Best Poems Of The Lone, Questioning Man

A collection of the very best poems by Wil C. Fry IV, beginning in 1988 and continuing through the year 2002.

(Some poems originally written using pen names. These pseudonyms are attached to the proper poems.)

“Maybe these words mean little to anyone else, but to me, they are all that’s real” -by WCF, in Wasted Years, Wasted Tears, © 1990

All works are copyright by Wil C. Fry, but may be used and copied without permission, with two conditions: (1) that the author’s credit remain intact, and (2) that no words are changed from the author’s original words. Thank you for reading. Eras of Wil’s Poetry Preface By Wil C. Fry ERA TIME PERIOD What you see before you is my soul. My heart. All of it poured The Express Years early 1986 – February 14, 1988 forth, over the years, onto scraps of paper, napkins, notebook pages, computer screens, pages of letters I’ve written to friends. Each The Savior’s Servants Years Feb. 26, 1988 – Feb. 11, 1990 time, I wrote what my emotions were telling me to write, as if I was New Era of Questioning Feb. 20, 1990 – April 24, 1990 only the slave, the secretary, or the pen and paper itself. Some Under the Influence of MWL April 24, 1990 – July 10, 1990 voice, deep inside me, took control and dictated these words to me. Renewed Faith Era July 10, 1990 – Aug. 24, 1991 Each and every human being has a heart, so I am in no way The College Years Sept. 4, 1991 – Oct. 12, 1994 unique because of that single fact. Nearly every human being has the power of speech, sight, and hearing. Approximately half of the Early Arkansas Era Sept. 25, 1995 – Sept. 3, 1996 world’s population can read and write. Many of them know and Post-Atara Era Sept. 18, 1996–Sept. 23, 1996 use more words than I will ever learn. And many of them have The Gilzow Era Nov. 18, 1996 – Nov. 6, 1997 written poetry, putting their thoughts or feelings into this form. The Darrough Era Dec. 6, 1997 – Jan. 26, 1998 My claim to uniqueness, however, is this: Not one single human being in the entire history of the world has lived inside this body. The Bryant Era June 28, 1998 – Dec. 7, 1998 Not even one of them, except me, myself. None of them have ever The Nite Life Era Dec. 12, 1998 – June 15, 1999 heard what I thought, as I lay dreaming, or any other time. Only The Marle-Serrato Era July 8, 1999 – August 21, 1999 me. These poems are from that place, that mystical place, called The Longest Break-Up Aug. 30, 1999 – Oct. 17, 1999 “my soul”, with which I am the only one in contact. Post-Kristi / McDonald’s Era Oct. 17, 1999 – April 19, 2000 The Post-McDonald’s Era April 22-30, 2000 Editor’s Note: The Sonic/Late Maturation Era May 2, 2000 – Sept. 26, 2000 First of all, let me stress that this collection contains, especially The Moving/Early Okla. Era Sept. 29, 2000 – Dec. 1, 2000 near the end, language that many feel is not appropriate for The VF Wrangler Era Jan. 1, 2001 – October 15, 2001 children. For that matter, many adults may be offended or shocked by some of the lines in Wil’s later works. The Producer Era Oct. 16, 2001 - Present This work is intended to compile the absolute best of Wil Fry’s works into a single document, for perusal by others, whether on the Internet, or in printed versions. It is difficult to determine what “best” means, regarding poetry, and regarding Wil’s poetry, specifically. By “best,” some may refer to that which most represents the genre, or that which most accurately reflects the author’s meaning. Others may say “the best poetry” is that which is most enjoyable by the reader. Here is set forth a combination of these definitions. Some of these “best” poems are Wil’s personal favorites, while others were those most enjoyed by others: family and friends. Still others represent my own proclivities, my opinions regarding Wil’s astounding reach into the English language and the depth of human experience. I hope the reader will agree. Now, on to some practical matters, for the devout reader. First, these poems are in chronological order – in the order they were written, with only a few exceptions. One group of exceptions are the “ambiguous date” poems. Many of Wil’s early works were not dated until he later tried to remember when they were written. Another exception to the chronological order is simply for space considerations. When one page was nearly full, and the next poem on the list was too long to fit in that space, a shorter one has been taken slightly out of order and used to fill that last space. Still, the order is not changed by much. Also, the different fonts and sizes used in printing are not meant to emphasize any one poem over the others. All of these works are Wil’s. The size and font changes exist only for variety, lessened eye strain, and space-filling considerations. -Rick J. Anderson, ed. Dead Church Untitled Wil Fry 38th, 1988 (2-7-88) 4-18-88 Will Fry

In the church today, the people just sit around staring, Sometimes the choices get tough, They don’t know God is watching them, they’re not even caring, and I start to waver, They degenerate because they’re lazy, or they don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do! They like to be vegetables, And they love to warm the pews. Sometimes life gets rough It is a dead Church, It’s a dead church No one wants to do a favor They’re following their tradition, and carrying on their religion So I turn to you! It is a dead church, Yeah, It’s a dead Church Well, in the church where I grew up, that’s not the way things happened, We jumped up and down, And praised the Lord with our clappin’. We yelled, And praised the Lord with shouts ‘til our faces turned red, And if someone would’ve died, we woulda’ raised ‘em from the dead Buried Memories It wasn’t a dead church, Oh, a dead church, 4-25-88 Will Fry We were following our traditions, And carrying on our religion, but There are rooms, all across this world, It wasn’t a dead church, No, not a dead church That are cluttered and uncared-for If the church today doesn’t like some of the things that are happening, Dirty clothes are piled up everywhere, They need to figure out what their problem is, and solve it. and trash accumulates more and more They’ll need to praise God with their voices, and their clappin’, They’re the rooms of modern teenagers, They’ll need to invite the spirit into service, they’ll love it! record covers and tape cases littered the floor Then it won’t be a dead church, No, not a dead church, There’s a stereo stacked on top of a chest, Sure, they’ll follow their tradition, and carry on their religion, but The window is too dirty to see out anymore It won’t be a dead church, Oh, a dead church The room is full of buried things, Things that we will never see Buried Memories, Buried Dreams There are things that will never be Buried Memories, Buried Dreams The Solution None are as real as they once seemed Buried Memories Wil Fry IV 2-26-88 They are buried somewhere in that room, can’t ya see As i looked out across my backyard, with unkempt grass and shrubs, Maybe, among the filth an old Bible can be found somewhere i thought a while, and i finally realized how sad it is But it’s unread, and not helpin’ to clear the air now that we’ve grown up and matured, There are piles of half-written letters, and gobs of crumpled in-mail we don’t have much fun anymore, like we did when we were kids. The closet is full of stuff, all waiting for a garage sale All our time seems to be taken up by homework and our jobs, The room is full of. . . and if we don’t keep up with the rest of the world, we’ll look like slobs. (repeat chorus) The suicide rate is going up, the success rate is going down, Now, Jesus wants to be. . . Your Dream. and everywhere you look, there’s almost always a frown. You can see the bums, the homeless, and the failures sitting around town. The business that i need to catch up on is deep enough to make me drown. So many people realize this sad situation in the world today, How Long Will It Last? and they try to make up a solution to take their problems away. 7-30-88 Will Fry So far the solutions that they’ve come up with don’t seem to work, Since our problems can’t be rectified in that way, they want to croak. I’ve fought a good fight, I’ve run a good race But even though i haven’t lived as long as some people, I’ve shown out my lite, I’ve kept up the pace and don’t have their experience, i know i have a solution that works: It’s Jesus. How long will this last, how long will I have to wait Some people don’t seem to agree with me; they always want to be averse, I’ve lived on this earth, for a long, long time But then they start slipping, and worst comes to worst. I’ve talked of your worth, not getting a dime. i have known this for quite a long time now, How long will this last, How long will I have to wait and i’ve been doing quite well, but other people’s lives just aren’t working out, I’ve taught about you, In my church and school and they’re starting to think about Hell. I’ve lived within you, they think I’m a fool I only wish they would lend me an ear and listen to my message; How long will this last, How long will I have to wait i just wish they would be able to hear and avoid all the damage. I haven’t been mute, I’ve spoken out loud They’re wandering around searching for a panacea, and none are to be found, They will persecute, Out there in the crowd And every time they get up off the floor, they fall down on the ground. I’ve been through so much, I think I might fall i know there is a solution that works, but they won’t listen to me. You are not my crutch, I know you’re my all Maybe if they saw God face to face, then they would start to see; I’ve listened to you, I’ve answered your call i know there is a solution that works: it’s Jesus. He will help you through your hard times, and your trials, I have been so true, I’ve given my all. He will brighten you Whole day, every time he smiles. Now I’m getting tired, My body’s worn out Yes, there is a solution that works: It’s Jesus. Don’t know what to do, I just ain’t that stout. Reach out right now! - Wil Fry IV How long will it last, How long will I have to wait In Place Of Me (original version) You don’t wanna Change Wil Fry IV Sept. 1, 1988 WCF 2-22-89 (later revised by Holly Urban & Kimberly Roever, for use in a live performance)

