past-present-what future?

So, This is what was happening before....




And this is the day of my failure in trying out for school police...
"WARNING: Very melow dramatic"





and this is rain on a security cam in Las Vegas...

The Devestation of being the only one "not" in on the joke

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small enough to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up, to be among those in the know, or else be alone.

-Rainer Maria Rilke-

Today I tried out for school police.... I passed:
The Vertical Jump
The Push Up's test
The Sit Up's test
and the 300 yard dash

all on a wrapped sprang ankle.

On the mile and a half hat you have to complete in 17 min 17 sec,
I failed by 20 seconds.

The Pain was excruciating and I feel like a major loser.
I get to try again in 4 month's.
Somehow I will make it.

Guess it sucks to be me.

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On a lighter note.....
Oh fuck, there ain't one.
______________________________________________________

Coming Monday... Updates through the "Almighty Youtube" Viddies! Stuff that has gone down in the last few days/week's? and below is some crap I wrote... about....crap.
_______________________________________________________

Falling away

Like Alice on her decent to Wonderland we slowly fall.
Focusing on the pictures in the picture frame.
Smiling faces long gone and no longer grinning…
Makes me lay them face down…
I can’t bear to see them so happy.
And, Their eyes seem to follow me around the room as if to say
“It’s ok to smile still kiddo.”
So I lay back on a comfortable bed and listen to the silence.
Half asleep I daydream about you.
And you can’t stop that.
You cannot command away my memory.
How long can this faded photo in my mind last anyway?
When it was me you would smile at…
no camera, no forced smile…
Just a natural smile all glowing and real for me.


The wave sweeping in.

I have long hallways staring me down whenever I walk ghostly through my home in the odd hours of night.
I leave the apartment and climb into the car and sit staring at the ignition…
I want to leave but have nowhere to go.
The key never finds it’s place…
but my head knows where to go…
crashing down into the palms of my fat hands, at the ready to catch the tears that almost always come.
I imagine being covered in an immense wave that comes crashing through the empty cars around me and drowning out the sickening casino neon of theLas Vegas Strip.
Cleansed…
washed away.
But I open those tired eyes I have trained to stay open, but never awake.
All is the same.
I walk back to the apartment where the door is ready to swallow me whole.
So I can sit alone with terrible thoughts in the lonely belly of this Apartment.
Waiting for something that I can be damn sure will never arrive.


And he shot me dead.

I know this kid,
This devil of an angel…
This sweet faced terror who gives out the warmest hugs and vicious bites.
My little boy, Gabriel.
My son.
My only fan and truest friend.
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know any better…
Like my wife says.
But I like to think he does.
It’s nice to be somebody’s buddy and best pal.
He makes the repetitious visits to the Natural History Museum always seem new and exciting,
Even though we go at least once a week.
And it’s moments like now that I miss him the most.


The clouds looked amazing today

Momentarily, I forgot all the trouble in my head.
I looked up and saw a penetrating blue sky with the occasional dark cloud floating along.
The wind was gentle and cool.
The clouds looked like handguns and ships from “Star Wars: Episode IV, A New Hope”.
And the low background chatter seemed to drop away if only for seconds while my mind lifted up with those beautiful clouds in that blue painted sky.
I felt like I was floating and realized I was humming a cover song by Cat Power.
I guess reality shifted again and my mind came crashing down reminding me how fragile I had become.
And as I walked back into the building I felt a tinge of sadness sneak up in my throat,
like I had been unplugged…
Disconnected.

I think that’s how most things end for me, a little sad, a little like being unplugged.
Sounds like me.

“Come with me, my love… to the sea, the sea of love….”


So many places to be and nobody wants you there.

Phantom horse head looking straight through my guts and into my sublime future.
Big white eyes swirling with dark storm clouds and grey dead skin.
Love notes in my mailbox addressed to no one in particular
heavy with the weight of heavy words.
My smile is so fake I wonder to myself when trying it out if it’s noticeable?
My pillow has become ragged and torn from the constant hugging while I lay alone in a spare room on a spare bed with my spare heart where the good one used to be.
Unfortunately there is no Wizard of OZ in these here parts.
No Miracle Men or Women.
Prayers are answered by a mute silence that almost makes the hearing fear that they have become deaf.
Not me though, I am deaf and dumb.
I am the worst pirate who ever lived.
Though, I can still give a hearty pirate laugh… given the circumstances.
I think to myself I am just a kid…
Just learning how to get through life…
And then remember I am almost thirty.
A long time since the word “kid” could apply to me.
I don’t laugh near as much as I used to and really only have myself to blame.
I wrap my dead body in a sheet and toss it off a cliff in Red Rock Canyon,
Throwing back my head and laughing maniacally…
But suddenly stop, remembering that the car keys were in my pocket now at the bottom of the cliff with my broken dead body.

