Subliminal White Trash

Welcome. This site contains a cross section of my writing including stories, comedy skits, poetry, dialogues and observational humour with a satirical edge. Feedback is much appreciated. Coming through people! Clear a path! My e-mail is

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Location: Burlington, Ontario, Canada

After graduating high school in 1995 with a significant amount of embarrassingly cliched emotional baggage, Kevin "Subliminal White Trash" Pearce made his way to Toronto in a perfectly understandable attempt to outrun his past. After encountering many similarly desperate and stubbornly eccentric people, Kevin found his way into the acting and spoken word scenes. With an amazing and almost inhuman effort, Kevin somehow negotiated through his self destructive tendencies on his way to finding some kind of second rate enlightenment in his strange little world of reckless, impulsive creativity. After spending three years in Toronto, Kevin decided to return to the suburbs in order to preserve his diminishing supply of mental health. Sometimes he even thinks it was the right decision.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

18 New Poems, etc...


Let Me In

I want to be the drug that takes off your mask.
I want to destroy that ghost you see when you look in the mirror.
I want to extinguish the flames that burn at your pride.
I want to neutralize the poison in your mind and return your innocence.
I want to tear down the barriers that isolate you from your dreams.
I want to bury the old world for you.
I want to give you back control of your fate.
I want our minds to unite in one perpetual orgasm.
I want us to live again.


Is it all a sad
confusion dance?
I may abuse the
apathy cruise control
but behind your eyes
are dead highways to
and I have to be

Life's Complaints Department (get over it)

Take it out on me.
That’s what I’m here for.
Make me work for it.
Make me feel it.
Your relationship is dead.
I want you to spit bile.
You hate your kids.
Let your tongue be your weapon.
The mortgage payment is overdue.
Show me that desperation.
You got some bad news.
Prove to me your diamond hard anger.
You’re having car problems.
I want the blood to rush to your head.
I am the wall that absorbs the wreckage of your life.
I am your temporary enemy.
I am a sponge with a face.
I calmly roast in my own public hell.
Forsaken by my fragile identity.
The sweat soaks through my shirt.
An accidental pain junky.
Ready for another fix.

DISTORTED DISCOURSE part 2 (part 1 is on the post below.)

Rebirth of confused killers through media worship
Destruction of family dynamics by kindergarten logic
Control of mental growth through obscene knowledge
Release of intrusive emotions through unknowable euphoria
Realization of subconscious alienation by disturbed miracles
Exorcism of creative thought from detached monotony
Confirmation of spiritual decay through intentional neglect

Dream Images

shape-shifting homeless evangelists
forging funeral invitations
sodomizing burnt out televisions
while filling the fridge with cigarette butts
jerking off in the back seat of a hearse
and mocking nuns in purgatory
short-circuiting brain transmissions
by destroying the cycle of hereditary genes
avoiding middle class cemeteries
by staying isolated from consumer trends
flirting with that girl at the checkout counter
by penetrating her sly web of intrigue
suffering the brutality of jail for sublime thought crimes
while the killers talk of tomorrow…

Suicide Girl (for Charles Bukowski)

I'm talking with this
laid back sociopath
at a bar
and he tells me he's got
this scrawny jewish girl
obsessed with the holocaust
suffering in his bed
She asks him to lick
her suicide scars
Then they get down to business
while he wonders
"If she's an atheist
why is she such a cold fuck?"
We laughed
Just thought I'd let you know

walking alone

the harsh wind
brought tears to my eyes
so I thought of something sad
it made sense at the time
and then I kicked a piece of trash
onto the road
for no reason at all
and thought of something happy

Martyrs   (written February 4th)

Is it too late to show the martyrs LOVE?
To soak their sadness in bleach awhile?
Will they never turn back?
The weight of desperate ideology
a magnet that pulls a heart
that lost one too many battles
For some kind of THRILL
For some kind of PURPOSE
Soaking their conscience in
a stranger’s blood
What do they have to lose?
What do they have to gain?
All they know is a sitcom existence,
empty pockets and pain
The weak attach to the strong
for a piece of the glory
Another dream dead
Another atrocity committed
Sounds like the same old story

Opinions (written February 11th)

Your conversation
just isn't interesting
like before
You're starting to sound
like rejected old folklore
Then again
my opinions aren't exactly
selling on the black market

Drunk in Parkdale

Parkdale explodes like a vicious rash
all over my body.
The darkness grabs me like a clumsy whore
Disguising me from what hides
among restless shadows.
Bad livers and forgotten fossils drift on by,
choking on the night.
Am I making sense of the madness
or madness out of the sense?
I can never decide.
So I laugh at myself,
stupid and hollow and wonder
What day of the weak
does Capital Punishment come to town?
And why am I, once again
playing the role of the Neanderthal clown?

