Live Music Experience

It’ll help,
It’ll heal,
It’s the real deal,
It’ll show you how you ought to feel.

There’s no room for bullshit,
Just straight up and here to fix your problems,
I swear it,
By the time they’re done,
You won’t even remember it.

Let it enter in your ears,
And saturate your brain,
I promise,
It’ll stop you from going insane.

So fierce you can feel it,
Even the gentlest of beats,
Your whole body will absorb it,
Starting with your feets,
And settling in your heart of hearts.

Get lost in it,
To fully find yourself,
Shady shit will melt away,
Because you came here today.

The invisible vibrations,
Are loud enough to deafen you,
Trust me,
This is what you need,
For your brain and soul to feed.

It’ll never disappoint,
You’ll walk away satisfied,
Your mind has finally spied,
That which you have been denied.

Old Hat

I’m sitting here wondering why,

People put an expiration date,

On something not brand new,

How is it not still great?

And not still worth its weight in gold?

Do you have an answer?

Or will your mouth just continue to hammer?

At what age does this classic,

Become trash to fill a sack?

Is it actually,

Without a doubt,

Truly fucking worn out?

Or  might you be kind of close-minded,

Just following the twisted thinking,

Of your fellow mankind?

Antique to me means much,

Not out dated at all,

And as such,

I’ll keep a hold on it,

Because an original,

Versus a copycat,

Why the fuck,

Would I give up that?

Old fashioned,

Isn’t necessarily behind the times,

No need to pawn it off for cash,

Anyway,

When did gaining another year become a crime?

A heirloom, a treasure, a relic,

Not ancient or creaky or clunky,

It shouldn’t be cast as an outcast,

To a pile of unacceptable junk,

But be a collector’s item,

To be recycled,

To brighten your days,

And to remind you of the good old ways.

Lock, Stock, And Barrel

What is 100 proof?

It is full strength,

Not watered down,

Not diluted.





100 proof,

Comes off as in-your-face,

It is flamboyant,

And not for the faint of heart.





If angst is inside,

It should fucking shine,

Not be kept bottled up inside,

So others won’t think you corrupt,

But the same can be said,

For experiencing joy or pain,

And even of feeling mundane.





Own yourself,

At 100 proof,

Don’t go all lame,

To become a crowd pleaser,

Camouflage,

To acquire an unnecessary entourage –

……….That’s just too fucking ridiculous.





Not many can take me,

At 100 proof,

They expect everyone and everything,

To be just like them,

To speak and act and react,

A replica of what they would,

Newsflash motherfuckers,

I’m not a brainless block of wood!





There’s many things,

That come 100 proof,

People, faith, and alcohol,

Do you have it?

Can you take it?

Or will the trust put in you be shaken?

How To Make Santa Angry

A polar bear,

Without a care,

Was skating mindlessly across the ice,

Thinking about a steaming bowl of something nice,

When down swooped a pigeon,

Who tried to get him to join up,

With some cultish religion.

He turned quickly around,

To get away,

From that awful sound,

And that’s when he heard,

The most welcome noise,

As it ran past him,

So swiftly it was blurred.

It was his good friend,

Elvis Elf,

The one he cared most for,

Besides himself,

And he was singing a version,

Of Jingle Bells,

That would have had Mr. Pigeon,

Saying he was doomed to the Hells.

“Peter White”,

Said Elvis,

When he was close enough to be heard,

“I dare you to help me make Old Santy mad,

Let’s make this song of mine,

A new North Pole Christmas fad”!

And there Elvis began to sing:

“Jingle Bells,

Mr. Santa’s balls smell,

And I wish he’d go away”……….

Laughing,

But at the same time horrified,

He agreed,

To cooperate,

I’ll make it known here,

That this polar bear,

Had a personality snare,

That prevented him,

From turning down a dare.

So the two put their heads together,

To plan what might be best,

As the elf had a vendetta,

With Mr. Santa,

To get off his chest,

And of course the bear,

Was excited to prove,

He was not too pussy,

To perform such a measly dare.

It took some doing,

But their brains finally did figure out,

A way to easily go about,

Making the wild tune,

Something all the North Pole’s peoples,

Would willingly shout.

Old Rudy was taken,

To a cabin long forsaken,

Peter stood watch,

To be sure he got,

The best possible care,

And to make sure,

If any others came by,

His roar would give them,

A gigantic scare.

