Podcast 2

Poem 2

Podcast

Intial Podcast

whats to come?

how about a podcast? thats right tune in soon!!!

7/2/07

I got an hr on my hands.
sometimes you can hear the road heave against the heat and stomp of military boot black tires. when did they all get new cars? when did they grow up to all these fine homes that squat down over the ruins of their childhood home. what once wildwood st is now winterwood estates all glammed up. three story monoliths with absent yards an great yawning windows close to neighbors yawning windows so that they dance about like giant duendoms? sp that thing in the back of yr throat.
when did little girls start to mature so fast? an it seems like the youth are into gymnasiums and weights whence i was trying to burn my eyes out having a stare out with the sun.
i got grey hairs now, long tendrils of age that lean saucily all about the belly button or across the brawn of shoulders like sailors just off shore leave.
i get lost in ideas sometimes. my keyboard is too tight, an my fingers big and lazy. i can remember something important that i had to say in the wilderness of my youth in poetry. now gone savage. i can remember the lean alleys of this town where i sweet hearted my share of women each giggles and purse lips, each long leg click clack horse tracking it about the grey asphalt.
i once ate 10 sundaes and dreamt of stories as some dreamt through commercials.
i still do
how to talk to the workaday man with his life in the fury of wife children work god doom death
im certain its easy find a mirror!
i get back aches from age and night terrors that i pissed it all away. i get horrible sweat throughs that cause me to wake at three and stink my pillow to the anguish of poor wife.
im sorry
let this be written right now in the internets unalterable pages
i love my wife.
you ever get lost? you ever been on your way had yr little boat yr humble oars and a fine compass and map? you ever get tossed about by the convincing wind off course and map gone compass broke just floated desolate amongst the unending bosom of sea? seen age friends importance fall away like so much plankton till its just the vacant long stare the floating orphan look of the abandoned beast?
i could be pretty once stare at buildings fr hrs reciting pome's not worry fr nothing cause warm breeze god whispered 'its all right everything gonna be alright' ...
well short space
i lost that
an ah wifey
slowly yr bringing it back.
fr now im humping it out sweating the long days back breaking it as the post man. amongst the army of other post men.
i got's a house with a deck that i can sit on , nothing overwhelming, humble stuff but its somewhere to stare.
i got church now, but fr how long? heart wavers.
i got ideas flowing and the damn still holds but i can feel her shake i can feel her giving way.
im giving it all away, quit smoking years ago, now booze now chemical food. all this strength fr what. all this time in the gym all this moving forward for what...
we had two miscarriages in three months.
i think its because i quit writing
i think until i create i wont procreate.
or it could be from the recent historical training of aborting all my thoughts an imagings.
a poem to dead babies!
i got drunk
on expensive booze
each time
i got stained shirts an undies
frm her tears an blood
we flush flowers
down the toilet
an burn incense
pregnancy tests
rub bellies
pinch cheeks
of friends
an passers by
eat like kings
an make love too soon
we stay out of the diaper aisle
tell everyone
good news
then bad
and bring our sleeping bags
to the obygn
an think of you
of the future else
or you
again
as she high arches
my penis
so all the sperm
will make the test cut

you could think of everything or just blimp out on krispy kreme...
i can feel it like an oil tanker
the mood of this city slowly turning
out of the dark dangerous water
with oden
with this hour
with her as love
moving into the warmth
of the caribbean
this is fr pete an diesel and MCK cause i will always lead with them in prayer.

a story!