It will be a long walk home I guess… It always is.


This sun has given it's last sunset, as it falls down dead...
crashing in a cold bottomless ocean.

How many bottles have I tossed out into this dark and brooding sea?
How many have crashed against some bit of rock and sunk my messages to the bottom of the ocean?
Do the fish read my letters?
Do they share my concerns?
Do my letters make them cry?

Now it's dark.
It feels like the sun, on it's last glorious setting committed suicide and plunged itself into
the icy depths of salt water.
Bringing it's shining corpse to the bottom... littered with crabs, broken bottles and pathetic sad love letters written by yours truly.

But it's all make believe isn't it?
The sun will rise again, far away from the ocean, the clouds and this planet.
I can't even send my messages in bottles.
I have no ocean.
I have a desert eating up all the color that surrounds the neon city I call home.
I can crumple up a paper with something scrawled across it's body and let the desert wind pull it slowly from my hands.
Blowing away on heated air current.

Nobody picks up the garbage in this town...
it just tumbles on and on until it ends up stuck to some metal fence surrounding another piece of desert landscape...
crinkling up under the blazing hot sun that will never set into a rolling ocean.

Not in this place.

I keep my secret messages to myself these days.
Maybe one day my dreams will be realized.
Maybe one day these messages will float along lazily with the oceans current while I watch a blazing hot sun retreat beneath cool, clear waves.

I have the perfect letter set aside for that very day.


The day is young and you are getting old.

Some force field keeps you safe from:

The wrinkled old men hands that want to sneak up your thigh so badly that they would embrace a full on face slap any day for.
The cat calls from math geeks gone goth with gigantic skull belts, trench coats and Insane Clown Posse shirts.
The careless world full of random vicious "hurt" that tears normal folks screaming from their car seats and creates drunken bare knuckle, skinned knuckle fights in the back alleys of dive bars inhabited by out of work prostitutes and old men with misshapen twisted faces taking tiny sips from beer they can barely afford.

I want to say you must be an angel, but to say that would sound so cliche and phony.
Though the category still wouldn't suit you as angels could never be on your level. You are that girl.

The one that makes us sad little writers want to sugar coat every sentence and make every word drip with mushy goofiness. The stuff that makes pretty girls wince. So sweet it makes you sick. Like, vomit.

But baby you are getting old.

Those looks that set the world on a spin are going to fade.
So will these words written down specifically for you.
New poems and sonnets full of sugary narcotic laced words will be written for a younger, cleaner, up to date youthful version of you...
as you my pretty girl, waste away.
Wilt.

Luckily some of us start ugly, stay ugly and die that way too.
But my dear we have our memories of you...
of course only the you we liked best.







Shallow like the masses

I wave at the addicted masses injecting their born again, suicide bombing, bargain basement Gods, Angels, Deities and Cult leaders.
Waltzing to organ music while pickpocketing the small change and leaving little plastic crosses in it's place.
And my God looks at me and shrugs her shoulders saying...
"I don't get it either."











Goodnight Amigo's
Lot's of Love and all that fucking, God Damn, Shite.....

Milk and Kisses.

Captain PirateFace


How shall I hold on to my soul, so that
it does not touch yours? How shall I lift
it gently up over you on to other things?
I would so very much like to tuck it away
among long lost objects in the dark,
in some quiet, unknown place, somewhere
which remains motionless when your depths resound.
And yet everything which touches us, you and me,
takes us together like a single bow,
drawing out from two strings but one voice.
On which instrument are we strung?
And which violinist holds us in his hand?
O sweetest of songs.

-Rainer Maria Rilke-

hey babe... take a walk on the wild side..

Hellllloooooo.

Long time no gum flap eh?
Saw the Sin City RollerGirls in action tonight...
such a cool thing to see roller derby live.
It's a helluva thing.

it's 3:40am and I am fighting off sleep as I know I have an appointment with getting my tired ass to the 2nd job at 1:30pm that lasts a full 8 hours until 9:30pm....f-u-c-k..........

The last of the iron men, parade of meat puppets

who is this villain staring back at me from the mirror?

When I get to Hell I will be greeted "Warmly".... hehehe










She gave me her love like a mouth full of rusted screws.

Sour was the hard taste that would overcome my senses
when we pulled away from a kiss.
She left me exposed like a raw nerve.
Pained and unforgotten.
I couldn't shake her...
like a bad dream that continues to haunt me throughout my daytime thoughts.
My routine has been disrupted and consumed by the guilt of lusting after you.
Loving you has taught me how to die slowly...
And I can feel it when we kiss, when we embrace.
I can't help but feel you are enjoying every minute.



Putting the penny on the train tracks.