Elvis distributed a bulletin,

With the lyrics of his shocking song,

And advising,

If they wanted their lead deer back,

They would have it learned,

By the time dawn cracks,

A fortnight from now,

And at the end was written a post script,

Warning if they breathed a word to the Head Man,

They risked being whipped.

It was a different sort of missive,

That got delivered,

To Old Santy and his wife,

It started out “Dear Sir and Ma’am”,

And ended with,

“If you’re not there,

It will cut through our hearts like a knife,

Love and kisses,

Signed,

Your Faithful Elves”.

All day every day rehearsals were held,

Meeting in little groups,

To keep the Boss from finding out,

Yes it would be a most unwelcome time,

For him to start nosing about.

With a foreboding feeling,

All learned each and every line,

And before they knew,

It was time to assemble,

In front of the grove of pines.

The morning of the singing,

Turned out bright and sunny,

And not knowing the truth,

Both Clause’s put on cheery finery,

So they would look their best,

When they went to see,

What pleasures were planned for them,

By these little darlings,

Who barely came up to their knees.

When they pulled up to the pine grove,

Things were very quiet,

So much so,

That against all the brightness and snow,

It seemed almost eerie.

There before them sat,

Rows and rows of elves,

Still and silent as the ones,

Who sit upon your shelves.

In just a moment,

Elvis stepped up to the sleigh,

“Now out you get you two,

And follow me this way”,

He said sans a greeting,

Then walked off towards the special seating.

Soon the Jolly Man and his woman,

Were settled in to watch,

“How blessed we are”,

Whispered He to Her,

But how fast this changed,

To “Let’s get ourselves the fuck out of here”!

When at Elvis’s urging,

All those threatened elves began to sing.

“Jingle Bells,

Mr. Santa’s balls smell,

And I wish he’d go away”……….

And then from around the corner,

Darted the red-nosed reindeer,

For whom during the past two weeks,

The Clause’s had lived in fear,

Of never seeing again,

And he proceeded to tell them all,

About the how’s and why’s,

Of his sudden kidnapping.

Meanwhile the song was coming to an end:

“Jingle all the way,

Oh it’s fun to take and hide,

The one who leads the Sleigh”……….

In Elvis’s eyes,

Things were at long last even,

Between him and the Big Man,

Tit for tat,

After last Christmas’s embarrassment,

He had finally taken a stand.

Oh though,

What an oops this was on his part!

To assume all would resume,

Business as usual,

After that knife he just purposely thrust,

Straight through Santa’s heart.

He thought himself high and mighty,

But Santa was just waiting,

For him to go night-nighty,

Then with a little Christmas Land Magic,

Elvis was modified,

Into a figure most tragic.

When he awoke,

A monster stared back from his mirror,

And as the day wore on,

The fact it was no joke,

Became increasingly clearer.

He was then banished,

To guard the North Pole’s secret entrance,

Their own abominable snowman,

Who walks with a limp,

And a candy cane club,

Being deemed unpardonable,

By both the Clause’s,

For certain there’s nothing,

That can cure this curse.

Consumed By Rage

I’m chilled to the bone,

Frozen through and through,

I’m cold deep down,

Another warm Florida night,

God I wonder,

What could have caused me such a plight?

 

It’s the attitudes,

Which at me have been threw,

How does anyone know,

How many faces are possibly hid,

Behind the eyes of each and every ma’am and dude?

Fuck!

I’m shivering inside,

It boggles my mind,

Do they all think I am blind?!

Icicles are hardening my soul,

Thanks to these motherfucking trolls.

I feel the temperature of ice,

Being slowly transported through my veins,

It flows along,

And I silently scream in torture,

Oh when will this nightmare be over?

Blood so cold now,

It has turned to snow,

The flakes and drifts,

Threaten to send my mind over a cliff,

I can’t think straight,

Everything’s in a haze,

Thoughts more confusing,

Than a harvest-time corn maze.

I’m so sick of lips that lie,

And eyes that spy,

They make me scream,

And they make me cry,

My body is becoming,

A furnace of anger,

Explosion is an imminent danger,

This high heat,

Hot enough to melt bars of gold,

Has gone and turned me stone cold.

Thanksgiving, Under The Influence Of Jameson And Fireball

I think sometimes it’s actually easier,

To list the things for which I’m ungrateful,

Than to think of some, 

For which I am thankful.

 

But today being what it is,

I’ll do my best to turn that around,

And prove to the world,

I’m not completely upside down.

 

I’m happy with my loyal friends,

Who are my actual family,

Despite the fact that my blood,

Tends to treat me like crud.