my name is earl...earl b wang and this is my story.
i live in a small one bedroom apartment it is furnished mostly by the danish. this apartment is located in a busy neighborhood in nw portland in the heart of a vibrant singles scene. my father was born in japan. people say i look like misa oka and i use it to bang hot bitches.
who ever believes that a hollywood star is in portland and wants to sleep with them doesnt really believe it but just needed an excuse to say okay.
we live isolated lives. we live alone
it gets boring
there is only so many times you can satisfy yrself during commercial breaks or as you get ready for work.
the gym is for homo's and married men. the women that go there are either too fat, married or in such shape that they cant ovulate and thus have no sex drive.
i have heard of men who love to sleep with women that have no periods because they can't get pregnant. but i think thats phony in all of life there has to be some risk involved.
my favorite drink is patron silver because it doesnt give you a headache.
the worst part of portland is that everyone has to be something more than themselves. most are aspiring artists but that just means broke assholes. i decided to just be an asshole and use the extra money and time that i am not using to create art or buy supplies to bang hot bitches.
all women are really interested in someone that appears stable, smiles when they listen.
the best thing about women is that after you bang them there is a slight moment where they are deciding whether or not you were a mistake or really are the next boyfriend. i use this opportunity to tell them it was a mistake. either by rolling away and not cuddling or setting my cellphone alarm to go off at time i estimate to be near touching story during cuddling time. this i answer and pretend to be talking nice to somebody.
they ask who it is
i will say friend or co worker. either is interpreted as a woman. when they ask if you have slept with her that is the moment to make a statement like 'no way, she has morales.
this starts a fight an we are on our way to freedom.
i should state that i have never had anal sex.
though i am interested in the idea i still think that it could make you gay.
i use to think that gays were just too scared to kill themselves with outright suicide so instead they take the long slow path of non creation.
now i dont give a shit what they do.
i give out a phony california number to hot bitches in bars that when they call it goes to an answering service that i pay to answer for a phony company called eagle talent agency. they will usually buy this.
if your not married you shouldnt care how great you are in bed. if you only make love to them once what does it matter the size of your penis. im also only going to marry a virgin so she wont know the difference.
the real problem with faking you're a big hollywood suckass is that you have to watch the show. i mean if i run into a fan of the fucking thing then before i get the sweet vagina i have to do a little show history an prediction.
i would screw an old lady.
i mean if she was hot.
im what thirty so i think i would go up to about fifty three. if she had a lot of money or a nice car i would take on a pig.
people say that your a lousy person for having standards but i think thats natural selection. as i dont wear a condom or pull out (i say i got that V done) i want any illegitimate children to have the best chance.
if i ever saw some lady who said she had my kid. i dont know it would be kind of funny.


earl b wang ladies and gentleman.

Salvation

6p-empty portland space

5p-portland empty space

these are the vast spaces on the body

beautiful

my first love

Portland

4p

theres bombs

and bodies

expoloded

some place

far from here

an maybe a mother

upstairs

crying over son lost

but this place got music

an beer

an america spirit

fills the dodging eyes

slumped shoulders

sagging bodies

of what we

fighting to protect

dream

freedom

3p

i got fire in my veins

heart sweating

the steam

of love

whilst

she carries on

about al in the office

and the new spring colors

impatient

she cant wait fifty seconds

until this beautiful

loving movement

has climaxed

p2

We walk
Thin bridges of gravel and tar
Atop raging rivers of
Waste and failed babies
Oh the failed expierement
Oh we the proud killing
Machines
Great definers of time
Builders of towers
To wants of more
Tumble forward
Through time
To the great beyond
Kneeled to god
Whisper quiet
Of the times we
Strolled cocksure
Head held high
Away from the stench
Of the truth of it all
When gods extended
No further then the length of our nose

4

she the prayer.
she the embodiment of the ho(me)peless.
she the portrait of magdalene an i christ like will fight the stone throwers. the desert is cold at one o'clock an this should be sung all these words a song not a book but a testament to the tenement angles of fifth streets america gun shot deaf an still dreaming of their families at chirstmas. this is a testament blessed be second hand clothes macaroni an cheese not being able to afford an trying to make children understand. blessed be the moving man an the pride of yr family together again. this should be sung in falsettos against the tidal waves of witness to the desecration of character an the loss of control. this should be sung to light burning the dark off in that steam of future glories fog, in that mist of hope i can almost reach that hand. an the flesh is trembling with electricity an there is love there. an what about the kids an what about the kids an what about the kids an what about the kids an what about the kids?
i the abandoned i the orphan stand defiant an say i got enough love fer everybody.
is how it felt.
an i know she has to deal with what could become an the hurt of children.


