Vampariah's Poetry

Malcom's Rubber Room

09 Jan 11 6:05 pm
Malcom's Rubber Room
Same time period, lost poem found behind furniture...


Will I play the game on my sons?
and how do we make girls women?sugar and spice and everything nice
and then the spotlight
in a woods
where a mom is
and a father dies
and what happens to their kids?
instead my specter
tells of her
and me the way we used to be
the book be Camelot
and my pen Excalibur
the way she shines, the way I saw her

Soulmate, I am only something
because the way you were
made me who I am today
and yet you do shine
to the children's chagrin
that without their dad
they'll know how a man's supposed to be
by seeing how I was
the way a man isn't
they'll be in awe like me
that mom soft and fat
the love handles that grew awry
because I couldn't handle love
to make her Ferrari purr
like the special metal their motors are made of
how we were not concerned if the coke was cut or not
because it didn't matter
for they came to drugs with us
and though it seemed to them
we laced them dopes with soul

I will tell you how to raise a boy
for now I know how they raised me
I am not from America
I am not from Europe
I belong nowhere
somewhere in between
for I have skipped the pond
and I knew not how to be
so they made me in the image of defaced continents
with a cross on a tree
and resin in a bowl
like a pine needle from last year points North.

This is from where I came
this cone, these seeds that'll fall out of me
when I took myself
to throw away
and something took me
from the gutter
to give me second wind
to see who I was
how I became a man

I can't tell you
and though I see
through the drama that made me
it doesn't mean that I am not.
I will tell you then
since I have time
birthday cards from Boston
a mom who had wheels
like a statue
a fixture there
and then not
a cross around the neck
gotta get ridden of
for only a man wrote them cards
and it seemed wrong
and where has mom gone
to make me yearn for a new womb

Then the planet of women
be it Lesbos
could conquer that place
and make men not an Ace
but a King
and just a walk
around a block
make a woman want a man
but not me
to time travel back
this time with a dog
as she hugs him
I see her lens bend to me
how many hugs like this have I received?

I am the statue
with arms that don't receive
but stares and not hugs
or kisses
just dentists
and what ifs
women had courage?

Polarize the young
kill the children
to make them fight for the one
not to be touched
and in the power of being free
they succumb to him
to feel like a clown prez
who everyone votes for
for no one wants to be
the man shot down
a nation of cowards
as am I

I saw the morning sun
on the street from above
and the rubber room was empty
Malcom was gone
but I remembered what he taught me
to keep the human race alive
that in order to sort the future
our present aborted
leagues of men not straight
but with aim like keel of ship
boys would be men soon
mom comes back
and no one wants to be who they are
so we fight as a clan
to make a man
from which all will come from again
said Malcom.

Keeping you in mind

I wrote this in a mental hospital on 5/21/07.

Ancient romance
not like a mistress on the other side of town
3 letters a day from a Prince
to woo a tryst
the third ring of the heart
where the rung up is the same down
and the wife is in distress
in states of undress
trying to find the perfect dress
to find his eyes on her again
for the sake of the kids

but the postman rings more than twice
as in France the mail was sent thrice a day
so the postman knew what you were up to
and knew the milkman had his role in making you
for we come from not this
or the one before
we come from a long while back
before you could smell humans
a long ways off
when pure hearts ruled minds
the one who made me
didn't call her
for there was no phone
couldn't write her

I am here
and you are there
and since we have met
you and I cannot forget
our next date
or where she or I may appear
to break furniture
or thicken the air
with loose locks
and the great big pang
that delivered births
messengers like storks
and artisans free styling like freaks
not knowing where this life force
that moves thru and leaks

It uses us, gives rise to us
and ultimately
demands the best from us
and as art of love and lust
and Milkman's darts
and Mistress's heat
it is passion that rules these lands
and rules our magic wands.
Keeping you in mind.

