Outline for 3 Chpaters from a dream.

I. Charlie Plug The Outlaw Hippie
II.Seize The Day
III. Aftermath

Maybe eventually: Revenge On Charlie Plug


Dream: A band of outlaw hippies have taken over a town that is more like a college campus set in a holler. The town is set above with nice old houses just above on hills and as you go further up the houses become more modest until you reach the highest hills where there are, sparsely laid, some dilapidated cabins. The town has a cafe, a meeting house, an old livery with wagons from settler times, a bar and a gym. The town decided to rid themselves of the outlaw hippies by simply asking them to leave. They made out like they would, that they were sick of the town anyway, and started hanging out in the livery and the bar only. The hippies had cooked up there own plan of ridding themselves of the towns people by killing them all. They amassed some artillery and drew a line in the sand. If you were indifferent, this meant you sided with the towns people and were marked for death. They had cleverly rigged up a wagon full of munitions so that if you lit a fuse it would start shouting randomly both in direction and in time. One of the hippies, we'll call him Angus, got too anxious and lit the fuse before the order was given, so this took everybody by surprise. Even some of the hippies were killed by stray bullets. The leader of the hippies (we'll call him Charlie Plug) was angry that this happened but mobilized his people and got ready for the killing parade. So the wagon starts shooting and people start dropping like flies. It kills indiscriminately. The towns people who survive meet in the gym where the walls are concrete, but even in there the bullets ricochet and and people are falling down the steps with bullets in there backs. The sad and scary thing is that it kills children who, as they are dying look completely confused as to why they are being killed. Some bullets are projected from the wagon without actually being fired, so we are able to open them up and take out the gun powder and make a bomb, but as we are just getting the bomb ready, the hippies come riding along on police scooters picking people off and they kill the man (we'll call him Scotty) who is holding the bomb ready to be ignited, so I have to hide even though I'm one of the indifferent ones who, on many an occasion, had hung out amiably with the hippies. I decide, even though it is not a very good place, and I will surely be killed, that a bathtub, half filled with water behind some shower curtains is the best I can do when I hear their footsteps in the locker room, knowing that for sure I will be killed.

The cabin Dwellers Chapter 1 (Spring Time)

chapter 1

When Milo Scuds opened the window blanket for the first time since the winter had hit hard and froze the cabin into no motion but an ailing fire that barely kept the chill off anything within five feet of it, he could feel it was Spring. The snow had turned black with earth. The sky, a solid moldy white and green made the trees look deathly.

His wife was frozen but not dead. There was, however, a dead blackbird on the floor at her feet. One of it's wings pointed up at her face as if to say, "you killed me." It wouldn't be long before that bird was dressed for a fine dinner.

It was now time for Milo to warm his boots and prepare for his journey. He would first need to pull the wool gauze off his feet, and with his hunting knife, cut the winter callous from his soles. As he did this, he thought about money. He liked the way it felt in his hands. He wasn't a greedy man, just hadn't felt any in his hand in the time it took to forget what it felt like to have it in his hand. A sun was just on the other side of two damp pines in the cottony fog where it was illuminated in the center, a scoop of lemon sherbet.

Meditating time was over. Now was time for action. A man can only put up with so much of the penury.

Cousin Id

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_7tthN1gtY

45*21

when my brain feels this way
multiple vexations
this is when some novices
come to understand the nuances of poetry
I guess I'll read back
and hope I like 10%
My guess is less
That is the way it goes
No one is thinking of reading these right now
multiple vexations
on the night before the day of my birth
365.242199 X 46 =16801.1441154 days
I will have lived 17,000
by Spring's end
Each day more a mystery
than any other
individual to a multitude
every self
having it's lone perceptions
and growing older in the new day
but time grows more immense

45*21

later, he made off for the hills
sharpening an ax that was smothered with grease
girls always gave him the look
the one that signified, gator
pool shootin for a few bills
little dilly dally 'round town
then came the bitter snuff lights out
catching crappy for the dark afternoon
that chimney was way too black
and red be it ever so red
made you think of the drain
that which we'll all go down eventually
that which sucks the deepest stream
and forgets all trees
as they weep for lasting wind
What problems
they grow from the nose
but the nose just doesn't care
so what is your problem, they ask
as you whittle time into a fork
you call a tongue

