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"We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are" ~ Anonymous

| Poetry |

by Joshua Carreon |

Reincarnation With Delias

Untitled

Afraid to Say

Vagrant Monologue

Jacksonville Nights

Parallelized

The Cast

R & B Opera 2003

The News at Ten

Home for the Criminally Insane

Hog Bristle Blues

Lying is Like Flying

Farmer Monologue No. 1

Mother to Son

Deer Autopsy

Can't Kid a Kidder

Untitled

Don't Mess With Mom

Skylight

Where Do They Come From

Reincarnation With Delias

Delias, are you a genius? I think you seem to be. From the way you act. The way you shake the branches of an oak tree. So you get your stick unstuck. You use some kind of logic, D. It used to surprise me, but now it just strikes me as being somewhat strange. Your curious doggy ways. If you were a monkey, you would be Curious George. And I'd be the guy in the red hat. You'd drive me crazy, D. You would literally be driving cars up the walls of my apartment, while I was at work. Lucky for me I have no job. Delias, you are a joy. With you, I am happy. Why is the world so fucked up, D? Why did your master go away? Why did my friend have to die? I mean, I kind of know why, but still it doesn't quite make sense. What, if anything good, can come from death? The death of someone you love.

I hope you die before me, D. Humans need to live longer than dogs. And I need to live longer than your average human. I've got to live for our cause. To build a new house for the spirits of all my dead friends. They need someplace to be where they can relax. Houses of the holy- Led Zeppelin, D. They were a little before your time. A little before mine, too. They were wild though, D. Just like me an' you. We shall honor thy contributions, D. So that others may one day honor ours, amen, Delias.

Delias I want to see you when you die. I hope I am there with you, because you probably need a good friend around that time. I know I do. We'll stick it out though. I'm sure we'll die fighting. Either fighting or from old age, and that's just glorious, we both know that for sure, D. For that is the way kings die, in modern as well as ancient times. The crown never touches the ground. Someone will take it up, to faithfully uphold the throne as the rightful heir of all the territories which we have conquered, Our endless wealth as far as the eye can see. From where the sun sets to where it will rise again.

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Untitled

... Being the very unexpected adventures of a young man's head
... Dropping hammers here and there, and every place between.
... Living on a prayer and the wings of a flightless bird
... Hanging by strings of thread
... Devoid of life, seemingly
To call him dead would be absurd. Hardly is He born.
See.

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Afraid to Say

Until today
Blessed by creation
Disappointment
Hesitation
Death
Reincarnation
A story teller, or a liar?
I am afraid to say
I am afraid to say
I am afraid of the truth
If you ask me the truth
Of what I might have to say
Of what we cannot forget
Of what I already regret
I've said far too much already
I have much more to say
I'm afraid it will have to wait
Maybe later on today.

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Vagrant Monologue

And I whisper:
So as your life goes up in flames and smoke,
Have your crispy toast.
You'll find it quite relaxing.
I am finally at peace, with all of my belongings
Stacked against this curb on a street.
I'm looking for a place to call home.
At any rate, I am homeless.
Assuming one can spare any, I'm collecting change.
I toss my pennies in the fountain,
Make a wish for anything, it's all make-believe!
To return my charity, you can smile, wave, and talk with me.

I don't know what I need; I don't need money, cash or duckets.
I want happiness, friend, like a raindrop wants a bucket.
I don't know where to buy it.
These things seem to appear in robes.
All I find is fun disguises, in which one can masquerade.
Strange grows in its strangeness, when concealed within a blade.
Revealing different things inside it.
Maneuvering here and there, always escaping just as I confine it.
Disappearing like thin air.
Must be bad luck.
I don't care.
I don't care to know what it's really all about.
How I simply love to count the things I do not know.
Uncertain about everything, including my ability to doubt.
What I don't know the most is where I begin, ending with what I know least about.
Concluding with fortune and greed, which we all know, I believe in what I see.
All I see is hate.

And I shout:
WHY IS LIFE like a piece of burning toast?
It's never right the first time, and by the time it's done, you're late.
For your job delivering pies, you should be on the street at eight.
So you decide that the children must wait with suspense in their little greedy eyes.
The toast must be perfect before my wagon bell chimes for children-kind.
I will not be summoned from my breakfast.
That's why god made answering machines.
If only they could keep a piece of bread from burning down the place!
My house burned to the ground.
"God," I asked, "why me, for goodness sake?"
The end of one tale, it seems, gives birth to a new beginning.
Everything starts all over again, like dejavu descending.
Maybe it has to do with coincidence.
Things synchronizing.
Dreams.
All things which I've observed lately.
Not just one or two, or three, but all of these echoing.
Harmonies like the sound of church bells ringing, or fire engines singing,
Sirens screaming all at one time.
Fire in the dinning room as breakfast is being served at nine.

