The best thing about life, Is knowing you put it together

"They look like big strong hands... don't they?"

Water rolls down the skin like tiny beads..
Eyes close so that they might see.
Illum tangendo (touching him)
This sun is a star in someone else's sky
Illum tangendo (touching him)
This moon is making someone cry...
Illum tangendo (touching him)

Captain PirateFace say's "Ahoy!"

Captain PirateFace say's "Ahoy!"
Updated by, Captain PirateFace

The Captain


This is not an Exit

Never Say Die!!!

"the tigers have found me
and I do not care."

Charles Bukowski

there is no fear here

there is no fear here
there is a fear here

Monday, November 27, 2006

Keeping it together. (THE DREAM MACHINE)


Hello. Not much to say really. I hope you all are well. I am tired and not
sleeping enough due to a fantastic cold that refuses to let go. The cough is
the best part of course. Tonight I am going to try and dream something I want
to dream about. I am going to push for a 1940's dance studio with every one
dancing very dramatic, dressed in suspenders and small brown hats. Listening
to very dramatic piano and drum style music. I will let you know how that
works out. If you haven't met my son yet you are not really enjoying life...
He makes things (Things.. A.K.A Life) better.

P. to the S.
If you live in Vegas come see Gina and I at first Friday this Friday
from 5:00P.m. till' 10P.m.
She's got some amazing stuff. Also Frank and Ryne
will be there shaking their booty's.

On with the new shite poetry.

Love and Mexican Food,


When the time is right.

The sea will calm to a still and the sky will storm heavy.

Our hearts will explode or get torn up.

I will be walking with arms extended and hands held out feeling for rain.

With my feet heavy and soul weighed down I will struggle to avoid drowning
in my own tears.
I have a feeling it will be televised for the whole world to see.
Finally getting back at me for all those past transgressions that haunt me to this very day.

I ask forgiveness now because my apologies later on will be forced and deceitful.
I think about Jesus having it easy in comparison.
I will probably feel badly later on for that blasphemous thought.


the waste of it all

She is just like you.

A running joke and a dramatic violent punch line.

I remember seeing her cry in an almost human way.

She could fool the devil out of the deed to Hell.

She was my favorite moment, for a short period of time.

No little girl could have been more destined to break me up.

To take apart the man I had thus so far become.

Now I am no man at all.
Back to the boy.
Back to the fear.
Thank you so very much.

They feel sick

When God gave up and put his faith into man...

When the paper is crowded with little diatribes of love and perversion...

When the air tastes like those kisses that plague every knowing mouth...
Is when we have all given up and given in.

When they get together and break free from the choke chains and the familiar taste of blood in the mouth.
The night will be as fierce as it ever was before.
And these God damned animals will chase away into the darkness.

I close my eyes

I feel eruptive.

Like choking the life from whatever is in reach of my large unreliable hands.
I feel broken hearted.
Hidden lovers begging for a piece of what I can no longer ever give again.
I feel empathetic.

They are hurting and I am hurting and the whole of it all is hurting.

Every time I close my eyes...

I am afraid of where I will be the next time.

Sifting through my head in the darkness.

a thought and a condolence to the weepers

I have gotten too old in my skin.

My head is heavy full of tears.

When I weep I do it alone.

And when I sob…
I am still here.
I can’t fix you or us or myself.
I can’t scab up the wound and heal.

I can’t kiss the pain away.
My gash’s are open sores exposed and weak.

All I could ever do was soak up the pain and join in.

I am now a careless soul and have taken up refuge with the weepers.

What a proud clan of cowards we are.

leap from the mortal coil

Big party where all can pretend to have been my friend.
Put on some music and dance around the meat.

Love letters stuffed in the cheap suite.

And a photograph of an angel Gabriel.

A perfect evening to a dismal end?

Loved you all.

Far too long.

Dirty old men will write dirty little notes

Picked a fight and lost.
Nose swollen and Jesus Christ’s cross stuck violently into my right hand knuckles.