As I lay my life before You, as i lay it at Your feet, You’re going somewhere, but you don’t know where i want to be as broken as i can be The road is in front of you, but you don’t know where it leads. i feel so bad for all, for all the sins i’ve done You just don’t understand i just want to repay you for the sacrifice of Your son. the tears come to my eyes as i realize just how unworthy i am Your friends can’t help you, ‘cause they’re confused, too when i look to the Cross, i see the Lamb. . . Oh! What do ya do? Jesus Christ was slain for all my sin Caught in evil, can’t break free no more Jesus Christ was slain for all my sin From now on, just staying alive is a chore Why did He choose to die (twice) I should have been the one up there, hanging from that tree You’re a sinner - and you know it, you just don’t wanna change No sin did He commit, He died in place of me Why don’ you wanna change In place of me. . . Lost once again; and you don’t know what’s around the corner, The blood ran down from His sores, the holes in His hands, The road is crumbling before your eyes, The hole deep in His side was painful, I know it must have been The tears within His flesh were deep, deep enough to kill The door is shutting in your face. The crown of thorns upon His head was pressed deeper still You just don’t understand. the tears come to my eyes as i realize just how unworthy i am Someone can help you, ‘cause He knows the Way when i look to the Cross, i see the Lamb. . . Oh! Why not Obey? Jesus Christ was slain for all my sin Jesus Christ was slain for all my sin Why did He choose to die (twice) I should have been the one up there, hanging from that tree I Need Some Prayer No sin did He commit, He died in place of me WCF 2-24-89 (Ephesians 6:18,19) In place of me. . . Darkness falls around me, the shadows are long, and mysterious, The enemy’s getting closer, my desperate situation’s getting serious, Depression To Insanity The ground itself reaches up, and entangles my feet By: Wil Fry IV 1-16-89 My pace is getting slower at every loud heart beat. I need some encouragement right now- I have tred the well worn path of limitless mental toil, You know I’m feeling weak now- I have stumbled under the heavy burden imposed by the cruel, Please pray for me, with all your might, tyrannical oppressors of my mind. Lord, help me to love you with all my might Although I have searched for many wearisome months, I need some prayer There is no tangible, applicable answer After the long night, the morning never started to break, that my soul can conceivably find. I know what I need, the comforting peace that the Lord makes, There are so many people continually in my presence, You know I can’t wait, for that joy to start to come Who can’t seem to see my problem, except as a trifling abnormality, Please, Oh, Jesus, interrupt this endless night with Your Son I only wish they could see down deep in my troubled heart, I need some encouragement right now, I wish they could see what is hidden inside; You know I’m feeling weak now continually wounding and hurting me. Please pray for me, with all your might My Emotions have been torn, my heart has been broken, Lord, help me to love you with all my might It seems no matter where I go, or what I do, I need some prayer I’m always hurting, and not another soul is aware, There’s an eternal hollowness behind my eyes, that won’t go away My throat is hoarse, and my brain confused; A Heart So Cold There is a persisting disorder to my hair. Wil Fry IV 5-15-89 (unlike I Need Some Prayer, this “song” has no happy ending. . .) At the end of a long dark tunnel, I see a dim light, flickering, Sometimes it fades entirely, sometimes it brightens intensely, All my life, I’ve been told that God’s the only way filling me with hope. The only Way to achieve happiness In the darkness, I’m continually falling to the rocky ground, I’ve believed it since I was a kid losing my way And I’ve seen the people God’s blessed I’m not sure what choice to make, which path to take; I’ve been on fire for Him many a time maybe I’ll never know I’ve witnessed to my friends - being bold But now something’s left my life I keep expecting the horrid pressure to decrease, the hurting to My heart is growing so cold cease, I feel the fingers of Satan - like an icy Arctic wind But it never does, and I keep trudging, stealing my soul continually hounded by my environment. What can I do now - how can I win The cold specter of insanity encircles me on every side, with a heart so cold? Offering release from the hurt and pain of this cruel world I’m living I’ve reached out for Jesus, my Savior and Lord in. hoping to hear just one encouraging word Please God, if you are really there, save me from this mess, But dark, ominous silence is all that’s heard I’m reaching for an encouraging word Sometimes I feel you there, and sometimes I try to recapture my old power I just can’t perceive your presence, to revive it like a dying child Please give me a sign or speak to me in some way, I want to have the Holy Ghost Power give me someone to understand But I’m growing cold all the while Just let me know you’re out there, or I might cease to be a man. I feel the fingers of depression - like a dark, stormy cloud killing my soul What do I do now - how can I win with a heart so cold? The Evolutionists God Comes Down Wil Fry IV November 22,1989 (English IV) wcf 2-20-90

The short, fat ‘scientists’, each with a bald head, There’s a mountain - where i go to pray; they examine the bones of those long dead. isolated - alone - a hidden retreat; By myself on the peak, i look out across the world, With their beady eyes and chattering ways, the clouds below, valley meandering they stare at fossils for endless days. the beauty of it all - overcomes - takes my breath They assert that a pig’s tooth is really a human bone. Below me, armies battle to win the world They claim that we’d each be better as a clone. there is contention there, and pain, so much pain there is distress, no hope, there’s no hope for them They fiddle with our genes, trying to better the masses, i have scaled the heights to speak with God while staring out of tunnels with their Coke-bottle glasses. . . . He listens We listen to them and learn how men Why don’t they climb, too? descended from paramecium. They’re blind, you see - no idea of what’s above, here on the peak. i feel for them, i cry for them - why can’t they hear? They try to reproduce the effects today, They’re deaf, you see. but the genes won’t change in any way. some of them i know - some i’ve never seen; When you think you have them trapped in their own logical pen, but yet i feel for them, i feel. they’ll tell you that the laws of science didn’t apply back then. i know how they hurt – remember once when i was down there too - long ago, They say that bacteria soon became fish – but i have dared the climb, this is something that they can only wish. yes i have braved the heights to see my God And even if the fish washed up on the proverbial sand, . . . He listens there is no chain of events that would make him a man. God’s up there, some say – “He can’t comprehend human struggles” - at all To them, the world is one big blur -if anything was evolved, they were. why should he care? The only reason they believe the evolution façade Misunderstandings - misinterpretations, misinformation, is so they don’t have to believe in the true God. it permeates - society rots - they think God is far away, He’s so far away. Yet i know, from here so high, God came down - Love came down - in a man sometime. In the man, the Messiah, some say; He felt our struggle, He is not unable to grasp the concept – The Lord Has Made Me Happy He felt your struggle, He will carry you WCF 12-15-89 4:25 pm . . . He carries “All those below will not be fitted on your mountain,” you speak loudly - We made the trip several times a year, a ten hour drive I say “all these hills are God’s” To the land that to my heart is so dear, where I feel alive Pick a mountain, make your way, to climb and pray, I wander all through the canyons, taking up a rod Speak to the sky, scream, cry, I walk as though I were Moses, talking to my God or lie silently in reverence, in awe - of strength; As I began to blend in with Nature, the sun in the sky His strength - not of power, but of Love, will shine; there is doubt - confusion - there has always been - never will it leave, The animals, trees, water, and the dust, I know I’ll not die but surely on Day, doubters will be cast away; I can feel God’s perfect presence, consuming me now when God comes down again for me His mighty arms wrap around me strengthening me now You?. . . No vehement road noise to bother me, it’s so quiet there . . .He comes No pollution to blacken my lungs, just pure, clean air I feel the wind across my face, ruffling my hair For the rest of my life on Earth, I could stay right there I forget the thistles surrounding me, and their silent pain Unreality I forget the buzzing bugs all around, no loss or gain WCF 2-28-90 I forget that I have to leave, to rejoin modern life I forget that life has problems, I forget the strife “vague perceptions”; “twisted imaginings”; other names for reality The Spirit of God is closer to me, the birds are singing The lord moves in and takes over my mind, the rabbits keep springing We call it real, but who really knows what’s happening My spirit rises up in me, the lord reaches down Sanity borders craziness; wiseness borders insanity; This high has not a ‘hangover’, never a letdown My gerbil’s my psychiatrist - he really knows how to help me I remember just what I heard and felt, when Jesus said to me, The mists of life surround us; convince us they are the most real “I’ll bring life to you, over and again - life abundantly” How do we know what we feel is really what we feel? I feel His life flowing in me, giving me strength Things that are visible - we believe in, and also more The strength I’ve waited for to see, thru my life’s length Sometimes we foolishly insist that the ground is under the floor Now I’m happy How do you know? Have you ever looked? The Lord has made me happy Don’t even believe what you read in books. AMEN. You’ve been lied to, the Earth is flat Made for giants - a big “Welcome” mat; They say airplanes fly because the wings do tricks I say they’re foolin’, you might as well flap some sticks Nothing is real; Nothing is not; we’ve taken for granted too much Like we used to be monkeys or some other ignorance or such Follow The Blind Ho! Hey! What a stinky DaY! WCF 4-12-90 Hay-soos 4-30-90 (concerning 4-28-90) They trust in the word of the man; ink pens, fountain pens, rubber pens, metal pens, they do his every command. Blind fools, they follow the more blind, you can write your name with any one of them led off a path they cannot find. school books, hard back, little books, paper back We abhor this hypocrisy – find them all, every one in a big stack blind belief is not our policy. calculator, terminator, commentator, stimulator Instead, we choose to boldly trust I found an ugly cannibal, and so I ate ‘er in the Word of God, yes we must. sunburn, Komintern, left turn, little worm To speak of this, we take a risk – My boat hit a whale and I found it was a Sperm that some will follow us and miss. We truly want to lead no one; Greased hair, Grizzly bear, over there, in a chair we want them to follow the Son. Have a fruit tree, let it grow some green pears. Trust us not in the faith we took; Come make a simple mental connection, for Goodness’ sake trust only words found in the Book. What does it mean? Don’t ask Eugene! (He’s such a green bean) Therein is your guidance and joy; Don’t sit on the bleacher, just shoot the teacher (If you can reach her) therein is the Truth we employ. Hey! Hey! (the Hudson Bay!) (I wanna play!) Follow not biased, foolish men – (Artichoke!) Gimme a Coke! (What a bloke!) (Go choke!) they will cause stagnation and sin. Doesn’t make sense, I’ve got sixpence (crashed into a fence) Don’t take standards set by masses – they are taught in brainwash classes. (Asparagus!) the World are Us, (don’t make such a big fuss) The leaders will tell what to do; Racing down a freeway, on a bright sunny day they want only to control you. (feelin’ kinda gay) Leadership; it can be alright, It’s so nice, I skidded on the ice (I paid the price) but it abused, can bring the night. Hit a snow bank, You a skank, baby Answers searched for in men of pow’r Hey, Ho, His name ain’t Joe seldom help for more than an hour. Ho, Hey, What a stinky day! Wo! Wow! The Bible holds answers for all. Won’t you open and hear it’s call. How Now Brown Cow Hierarchy uses the word Behold, break the mold, do what you’re told, the house is sold of God to preach what they want heard. Be my honey, spend my money, call me funny, watch Bugs Bunny Scriptures used to back what they say; Why are you climbing that tree? You are an alligator, I see. They’ll deceive you every day. When are you? (Oh, you too?) Don’t be Blue (Just be thru!) Impostors are out there right now. Come unglued, Be a prude, the Birdy cooed, the lover wooed Want to succeed? They’ll tell you how. Sunday, Tuesday, Crappy Days; What God wants is your faith in Him, without which your chances are slim. Monday, Friday, Sappy Days; Thursday, Wednesday, Pappy Days, The Weekday comes, my bicycle hums, ready to pedal for You! Wasted Years, Wasted Tears Kris WCF 4-30-90 WCF 5-4-90