45*21

where are we going when we disappear
I know for sure you could a hard shit have
to figure out what anybody is up to
all these triangulations
Enough to starve a sex craved man
There are no sights on this riffle
I try to sit very flat in the plump chair
I be gin my disappearance
I start by telling everybody
"Nobody look at me."
Then i disappear
and it is no big deal
Feels good to be gone
Then loneliness creeps in
I'd much prefer to let on I can be alone
when, in fact, loneliness is a creep
He's teaching Kung Fu at the Pizza Hut
I bum a smoke
It is very natural
Smoke goes in to green lungs
like wind through the woods

45*21

looped E loop
and around with e's
mind floating in solid
suds
I'll be a monkey's balls
Smell of fur
deepest woods
I love you
I've been carved
Heavy knife wielding beast
turn coat of the fourth degree
I stalk my prey
A feather in the hay
Magic Child
says thank you thank you
There is terrible delivery serve
around here
What breeze though
fat and wonderful
it picks on everything
and settles for nothing

45*21

Beelzebub freaked out in the best way
no traffic sound all of the sudden
candles burning death notes
they rattle the throats
Bitter are my thoughts
they grow but I could care less
Where's my grocery list
You watch the moving pictures
as I watch an old Cherokee
with a flask of whiskey
lecture a lamppost
circa 1988
Lincoln Nebraska
and there was that first exposure
to Cassavetes
and understanding that escape
that kind you can't escape from
felt like night coming down
in that way
when you find yourself alone
in the back room

45*21

poor Richard
with your black holes of laughter
you are not that poor
with humor abundant
Bolinas drunkard of short-lived fame
you crack the shit out of me
Every sentence is a tug at my stomach
I'm not sure why John tried to put me off you
or why I didn't rebel
someone's got to take someone seriously
I guess
but fuck that gas
or it will surely choke you
Just ain't war and peace
We'll die the death of ecstatic horses
"One day you are a mover/
the next, you're a loser/
yes you are"
So that's it
Life is digging the grave
and the wind is lighting the match

45*21

Names for a bowling team:
Mark it Zero
The Archers (after the great film makers)
Spare Bears
The Unholy Rollers
Kepler’s Theory
The Black Holes
Moving Pins
Splitsville
Team FAIL
Ballicious
Balls on Fire
Sandbaggers
Egg-Layers
Guttersnipes
Shannon, Joan, and the Daves
That’s How We Roll
Snakes on a Lane
Alley Cats
Punjabi Pin Enslavers
Mad Wrist Flip

45*21

the young die old
it is a master plan
the old wrinkle buttons
on a babysitters apron
tell the lies of financial disaster
it's all so dizzying
pilfered from a top drawer
that angular bipolar label
they Sylvia Plath
let's see you drool
not so easy to be sensibly cruel
it's when you keep your head above water
can't mingle with just anyone
Oh the archers
The Archers peeping through time
I do like some spare bears
though, at first, it creeped me out
like I might move back in time
to a place I'll try to get out of again
the surrendered to a surenderer sings

45*21

wicket, does the kid even know
maze, oh golden corn
of woe, where the heart goes
You, Archer, the solitary know
when every ape does not know
The time when men were nothing but fists
got to get the kid away from the fist men
The strength of character
lock away in heart
Solid iron doors
the poor
You all jet around
now times will change
Get closer to the whole
The root is forever hard
around stone
OH cabin fever of not seeing
plants that are growing from you ears
You'd rather be in some dark holler
than know the golden steer
So Archer feels an in toward Mecca

45*21

Can't you see all the suffering?
On this day we walk into buses
No need to pass the dime
Not a word to the blind
It's all we can do to hold our breath
Enough of this charade
Can't climb that sky scraper
Over the tops of many heads
Nodding as I go
Vertical view of everything
Early as the bird that gets the worm
Really feeling like I will get there when I can
So let the sails out
Eventually you may understand
Solo flying is an art
In an any language you may find
Not your ordinary flier
Going in a desert without a hat
So this will be my last hurrah
On pleasant company I may count
Kindness as my mount

45*21

Laughing bird!
Why are you laughing at me
from your place in the brook
Obscured from me by low hanging trees
That mocking laugh
When I know I've done nothing to you
You are like society
after a gas
The laughter never ceases
so it seems
but the truth is
it only happens at 10 second intervals
Laughing bird
what do you see
from down in the mud
where your universe is shiny
a beast of thought
on the backs of human kind
mocking mocking
a never sense of knowing
and the sense of the unknown

