Homeless Idols

House the Homeless - from Council to Homeless Persons
Truth.

Dystopian cartwheels in the caterwauling life we lead
staring constantly at the satisfaction all around.
Bitching occasionally to satisfy unmet desires
that we struggle to attain even at unreasonable cost.
The hunt for happiness overwhelms the basics
and sometimes its worth it whatever the price.
Disciples of a daily rut where we stay stuck and mired
deeply in the mud of a situation not planned for.
In the moments of joy where our desire for completion
coincides with our faithful love and devotion,
we find a peace despite the discord that is without compare.
In the moments where we falter under the weight
surviving as only survivors can and are willing to do,
we have to remember the strength we share to stumble on.
Nothing becomes the norm and requests for aid
cut as a degrading act that dehumanizes us further.
Outlasting the shame of each failure and the disgust it brings
resolutely waking each morning to the grim gray of sameness.
As upper class homeless we are on the outskirts,
enjoying luxuries like cold running water and a toilet,
that the rest of goddamn society imagines are god given.
Fear that the envy of our possessions will lead to thievery
leads us to close the door and have knives on hand.
Eating another can of soup in mid-summer heat
because the soup kitchens provide cans and bread regularly
and its too goddamn expensive to purchase a real meal.
Endlessly pretending that things will just fix themselves
because the reality of work necessary to get out of this situation
is beyond daunting, it’s easier to capitulate and get high.
Holding tight to special items because they are memories
encapsulated in the fur of a stuffed animal or favorite shirt.
When you’ve lost it all so many times before
the littlest things can have such an enormous significance
you might even indulge in a treasure box for safe keeping.
Solid week long stretches without bathing
because the $7 per person to shower at the truck stop can’t be found.
People look at you with mixed contempt and confusion
because if you dress nicely and present well
it defies logic that you should be in such a predicament.
Putting on makeup diligently just to feel pretty for a moment
scrape the grunge of sweat stained skin stickily from your body.
Oh yes, there is freedom to be found if you chose to indulge
and let the wash of illicit and irregular activities become your home.
A beer and some vodka to wash down the weather and heat
along with the anxious discord of stress over the unknown of tomorrow.
A shot or a bowl of glass to provide focused determination
the confidence to strive for success into the oncoming crush
or an opportunity to zone out and lose days at a time without emotion.
Some black tar to sleep peacefully and stay dazed
no thought and no fear, no nothing at all because you’ve gone dead inside.
Its a slide down into a pit of needles and loss
where the bottom can always fall out and take you lower,
lower than you ever imagined possible in such insidious ways.
Bravo to those that soldier their way out of the muck
find themselves a spot of sanity and personal identity
allow themselves the grace of overcoming through grit.
Fucking monsters of life having been torn through the gutter
when they stand proud and defiant despite their obstacles
applaud those hard mother fuckers that didn’t give in,
defied all the odds and managed to rejoin the world on their own terms.












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Inspired author, Olde Punk doing his thing with Sudden Denouement

https://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com/2019/05/17/unfurl/

A personal inspiration/muse of mine is Old Punk with RamJet Poetry and an editor at Sudden Denouement. His work is often raw as hell with a clear demand for the words to be spewed, there’s emotion behind them. I’d encourage you to check his work out and give him some richly deserved love.

Brain Worms

All credit to Captain Three Leg for the image.
Image credit to Captain Three Leg

Wiggling brain worms of love
cross each other on withering paths,
laying out siege plans and more,
demanding the mind bow and be labeled a whore.
Tussling tatters of titrated remains,
their infection spreads softly
but fierce is the pain.
When all is lost to the annals of memory
(that malleable stuff made of thoughts stuck in entropy),
we’ll know not the beginning,
seek to suss out the end.
But by that point the parasites will be dug in,
they’ve rewired the hardware,
unfucked the program and rewritten the codes.
Their beautifully at odds with all we call real,
if God were a worm I might be filled with more zeal.
A zest for the unknown where dreams can take flight,
even a place to call home in the bitterest of nights.
But, here I sit.
Obliterated identity left off as a stain
to be cleaned by the new host
who’d prefer I be insane.

