The Pathetic’s Irony

Within, we all know that the "afterlife" aught to be called the "afterdeath" but, we have insufficient confidence in it to name it properly.

“Echo-Delta, you have insanity on your 6.”

D'ya wanna know what really makes me feel like an alien? The thought that there are people in their 40's walking around who have never listened to "Ziggy Stardust & The Spiders From Mars." Never heard of it? That I don't know about but I'm pretty sure you can find quite a few who have never sat down and listened to that album. That realisation makes me feel like it's ME who's from Mars!!

Life’s Not A Medium

All of Life’s

An Art and

You’re but a part

Of it,

A brush stroke, 

A puff of smoke, 

The dirty word

That 

God never spoke…

Follow me, follow me!

Hey, all you Twitter sex-cam wannabes, think of life in your 70's:

Your cheeks turned to jowls, wrinkled skin o'er bowels, and for "last call" your sudden apprehension that the desire for attention was no juvenile invention, after all.…

From Saturn’s Hymnary

Time is a river

Heading home to 

The sea

But as the tide rises

For you 

It is ebbing for me 



 

Button-down Sanitary Mannerisms

When you kneel you 

Are ten feet tall, even 

Though, standing, 

You are small. Take my

Hand, that paradox will 

Vanish. Come, and I will banish 

The fears that keep you chained

By acquainting you with 

The pleasure that is pain.

As you have seen, I

Hand out no decrees,

Believing it more 

Efficacious to teach 

Not with words but through deeds.

You who've borne witness 

To my razor-wire love,

To all my emotional 

Furniture, upholstered 

In leather most unique:  

The tanned hides of Angels

Who'd met with Heavenly

Rejection, been ejected and 

Had fallen unforgiven after 

Failing the affection of 

The landlord of Paradise,

Their Creator high above.

Those sights and others 

You've in memory stored,

Mark you apart from your 

Brothers, who you so little 

Resemble that it's hard to 

Believe you ever shared the 

Same mother.

The time of your life you've

Sacrificed to living as the eye

Of my whirlwind obsession 

Has left in your flesh a host

Of impressions, the scars of 

The lessons that you've learned.

Each one and all together, potent

Testimony to the effort 

Spent and to the fact that 

Each ragged scar

Was well and truly earned.

Before you did accept my

Offered invitation, I

Suspect the mirror in your mind 

Did reflect a you that 

Lay well below your station, 

Though you knew it not, as

You lacked sufficient information. 

But now you've come and it's 

Time to run the gauntlet of 

My iron glove, which you may 

Approach with trepidation, for 

You've yet to be singed by the

Hungry fire living at the core 

Of your every need and dire desire,

Which only iron (clothed in 

Velvet love and stitched with 

Gold to your soul of souls) can 

Supply the peace you crave, but 

Even as the pains seem to cease,

By some sly sensual subterfuge,  

Awakens a wet, wild want for the 

Deepest kiss of that sublime bliss

We can but palely name 

Unlimited satisfaction.

In Nightmare Days

You are my dream of bliss, m'love…

Paradise inside a kiss, m'love… 

Can it get any better than this?

Anything else I so badly miss?

Only while I'm awake.

Nothing I wouldn't take if

It could but kill this ache

That wears your shape 

But can't disguise 

It's but a shade

Stretched so thin

It's obvious there's only 

Fraud inside, a

Fake of fog within a 

Pale copy of your satin skin.… 

What use desire

Without your wood to 

Feed my fire?