His View From The Chair

I know a guy that carries his dry cleaning all wrong. He has no idea, that Olympic boxing is rigged.
He forgot about the Panama papers, and that Nick’s (on) thing. We both forgot about Northwood. (I mean, could forget about Northwood!?)

I really like His shoes though. And, He and I, talk, often.

We talk and talk, and the circles of our mouths form celestial walls around the disinterest we have for each other.
But, He’s alright. Buddha hold’s a 

real keen eye. Dude,

doesn’t have a passion, He doesn’t have an event to go to. He just likes to keep things straight and narrow.

He has no idea that there were never any bodies found at Giza. And,

He holds those freshly pressed shirts, over his left arm like a butler. Where is He going? 

I’ll never know why He mixes his coffee and his aspartame?

He and I talk everyday. I try to shake His hand, but sometimes His hands are limestone. 


We are both masters of Two-sides-of-the-same-coin. 

I’m not sure I’ll ever see Him again. 

I’m not sure He knows.

His words, and my words, they continue to mix. Billiards, milkshakes, the sanguine felt.

He tells me, that I should buy a new pair of shoes. But He knows that I hate shoe shopping. So He laughs when I scoff. 

tire’s are filled with granite.

The hub caps of His brown car are only a tissue paper facade, and He will continue to hold onto His figurative of saints.
At the very least, we know that

all gods die.
Ya know? 
Like spirits in the rain. 

Right, Left? Here and Now.

I am convinced, that the RNC has our best interest in heart. It’s a real privilege of mine, as an American to live within the walls of this great country.

The ethnocentric culture, is truly enlightening. I feel a great sense of comfort, and honesty in the policies that are discussed in an American debates.

Sitting on the RED line, wondering why we haven’t gone to the Moon since 1969. 

Here I am feeling so proud to be an American. Here I am completely not interested, why 38 Billion dollars of (Nassau) research was destroyed following the first contact. 

Mr. Nixon really allowed me a sense of solidarity that I haven’t ever felt before.

Like you don’t believe they landed on the moon!? Well. They did. K? K!

You probably believe that Nixon didn’t sell dope to South America during the 80’s right!? Well, that’s wrong. K? K.


Quit yr inner dialog. 

Contra is just a video game. Right?

Every truth the government has provided has helped us grow and prosper as a civilization. Every fear, every unjustified notion that has crept into our minds has been sedated by the helpful politician-ers and they have helped us understand the truth.

I’ve read the admissions. All twenty eight pages, right? Right on the nose.

We always share the documents that explain what actually happened. I haven’t been lied to, I love my country. This has to be the truth. 

VAN ALLEN BE DAMMED, right? Right.
The truth is, I love what the RNC does for communities, and I support and agree with the doctrine that provides the most accurate truth. Personally, I love America.

I enjoy the glory of honesty, and I continue to thrive in the clean light of Don, and Hill, and Ted, and Stein.

My vote is sacred, my vote is based on my belief, and I’m happy that the RedCoat National Convention has allowed me a platform to cast my vote.


Sith Rich

When we hear about crime, we hear a re-telling of an event that happened based on the individuals involved.

When we hear about crime, 

we hear about a victim, and we hear about a perpetrator. Don’t we?

Crime creeps up on us right? It tells us a story of the past. When we talk about crime, we are talking about an event that happened to certain individuals.

It is rare, (before recently) that we hear about crime as it is happening. 

Through advancements in technology we have enabled ourselves the ability to talk about crime; in real time.

So look at that. Look at the fact that we’ve created a society where crime, and love, and fun, and picnic-table-hard-earned-food-family-gatherings are (potentially) communicated in real time. 

So, let’s understand that. As a whole, all the stories we’ve heard of families and enemies throughout the centuries have all been communicated in the past tense.

And now,

the technology we allow ourselves has allowed us to communicate, faster 

and with more detail.

Not one single person in the tsar-era was ever concerned about dissenting to FB about their fathers commiting acts of travesty.