Somehow words don’t come like I wish they would Kris is this guy, last name’s Burkholder I want to open my heart, and let feeling flow if you look at him, your feet get colder There are things I’ve held for years and more Some things that I just couldn’t let go (and your great-grandmother’s flowers get older) Speaking to my heart, I ask it to turn up the feelings that I feel His hair is weird, but so is mine, so who cares at all Maybe these words mean little to anyone else, i see a big, fat, obese rat behind that wall but to me, they are all that’s real i smell a rat, things are getting kinda fishy Rhyme if they will, don’t if they won’t, Just let me speak my heart tonight. the scum between your toes is gettin’ kinda squishy I sit here, on the floor of my room, Kris, Kris, how did you miss feeling like I’m letting something slide What a neat guy, this Kris (People say he’s gay, Feel like there was a chance I had, that I missed, i know he’s not that way) (Maybe in May) and I’ll never get to try again. That’s the way life is, full of wasted years After it’s all over, he’s a cool guy My life will always be full of wasted tears. a little weird, but so are you and i.

Now I choose to move on, to do something right I will try to live what I’ve claimed to believe all my life Laugh if you will, spit in my face It can’t be worse than all the years gone to waste Chapters of my life slide back into the fog of time, Oh, Diane Days on end that I’ve ruined, never will I be able to clear these out. 6-18-90 Will Fry What’s done is done, some races have already been run (To Diane Robinson) The past is past, now I need to live right and make it last I’ll call on the only God I know, to help me fix those wasted years I know He’ll help me, He always does, to wipe away those wasted tears The freshness of the spring the dew on the grass I wanna wait for Him, wait for His plan, Please smile for me But it’s hard, ‘cause I’m a selfish, foolish man it’s all I can ask I live my own way, I pay Him no heed But all the while, He’s caring for my needs The sun beams give you warmth I do things daily, that I can’t forgive myself You give that warmth to me Yet God shrugs them away, and lets me start over Let’s frolic here together The best friend I have, he forgives me every time, when I slip and slide, beneath the green, shady tree sometimes on purpose He lets me begin anew, with a new life, a new, clean heart, a fresh start He helps me forget the wasted years, the trials and rocky times The thick, plush green grass He lets me dry all those wasted tears, the sobs of anguish and pain the clouds in the sky Wasted years, Wasted tears, never will they haunt me again, It just might rain, For I have stepped out of my old skin I have shed the old life, the one I used to live But, please, don’t cry Now I’ll give love to get it, and get it to give The rain, it may be too cold But together, we’ll stay dry As I cover you from the rain The Beastly Song Let’s not say good-bye 5-1-90 WCF

There was this guy named Les, made some leather boots The hard, cold rocks, He lived off of crickets, and lots a’ roasted roots they try to break your skin He lives for the fun of it, has no purpose at all But hold tight my hand, He has funny red hair, doesn’t ever comb at all I know we can win Wears a funny green jacket - never ever tries to shave The ground, it may be too hard Everybody laughs at him, but they all think he’s brave But I will break your fall You see, les is the Door - Need I tell you more? If you land on me He has to live for nothing but the Doorway I really won’t care at all And the people that go thru every Day If you go through the door, you may not come back If you ever try, you’ll catch a lot o’ flak Things have gone in - never have returned If you ever try you’ll really get burned Don’t you ever try - you’ll really get spurned And you life maybe rudely overturned You see, Les is the Door - Need I say more? He has nothing to live for but the Doorway And room that is thru it, across the way He never caught a cricket But when he caught it, it died He buried in the ground, outside It’s a sad ending, to a beastly song, and now this song is getting much too long, (so, bye!) Yet clear to. . . Pizza For Me 7-5-90 Will Fry WCF 3-14-91

Yesterday will be green Grey birds of waste flutter in the breeze Dust of restlessness can make a man sneeze Tomorrow was purple Energy without a focus, time without a cause Today is blue Why isn’t this covered by scientific laws? it’s too deep to figure Actions are absent, motives are missing it’s too wide to dig Just which jewel am I kissing? Solace can be found in a shredded envelope from Waldo Reasons remembered do not motivate He always had thoughtful things to say Can emptiness be my fate? Too bad he couldn’t stay Movement without motion, falling without fear Meaning and reason drift as boredom becomes clear When the trees rot underground Desires for nothing, wants for void petrified tongues of angry dreams swirl in a pool of calmness Time is not passing on this asteroid Moving pictures are frozen, still pictures burn As drops of liquid fall from the leaky faucet of life Only if I’m empty, can I ever learn My friends smile and say they care Green leaves are growing, skies are turning blue I see the lies there Still I am going - nothing is new and red blood squirts from severed veins Futures are fading, dreams slip away Oh, Waldo, my frog, my pickle Gold I am not gaining, I only have clay Why, why, oh, why My feet are ragged, from running around The Edge is so jagged, what if I fall down (Is it yet clear to you that I have lost my mind?) The smell is of defeat, But this is no war If there is no contest, what am I losing for? I cross the last rocky ridge A happy puppy crushed by a piano falling from the ice cream truck I spy a pizza in the fridge The ruts in the road have been filled with eyebrows One last tasty, filling gleaning While Johnny laughs and says “Hi, there, cutie” finally my life has meaning She replies “Give me another round” I’ll get drunk tonight with the liquor of my tooth decay When ozone armies attack the killer bees call on Waldo, my pickle, my frog My Word April 21, 1991 Will Fry

Lord, I’m weary, I’m lost on the road The sky is velvet black MLASP It’s getting harder to grow I know You’re the Vine, and I’m the limb (My Last Aspiration Seeking Pulverization) But the fruit of Your Spirit is growing ever so dim WCF 7-6-90 I’m on the right road I’m just going too slow I’m in a cellar above the ground Do you have an answer for me? I see a rainbow but it’s not round And all my dreams come crashing down “My child, I’ve answered long ago. . . I’m in the present, but I feel the past I spelled out my reply in so many pages, Will I ever find a love that will last? written by my friends My life is slow, but it’s gone too fast I called it my Word, and it’s there for you At the playground, I’m gone down the slide All you have to do is look in My Holy Book But it’s not a game, It’s not a ride My Word stands alone for you to receive When I reach the end, I have died only believe There’s dirt in the sky, and stars in the ground My Word. . .” I will soon be lost, Yet once I was found I once was free, but now I am bound I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I long for you. . . Out in the freezing sun, burning snow Give me something to go on My map doesn’t show which way to go. I’m dying in sin. . . What have I learned? I just don’t know I feel so exposed, while I hide my heart I control my whole self, yet just a part And frozen blood waits to melt my heart IAWAWIOWI IIMBTIMIA AMWIWA Untitled Dead Leaves WCF August 10, 1991 WCF December 4, 1992 In the valley of my hill, See the light of the sun pierce the glass I freeze in the burning heat Head looking down as questions you ask In the feast of my famine, Knowing the Truth but never really accepting it as real I am empty as I eat Plagued by pains and circumstances, hurts you can feel In the calmness of the storm, Blinking an eye as a tear trickles out I feel sorrow in my joy Expressions of helplessness, perhaps doubt In my youth, old age sets in; Compassion is questioned, elusive love trickles away as I play, I work with toys Dry dead leaves drop to the ground; dark autumn day I fall far behind the slow, Pleasure comes no longer from pleasurable things I rush ahead of the fast An anthem of bondage from the soul now rings Chilly winter breeze saps the fire from within In the present I am lost, Sizzling coals are drowned by the flood of many sins In the future is my past Reaching out a hand, feeling for something to hold Finding only garbage, when searching for gold Golden rivers course through dirt, Jeweled silver rots away Eyes looking up into empty air Polished bronze seems as leather, legs of iron, feet of clay Hoping, wishing answers were there Made to stand, begins to fall, Words of wisdom in my head Not wanting to sound retreat, yet seeing only one course Symbol kingdoms - fall they down, ‘bounding wisdom brings me dread Waiting for nothing, something to rescue by force Dying tree begins to grow, Limbs spread upwards, down they go Unable to walk, to sit, to stand Shadows fall down from the Light, Then my blindness gives me sight Holding nothing within the hand

