Guerrilla Zen

moonshine existence – the distillation of space and time

Category: moonshine



… empty talk …


… intoxicating liquor …

… illegally distilled corn whiskey …

(from Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary)


shall i wake thee?

shall i wake thee?
from thy sweet slumber
and disturb the halo of fairies
ringin’ ’round yo head

shall i wake thee?
to bestow upon you
the keys to the Kingdom

shall i wake thee?
and risk arousing
the monster within

shall i wake thee?
and reveal your mortal sin

shall i wake thee
at the edge of the precipice
and allow vertigo to seduce you
into hell’s chasm

you who are already there
screaming in your jealous rage
imprisoned forever
in your crumbling cage
of fear and doubt
and your tradition of belief

you in your melting mansion of misery
stuck in the safe shadow of security
slowly sinking into the sands of the future
facing backwards
passing the present moment by
as if it were already lost
or had never been
as if it had never known
your sad smile
as if it had never known
your cry of delight
at the bird in flight

shall i wake thee?

as if it had never known
the cost in human life
your carefully crafted greed
would exact
from a heart wrenching world
boldly bleeding in your frown
while you stand around
coldly calculating
incrementally and exponentially
the debt owed you
beyond an infinite sum
down payable
with six sacrifices
on the alter of yourself

sleep on sweet sister

forget the ideal, the ideal is not real

Everything Matters: Beyond Meds

Like most people, you have ideals, have you not? And the ideal is not real, not factual; it is what should be, it is something in the future. Now, what I say is this: forget the ideal, and be aware of what you are. Do not pursue what should be, but understand what is. The understanding of what you actually are is far more important than the pursuit of what you should be. Why? Because, in understanding what you are, there begins a spontaneous process of transformation; whereas, in becoming what you think you should be, there is no change at all, but only a continuation of the same old thing in a different form. If the mind, seeing that it is stupid, tries to change its stupidity into intelligence, which is what should be, that is silly, it has no meaning, no reality; it is only the pursuit of…

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a culture of violent desires

a culture of violent desires
runaway train of devilish fires
pursuing patiently
the pain of a paradise
just beyond reach

a cloud of volatile sulfur compounds
explodes from within
spreading outward
driving away
the angels of beauty and freedom

gone are the gifts
bound for the love of a life
seen through the clear crystal ball
of an abandoned gypsy
down the hall

no more time to waste – i gone
bookin’ up outta here
to be buried alive
in a pit of economic excrement
deliriously delivered
to a frontline trench
of the revolutionary war
between “mine” and “yours”
the ariel bombardment
makes mute
the pointless lives of cannon fodder
bought on a consumer buying binge
of heavenly images
of the pain
of a paradise
just beyond reach

to the lowest bidder
by previous agreement
behind closed doors
of perception

by corporate whores
and big business boors

so … i been walkin’ lonely

so … i been walkin’ lonely
down a deserted road
with a ragtag band of lost souls
ambushed from the left and right
and round the bend
by the hellhounds and highwaymen
of a decaying kingdom
stoppin’ ever so often
to bang my head
‘gainst a brick wall of ignorance
to the point of paralysis
tended to by the spiked glove
of a fearful prison guard
and forced into a hole
neck deep
in rendered slaughterhouse hog waste
under a sunless sky
in a rain of ridicule
that fails to wash away
the stench of a thousand sins
committed daily
in the robotic rout
of a compulsive perverted quest
for a dubious glory

one big bad beautiful boar

one big bad beautiful boar
burrowing in my brain
like a runaway train
drive me insane

a hand to lend
a message to send
my will to bend
ain’t no end
our soul to tend
foe or friend
observe the trend
guerrilla zen

my muse
a black siren singing
chained to my soul
spanning the whole
of space and time
lost and longing

divine discontent

divine discontent
the demonic acquiescence
of a psychotic society

a saddle burr –
the stallion bolts
the cowboy crashes
and tastes the dirt

steel and chrome
take me home
brain squirmmin’ like a toad
my righteous red rage
just rolls down the road
a heavy load
if i’d only knowed
like ringin’ a bell
on the highway ta hell
i’m just a empty shell
and no one can tell
me what i see
or what we be
or why not three?
all for free
just let it be
it ain’t me


it was forty years ago today

it was forty years ago today
at the age of somethin’ teen
when i pawned my soul to the devil
while knowin’ the numbers
but not calculatin’ the cost
of a thousand percent interest
compounded hourly

it seems
i’ve had to pay a poet’s price
one wasted life
one human sacrifice
one roll of the dice
good fortune was never my forte

add to that
the stolen days
of sunlight and pain
lands green and mountains golden
both lush and barren
endless ocean and infinite sky

all anchored to a spinnin’ Earth
hurtlin’ through
god’s graceful dimension

my credit shot

creating an accelerating intensity
of mysterious minutes
all mine
by divine right and
manifest destiny
gaining the next hour
through eminent domain

for fifty years

for fifty years
on the edge of existence
waiting for life to begin

immutable inertia

in the face of the void

flushed with heat
lost breath
can’t wake up

sweet release of resistance