Reckless Beauty

She was beautiful in a ruthless way
A punishing God's unholy creation
Taunting men with a brutal lack of conscience
The whole world was in love with her
and she couldn’t care less
So she went on with her charmed life
Goddammit, that girl was blessed with the
true nature of evil
and I loved her for it
But she'd just look away,
murdering me with her silence
To her, I was about as memorable
as a scrap piece of newspaper
being swept along in a dry summer breeze
Feeling her truth was PURE SUFFERING

 Accidental Love Poem

 At first sight
 your clothes fit you
 almost too well
 Did I see your eyes
 turn my way?
 Maybe I want a nice girl
 Are you out of my league?
 Can I penetrate your intrigue?
 So please walk by again
 Although it would look good
 if I’m not talking to you like this tonight
 Because I’m as good as lost
 when you are nearby


how many worlds of the imagination
can you explore
until you meet someone
who shows a little bit more


do not fear
your eventual death
all of your questions answered
after one final breath


you are just
another memory
that's going to
my dreams


I'm telling you
that your dreams
are so beautiful and pure
that I need to reach
a certain state of drunkenness
to even begin to fathom them
because they just don't
make much sense
in my world


the sick, the depraved, the desperate
all the scum in this
weary city
do not welcome them into your arms
throw them back into darkness
refuse to confront them in the midst of their ugliness
ignore the rotten smell of body and spirit
eating itself alive
if you show them kindness
they will latch onto you like a virus
and strip you bare
do not offer your mercy
do not offer your pity
throw them back into darkness
it's what they understand


images blur into each other
sounds melt together
past and future join together
into living shadows
hypnotized by time
an oath against
routine of consciousness
how many miracles am I
supposed to perform?
don't you worry about ethics
I realize there are some dark themes at work here but this is how I unload my baggage and unwind.

Old Love Poem

I don't care about
the universe
the galaxy 
the solar system
These words mean nothing to me
I'm through with contemplation
I want to be your good piece of heaven
I need something from your heart in return
Sometimes I may need you to be strong for me
Your eyes against me make me wonder
Has anyone told you different?
Tell them to get out of my way


The Triumph of Degradation (from my shock value days in the mid 90's)

a fresh start
a new hunger
a vicious and voracious appetite...
you understand
you can smell the fear
sharpen your axe
inhale the madness
committed to learning all the sins
everything has a purpose
anything can kill
another meeting held by cultural terrorists
testicles shudder at the sheer horror of it all
prosecute...execute...bury and piss on
refuse to moralize or analyze
keep the charade going FOREVER
now tell me
what's it going to be?
a hero's epitaph or a fool's siren song?
stop waiting for the prophet's handshake
he sold you out and left you
with memories of childhood spent in dream land
"Shut up" he says
"This gravesite is sacred...MIND YOUR MANNERS."
Atheists and Christians wait for the next city burning
Their kingdoms, ash.

this poem co-written with Sam Geezer

spread my evil around (also mid 90's)

won't you come down from your
drug and booze hit parade
for a moment
so we can discuss something important
so I can spread my evil around
and gently steer the conversation
between reality and fantasy
to complete my perfect vision
so we can join the others in an
orgy of madness
in this drugged out paradise of
numb regret
where is your beauty now?
our heartbeat's echo off the walls
like gunshots
as my eyes adjust to your darkness
you apologize for being selfish
for only thinking of your orgasms
as your womb eats itself


She sits by the window and says a silent prayer for her daughter to call. She can’t stand knitting anything anymore. She sits with her pot of coffee and her cigarettes and tries to ignore the sound of the neighbour’s lawnmower. Her faded dress is marked with coffee stains and burn holes. A little caffeine buzz won’t hurt. She had drank seven cups just to feel something. She isn’t sure what exactly. Life just isn’t that interesting anymore. The cat puke is starting to smell. A turkey rots on the dusty kitchen table. The newspapers lay in a pile on the verge of collapse. Unread. A cockroach makes its way quickly up her arm as Oprah casually starts another spiritual cult for the independent woman on the television. They may as well be talking in a foreign language. Faith won’t visit the forgotten today but sleep will come. Tomorrow, more of the same and nobody to blame.

Another Desperate Junky (fiction)

Thinkin about the pipe. Woke up on the floor. All is pipe. Hustle for pipe. Gonna cut my throat if I can’t fill my FUCKIN PIPE. Bitch took my last money and ran. Search the goddamn apartment. Roaches and bottles and empty pipes. No money. Out the door. First fuckin stupid face gets it. Knock the fucker straight off his legs. Watch him fall. Face hits the concrete. Empty thud. Right pocket. Wallet in hand. Grab his cell phone. Run like a motherfucker. Gonna get set up. Dealer says go. Run five blocks like unbelievable. Bang on the door. Bitch answers. Big surprise. See bro suckin pipe at kitchen table. Hug the fucker with tears in my eyes. Drop money. Hit on pipe. Tears come again. Relief. Massage my mind. Massage my spine. Massage my fuckin stupid guts. Stress whores gone. In the zone. Fuckin holy fuck. Shit is BUTTER.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Bob-isms and Spam Collage, etc...