Started writing for Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

https://suddendenouement.com/2019/06/11/introducing-new-sd-writer-skye-melting-neurons/

Thrilled to officially be part of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective – if you haven’t seen their work before please check them out. A fantastic and wonderfully deviant group of artists that I feel truly privileged to be brought in on.

Spasms to a Crystal Overture

Smoke demons.

In honor of one recently fallen, may you have found the peace you searched for in life.

Twitch, twitch again.
Twitch, twitch again.
Fumbled up the crack back, didn’t do it right,
left loose diamonds pooled in starlight.
Chewing on white whales of smoke,
dense enough to consume morals and hope.
There’s no platitudes to offer,
if you’ve been inhaling at the holy altar,
just bow your head low for new atonement,
merciful gods appear if you stay to own it..
Twitch, twitch again.
Twitch, twitch again.
Ceaseless movement all around,
darkness clutters so shapely where beasts abound,
nightmare creatures from shadows are made,
do what you can though you can’t be saved.
There are monster deeper then mind or skin,
you called them forth hoping to let them in.
Twitch, twitch again.
Twitch, twitch again.
Begging for slumber at the end of 10-days,
get along now sanity we’re deep in this haze.
A misbegotten attempt at revival,
turned the mysteries of the past into present survival.
Let lessons be taught in the way that they are.
Sick and gasping looking for the end not so far.
Twitch, twitch again.
Twitch, twitch again.
Never again, he said.
never again….

Parenting the Sin Monster

Abaddon by Eileen Understaalz

Watched from the outskirts all rimmed in love,
you gave over no safety that I could feel of.
Watched bygone while I struggled and spit
venom and vomit up until I was spent.
Watched while the waves came on moving higher,
swore I’d tell you to fuck off from my funeral pyre.
Watched while I grew sturdier before I faltered again,
lost deep in mire of life and filled up with sin.
Watched endless triumphs burned to the ground,
seemed life went crashing down even without you around.
Watched this final run at the finish line
with new eyes and a tone that said things would might not be fine.
Watched as realities melted and took rent in my head,
finally recognized that all wasn’t right for my seeming age.
Watched with compassion even from afar,
spent time learning rather than coaching a “star”.
Watched me enroll and hit the books,
instead of crack pipes and needles if you only knew.
Watched me change for ways in the better all dulled by the pain,
I walked through the fires in flames before I saw you again.
Watched me marry and find a good woman who’ll last,
she once told you to get bent though its all in the past.
Watched me grow up finally into something akin
to man racked in regrets and scarified skin.
Watched the people I’d hurt and sometimes you’d side,
with me over others, though it crushed my pride.

At the end of my days when I look on out to consider
how far I’ve come and whether I should be bitter.
You did the best you could with your view of the world
that you did what you could to help despite all the churls.
If it wasn’t for you I don’t know where I would’ve been,
maybe the futures changed are in respect to what you did.
Parenthood must not be easy I say as a father,
one seemingly absent forever trying to reclaim self enough not to falter.
And if my children one day come looking this way
I’ve got apologies, presents, and a lifetime to share—
I’ll do it different then you did, I want them to know that I’ve cared.
And if that isn’t enough and they hate on me still,
I’ll know that I forgave you for it eventually, even without a will.




Squandered Clout

Black smoke picture from Unsplash
Black Smoke from Unsplash

Hat trick pony across the line,
shepherded wisdom you felt was fine.
Triumph and fall away
don’t presume your sacrilegious idolatry on me.
Priming pumps at the Chaos Madcap
shoplifting tears having a panic attack.
Raze the Earth come all blue
destination choke back for our school.
Anti-hero rapture chord in flight
pulled on so loosely
now cinched up tight.
Bargaining with soul to sell
minister no more hearts and regrets in hell.
Hardcore stomps and tromps on you
confinement time in a human zoo.
We’ve got no more noise but slaves to quell
freedom squandered,
no one spent it well.

