To the Sights and Dreams of a

Dead mAn

If you've got a death fetish, come on in.
If not, get the fuck out!!

"Beneath the dust and love and sweat that hangs on everbody,
there's a Dead mAn trying to get out..."

Within this sight you will find all sorts of ideas and poems and whatever the fuck else I could think of to put on here. You will find some ideas and poems by some of my favorite poets. But mostly, it's all about me, baby. I got some of my best poems and some of my idiotic ramblings on here just to give you an idea on what a sick fuck I am. So enjoy, although I'm not expecting you too ;]

"He gave me a shovel"

my lust for satan's best
is the only reason i passed his test
alone and naked dreaming in a dream
i sit wanting, waiting, please....
self destruction is a force of habit
life keeps slipping by, i cant grab it
satan always laughs when i am falling
guilt trip, what a hit
now i hear him calling
him and my mother
were in on it together
was this really all test
is that why i have nothing left
just look at that son of a bitch laugh
as he points to a shovel
"start digging mother fucker"

~Dead mAn~


But me, I'm a machine
I do whatever need be
I listen while you talk
I fight while you walk
I'm at risk while you stay safe
I sit and wait while you're out on a date
subtly you pontificate
seduce with your sorrow
laugh at my marrow
not good enough for you
but perfectly able
call me your Cane
put me ijn your stable

~Dead mAn~


Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold,
But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm;
Besides I can tell where I am used well,
Such usage in heaven will never do well.

But if at the Church they would give us some Ale
And a pleasant fire for our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the live-long day,
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.

Then the Parsons might preach & drink & sing,
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church,
Would not have any bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

And God, like a father rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as he,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel,
But kiss him & give him both drink and apparel.

-William Blake-

not that you care

more poems

contact at your own risk

The number of visitors to this illuminating hellhole is since October 27, 1998.

Here's an interesting fact that I'm not sure if you know: It is the cheapest way to copyright something. All you have to do is put the original copy of whatever it is you want copywritten, like a letter or an invention, a book, or hell, even a Poem. Stick whatever it is you want copywritten in an envelope and mail it to yourself and do not open it. Tuck it away someplace nice and safe. By mailing it, it is then postmarked on that date by the state and the government, and shit. You keep that and if anybody ever tries to steal your shit, just take em to court and let it be opened before the judge and BOOM: Victory is yours! That is how to copyright anything without actually going through all the legal bullshit. So, just in case you were wondering, YES, the shit on this site is FUCKING copywritten.
Fuck you everybody and goodnight ;]

To a good friend shiva for doing what she does best:
thanks a lot you fucking bitch-slut-whore ;]

anytime, asshole. Page Design by Shiva.
This page was updated on 1-20-00

"Drugged and Diseased"

so drugged and diseased
I listened to such things
then valiantly stoned
I walked myself home
look at me now
a fool to your crown
blind from staring at the sun
I wait for the clouds to come

angered by time
and all I left behind
looking for what's mine
through the ashes I find
brush strokes of madness
on a canvas of sadness
enmity jars of paint
I remember the words
'one should not tempt fate'

~Dead mAn~