 

I’m happy I’ve moved on,

From psycho ex bastards,

Despite the fact that if I’m not careful,

It will lead straight to my next disaster.

 

I’m happy to be a stunning beauty,

Boasting both muscles and femininity,

Despite the fact the nasties in nightclubs,

Sicken me by blatantly grabbing my booty.

 

I’m happy that the weekend,

Is always guaranteed to come around,

Despite the fact that it always ends,

With another hellish week,

Waiting right around the bend.

 

I’m happy to have my doggie,

To keep away the dangers,

Despite the fact that she also scares away,

Some who are far from strangers.

 

I’m happy I live,

In a land with endless summer,

Despite the fact that all the sweating,

Is a real bummer.

 

I’m happy I have talent,

That is artful and creative,

Despite the fact that all the left-brainers,

Think of me as insane.

 

I’m happy my pony,

Awaits me in Heaven,

Despite the fact that thinking of her,

Makes the Earth seem slightly lonely.

 

I’m happy I have a job,

That pays enough to buy a good life,

Despite the fact the hellhole,

Is so full of strife.

 

I’m happy I’m not easily brainwashed,

By the leftist media,

Despite the fact that blindly believing,

When they pout and shout,

Would be an easy way out.

 

I’m happy I live in the age,

With plastic surgery,

Despite the fact that recovery,

Is temporary misery.

 

At the moment,

This is all I see,

Maybe there is more,

But at present,

This is all that is transparent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bandit Broom’s Emergency, Halloween Season, Year 2020

I tumbled down from the sky,

Laughing and twirling,

And causing her skirts to go twirling.

Get fucked up things must,

And so of course,

Then came a great gust,

I felt her slip,

And then completely lose her grip.

Into a ditch below,

Is where she did go,

Now,

She being my witch,

I would have followed her there,

But the night was black as pitch,

And with the wind,

Pushing to and fro,

I was soon in despair.

By and by,

It will be Halloween,

And the veil between,

Grows thinner by the hour,

We must find,

That for whence we came,

Or we shall be devoured.

Eaten alive,

By The Dark Horned One,

Who cast the spell,

Because he wants my witch,

To be his bride in Hell.

It took me precious hours,

Sweeping the ground,

Using my bristles,

Like the nose of a hound,

But at last she’s been found.

Unconscious!

Losing her would make me nauseous,

So I must be cautious,

But let’s be honest,

Waking her too soon would seem monstrous,

Though if I wait,

The results could be disastrous.

Just thinking of her,

As the She-Devil,

Who resides with Lucifer,

In his lair downstairs,

Enraged me so,

That I saw stars,

So I did a little half-somersault,

And then stepped side to side,

So as my handle was tapping,

Into her hide.

With a few taps she awoke,

And urgently we spoke,

Hasty decisions must be made,

So we prayed,

We’d be unafraid,

To do whatever needs must,

That would cause the Head Demon’s plans to turn bust.

Motivation was strong,

We must prove him wrong,

It could and would be found,

The Purple Poison Spider,

For which we had set out after.

We made it through the veil but just barely,

Finally onto the side,

Where the spirits reside,

Now the real challenge begins,

We’ve got to grab the Spider,

And cross back over,

Then deliver it to Lucifer,

Or my witch’s life is as good as over.

I landed us swiftly,

And my witch jumped off easily,

I’d search high,

And she’d search low,

So I took to the sky,

While she hunted below.

It appears we were expected,

As even still,

It almost escaped us,

It snuck up behind her,

To go in for the kill,

But luck was on our side,

And I was able to land vertical,

Before it could hide.

I gave it a sweep,

Hard enough,

To push it away a few feet,

And hearing the commotion,

My witch turned around,

And lightning fast cast a charm,

Freezing it to the ground.

We had a quick consultation,

Would we make it back in time,

To cross back over without struggle?

Or would we encounter trouble?

It was iffy,

But with no other options,

We were off in a jiffy.

We had not quite an hour,

Before the veil would start to thicken,

And as the minutes ticked on by,

She kept toes and fingers crossed,

As her heartbeat began to quicken.

With just four minutes left to spare,

We made it out of there,

Then stopped to catch our breath,

And be certain that the Purple Poison Spider,

Was yet stuck for safekeeping in her hair.

Oh great relief!

The mission’s end was near,

All that was left,

Was the handoff to the Devil,

He’d get his much sought after Spider,

And I could keep Her.

Indeed!