Take the Plunge In Mine WCF December 6, 1993 Wil C. Fry, June 20, 1992, To: Jennifer Holler As I journey through this land of trials, Those blue eyes are pools searching for the light at the end of my dreams Translucent and deep I wonder if there’s anyone Hiding a young heart who’s ever made it through; What promises keep? maybe life is really harder than it seems But I keep on walking through the dark, Windows they may be and I keep nursing this broken heart of mine Down into her soul Hoping that one day I’ll live to say, And ev’ry entrance “I made it through without anyone’s help.” Seems to take its toll But I know that I’m just too weak, and now I need someone The world, it wonders to carry me through the dark My heart, now it shakes I know I can make it with His hand in mine. I don’t need any other sign, Ready to dive in just to know His hand, His hand’s in mine Those rivers and lakes But even then, sometimes I fall, I forget that He carries me Go on, take the plunge And I try to make it on my own, Taste the fruit divine until I fall on my face again Tho’ I don’t believe And as I wipe myself off, I look up to the sky She could e’er be mine And I pray that He’d let me try again; I can tell when He’s letting me walk alone Trying to show me it can’t be done alone. So I fall to my knees and pray I know I can make it with His hand in mine; I don’t need any other sign, just to know His hand, His hand’s in mine Fragile World Much Worse Wil C. Fry IV July 17, 1996 WCF 12-23-93 A dew drop glistens on the grass, a tale of morning gladness Ours is a fragile world, Our lives shiny glass trinkets, hanging from strings Or was it my tear that fell, echoing my mourning sadness? Held carefully in unseen hands Some were born to freedom, others to glories or to shames Slightly shaking in the currents of air Some think many happy thoughts - you know their names Tinkling together, sometimes musically, I was born to slavery, though not of ball and chain but most often being chipped away until we are broken, and merciless My bondage is self-induced, for I am rationally insane pointed shards clutter the floor. Knowing what I should do and consistently doing it not Not to have the wind would be to Mattering little whether battles are won, lost, or even fought not hear the music, so no complaint Believing what I tell myself, thus the greatest liar of all is heard But the untouched broken fragments But I’ve heard that landing is much worse than the fall remain, giving witness to the aftermath Alone at night, wishing and hoping for plenty of dreams of the meeting of two hardened people. Truth be told, my reality is much worse than it seems Perhaps to hold the strings further apart Have you ever known love? or hope or Truth or well-being? would be to avoid future collision, but no one knows how hard the winds Convince me of their existence, for perhaps believing is seeing of time will blow, or how close Speak to me softly, hold me as I cry the ornaments will ever come again. Maybe a peaceful ending is somewhere close by Shall we sweep up the shattered, powdery pieces that once were part of us, or shall we let them lie? Or just hope that Someone lets go of the strings . . .On The Grass. . . from which we hang? 9-3-96 Ours is a fragile world. WCF

There I was - twilight blanketing my soul Untitled Was it DEATH? or just being so alone? wil c. fry iv (9-25-95) People come - friends will go – but mostly go; bleary eyes from a sleepless night I feel young - look that way too - but I’m old hand prints red from holding me tight Can you fill the gaping hole in my soul? as I sigh Your eyes while I cry MESMERIZE Your SOUL - so free Appeals to me I Am Small Your words - are they true? (originally untitled) Please PLAY ME for the fool 3-10-96 Sunday 2:30 am Wil Fry -I used to lay on the grass in the cool of the evenin’, pretending that the I am small, I am weak, cold, dirty, hungry, clouds were shaped like you: then the stars would come out, and their tired and hopeless light would tell me that you I am sick, I am poor, blind, ugly, ashamed, were near! lost and broken I am heartbroken CAN you hear me? I am lonely Do you love me? I’m in way over my head Does it matter? I am rebellious Romance me, lead me on, play a tune on the I am defiant strings of the harp that is my heart Angry, and selfish, and cruel, hateful jealous I am greedy and ungrateful; covetous. And don’t leave me lonely. . . I am a thief, a glutton, a drunkard, an adulterer and a fornicator, I am a lawbreaker, a hedonist, and I am proud. I am a swine, I am filth, I am shaking in my skin I am scarred, I am hurting, I am afraid. I am awake, I am hoping, I am looking up. I am searching, I am trying, I am holding on I am changing, I am moving. . . But where? The Scale Looked Strange In The Least WCF 9-18-96 WCF 3-14-97 written at “The Edge” nightclub, 3:00 am written inside “Tramp’s” nightclub There was love, then only confusion The PAIN is gone, a LIGHT is on I am the victim of my own delusions I’m wondering what went wrong You forgot, my promises are always kept Happiness surprised me like a long sweet kiss My heart belonged only to you, except My crumbling heart is not used to things like this Love remains far away - a great price to pay You wouldn’t have it. Now I stand And I’m not convinced I’ve uncovered the WAY alone, and just can’t seem to comprehend But the scale looked strange when I tried to weigh my heavy heart the Destination. Where do I go Where did my pesky BURDEN get off to anyway? A new start? from here? Who do I know Shouldn’t I be lonely? Or something like that? in here? The Wall comes crashing down the next time I do that idiot smile I think I’ll eat my hat to the beat of drums in this town The BLack hole lost me but I still can’t see We hear the songs but we’re afraid the uncommon thing happening inside of me to dance. Do I still have Explanations like the SUNSET do fade a chance? My spiritual premiums continue to be unpaid I’m impaled on a lance of deception The StaRs and mOON shine so clear Do my mind’s feeble conceptions I enter this interim stage with fear How long will it last - have I lost touch with the gloomy past? interest you in the least? I think the hard drive must’ve crashed I’m not programmed for this (It does not compute) Am I ready for bliss? (What is the TRUTH?) Instruments Don’t Make The Band OR: Her Eyes WCF 6-9-97 Volume I of The Relationship Series : THE FLIRTATION I felt her eyes staring wide; Wil Chandelle, 12:33 pm, 11-18-96, Monday We knew centipedes don’t fly. Wet falls down from a splintered sky. THE CHILL THAT SETTLES OVER THE LAND IS IT AN OMEN? THE SIGN OF THE HEART OF MAN Cov’ring the floor was Blood, and much. WHO WALKS BREATHES SMELLS AND SLEEPS I’m not a hero, not as such; EATING DEVOURING THE BEAUTY AND YEARNS Perhaps my loneliness is a crutch. FOR A PLETHORA OF PLEASURES Alcohol? Well, that makes two. THE BEAUTIFUL WEATHER THAT SPEAKS SOFT VOICE LIKE A WOMAN FALLING INTO THE ARMS OF A Clint’s words to me ring home true: CORPSE “Go ahead, and make my day, too.” ARE THE ROOTS ROTTING? IT IS THE “END” WE ARE PLOTTING It’s such a waste, MAYBE KORESH WAS RIGHT I’ve been erased LOOKING TO THE SKIES FOR QUESTIONS TOUCHING I need toothpaste FOOLISH FABLES MISTAKEN MYTHS, DOORS ON SQUEAKING HINGE ALL THAT QUIVERS IS NOT COLD (OR SCARED OR IN LOVE) To look at you, I could start PERHAPS THE “CHAIR”? A volcano in my heart. WOODEN SHOES CRUSH THE DUST THE LIFE THE LIGHT To explore myself, I need a chart RIVERS OF TIME HAVE COME UNGLUED THE TAPESTRY UNRAVELS Of where, and why, and how, and when ALL ROADS LEAD TO SOMETHING EVERY SOUL LOOKING WHAT PRICE THE SIGHT? I commit each and ev’ry sin. IDEAS FLOAT AND DANCE THEN COPULATE WITH MEN There is no way out; what about in? THE OFFSPRING DROWNS AND THINKS AND SWALLOWS DEEP Crayons color the sky, and BREATHING POLLUTED LOVE FROM THE SUNSPOTS Instruments don’t make the band, IN HER EYES But now my head’s out of the sand THEN IT IS GONE THE INDIAN SUMMER THAT CANNOT QUITE HEAT THE BONES THE SKELETON THAT RATTLES I need to sleep BATTLES ARE FINISHED AND ALONE AND FROZEN STANDS Don’t make a peep THE OBJECT. (HE WRAPS HIS CLOAK AROUND HIM AND Now, just count sheep WALKS BACK INTO THE DARK REACHES OF THE IMAGININGS) no one knows? Nameless Wil C. Fry 8-3-97 WCF 12-8-97 2100 hours

Skies below as I float there outside of everything Crumbling granite is my heart Where are the kittens that used to play and sing? Piles of gravel below the sheer cliff I forget to breathe to think to see you at all The Empty caves are my eyes Looking inside again, the victim of it all Inside, nothing can be found Blinking, squinting, dilating, closing my eyes Deep inside, past the living corpse, an infant cries No one knows why

