The Loser Messiah

The Loser Messiah, I wasn't born.
My early years were not forlorn. 
There were no three wise men with gifts, 
of incense made from animal shits. 

But then I felt myself turn mean, 
perhaps it was something in my genes. 
I felt my self become unclean, 
with rotten karma ripening.

I grew progressively worse in luck.
I earned a black belt of fucking up
And every time I did some ill, 
I could only fall farther still. 

I ran into walls and stubbed my toes. 
I looked as if I steamed and smoked. 
I choked on fish and chicken bones. 
I read the modern ancient tomes. 

Who are Lear and Oedipus Rex?
My aura has the strangest effect.  
Everything around me gets fucked.
The shit on me is never unstuck.

I cannot help but fall down the stairs
and God is always waiting there. 
To kick the holy hell out of me 
then chortle at me while I bleed.

And oh, how could this happen to me? 
I'm ready to quit and I'm only sixteen. 
I just want a fork and a bite of the pie,
But maybe it's better to curl up and die. 

I imagine my future and it isn't nifty. 
I'm poor and sick and alone and I'm fifty. 
I'm up to my knees in the swamp and I'm thinking
of how to get out, but I'm rapidly sinking. 

 


 

Dietary Hipocracy

They insist we’re looking for attention
with our gastronomical appraisal.
And so assume a bizarre contention:
They know of all who trade their steak for kale.

What a triumph of circular reasoning, 

to assume all herbivores advertise
because they know our choice of seasoning
because we can’t help but to publicize.

They say that our untiring sedition
is always the source of their ammunition.
How terrible strange and ironic then
that they accuse us more than we do them.

One Thousand Dicks

I am the man with one thousand dicks.
Cumming in the morning.
Cumming in the afternoon.
Cumming at night.
Cumming on your mother.
Cumming on the dog.
Cumming on the carpet.
Cumming in your coffee.
It's all over the goddamn place. 

Oh yeah.
One thousands dicks!

Brats

Spoiled brats bound to become doctors, dentists, lawyers and other kinds of thieves.
So sure their luck will last forever.
Their fortunes run on high-octane arrogance.

Is it better to be the worst of demi-gods, fallen down to Earth...

...or the most noble of animals, promoted from the blood and muck?

Integrity must be a sort of fungus, because it grows best in shit.

And pride is a fine champagne that long improves with age,
then suddenly turns to piss.

Vichara

Who am I?

Mist and breath.

Who am I?

A ghost in a shell. 

Who am I?

Hey! 

Who's asking?

Don't know:  neti, neti, neti. 

Whoever it is, he's some kind of crazy painter. 

Hey!

Who are you painting, there, Michael?

I once asked a Sunim: what's the sound of one hand clapping?

"Don't tell him, Subha."

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Seoul

Downtown Jinju on a Thursday night.
Floating down the sidewalk.
Looking for A/V cables.
Who built this city, claustrophobic and dirty?

A vision of Seoul, two thousand years ago:
Han river people.
They are bamboo and grass.
They are Sun and Earth.

I must go to ancient Seoul.

Morning

Oh lovely lovely world there is no hot and no cold and full of colorssymbolsshapes and meaning that has meanings for real for real for real  and I am the start, the end, the star the actors, the stage the lights the lighting and the ocean forever forever forever moving swaying, glimmer and glittering so full so full but draining draining draining and I know what's coming.

I'm waking.

Mind is coming.

Me is coming.

Body is coming,

Oh no.