Mr. Nippress, you
should do what u do professionally in novel form

remember this is the same
guy who wanted to put
a crowbar through the head

of "Zabadooey" in a fit of rage, you are impressive
and you write beautifully.

so take what I say with
great understanding that
I tend to say what I mean

Trying to convince
A dancer to try Tango
I tried to explain
*
Its intellectual!
We converse with our movements
Non-verbal conversation
*
That

I tried to go back
with him, I drank beer and smoked
no it did not work

these vows I swore on
I've changed and can't go back there
I'm so sorry dear

it is life's meaning
we grow and some never do
what can i do now

you get mad and swear
I cry and my hearts' hole grows
bigger into death

change I can't deny
swallow us and eat our lives
where do I go now?

so this old woman
choses to lonely stray dance
back to the alley

damn now the cat muuuse
the bitch done scratched me last night
I have a fever

drinking ..don't so much
tonight it seeem=s i've agreed
what secrets will spill**

the power to take
and erase grafiti, wall
whitewashed from gang marks

like a dog peeing
on a fire hydrant, washed
animal wild boys

there is something to
be said for these periods of
time where things are

silly, like disco
they come, and they go, and these
cycles just, happen

the life you're living
is real as any other
so smile and live it

would he stop for us?
alcohol and all his things
he said...but he did***

maybe you just need
a very nice vacation
so you can rest up

sometimes there's a place
where people find themselves and
the only way out, is out

to be honest, the
urge to walk away, to go
silent, I think peace...

I'm an internet
addict, and I am trapped
in a scene of my

own making, I need to
get my life back otherwise
I live this cycle...

words will never win
any argument or meaning
I should just remain silent

a torpedo train
atomic death-blow war horse
T N T big bomb

Because her and God
Were good friends the english burned
Joan of Arc to death

seven years later,
my haiku suddenly
turned up on Google?

incarcerated
lonely but earning money
the cycle repeats

it just seems that things
happen for a reason and
I don't know what they

are until all is
said and done

spit it out baby
pickthank aint from hominy
it's heartburn harvest

I need to get off
my self and realize others feel
these feelings as well

I am truly sorry
I have a temper and it
is a weakness

try some sedation
instead of cogitation
less aggravation

cause this is thriller'
silence falls upon the land
and I am sorry

why is it that which
is truly christian needs to be
set aside

in order for people
to have to figure it out
for themselves

fuck this place
people don't give a shit about me
they only care about themselves

well, I do think of
suicide a lot and the response
is either "go ahead, ha ha ha"

or sympathy, and it's
yet, another attempt to
get rid of these voices

if I wasn't an addict to this
internet and other people's feelings I wouldn't be here
I might do something with my life, even if it means flipping burgers for a meagre paycheck\

I'd rather be a toothless idiot
than a poet here

who are you, better
than i am? who are you?
really? who challenges

your own social patterns
what is Canada? What does
Zabadooey believe

do I talk too much
or is that your opinion?
what is a solution

lawsuit, jail time? my murder?
over words on a website?\
condecension? what the
heck does this shit solve?

what do I want? what do YOU want? that's the basic question, artistic freedom, a quiet space to reflect on and repeat beliefs that you take for granted, unchallenged?

I don't know if this place
really is that important
to be honest, do I have
to play emotional blackmail?

I had no idea poems would
be used to express anger, and the cold desire of want

needs, it's not the best
I could be, just a reaction
that's all it is, self analytical
reaction, inviting the same

"you talk too much" blah blah blah, i am the Great this
I am better than you

and the Tower of Babel was
cast down, metaphor or reality
by a bolt of lightning

human being have limits
I'm proof of that :)

i satire myself

if we were here to
see each other face to face
what would we see there

pride? a desire
to prove who is right, to be
"the voice" who says it

as it is, resent
this hound, silence him or cast
him on, ban him, we

are social animals
and society is a game
and that games has rules

I would rather be a loser
for to me the game is a damnable lie leading
to eternal damnation

I am bewildered
which is more rediculous
the "pompous rich socialist"

role, the run away psychopathic born again christian or

the "ah ha ha ha, I'm a cheese sandwich" person.

if you want me to go
away, stop playing all
these fucking games

and say "go away"
RC Sproul, Christian author
love, laughs a lot

thinks he's funny, Calvinist
now when I'm gone a nuisance
will be gone, but, maybe, oh, 7, 9 weeks later, gee, oh

who knows
who gives a shit
i know you guys don't
burn in hell? who knows :)

the highest of folks
is the Servant of God
See you in heaven boys

if I don't go to
hell first, I suspected
then again these
guys are "liberals"

so they play games

sometimes we need
the spurs to compete to
win the trophy at

the end of the day
the game is with competition
to deny it is death

you talk way too much
servant boy shut up before
I replace your ass

there's a strong urge
to desire to leave this world
so I can sit down

and write poems in peace
I don't mean suicide, i mean
a time without competing

voices living as billboards
to their own murderous egos
the wanna be idi amin's of

the world, at once pathetic
but also, dangerous, cellars
full of human skins

of those "who let them"
do it... God has stronger
plans for this place,

and those who usurp that
plan, including myself,
eventually face Judgement

what is the Christian
way, what is the way of God
without the sad politics

of "Bush" hijacking it, my own
unconcious mockery of it, what is the way of God

to everyone here?

Bordello escaped
Trousers about the ankles
A bovine pursuit

remnant du cheap wine
non vintage, a collapsed mime
the first of twelve steps

finally curtain
a commencement de la fin
in fine close limit

ghost wits rack no thought
phantasy better muse dream
now that I reflect

"bad haiku" will not
or ever die, for it's something
far more important

than my petty little life

ignominious
a flippin' ignoramus
who? iglesias

Dumb haiku lives on
In the stupid hearts and minds
Of teh interwebs

tea for two a dance
to be shared with a great friend
soft shoe in my cup

there is a formal
nature to the "teas," the brush
the inked letters, that

in a world of winds
earthquakes, tsunamis, so on
there is just tea, for

when your mad christian
finally goes away or dies, I am
nothing, there is just, tea

time marches on

one of the key problems of
my aesthetic is that it gets defensive and genuinely angry and takes things literally personally and when I saw I want to hurt the person, I should think to do something far more effective, the simple playground rule of "ignore" because a bully pushes buttons to get results: a reaction.

One of my less healthy but stubborn beliefs is in an evangelical Christian view of God as forgiving and social flaws as being literal spirits and not just human foiables but personalities without bodies that can misdirect people into conflict with one another over trivialities like oh, bulletin board trolling or how long a poem is.

I don't think I'll learn till
I am not here to speak my mind

there is a common
desire in art to seem "cool" which
is a false zen nature

all unattached but still
without soul and without God
this is how I understand "modern cool" as a kind of Pharisee state of mind for the modern age

Coping strategy
Life can be so hard sometimes
But we do our best

so, the other day
dropped my watch in the toilet..
what a shitty time!!!

your personal growth
would not include credit for
having a hard on

the king hung the court
jester in a fit of rage and
a week later

missed his court jester
no joy in the kingdom
no bells, silent streets

serenity and sometimes
the real mind is not social thing
but a solitary one

there is no one to play
court jester or art critic
only silence and the

peace of only one voice
which is what zen really
is, it just, is

suicide eh? :)

what would u get from
a person who hungers for
a kind word for once

what if you had a
good thing to say to someone, rather

than be a sophisticated
Zabadooey in a way, and
mock in that hateful

Godless, scholarly form
of dry, dead, uncreative
literary critics? which

is why modern writers
generally are like
a dusty living dead

they have nothing good to say period

:(