• hibernate
    poetry

    hibernate

    … we ‘ re sorry to interrupt your routine benightedness w / a breaKing extend / d weather forecast alert . itchy , darK clouds have been spot / d mushrooming the sKy above a single , suburbanite home – occupy / d by a mysterious n rarely seen white middle – aged male – on the corner of a quaint n unsuspecting neighborhood cul – de – sac . neighbors here claim that not a droplet of rain has drip / d beyond his perfidious picKet fence . in fact , they say their prayers have been answer / d . this storm , to them , is vengeful…

  • exorcism
    poetry

    bloodline of degenerates

    escape repetition of inherit / d hex before the cocoon / d parasite awakens to Kill host n piss in the genepool , pollute runnel of innocence , forever . meddled toxins n poisons soften the edges of a rough life , quiver residual sin , bury / d , seeps into bloodstream , gentile pleasantries , he floats away , always . addiction pierces the flesh of victims , venomous , razor – sharp fangs pricK / d in tetanus n freed by severing the serpent ‘ s head , only . bullish at – home bludgeoning , blacK bloodletting , bespatter / d wallpaper , crucifix hung crooKedly…

  • anarchy at berKeley
    prose

    slugs of ivory

    romanticize the rosy lens / d rebellion n marKet the subculture of defiance . resist authority cloaK / d as guidance ; manipulative gateKeepers of the antiquated patriarch of old money . they wouldn ‘ t listen to your squeaKy throat / d , childish objections . regretfully , the elevated heights of their ivory tower didn ‘ t stimulated your crude voice into a deepen / d maturity , yet . they hear you , but still don ‘ t listen . they yell louder w / high – mind / d confidence booming w / intellectual supremacy . script / d vernacular of oppositional ideology that maKes them…

  • poetry

    naris blood

    naris blood / d w / a scab / d history of a grub / d n dragging stare , trails flood / d w / puny n pungent specKs of perfumed decay floating  in the bacK – alley , gutter overflow / d w / bloat / d n spongey pests w / wet / d manes n mat / d furs . cross – leg / d stranger cloaK / d in tatter / d threads of mystic , gently whistles on the sidewalK , serpents unbury / d by pungi , yanK / d w / hums of slumber into pretty wicKer prisons , recoil / d…

  • prose

    seagull

    one leg / d seagull lays on the fallen lamp post beside the trash bin in the empty parKing lot of a lost n forgotten rest stop on the long n stretch / d highway that leads nowhere n everywhere both at once n not at all . home . the seagull waits for the pecK / d scraps to drop behind the trash bin w / the snapping lid that bit his web /d leg clean off . it ‘ s still hanging there , wilt / d liKe a dried up worm in the hot prairie ‘ s sun . follow n liKe bj draKe

  • creamy
    prose

    when inspiration winks

    when inspiration winKs , it ‘ s liKe masturbating ; you turn the lights out n learn to go w / it . commit w / o a safety word n no pause . you don ‘ t know when it ‘ ll winK . chances are , it will come when the hi – def camera slowly zooms into ( in – to ) a scruffy butthole . it ‘ ll pass , right ? focus , bro , on his scruffy butthole b / c it ‘ s coming . fucK . fucK . fucKery . winK . maKe art n get out w / half of a chew…

  • fishbowl
    prose

    wedding ring

    a few months ago , we went on a biKe ride at the river . we stop / d by a shallow , shaded creeK so my daughter could dip her warm n pudgy toes . i tooK off my bicycle gloves to play w / her n have a snacK . later , i was telling a lively story w / my hands when i felt liKe something was missing . i had lost my blacK wedding ring ! fucKery ! it must ‘ ve slip / d free when i tooK off my gloves to play in the water ! my fingers are sKinny n the ring was…

  • wise
    prose

    recompense

    my lower chaKras were balanced n buzz / d by binaural beats n psilocybin mushrooms when a stranger ‘ s voice gently remind / d me that ” the fleshly vessel can accomplish greatness only once it surrenders  ” n he shh / d his insight n explain / d no further as i melt / d into a Karnapidasana pose . three heavy hours later , w / my crown chaKra illuminated n unclutter / d , i limberly tip toed pass / d a mirror when that same voice – no longer strange – was jilt / d w / me for not pondering his riddle n so…

  • bored
    prose

    bored

    she stared out the window n mumbled how brave i had been for quitting my job . ” brave ? ” i asK / d w / my eyebrow cocK / d , ” you know i hated that job . “ ” yeah ” she replied w / a shrug liKe we ‘ re supposed to hate our job . ” that made it easy . “ ” well , ” her necK twisting to remonstrate w / me , ” i could never do that . “ ” quit something you hate ? “ ” i guess , ” she sigh / d . i tsK / d . ”…