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Jacksonville Nights

Children stand outside in front of houses, talking on cordless telephones.
Old folks drive by in dusty old cars with their walking sticks perched on the dashboard.
Bifocals are hanging from the old man's nose, and his wife is falling asleep.
Driving very slowly through Jacksonville as people cross the sunny streets
In crosswalks freshly painted translucent reflective white.
A thousand subtly changing, barely visible lights in different shades on top of shadows of ferns, rosebushes.
Weeping willow and elms, and oaks surrounding rustic Victorians, with mansions on the outskirts surrounded by private estates.
Vineyards and orchards.
Ranches.
Sheep, horses, cows, billygoats, geese.
Turkey vultures hover high in the updrafting wind, warmed by the late summer sun.
And the moon is already visible, more than half full.
Soon it will change from orange to the bloody red harvest moon.
And the night will be Halloween.
Children will parade up and down streets here and there.
Playing, running from house to house, collecting treats from kind folks of one type or another,
And then someone will trick the child and send him running down the road screaming.
Sometimes being scared to death is what let's you know you're alive.
When one doubts one's own survival.
One is truly surviving on instinct.
Paying total attention to the present situation, to be sure.
Child's play can become quite dangerous if children are permitted to act out,
Especially on holidays like All Hallows Eve.
They throw all caution and common sense to the winds, it seems.
Mysteries and sometimes murders begin with nights like these.
Dead and falling leaves swept into large piles and stuffed into bags to be later burned,
Incinerated in cremotoriums of one kind or the other, as the first snow falls on the barren ground and the gravel driveways,
And the black reflecting streets of Jacksonville.
In Jacksonville it gets very cold sometimes at night, and you can hear coyotes howling.
There are no wolves, though, except perhaps in the hills,
But you don't go out in those hills, especially on dark nights.
Everyone knows that.

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Parallelized

Gazing to the edge of the endless sea
Oceans of fire
Surrounding a very warm beach
Waves splash, washing sand
Underneath bare feet
Splashing repeatedly
Burning and playing
The consequence of an old saying
Spraying in the mist, drifting
Blazing gently on the breeze
Becoming one with the sea
Tides cross
Delicately ebbing
Gradually decrease
All at once ceasing to be
In our eyes, between ocean and sky
Motionless
Parallelized

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The Cast

0. Narrator: John Cleese or Gene Wilder
1. Mother: Angelica Huston
2. Blues Man: BB King
3. Hero: Ewan McGregor or Johnny Depp
4. God: Tina Turner
5. Himself: George Michael (sings "Teacher")
6. Slave: Cyndi Lauper
7. Slave: Michael Myers
8. Slave: Jeff Goldblum
9. Whore: Sigourney Weaver
10. Cameo as Cocktail Waitress: Jody Foster
11. Slavedriving Farmer: John Malkovich
12. Whore/Queen/Princess's Mom: Andie Macdowell
13. Princess: Wynona Ryder
14. Soothsayer: Joshua Carreon
15. Psycho Aristocrat: Gary Oldman
16. Slave: John Leguizamo
17. Preacher: Spike Lee
18. Slave: Cuba Gooding, Jr.
19. Slave: Denzel
20. Performers in a Nightclub: Bobby Brown Whitney
21. Slave: Pachanga, from Carlito's Way
22. Slave: Lots more musicians.