No date

If life is perfect poetry, then why can't I write a poem?
If shooting pool becomes a dual duel
between god and the devil
and you are no longer involved
it makes me smack the balls harder in frustration
but the balls go in when destined.

When the cabs go on strike and they won't stop
I feel like a bowling ball looking at her pins
forced to walk
and if I look too long at her legs
I am stuck
but it is raining and I ain't straining over no bridge this time
I'm tired, I'm drunk, shouting at cabs in the gutter
how I got stood up by two girls tonight
but in my eye there's a glimmer and
in my house a web with no spider.

I have shot the moon, tum, womb, run
shot the sun, put wings (angels) over arms
pulled out my eyes to see like prophet
mute like absent muse and talk sideways
inhaling fumes exhaling truth like oracle,
and yet I am speechless...

All the addictions for the woman that is not there,
and then they won't be with me
until my ghosts leave my bone
I'm told I am a man but I am broke
unplugged the clock
won't work for no one
the cracked picture frame of why she only teased me
when she knew I'd find out some day
that she thought the world of me
the freedom I gave her the freedom
she gave me identity.

I wanted to write of the beautiful places I've seen
but I merely want to see through her eye
for hell is dark and stinks and rots
stealing bone and diadem
at least I am no one so no one knows
what I've done
I am a legal alien.

9 - 10 peeps enjoy gangrape


fuck math

fuck math

fuck math

judge a man by his next spring
plow the ho

what is over the next rise
hat for the sun hat for the rain
should I go to Europe fuck America
walls 7 feet thick to keep out the cold
or ne'r be a tree near by
bring the ashes from the fire into the bed
get kicked like from a donkey
so it didn't matter you drank all those years
go get some ice cream
when you return dad is dead

the yellow dandelion turns white
and there is no woman around to notice
kept getting kicked out of places
to afraid to go
who will start a fight with me tonight?


fuck math

fuck math

judge a man by his next spring


So I guess where we are at in this topic, is discussing how we are restrained in our current life and what plans have we to change these restrictions.

I have few friends to hang with, these selections of friendship are made on their behalf. You go to the same places over and over again with the same people, sitting in the same spots at the bar. Then, your goof friends get you thrown out of your haunt, and then the limitations of where you can hang get narrowed down. That is not freedom when people control your nightlife, where you go and with whom, and a lack of a girl too.

I am supposed to go to Europe to DJ, and be with a handful of different girls all summer, but I can't get these girls back to the states until my books get published, so it is just a vacation where I have to learn to be free with my dick and fuck blindly instead of always trying to possess a woman to feel safe and not catch AIDS. I want to kiss them but I am scared. And everyone has a different body odor, from where ever; it ain't even their sins.

So I return to America, when my book gets published, and I am still living at home with my father because it is his life story I have written about, I know the lay out of the neighborhood is the same, the restrictions of where to go what to do, the local watering holes. It is not freedom at all. Everyone is attached to the bar where their money is at, and we all try to make a street corner ours for more than 15 minutes. The light turns green and we are as real as a bag of chips emptied a year ago still floating in the shaows of the trees on the sidewalk, like the shadow is on fire, the leaves dance.

So life would be the same when I get back to america, I know that. I am not a fucken idiot, I have lived long enough to know that good friends move away, cities become empty bee hives with new people off the bus whom pretend to emulate rich people and not talk to people they think they are better than. It is a city of exclusion, this is my club, my bouncer has orders to keep you out. It is his property. One day you have an all access pass, the next they make you feel like an ass behind the velvet ropes. I broke the rule to not to try to pick up the bar tender but she was so hot and now I can't go there any more, because she was just being nice for money and it got real so fast. This is not freedom being used. And abused.