Bob lives in my apartment building.  I've known him for about twelve years.  Bob is a bit 'eccentric' mostly owing to his delusions which are harmless but somewhat memorable.  Here's a few.

-calls himself "The Bingo Bug Doctor/Cleaner/Giver of Life".
-once blurted out "Bubba bubba bubba eat shit eat shit call my lawyer".
-he once left my apartment because he was being chased by "an invisible light saber".
-thinks that some psychiatric drugs are made with Jim Carrey's DNA.
-he's convinced that the Oakville Ford Plant is a space station.
-says that it takes one minute and thirty-two seconds to teleport to Kingston.
-sometimes calls his medication "massacre drugs".
-his favourite thing to say is "you're a fine young man" and he says it so often that you have to tell him to come up with some new material (which he rarely does).
-reminds people that there are no parasites in his body.
-once said "Where do people get depends? The Crotch Store?". (straight face)
-occasionally mocks people with down syndrome.
-blurted out "Did you know that dirty underwear can save a marriage?".
-often talks about opening convenience stores in Iraq and Afghanistan (straight face).
-"You don't have to go to school to be a medical practitioner. There are 127 different things you can do in your office; Put on a cast, medicine, anatomy..."  (huh?)
-"I had a dream and I know how I'm going to die. It will be in 2087 (he'd be about 115) from a double snake bite."
-this one might be the craziest thing I've ever heard.  He says that his chiropractic appointment cost $111 million dollars. I tried calling him on it but he wouldn't back down and eventually told me to change the subject.
-asked a friend of mine if he served in Vietnam (he was three when the war started).
-talks about the army recruiting him to hunt sharks in Afghanistan (???!!!).
-yelled off my balcony "I LOVE STOOL SOFTENERS" six times in a row.
-thinks Las Vegas is its own nation on an island despite having been there.
-doesn't know our prime minister's name.

this is an ongoing post...

Spam Collage

It was a painstaking process, going through well over a hundred spam e-mails just to find very few interesting word combinations.  It was a huge editing job and correcting the grammar alone was a nightmare.  Some of it was so cryptic that I ended up adding a bit of my own writing just to keep myself interested and for the sake of some kind of continuity.  I think this bit is pretty much open to interpretation.  Feedback appreciated.

Hugs are swell, but that doesn't merit your poverty.  Hold yourself from having an internal organ drift through laxatives and fearless statements like spices that operate a good deal quicker than uncastrated telecasting.  For competitive advantage location is crucial to give birth to a well-read artefact to ingest and eliminate.  This pregnant proposal needs a bluffing flag for any theory in the cognitive content industry that determines decay.  To make an odd perspective manipulate the easiest material possession.  Your gift to copulate the becoming line of work in a monetary system by eliminating your attorney and be a vessel on the intelligence position.  See the coupons and pay the debts off and don't be dumbfounded by brainwave stimulation.  Never conceive of the genuine style tip to remove semblance and lesser information.  That is the hook to the sun in the winter if you want penetration try the multitude communication channel.  It is comfortable to gain undisguised neediness.  Be steady to engage a teacher and do it if you use your dimension capability on them.  Manifest your currency rather than nutrients for general knowledge by ensuring your computing faculties.  You should drink or your existence may suffer.  Locations are around the path to urinate true to your customer interactions if your poverty is victimized then buy your new wholesome lifestyle.  Use testimonials from individuals whose knowledge of inebriation of the soul has so far been non-existent.  To deepen your psychological feature as you age, a sheltered line of reasoning is what you desire to give when you are not wasted.  You should add cranberries into your options to hold back a significant common statement forwarding strategies such as the grunge stains from carpets.  Perpetrate doomed family tree vessels and the responsibility of advice from criminals trying to conceal it.  In that respect stop on a hot implement being a canned meat maneuver.  For the best show target protein intolerance.  The noises provide location as your legal document modifies your winnings in magnitude by creating a wholesome intellect of the new you.  A fee may process your credibility but do not weaken in front of cameras.  Have the noises divided into vessels.  The financial obligation combination is unanalyzable but useful with effort that is mostly unremarkably inaccurate.  Discuss loss and convert your prey into your present impoverishment of currency to expand your leader of advisable deprivation with saint-like opportunities.  Make an odd perspective to secure and manipulate.  Use your gift to copulate with rewards being a monetary system.  A marriage ceremony is a show that says get over a social unit to command a dimension splice of code so don't ask.  Encouraging someone's perception may result in a prison term.  The image might be you if it's a thought trap.  Hopefully this planet has a little more patience with itself.

this is an ongoing post...