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R & B Opera 2003

Storyline So Far:

1. There's this dude, right?
2. Dude is like real bored one day. Dude decides to take a hike.
3. Dude's mom is all like, "Be hella careful out there, dude!"
4. Dude is all, "OK."
5. Dude meets a dude on the street who is homeless, yo.
6. Dude gives homeless guy something to eat.
7. Dude walks somewhere else.
8. Dude goes into a bar.
9. Dude gets in a bar fight and kicks fools' buns. It's scary but fun.
10. Dude meets a whore, who takes him to a party.
11. The party is a bore, but the story's hardly starting.
12. Dude burns down the house where they are having the rager.
13. Dude is real drunk and steals a horse from the host of the estate.
14. Dude gets caught the next morning by the pigs.
15. Dude gets thrown into a slave brig.
16. Dude has a bad attitude. Dude wants to fight.
17. God comes down and says to Dude, "It's gonna be alright."
18. Dude says, "What's the deal, God? Who do I have to fight?"
19. God is like, "No one, Dude. Just chill. I want you to preach the gospel from the mountain tops, soap boxes, and hills."
20. Dude is all, "I'll do something for you if you do two things for me."
21. God is like, "Cool."
22. Slavemaster is a scary farmer (John Malkovich) who tells Dude a scary story.

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The News at Ten

A lot of lame shit happened to a bunch of innocent unarmed civilians, when a suicide bomber in you know where took a whole busload of you know what's with him ... or her, possibly. (They were on their way to choir lessons) The bodies are all impossible to identify. No one has yet claimed responsibility for this cowardly act of terrorism,for which the bombers' families should all feel quite ashamed of themselves for raising their children up to be terrorists and Muslim extremists with known connections to Osama Bin Laden. Pardon me for the interruption, folks, but we are receiving just now, through the wire, news of new developments in the manhunt for every terrorist in the whole world. For the purpose of providing you, the viewer, with a more enjoyable experience, we'll call it a war. It's the War on Terrorism. (Jaws theme music) And we at Channel Eleven News would like to take this opportunity to wish each and every one of our valued viewers a happy Fourth of July as we hand things over to our mideast correspondent, David Duke. David, are ya' with us? Can you tell us what is happening on the battle field?

Well, Jesse, I can't tell you much because the government is holding an M-16 at my face right now, but I do have a prerecorded piece of a government/military publicity reel, shot in an Iraqi village early yesterday afternoon. Would you like to see it?

Oh, yes indeed. Our viewers are hungry for any developments on the front lines of the War on Terrorism. And we will be right back with up-to-the-minute news right after these words from our sponsors.

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Home for the Criminally Insane

Get back in the Isuzu trooper from whence you came and be gone, Tasmanian devil, you.
Stay here no longer, foul and odious presence!
Remove yourself at once from my bitchy royal presence!
You mysterious scoundrel, you.
Maid, bring the fire and ice, then throw this man into the dungeon.
Don't let him touch any stuff on the way down.
Now brand his chest with the emblem.
He will wake up spinning yarn in the dark wooden fields of twisted black oak.
That, you can quote me on, dear guests.
Yes, yes, yes.
I do admit, for it is the truth.
I have many captive men within this dungeon's walls.
Many skeletons in the closet, you might say.
The oldest of them I still heard shrieking just last night, it was a full moon indeed.
Do not attempt to elope, for the doors have all been locked, and the windows all have iron bars.
The locks are on the edge between where the window touches the ceiling.
They cannot be undone with keys or tools which you might possess
The key is within a door in this place.
Within a door of perception, if I may be so bold.
I have a very sick boy, who cries out horribly from bad dreams,
Or dreams of being bad, perhaps.
These corridors are long and narrow, to communicate, I mean.
What I mean to say is that to be heard, by the servants even, you must scream.
You are all welcome here, for as long as you wish to stay.
I assume you all enjoy games, or we wouldn't all be here to play.
I must say I find this all quite amusing, in more than a casual way.
Some of you are perverts, and that is stating things quite politely.
Most of you are criminals, of one type or another, as we all shall see.
I am but your humble warden.
Your commander in chief.
Okay, here's the damned deal, so to speak.
Escape is as easy as hopping rocks across a creek.
But there is a danger to us all, of which I shall presently speak.
Should the dam upriver break, while one is crossing the creek,
One is stuck, and fucked, consequently.
Definitely, without doubt or haste, the torrent makes quick work of fools.

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Hog Bristle Blues

I got the hog bristle blues.
Yah you got it too.
Take bristles off a hog,
What mo' a hog got to lose?
Take away a hog's tail,
An' chop it up like you choose.
Makin' paintbrush bristles from the bottom of a hog.
Why I got the hog bristle blues.

Listen here, hear me on through.
The hog bristle blues is a way o' life, so listen to these truths
What we hold to be self-evident wisdom inside o' the blues, unnastand?
I don't think you do.