So, my plan is to write the next book by living it, but I can't write about this life because I am not free. This whole neighborhood is filled with reasons why I can't get with that girl on that street, and the other street too same story with her. All beautiful women have some man they cling to and I am a respectable man so I don't bounce the blow up sheep doll of a man out of her life because I don't want another man interfering with my love life when I get one. So it is impossible to score, and these relationships of convenience with these fantastic women trapped with inferior men because they are wage earners and brown nosers, game fucken players who know they can guilt trip their women and call them sluts if the stray, so they stay true to the game player. Plus her parents know he is normal and he has got the foot in the door of the Love game, where they just want her to settle down and be normal like him.

MY plan for freedom is to skip town and take the money from the books and walk to the Pacific and meet every bum on the way to Cali. Meet every blue eyed floozy on the way too. And get their life stories and write about life on the road, but not like Keruak, I ain't going hop trains, I got the ATM stacked and I'd pay the bums to tell me their shit and we have a good time until the prospects of the town closed down in its limited freedom. It is not my turf.

I have written about everything else, I can't write about this anymore, I have written about war, I have written about fame, I have written about love, and I have written about what is under our noses that which we cannot sense unless we become ill, lose a job, or on some substance to witness the life that could be if only one little thing went wrong in our lives how we would lose our freedoms, and this paranoia makes us trapped to play some game, to answer to some provider because we cannot do it on our own.

I am walking into the sunset of the next town, and in the night I will get the picture. If I don't fall in love I am hitting the road, I can't stare at a TV or a computer screen any longer, this is not life. Neither is drinking because there is nothing else to do. Yeah I will get rained on, but at least I won't have to give up my soul to have a roof over my head. That key on our lock on the door keeps us in it don't keep people out. Vampariah is coming to a town near you. He will be free.

Kerouk exhibit

Yes I read the book, it is totally predictable, a page turner though, for those of you that don't want to learn how the book ends, you better turn your gaze from the next phrases.

He, eventually gets a pad at The St Marks Hotel on 8th Street in the Village, he walks in the foot steps of Jack Kerouk, taking trains to get there, but not paying the price. He rises in society, to funny how they always publish books in time to get other things in the works happening, like the Jack Keruak exhibit at The Museum of Natural History on Central Park West, you know the Night at the Museum movie....

Anyways, he befriends street people doing heroin and has sex with girls with pruple hair who beg for change in the street like street urchins, and overflow of children leaving their inhumane parents.

He falls in love down in the village, and as he walks to work in the morning he notices all the rich people on the west side staring into the sun as they walk to work and he like a vampire has got the sun to his back.

He doesn't like his graphics fashion job but since his girlfriend left him for a bad boy, he must dominate the computer in his loneliness. Then he goes back to work walking East as the sun sets behind him, again the rich girls in sunglasses walk by him teasing him with their nonstop legs like the train that brought him to New York City as a vagabond, then someone steals his guitar and he loses his keys, he is left outside and he has no where to pee in the village. He stops by a white house and pees against it a warm stream in the cold winter air, the cops bust him and his frustration is vulcanic as he resists arrest and gets put into an insane asylum. However, there is a guru in there that rehabiliatets him, and he allows the hyperdermic needles to puncture his skin, and being cooperative he is let go as the ones whom do not cooperate are left to rot in the looney bins.

He learns the secret in life is to cooperate, but then he does the opposite. He loses his hair, his vision becomes bad, and he had a heart attack, giving birth to only dwarves and midgets.

They turn him away from the sperm bank and he is not allowed to get his 50 buck for jacking off into a cup. He is really pissed off then, and as he walks around New York City a free but impotent balding short poor vision dude, he wears sunglasses to hide his eyes from the ladies he will never have, and slowley goes blind. He entertains thoughts of becoming a woman, and learns how to dance but this disturbs the cosmic rays of the sun and the earth magnetic poles switch throwing the world into an ice age. Depressed he moves to Buffalo where the winter is fierce, and he tries to committ suicide. He unfortunately is such a faiulure that his attempt to eradicate his existence from the face of the earth is foiled due to his lack of knowledge of the human anatomy. He goes to study at NorthWestern in Chicago, to learn anatomy so he can kill himself right. One day as he is reading a book, the spine of the book wedges in his crotch and his dick comes to life, so he drops out of College, since he now has a desire to live. He then goes on a murderous rampage killing bad boys, but there are so many bad boys he needs a machine gun, however he doesn't like the idea of running around with a machine gun with a bipod or a tripod so he gets a submachine gun to fire from the hip on the run at the bad boys. Like in Sympathy for the Devil by the Rolling Stones, where the cops are evil and sinners are the saints, (or something like that) he then has to attack the police whom come to the defense of the bad boys who steal girls from good men.

