A real Man-No Clownin
A Real men laughs at danger.
in the eye
A real man is so self assured
that he can wear
lips stick and mascara
a white base
even after labor day.
A real man wears sensible shoes
Big floppy red ones
Good for runnin like hell
From half ton beast
and a big 120 gallon cowboy hat
to top it off
A Rodeo Clown…
The Paris Hilton poem
I’m in love with Paris Hilton,
May she bare me thirty children
Scooter Libby can go to hell,
There’s room for one in my hearts Jail.
Twinkle twinkle star so bright,
I hoist my idols in the night.
For in the morning they shall be
A pinyata dangling from a tree.
Escaping life through TV screens,
The celebrity life I dare to dream.
And my own life needs affirm.
I praise my hero’s “crash and burn”.
So let’s not talk of current events
Or how the day in Darfur went.
It really serves to cause me strife,
I’d rather dream the Simple Life.
Like a new- born wearing
evolutionary designer genes
I sneeze with
eyes wide open
clear insight while exhaling!
taking in and letting out.
the world is my prismatic hankercheif
When I Gave up on on Mathematics and Became a professional Philosopher.
A Christmas Story! (from 2007)
I was sitting one day with the my tax collector. He asked me why i didn’t pay my taxes, yet. I told him , I can’t pay the amount, because he couldn’t possibly tell me how much i owe. He then pulled out his calculator and produce his algorithm.
My friendly Auditor said “See this figure here? this is what you owe.”
I laughed, with a belly laugh, and said “your very interaction with your calculations taints the outcome”. “Your subject nature creates uncertainty in the outcome!” I corrected him citing, observers effect and quantum theory.
“i can’t possibly write you a check without knowing absolutely and truly what i owe!”
He looked at me, and smiled thoughtfully, “let me ask you another question..
How are you going to enjoy prison?”
It than occurred to me the objective Truths of the science and nature were not as meaningful as such subjective experiences as the say, be locked up in the pen.
So I chose to write my auditor his check.
Afterwards, we, quoted Camus and Heidegger, sat and talked about the absurdity of Life, Wept in each others arms ,about the agony and loneliness of the human condition. and drank French wine .
Than after my Tax collecting comrade passed out,
I stole a ten spot from his wallet.
happy holidays to all my peeps out there,
Love and peace
the gifted poet
*SANTA , he does not exist!!! the Bastard!!— J P Sartre (or something close to that)*.