An old poem I wrote in the late 90's that went viral on a poetry site...


alcoholic actors age artificially
frustrated feminists fornicate fiendishly
clever cops cripple conspiracies
nervous nannies neglect nurseries
morbid ministers murder martyrs
jealous judges justify junkies
lazy lawyers liberate lunatics
paranoid pimps pacify prostitutes
emotional eccentrics execute evangelists
gullible gangsters glorify graveyards
horny hypocrites horrify humanists
impotent invalids inspire incest
scorned schizophrenics sabotage sanity
disgraced diplomats destroy democracy
tormented terrorists terminate treason
reformed revolutionaries regret redemption

Here's one from deep in the archives. A little background on the following piece "Texas wants me dead". I wrote it in March of 1997 about a week before traveling on the Greyhound to Austin, Texas for a Spoken Word Festival. I was in a very fragile state of mind so I thought I'd take the paranoia I was feeling about the trip and write something that went completely off the deep end just for a laugh.  I've read it at over a dozen poetry slams over the years and audiences seem to like it.

Texas wants me dead

The State of Texas wants me dead.
I live in fear of Texas every day of my life.
Texas has dismantled and rebuilt me in the image of its anger.
Whenever the phone rings, it's somebody uttering death threats on behalf of Texas.
Texas has been planning my funeral since the day I was born.
Each time I breathe Texas takes it as a personal insult.
Every time a murder is committed in Texas I am directly responsible.
Every time somebody commits suicide in Texas it is my fault.
I am to blame for every teenage runaway, junkie prostitute and serial killer in the State of Texas since the day I was born.
Texas tells me that I belong on Death Row without an appeal.
They won't even give me a goddamn lawyer.
Texas has already signed my Death Certificate but refuses to pay for the funeral.
I've tried to negotiate but Texas hates the sound of my voice and won't let me speak.
Texas has gone to great lengths to neutralize my semen. It was the only weapon I had left.
Texas has isolated my DNA and will try to stop the same mistake from happening again.
The State of Texas will not rest until I am dead and there is nothing I can do about it.

"I hate your guts."
"You've never seen my guts."

"She was a good friend.  I have her autopsy on my wall."
"What?  Do you mean obituary?"
"Yeah.  Obituary.  Whatever."

Thursday, October 10, 2013

In my Dreams, etc...

THIS IS AN ONGOING POST...It is currently October 8th and I'm still adding to it.

A little background.  I haven't written much poetry in awhile but recently I have been inspired to do so. However, it is the easiest art form in which to be completely terrible.  So don't judge me too harshly on this.  Also, despite the negative tone to this poem my dreams aren't always this dark and dysfunctional although there are some reoccurring themes here.  I have plenty of happy dreams.  They just aren't that interesting.  Hope you enjoy.

In my dreams
the car never has brakes
the gun is always loaded
animals are ready to attack

People get hurt

In my dreams
childhood memories are no longer sacred
understanding comes with a price
the pillars of sanity are on fire

People get hurt

In my dreams
my heroes betray me
love fights its weary battle with apathy
uncertainty rules the night

People get hurt

In my dreams
desire is just out of reach
temptation leads to regret
guilt and shame are the biggest show in town

People get hurt

In my dreams
crushed by the weight of abstract symbolism
starving for air
I disappear into the crowd
and pretend that nobody got hurt

I write pick-up lines to amuse myself and's a few.  More coming soon.

"I'm kind of a big deal here.  I know the dishwasher."
"You look like you're pretty high maintenance.  Fair assessment?"
"I saw you on the dance floor.  You looked like a retarded goat having a seizure."
"Your friend is hot.  Is she single?"
"I never flaunt my money.  It wouldn't be fair to the other guys in the bar."
"Didn't I see you on that porn website?  You're good.  You're really good.  No?  Never been in a porn?  Why are you looking at me like that?  It was a compliment.  No?  Hmmm.........awkward.  I'm gonna leave now."
"I've got my grandma on speed-dial.  She's a nice lady.  She's expecting us for dinner tomorrow."

short poems...not be continued

my old roommate once said
"Why are you trying to poison me?"
his mental illness shone bright that day

senior citizens moving slow
staring at the ground with nowhere to go
soon they will join their friends down below
and on their graves flowers will grow

never prank call 911
the operators don't like humour
they have a job to do
and their ears are
overwhelmed with death

An old lady in my apartment building died yesterday
The Salvation Army truck was out front
Her worldly possessions stacked high
Strangers will soon find them a new home
as the cycle of life and death perpetuates
and mutates together as one

