What would Jesus do?

Funny story: the other day as I was leaving my friend, Todd's place in the Castro, I bypassed a couple sleeping on the sidewalk, who had erected a neat little card board sign tented over an open See's Candy box stating, "Just money or cigarettes please. No need to disturb."
I thought there was something terrible, but also slightly hopeful in that diorama, and I toyed with the idea of quietly giving them the $5 in cash I had in my pocket.
However, all the voices in my head, of friend and not-so-much, cried out, "Dan! What the fv{k do you think you're doing? What is it with you and this Messiah-complex, you have!?!?!"
My response to which was a nano-second pondering of "What would Jesus do?"--and as I was pondering, I continued my pace and walked on by the sleeping couple.
Surprise, surprise, but at the top of the hill at Market and Castro, where I was headed to catch the MUNI, there, was Jesus! (or at least some performance artist, done up in frayed robes, no shoes, a crown of thorns, and some frightening make-up, with arms outspread, limpwristed--I suppose tosuggest the Crucifixion.)
How often does one pose the rhetorical question, "What would Jesus do?" and have the opportunity to ask him (in real life, or something like it...?)
He was, however, adjoined by a young lady on whose face was painted agiant lavender peace symbol, who was silently engaged in some sort of pantomime or ASL, and for the few seconds I chanced to behold this quirky scenario, I thought the two must be in cahoots.
That assumption was quickly dashed to pieces when the girl snagged the hat full of loose change and tattered bills lyingat Jesus' feet and dashed nimble-y down the street.
I must admita disdainful snort escaped my mouth as the actor-portraying-Jesus totally broke characterand leapt down off his imaginary Cross and ran after the girl, shouting, "Come back here you fcuk-ng cvnt!" which I thought completely blew his credibility with any passersby (although I do not speak Aramaic, I doubtthe Original Christ had a term that would translate such an uncouth expletive--I think most Levantine curseswere scatological or animal-comparative in nature, and it was the Teutonic and Gaelic races who went for the sexual derisions, but then again, I'm not a linguist, so I could be totally wrong...)
Anywho, in one way or another, though, at least I got my answer.
"What would Jesus do?"
Jesus would kick-ass and take names, or so I am convinced. You gotta watch out for Number One (and try not to step in Number Two)--as Rodney Dangerfield once advised.
So, that's where I'm at.
Summer may find me in Fresno (withall probability) but I have no fixation on living in this wicked little town, trying to carve out a niche to call my own. I dare say, I am made of stuff more pure.

She sells SHELLS and SHELLS sells and sells and sells

Interesting note that Shell is now offering 15% rebates (claimed to be = $0.35 off) on their new gas cards.
What a great PR response to the Senate inquiries about price gouging and excessive profits!

A Plucky Poem for Mr. Right

My name is Dan Tyler
They call my Plucky
Guess that’s cause I’m lucky
to hang with my dawg Tucson,
His nose buried periwinkle,
Soft, gentle, cool and gay—that’s me
in the flower

I wonder why I am lonely, when I have so much:

Stuff like:

Health &
Healing &
Hugs &
Doggie Kisses

Somersaults
Ice-cream
and Rice Crispy Bars

But I’m still lonely in Life
Despite the:

Dancing
Bouncing
Leaf-fights
Snowball fights & Pillow fights

Flagging
Fanning
Poi
Hula Hoops

God

I crave boyfriends
Lesbian friends
A family of Fag hags

And Margaret Cho

Also, I lack Freedom
Safety
Harmony
Peace

I stand alone in the windstorms
Against the ocean
Sandswirls
And stars

I want to fly with the peacocks
And eagles
Parrots
Blackbirds
And Meadowlarks

I’d make you breakfast
With yogurt
And cheese
Omelets
And Smoothies

Lunch we’d do crème Brule
Mango sorbet
And big-ass cupcakes from Alcove café
with purple sprinkles and
Champagne

Still I feel Pain
Watching beautiful people
Freaky people
Yuppies and little kids
Seems everyone’s got someone ‘cept me.

I dream of laughter
Sleeping in
Cuddling
Snuggling
A hand on my face

Our dogs romping
Campfires
S’mores
And wine coolers
Yes, wine coolers

Juggling
Kites
Wind chimes
Bubbles
And blacklights

But mostly you

The hope of you keeps me dancing and trancing.

Damn, my feet hurt!

An Ode to a City of Night & a Boy and His Dog

Walking hurriedly, The Bell Jar folded into a hip pocket,
I think darkly of razors and turkey necks.
Soylent-fog creeps through the dank shadow-valleys.
Brentwood, Westwood, Beverly Hills:
Bel Air Patrol secures nothing from us!

