Half blind, spitting straight into the wind. a story, by Joshua, 1/16/2017

  • half blind, spitting, straight into the wind, by yosh dow

    my car was towed at 3am that morning, i was very sick from drinking and taking other things the whole morning pushing overflown wheelbarrows of concrete around on single planks making a path throughout a muddy foundation

    on top of crying and whining and bawling because of the car ( and the not being able to see clutch that night ). no class, low-class, whatsoever, everything was hanging out all over the place. sheer absurdity. unbelievable.

    i made it through the work day with the promise of the retrieval of my Xanax RX, money, weed, concert tickets and ID recovered from the vehicle currently impounded. faked it enough to borrow a car from my angel of an Aunt, mothers sister.

    drove to Gettysburg , you know because it was”on the way” to lancaster, not really. not allowed to get near or in my impounded car at the dealers lot , my Subaru wagon, repossessed by the dealer for non-payment. no Xanax, no weed, no money, no concert tickets (show was sold out).

    i have one friend in lancaster (i hate pennsylvania) . i manage to track him down and get to lancaster, didn’t have my “meds” that day, regardless of my disease, i was on these things regularly to no avail so this sudden cease of dose was an incredible undertaking. so getting stoned on reefer amplified my situation and my feelers grew to excess. i was living through hell, a dank, swampy, swirly, buzzing, jungle like hell.

    so i held his couch down after i got to the chameleon club as early as i could to try and score a ticket from someone. spent my only borrowed 25$ within 5 minutes of being in line to a kind lady who had an extra ticket to spare.

    the only other time i had attended the “chameleon club” was in about 2002/03 and i was carried out the door for being a ‘mosh pit shark’, causing disturbance, etc –

    the club was very small, smaller than i remember. small in that whole, ‘the walls are closing in on me’ sense. that frozen but sweaty, stuck in the same position for over an hour rebound anxiety you get comfy with because you’ve got no other choice.

    they opened with immortal and the only thing i could really hear the whole entire set was the outlet of my own yelling and screaming over top the band . it was miserable

    it was spiritual , and it hurt


show & tell, a thing. 1/1/2017

show & tell, a short thought. by joshua dow

Often times i make the attempt to involve you within my intellect. A large part of me has a desire for thought connectivity. I want to just open the valves and let everything out, let my thoughts run away with words. Discovering some new band, seeing some cool art, for some weird fucked up reason i think the other person might have an interest, and in return i only feel the disconnect that follows rejection. my biggest fear, rejection. something i never allow myself to deal with, rejection. i stumble around on a plane of endless, timeless, worthless information that my bones ache to share with someone. uncovering layers upon layers of topics that pique my own interest, unselfishly wanting to share every broad stroke with the broad that sits beside me. Though the attention span gets so bad sometimes that the focus is completely lost within minutes, or has just completely moved on to the next. just breathe, i think to myself. there’s always next time, i tell myself, wanting to make it all about this time. Considering myself an open mind, a kind soul, a loyal heart. Being told I am rude, mean, asshole’ish. In one ear and out the other, lucky to make it through the first ear. Face stuck in the fucking cell phone – I demand attention, because i’m a fucking genius, goddamnit. Pay attention to my ideas, my thoughts, my expressions. You might never witness something so genuine, so pure every again. Though i digress… My insides prune, my face wrinkles and my teeth slowly rot. Never could i share my feelings fast enough, for who knows when i’ll go. Never could i share my feelings period, really.


Kitten Cat (my little theo), a poem. 1/1/2017

Kitten Cat (my little theodore) a poem by Joshua

a kitten sits next to a cat

with it’s/his/her holiday scarf wrapped

neatly around where the neck should be

this thing doesn’t have one

no neck feline

washboard abs, do cats have abs? cats have

washboard abs? an eyebrow piercing,

tribal tattoo -no a barb,-ed wire tattoo

right above on a farmers tan bicep

the section of his arm he

begins to razor off the hairs

yeah, yes

this pussy can shave itself

boy cat

or girl cat

young and very cute

buzzes and purrs so much

you’d think he has a 2 stroke engine

motoring on down between his

little kitty ribs

right where a heart would be

a tiny block engine



untitled, a poem. 12/29/16

untitled, a poem

misery is a part of the

experience we call life,

you will feel joy again.