an everyday comes from a last night, an every night comes so we can rest.
she got a lot jmt in her. i hurt her. i don't want to hurt again. these are prayers dig, prayers for myself to help myself an save myself. i don't want to be crook no more. i don't want to be the ugly an hated no more. i want to be able to look myself in the eye again. i always look down reaching an grabbing for the gut that put me in so many awful situations, maybe grabbing for the absence of courage that made me look awful running away from situations. blessed be the uninspired an unknown that cling to the lack of talent an dead dreams cause you only got the first thought best thought an where else you gonna go when it goes dark. i miss home an pray for that. i miss the cheer of youth an the shy games that we played with sticks an forbidden dens. i can remember the bush fort by the canal in boise, now long dead. i forget it not, forget nothing an hope for each vision the best. i can remember the pain of seeing slobby robby an knowing my die was cast, out here all grown up an not willing to fight for shit it classified me then classifies me still. blessed be the silent afternoons with gi joe an he man hunting through the garden looking for belonging. she may be the abuse, the figure head of laughter an the oncoming shower of tears but i cant escape the first warmth of finally getting a sense of home. dear jmt i was too young then. we were too young then. mck this will be prayer for you when all is said an done, something for you to rest yr head upon in college or early thirties that yr pa was alright a stand up an decent man. i get sick every near dawn when i realize she aint calling or coming for quick hug. an all i got is another few pages of words. i get sick near dawn when i am ready to collapse cause it aint been fine tuned is not published yet. blessed be pete for staying with me through the storms, blessed be the wag tail on display when i turn full of sadness that it could not sing or be brought to life beautiful. he is an angel. blessed be j, j & h. yr gonna be alright there is an effort underway to make a family again. i hope that. i got nothing but prayers, nothing but hopes an surrounded by ghosts i got nothing but time to pound this fucking heart out straight maul it into a best seller an be something more towards a provider. i will wait an i will work an it will come. she is absence. she is something to be loved an this book be for her. i fear for you, a., i don't want nobody to hurt you. i get tremors yr gonna show up with a black eye or that you have to pay yr rent through sex to some pig with blushed pale skin an a brow that is always sweaty. i get sick with visions for you, absent from me, visions of meaty hands an clumsy attacks, visions of cry myself to sleep at night, visions that everything is fraud an there is no strength left to take my hand. blessed be the struggle of mother whose self is holy an worth more than anything i could offer.

3

Downlike a rainbow coming
Pot o gold
Serious, let's get digging
Heart pounding his this
Soul fill of it
Crying exposes raw
In the alley at midnight
Saying "love Does exist"
she came body down beauty mongst the shit and piss smells from cat calls of hot bloods greek lettered and looking to damage clap hands and say together.
she got pink shoes in puddles whilst i piss then turn to say 'huh'
she of crack she of tristessa reformed and sad because i am not that genius writer not kerouac to go falling in love and touring mexico with faggot burroughs, just this self and we both tired both lonely both looking to fall into something hot sweet time consuming.
adventure baby
'gimme a ride for this'
more accurate 'gimme distance from this'
more accurate 'gimme me distance from this an fer this right?
she spits
right there in the toilet she spits right there amongst historyof sloppy kisses and cum
amongst history of deep knee bends and ghosts of peckers puking thinking i to self
'man i could make something of this bitch, man i could make a song with those tits hot moans in the back of car midnight dreaming of somebody to care about
"thinking'this got to be better than the beer bellies and polo scent talk of going to be's, right?''
going to be somebody doing something someday, an right now i am making good effort to appear wholly normal on track' goes they
goes the accomadations
the time consumers
the non pal hang arounds
who would tell them any deep secrets or be exposed confused and willing to say any more than, 'man we are on our way.'
she is adventure
sitting there . . .mean leaning there
amongst the shit and piss n dirty graffitti
pocket full of horrible
pocket full of ghetto sunrise
pocket full of ??
that could ruin a career if i wrote this unanonymous.
she is now
when i am fully formed ready to burn the town down
relay to the magnificent seven
the la grande adventurers get them hot buttoned jealous that not only am i lawyer to be but right now excitement get it?
so i risk getting clobbered for it all
lean hot breathed
drink breath
tremble skin
in the deep of night
when no angel is working
an say 'onward . . .lead."
she wants to get tuned now
in carwith springsteen playing. american mind turns to sonnnet turns to poetry when it's about to get ugly.
beauty is the infection that you forget you could be doing something more.
beauty is in the flow of words like the mighty willamette full of shit and horror kill you if you get too deep head above water forget and let dirty fingers do dirty work and now she wants to drown.
american car muscle mustang to american music to american slums an we are going to slum it drink six pack while moving. let those voices echo let those hot bloods who feel blue balled scammed because they couldn't gang rape her in tune to sigma call let them fade to speed to speed realized to budwiser to slick nights to towers of empty eyes that carry MORE MORE MORE gasoline for the blood stream carry on.
inwards:in car
her chest is heaving she is play tough with wet cunt an i can smell it. may be gone but not far enough to accept the fuck it.
got me sensitive ladies in the early evening that would rat me out to their own if i infected them dig?
we the latch key set our selves up a real grown up universe, straight out of the movies, hidden metamorphosis dig.
she is what you become when you can't do a career just over dreamt to only understand that a career is a consumptive worm eating dreams while a dream is a consumptive worm eating careers. not fully formed abortive and drug/drunk to the gills she smiles hard cracks along lips and cheeks dark bags under eyes.
her mother dead
father gone
stab me in an instant if we came in the way of forgettingan she got some man in some shit hole getting better from the same shit she gets full of dig
'it is going to get rough' thinks i
i make her swallow my tongue and force my hands to her tits and between her legs, can wash it off right?
i force it on her try to make her in focus in light change her ways be a vacationer not permenant vampire. each breath each bit of spit and each second of pressure on her sex is a telegraph to the brain trying to force her to think of school, of romantic american everdayism while the art of salvation is tricky cause same time wouldn't mind pushing the bitch out of the car and try to get me a train already on track to glory time master degree family future fulfillment. not writ write
should be
try to jesus my magdelene into heaven but cant help thinking heaven may already got my angel.