He pads ahead, tongue lolling; careless of the dues in shit
He’ll later pay for the rancid offal he scavenges in greed and glee
For he is Blood & I am Don Johnson;
Together, we are hunting!

Claws click-scratch the wet blacktop,
Rustling shitty leaves and frat-vomit.
Heels clop ominously through the languid night,
While the fake antique street lamps emit a sulfur haze,
Pitching the alleyways in garish Easter-pink
nipple
foreskin

Ragged laughter echoes down the reeking dorm
last dregs of keggers and hazings
Fuck is become the universal adjective
gerund
grunt

Screams summon no sirens on a night like this.
Yet, the Internet paints a lurid trail of misbegotten trust and tainted love…

Blood watches disinterestedly from the hallway,
while I stab the drunken boy relentlessly,
who warbles—as well he should!
Drunk as he is, he feels no pain.
My shaft drips wetly in the red light of the photographer’s dark room.
A limp flannel shit dangles open on my chest,
Revealing the tweaker-scars—another generation’s junkie pockmarks.

Discontent and hollow, jeans gathered
We leave.

Blood snuffling in the sewers
Always hungry
Always aching for another putrid morsel…

(Scowling, I fantasize Harlan Ellison and John Rechy
twisting
fisting
fucking)

So am I.

Stuff We Care About

If Oprah spent more money and less talk on her talk show,
Showing the people she showcases how to feed a family on a dollar-a-day
Maybe Africa would be in a better place.

She spends $50,000 per month, per eyebrow,
Eating from a golden trough at the Hotel Bel-Air
With the rest of the silver spoons
Where she wines and dines with the divine
Like Nancy Reagan with her phases of the moon,
One billion dollars for Ron’s UCLA Med Center?
The same folks turned down AIDS research in the 80’s
‘Cause they’d rather let Sally Struthers Feed the Children…

UNICEF is takin’ heat--
Do the kids want pencil boxes or would they rather eat?
Do we really know what’s best for them?
Education brings food-it’s pretty rude!
Try telling that to the starving 4 year old, dude!

Everybody is always talking about Darfur
But if we paid attention to Alan Dershowitz
It’s Israeli war crimes
Between the two, we ain’t got time to bust these rhymes

Then there’s that crazy bitch…
No, sorry, that crazy ho’
On trinity TV, with her Triple decker blonde,
bleached-out-bimbo bombshell, bouffant
Who’s trippin’ on her Barbie dolls for girls and race cars for boys
Somehow spreading a fucked up gospel of Wal-Mart
and mass consumerism.
Preaching the word of Christ of American Pop Culture
36 24 48…I don’t give a shit if you’re that great
Get down off that crucifix, bitch, somebody needs the wood!

Now it sounds like we don’t care.
By “we,” we mean the Royal We, right?
As in the Royal Air Force & U.S. Navy
Who cared so damn much after dropping the ball--
No-- after dropping the bombs--
No wait--
Same thing—
Whatever
On Somalia,
They dropped three million bucks one weekend in Mombassa
For beers and three million fucks
Did all those boys use condoms?
Probably not, since the cardinal don’t approve
This--on a continent, where one third of the people prove HIV positive.

Still, I’m positive bitching about it ain’t gonna help.
Just like 24-hour drive-through Jesus ain’t gonna help.
And Sally, Ricky, Geraldo, and Oprah ain’t gonna help.

Don’t get me wrong
Oprah and Ling bring to our eyes brilliant awareness
Edited for numbers
Boosted for ratings
To make us love them!
There should be a show specifically for the one important thing Oprah really cares about,
No more Ashton & Demi or Brad & Jen
Episodes of the “Truth” are nothing but lies, sand in our eyes

So what’s the lesson in all this?
What do we do?
What’s the moral of the story?
Does it --
Will it--
Can it--
Have a happy ending?
I hope so
I hope so too!

But it’s gonna take more than campus pep rallies, open letters, “very special episodes” or holiday fundraisers.
It is time to roll up our sleeves, get our hands dirty, and that means work!
Making it personal, yo.
Use your MasterCard to get a visa
And check that shit out yourself
Sponsor an exchange student to come here!
At the very least, ensure your donor dollars are accountable,
Not just another tax write-off
Priceless my ass!

The Noise

The fucking noise
Imagine the ringing in your ears
After a thousand Woodstock’s
And you’ll have some inkling of what it’s like in my head

Shrill tremolo strings
Piercing agony
Or is it ecstasy?
Yes, too much ecstasy.
That’s what the doctors said.

But they don’t know shit
Never took a hit
Never know what it’s like to feel
Love
To sing the body electric
To embrace the world connected

But there is a price
For rolling the dice or
Spinning the roulette wheel
‘specially when this is all I can feel.