Do not fear the grave
It just might be an eternity of
silent oblivion
You won't feel a thing

the night after Halloween

walking home from a lifeless downtown
I see a poorly made skeleton
hung by a noose
blowing in the wind
tied to a tree branch
older than I am
as leaves dance around my feet
until I kick them away
and silently wonder
"How often do people lie to themselves
to move ahead with their lives?"
There are no more hills to climb
No more childhood mountains
to conquer


It is a death
in and of itself
giving death
no meaning
just part of the
inexorable routine
while the words
eat themselves

I've taken a bunch of acting classes in my Toronto days but I still don't know how to act normal.
Rob Ford blah blah blah.   Can't we all just smoke vitamins?
I once witnessed a girl reduced to a sobbing wreck when she couldn't score weed before school.  Pathetic.  Yawn.
I'm watching CNN and they're interviewing a retired ATF agent and he has a black eye and a bandage on his forehead.  The guy's retired and he still can't catch a break.
Today I walked with purpose but not urgency.  Such a fine line.
I eat too much yogurt.  Seriously.  I think I have a problem.  Also, eating too much peanut butter gives you a headache.
Which word do you prefer.....PUKE or BARF?  I think barf implies more of a projectile can puke in your mouth a bit but BARF sounds like you're emptying your stomach across the goddamn ROOM.  Also, let's not forget about VOMIT.  It carries a certain authority.
You heard it here folks.  I pick my bacon right from the TREE. No, wait.  That was a dream.  A TASTY dream.
To all you phone addicts.  I have something called a 'landline'.  I can also see dinosaurs out my window.
I'm concerned about my concerns.  It's very concerning.
I actually took the time to read the latest bit of spam on my e-mail account.  The usual bullshit but it ended with a gem:  "The problem with adult sex cams is that they are often full of lies."  Hilarious! 
I asked an 'associate' what his novel in progress is about.  "Life."  He said.  Wow.  That narrows it down.  Yawn.
There's a new reality show on TLC called "Best Funeral Ever."  I don't know about you but when I find out I'm going to a funeral the first thing I think is 'Will this be the one?  The funeral I've been dreaming about all these years?  Funeral perfection?  Will the sandwiches really be THAT GOOD?'
I'm not paranoid.  You're just uninformed.
I was watching a show about the destructive powers of weather and then I stepped outside and the sun felt like an orgasm.
I've seen a band I like four million times.  Divided by a million.
Dear ______________.  Get off the tit and put your big boy pants on.
Don't get too close to me.  My bullshit filter is strong.
Being a writer means keeping your friends on a long leash.
In the future, everyone will pretend to like Andy Warhol for fifteen minutes.
The previous confusion was incorrect.  However, the apology will be even more confusing.
Say something interesting enough that I will remember it tomorrow and I will forgive you for yesterday.
If I ever need an organ donor I really hope they don't die screaming.
Your bacon etiquette is surprising yet effective.
A friend on Facebook wrote "I'm so grateful for all the supportive people in my life." so I replied "I'm so supportive of all the grateful people in my life."
When people write 'LMAO' are they temporarily removed from their buttocks due to the intensity of the laughter?  In a metaphysical way?  Or something?
A friend of mine told her grandma "Stop going to the casino and spending my inheritance."
Breaking up a fight at a holiday party:  "GET OFF OF HIM GODDAMNIT.  I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS.  IT'S THE HOLIDAYS.  SHARE THE LOVE GODDAMNIT.  You stand HERE and you stand THERE.  ARE WE DONE WITH THIS BULLSHIT?  Next time you open your mouth drink some GODDAMN EGGNOG."
A friend of mine told me that she doesn't care if she ever has sex again.  She can have an orgasm taking a dump or crossing her legs a certain way.  Must be nice.
I find it funny when people stumble over the word 'articulate'.  The irony!
Some lighters have a kill switch which is why the Zippo is the preferred lighter by junkies and arsonists alike.
We've all been there.  Where memory lane intersects with regret avenue.
Never underestimate the power of wearing comfortable socks.
I was watching a spider on my balcony, dead center in the middle of his perfect web and for a second everything made sense.  The next day the web and the spider were gone.
Live every day like it's your last?  Sounds like a lot of crying and good-byes.  Try doing that every day and watch your family and friends disappear from your life in a hurry.
Why is it that people automatically look sexier when wearing aviation sunglasses?
I never understood the AC DC song "Thunderstruck".  Shouldn't it be "Lightningstruck"?
Some people bottle up their feelings.  Many of those people use the bottle to deal with their bottled up feelings.  How appropriate.
Funny bit on COPS (TV show). The cop tells a suspect who is supposedly stalking his ex that she has panic attacks when he's around. The suspect says "She has panic attacks when her dog won't take a dump or her cats won't breed."
Let me be clear. There is a difference between being a hoarder and being a slob. Hoarding is an anxiety disorder and being a slob is just lazy, willful ignorance. Don't get it twisted. You know who you are.
Here's a funny bit of spam I received:  'Put away your endeavour, where you sit depressed and hand their LSD throughout the intact traverse you get the egg with you.'
It was a candid moment that we candidly shared with other candid people until someone ruined it by saying 'candid'.

