Turnstiles Review

I will be posting a lot for the Turnstile Review for the next i dont know how long while…. they have about 150 hits a day instead of mine here which is about 4 hits a day. And its simply just a cool blog that has interesting posts, whether poetics or essays or film reviews or political rants, its all pretty sweet and interesting and educational, I’m happy they asked me to hop on board their rocking wacky battle ship, hip tip lip sip rip in my underwear. Shaggy delundadair

over and out


Junk Trip To Eugene Folk Prose Poem Guide: Portland To Eugene (And Back)

All day event my ladies and gents! Stink that mud from the conversation north I-205 Nyberg Street, Sherwood/ “whatever i ate last night was terrible. This is a mix cd kurt made,” wild in the west on the morning wait. “I love this song,” famous razor sharp upon the trace of ballistic Boones Ferry Road.

On the next 2 exits I’m lodging the sentences and resorting to activating Elligson Road, a bridge we pass under bumping and passing a mall I never saw Mac Dre in, Wilsonville has information miles on the shoulder work, Exit 283, silver truck passes and blindly shines the sun on Aurora Oregon, on the Willamette Weeks river I read, fish that will never bite, Beastie Boy song comes onto the mix, a rest area venturing Mile 287 by Marion County, roads that leave nowhere’s, I have never been but wait…. Exit 278 makes a T of cement decision, one way a warehouse I lived in with pop (best time of my life) and the other the Aurora Historic District, Mix Master Mike is not Miles Davis yet he samples him. I’m just on my way to Eugene to pass Mile 1, little rivers of pre-clearance aura’s, closed weigh stations, a lucky day for obese long large loading lumber trucks.

Its starting to have the nostalgic flat USA under the overpass of attraction, Mount Angel climbs the outlet malls off exit 271, ice cubes are a must in the housing developments off in the distance with 2 miles to the city of Brooks, now I am seeing the flat murder of vast pretty farms, and Marion County adopts a highway.
Keen Road bridge under which of way we whistle by, the Oregon State sheriff hiding under the overpass of blah blah blah….. “I feel like I am doing something that matters. I can only dream.” Brooks is only one mile away.

Electricity stretches the Oregonian garden. The Gervalis town I can stay but Corvallis? No thanks.

Downtown Historic District, all in Keizer, Exit 280B

When you enter Salem exit 260a, donate your car. My first concert was in north Salem Silverchair at the Fair Grounds, the Amphitheater!

Lancaster malls comfort

insecure small town 15 year old

skirts, a ride recently added

to Enchanted Forest

Detroit Lake is praised courageousless, mustard on a sandwich, drum beats soundtrack something

experience passes by

memory follows the day

action is done

battles are forever

fifty six miles away

Vineyards LLLabeee Xing the string of the string || the only train of a line, like actually a line, like actually a lion, like actually a line of trucks running up Ankeny Hills Exit 243, a true line though all I see it’s CRAZY no traffic as far as the eye can see as far as an eye can.

Say it with me I-205, Oaoh.Buahh.Buahh.

Of which a rest area a piss passes by my nick nack nod. A few Valium had done me better than if I had chosen to not. Dever-Conner is celebrated by Linn County. View Crest brings a stink in the past…. this factory in Albany. 2 little hills like breasts of the earth captures my sense of rest in a cigarette to keep burning. Andy threw up last night, last night he regrets eating the chicken, take the next right, no the next right, right, good

And Eugene we have reached ladies and gentlemen at 472 N 7th, the Seattle corporate coffee bean grinders. I forgot to mention that I used that rest stop’s restroom, hearing outside the highway’s vroom vroooooommms.


Sigh. Highway 99 Halsey or Brownville, you can’t tell the size of the control that drives the idiot off the side of the main highway. I mean, he was walking in the middle of it. We couldn’t help but hit him. Stop crying everyone. Look! Our crossing over the streams given names from old dead rich people, emergency exits are here heaving under the overpass of Miles Davis. Again.

Latino grooves, a Pacific Northwest Fantasia. Distance is underrated, because I’m seeing so much in this moment. Managing an exit to Corvallis in the truck stop hell. Comparison: Laurelhurst Pond at Laurelhurst Park when I was a kid into I fell. Fields of much variety make differences in the something of somewhere. On location crews announce the tricky mistake of sorting out whatever. That’s all I’ve got for the groundsmen sound send. Information police arrest citizens who read the daily news views of… I don’t know. Fuck me, the capacity of phone calls to check that it wasn’t stolen, the Wi.

Meriwether Lewis’ death is a mystery, suicide I hear reading hearsay on the Wiki.

-Oregon, Febuary 48th, 2048

Waterfront Fountain Picture of What I Wrote While Sitting On a Bench There

I came to the waterfront to rest with Vallejo and Dostoevsky, my home the sun tangled all throughout the trees        of the place from where i spoke with my ink and gazed bleak            a sick man passed by, sitting down though moving i          then realized he was carrying a mirror     reflected me oh i see i silently think    he was a strong handsome man     carrying my beaten reflection with a sand castle tan

i was homeless at the fountain      the pictures of politics seats and rows  :   ovation for the new york times     :      a theater of bombs       and fashion who knows          i stole it

(i wondered about places i’d never seen,

the south, the words i put

in her mouth)

i came to the waterfront and had tourists waiting and on the way a hit of marijuana asked for some change,            i replied with a change of heart and asked if he could spot me a twenty for a sack i promised i’d get him back    lying with the power of the sweat on my back

the fountain leaned over and spoke “calm down and dont worry, acceptance is the brother you are forced to love.”


i’m tired of telling such a gory story     my eyes are heavy when the weight of my eyelids are taken off my back, also from the glaring so long at a crystal ball, my father rubbed it and the future blinded me for a week of relapse

you already know that the fountain was cold from my arrival coming to be upon. nothing of interest could slither a snake in my garden, a cobra had just passed through and must i tell you of the venoms she tried to suck outta my grown lemons?

to learn a lesson is now the skeleton key to unlock the closet of life and love.

i have decided now though   ten minutes can happen upon occasion that losing my shit lets the cut run deep enough to know when            i am deep enough     but my enough is deep, therefor, the wound must         must simply yet sadly run very       very very very       deep deep deep

the trouble you get in with romance in romance loss recovery is itself romance.      internal

finance, finance, finance!