Swallowing a cool liquid from a metal flask that has been safely guarded in my pants pocket.
I couldn't really stand to be here in the first place...
With this terrible moonlight making every smile seem wicked and cold.
I swallow another drink and hope the burning in my throat and chest erases all hint of the shaking in my voice.
Every corner I find keeps me in constant lonesome company, Pleasing the crowd that this outsider remains outside.
I swallow another drink.
It could be Drano and I would still sip away... trying to fade myself out of existence.
I remember the days I would walk a creature of the night to it's front door and supply an injection of romance with one teasing kiss goodnight.
Lightly patting away a few tears of want and need.
Now I find myself in strange restrooms splashing my face with cold tap water drying tears that belong only to the wreck standing before me, filling up the mirror with a fat man's girth.
I just can't help ruining it all...
I swallow another drink and hope as I finish the flask's contents that it may be that mysterious last drop that sends me home crashing onto a lonely bed.
And I forget that it's empty holding it above my head and waiting for a drop of liquid that will never come.
And I always wait too long.


The sky is on fire and the souls go tearing from our boring bodies to get in on the action.

We are nowhere.
The clock ticks away at a numberless face where the minute hand hangs loose and dead pointing straight to hell.
The smell of sex in the air brings out the bastards from their dank and dark places too horrible for us "decent" folks to even consider going.
I wave at a group of amputee's and wait patiently for them to wave back and only get dagger eyes and a unconfirmed curse word.
I am breathing in the longing and fear and panic and love of the world around me.
And when I shower I can't decide if I want to leave the filth on or scrub until the flesh is raw and painful to even a slight caress.
I keep photographs of everyone I have ever fell deeply in love with, only able to look at severed necks as I tore the heads off long ago.
Calling random phone numbers I plead with tears in my eyes and a heavy dose of narcotic's to the listener...
"Fuck it up let's make some God damned noise!"
And as strange as it may seem...
They "almost" always hang up.


Listen to the breathing.

Does this shallow breath coming out in hot steam on this cold winter night signify the breaking heart that is almost audible?
Or,
Is the mind slowing down to a crawl as the sanity is swept into the poison filled insect nest in the corner of those depraved thoughts?
They want to hold you and embrace you and squeeze the life from that shaking body.
Do you need a coat or is this a seizure?
Will it bite or simply drag a dry and wounded tongue across this fist clenched hand?
Those eyes show depth of beauty as you try to form words and tell us how you feel...
what you want to say.
Beautiful eyes that we can see.. that they can see...
beyond the bloodshot and pain.
You would make an exquisite painting, as these photo's do you no justice.
We walk away now almost too embarrassed to have known you at all...
we leave you shaking and gagging and trying to mouth those words that we can't even hear.
Those words that could have meant so much to us.
You spit out the words "I love you"...
but we can't understand you anymore.
You never existed for us...
in fact, we were never here.



Not today.

I obey that fractured heart that still beats softly in my chest.
That heart held together with staples and masking tape, rubber cement and half true promises.
I became a ghost the day I fell in love with you.
Haunting every three steps behind you.
Trying to make sense of the places you had been.
Burying myself under covers that still carry the strong scent of your perfume.
This world has divided us into fools and liars.
And my truest of Love's I think we can be categorized as both, can't we?
But my place is usually alongside the many fools that have loved you.
As you kept the lies strong and nearly believable...
nearly.
I will write and read to you hundreds of poems professing my love.
And you will smile and nod, listening to every single one...
but never really "hearing" them.
I will still be here...
your ghost.
your fool.







Thats all for tonight my friends.

Captain PirateFace








(A Secret fucked up short) Smiling at me, I wonder if she is mentally retarded? The sick bastard thinks to himself... Could be fun... She probably already wears diapers. I wonder if she digs electrocution?

feel the little pieces bleeding through

So, I can breath for a moment. A saint/Angel of a relative is assisting me with some car payments so those fucking bastards don't "try" to repo my car. If it wasn't for this person, or I should say "Person's" I would be fucked... as I usually am.

So's... I have recently met some amazing cat's as of late.
The Amazing Artist couple, Daniel Pearson (www.Danielpearsonart.com) and Heather Nelson and their good friend Jahaira... So much talent in that group of people it makes me feel like a kindergartner with my shitty little poems amongst all those amazing artist's (My wife included).

Also got to know better Skokie, Slade and Andy (The Three of Hearts). Getting to know good people almost made us forget that we only made a shitty $27 at First Friday this month.........
yap.

__________________________________________________________________
If at all interested, the triumphant return of the almighty "Pornography on the Radio" Zine will be available next First Friday full of lovey-dovey poetry in the spirit of Valentines day... Captain PirateFace style of course.

On the "slow news day" front... I started day 2 as a "Asset Protection" guy at "Target"...
woohoo... (and what an odd job it be).