another poem based on a dream

vast jungles of flesh
giants of monotony
these intellect crushing beasts
disguised gardens of deceit
from a petri dish poisoned by mutant chemicals
what's left of the beauty transforms to become wings
sometimes I wonder if I should speak of these things
who could be listening in?
breathing the thick air of lost opportunities
crying heavy tears of expired love
witnessing a higher form of intelligence
undeserving of humanity
and my frail sanity
who could be listening in?
time to destroy the evidence and move on


to dream without a conscience
is for the weak and vulnerable
it gives them a chance to break free
from familiar prisons

"I'm going to degrade and destroy a few pints tonight."
"Just a few?"
"OK. More than a few."
"Sounds like a drunken shock and awe type situation."

Friday, May 10, 2013

Food Bank Skit

An elderly man walks into a food bank...

"Hey lady.  I'm looking for crackers."
"Is that someone's nickname?"
"Probably somewhere.  In this case no, lady.  Just old fashioned crackers."
"Well, you're in luck.  We have crackers."
"Good.  Is there a senior's discount?"
"Sir, everything here is free."
"Right....right.  Why do they call it a food bank anyways?  You ever been robbed?"
"No sir.  Everything here is free."
"OK.  I'll take everything.  Sorry.  That was a joke."
"So, you want crackers?  What kind?"
"Lady.  Look at me.  I'm a tired old man.  When I was a boy we had one kind of plain crackers and that was the end of it."
"Well, we have eight different kinds."
"Lady.  I don't think we're on the same page here.  Some days I don't know if I should go to the doctor or jump out a window.  I want plain crackers."
"Well, come have a look."
"I trust you lady.  Plain crackers."
"Well, we have different kinds of plain crackers."
"Lady, everyone I love is dead and everyone I hate is alive.  Work with me here.  Plain crackers."
"Well, here you go."
"Thank-you.  You know what I do with them?  I feed birds.  I sit on a bench in a park and feed birds and sometimes a squirrel.  That's my life and I'm pretty sure the birds don't care about name brands.  Oh, and the squirrel.  That greedy squirrel.  He's a quick one.  Little bugger.  Do you know what that makes me? A typical old man with nothing better to do than stare at a lake and people walking by while I feed birds.  Oh, and that squirrel.  So what I'm doing is basically just perpetuating a stereotype.  That's what my life has become."
"Uhhhhh......OK.  Anything else with that?"
"No.  I mean maybe.  I mean yes.  I need peanuts."
"What kind of peanuts?"
"Lady, are we seriously going to have this same conversation again?  I want PLAIN PEANUTS.  Not barbecue.  Not salted.  Not deep fried.  I don't care if God himself sneezed on them.  Plain goddamn peanuts."
"And you want them to feed the birds?"
"Yes, lady.  And sometimes I might even eat a few.  It doesn't matter.  What matters is that squirrel that's stalking me."
"Sorry to hear that.  Here are your PLAIN peanuts.  Anything else?"
"Yeah.  One more thing.  Do you know where I can get a cheap gun around here?"
"No sir."
"OK.  Just remember my face.  Remember that I'm one of the good guys perpetuating stereotypes to contribute to the illusion of society so people like you can sleep better at night.  GODDAMMIT SOME DAYS I WANT TO EXPLODE.  Ah....fuck it.  I'll be dead soon. Goddamn squirrel.  We'll see who lives the longest.  I will eat that furry little prick on my goddamn barbecue.  Do you know where I can buy poison around here?"
"No sir."
"OK.  You've been a big help.  See, NO.  These past few minutes have been very distressing to me.  I'm tired of being nice.  Is the squirrel being nice?  No. NO.  He's being greedy and selfish and rude and annoying and that's just me temporarily running out of adjectives.  Well, I'm off to the park.  Goodbye."
"Have a nice day sir."
"I doubt it.  I really doubt it."

Two teenagers at a bus stop...

"Which movie did your mom go see the other night?"
"That new Iron Man movie."
"No shit?  Your mom likes superhero movies?"
"Yeah.  She's seen pretty much all of them."
"I guess the only superhero my mom likes is Jesus."
"Is that a joke?"
"My mom was watching superhero movies before I was born back when my dad was jerking off in a welfare apartment.  She said that once at a dinner party after a few too many glasses of wine."

