Caffeinated Psychosis

Caffeinated Psychosis

I feel stuck in time...by pain...by the streets that have become so threatening...by the dark hooded stranger under street lamps...by the piles and piles of grey dirty snow...I feel like this winter is never going to end...the holes in the streets shaking my van....the street is a treadmill, my car stuck here in time with me...slowly going nowhere....the pain keeps me here tied to the cartoonish macabre nightmares and visions that only I see as I drink more monster juice...monsters popping out of the drapes, wood-work, and wallpaper...a tapestry of imaginary friends that I had pushed out of my mind when I was a young toddler...perhaps that is what babies smile and wave at...angels, demons...those wallpaper friends that I see when I allow my eyes to relax and look beyond the walls and constructs of reality...the fabricated world...fabricated by my mind. I feel stuck...fuck...I feel stuck by pain...always the pain...ever the damned pain...and I wish that some one would come pull me out of this circle of hell...there has to be a way for me to get out...I am dead...I think. Does this mean I never lived at all....? And if this is death...what LIFE HAVE I EVER LIVED!?!?!

Copyright Adam Gaile 2014

Needs

Needs

There must be a name for these unfathomable...unnerving...passionate, and intense lustful restless feelings deep inside the very core of my inner being. I feel like I am in the throes of a burning fire surrounded by a tempest of seductive raging zeal for the very simple art of touch, affection, compassion...and the unquenchable thirst for sex. The inner twisting desire that comes from within... Here is deep screaming maddening sorrow over the lack of an unidentifiable need for human companionship...the endless search for a female spirit...body...soul...to fill the empty void in my eternal existence. To take up the empty spaces within my psyche. Instinct calling me to impale myself within those secret places that dance around the periphery of my imagination of her body...fueling the fires within my loins. Those secret images are nothing more tangible or satisfying than a delusion...the equivalent to sucking liquid paste from a feeding tube...slave in a respirator...to the full-on splendid natural existential realness of suckling that protruding mound that births mother's milk. Not to give life to the dead hollow shell that has become the very fabric of my being....but to bring life to passion and earthly cravings. I feel as if I am the last of a dying breed of men who cannot reconcile the contemptuous war that rages between his heart, mind, and animal urges...in the end...I am an animal in a cage of my own design....waiting for an escape...to release the pent up tension that grows at every waking moment that I am breathing...and walking...and drifting through this artificial digital world...and I...I the beast...I the animal within...I the desperate and fertile...I am screaming!!! Screaming....for the outside wilderness and danger. Craving the release...the realm of physical movement...soft skin...pouring sweat...the rapturous rhythm of intertwined bodies...pulsating to the music of our own heartbeats and hips. A euphoric dance that lasts for only fleeting moments to the flesh, but surges more powerfully and phantasmagorically than vast galaxies and distant stars exploding for all eternity within the entirety of the encapsulated mind. We are minds and bodies collided in a uniquely profound way. There are billions of us....men and women. The odds are stacked against me....and still I move...I strive for what the animal within me needs...what the beast craves...what the soul-man detests and forbids. I am forever locked in a wrestling match....quivering in despair...shrinking away. Oh sleep...blessed sleep...save me from this agony...splendid sweet sleep...a momentary death far favorable than this unending loneliness...this need. 

Copyright Adam Gaile 2014

Clay and Main

"Prayer of Protection" - Artwork by Milagros Palmieri

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/prayer-of-protection-milagros-palmieri.html

Clay and Main

I want to write a new testament of changes made in your name

About the new life I live and about the God I dance with

I feel like a child, so full of life...animated and free

You answer every prayer, and for that I am grateful

Every day I pray to you passing the corner of Clay and Main

I meditate going Sunday driving speeds as cars pass me by

I cannot get past that street unless I lift my voice and praise your love for me

I ask and receive blessings, and it never is forgotten

Even though my friends doubt you exist

And these words may cause discomfort for some

I proclaim my faith not as an affront to shame or disclaim

Your beliefs, but I am simply expounding upon what drives me

Past those streets every day...