Oh and a small gift for all you "Super Gigantic Captain PirateFace/Pornography on the Radio Fanatics" out there... a reading of my all time favorite crappy poem I have written in MP3 format so's you can stick it on mix cd's you make for your amigo's... So they in return can say...
"Dude... What the Fuck is this shit?"

Click the link below to go to MegaUpload and follow the directions bitch!

The link is highlited "Captain PirateFace's Dramatic Reading of "Tacos Mexico"..."

As of right now that's really all I got...



Captain PirateFace

pushing out the poison and taking in the air

breath


in




breath



out

out


out

and

out.


This song has saved my life so many damn times....

Enjoy.





More shite tonight....

The King of Shite...
Captain PirateFace

pushing out the poison and taking in the air

breath


in




breath



out

out


out

and

out.


This song has saved my life so many damn times....
Enjoy.





More shite tonight....

The King of Shite...
Captain PirateFace

if you walk away, i'll walk away

More bad news from the bank...
getting fucked harder and deeper from them every minuet.
I am broke. as in poor. as in fucked.

my life gets better and better every day.


screw captain pirateface

I give up, I give in...

So, Long time no talk eh?
So how have you been?
Your Holidays good?
How about that New Year eh?

fuck I hope 2008 is better then all this......


Revelations:
_________
Romance dies with marriage and that makes me very sad, and with marriage comes the constant threat of divorce. even though i love the crazy lady.... she just can't get rid of me.
_________________________________________________________
things will never be as magical as they were when you were
a) a little kid
b) a teenager
the end result: being a grown person is balls.
____________________________________________________________________
My bank raped my account (First time it isn't my fault.) My Auto loan vultures swooped in and stole funds right out of my account without my say so... and because of that my bank account got zeroed out and I started acclaiming over draft fee's... over $600.00 ti be exact. It's almost funny... with my life insurance I am worth more dead than alive.
Anybody know how to make it look like an accident?
____________________________________________________________________


the blood in your eyes scream that you are through with this charade.

She opens her mouth and stars fall dead.
Her chain reaction's set off cataclysmic events.
Man devouring man...
As the pooling blood overtakes her delicate, pale ankles.
Her heart an atomic bomb...
set to burst at the first sign of breaking.
Those open arms so very full of poison and you embrace them willingly.
You fool...
You rush into her arms so hopeful and with your blistering heart.
Praying...
If you get consumed...
may you both be consumed forever.




The blue persuasion of my already all to fragile heart

This room feels overwhelmingly large and lonesome.
As I sit here with pounding sad music hooked straight into my brain with the cold mechanical help of my quality headphones.
My window are blocked out by tinfoil and horizontal blinds but I bet my life all that lays behind them are uncaring stars and giant buildings mocking my income and dreams.
Am I prepared for the Atomic warfare on this highly visible ugly soul?
I am never prepared for anything...
as this cold blue light travels up and down my spine tickling nerve endings and turning the material that used to be my brains into small and uncontrollable rainstorms.
I look around with make believe tears in my eyes and set my quite life's soundtrack to slowly played sad piano and beg the question for which there is no real answer...
"When will this stop, When will this be real?"
God snickers holding a complicated diseased God hand in front of it's rotten toothed mouth.
I pretend not to listen.

like I always do.


The cat is out of the bag and dear god is it ever so pissed!

The secrets came quickly and fierce burning small holes in those fluffy white clouds where Angels sit to spy, relax and fornicate.
Hard questions that lovers fear from their significant... and insignificant others.
Questions that haunt a parent over the looming dead body of their child's grave.
Questions that deserve the answers nobody really wants to hear but cannot almost live without.
So a few of us began to answer.
Some knelt down on bruised and bloody knees and crawled back to their comfortable homes in their comfortable easy chairs and their comfortable shotgun barrels comfortably resting in their gagging mouth as a comfy little bullet erased the answer from their knowing minds.
Some found a liquid cure in a bevy of wicked drinks and Drano.
Some smiled politely and excused themselves and kept living life, dizzy and afraid of all the other questions they still had but dare never seek an answer.
They, You and I begged to let this feral cat from it's burlap sack.
It came out with claws at the ready and teeth craving the feel of a puncture and a violent shake..
and finally curled up on my lap as I scratched this strange creature behind it's ears.
Falling asleep with this feline of too many ugly truth's I am content keeping my questions all to myself.






I am back and fuck you!!!!!!!!



Love...
With milk and kisses....


Captain PirateFace

I leave you with a truly, Hauntingly beautiful song...
"A warm Place" by Nine Inch Nails featuring on vocals Stella Soleil

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

New Years Eve in a "Nut"shell

So this is New Years Eve...
I was a wee bit drunk and was slowly getting annoyed with the mass of "Assholes" on the Las Vegas Strip....
So here ya go.






We even snuck our asses on "News 3'
Look for the skull painting in the background....



Happy New Year... may this one be fucking nice compared to the year of shit...2007.

The Captain