Empty eyes looking over folded hands Questioning Man Sinking in the shifting sands 12-9-97, 0800 hours, WCF Staring, wincing, pacing, waiting for the end Laboring lungs lick up the beautiful wind The questioning man can be satisfied by the answer, Ignoring the purity of your love so fair depending on the answer that he finally receives Running callused hands through thinning hair And the doubting man’s appetite can at long last be quenched No one knows where depending on the type of Truth he finally believes But if the answer he receives at the questioning hour Hearing the music, and weaving, dancing, sinking Feeling the rhythm, moving, and wond’ring, thinking And the Truth he believes together turn out to be sour Do you know me, on my heartbreak now choking? The Questions and doubts will always continue to remain Weary, weak, broken; my wounds are smoking And once again, the lonesome man stands cold out in the rain Dimly we wonder and question where you are now So be cautious of the answers you seek Sensing the shame, guilt I still take the bow And wary of the truths that can be bleak No one knows how But never let your deep questioning cease Waves crash upon the hardened souls in prison And the RAW, COLD TRUTH can still bring release Flames fall from the Hell that is now risen At Least, I’ve been so told Inside me, inside you, there is so much confusion But now I’m getting old Defenders vainly fight off the bloody intrusion And growing cold They fall, they lie in the pools of truth wearing thin No longer bold Defining, remembering, questioning all the sin No one knows when I give in To THE END Is there an end? No one knows. No one knows? Has Not Grown. . . WCF IV; Monday, January 26, 1998; 0200 hours; Splash nightclub . . . Cannot Borrow August 24, 1997, Sunday WCF The sun sets on distant hills Aged men slowly write their wills So many standing within sight of my sorrow Pictures, Portraits, and fantastic stills But from their busy pleasure I cannot borrow Float in the air that is alone Nameless faces and faceless masses all around Unaware that this nameless soul is downward-bound You can see that my heart is free Falling, with my strength sapped and my whole body shaking No one has the courage to love me Out of the bad medicine I have been taking Memories drift on the cold, black sea Was that a light? No, just a spark from flames below And a warm heart turns to stone Vultures hovering nearby, waiting for the show I don’t have the strength to love Darkness falls from FAR ABOVE My last shot pierced the dove Empty Caskets And the child still has not grown (or: “Loving Nothing”) Dancing to rhythms that fall away WCF November 6, 1997 21:00 (original is contained in a letter to Stephanie Atara Joseph) Choking till the light turns grey Mystic naked plunges, frozen icicles of smoky haze And ev’rything I yearned to say Rot in the light of forty-two torches, lost in the maze Is expressed by the moan Hov’ring ‘neath the shadows of contagious sound blaring We watch the hungry children cry Reaping what’s been sown: the sins we are wearing We eat again and wonder why Smelling fragrant illusions and all the while knowing The cold winter lets out a sigh That nothing dead is worth the expensive showing And flesh decays away from the bone Watching empty caskets their numbers steadily growing Happiness is a dream that quickly fades Floating down dry rivers still roughly flowing I dealt, but found no spades Roaming ‘cross vast unseen and unwanted expanse I have tried many strange trades Winning ev’ry hand, taunting the face of chance Losing only that most ethereal and necessary notion And still, interest grows on the loan Loving nothing, as the heart ceases all motion Rising above all depths, never quite seething the moment Speaking only the words: “At this time, No Comment.” Been Rended Out Here WCF, 12-21-98, 3:30 AM (written in Nite Life, nightclub) to: Kristi Lynn Marle (To: All you chics. . .) 7-26-99 WCF 10:15 pm

If only there were some way Out here just merely to convey breathing the air that is ages old Exactly what the hearts in question were feeling But still clean And the waters trickle gently on, Then, then maybe, just maybe out to the sea The two of us, yeah, we From where they will return to wet this land Could keep ourselves from the painful reeling Out here That comes, I don’t know just why I feel the love of the soil for the sky The rain and the sun Is this a good time to cry? And the creatures of Earth still roam free Take my heart apart; with a knife you’re a-peelin’ without a care (No pun intended) Without fear or complication or confusion Into many parts Out here breathing the scent that rises from your mouth my heart’s been rended. Your hair, your skin Just please And your fingers are touching me If you please, your words I hear Let me alone. . . Bringing tears of joy to a sad and lonely soul Out here I cannot think or breathe or sleep Without you near Your presence in my life - even a glimpse from afar The Long-Spurned Friend of The Tortured Soul tickles my fancy or: “HOPE” And I know that I have - FINALLY - won the Prize. February 20, 1999, WCF My Love NOT SO MUCH BRIGHTER BUT MAYBE NOT SO DARK 10:30 pm WCF 7-26-99 STREETS OF DUBIOUS DESTINATION LEAD AWAY i sit FEIGNING A ROSY ROAD WHAT HARM AWAITS? and listen “WHAT DOESN’T FILL YOU MAKES YOU FONDER” and breathe AND INTO THE BLUNDERING SKIES DID HE STEER CHANTING and lean UNDER GRIEVING STARS AND THE STRIPES ARE UNCOLORED into you UNFULFILLED DESTINATION AWAITING CONTEMPLATION OR REJECTION i smile SLIPS UNDER THE DOOR and twinkle THE FLOOR BEING UNEVEN STILL SUPPORTS HEARING REBUTTING my eyes RETORTS HE IS DEAFENED BUT STILL PLUNGES and watch TO WHERE? UNCERTAIN DIRECTION IS BEHIND THE WAVERING lovely you WISTFUL WANDERER WONDERING IN BLACKENED PRACTICE you sigh “YOU’LL NEVER THROW WHAT THEY’RE STINKING” and echo SO GET IN TOUCH WITH YOUR PEELINGS LEAVING THE DEAD my love SHELL BEHIND and lean AND THE ROOTS ARE REPLANTED ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE into me WHERE THE GLASS IS CLEANER AND “THE GRIPES ARE ALWAYS SLIGHTER our hands AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL” are touching FERVENT IMPASSIONED EXPECTANCY REPLACES and warm THE STINK OF DECAYING HESITATION and close DREAMS AGONIZE IN STARTLED INFANCY PAST PERFORMANCE between us PESSIMISTICALLY PREDICTS PROSPECTIVE PAIN we sit QUIVERINGLY AWARE OF THE ODDS and listen ANOTHER ATTEMPT ADVANCES ABRUPTLY ANTICIPATING AND and breathe ACCEPTING ABUSE FORGETTING THAT “THE GIN HE SAVED IS THE GIN HE and lean EARNED.” AND STEPPING BRIGHT-EYED INTO together THE ARENA OF we smile HOPE and twinkle THE LONG-SPURNED FRIEND OF THE TORTURED SOUL our eyes LEARNING FROM WELL-REMEMBERED AND RE-HASHED FAILURE YET and watch ALMOST BELIEVING IN FUTURE SUCCESS each other FAR AWAY IN DISTANT REALITIES LIES THE GOAL i think BUT TOMORROW IS ANOTHER ERA BRIGHTER BY MUCH and ponder and con- IT WAS HE ALONE WHO COMMITTED THE CRIME sider FATE PASSED JUDGMENT who you are HOPE You are GRANTED THE PARDON and will be DESTINY my love AWAITS and light forever Find You Harry WCF August 21, 1999 7-26-99 10:40 pm WCF (To: Harry, my dog of many years [1978-May 14, 1992])

