activism addiction Americana analysis art behavior civility crime education journalism literature poetry psychology punk sociology Southern Gothic war writing

i am not your dirty hooker

i’m tired of being treated like a dirty hooker

because i feel free

to voice my opinions


use clever little double entendres

assert myself as a woman

who admires the human form

both male and female

and shockingly

even my own voluptuous body

so i have dared to post photos of it


write poems

produce art

which express my feelings freely


i’m tired of waking up every morning

to private messages on facebook

from seemingly educated

and mostly married men

left in a drunken stupor

or on a predatory whim

hey baby

wanna fuck

cunt dick pussy

or various combinations thereof



no i don’t

nor do i want you to cum on my face

or any other part of my body


these digital pussies wouldn’t have the balls to behave in such a way

to my face

but social media and the internet

removes the barrier of decorum

it invites subterfuge, sickness, and depravity

desecration becomes acceptable

redefines morays


i have a folder in which i keep

eight years worth of facebook sexual violations

for legal record

which contains 71 unwanted dick pics

and two sets of tits

let’s not leave out the ladies


i have one creep who leaves nasty messages on my blog

using several different names

but the idiot doesn’t know

i traced his ip address

preparing for war

in a folder of every infraction

funny how serious they take internet stalking these days


and he’s not the first

and he won’t be the last

but this is a defect

of the information age


the criminal inside your home

invited by your mere existence


i didn’t ask for any of this


but i refuse to be less me

to accommodate their disease


this behavior speaks to the abuser

the vile betrayer

and says nothing about me


but what i will no longer do

is be polite

for the sake of decorum and decency

as these individuals

have never extended

those courtesies to me


so the next time you feel so inclined

prepare for the my wrath

prepare to receive

exactly what you deserve


just before

i take my leave

poetry punk writing

pissberry bundt cakes

i hope

you’re as tired of my tits and cursing

as i am

of photos of
your cats


homemade pissberry bundt cakes

with organic chunks of apathy

baked right inside


Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

shameless display

hold up jack
let me save you
the peanut gallery prattle
and wiley supposition

you have my tacit permission
to know balls to bones

with regards to me
if you gotta ask the question
the answer is yes

my lady parts are showing

i wrote it
i read it
i ate it
i drank it
i smoked it
i fucked it
i got it back to its rightful owner
i wrecked it
i broke it
i breathed air back into its lungs before
i buried it in a shallow grave
i swallowed it hard
and set the whole thing on fire
with plans
to never visit

shove that up your sewing circle

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

social media and our grand ineptitude continuously on display

The photo and caption struck me like a backhand rising from my coffee mug. Engaged in my morning comfort ritual, I wasn’t prepared for anger before 7 a.m., but there it was. After demolishing a bagel and glass of juice, I moved on to caffeine soaked emails, then facebook messages. Something at the top of the feed caught my eye, a post by a little known acquaintance. A photo of a fierce looking spider beside a baseboard with this comment beneath it: “My wimpy kid forced me to kill this in his room. A girl would have been easier.” I’m sure she meant the post to be cute and funny, but I found it to be anything but.

I don’t know this boy’s age, but I immediately felt sorry for him. He probably doesn’t see his mother’s facebook posts, I truly hope he doesn’t, but I was stricken by her public shaming of him. I think mothers sometimes forget the sway we hold over our children. I can’t stand it when I hear boys being called wimps and girls being called bossy. Think before you speak. How do those labels translate in a child’s head?

I’m no advocate for over coddling and child worship, but this quick commentary she so publicly offered as to her son’s “wimpy” nature I doubt is an isolated incident. It speaks to a greater problem. Will the boy endure a childhood of cracks and jabs based upon his human foibles? Does she call him a wimp to his face?

I don’t normally bother with commenting on the thoughtless things I see on facebook, but when I saw a mother passive aggressively bully her son on a social media site, I couldn’t remain silent. I posted this: “He’s a wimp because he’s afraid of a spider? Keep emasculating him like that and he’ll be afraid of pussy too.” Now, I know that was an overreach, but perhaps not a vast one. A childhood of emasculation will lead not only to self loathing, but loathing of the opposite sex, that could manifest in his behavior towards women for the duration of his life.

Am I making an example of this woman? Yes. Am I being unfair? Perhaps. I’ll let you decide. I’m fed up with social media and our grand ineptitude continuously on display.

Why do I need to undertake this social dissection? That’s simple…I’m trying to pinpoint a catalyst for social pathology. I’m trying to figure out where the monsters we should fear come from. No, Norman Bates isn’t real, but the writer who conceptualized him was.

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

circle jerk

i can’t possibly drink enough
to keep up
with the absurdity
of this back lit world

the splendor of soft-serve hypocrisy

we’re broadcasting live from rome as it burns

and dime store prophets
all writing self help books
from their padded cells

hoping to market them online
to other poor bastards
who can’t get off their couches