  • poetry

    mimicry

    hands balance my head as shadows stretch in the light then retreat behind my wall of me . hidden from view . empty room where the truth is spoken , but never leaves . groans escape me muting unripe ideas . Keep them mumbled . let them grow . first impressions fade to the last w/ only one chance . electric zizz penetrates through the tirelessly nurtured noiselessness , mucKing my foundation ; I sinK . stolen words scream  for my attention ; but are those words mine ? regurgitated thievery that is forever imitating all that’s been recycled, before . inspiration whisper / d in a voice not my…

  • poetry

    natural born sinners

    carnivorous lust of succulently weaK n luscious flesh marinated w / cloves forbs n grass basting in the intestine’s gastric juices , bubble n boil , decay n caramelize the misty moisture a buoyant soul now liberated sanctimoniously purged of sin purity absorb/d in mucosa to rejuvenate atrophy/d holy triad the decay of autumn dry/d by a hungry winter hidden in the deaden/d n hollow/d void bloody n froze consume for survival ; preordain/d awaKen/d fry/d  n flaKing sKin baKed on stony tabernacle soul stain/d w / smoKy blur , blind/d n slip descend/d slide on belly rubbing loose the old sKin that holds sin shedding . follow n liKe…

  • prose

    blacK mirror/d

    the junKy’s dorito greased fingertips slid thru Instagram n he splutter/d “ at least it’s not heroine . ” I destruct/d FacebooK long ago . my addiction simply cracK/d it’s necK n found a fresh vain . i wiped instagram clean . it became a bored exercise of an arthritic thumb . n the advertisements made it less punK . i’m not quitting b/c i thinK the platform is involved in some grandiose conspiracy to manipulate n indoctrinate n distract the log/d on, but liKely they are . the reason to struggle thru withdrawal ; simple … we’re swiping away the minutes of life scanning sponsored content n curated peeKs…

  • poetry

    i

    two eyes ogle at the glinting of a candyfloss/d wonderland, transfix/d with ersatz trinKets n manifestations, blips n blinKs of conspicuous nothingness, impertinent inter- ruptions melting sweet sugary snowflaKes hung on eyelids like diabetes of the THIRD i. follow n liKe bj draKe

  • poetry

    blinK/d

    from higher frequencies borderless vibrations, away from THE third observer, who never judges whose bacK is turn’d towards an artificial trompe l’oeil, a taciturn gate-keeper, who, dress’d in rags, perches amid the pair of foolishly wandered eyes, an unarmed watcher, guardian of a connection lost once it is bombarded with stupefacient stimuli until it is brimming w/an uproar of nothingness and defeat’d, replete, familiarly relax’d, comfort’d in routine, lethargic, sunK’n into a couch conformed to the pathetic blobby vessel, held up on the bony shoulders of devilish brethren, who cackle w/the live (?) studio audience as the flame of your i is blown out. blinK’d. follow n liKe bj draKe

  • blog

    End.

    A chapter has ended in my life and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Nervous? Slightly, but that’s because I saw the murky light at the end of the corporate middle-management tunnel and there was a wheelbarrow half-full of money glowing in stink flies. “All you have to do to get that money is shake the Devil’s calloused claw and sign on the dotted line; in blood, of course. Oh, and … just the tip, that’s all. Promise.” Nothing is free. There’s a trade-off for everything. It’s ignorant of the peasant to think he could impress the King enough to befriend him and even more sloppy to think his new friend…

  • poetry

    dead celebrities

    idols naively revered adorn bacchic rituals with enlighten/d vomit wither/d weedy worshiping junK jack daniels lobotomy unhinge shame, freely dance you drunken fool we are here, now satiate our egos sedate our voids entertain us epileptic ricKety stool blacKout nembutal, remington model 11 smith and wesson 645, seconal second-hand advice for insomniac polluted celebrities needn’t use loose powder raw impure feral upset status quo cul-de-sac boredom awaKe terrorized disquieted dwellings tv rerun protégés follow n liKe bj draKe

  • prose

    deflated

    the recess bell clang/d n the hallways flood/d w/sneaKers n bacKpacKs n granola bar wrappers, exit doors batter/d n bulged n burst thru, “the levy’s fail/d,” grunts, pufferfish n butterfly fish meander/d thru poky streams that puddled together to form festering mud pits. i saunter/d w/my soccer ball clutch/d closely n noticed Kids weren’t waiting for me the soccer ball, tossing ’round an ol’ pig sKin football instead, n they laugh/d at my “girls” ball n told me what to do to come join them. “no.” i trudged to the desolate tennis court n KicK/d the soccer ball flat. follow n liKe bj draKe

  • poetry

    laborer’s maladies

    labor (lā′bər) : n. a refused n outdated worK model actively being replaced with technology by men without callused palms vowing to program away the imagined turmoil of honest, hard-worKing sweat worKing man has no time for imagination mastery of amnesic repetition is profitable proper worK flow is poetic on a green-chain nirvana in mundane mill-worK mindlessness pump petroleum polluting any vision of tomorrow the buzz of the worKer bee satisfies the queen tithe wage n divide taxes nicKels to downtrodden drunKs n druggies n inattentive moms w/false-pride entitled n exaggerated self-image won’t wear a uniform name-tag; born deserved generational ‘ting. follow n liKe bj draKe

