Sunday, November 30, 2008

planetary alignment.

Some ghostly man put a crab in the oven
don't you know he was a gardener once
but your walls are leaking
and the ceilings too
An indian spark boy granted me a wish
but the glitter skin spirit ran back
into the womb
he opened wide
with a sonic knife made of solar flare granite
you threw it at the wall
and opened up the bear
his cave was filled with clear and silver manikins
all placing crystal bets
on the water dripping fest
dripping fast like the spider weaving tube grass
into a shirt for the king to sing in
the people all turn blue
the ground is caked in flu
the sparkle boy indian returned to me
holding in his hand a golden talon
i broke my will
to paint my body red
he flew into the nexus with his crystal hat on
to shed a tear with the queen bee
for something i knew to see
but time is just a lisp
a stitch a blinking twitch
don't cry so hard

Monday, November 24, 2008

don't read this yet it's shit thoughts at 11:25.

strawberry jam
i've been licking all the cans up
put your hands up
when there's red
on your face
it's not a race
please don't run
through that room
your might break soemthing that i made

i've been studying dinosaurs forever.

the gay gangsta.

what does a gangsta do
when he runs out of sniffing glue
does he run home
and grab some methodone
and smoke it out o' his shiny shoe?

what does a gangsta say
when he's tired of not gettin laid
say "bitch it's fo real
git down on it and feel"
and now this nigga's flowin' all day

all them gangstas does is get lifted
drivin' round town driftin'
menthol cigarretes
biddies touchin it
drinkin' drank to get faded

but this brotha Dwayne feels wrong like this
he wishes there was more than the fist
he told me he's cold
different and alone
and can't sleep without his mama's kiss

all this brotha wants to do is roll
get on his knees and blow
but it's a secret
gangstas don't keep cool
when one of em' don't like hoes.

all this brotha wants to do is dance
put on some tight cheetah pants
strut around the stage
glitter on his face
singin' bout love n' romance

dolla dolla bill

gangstas don't like a brotha who sings
gangstas don't like no bling bling bling
gangstas done hate that fool
who don't wear them kswiss shoes

gangstas don't like that Dwayne
who like madonna more than Lil' Wayne
gangstas done hate that fool
who drops his dollas on dance school

Dwayne was tired of being hated
so he got on a train to Las Vegas
now he's got a show
in a club called Blow
Now he goes By Desiree (R Rated) (Alpha Ass)

so im gettin tired of writing this rap
im gonna go drop a nap

to be continued...

Sunday, November 23, 2008


dearest t-t-t-uccccker,this is levi, that guy in the bible.
i'm really missing you at this precise moment in time.
i wish you were here so i could give you a big hug. (and kiss)
cannot wait to see your beautiful face in 5 days.

(as transcribed by his befffffeeeefffeefff anne.)

whoa levi
bible guy
girl with your words
in her hand
her name is Anne
your alter ego?
where did she go?
i hope she's neato
soon i'll see you
my love is true
the groove is blue
don't sniff glue
with ribbons in your hair
we'll hug and speak
sing in the creek
and drink mead with Thorr

love Tucker
(as transcribed by Bleu)

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

milk honey scabs and protein.

this is heaven
this is hell
we're all here from somewhere else
the sky is growing
the ground is dripping
i have melted into my nauseous liquids

we're being tortured
like the cockroach on his back
we're being burned
like toast in the hands of an old man

we're all made of milk proteins and honey and scabs
we are gone and you are blue and red with mad

don't leave
don't come
your eyes are red with the flames of the sun
we're getting closer
to our home
your skin is coming off to reveal the glow

i'm mad at he who knew and didn't tell him that didn't
i knew what he knows now but he never knew then what i knew then

Sunday, November 16, 2008


this was some stream of conscious bullshit i wrote during free period last year.