It is what gives me the courage to speak

And go beyond what any doctor or shrink has done for me

And so I plead do not turn away in hatred, my brothers and sisters

Though I walk the path of Christ I hear your doubts and I hear them well

I am not here to place judgment upon you or convert you to my side

I am simply sharing a part of who I am, which has given me new life

I trust that you will know that I speak out of love when I say

That I have no intention of changing you, and in fact I never could

But God bides his time and his path is there for you to decide

And if you deny that it exists, I’ll love and accept you regardless, but please know this

Respect my sensibility and the reality of my deepest relationship

I am closer to him than two lovers intertwined

When your words cast him aside, you cast me aside, and it hurts

I love you my atheist brothers and sisters, and I wouldn't change you for the world

Everyone finds their own path in the end, we will all meet at death’s door in due time

Regardless of what we believe...I know this…that we should all live as one and coexist

Otherwise we will give into petty differences, and what we all need is love

So I will continue to pray when I pass the corner of Clay and Main

I will continue speaking to the one who hears my every thought and who knows my name

You will go on in this world singularly as one individual on your own

But this I do know, we will never truly ever be alone

Love is the great uniter when passion’s heat divides

And perhaps we shall all in the end meet, by and by...

Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

Murderville

Murderville

In the streets of murderville there lies the bones of manifest destiny

Willowing and decaying away in the hot dry Montana sun

There in those streets children run with spray paint and guns

With tattooed faces telling stories of hatred and bitterness

Rival gangs fall as corruption overtakes them

In an array of splattered blood and pools expanding on concrete

A century ago their wild horses trod across dusty plains

Canyons spreading wide like the mouths of orphaned children

Now living off of ramen noodles and broken promises

Where our ancestors primordial birth of pure humanity praised the sun and the mountains...

The sky, the eagle, the bear, the buffalo, and holy waters 

A sage sacrifice naming those who would come after them...

Inheritors of a land that was long ago stolen...

We decimated their people...their land and their culture

Replaced it with Pepsi ads and I-phones, plasma screens, and highways

They were here a millennium before the white man came to rape their daughters and impale their sons

Upon flagstaffs of red, white, and blue...and pride, and greed, and now forgetfulness

We have executed innocent lives in the form of politics of expansion

I am not a nay-sayer nor am I a traitor for pointing out the realities of a history of murder

I speak as a purveyor of truth, and what was done to those innocent brown-skinned souls

Will continue in our own backyards, our own streets, our own schools, our own churches...

If we continue to feed voting machines designed to deny us the same God-given rights of freedom and humanity.

And in the dawn when corrupt devils' reveal their disgusting rotten teeth

There will be an epiphany of revelations upon those desecrated

Truth of humanity will show it’s brazen bones as that of wild beasts

Attacking innocent lives that were created out of nature's awakening

We will pay the ransom held by their personage and their offspring forever-after

A reminder of the evil that dwells within men who praise progress and innovation

Over the purity of the human spirit

There will be a day soon to come…

Where we will all weep and mourn over those who were once called

Grandmother and Grandfather...Americans no more. 


Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

Tripping

Tripping

Experiencing the chemical fumes and vapor
Illustrious alimony
We serve cold spaghetti-o’s -outta the can - dinners
And Kool-Aid stained counter tops attracting banana flies
Oh the murk and mire of the hobble hotel
The filth, the fury...the ecstatic hum and vibration
Twisting me in place, stuck in the void...the hole
Reverberating skulls, and déjà vu anthems blasting away into the universe

Two packs of Camel crushes a day 

Check

Two to three cans of Monster 

Check

Scooby Snax, coke bottle murky tea, screens and lot’s of water

DOUBLE CHECK

We’re on a mission to experience glorious death awake in our bodies
Giving nutcracker statues names and talking to closet doors
Tripping...tripping...hoppity hop...tripping
...down the rabbit’s hole.


Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

Latch String

Latch String

I'm living in an un-free world...and nobody realizes it
Except for me
My heart longs and yearns for a cosmic cleansing of my spirit
A rapturous reprise from the stifling nature of man and his evil deeds
I want to ride waves of euphoria into worlds unseen...unheard of
I want to venture into sublime space between the seams
Where no light or darkness exists...just me...only me
The solipsist boy in his room watching cartoons on TV screens
Wondering if there are any people out there in the playground universe
Who can save me from the ravages of mankind 
And it's pure defiled raging bane under destructive fists
We are all alone...there is no one there to rescue us from ourselves
And darling, if I could I would hop into a Tardis and escape this banal existence
Because the sand box is full of broken glass
And there aren't enough Flintstone's Band-Aids to hide the cuts
From a lying father, and a mother who explodes ear drums
I was never meant to be in this world, and how selfish of me to compare
The pains of my past with the pasts of my dear friends...
We have all been there...every one of us latch string kids
Raising ourselves, because our parents were babies themselves
But it's okay, because we can escape this night my love
Just vertical slits, empty bottles, and bleach milkshakes
Take us away from this...
To real freedom...

Copyright Adam Gaile 2013

The Bean

The Bean

This is my tiny social world
Hanging from a tree...my world...my social bulb

The outside lights are turned off
Forgotten by the busy baristas
The only light shimmers from the rays
Of a purple and golden sky fading to blue and black
The stars are invisible in this city
But twilight twinkles...
In the form of tiny embers from lit cigarettes
Here they light up the street...my tiny social world.

The silence is broken by the tap tapping of fingers
And the beating thumps of bass
Made from the calloused palms of the djembe player
Sounds of acoustic guitars flailing and echoing
Off locked car doors and poster-covered windows
From the shop that sells sweet floral vapor 
Energy flows tweaking our pulsing veins with liquid caffeine 
If I close my eyes I'm in another world...
Morocco...or Sudan

Welcome to Indiana...to my clique, my group of peers
We are a cult of poverty and ego
A masquerade of pop culture references and subculture swagger
Bodies tired
Hands and feet sore from long hours of repetitive movements
From the routine capitalist paradox of freedom and imprisonment

Welcome to my world...my tiny social bubble

Welcome to the Wells street bridge
Where flip-floppin feet...flip rocks across a toxic river
Where 19th century women once swam in less revealing attire than men
The door swings open, and like any 19th century bar-room, all heads turn

The only shots served are dark brown stimulants
The roaring hurricane jet engine of the espresso machine
The chink and clink of ice cubes being smashed and scooped into cups
Bitterness and steam...
Frothy foam hiding the heat that lies below it
Burning soft eager lips

Heads bob to the beat
Sounds from beast paws, talons plucking strings...
Sirens wailing from their perch upon bar stools
Animistic energy...
The pure essence of youth in revolt
Forming revolutions with every out-of-tuned note

Welcome to my safe tiny social space

Where poets speak with both frailty and bravado 
Where masters and amateurs alike vie for a fifteen minute spotlight
A chance to perform for the disinterested crowd
Who's voices rise above that of the poet and that of the singer
Their words so intricate and benevolent...drowned
Both appraisal and tribute to the greats: 
Lennon, Mascius, Oberst, Dylan...

And as Hurdy Gurdy Man receives praise
From clapping hands, whistles, and a hoot n` hollerin 
From those disenchanted denizens...
One lone clapper ends the applause with one final clap of his calloused palms

I think to myself...it doesn't get any better than this

This is my tiny social world
It is all creeds, all races, and all genders
Where a cacophony of minds share compelling stories
Of real-life sorrows met with real-life integrity and real-life struggles

We meet in the dark alcove...
The scent of cologne and perfume mixing to form androgynous olfaction
The ensemble of artists, poets, and musician's assemble in the street
Story-teller's sharing real-life tales of affliction, homelessness, abuse, and depravity

Welcome to my tiny social world

We are children of a third world American nursery
An orchestra of hope and determination
There are millions of us on every corner
On every street
On every page of a beat poet's book
And in the sound of every drummer's beat

Our faces are soured by debt and grief
Yet the lemons we receive create the sweetest drinks
Our smiles, cheers, grins, and laughter
Expands this tiny social world 
Into a majestic place
It is here, and now is our time

And one day we'll look back to our names sketched on bathroom stalls
And see the same names engraved in stone on the columns of history's cathedrals 

And my friends...it all started here...in this place...The Bean.


Copyright Adam A. Gaile 2013