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Trevor - A Christmas Story

This was written around the millenium.  I thought I'd re-post it in all its absurd glory.

     It was Christmas eve and the church was buzzing with open heart surgery love. Jane March and her department store catalogue family were sitting in the front pew, blessed and fully dressed. The 8 o'clock service was about to begin, after all, and the people wanted servicing. Just as the minister approached his flock, a middle aged man named Trevor walked through the entrance. Trevor was well known to the church. He was mentally handicapped but served on just about every church comittee he could in hopes that he could one day play video games with God. Trevor was a bit of a lonely sort and his heart jumped when he saw Jane beckon him over to sit with her family who, incidentally, had never been scuba diving. As the service began, Jane introduced Trevor to her family as they took their seats. Jane and Trevor chatted during convenient pauses in the service, floating along on an ever expanding cloud of good cheer and an absence of reptiles. Suddenly, Trevor reached over and gently squeezed Jane's thigh. Jane felt confused for a moment but figured it was a gesture of holiday goodwill and the conversation continued. About thirty seconds later Jane noticed a certain look in Trevor's eyes that she couldn't quite place in her mind. It was then that Trevor leaned over with his tongue hanging out and gave Jane a sloppy kiss right on the lips, followed by a fart that reverberated proudly off the smooth wood where he sat. The minister took two steps to his right and smacked Trevor on the back of his head. Trevor jumped out of his seat and with one swift movement, knocked the minister flat on his back. He then jumped on top of Jane and started dry humping her with reckless abandon. Jane's family and the rest of the congregation watched in horror as Trevor unleashed years of sexual frustration on his helpless victim. If the truth be told, Jane's husband found some level of enjoyment at the proceedings even if he would never admit it. After what seemed like an unholy eternity, Jane's oldest son wrestled Trevor off his mother where he pinned him to the carpet in the aisle. Trevor began to wail like a newborn once he accepted defeat, soiling himself in the process. Jane sat with a blank stare in her eyes, rocking back and forth in shock. The minister rose to his feet and dragged Trevor out of the church and launched him headfirst into a snowbank, temporarily forgetting his Christ complex. Jane's family took her home and the service continued while Trevor unleashed a river of tears face down in the snow. After a few minutes he walked up the street and grabbed a porno mag and a cheeseburger and began to walk home, alive in a way that few could ever dare hope to comprehend.

Note: This story is not a slight to the mentally handicapped in any way. If this material offends you go watch Friends or something. Isn't everyone on that show handicapped? And people LOVE it.

I usually stay away from writing rhyming poems but this one based on a dream just kind of fell into place.

dream poem

I don't have God or the Devil
standing in my way
It seems I already know what people
are going to say
A part of me lost with a price
I can't afford to pay
as I try to honestly
greet another day
What could have been
is forever here to stay

random quote:

"I guess he marches to the beat of a different drummer."
"That's no excuse for being an asshole."

Saturday, July 07, 2012

The Phone Call - fiction

“You know what you did.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play stupid.  You know what you did.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Wrong.  You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Actually, no.  I don’t.”
“You better watch your back.”
“This is getting a bit ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not.  You know what you did and you’re going to pay.”
“Can you be a bit more specific?  I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what this is about.”
“Actually no, I don’t.”
“You’re not making this easy for yourself Cindy.”
“Who’s Cindy?  My name is Sandra.”
“What?  You’re serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious.  My name is Sandra.”
“You sound just like Cindy.  Hmmmmm.  Well isn’t this a bit awkward.”
“Yes it is.”
“Well.  I must have the wrong number.”
“What did this Cindy person do to deserve these threats?”
“She dumped my friend in favor of his sister.”
“Ouch.  That hurts.  But seriously.  Wouldn't she recognize your voice?”
“Uhhhh....yeah.  This wasn't very well planned.  I’m actually not a bad guy.”
“May I remind you that you were threatening me?”
“I’m sorry about that.  You seem like a nice lady.  Do you have a man in your life?”
“Are you kidding?  After what you said to me?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“OK.  This has gone from ridiculous to strange to awkward and back to strange again.”
“You know what?  I agree with you.  I can’t believe I agreed to do this.  This is so typical of how my life has gone so horribly wrong.  I actually don’t blame his girlfriend for dumping him and choosing his sister.  She is HOT.  I’ve got a crush on her myself but she won’t even look at me because I live under the poverty line.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah.  I get really depressed sometimes.  I don’t know how it all went so wrong.”
“Well, I’m not a therapist.”
“Fair enough.  I’ve been drinking all day.  To be honest I can’t stop drinking.  I’m a mess.”
“OK.  Like I said though, I’m not a therapist.”
“Yeah.  I’m gonna hang up now before this conversation has a chance to reach epic proportions of awkwardness, which is an obvious pattern in my life.”
“OK.  Good luck with that.  I think.”