2

i was born to nothing, theres rainbows for the everyday if you can fight through the tears. if yr mind can calm the hungerin stomach an soul break of empty wallets while big daddy bank manager drives his Mercedes convertible to fuck blondie that got yr sheets wet in HS. theres treasure for the plain if yr fight is long enough.
i seen the future with the devil predawn red from booze an insomnia… he pitched his fork to the side steady handed to snuffle the blow an recite poems backwards for the dyslexic. he told me heavens got its own share of cocksuckers cause there is only one town with a lot of ideas of how it out to be.
he said he grew tired of minivans got sick of soccer moms and desperate wives an everybody gunning for recognized cunning that he ended up in the desert. i shot fire arrows with the devil in that desert outside LA where the rich vacation. we sucked seeds from the freshest fruit sunbathed under eternal blue skies an at night it was clear tequila married mothers with hot cunts that drooled the panties underneath black work slacks. it was the devil with red skin an saltnpepper hair that taught me how to lengthen the fuse fr dynamite so’s to be safe away when it expands beneath an above the desert floor.
soon there was no space just heat an night an red eyes surrounded by explosions no steps taken away we were burning to dust burning through exhaustions last fuel soon we were skin an bones stretched like hides across the flat hardwood desert floors soon i was immortal an we toss the sticks lit back n forth like children playing catch.
it was the fight then, dig, yr pockets aint yr excitements an the greatest dream is to always be on the hunt in pursuit the unalterable landscape of art hope an beauty. we were the fuse that stick of what gonna be if only you are strong enough to light it.
it was predawn when his wife got home, it was predawn when she chased us with a knife hollering about sleeping grandchildren. it was off screaming through aggregate an sand predawn drunk launching beer cans through dead windows of vacation rentals as mozharts short stories were played out on public radio.
it was predawn when one by one lights reacted to shattered glass flickered on like christens reborn to the ways of heaven or stars just dead on telegraphing the way to some other heaven they dost create.
in the desert theres nothing to hit in black trans am or blue cougar so some things can rush straight forward for miles at a time.