I bleed when I piss and I piss when I drink and I love hard when I drink
I hardly love when I don’t.
Little erotic messages handed off to dried up waitresses in coffee stained aprons.
Red hand prints across my wrinkled mangled face.

A hero’s hero.

An Adonis and Hercules in the body of a corpse.

I win.

I paid every penny I could find from the eyes of the dead.

I could have begged.
I remember hands upon me before the body fell apart.
I taught all my best tricks and now sit empty handed.
I am fooled.

I am fool.
Let me show you the way.

I can paint your corner black and shove your face into the darkness.

I will promise to be tender and will never laugh at your discomfort that I will provide.

It’s only love bites when the moon is full and my jaw snaps around your tender neck.
Smile at me because I promise I am smiling at you.


Dance with fat boy

I promise an over whelming experience.
Chubby digits holding tight to the waist and tangled in your thick head.
Slick with sweat and hideous you can’t help but fall in love while disgust sets in.

Slow dance and imagine a perfect prince in the warmth of bodies held close,
while rhythm sets in with beautiful music.

Then the terror sets in that every one is watching you and you stare wide eyed at
this grinning mouth that has eaten it’s share of horrible lonely meals.

Our truth is hidden in our lies.
I love you anyhow .

And I know that you love me…
wherever I may be in this monster suit.

The longest river and the farthest sea

The water connected and things started making sense.

We could see the dark outlines of animals unrecognizable drinking from the river.
The reflective silver moon.

The stars burning bright over our small souls.
The smell of wet vegetation.

The smell of a warm spring evening with a slight chilled breeze.

Maybe we forgot to take the right pills again.


Saturday, November 18, 2006

Kill the head and the body will follow.

Just a little post of pure "Cheese" writing.
Thank you few champions of my curios ramblings...
you give me an excuse to vent my lunatic wares.

As Ali G would say... "Respect"

Captain PirateFace

Me, now, tore up.


I was a cherry bomb and she was atomic (a whole other thing)

Even these days I am a small explosion compared to her.
I would burn up and crisp just getting close to her.
As I had in the past, time and time again.
And if my heavy heart cant take me away from her brilliant
light fast enough…
All that will be left of me will be a shadow on the wall.
Distant and arms raised with all the other damn fools.

Kill the head and the body will follow

I am sitting here and
the world around me moves on.
Keeps breathing.
I ask to start all over again.
To non-existent ears.
I ask what this thing is I have become?
Not even the ghosts respond to my wanting question.
Selfishly I disappear from the world.
They all have yet to notice.
Leaving the self pity behind.
I exchange it for a friendly wave goodbye.
A warm smile.
And a full heart in an empty shell.
Wandering into the void.
I want to be missed and I know I can be replaced.
But for only a moment I pretend that’s a lie.
That there is no other.
Sometimes we love too strongly.
And, sometimes I hate too strongly.
Sometimes I give up too easily.
But, can you really blame me?

There is an answer to this riddle

I breath in life and poison and children’s little white lies.
I exhale violence and empathy and abusive language.
I am not calling it quits… yet.
I will not plea insanity.
I crawl along on broken feet and bloodied knees.
Hope is my painkiller.
Love my emergency medic.
I am not trapped inside this fishbowl of dread and doom.
I am standing behind it looking for a clear glance through.
I want to defend and prevail and be courage and savior.
I want to pull the bones from the dirt and hand back the souls.
I am not in the dark.
I am in silent film grey.
And I love you all…an>
Even when I lose sight through the bad dreams and lonesome days.

I will sift through the collective night terrors and find small pieces
of our humanity and put it all back together.
Even if it may be Frankenstein’s monster, almost too horrid and heartbreaking,
but yet still sweet enough to enjoy those tiny flowers next to a sun filled stream.
I will bring those monsters into the light and we can enjoy this together.