Joygasmic Word Hump

https://suddendenouement.com/

Looks like I might be getting involved with Sudden Denouement as a contributor of sorts. Fucking unreal. I’ve been an admirer of theirs for years as the kind of wildly raw, authentically screwy and delightfully debased writing I hoped some day to embody. More to come soon….I’m floating on a sea of decapitated muffin tops, all glazed and sticky with the happy, seriously, clo-wd-nine-point-five. Thanks for the inspiration Olde Punk!

Psychosis Poem

Schizophrenia inspired artwork
Artist depiction of schizophrenia

I keep trying to write something that grabs hold of the feeling of being in a psychosis–fully separated from reality in some horrible fashion. I don’t think I’ll ever fully be able to capture the experience, but hopefully some fragments of it made it onto this draft. -S

Pry them open to reality all flawed
time to see the breakdown.

Fragmented existence done in fractal recall
patterns contour the daily grind.

Never stable it will flow over you
vicious, merciless, and without care.

Trust nothing you hear or view
belief in yourself will be the only way through.

Find solid footing in personal identity
hold fast to it as the walls collapse.

Never accept what you remember
memory and truth are malleable.

Painted in a thousand shades of false
test yourself and survive.

Wiped out internally by the struggle
cleansed to nothingness, a relief.

Struggle harder and the pain will gather,
simpler by far to outlast it than fight.

Planes of existence and thought overlap
confusing rationality to no end.

Get gone boy
this is no game for children.
Sit back and let yourself be washed away
pray, pray, pray to any god listening
that it will end soon.
Sometimes they listen and sometimes they don’t,
but what have you got to lose?

The Tirade Letter

Image of a letter being written.

I wanted to write you a story all soaked in love and pretty things, but instead it’s going to be about rat scum, the blistering soul music of choking on personal shortcomings, and maybe a joke or two. Bad jokes at that, certainly nothing like comedians are doing these days with their hyper-intelligent breakdown of cultural idiosyncratic tendencies by way of reflection based wit.         

Will you laugh at my jokes about museum quality antiques going up in flames while a house full of puppies burns?

I’m not so sure your sense of humor—wish I could get a feel for that before writing the story, because you know, once the ink’s on the page it’s a bit too late for regrets. I prefer to live with an abject awareness and semi-permanent psychologically unsound box of my personal mental fabrication to insulate them out, regrets that is. I’ve heard of better ways I suppose, but who has the time or money for that?

Certainly if you have to confront some dilapidated and uncomfortable feelings at some point that may smack of inadequacy, do it in stand up fashion and just face the music. Life can be good, it can be shit, and a myriad of shit colored varieties mixed in between. Doesn’t have to dictate the characters we all play on the larger stage, we can so eloquently write our own flaws.

Otherwise it would be like taking diction from some phone line person babbling away while they get busy scuttling their own sense of disgust by third-party. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be that kind of ethical whore who is susceptible to that kind of mind game. Willing to uproot and gag down on the more successful perspective because they had the audacious idea of getting to it first so they could be in better position for the final thrust? 

Emotional purification through mindfuckery and a psychological blow job seems far too easy a road out if you ask me.

Like I said, I don’t know your sense of humor, so I’m not sure whether I should pull back a bit on the off color commentary for your sake. Then again, I don’t know your personality either and maybe you’re one of those people that appreciates a no-holds barred rigmarole tirade of non-penitent truths delivered in the voice of the speaker who says it how it is instead of how they want it to be.

Or you aren’t and you’re one of those deceitful little rat fucks that huddles behind false smiles and bravado attitude that refuses to be honest even with yourself and is liable to turn tail and betray the trust of others faster than the lab tech can reload your daily selection of cheddar, medium not sharp.

I really hope that’s not the case though, and if there’s any sense to this fantastical story and scheme that I’ve been told about the genetic structure and predisposition of whatchamahoosit chromosomes and mitochondrial DNA, then I’m fairly certain you aren’t like that.

Blood fairy constitution by virtue of dad’s semi-descended Oingo Boingo soundtrack and mom’s canal of misjudgment.

Fuck it, here goes nothing.

Dear…….