Down radio signals down from your ethereal lullaby just words don't shoot you never can tell with people 'round here. One never knows if the want to hug you or put a gun to your head and a knee in your somethings. Thanks god for band-aids. Neosporin is a conspiracy. Neosporin is for pussys. It just eats your flesh, but people are too full of thoughts about the hanky-panky and cinammon buns, and all types of buns, to realize the truth. And then, when their flesh dissolves, time for a trip to the gooey store! the pharmacy store! the neosporin store! the conspiracy store! Two conspiracies for the price of one from 5-7 pm on Monday. Don't forget dumbass. Pull your ass out of your head. Congratulations you have been relocated to a tool shed to live with others like you, which is fortunate because i was beginning to tire of your love for radioactive microwaveables. I think i'll hire a dinosaur to make a piece of paper out of your tool shed. The i'll write on you! Pieces of 8, Ice-skate, Mastre Beyt, milk krate. Smells like a premium day for Chinese beverage betrayal. Smug opportunites to make friends only leave you more pulled away.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

news flash.

i am changing my cat's name from Tigi to tigrfukr.

Do you want to see an old man's legs or chest or balls? I wouldn't. But if i was an old man i wouldn't give a fuck if you wanted to see my legs or chest or balls.

fuck you. i hate everything you like.

Monday, November 3, 2008




fuck your bikini
mine mind is erect

my number 1.

i saw you posting posters
on the ledge
pretty fingers pushing pins
popping pills

you are my new number 1

i like your freckles
and your foxy fur fringes

you are my new number 1

i like your shoes
and your tights
do you sing the blues?
i like music too.
I can tie my shoes.

you are my number 1, mostly.

don't be afraid
i love you
what is your name?
i love you
even though i just saw you
does it matter?
it is true love
i didn't mean to
you are forever my number 1.
even though you are the 7th
who has done that.
my 7th number 1

i shouldn't talk to girls on building edges.

burn your bridge/ the great flacid wretch?

There is a sound
like many rusted saw blades
conversing with bone
I don't know what to do
I don't know what to do
I'm comfortable here
in my nest that I made
of shattered plastic plates
and muddy shoe laces
It's home.
I don't know what to do
When i wake up
with dream puddles still wet
in my eyes
and i have to wash my face
and put it back on
and put it back on
the right way
Make sure my ears fit right
What if i feel like putting my face on
we all put on our faces straight
so awkward conversations
awkward interactions

What does she think of my face?
I hope my face said the right thing.
My fucking face is crooked. Fuck.

I think we should all
leave our faces at home one day
and just give each other
instead of words and looks
looks and words.
just hugs.
But in an ideal world
trainwrecks would be fun.

the magic word.

fuck this
fuck that
fuck kids
fuck math
fuck arms
fuck legs
fuck germs
fuck kegs
fuck school
fuck pens
fuck paper
fuck crayons
fuck rulers
fuck books
fuck her
fuck her looks
fuck him
fuck his shirt
fuck me
fuck you
fuck off
fuck birds
fuck mammals
fuck plants and animals
fuck hummers
fuck mccain
fuck politics
fuck sadaam hussein
fuck palin
fuck her mother
fuck her daughter
too late
fuck cars
fuck bars
fuck forks
fuck tar
fuck spoons
fuck lard
fuck high fructose corn syrup
fuck fiber
fuck brown bananas
fuck white bananas
fuck race
fuck your face
fuck funk
fuck luck
fuck punk
fuck trucks
fuck hicks
and their guitar licks
fuck tricks
fuck ticks
fuck facebook
fuck myspace
fuck facespace
fuck mybook
fuck art
fuck feet
fuck farts
fuck beats
fuck phones
fuck this

guaca profe.

