal, who cares that Jim Crow laws have returned to our schools, who cares about the patriot act, secret prisons, or habeas corpus. If i can still imprison you without evidence for the rest of your life legally because i feel like it, imagine what i can do to you illegally.

But its all good, because change has come to America.

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtains, I’m from the government, and I’m here to help.

I'm here to help, Part 1

I am everything you see. Everything you touch, everything you eat, everything you have, and everything you mmmmmmm buy. It is there because of me, you are nothing without me, I am in charge of your life and no recession can keep me down.



I’ll give you happiness with a soap opera and a pro wrestling match on a wall sized plasma screen, sprinkled with porno ridden beer advertisements, covered in chocolate coated skittles doused in high fructose corn syrup,that has been psychologically engineered to keep you crawling back for more, but it’ll cost ya.



Ooh did that give you a rittle tummy ache? I can give you the latest FDA monkey approved pill from a very sue-able doctor along with the worlds best health care the wealthy can buy, through bipartisan sold insurance with a complimentary bookshelf of extensively hieroglyphic paperwork, but it’ll cost ya.



Oooohh you’re a social worker, with a heart of gold but bank account of pocket change. Ummm can you please get the fuck out of my face and make way for people that actually have money?



Who are you going to call to save you, the government? I own the government. Billions speak louder than ballots. Lobbyists at town hall meetings can yell louder than working families.



Besides, even if you are sick, there are other ways I can make you happy. Feeling a little disconnected from the earth? Get a wal mart house plant to symbolize the jungle I cut down to grow it, put it in your apartment complex, named “pecan grove” after the forest I cut down to build that, then take a trip to the air conditioned zoo to see the lions and pandas from the ecosystems I decimated to entertain you.



Maybe you’d like some heroin spiked petroleum for you to go to the carnival of endless bounty we know as the grocery store? How bout an asthma inhaler for your child needed from all that smog your car just let out? Not enough time to exercise, there are good shows to watch, try some TV dinners during those programs full of beautiful women that make you feel inadequate. After that try some thigh cream to smooth out the cellulite from all that valuable time you spent with your child in silence in front of that rectangular parent.



Ahh whats a matter? Maybe try some anti-depressants to fill in the void left by a loss of community, meaningful faith and nature? Maybe a cartoon with commercials to keep your mind off of those reasons I make you depressed and to get your mind on buying things to make you happy! Because the richer are and the more you buy, the happier you will be!



I am here for you cherished and valued consumer. I’m from a corporation, and I’m here to help.

Homage to Hoek's Pizza

There’s nothing like drowning in the sickening polish of the 6th street zombies. Friday and Saturday nights, while on my way to my cherished Red River district venues, I endure the treacherous lameness of what lies in between me and my destination. Mid-life crisis suffering suburbanites trying to regain their youth, hip gangster wannabes with staring problems in white-tee knee length dresses who feel that thinly veiled precursors to sexual assault is a way to woo the ladies, fratty dude-bro cockswinger clones throwing back daddy’s money into their gut, and impenetrable anti-social groups of pretty people wondering why they never seem to be able to shed their singleitis disease.

I hear the same fecal decaying Styrofoam pop song blaring out of each and every bar, burning animal corpses coating my vegetarian nose with babe the pig’s partial cremation, playing hopscotch over the puddles of overpriced alcohol vomit left by bar patrons who thought that they could drink their boredom away.

Until like I just ran into Chuck Schuldiner and Tony Iommi and shook their hands at the same time, like I have just found a stunning, intelligent, funny, horny, smart ass female that cares how my day went and likes me for who I am, like the kool aid man just popped out of nowhere while I’m dying of thirst in the Sahara, it glistens with concentrated compassion for my suffering.

Hoek’s Death Metal Pizza.... RESCUE ME!

Crunching distortion, blistering bass amps, pulsating double bass pedal badassness fuck my eardrums with uvular octive lower bowel shaking vocals inciting magnetically clenched fists of joy that can only be described as YYYYEEEEEAAHHHHH!!!!!

Tickle my auditory cortex with high fretted solos and rapidity that renders the fingers invisible, pulverize like a mountain into swamp clay the disease that is pop songs in my head, activate my hope for music and obliterate the new American idol into the subject of Cannibal Corpse’s next album cover, remind me with Nile, Morbid Angel and Suffocation that substantive talent, creativity, and musicianship is indeed still appreciated, because I am not the only one in that establishment that breaths this shit.

YES! I would like 2 slices of good as fuck cheap as fuck and metal as fuck pizza.
NO! I do not want change for my 20.
NO! Cougar lady in line twice my age you cannot braid my hair.

Like an inmate that just got out of prison and is recouping from amazing sex with his wife but now must face the cruel world I peruse back on 6th street only to be bombarded by pretension, vanity, plasticity and shit flavored AXE body spray.
I don’t give a fuck if no one in the room can relate to this shit.
Give me death metal or give me death.