Then, the mafia of Russia and Italy decide to make him a Don. He then rises in power cleaning out all the bad people of the Earth and he become the last man on Earth kind of like Hitler using the Italians until they were of no use to them and turning his bacxk on them, the Japs, using all people until Hitler was the last man on earth.

Unfortunately the women hate him for killing all the men of the earth and they won't have sex with him so, the planet changes its name to Amazonia, with the capital at the Greek Aegean Isle of Lesbos. He is put into exile on Rhodes, but they keep him alive by milking their breasts just in case they want his dwarved miniature frame. His beard grows really long, and well, that is it.

I just made that up. You should never read someone else's cliff notes on a book because everyone's interpretation is different. You are all poor readers for reading this. Let that be a lesson to you.


catch 22

pure book
pure writing
pure plot
putrid world
pure writer remembers a world when he did not see outside of the bag
his writing is a reflection of an echo of time redone within the week
an army of days
a year
do it all again
to not be the old man that turns into a baby
Mr Peanut Rockerfeller
crawl to walk
and then the man with the cane came
wood he do it again?
Kill the thing I love?
Can I deal within it in my own loins?
To be whole is to have and not to hold
and the echo the reflection
the players and the game
the white lines
the stepping over
the coming back
the hearts not hole
the A frame in the snow
and Lincolns log cabin
biblical a house divided cannot stand.

Masoch died in a asylum
there was no TB then
give me an Adirondack chair
or give me my principles
the boy with the golden arm
the mind is a muscle
the mussles eye the one eyes Lobster
and I grow another wing by being absent that day
living one moment at a time
Confucius makes me aware
to not repeat it
my cell phone is off
the stink of my cell is gone
maybe the phone will ring
to lose, to win, is one and then same
to fly
to crash and burn
to bootstrap and look up
who is in her feet
is it me?
It is never her.
Death becomes her.

i looked down

14 Oct 07 7:47 pm
No pure is not out there
I ain't gonna look
I never had it backwards
give me my keys
I want my denim jacket back
my knapsack too
hands free fight in the streets
I want to be nobody again
no fake fights
I want someone who doesn't know I can kill them with one

I want to strike my father down
this game is insane
maybe I already did floor him
no I am not a lefty
I am not righty
I am right and tired
I don't know what
I've done for you or a future me
I want my past restored
the way I used to think
before I was brainwashed into thinking I was brainwashed
and then brainwashed to think I was not brainwashed
who the fuck am I
the devil or demons don't stand a chance
I always had a conscience
I don't need programming
I want my past restored the
way I used to think life to be or was
I don't want to be innocent
I want MY demons back
not the world mind fuck style
I just don't want to know that when I was innocent
I was being raped then too
That is the innocence I want back
I don't want to see a page a list of characters
that I am in a play as a star &
an ass made of.

Take your chip out of my head and you are free
I want the birds to stop their sign language
I'll let that spider crawl into my mouth
stop the reverse reverse psychology
why do you make me chade a tail I don't even possess?

If I am an animal then mount me stuff me
bag me or leave me alone
In all this freedom I am not Janis Joplin free
I have no discipline no disciples
I can't do what I am supposed to
do I do what I want I am not.

