Writing Without Pictures

Writing without the pictures
Writing
Just writing
No drawing
No music buzzsaw sawing
No Bowling Head Man running around
Just grounded just relaxed
Just ground
And using words and sounds
The spelling and phonetic
To go
Spinning into rhymes too pathetic
To be read
A feeling inside of pride
Even though my art 
Is dead
Floating face down in a river –
I forgot to try I guess
And when I did
I did not deliver
I kick a can
It goes spinning off my foot into the man
That stands
Before all I can understand
And all the dance
The chops
Leaves me restless
A guessed wish
Lost
Gathering dust like a deathwish
In a candy dish
“You need to edit” they say
“Revise”
Freestyle poetry is crap
It has all but died
And what is at the tip of your fingers
Is only lies
Truth comes with reason
And eyes
And observation and denies
All evidence
To the contrary
That you decide
Must be vomited up also as part of the idea
Of all that here dies

I’m Not Enough For This World

They tell me I wrote too dreary
Too weary and teary
My rhymes merely
A waterfall of lexicon
Cascading
Into an ocean of more excellent
Maybe I’m not enough
Maybe poetry is dead
There is nothing I could write
That will ever be read
Maybe I’m not imaginative
Maybe too stoned
The world might read but won’t like
Another ohellino poem
Maybe I’m not enough
Maybe I’m just a putz born
In a world that just mindlessly works away
And with art
I’m torn
I could just work away and be worthless
And the appearance of art
Could just be
Some lost purpose
So I can live like I am
And die and be shoved in a hole
To live like a champ that accepts materialism
And having no soul.

Ethos Of Rodonalwitz

Rodoanalwitz was mad
Nist called him a rat bag fake faker
But Rodonalwitz was a patsy
He took the brunt of the pain from Jaeger
Rodonalwitz was mad
He would do any drug any time
Any love
Any crime
Rodonalwitz was patsy
I blamed him for the pain I got from not being self satisfied with my art
He tripped, grew evil
His character was all ripped apart
Rodonalwitz was a patsy
He never shot the gun
Rodonlwitz was a patsy
It was just Jaeger having fun
Now his feelings hurt he falls into despair
He tried to call his friends
But Nist and Jaeger were not there
Rodonalwitz was a patsy
He was the goat into which we scaped
Left to his own devices
He lay on the floor completely raped
Rodonalwitz was a patsy
A threat to no one
And no one forgave him
And his last dollar – he bet it!
Lying on the floor
His arms a pin cushion of other peoples pain
His imagination bled it
It was the worst thing to say
And Jaeger said  it
He took meth and his end he wet it
In days of confusion 
He drove himself mad but it wasn’t all his fault
Some of it was Nist and some Jaegers
Rodonalwitz was a patsy
For their greasy artist fingers
To linger
And more cartoonist than singer
Jaeger lived his whole life
As an artistic beginner
While Nist
The decadent Australian multi-art artist
Was the clear winner
Rodonalwitz was a patsy though
His whole “real” character denied
And we made fun of him
Until he died

White Sun – iii


Shane had come to rob Jan.  He had pulled out the knife as a threat.  But Jan thought the gangster was going to kill him so he freaked out and swung the white hot pan as hard as he could at the tripping bald neighbor.  The white sun slid smoothly through Shanes Torso and for a moment Shane was suspended without legs intestine pouring out and he finally peaked on his acid as a hot feeling rose up and his existence shattered to nothing.  Jan watched the body parts fall and sighed.  The seared flesh of Shane sizzled and the air smelt of burnt skin.

White Sun – ii

20170613_124016Jan opened the door for Shane and he entered.  “Fucking tripping man” Shane said “I need a rolly for a joint”.  Jan just stood there shocked.  He had been expecting an ambush not a friendly request.  Was this still a trick?  Jan was confused.  He picked up the white hot pan and looked at Shane’s eyes.  They were dialating to giant saucers.  “What are you doing?” Shane asked “cooking or?  Why is there nothing in the pan?”.  Jan looked sheepish.  But suddenly Shane was holding a knife.  “I’m gonna gut you” said Shane in an evil voice and walked towards Jan.  Jan freaked.

White Sun – i

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Jan heated the pan up until it was white hot.  “White sun” he called the white hot pan.  He was afraid of Shane, the guy upstairs with tattoos.  Once Shane had come down to his apartment and tried to break in.  Jan had been listening through the vents and knew that the muscular and not-to-be-fucked-with giant man-boy would beat the fuck right out of him.  And Shane was currently on acid.  Jan had heard that through the vent too.  Shane was having a party with other gangsters.  Jan returned the pan to the stove top to reheat it to white.  There was a sound of feet coming down the stairs and Jan stood ready.  There was a knock.  “Hey Jan” said Shane “do you have any rollies?”.  Jan was silent.  He did have rollies.  But was this a trick?  Was the larger than life man-boy just gonna beat him senseless?  Jan heard laughter.  Were they laughing at him?  Jan remained silent.  The knock came again.

The Writer Rodonalwitz And The Cartoonist ohellino

FB_IMG_1495376386381Leave me alone, thought Rodonalwitz, but ohellino called on Skype and Messenger, he wrote about Rodonalwitz on Facebook and WordPress.  Rodonalwitz was tired of Murder Inc, he was tired of ohellino being all pushy and no longer wanted to be a muse or a writer.  “He can fucking write his own damn story” Rodonalwitz said.  “I can’t quit you!” said ohellino from the computer that Rodonalwitz had accidently left on.   And Rodonalwitz covered his ears and whimpered.  “I have writers block” he said.  “You’re high” said ohellino.  “I am not” said Rodonalwitz “I haven’t had meth in hours”.  “What about pills?” ohellino asked.  “Shut your fucking hole you bald headed chicken fucker” said Rodonalwitz and threw his sword at the computer and it bounced up and stuck into the ceiling.