Sr. Carstens
is the tribal chief
He wears a flesh yamaka
and struts his muslces
to mexican guaca pop
Follow the shiny spot
and you will learn the language
of limbo
not quite english, not quite spanish
He yells at his tribe
teaching grammar
spear in hand
or at least i see
it says "Gringo"
in green
He is a prophet
a lightning bolt
an oxe feather
a nacho
he can control the weather
el tiempo
he can control the subjunctive
el subjunctivo
with that flesh cap
and guaca spear
A yamaka totin' leader of the most tribal order
skinning chicos in his sleep
for taco toppings
put your faith in his cheek
put your hand in the creek.

Sunday, November 2, 2008


the blues reminds me of you
our wooden floor
Laguna morning
building conferences
Architectural Ectoplasms
spasm spaceships and
pirate gardens
Amen to you LEGO
to waffles dripping
syrup telling thoughts
buddy buddy with the butter
what a sandwich
made by Sherill
a pro of the blues and breakfast

espresso maker.

I attempted
the espresso maker.

It sputtered some steam,
psalms and hymns
Josiah eleventy seven
and then
Shiny and red in the morning
it leaked some brown fluid
into my mug
not MY mug.
I borrowed it.
From "DAD"
I put milk in it.
I drank it.


i made a sandwich for breakfast
or tried to.
But the toaster traitor
the betrayal slayer of toast
ruined my pb & j prospect.
Chamomile tea.


I loved peace
before it was a corporate dime
a circle and three lines
printed on a shirt
that broken bloodied bodies
weave chained to a loom
spirits crushed consumed
their eyelids drop to doom
I'm crying for the lives
the lies that fly like shrapnel
the cancer from the screen
encased in bullet cases
wrap around your brain
oh driving you so sane
oh driving you so sane
sanity is the band
the snakes constricting
fire doom crashing lies
cancer blasting from the screen
your mother drowns a scream
she knows you must not know
that bodies broken bodies
bloodied bodies
are lying there
lest you feel the cancer


Look at these people playing with their toys. Look at the sounds they are making. Under drapes and under doors, cooking in the kitchen with your mother, sound creeps under drapes and under doors. Look at the people, playing with their toys. Look at the sounds they are making, are making with their toys. Don’t lie to the sky, the trees or pulse of life. Nothing is anything without light. Dark isn’t anything without light. Don’t cry put on your wig and skintight dress, allow the fat to leave your breasts.


I found a dreadlock seed in my driveway. Today I engaged in unprotected egg swappery with an armadillo, and now my teeth are bleeding. Bastard armadillo didn’t notify me of its syphillic ghonnoroids three weeks in advance like the contract said. I’m sueing. I walked into school smelling like my Grandma, with my hoboe shoes and my hoboe pants and my hoboe morals. Molasses grasses! John Henry was a baby boy sittin’ on his momma’s sneeze say oh hey ho say oh hey ho. It’s gon’ a be tha birth and snooze o’ me. Don’ you go n’ play on the train tracks Betsy Lou I tol’ you dem trains gon’ run you over missus. Massa tol’ me I betta go n’ watch you Missy Betsy Lou. Tie yo’ shoes.

brain bones.

you can use your words when they come
you can use your words when they come
your eyes are bloodshot, don't let em see
you are so gone, so far away from here and me
but forget what you are, and your existence
wavers, flickers, a candle flame in the wind
your pupils like the point of a pin
your zombie life a walking death
but rotten, dark, no more light
say boy, you get old, puttin’ bones in your brain
white noise in your veins
get that last high
one more time
one more time
you can use your words when they come
but don't forget to remember you forgot us

dirty hair.

The city rolls under the sky, it is a skin full of lights. I am a mammal without a cause. Please tell me why I must feel like a piece of shit. Why must we go under the knife of expectation and come out with messed up stitches. Fuck. Stitch me… I’ll end up ripping them out in a fight. Right?

Sadness is an auxiliary monotone dye. Don’t die yet. I have a lot to say to you but your mouth is closed to me. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a skeleton. I washed the dishes. I washed my hair. My room doesn't smell like an animals den. I didn’t lose the race…
That’s a lie.
Don't make me feel bad.