The Eye

I see what you’re sending me… the eye.
That gamma ray energy burst, impossible to fake, and dangerously sincere
That ocular caress, that affection by iris, you cuddle me with the windows on your head.
NEWS FLASH you’re in to me as logic tethers me preventing our decent.
Why should we do this?
Marriage and breakup are the only ways out, both of which scare the living shit out of me.
If we go into this, we risk abandoning our friends, because the void of loneliness will have been filled, We’ll not take as good care of our bodies because we’ll only have one person to impress, and we’ll turn our backs on the hobbies and skills that attracted us to eachother in the first place, because all we’ll want to do all day is hang out and fuck!
We’ll lose our individual identities as people forget that we are not in fact, Siamese fraternal twins and that we do in fact have separate names of ben, and Jennifer, and not benifer.
We’ll be that inseperable pair that everyone hates because we’d rather inspect eachother’s eyeballs than acknowledge that there is a planet of 6.5 billion people outside of our couple bubble.
I’ll hand you my emotional stability on a paper thin plate of china, balanced on a toothpick, held up on the top of a greased pinball. Please don’t hurt me.
I would hereby give you the power to destroy my self esteem, my inclination to seek happiness, and my will to ever love again.
Why the fuck should I get on this nonstop train to eminent disaster?
Because it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

They see it and say

A knee holds the steering wheel as this shwiggity brick weed refuses to de-seed itself. The reflections of headlights bounce off puddles in the street and rise through the trees as thumb and finger distribute only the best cocaine through the fluffed buds of this peach flavored blunt. As it is passed to the back seat, teamwork blows charges into fellow toker’s mouths and coats lungs with euphoria.

A coca farmer in Medellin Colombia stares down the barrel of the AK aimed at his throat by the paramilitary soldier. This worker of the land is a satellite dish of prayer, channeling every ounce of strength towards his maker because he was extorted to pay the wrong organization of guerrillas for protection, and he knows his bones will soon be decomposing on the rainforest floor, another unreported massacre of peasent coca farmers courtesy of the FARC. He sees the coke under your fingernail and cries, Fuck you.

A 6 year old in Ciudad Juarez sprays tears over the coffin of her father, an honest police officer, the body heavy with automatic drug cartel bullets, as focused and powerful as his desire to make his streets safe. Every day he walked out of that police station, he knew los narcotraficantes didn’t give a fuck how many fathers and mothers had to be popped off, how many graveyards would be filled, how many children would live in fear of crossfire, as long as they can get that brickweed across the border, it’s all good. That little girl sees the shwag in your blunt and screams, Fuck you.

A hippie with glaucoma in Humbolt county California breaths in the Cannabis pollen of his field while the shadow of a rainstorm rolls over the countryside to distribute nitrogen loaded raindrops to the moisture retaining soil of his super garden. Worms are tickling their roots, bees are bringing pleasant surprises back to the hive, and this farming gardener deepens the wrinkles of joy that decades of smiling have earned him. He sees the home-grown dank in your bowl and coughs, Thanks dude!

Ima tree

Get off your ass you lazy piece of shit.
All you see when breeze past me is a tree.
I look like I’m chillin, but I’m workin hard.
You see me, a cottonwood tree, serene, pleasant, in control of my own destiny, and at peace.
That’s what you think. You wanna know what’s really goin on?
Every single day, I’m like… fuck where’s the water?
Hey ceder why you gotta steal all my fuckin water?
Damn this soil sucks, get the salt away, I can’t take the salt!
Fuck this beetle eating through my skin!
Where’s the sun? Why’s this cum dumpster of building taking all my sun? Can a tree get some sun?
There’s a lot of shit goin on!
My leaves photosynthesize with light from our star even on a cloudy day.
My microrhizae covered roots are perpetually probing and penetrating the planet for water,75% of the earth and the earthling.
When that dihydrogen oxide doesn’t come out of the sky I die back only to cannibalize my roots back.
Only to fight back the attack of the insects and unfurl on the squirrel and the bird the most toxic bark I can muster,
I crack open the most perceptively impenetrable boulder, I vacuum all the good shit from the finest clay, while I nurture the worm and the microbe, the only ones that aren’t trying to kill me.
My branches radiate from my trunk with the monumental strength I’ve earned from year after year of building a pillar of solid lignin muscle grown from a seed that came out of a bird’s ass.
As the sun gives less love and the cold winds gives hate I drop my leafy engines of energy conversion only to cannibalize myself again, as I suck in the nutrients I’ve produced as they percolate through the soil.
All you see when you breeze past me is a tree. I look like I’m chillin, but I’m workin my ass off over here and you’re playing world of warcraft in your air-conditioned dungeon?! Come enjoy me!