Fabled Siberian Sable Minks'
Tails are lost to the paintbrush man.
Selling brushes on a table by the creek,
A walking contradiction, if you askin' me.
Sables don't speak a man's language,
But like man does, they think.
And what they thinkin' in they heads when ya choppin' off they tail
To make paintbrushes is get offa my dang creek!
Now I used to paint, but I had me some blues.
That's how I got the hog bristle blues, damn straight.

Don't interrupt, I'm only halfway through.
Hog bristle blues is a long damn song,
Here comes lesson two, ya listenin? Cuz we could do this again.
Alright then.
Ya see if man an' hog cooperate, things would be just fine, that's true.
But people gotta be so great, an' take a bristle before it's time.
Which is why I come into the situation at hand, ya see?
Cuz I take a young fool, an' I shake 'im by all his limbs.
To make the young man unnastand that I'm trying to help him.

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Lying is Like Flying

Lying is like flying lying is like flying lying is like flying
If I said I was flying I wouldn't necessarily be lying, I'm flying.
A lie is a fly if it stands on the floor.
Lying about everything makes everything more.
Lying about nothing makes something where there wasn't before.
Flying to some place you've never been is like stealing from where you just were.
Flying is like stealing flying is like stealing flying is like stealing.

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Farmer Monologue No. 1

You know what's real, but do you know what's true?
How about I tell you.
Do you really wanna know the truth?
I can tell you do.
Here it comes around the mountain.
You can hear the drums coming straight from the abyss.
Down in the Everglades, baby, got hunters an' we got snakes.
Ain't seen neither of 'em falter when they strike.
Nature doesn't make mistakes.

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Mother to Son

Hear me darling.
Hear me well.
It's a cruel fucking world out there beyond the moat and walls.
Sometimes it's hard to tell ...
These are not easy words to say to you, my dear.
One mustn't waste time with the affairs of common folk.
Lest ye become one of them.
The peasantry.
There are of course, things to be seen.
Things to be learned from, to be sure, there are no rules individualized.
Only invisible patterns.
External projections.
All are travelers materialized.
Many will recognize you.
But there are some, familiar only to each other.
They are the artists of cruelty.
Assassins by design.
All born by one father, multiplied by thousands of mothers' wombs.
These ones who bring forth many corpses from the oldest tomb.
It is incest.
You are their chosen enemy, to be absolutely certain.
If you ever should so happen to doubt the earnestness of my speech,
Just imagine a dervish whirling, forever whirling and twisting apart ever so slowly.
Being torn apart as all present onlookers shriek in horror, and grown men squeal at the sight so obscene.
True Evil, my child.
True evil is no stranger to me, but you are still so young.
With a card player's wit, and a velveteen tongue.
But soldiers often end up digging their own graves, it seems.
The soulless man can interpret all your dreams, if that is what you seek.
So do not speak today, nor tomorrow, or the next.
Contemplate a maze, then a painting, then a puzzle of glass convex.
All at once, you will see all of the pieces connect.
The drawbridge will be opened for you, then.
And you must then depart.
Carrying the truth in your possession.
It is your life's dependence.
It will be your art.

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Deer Autopsy

The sound you heard
You got your stick, boy?
Yeah, you do.
Look at you, good boy!
You got your tail waggin', too.
Do you wanna take a walk, boy?
And play fetch?
I bet you do.
Let's take a walk, Delias.
You and me and the beautiful Fall coloured leaves all around us.
I love you, Delias.
Look, Delias, the skull of a young deer is watching our movements.
His forked antlers lie buried in the dirt.
When dug up, the skull reveals that it is the skull of a young buck, indeed.
His antlers had just two points each.
Brought down by the fierce mountain cats, no doubt.
It appears as though when he died, he was burrowing his face into the dirt and rocks.
Perhaps the lower jaw is still up there in the dirt and grass.
The frontal facial and forehead areas of the buck's face are severely fractured.
It seems the traumatic force exerted on the cranial area as it was being brought down.
It seems the force of the fall was sufficient to cause several fractures, six major areas, about the frontal palette and upper jaw.
One antler is separating from the skull.
It has broken cheekbone attaching it to the face, but the bone is slowly splintering away.
Although the deer had four antler pointing from his crown, three have broken.
Apparently shattered all at one time.
Probably as his body was being eaten by various creatures.
What do you think, D?
Let's try not to get eaten by a mountain lion, ok, Delias buddy?