He had a look of angry surprise,

When he saw our prize,

I’ll laugh over it forever,

He really thought he’d acquire my witch,

But you see,

She’s MY bitch,

And I’d undertake,

Another such endeavor,

To put His evil ass in its place,

And keep a smile on her face.

Intuition

 

Listen to me,

Let me guide you,

When truths try to hide from you,

Let my voice,

Help you make a choice.

 

I’m your gut feeling,

A part of you,

That you may not believe in,

But if you’d maybe stop to listen,

I could become the one,

On which you most depend.

 

I’m that impression in your mind,

That’s more like just an inkling,

Though not coming off too forceful,

My message is still powerful,

It can save you from countless circumstances,

And prevent you from taking needless chances.

 

When I send shivers down your spine,

It’s not just some nobody,

Feeding you a line,

Don’t discount it,

But take the warning,

To save yourself from mourning.

 

Proceed with caution,

When I send a premonition,

Consider seriously,

Before proceeding,

When you’re met,

With that foreboding feeling.

 

If you feel me in your bones,

There’s a reason for their moans and groans,

It’s paramount you pay attention,

Else your soul stop singing,

And funeral bells begin ringing.

 

I know I’ve raised your suspicions,

And given you a hunch,

In a bunch of situations,

When your mind seemed out to lunch,

Now here,

Accept a final warning,

Take heed,

So your eyes open come morning.

What In The HELL?

One day,

Out of the blue,

Two tiny marks were noticed,

Upon a thumb,

“Where the fuck,

Did these come from”!?

Was the thought,

Until the mind,

Was practically numb.

 

Little brownish red dots,

That looked a lot like tiny birthmarks,

Why were they,

Never noticed before?

They couldn’t be recent

But they weren’t remembered,

As being there,

Just a year or two before.

 

Into the head came a notion,

Was this proof of past lives?

Once someone had said,

The fear of certain fanged brutes,

Was likely due to being bitten,

While alive,

In another lifetime,

And this is why,

The feeling of panic,

While in their presence,

Never subsided,

No matter how much,

Time had elapsed.

 

In theory,

Fang marks,

Are only made,

By things infected by dark,

But are they really polluted?

Because after all,

They had ancestors once,

On Noah’s Ark.

 

There was strong suspicion that they might,

Be from a snake bite,

There was,

After all,

The infliction of a phobia,

But was that all paranoia?

Or was that fear founded by an incident,

And therefore legitimate?

 

Though there are tons of creatures,

Sporting fangs,

Not all result,

In the night terrors,

For instance,

It’s known a house cat,

Would not do that,

But who’s to say,

They weren’t wandering in the jungle,

And met head on,

By a lion?

 

But oh yes,

That jungle beast’s mouth,

Would be too big to leave these marks,

That little kitty though,

Righto! – that one’s a maybe……………

 

At one point in the past,

Could there have been a Mer,

Who played in ponds,

And swam in seas?

So many creepy critters,

Occupy these places,

And many are with,

Tiny fanged faces,

Yes this one is actually,

A real possibility……………

 

Very well,

I’ll admit there is no way here,

To be totally and absolutely sure,

Just the same,

These marks are pointing favorably,

Toward this being right,

It’s so strange they seemed to surface,

Pretty much overnight,

Even so I think it’s clear,

These marks were put,

On a former version of a self,

By the object of their deepest fear.

Our Association To The Ocean

While looking out,

Over the ocean,

I was wishing I could bottle some up,

Kind of like a little potion,

But after thinking that through –

It’s not necessary,

As there’s something ocean-like,

Already inside of you.

 

Every day we make waves,

Some on the surface,

And others internal,

Ourselves we may not realize,

But when seen through another’s eyes,

They move a bunch of life’s bits,

Causing eternal changes,

To happen in every size.

 

Each and every one of us is powerful,

In body,

In mind,

Or in both combined,

In some it’s kept hidden,

Then in others it shows,

Whether it’s been brandished,

Or has snuck out unbidden.

 

We can all be colorful,

And yes sometimes that’s wonderful,

Though at other times,

Not so much,

Maybe our good moods,

Are like the Caribbean Sea,

Beautiful,

Translucent,

And aquamarine,

And our bad moods,

Are like the Bay of Biscay,

Dark,

Stormy,

And seeking prey.

 

Woven here and there throughout humanity,

Something sure smells fishy,

Of course I mean that figuratively,

I am referencing those with salty personalities,

Hence is the notion,

That they’re like the ocean.