Marion from "Wings of Desire":

Longing for a wave of love that would stir in me.
That's what makes me clumsy.
The absence of pleasure.
Desire for love.
Desire to love.

goodnight kiddo's

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Devil Town


"Devil Town" by Daniel Johnston

I was living in a devil town
I didn't know it was a devil town
Oh lord it really brings me down about the devil town

All my friends were vampires
I didn't know they were vampires
It turns out I was a vampire myself in the devil town

I was living in a devil town
I didn't know it was a devil town
Oh lord it really brings me down about the devil town

All my friends were vampires
I didn't know they were vampires
It turns out I was a vampire myself in the devil town

I was living in a devil town
I didn't know it was a devil town
Oh lord it really brings me down about the devil town

About the devil town

I was living in a devil town
I didn't know it was a devil town
Oh lord it really brings me down about the devil town

Hello friends and whomever else visits this land of doom (ooh spooky!)

I have been sick lately... a cold and then a flu and still yet a cold. At least I didn't catch scurvy eh? Writing a wee bit, I really want to get back in that groove. Joined "Netflix" so I now have a reason to not sit depressed at my keyboard looking for obscure music and odd pornography.
Now I can sit depressed watching 70's Grindhouse T&A Terror Drive in films. I have been immersing myself in music lately (more than usual), I highly recommend these artist's:

The Arcade Fire
("Cold Wind", "Crown of Love" and "Neighborhood #1" to name a few to illegally download)

Daniel Johnston
("Devil Town", "The story of an artist", "Casper the friendly ghost" and "Careless Soul" are some fine shining examples of his genius... also rent if you can on DVD "The Devil and Daniel Johnston" it is heartbreaking and amazing, and really hit home for me in some odd ways.)

A Whisper in the Noise
("Times they are a changin'"and "The tale of two doves")

and last but not least... Iron & Wine
("Such great heights", "Jesus the mexican boy", "Naked as we came" and "The sea and the rhythm" are great listens.)

Anyhow, sorry about the brief music 101.
Here are some poems.

Love Captain PirateFace


I have waited

I have given up on time.
Time keeps coma victims in the dark.
Time killed my childhood.
I watch the days go by.
Some days I am a hero.
Some days I am a bastard.
And most days I am just nothing.
I sometimes wonder if she still thinks about me.
Does she sometimes still love me?
Or has time killed that away from her as well.
Most days the look in her eyes holds all the answers.
Filling her heart with limitless lies.
Tonight the air is too cold to breath in.
I think it must be me.
It usually is.



The kids hate me

I am going to be...
"The scary old guy"
looking out my window
old man hands pushed up against the window while
gritting my teeth.
As the kids cut through my yard I will be the one throwing
Little wooden crucified Christ's at them screaming "Repent! Repent
You pungent little fucks".
Just for kicks.



The scars that we give

We are a cult of self terrorists.
Genocide of our souls.
Cutting it all into precision.
Pretending it's beauty.
Pretending for beauty.
Who has the worst scars?
Does it have any meaning?
A landmass with crawling insect humanity,
Whining out loud begging for easy and for
greed and for lust and for more drama.
We all want our war scars.
If it seems interesting maybe something can love us for it?
Pity or love us, it really doesn’t matter.
When the collective back breaks I will pray to something
For us all...
Through the scars of my heart and through
The scars of my soul.
As the lunatics take over this hospital.


Discarded like so many others

A small pile of skulls rests ready to tumble in a dark lonely corner.
Grinning with empty black eye holes and various sized teeth.
Lipless things that once promised the moon.
Hard bone face's that once held skin caressed in a moment of ecstasy.
Now just a group of body-less things.
No more thoughts and no more promises.
No more tears and no more laugh lines.
Just a group of nameless bone faces staring into nothing.
And we don't think there is humor in death?


suicide letters and goodbye lectures

It begins with self pity and regrets,
Blame and humor and fire and the attempt at being witty.
Sometimes short and bland and full of nothing.
Sometimes flowery poetic and tragic and written in the hopes
that it will be shown to the world.
Ghosts writing letters about being ghosts.
I will leave a blank page.


poet wakes up and screams out loud...
"What is this shit I have been writing!?!?"

each little thought and each little line in each little poem,
is the poets babies.
I look at the work I have created and want to murder my children.