  • blog

    There’s a War Going On(line) No Prolife is Safe From

    Hunter S. Thompson feared the worst on January 20th, 2005. He countlessly warned against the re-election of the baby orangutan for president, George W. Bush Jr., as it would clearly mark the end of days. A societal breakdown at free-falling speeds. The end of hope. Bang. I dealt with the letdown by beginning a politically-charged blog surging with accusatory allegations, cocaine fueled conspiracy’s and the cursory language of a man who drank himself into a tormenting psychosis. I became consumed. Obsessed. Thousands of words a night. Unfiltered, rarely edited free-thought. Kerouac’s alcoholic spirit stuttered my sentences longer than a rock tossed towards a stage at an Antifa disruption. Outlandish allegation…

  • poetry

    vapassana

    sit ; cross your legs , open your palms , close your eyes n be quiet . w / o hesitation , in whirl the conscious layers of daily thoughts , radio chatter n gossip that confuse the silence . the day’s blah-blah-blah . sport statistics , the weather , tv commercials . acKnowledge these distractions n let them go ; quicK taste of a silent mind . until silence is broken . more mundane confrontations / conversations of real / perceived images that attacK / validate your nine-to-five ego n question your self-worth . acKnowledge these distractions n let them go ; silence is lengthen/d as you go deeper…

  • prose

    the voice

    from a faint whisper grew a harden/d n hateful voice that crawl/d from the bacK of my head n squat/d at the forefront of my mind n there he has rest/d since the inception of consciousness.  rent-free w / no chores . he squander/d his godliKe powers ; he couldn’t be bother/d n so i stay/d a lump of clay that slouch/d into itself . he was quiet , pretend/d to be dormant n sleep through my childhood . unconcern/d , he allow/d me to wander , naïvely thru the world that he hid from ; awaiting at home to criticise the adventure , later . he had fail/d in…

  • blog

    Was Trump’s G7 Temper Tantrum A Manipulative Tactic of Power Posturing Ahead of North Korean Meeting?

    President Trump’s latest Twitter tantrum after the G7 meeting in Quebec, Canada raised my conspiracist eyebrows in a weed-hazed wonder; has Trump truly gone rogue by igniting a trade war with his closest allies only days before his meeting with the world’s most concerning and unstable leader; North Korea Prime Minister, Kim Jong-un? Or has Trump’s trolling reached the Kanye West Scoop de Woop level of LARPing? What strikes me as odd is that for the last week there has been non-stop coverage on NPR and CBC Radio about Trump’s vocalized disinterest in attending the annual G7 summit.  He had bigger, more important things to do. There’s also been endless…

  • prose

    perfectionism

    * disclaimer *  due to personal failure / inability , this blog post has been automatically deleted by pre-enabled plug-ins that filter out all material that doesn’t meet the exaggerated standards set by bj draKe.  this blog post has violated pre-agreed upon terms of contract ( DELETE button has reached its usable limit – error code : 010 – 2742084 ) n will be terminated immediately . we apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused n time it may have wasted . sincerely , perfectionism . follow n liKe bj draKe

  • prose

    comfort . is . in . routine .

    you drove pass/d that warehouse every morning as mom drove you to school n now she drops you off there to worK . you wear a uniform n call it a career n no one is the wiser ? you’ve flush/d hope n potential down the same drain as vomit/d pabst blue ribbon n beef eater gin . the struggle of the artist has been replaced w / the suffocating stability of living cheque – to – cheque . just like dad said , ” comfort . is . in . routine . “   follow n liKe bj draKe

  • blog

    faKe news

    ( trigger warnings : most of them ) ( disclaimer: on November 8th 2016 i suffer/d a traumatic brain injury , n that’s not my jab at trump’s victory that same day .  i must’ve wrote this three weeKs into my injury ; around the beginning of december .  i publish this not b / c i’m proud of it , but b / c it is so … odd .  hate fill/d .  i was at my worst when i wrote this n it would’ve been one of the last pieces i wrote for nearly two years .   i don’t remember much of this time , though i do…

  • blog

    welcum to bj draKe

    I’m an introvert and I need my alone time. But, I’m also a father, now. So, it becomes selfish if I’m running away to my office every evening to be by myself. Especially when I’m coming up empty handed. “Were you jerking off downstairs?” my wife asks me every single night as I crawl into bed. “No” I reply, half-guilty. “Then what were you doing down there?” she says, as she breathes deep trying to smell if there is a hint of you’re lying in the air. “I wrote, babe. You know that.” “You should’ve written the Harry Potter chronicles by now,” she mumbles, “oh wait, you are Harry Potter,…

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