in one way or another

you are not giving yourself

what you need to thrive

most likely, that thing is love

loving yourself can be very hard

if no one else has really loved you

assuming though,

that you, also have love

and if you are loved

you will never see the true-self

until you see the you that is

through the eyes

of those who you adore


the new kale, a poem. 12/28/16

the new kale, a poem

you’d like to think

that her dreams

were very nice,

covertly plush.

soft, smooth edges spanning the length

inbetween the rounded corners

of a familiar shape.

plastic covers on the electrical sockets, too.

clear, flexible 3 prong insert

grossly overlooked and transparent

against a painters pallete

of the 2017 color trends.

last year: peach, pineapple

the year before that: kale

the use of food as names

run congruent with the soup du jour.

next years will be an off-white,

we call it cauliflower.

cauliflower is the new kale.

and i will take neither in the form of soup.

plastic pillow covers creek though-

and clash. and the zipper breaks

primrose yellow pillow is practically

bursting out at the seam

giving it some attitude,

some passion,

‘rough around the edges’

a much unseen disheveled display,

even for a seat cushion.

the dazzling blue,

blurring into the primrose yella pilla,

all mixed in front of that cadillac white

they brood the hazy purple

that has been named,

radiant orchid

Please note that:

your dreams show no evidence

that the color ‘radiant orchid’,

had made its way in

to that place i found in your dreams

when you were surfing your brain waves

and i was surfing your couch


slurred speech, a poem. 12/24/16

slurred speech, a poem by yosh dow

why not add happy holidays?

to that narrative,

right behind merry christmas,

if that’s your thing…

carry out your positivity

assuming you radiate any positivity.

its understood someone may not simply

go out of their way to say Happy Hanukkah

if that person wasn’t a jew.

that person on the receiving end-

may be wise to express their narrative

and respond to you with their own

seasonal greeting

all demographics should garner your best wishes.

that’s only playing fair

you protest nothing by “choosing sides”

the side you now choose is arrogance.


kaboom!, a poem 12.7.16

kaboom, a poem by yosh dow

Todays the day

Go out with a bang

Steel will dangle from the veins, blue.

Rushing, gushing

Pumping blood that’s a darker shade of red

Though said to be blue before oxygen

Reaches the white cells

The red cells

The last day

The fifty second, fifty third last day

The last, last day

One last nail

Slam the shit show shut

The nail in the coffin

The birth of the death of a chronic disease


Beginning of the end



Check that punctuation

No funeral for me

I will be the one to bury you

They will never bury me

Not six feet under

Not even five feet eleven inches

Not in this dirt

Though i could use a nap

And after all, my batteries are about to die

selflessnish, a poem 12.1.16

selfessnish, a poem by yosh dow

wipe my nose on the cuff of my shirt

wear my heart on the sleeve of my jacket

wipe the blood with my right hand

pour dirty water over top the pin hole

saturated brain, misinformation

but its still roasted, brittle and sponge like

its like i have no control over my racing thoughts

when i get the chance i beg GOD to think positive

when i get the chance i jam myself up to feel better

making so many plans, i plan to make nothing

this needs done, that needs finished

lets start this.

lets start tomorrow

i think that i’m thinking.

turning my eyes inwards,

giving up on blinking,

but thats not my choice.

it just happens

and i have no control

usually i can force myself to stop before

i cross the line

my head, what a mess

thinking of someone else

isn’t what i do best



Motorcat, a short. 10.3.16

Motorcat, a story by yosh dow

Where is the cat and who made the last unusual noise.

There are times I am just not sure. There isn’t a big desire to speak about in first person. I am staring away from the computer screen as I type this. The cat eating my leg brace laying on the floor full on attack mode. The paranoia has gotten me right now .

For how long though?

There is or there is not a correlation between feelings and events. Do physics prove the laws of attraction. Is this kitten attracted to the couch. It keeps trying to scale the thing, sort of dance around the corner like a boxer. The black cat just jumped 5 feet in the air, okay 4 feet in the air straight up because the kitten came at it, full lunge. Theo jumps to a roll and places the entire tip of my suede wallabees in his mouth. Brown earthy looking Clark Wallabees, flat top\e front. Theo feasts upon it and my brace, back and forth between the two, The little mini (right now_ feline is going banana’s , so lively. Such spunk. Theo is not a cranked enough name for this powerhouse. He’s on it. Motokitty. MotoRkitty. Lemmy. Or Bonzo. But she suggested Lemmy, after his name was decided on Theo in an unspoken but certain agreement, (I presume).