Twilight falling Whispers of a tired night Where owls are out to play Stars feebly shining bright And the Happy Hunting Ground My skin crawling is only a few steps away I awaken only to find you there I hear him running the buzz of tiny padded My dream fading feet slapping the ground so fast that the sounds run together Peace cascading And his black eyes are smiling as he watches over I return to sleep, just to find you there me Knowing my every thought Fear is fleeing Angels and friends there may be but none can feel me and know my pain like him Nightmare Being And the soil breathes a sigh of relief, knowing I only hope that I will Find you there that i love it We were not made for this world We only visit here for a while I hope my Untitled stay doesn’t hurt too long May I go? I know some may miss me And some will (about Sonya René Bryant, a putrescent cunt) August 1, 1999 WCF lament my plight And some will believe that i gave up the fight Others will wipe away The cold hard sunlight lingers on your scaly skin now tears of grief and say i’ve finally found relief that your drugs have fucked it up since you don’t sleep anymore That i’ve gone on to a better place and the bags under your eyes are larger than your sagging cheeks Where joy is on my face And pains are finally your hair is stringy and tangled and matted where you spilled your liquor in it and were so drunk when you erased But they will not know Unless woke up that you didn’t take a shower, and you haven’t slept since they also believe and go And follow him I’m so glad that when I see you that you look so much like the crack whore And follow me that you are that you were even when you denied it so vehemently To Harry’s Happy Hunting Ground. but then got a ride to his apartment to fuck him for some more of that shit that you snort And yes, of course I love the way you used me for my money for my car for a punching bag Soul To Break and you cried when I wouldn’t hit you - how fucked up is that? and it was ever so funny when you got your little girl drunk, using the liquor that I (originally untitled; contained in letter to Stephanie Joseph) bought September 5, 1999 WCF 3:00 pm Then you begged and pleaded for me to eat your pussy after you left me and when you broke my ribs with my pistol, and told me you loved me, even though Doesn’t everyone know that the world is not just you are the reason I was trying to kill myself What you want it to be And it’s not getting any younger it reminded me of the time when I wrote you a poem and you Neither are we Neither are you And we’re not getting ripped it up right in front of me, and threw the pieces out of my window Any better are we But we live on It made me feel good when I saw you fucking over your next boyfriend And, we strive, we push, and we give on just a boy he was, We give too much or not enough and we’re not knowing that I had already been there and survived Satisfied it just seemed right that someone else should feel that shitty too Act as if we’re happy and fill our lives with smiles I once was so stupid as to think that my devotion would help you to change and to get And never know what’s slipping behind the miles over the bullshit that you called your life, but now I know that your past is what makes How many have we traveled and how much farther you who you are and you like who you are and you like being fucked up in the head and Do we have to go? you like being stoned out of your mind and drunk and you like being fucked by a different Because I’m tired and I want to slow down man every night, except that you got pregnant and then murdered your baby, just like it I want to look back and say I didn’t waste it was a bug, and you walked out of there smiling - I paid for that too But I don’t want anyone to say I didn’t taste it No, I’m not done yet Because I did When I was in jail because you lied to the fucking pigs And I spit some of it out onto the cold hard earth and I had no And buried it there toilet paper or mattress or silverware or clothes, But I can never forget because you told them I was suicidal, and that cost me over a thousand And I don’t really want to dollars, besides forty hours of my life - while I was in there I Will we remember it all? Will any of this ride with us into and past wasn’t thinking of killing myself, The grave? I was thinking of killing you and watching Or do the memories keep slipping between our fingers like so much sand your body rot in the sun while vultures picked out your eyes and worms Why do we hold on to such fucked up pictures of the past? crawled through your intestines Why are the fucked up memories the ones that last? and I laughed at the thought, knowing that the world would laugh with me I know we’re supposed to learn That song is not about you the one that says I’m a bitch I’m a lover I’m a child I’m a And improve and change and go on mother I’m a sinner I’m a saint I’m stuck I’m stuck I’m stuck Your song would say I’m a bitch I’m a whore I’m rotten to the core I’m a sinner I’m a We’re fucked slut Come fuck me up the butt I’m worthless I’m shitty I’m way beyond normal pity I’m No, not you and me a cunt I’m a liar I can already feel the fire Hell is my home and I’ll be there as soon as this All of us are fucked life I’m living catches up with me or I piss off the wrong motherfucker who’ll put me in It’s just that sometimes we like it, and sometimes is gives us my grave Something to talk about and we feel That’s how it would go, or even worse if you were honest when you wrote it Better, having told someone, and maybe thinking that we’ve but no one would know just how it feels unless their life came in contact with Lived through worse than them, so we must be stronger that pig sty you call a heart “Bragging rights,” they’re called but I pray that no one will ever know again I pray that no man or woman will ever But if I lie down, do I really again be stupid enough to put up with your shit for one second It would make a great Sleep? movie but no one would pay fifty cents to see it if they were smart or valued their time Or do I visit another world if there is ever again a man who feels that his dick or filthy tongue is so worthless I hope so that he wants to put it inside you, I hope he is killed by killer bees before he has to Because the one I see there in my dreams seems to make much undergo the wretched surgery that is a relationship with you, More sense than this one you putrescent, regurgitated cunt. Now I sit me up to live To the world my soul I give If I die while I’m awake I pray the world my soul to break Karisa Enough (I never knew her last name.) (Enough really is ENOUGH.) Wil C. Fry September 7, 1999 3:03 am By: WCF. On: September 6, 1999, at 10:30pm To travel the world, to see all there is to see On a whim Would that be enough for me? I have seen a lot more than I wanted to She came into my life Already And I let her And I don’t know how much more this tired body And soul can take Small of frame and Skyscrapers and canals Bridges, arches, cathedrals and caves where the sun has never shown Large of smile Red wine flowing from ancient bottles I liked to make her laugh until the tears ran down And someone else’s blood splattered on my face Lovers entwined, college buildings covered in vines Her exquisite face And trees older than this once great nation I have held soil in my hands that was Brought joy to mine, where Once trampled under the feet of samurai children No joy had dwelt The beaches are dirty, Lady Liberty’s torch has grown dim And the same filth is in me For some time In us Standing on a cliff overlooking countryside that has seen more than its fair share Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s friend Of struggle She might have been my lover in another life I cry I hold myself I shiver And yet. . . I wonder And that’s where she went Is there more to this? Something more than just a badly written story-line in a low-budget film Maybe there, in that next world, they will understand her Staring out my window onto city streets “I’m not sure; I don’t know; I guess I never noticed it ‘til I was Driving past the cemetery full of the bodies of men and women who have Lived and died here and there fucked in the head” Standing on barren ground that once was full of vigor It is my soul It is my life It is this world Were some of her last words to me And it gives rise to one question Words that haunt me now that she’s gone on Where is the land of our dreams? Where the water is blue and the air is clean How we walked and talked, it’s still with me When is the time I see when I close my eyes? When children smile and people care How we touched, and looked into each other’s eyes The old letters found in the dusty filing cabinet hold words that used to mean something Both of us finding safe haven there together when both of us To someone The crinkled and yellowing photographs upon the sin-stained walls show us a time Had known worse That is gone But I can’t feel that time now And the world will never know just how glad I am that All I can feel is its loss I was able And I don’t want to feel that But who of us can feel just what we want to feel? To be just what she needed for a short time No, it takes more than that, And that’s what we’re missing Because I know she was for me What? Karisa, maybe I will see you That piece that’s gone now That piece of my life that maybe I never had, or if I did, then I Again Don’t remember it But I want to If not, then And I want to feel it, not just remember Goodbye I want to feel what is in the child’s eyes when he sees an unopened present Or what lovers feel when first they come together and Good luck. Or what the skydiver feels when he last touches the plane And even when I do those things I feel a loss As if I know just how empty I will feel the next day The next week The knowledge that it goes away is just too much for these feet That have walked for far too long I’ll give you this: I have tasted the sweet nectar of brilliant love I’ve looked past the stars and felt the distance of infinity I have let the aroma of scented candles seep into my nostrils As I take a deep breath I’ve watched the orange and purple skies as the sun drops into the Sea But I always know that it will End And I’m always right It never lasts, even though I always want it to That bliss for which all men seek Is not to be found And I am only one more soul that has walked that road, and found it to be lacking Please do not disturb this carcass as you pass It has been disturbed quite Enough And Enough is Enough Footnote Only Her WCF, September 25, 1999, 4:51 am Wil C. Fry IV September 16, 1999 8:00 pm

Do you ever put an album in and listen to it over and over There she was, sitting across the room, a shade covering her eyes Until all the songs sound the same And all else disappeared, as if in a dream And it feels like time isn’t passing anymore There was no sound, no temperature, no one else in my field of vision Time is just sitting there Only her Waiting for you to do something And then she looked my way, only a glance About it But that was enough to keep me hooked And then nothing happens Behind her shaded eyes, I thought I saw something Except the air moves once in a while Something that gave me hope, and I watched her And every now and then your heart beats Knowing I was incomplete For some reason You realize that you are still breathing Knowing I was full of disappointment For some reason And hope arose within me And you stare at a blank wall and watch the atoms move Hope of something, anything better than what I knew And dance I still have that hope Or is it just the spots in your eyes? And she is still sitting across the room More or less a quandary A shade remains over her eyes More or less a paradox And I am still in a dream More of the same old shit that you wish you weren’t getting used to There is still And you wish you weren’t being used As just a carbon dioxide manufacturing device Only her I guess plants need to breathe too Some aspire for great fame And some are brought to humbling shame Pedestal Some achieve and conquer nations Wil C. Fry, Tuesday, September 28, 1999, 9:15 am And some suffer indignations There, upon the pedestal, I placed you Then there are those And there I leave you who are not even listed as a footnote in their own life Although it’s been said your reign here is through Muddling through a nonexistent existence It is more difficult to come down from my pedestal As if there were a reason Than you might think Because I need someone to sit there forever I Want To And the applications for the position have been few You thought your resume was crummy Wil C. Fry IV, September 22, 1999, 0903 pm I thought it looked better than some I’ve seen I want to kiss you And as good as any On the neck, and then The employee turnover here is not as high as it could be Press my lips against yours, feeling the soft warmness that is there But higher than I had wished I want to run my hands through your hair And so, each time, I offer a better package As you hold me And press yourself against me Whatever the market will bear I want to smell you near me So, stay on the pedestal a little longer That sweet scent that makes me breathe We can work this out Like it’s my last breath Just because you get a pink slip from time to time I want to undress you Doesn’t mean that you’ve lost the job for good First with my eyes, and then with my hands, while you exhale softly And touch me softly And please don’t leave I want to feel your skin against mine Just because the Company’s having a slow day In that way that only we have I’d hate to have to paint up a new “Help Wanted” Sign While I kiss your navel and lightly touch your nipples I want to lay you down A Heart And massage every part of you Wil C. Fry IV, Tuesday, September 28, 1999, 9:40 am And kiss every part of you I want to join with you in making love A heart is an ugly thing Slowly, letting every moment fill itself with passion At least mine is And the minutes slide away, feeling like seconds I want to please you A heart is covered in blood In whatever you want, in every way you want At least the ones I’ve seen For as long as I can A heart works hard I want to taste you A heart is tired That sweet taste that only you can give A heart beats And enjoy the taste with you as our mouths come together A heart gets beaten I want to enter you At least mine does And fill you and feel your warm wetness around me A heart is an organ of life And feel the warmth of your body against mine Without which we die I want to remember you A heart should be strong Like I’ve never remembered anyone else A heart should be taken care of And love you as no else has loved you A heart should be cherished I want to make you forget And mine is. . . The clock that binds you to this earth Well. . . And the burdens that pull you to the ground Okay. . . I want to But still. . . Do you want to? Have a heart When I go Cataclysmic Wil C. Fry IV, Tuesday, September 28, 1999, 8:30 pm Wil C. Fry IV, Friday, October 1, 1999, 21:00

Will they remember me Did you ever have a feeling, like you knew what was about to happen? When I go A prophetic feeling How will they recall these short stories that are my life? Like you knew she was going to walk through that door, and say those exact words Will they tell false truths amongst themselves, I have a similar feeling now Making believe that they loved me Like the time is drawing near Or will they tell the truth Like Time is drawing to a close And cry at my demise Like a cataclysmic event is about to take place And at the rest of my demises In my life Or will they laugh amongst themselves, Part of me hopes I am wrong Telling amusing anecdotes about the man who didn’t And part of me hopes I am right Fit And I don’t even know if the cataclysmic event is going to be good or bad Can you put a square hole into a round peg? I feel like something is breaking Or, like me, can you leap from the bottom of a cliff? Something is Falling And throw yourself in front of a parked car Something is being poured out of a giant glass Shoot yourself in the back with a sword Onto a scalding surface where the soul is burned Hanging from the floor by an untied rope And boiled, baked, then frozen Dropping an unplugged toaster into an empty tub And thawed and chopped and diced Will they know I was a stranger And then spilled into the garbage Will they know that I Falling from the sky like a skipping heartbeat Never knew where Listening to unfiltered sounds like a broken planet I belonged? Falling to pieces like a tired God who wants it all to end