Not one single German during the Last War was posting to Twitter. 

So now what are our Delicates, thinking about? What are our public officials doing at seven o’clock in the morning? 

What are our representitives filled with? 

Is it laughter, and food?

I’m not sure. 

 What I do know, is that the 2016, United States presidential election has never happened before.

And what I do not know is the forensic truth behind that young man’s death.

Left-Wing, Republican Sex Party.

Density increases at the sheer mention of it.

As soon as I heard the rain, it started to fall from the clouds in a rapid torrent, and before I could finish my thought, the rain was gone.
Ya know, for me, this is an observation about how facetious we all are toward our own reality— look at it, really dive into it.

You see all these HeadLines, all the time, these fucking corduroy pillows of thought:

“Ten reasons why you should shop smart.”

“You won’t believe, what happens next!”

“Click the link below for more details”

All these trains are being pressed against our skull. These wicked abusers of language, the devilish folklore of century old Mystics are alive within our social media.
This is the dark age. Ya know, 

and it’s disguised in technological advancement. 

Because, really, everyone thinks that the Internet has allowed so much transparency of thought. And bud, I couldn’t disagree more.

For sure, I can’t help but see an ever present facade that rears its head when we actually talk about transparency, 

and this is just what I mean to talk about.

… Just go the whole way, and don’t short circuit your own mental process!! 

Heed disinfo, yeh.

Learning is far more complex than sharing.

Give yourself a decent nights study.  Not because you have to, but because you’re curious.

Try going the whole way.

Ya know?

It’s like yoga. Yeah, yeah, the yogi, the spirit visage, the teacher that shows the course. All of that. We’re building more modern day buzzwords. Being in it, like you get effected by it– people think you’re profound, and that’s why it doesn’t matter–

You see? You check your source?

Vet your point of view. Are

you arguing? Vet your opponent!

Find the facts that dispute your opinion and open your damn mouth to it. 

It does matter.

Do you see where it’s going?

Have you divulged into the nature of this terrible corruption? The plains are filled with engineered media-metaphors, the planes are filled with decent humans, technology, planes are filled with: future. 

Watching the forests grow smaller, plains are bought and sold in the same breath as 

our cyclical-pharmaceutical-hellywood-parking-spot-Hillary-clit-toon-tell-your-self-you’ve-heard-all-the-facts.

Where, went the empirical interest in understanding our natural world?

“This business thinks in Centuries”
And. Even if we ain’t

—we wear’ a trick 

that convinces the people we love- into sharing the thoughts that we think we should care about.

Black lives matter; 

but, dude, not because we said they should!

Because they actually fucking do man, Arab too, white, slang, troop, beat, Jew, trick, whore, junky. Descriptions don’t identify the individual. 

(The word water, isn’t wet)

The rent increases, the mortgage, the land is thinning out. Air and oil, like symptoms of the same coin. The 

victim is the same person that you disagree with.
So let’s take a moment and figure out what it is that we are talking about. 

You know what it is!

And it’s so easy

to distract yourself with what else you think-you think matters, 

and I mean 




What is the cost 

of our 


I’m a printer.

My back knows what 40 dozen an hour feels like.

My elbows can tell you stories of red polyester mesh jerseys. Poly White sticks to my bones, plastisol seeps from my veins.

I’m a screen printer, I’m a machine of repetition. I am the heating element of an old Brown Dryer. 

My hands are carved from wood and rubber. I drink Emulsion and Press Wash for breakfast.  

I’m a lithographer without a workshop. I cut plates like red steaks.

My hands are heavy rolling pins. My shoes have holes in them, water proof film covers my chest.

All my work is lost in time. If I take too many breaths between prints the water based ink will always harden.

This batch of discharge smells like burnt bleach. The pallets are always too hot in July. Silicone only helps the hopeful.

I need to re-burn that screen. I need to reprint that film. I need to re-set up that film.