Yeah so what before I died I looked at underage girls?
I was ugly, very ugly. they were beautiful
they brought me back to life
fuck you
I don't feel guilty for the homophobic fear of jail for me to walk the streets
for 22 years not looking down ignoring girls because I didn't want anal cell mate
so when I looked down, for all my life having ignored them, not a word to them
they end up stupid and aimless and can't relate to men that make it
and then all life is fake because they make some dumb rules.
I don't feel guilty about that at all
they had clothes on
fantasy and reality are not the same
I would not touch them do them wrong
I am a teacher
once I was drunk I called up a student in my class
who taught my stretching class better than me
I had her number because she was sick and I was bringing her her schoolwork
and Tamara stood me up again
so I fucken called her
sue me
she was hot in electric blue spandex shorts
she treated me like shit and made me feel guilty
It was some high form of respect
ow her younger than me knew my work better than I did?
I was amazed by her stature in her small frame
sue me
that was not why they let go of me as a teacher
I was drunk
I was stood up again
I was young dumb and hung
stood up again
I was beautiful
I have had a girlfriend for a week in my life
you do the math
2096 weeks of being single
1 week of being with somebody
divide that Einstein...
0.0000477 %

of the time I had a girl friend
so when I died from fisting myself from being alone
I looked down because I was about to die
and go blind.
I looked down.
I was in outerspace.
I looked down.

I never knew Heidi as an adult
and I fantasize about her only as I knew her
as a kid girl whom I loved
yes I have loved
I have loved 16 year olds when I was 18
that is wrong too eh?

I look down upon life.

This is not life.

I don't feel guilty
I am not going to hide how lost I was
when I didn't know how to read my palms
or see the writing on the walls
I wanted to die
this is not life
this is not catharsis

I remember Heidi in hot Jordache jeans
there is nothing wrong with that
I was her age
she blossomed before me
and she left me because I was just a boy
she used to make out with a stud in Homeroom
she never sat down in class
I had to watch the muscular boy make out with her in the doorway
because the teacher didn't let her stray in the hall
I loved her
I love her
I will always love her
she made me a man
the toughest man there is
to go without to to ultimately have
if you have the patience
but I have lost patience
this game is cyclical, circular

I can't fuck her because my dick doesn't time travel.

sublimate the subliminal
Nothing like a fresh-tuned guitar

Vampariah opera vid Vampariah

new translation

avec ses vetements ondoyants et nacres,
the way her silk dance
meme quand elle marche on croirait qu'elle danse,
her tail flows along
comme ces longs serpents que les jonleurs sacres,
like witches snakes
au bout de lours batons agitent en cadence,
leaves of Holly pinch and prick

comme le sable morne et l'azur des deserts,
the desert has infinite sky
insensibles tous deux a humaine souffrance,
no nerves dig in the sand
comme les longs reseaux de la houle des mers,
martian dried up canals
elle se developpe avec indeffrence.
like a flood that went awry and then dried

ses yeux polis sont faits de mineraux charmants,
her marble ageless glance
et dans cette nature etrange et symbolique
the pool of blood in her tum
ou l'ange inviole se mele au sphinx antique,
the virgin angel upon the busted sphinx
ou tout n'est qu'or, acer, lumiere et diamants,
diamonds and gold inlaid on steel
resplendit a jamais, comme un astre inutile,
untouchable brightest star
la froide majeste de la femme sterile.
the woman who went too far.

I did my own translation

...the way her silky garments...


I haven't been doing much porn lately Mistress Pamela was right

here is something I wrote a friend her heart was actually hurting

and my face got red and neck and ears were reddest and on fire

from the last sex I had

I think the thing that is so rare about life is love

and when it comes the coin she touched turns gold

and upon that date pressed a volume can be written

but the heart ache is so unfamilliar

like death living without the fear

and then the heart throb is gone

because our fragile heart could not take the stress of stressing

if she will be near here or forever there

your heart will be stronger for the next one

the more we break the less we can be broken