People often ask me: ‘How can a Blues musician live in a world without color?’ Well… the short answer is… he can’t. You can’t say ‘I’m feeling gray’ because there’s no soul in gray. It’s also not politically correct to say you’re feeling ‘black or white’. That’s why I live under a bridge and can’t get a gig. If only I knew what blue was…...

Pigs and cows. All of them. I was royalty back home, but when our land was invaded from the north we started losing ground. They call themselves the Antzetzen. I’m sure the word means something in their filthy tongue but to me it just means ‘brigands’. They claim to be the “Inheritors of Our Theft’… whatever that means. After a month or so they were only a days march from the capitol. That’s when ...

Dear, Alternate Me

    I’m writing in response to the letter you sent me.

                              Fuck off

    I don’t have time for turkeys like you. No you can’t have five-hundred dollars. No you can’t have a liter of plasma. No you can’t have a kidney. In fact, the joke’s on you because I lost my last kidney a decade ago. Now all I’ve got is a balloon with a sponge stuffed ...

Why yes! I’ve been, around the world! But not so I, Could write bad poems…...

It would be a bit too cliche to say it was a beautiful day at The North American Presidential Memorial School of Clownery Circusing and General Tom-Foolery, or: TNAMSOCCAGTF, as it’s often shortened to. The truth is: the days were always beautiful there. Nelson Bladdernut walked the usual route to his classroom. When he had attended this school his major had been in ‘Slow-Witted Arts’. This was in...

“That’s right Wilbur,” said Blart Flint as he removed his glasses. “I am Stuporman!”

I must confess, however, that the whole ordeal was rather deflated for the super-powered, briefs-sporting, man of ‘Some alloy not quite steel’. His hamster, Wilbur, only continued turning his wheel in response…...

When I look in the mirror a secret stares back at me. The image lays bare my tortured soul. The reflection is the self I hate. The self that haunts my waking thoughts and crawls into my dreams. Deep within my soul it festers and spews forth its poison. I cannot escape what I was, and I tremble to think that it may be what I still am. In an instant I find myself in the scorching fire of my past, re...

It began as something pure, kernels and beans arrayed in hues of yellow and green; roots, brown and orange resounding in their chorus. They had celebrated this day for all their peaceful months of living. Every Friday was set aside to appreciate the peace and joy they knew, and for the whole of their living memories it was ALL they knew; thus they sang their joy on their cobs and in their pods. No...