45*21

Lazy day. Why? Can't tell you
though this morning my wife's mom said
that Lewis disagreed with Einstein
when he said that insanity
was doing the same thing over and over
expecting a different result
Well, something close to that
but I thought maybe he wasn't correct either
as it is hard to say who is really that insane
everybody being a little insane
and some more so than others
but maybe Einstein was caught in a loop
when he felt insane
not unlike someone using a cell phone
who is deaf and just wants to talk
gets angry about working in an insane asylum
at least thinking about it
the doctor and the patient with the knife
across the doctor's neck
Shinzue: The fight to the death!!!!

45

Blind Joe Death
His eyes pooped out
How rude, his mouth seemed to say
Elastic bands couldn't prevent leakage
Its flip flopping irregular
the can is tossed to the rot imagine tulips rotting
There's the crack in plaster
that bothers you in bath of light
You get that Cathedral effect
I wonder why you are so stupid
It must come down to you thinking
and that's all there is to it
If feeling had a cot
in the birdman's cage
You still would want to escape
thought
Silly looking pillows about
smell of curry
A promising Iowa City nocturne
with plenty of cigarettes
and cheap beer

45*21

Indians!
What do I care about Indians
Cowboys on the other hand
What do I care about cowboys
Desperation!
dark as an urban hell
If I have to listen to one more
bible inspired story
I'll begin to believe in Sasquatch
Now Sasquatch is something to care about
I saw Sasquatch with a divining rod
in a field next to some woods
I was high on my third joint
I had third eye syndrome
My pimples began to hurt
I rubbed my face with sandpaper hands
God appeared before me
He had just baked some raisin oatmeal cookies
He smiled at me with his gentle white beard
His apron said "GRANDMA LOVES CHILDREN
NOW GET IN THE WOODSHED AND BRING ME A SWITCH!

45*21

little ramshackle pony
paint me purple
got no idea
what we want
the hurt is all we've known
from the beginning there were checkers
at least not being raped
as we are being killed
It's always unbearable
yet we clock time
Welcome fantastic moose
No wonder life is survived
Death is a Cantor
Pray the time not leave you empty
praying with all your might
You might leave empty handed
with your head in them
Yellow bird
fossils
brew of death
in breath of life

45*21

you look into the shadow self
and left insensible, laugh
look up into the stables
you combine the horses in your mind
the secret sharer knits black wool
over and over the hobbled together
face of transcendent thought
the shadow character appears
disappears. Seas
I just don't have it in my mind
Clowns.
My little spat with neighbors
you ask yourself why you can't be led back
The bricks are made of kindergarten
Emily Dickinson silhouettes
corn fed cows and low cut jeans
plow it all under
go for a ride
the long strand of thought
drifts off
and amber ease makes the mind to settle

45*21

we passed into nightscapes
in fact, I was looking for a little
some spittle pulled up by a penguin
night, so odoriferous
the owl squeezed a face out from brush
"don't give me no shit!" is what
it exclaims
there are no claims
only pictures in rectangular frames
faces of old are telling
I parked the car and fell
into a bad smell
the plastic of personhood
that bird was hilarious
even the children love him
he can't get over
on the fascinated ones
Sometimes you get trapped
in someone else's reality
they try to put over you like
like a bag

45*21

some people make discordant sounds
others operate heavy machinery
some taxidermy birds
in basements, lined with red velvet
valve
the silencer makes it thrilling
silver
adjacent to umbrella
Jamaica
with all its light
some want to slumber
in lite renumber
Take for my paint brush
a golly pose
The truck goes by
on fire
they keep yelling
and I keep silent
as there is no need to understand
it shoots blanks

45*21

what bridge?
the right bridge
the notes fall off
and there are no bad ones
just the ones you hang with
and the ones you don't
what do you inherently understand?
Life gets you there
Well, at least you think so
The bird woman wanted the make love
That's when I found the elevator
Though I didn't want to make love to a corpse
Later... realized I was one
bona fide ankle bracelet
no one wants to give in this easily
and we fall and we fall
like music notes
from the abstract
premises
that we are pulmice
of a vice