Devil Days and Listless Nights

Satan has a keen eye.
Fixed on my tormented soul.
And I know that I have forgotten heaven and Jesus.
And God, has forgotten me.
I run from the devil.
Through sunny days,
Through lonely days,
Through happy days.
I am getting older and gaining more weight,
More health problems and more mental problems.
And Satan gets less interested by the day.
One day when I am at the weakest and sickest...
They will all have forgotten me.
And my soul will be mine once again,
If only for a moment.


Beautiful music is in my head and making me crazy

I want to sing out at inappropriate times.
At funerals and when I am being scolded by my wife.
When my son is screaming a tantrum.
When the bills are piling up and things are getting shut off.
When I am sitting fat and slumped crying my eyes out at this
piece of shit machine.
The songs in my head are beautiful and loud.
Tragic and breathtaking.
And they make it all so much worse.


cowardice and hope
(and the hope for more cowardice)

I am not in denial.
I wish I could feel different than I feel normally.
Every time I lose myself I prepare to meet my God.
If I die sad and facing judgment,
Then I do so with a smile.
My heart swells and grows with love and disease
and blood and desire.
I walk away from it all wiping my hands clean.
The only blood there is mine.
And all your well wishing cannot save me.
All your parlor tricks and guilt gifts cannot save me.
All your old photographs and memories of a once hope full
little boy, will not save me.
Do me the favor and just save yourself.


guessing games

what will he say next?
I can hear the invalid scraping by on a wood box with three swivel wheels.
I know I don't deserve all that attention.
More than most fat men can muster.
The lazy eyed girl winks too many times and may be having a seizure, or she's
falling in love with me.
I am disturbing the sensibilities of my grandparents.
I hear them sigh almost a whole continent away praying next to their beds asking
God, "Why cant you fix him Lord?"
The sun shines on my face exposing a limitless amount of ugliness.
And I smile at those few clouds dangling from the sky.
The trick is on them.
I get to keep my feet on the ground and feed the ghosts little pieces of my muse.
The devil grabs at my feet and I calmly walk away.
When the smell of fresh cut grass hits my sinus cavity, I am already thinking
of ways to seduce my wife and fail.
I can’t wait to be a martyr.
And if I am lucky... an action figure may follow.

Thats it kids, I leave you with the lyrics to Daniel Johnston's song...
"The story of an artist"

Listen up and I'll tell a story
About an artist growing old
Some would try for fame and glory
Others aren't so bold

Everyone, and friends and family
Saying, "Hey! Get a job!"
"Why do you only do that only?
Why are you so odd?
We don't really like what you do.
We don't think anyone ever will.
It's a problem that you have,
And this problem's made you ill."

Listen up and I'll tell a story
About an artist growing old
Some would try for fame and glory
Others aren't so bold

The artist walks alone
Someone says behind his back,
"He's got his gall to call himself that!
He doesn't even know where he's at!"
The artist walks among the flowers
Appreciating the sun
He does this all his waking hours
But is it really so wrong?

They sit in front of their TV
Saying, "Hey! This is fun!"
And they laugh at the artist
Saying, "He doesn't know how to have fun."
The best things in life are truly free
Singing birds and laughing bees
"You've got me wrong", says he.
"The sun don't shine in your TV"

Listen up and I'll tell a story
About an artist growing old
Some would try for fame and glory
Others aren't so bold

Everyone, and friends and family
Saying, "Hey! Get a job!"
"Why do you only do that only?
Why are you so odd?
We don't really like what you do.
We don't think anyone ever will.
It's a problem that you have,
And this problem's made you ill."

Listen up and I'll tell a story
About an artist growing old.
Some would try for fame and glory
Others just like to watch the world.


Captain PirateFace

Friday, November 03, 2006

How can you save me when you can't save yourself?

"nothing can save
it keeps the walls

Charles Bukowski