1

Home(pe)lessness
prayers:for those to come
lift yr skinny fists like antenna to heaven.
bless the arrows of burning through thought to skin from heaven an beyond. bless her, slim drumroll fingers quick steps an deep kisses to fall through. it comes, rolling through dark night barreling down mtns quick to speed right on over. bless her sweet fingers an hands connected through blues in dark bars of midnight not long forgot.
amongst the aged an abandoned we come ready for love, passion beat yr heart, break yr life out kind, in kind get going gone. in she come. workaday traffic slumped shoulder gorgeous like the dirty floors of mexican temples hidden blessed behind hero trees stoic guardians to that which time forgot. here she come tragiced from the south wide empty of texas feeling killed by some other time with some other lover that too time will forgot. it got stung deep an heard music an felt the knees weaken an the soul stir an deep pools of words that were left fer dead gather resources an head for the castle. blessed be the spaces between breath an ribs an arch of back i could write in them. she it her. them they too.
excuse the rust it has been awhile.
providencethat which makes you forget you should be spending yr time a wasting not creating cause aint nobody no where going to pay for this, genius. drinks to be poured, an still the rust hangs hard an fast making you double take delete the whole fucking thing we don't want to be that anymore. we don't want that no sleep any more, we don't want that abuse any more, just lie it out die it out don't you dare have these thoughts about resurrection. she the kick start blessed be the declination of man across her silk skin across her unnamed miserys an broken heart, blessed be the hot breath to whispered prayers to silent thought to slow drives back to ???i get heart sick. take them down burn them want to rip the hands off because who wants to go a ruining presents for people to create the character to motion the story off towards infinity. who wants to go a ruining beauty for pages to kick start a machine almost left for dead. see i hoped to give it all up an die quick. see i didn't want to remember, see i don't think i could write in blood anymore see i am trying to abandon the beast see my father the monster taking woman over marriage an you just want to be good not write holy not content an see there is no return. some to few will celebrate some to more will lay in agony rolling bones in empty sheets wondering who blew the breeze who made the ship take sail holes an all out towards the horizon.
blessed be the children anonymous dreaming sweet about a future they do go create. for them to come this night is yrs. blessed be the maniac whose power grows who made this keyboard sing. blessed be the eyes of humanity searching ready relying on hope to come. shes a rainbow kind you think about later in sundresses an lemonade think of later leaning in wicker chairs holding court smiling with some joe somebody that made a life whole. an i wish it could be me. the repairer
the entertainer
the make it better
all i got is howls dark stages deep bellows about the hobos on fifth street who get loaded an whistle tunes about beach boys an hot rods. all i got is lust songs writ to pome about lust it outs in near tears to no sound but the traffic steam rolling by. all i got is the want to be...
all i got is this providence this fated fucking ghost hanging about my neck saying 'bring a god damned crowbar if you have to but get that pearl out. don't bleak it out get dirty on yr knees prayer it out with the squirrels an earth worms till you understand the true glory god doth create.' an i got no church but the vast empty skies an dark corners of electric pounding. an i got no memories allowed that don't start in the Idaho mtn ranges with ben whitney an anthony. see there is first love an that is what you find see there was the beginning love an that is what you go a weeping for before one year or three weeks or whatever when the gloves come off an the bones go, 'i got to go through this?' blessed be the moonlight highlighting her one o'clock form closed lid kiss goodbye. i trace her essence across my face an chest remembering. i tremble in the morning what battles lie ahead.
i fall to laughter when it comes whispering through the wind:
'Providence, now on yr feet we got miles to go before were done.'phoenixed, weak winged, freshly reborn, she maybe beauty but will she come?
blessed be the heroics an tears that brought her here.'

st phillip uncrossed her long legs.
-this is a vision- write i.
He is there amongst the baby blue of sky and universe. he is on the ground spread like a snow angel rattled by the demons in the cage. it comes across dry lips, of the blessed, the words of love that tear through and send you knotty into the world of sanitized. i will call to him there, i will blow great billowy formations of grey smoke through my nose and across teeth (at him). Maybe we could go to the movie sit amongst the smell of armpits and popcorn. maybe there is a television show on and we can sit amongst the smell of ourselves. he will know, he knows everything now before it is lost forever in notes across the piano. alphonsus the music maker will curl his guitar like a child upon his lap. he will know like the river that rolls off towards angel star and tortured second class moon light. he will bless the water, humanity, concrete towers and neon lights. for they struggle, for they are good. then he will play, humming words across his new york lips, tapping his size twelve cracker bread toes. some will call him sexy amongst the light. with the shadows under eyes in the shape of headstones, for all that you lose is dead, every moment that you are moving forward you are killing the current and while you move forward you are omnipotent.
-this is all imagined- write i.
before the words there is the tragedy. the convulsions, the long months of writhing amongst the dust across the floor. trying in vain to become st miracle of the mexican slat board temples imagined in

Preface

'i am titanic

in my greatness

fall fast,

all angeled out

like God's only

penguin'

Dedication

Dedicated to

HR Diamonds
Enough with the Tip Toeing
Fascinating and Gorgeous
Yr a Rainbow in the Dark
(I Imagine)
Now In front of all the dear
Innocent Readers
For Time Immortal
Gimme some time
Outside this place
Don’t make me sit at the bar
Risking getting infected
With whatever boring life
Those bastards got
Who can be Open
Honest
An Talkative
With those thieving
Fuckers around