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Observing Observational Observations

I haven't posted anything in quite awhile. If this site were a living being it would be dying of neglect...this will be an ongoing post.

I don’t discriminate. I evaluate.

Get what you want. Take what you need.

Dear ________. You will no longer be taking up any space in my brain.

One of my favourite words is “Demolish”. It has such power and authority. It’s a shame it’s hardly ever used. You don’t just destroy a building, you DEMOLISH it. Like wiping it off the face of the earth. Awesome.

When it comes to life I'd say I'm a professional amateur.

We all know that Jean-Claude Van Damme is by no means a good actor. He's there for one purpose and that is to lay an on-screen beating which he does (or did) very well. It's not surprising that his star power faded long ago. In the movie Hard Target he plays a homeless man who looks like he just got his hair styled and walked out of a gym after a brutal workout, two things that destroy the credibility of his role as the above mentioned homeless man. The reason I share all this bullshit is to lead up to what might be the worst piece of dialogue in cinematic history. You have to see it and hear it to believe it but here it goes. A woman asks why people call him 'Chance'. He replies with his annoying accent and dead stare "Because my momma took one." And there you have it.

A friend was telling me about his grandfather's involvement in World War 2. They were in the trenches and some guy who went by the name 'Shakey' pulled the pin out of a grenade for no apparent reason. Everyone except his grandfather got the hell out of there. "Shakey, you put that goddamn pin back in the grenade." he said. Shakey looked confused but finally put the pin back in. While listening to this little story I couldn't help but wonder...why in the hell is a guy they called Shakey allowed anywhere near a grenade to begin with?

When siamese twins start throwing punches nobody really wins.

I get off on being nice to people. It's this problem I have.

Sometimes it feels better not to care. I'm slowly learning to choose my battles carefully.

There are times when I don't understand my face. I get as close to the mirror as possible and give my facial muscles a workout, trying to understand how they function. I wonder how the blood vessels beneath maintain themselves. I imagine the skull beneath the skin and the spongy material that makes up my brain as electrical impulses dance around madly while neurons fire on all cylinders.  Nature's imperfect engine.

I go over to a friend's place and knock on the side door without an answer. I go to the front door and knock again. His elderly father opens the door and says "If you knock any goddamn louder you're gonna break my goddamn door." Knowing that I knocked politely on the door I almost burst out laughing at the impossibility of the situation. This is a man who fathered six children, my friend being the youngest and whenever I've dealt with him he's been a bitter asshole. I have no clue how he could have raised six kids. Recently he ended up in a nursing home and in the first week he called one person a "blockhead German" and accused another of being a draft dodger. Maybe somebody will put him out of his misery before he dies of old age. Not that I would wish that on anyone but maybe that's his intention. End of the line.

A friend of a friend got fired from a fast food restaurant for not cutting the pickles properly.

I don't neccesarily buy into the 'addictive personality' trait. I don't deny that there could be some genetic component but I just don't think that alcoholism or drug addiction is a 'disease'. You don't choose to have a disease. You choose to open a bottle or get high. If anything it's more of a lifestyle. Certain people are just not able or do not want to live a life acceptable by societies standards and turn to alcohol and/or drugs to fill the void. They don't have what it takes to create their own happiness and don't see a way out without the comforts of temporary oblivion. Alcoholism and drug addiction obviously cross all income brackets but I'm not trying to write an essay here. Bottom line: Taking the hardened edge off of reality.

A few random questions:

-Do you think many psychiatrists secretly enjoy listening to their patients on a purely entertainment level?
-Do you have a hard time looking certain people in the eye? Do you wonder if this is somehow related to forgotten childhood experiences?
-Do you ever feel like your facial expressions and body language might reveal much more than you want them to?
-Are you aware of your capacity to incite violence in somebody else?

The biggest bullshit cliche of all time has to be "Live every day like it's your last." It's impossibe to understand that kind of mindset unless you really DO have one day to live. Otherwise, no. You are NOT in any way shape or form living every day like it's your last. Even if you could, it sounds exhausting.

There's a new show called "My Strange Obsession" that documents a woman's addiction to drinking gasoline. Yes, you read that correctly. I've heard of huffing gas but drinking it? How do you get started on something like that? You're at a party and the booze runs out so you decide to siphon the gas tank? Wow. She says that she knows it's killing her but she can't stop. Wow again. I assume she's not a smoker.

If people actually laughed out loud every time they typed 'lol' there would be a hell of a lot more laughter happening.

What's all this nonsense about being "a member of the community"? Oh, I get it. It's a money thing. Yawn.