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Can't Kid a Kidder

God, is this all for me?
Why do you want to give it all away?
I think, Lord, therefore I don't know.
We can help each other.
I have faith that one day soon, we will.
Where there is a path, there is no wrong way.
I am here because I took the long way.
It was hardly a road at all.
At times a mere trail.
Footprints of deer.
I knew no harm would come to me.
Hunting my own fear.
I knew I had to wait for opportunity.
Striking the majestic beast directly between its eyes.
To my surprise, the bull did not die.
Instead he sprouted wings and took flight off into the dark, like a unicorn.
Our souls are forever bound together.
Pegasus feathers.
Spun around my head like a cyclone toward the sky.
That night the rain came down like never before, and I began a new life.
Yes, Lord, I was born twice, and I shall once more be resurrected into the form of light.
Mortality is a silly plight.
A state of being which is so easily overcome, with practice.
Practice and reflection.
God's might.
God, why do you fear a fair fight?
A duel between two equals.
Are you afraid of who or rather what might defeat you?
Because I was born a soldier.
One mind and two fists.
I have always been waiting for the moment to do this.
Pick a hand.
Rock, scissors, leaf.
Scissors cut my leaf.
Once more for the best two out of three.
Ok, god?
One two three ...
My leaf has covered your stone.
Once for the final go around.
One two three, look what I've found!
It's a tree.
It can't be dropped by a flying rock, it cannot be felled without machinery, of which I see none.
The scissors were made by me.
Watch the falling leaves.
The tree is who provides you leaves.
You have no power over me.

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Untitled

Old as I may be, old dreams die hard.
I had always wished to sell splendid paintings.
Maybe I will, some time.
Perhaps, a Sunday painter I will always be.
This is reality, my paintings are all locked up in my dreams, you see?
I seldom believe anything I read.
Though I believe all writers value honesty, above all things.
Save for fiction, possibly.
I doubt most people's motivations, mainly.
Emotions reveal themselves quite plainly, when distorted through the looking glass of speech.
To each is entitled their own opinions, I think.
I cringe, literally, my dear.
I shudder at the thought of your departure, so near.
The weight of this world is so enormous, that no one can bare it for very long.
Please hurry on your ride.
I have nightly seen the crimson tide as the moon hangs still.
Our lives dangle from a strand.
Death is very near to us.
To preserve your own life, you must sometimes fight and kill.
In killing your opponent, display kindness, show him the proper way.
Do not attempt to instill fear into your victim.
The battle is a noble one.
You fight for our honor.
The righteous man has already won.
Here hangs a shield.
Hundreds of years old.
Forged in the Golden Age of Peace.
A rose of victory is the emblem which is displayed on the battle scarred face of this shield.
Carry it with you.

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Don't Mess With Mom

Oh, ju-don-du-acid?
'Datza-Foking-Peedie-Man
I met a girl
Her name was Rainbow Bright
She kept me up all night
And couldn't find the door
She ate my dick (in the kitchen)
And tried to start a food fight
My mom walked in
All pissed off with some groceries
She threw her car keys down
And broke a glass kitchen table
Then she tried to break out a bullwhip
Rainbow busted out the window
With all 'o' my dough
Plus she kicked mom in the breasts
Now I gotta kill
That peace loving hippie schmuck
Don't mess with Mom
She's like Jane Fonda on crack
She doesn't get mad, she gets physical
And it's time for payback
Hell hath no fury like my mom
With her teeth clenched
Calling you out, and
My mom's knocked 'em senseless and
Then tryin' to fight with Muhammad Ali;
She's demented
Mess with Mom,
I hope you got guns
And bullets. Boxes full.
Fuckin' with mom
You'll get your teeth pulled
Put you in a chokehold
Squeeze your throat so hard
You'll vomit from your other end
Bring friends
My mom will clown
Like three Amigos

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Skylight

Frame around the sky
Skylight time lapses
Clouds flying by
Lightsky all the spiders see
Skylight between the eyes
Spider crawling across the sky
Skylight spider crawling
Fallin' to the floor
All that really matters
Is brothership and fellowhoods
Spiders crawling upside down
Across the skylight
Visionary invisibility

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Where Do They Come From

The sound of crickets
A thousand insects screaming
If you don't sound tough
You're not scary
True, no?
Where do they come from,
All the cruel ones?
Yeah, where do they come from,
All of these cruel mothers sons?
Where do they come from,
And what are they doing here?

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