I am a relief master.

I need to out put another six color.

I need to white / flash / white / flash / red / light brown / flash / creme / black.

I need to cut wood blocks. I need to cut linoleum. I need to cut wax paper, I cut card stock. I am a printer. I am a machine of the handless. I am the hand of the machineless. 

I know what a thousand jobs a year feels like. Seven hundred thousand strokes a year.

I am a screen printer, I am a period piece. I am an escape artist. I am another portrait of the past. 

I print, and

I write- one letter at a time.

Flight 553: Lightning Buried in The Mud

Words turn inside each and everyone of us.
Most of them are thoughts, some of them are cuticle pushing nail files.

Court, my crown is at the end of the red carpet.

Take the thorn from my thumb and watch as the academy spills over fables from broken horse stables. You are not your mother. The child leaks sleep.

The child grows in the digestion of information that retains a fraction of the lost truth. History is falling through the digestive system of social media. The rent is going up next month.

“Save nickels on your thumb drive.”

Seer them over the crack pot boiling water of conspiracy theories. Brine your nickles in the song that got stuck in your head a few hours ago. The rocks crinkle.

Everything bends over your thoughts as the day turns to dust. Another choice to make, watch your breath exhale. The mirror is truer than the truth.

Your child looks up the word “Akimbo” in the dictionary and writes it on the wall four hundred and seventy three times. Nothing changes while you’re watching it, growing close enough to truth that you can’t stomach the change.

Arms are the estranged cables that hold your phone to the wall outlet.

Find your find-less.

Find your access to the source; no one will see you feeding the child.  They are all looking too close. They are waiting for a reason to change you child.

I Bet; Shirley Jackson Once Wore Blue Jeans

Most American’s have been talking a lot lately about The Lottery. The jackpot actually exceeded one billion dollars. News anchors are covering the ticket lines where potential winners are lined up for their chance; for their chance to win big! Billboards are flashing hope! Office pools are springing up around the water coolers, and casual conversations are turning into: “What would you do if you won?”

Well, I have a different question to ask, I have a different seed to sow, because I’m not interested in winning, or who even wins. I’m interested in what the lottery does to the psyche. Why is it so important that everyone throw their own hat into the ring? Why does the thought of winning so much money, transcend the odds of actually winning?

I believe it all comes into focus with one simple question: “What if I win?”

What. If. I. Win?

Even a level headed individual is affected by this magic trick…

In order to identify what is happening when I talk about the lottery, I think it is important for me to define what gambling is.

The by the book definition of gambling:

The wagering of money on an event with an uncertain outcome with the primary intent of winning additional money.

With that said, it’s important to note that gambling includes three major elements.

  • Consideration
  • Chance
  • Prize

What are other events in life that contain these three major elements?

-Taking a job, finding a partner, buying a house, trying new food, waking up, reading a book, taking out the garbage, going to see a movie, etc.

Almost everything in life contains some type of consideration, chance and prize. I would almost wager that every single thing that is involved being alive contains two of those three elements. To identify them more specifically, we find ourselves faced with six potential outcomes:

  • Consideration + Chance
  • Consideration + Prize
  • Chance + Prize
  • Chance + Consideration
  • Prize + Consideration
  • Prize + Chance

Every decision we make is a conclusion reached after consideration.
Every prize we receive is contingent on an individual perspective and understanding.
Every every chance we take is based off a scale of shallow or deep consideration.

So what separates the lottery from everyday life?


Plain and simple.

Money. Money. Money.

Lottery means the prospect of money.

It means that you can take care of all those little worries that have been troubling you. Money can wash away the troubles of the day to day. Money can provide for those in need, and for those in want. Money can be used to buy things, but it can’t be used to grow your own hair.

Money. Money. Money

What if money had less of a value on preconceived worth? What if money was a means and not an end.  Because, there is a realization of reality that I continue to return to.  A realization that life is not a symptom of money, or words, or definition.

Life is this, and this is it.