These Are The Things Thursday, 6:11 pm, September 30, 1999 Tuesday Wil C. Fry, Tuesday, October 5, 1999, 21:15 I want to find a piece of gold, stubbing my toe in the sand I want to see the Eiffel Tower, and climb it by hand Sifting through the wreckage I want to fly around the world, and see all I can see Not willing to admit that life is livable I want to live in a cave, and then live up in a tree What edge? These are the things I want to do You mean that thing I just stepped over? I want to walk naked on a warm summer’s night, then run Go back and live your life Into the ocean’s water, and drift till rises the Sun And leave me alone I want to ride bareback across the wide and open plains Keep pulling hats out of your rabbit I want to climb highest mountain, though the cold bring me pains And excuses out of your ass These are the things I want to do While I pull glass out of my eyeball I want to stand on the airless, sandy soil of the Moon I’m not your damn grandfather I want to drink whiskey with cowboys in a wild saloon So don’t pat my shoulder and tell me what you think I want to hear I want to dig to the center of the Earth, find what’s there And don’t play your happy or sad songs around me I want to hang glide off a mountain, and breathe the clean air Not while I’m pissing on myself These are the things I want to do Imagine the world without me I want to see visions that no man has seen before Imagine me without the world I want to sell my soul, be filthy rich, and even more No, I can’t either I want to be the Emperor that all the peasants laud But my socks are soiled and a moth just flew up my nose I want to raise my voice, and wake the deafened ear of God You ask me when I will grip on myself These are the things I want to do My answer? I want to write the book that ev’ryone will buy and read When hippos fly out of my ass I want to follow the leader, and then I want to lead Oh, shit, there goes another one! I want to see the Loch Ness monster, on a foggy day Okay, so I lied I want to blow up the world, and then I want to pray Let the bulbous, water-dwelling creatures be shot from my ass like it These are only some of the things I want to do was a cannon But I will not get a grip on myself Nor will I pull the moth out of my nose Or wash my dirty socks So turn up the music and shut your fucking mouth Now Go Away Out of Joint What I Think About Wil C. Fry, Wednesday, October 6, 1999, 01:30 (Nite Life) Wil C. Fry, Sunday, October 10, 1999, 01:53 Orthopedic stereos running on broken bridges without sight All my dreams were Sexual lights drinking too many salsa bowls and falling for fright Castles in the sand Overlooking metaphors, and seeing only the morbidly free Classy confused amphibians drown under incorporated scree Then the Tide arose and Sinking mezzanines blanket red construction then disarray I opened my hand Settling simpletons scream savagely, seeking sobs of silence and gloom Monstrous colors bleeding globules of asphalt and interaction Nothing was left, Humorous tombstones sink and sway to tribal engines (Altimeter) Nothing at all Silvery teeth walking on strained fornication over so much time Shifting pillars applauding after blue windows wrapped in night I awoke at Smoothly rattling entourages ignoring misspelled vegetables The end of my fall Sickened mountains spewing salty underwear beside caterpillars “Previously Owned” skeletons salivating before illuminated furniture (Horace) Only to discover that Clean-shaven mutants masquerading between adhesive lampposts below Life still disappoints Savage potatoes barking yesterday except for quilted guilt Dazed nomenclatures seeping through glassy fish that scream And the entire world Righteous bandages rolling past sixteen candles and a banner Is out of joint. . . AGAIN. Humid trophies spurt cracked outlets beyond shortened love Spiraling traitors sniffing unfinished desert escapades I couldn’t get laid again if I was the last man on Earth Farting violinists shaving less than a purposeless walrus stripper Dreamy Autumn Nights Homeless flowers failing since seven plummeting whores Wil C. Fry IV, Saturday, October 9, 1999, 00:31 Elfin mangers drizzling unless sprinkled with volcanic breath Resting piles of dung flinging capricious phrases upon poignant eclipses A monster is there You can’t shave your legs with your pantyhose on unless it’s Octember Beastly groins saving sensations of sweetly different ashes (Martians) And the genie grants none of the wishes Jabruary Febrarch Mapril Aprune Junely Julgust Augtember Septober Scaly, slimy, and beautiful things abound Nocember Decanuary are the days of the strong Happiness isn’t that difficult when you’re stuck And monkeys fly out of my ass to heal the ashes In the inner chamber of syrupy sugar sweetness (The original script was handwritten with many margin notes and drawings, including the But flies are attracted too following excepts:) For days, it’s all I’ve heard “POKEY THINGS” “AN ASS” “ORIFICE” “A FUCKING BRICK WALL” “MY DREAMS AND OTHER GARBAGE” “RAINING ON YOUR PARADE” “A The sound of green leaves turning STEAMING PILE OF SHIT” “ME” “THE REST OF THE WORLD” Aching timbers groaning to support the earth, then snapping “FORNICATION IS MY FRIEND” “LITTLE PEOPLE” “OBSEQUIOUS” “SIMPLE SIMON FUCKED THE PIEMAN RIGHT UP THE ASS” “ 2,3,5,7” “YOUR Bumpy roads lead you to colors that are dark HEART BOILING ON THE STOVE” “WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU HAD SEX WITH AN ETCH-A-SKETCH?” “BARKING UP THE WRONG DICK” “SHE WAS A And shadows hide what you don’t want to see BRONTOSAURUS” “KAMIKAZE SNAKE TURDS” “ANDROID HOOKERS” But still I seek it, I search for that ungraspable mystical wisp of nothing “APESHIT BULLSHIT DOGSHIT HORSESHIT MYSHIT YOURSHIT” “THIS POEM BROUGHT TO YOU COURTESY OF ENEMA PRODUCTIONS” “NARCOLEPSY” Feet sliding on air, toes tingling, and shiny shapes upon the wall tantalize “RAUNCHY SEX WITH ALIENS” “LEFT TURN SIGNALS” “MID SQUID: ARE And tease YOU A MEMBER?” “ELDERBERRIES EATEN BY MUTANT TOADS” “CARCINOGENS ARE MY FRIEND” “HA! HA! HA!” “PARTIAL LOBOTOMIES The night sky whispers and squeaks, growing cranky will ill ease ARE CHEAPER THAN EVER BEFORE” “NEVERMORE” “IF YOU LEAVE ME, CAN I COME TOO?” “YELLOWJACKETS” “YOU COULD CLEAN UP A LITTLE BY Resolve is outdated; I think I’ll change my name PISSING ON YOURSELF” “WHY DO WE STILL USE ELECTRIC HEAT SINCE WE Strange dead creatures tap the shoulder and call softly INVENTED THE ATOMIC BOMB?” “EDIBLE TELEVISION SETS” “IF A TATTOO IS PERMANENT, DOES THAT MEAN IT REMAINS AFTER THE BODY ROTS?” Listening to haunted music, liquid scent that dries up the day “WILLY WONKA IS DEAD” “PUSSY” “ASS” “BOOBS” “QUIT FUCKING Bright darkness speeds along slowly, false truths proudly hide WITH THE TIME MACHINE” The air thickens with moisture and a mirage of midnight velvet descends The strange secrets surface though none can see And bold voices grow quiet while ghosts are out to play Far distant sensations hover nearby and fantasy touches the the last kiss Unimaginative Wil C. Fry IV, Sunday, October 17, 1999, 23:00 The shroud falls upon us and muted notes ride the air in company with She kissed me today laughter I don’t know why Breezes and stillness swirl upon the drowsy But it still felt good that she thought to do such a thing And blooms close for safety Even though I’m sure she had her motives One last cigarette couldn’t hurt And if felt good to feel her lips Close your eyes and sleep - wide awake in the solitude of your dreams On mine I watch the town while it’s winding down and wipes the frown Even if it was for the last time That she’ll ever make me feel that way From the face of a child bundled into softness Still, I’m getting awfully tired You are no safe until you stop breathing so enjoy what you can, little one Of being left Closed are the doors of the chapel, for God is sleeping And I’m getting awfully tired And you should too Of saying good-bye Spectacle of Aching Untitled Wil C. Fry IV, Saturday, October 23, 1999, 14:49 10-30-99, Saturday, 0903, WCF

Living in a fabric of twisted nightmares Once upon a dreary, foggy morn Is my waking reality A savage, mutilated son was born There, beyond the haunting night bells In a city rumbling to cock-eyed beats That ring and sing for me A thousand spectators wait in their seats The chilling demonstrations of jubilation Hoping for a spectacle which to spy Is cold porridge in the pot All they saw was a young man start to die And every hope I’ve ever maintained His face was set, his visage forlorn Has left me here to rot Once upon a dreary, foggy morn Climbing over the muddy, slippery ridge I falter once again Yet spilling over into my consciousness You see I have no friend Untitled Crumbling into a horrid spectacle of aching (later titled, “A Path Is Set”) Dissolving every reason November 27, 1999, Saturday, 03:45 hours, WCF Waiting for the hurried passing of Time Missing out on every season Blinking lights wearily flashing Discontinuous raging insanity supports fragments Of who I used to be Tentative arguments crashing Nothing is more raggedly humorous or jocular Hobbling every stale action Than the dream of being free Fighting off every grim faction Sinking without solace under the burden of proof Layers of decay now peeling She shakes her beautiful head Injuring each fragile feeling One more wasted, spoiled chance in time Communion with the dead Underneath bright and brilliant star .45 reasons fortify insecurity and I drive on, laughing Finding out who you really are Crash into a wall It all comes clean with a scrubbing Logical mazes help not the emotionally bound And all the soundtracks need dubbing Crush us as we crawl (Some versions do not contain the following lines:) Years of filth and whispered madness Bleed us as we fall Tears of pain and mourning sadness Make us feel so small Answers searched for in aching dark Take from us the ball Shaving off aged, wrinkled black bark My, you look so tall Deeper into the rancid hole Lengthen every hall Get into a brawl After searching, is found a soul Don’t heed heaven’s call Pitiful laughter rises weak As they say, “That’s all.” Defiantly trying to seek Freedom, joy, happiness and light Purpose, direction, life and sight Languish Lamenting sinful days of old Wil C. Fry IV, Thursday, October 28, 1999, 03:13 Hoping for warmer hands to hold Forsaking the lips red as wine Straining, sweating, squinting, betting Shouldering the heavy load that is my conscience Skin of summer leaving behind A prophet once said, “to whom much has been given, Paths of misdirection, I know much will be required” Led me to misery and woe And I languish under the import of those words Lusts of flesh, and of eyes and life Aching, crying, hurting, dying Fed me daily and led to strife Wondering about the trash that is my life Protecting what now still remains A prophet once said, “O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer” I regain control of the reins And I know what he was talking about A path is set, not tried but new Steps taken toward what is true Slipping, sinking, failing, thinking Considering the frustration that is my fate A prophet once said, “everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing . . . gained under the sun.” Untitled And I have found it to be true 12-2-99 WCF 04:30

Spitting, lying, choking, dying Gypsy lady pays her quarter Imploding from pressures that are imaginary Little kiddy pays his fine A prophet once said, “It is appointed unto man once to die, Tourniquet overshadows the blood and after that, the judgment.” The king says, “Hey, that’s mine!” And I am waiting. Forty tiny droplets, a bucket in the sand If life was a job, I should be canned No Disney People Regeneration of the Soul WCF December 5, 1999 Sunday 06:05 WCF; January 6, 2000; 04:20

Generous garbage and humorous quirks Making strides into the neverland of our dreams Vindictive bitches and asshole jerks Reaching for the stars that twinkle Brightly in our imagination Waistlines hung low and skirts hiked up high Grasping through the murky darkness What’s the fucking point, if we’re all gonna die? Finding that solid ground again Stand up straight, wipe that smile off your face That slippery rock that will not sink Someday soon, child, you’ll meet your disgrace But is so hard to hold on to I could tell you, I could write it all down And so difficult to find I can show you places all over town But why? You’ll learn on your own Climbing out of the quicksand of our past This world won’t give the dog no bone Wiping of the muck and mire that stinks Lift up your bootstraps, if you are able Foully in our nostrils Bathing in the cleansing shower Put all of your cards up on the table Sensing that cleanness once again Keep the wallet in your pants pocket tucked way down That fresh feeling in your soul that makes you feel so good And expect to have some color in your wedding gown But is so hard to keep around There are no Disney people living here And so elusive for me Clutch your belongings, and live in fear Or let go. Who knows what the Purpose is? Not I. MAN OF THE WORLD I have some good advice Wil Fry IV, Thursday, January 13, 2000; 02:50 And I have some that’s bad But either way you go WRONGFULLY ACCUSED This life will make you sad RIGHTFULLY DESPISED SOMEHOW I LOST THAT WHICH WAS GREATLY PRIZED ONCE NAÏVE, AND NOW WISHING TO REVERT WIDE-EYED WONDER CHOOSES ME TO DESERT Insomnia JADED SOUL SURVIVING, SURPRISINGLY WCF, December 21, 1999; 04:26 DULLED, SLOWED MIND STILL THINKING, ETERNALLY INNOCENT SMILE TURNING TO ONE SO WRY Heartbeats like the ticking of an off-beat clock SUNSETS THAT ONCE BROUGHT TEARS LEAVE MY EYES DRY Closed eyes like a man fighting off a headlock Quivering lights outside my dark window pane Lying on the tracks, waiting for the next train LURCHING Breathing shallowly, like I’m suffocating Wil C. Fry IV, Thursday, January 13, 2000; 03:40 Noticing that life can be nauseating But sleep doesn’t come Grossly underestimating my capacity to throw wrenches into machinery Sickeningly lurching into a dreamland Insomnia II curiously void of greenery WCF, December 21, 1999; 04:35 Separating oneself from that which brings pleasure, only to forget the pain Hunched over this spiral notebook tightly, I write While hiding from the inflammatory Sun, Wondering when Death will take his next bite I miss the cleansing, cooling rain Of my soul Avoiding the saddening songs that bring tears, I’m withered, I’m worn, and still not whole I turn the happy music down Wrapped in warm blankets, I cringe and toss and turn One moment, I shiver; the next, I burn Fearfully hiding from the savage divorce, and With feverish heat never glimpsing the beautiful gown And I keep hitting the wall with my feet I try to breathe much slower To bring my heartbeat lower But there is always something on my mind I think and think, but I just can’t find That peaceful place which puts a smile on my face Instead, I consider my disgrace FOE My fall WCF; 04:02, January 18, 2000 The decisions that cost me my all I watch the horridly inexpensive shows that are aired at night CONSIDER YOUR OPPONENT And think to myself, “It’s just not right.” Finally, I again turn on the light STUDY CLOSELY YOUR FOE And continue to write SEARCHING OUT IDENTITY Write FACE THE MIRROR, YOU WILL KNOW Write Someday, somewhere, someone will wish me a good night Sometime, my friend They Say II WCF February 7, 2000 04:31 WCF February 20, 2000 03:45 To: Everyone I’ve neglected while my life is a pile of crap They say you’re SO nice I’ll see you sometime, my good friend They say you’re SO cute And we’ll talk, I’m not sure when. . . And that any girl would be happy to be with you But they’re full of shit I’m still getting out of the rut I’ve been in And, maybe, one day, I’ll be myself again They say they’ll do anything for you I haven’t forgotten the times we’ve had They say that you’re their best friend The times I was good - tho’ sometimes bad They say they know someone who’ll get with you We’ve seen each other happy, and a few times sad But they’re full of shit I just hope that Life won’t drive me MAD. I’ll see you soon, my good friend. . . They say that they trust you They say that they love you (alternate version, found in an email to Jan Hinshaw, written March 12, 2001) But right now they’re trying to fix the rest of their life But they’re full of shit We’ll meet again, my good friend Tho’ I’m not sure just when They say you’re the perfect guy We’ll remember all the old times They say you’re quite a catch And sing to the same old lines And that they wish they’d met you way back when All the times that were happy & sad But they’re full of shit The times were were both good & bad She has no idea what she wants No one can take those away She has no idea how to make you happy And I know I’ll see you again someday And she’ll probably never straighten it all out Because she’s full of shit.

Not You, Girl Dirty Snow (or “Letter To Myself”) WCF February 16, 2000 01:54 WCF, February 21, 2000, 01:37 I won’t climb that fence Cheap thrills get pretty expensive and boring after a while I won’t scale that wall I will not get on my knees and crawl And those fancy tires will wear thin after a few thousand miles Not for you, girl (not for you) You had to get the cell phone ‘cause you had to be in touch I will do my part But now you’ve lost it ‘cause you always talk too much I will say my piece Then you wandered down a dark street one night, talking to yourself And then I’ll just leave you in peace You drank till there was a gaping hole in your liver That’s for you, girl (that’s for you) You smoked till you woke up with a cough and a shiver Yes, you are pretty Your ad says you’re cute, sensitive, and over six feet tall Yes, I want you bad And you found that credit cards have limits after all But, no, I won’t give you all that I have Not to you, girl (not to you) Then you stood on a windy bridge, looking down at the icy water I see you daily Saying you’ll love her forever doesn’t do the trick anymore I think of you now ‘Cause the only ones who like you are rotten to the core But to you, girl, I will not bow The sad song in the background rolls on, sounding so true Not to you, girl (not to you) And that tired, broken person in the mirror - yes, it’s you I’ve seen all the hurt Then you sat on the dirty curb, watching the cars fly by I’ve felt all the pain Dirty snow tells the truth: it all breaks down as time goes by This, time, I won’t be left out in the rain Yesterday you were born, but tomorrow you’ll surely die Not with you, girl (not with you) Please, come closer now In the end, the corpse will lie, still and stiff and cold Let me see your face And we see no moral to the story that’s been told I’ll keep your memory in a special place Then you dug your grave, looked at your watch, and waited Just for you, girl (just for you) Give you what I can But please don’t demand And I won’t listen to your silly reprimand Not for you, girl (not for you) I’m not up for sale I’m not up for rent My heart has been broken after it was bent But not by you, girl (not by you) I Am A Movement “Previously Owned” February 27, 2000 23:50 WCF WCF, February 22, 2000, 21:00

I am my own Jim Morrison. I am my own Janis Joplin. The The heat And I touch it words at which I marvel and which I contemplate are my own. It burns but I don’t cry Surreal eyes, profound hauntings: my old photos reveal these A memory that stings kinds of things. I am not Catholic. I am not Protestant. I Comes to life nearby won’t enter your silly games, for I’m my own contestant. Scratching in the underbrush of lessons learned Smiling knowingly, I’ll read your books. And I won’t give you And the wall that I built is doing its job condescending looks. Your stories I will hear and your advice I Holding out the unwanted the dangerous might take, but I know that it’s my own soul pegged to the The heartbreakers stake. Follow me if you will - with that, I’m not concerned. The ones who steal every part of you My own failures are the lessons that need to be learned. Then laugh as they walk on severed pieces of your soul Wearing cleated boots Yes, that wall is there for a reason (February 24, 2000; 01:15) The letterhead reads “previously owned” And the rap sheet says I’m damaged goods I am my own Jim Jones. I am my own John Lennon. I am the It’s true, you know one who will keep me from sinnin’. Forsaken love, mild Inside my charade my bomb shelter my bulletproof heart melancholy: my journals will tell you of my folly. I am not an Silly girl, put your clothes back on agnostic. I am not an atheist. You won’t put me in a box, for And go find your mommy and daddy I’m not a labelist. With a shake of my head and a glint in my I can’t save your soul eye, I’ll tell you I’m not afraid to die. Your ideas have some And I’m not stupid enough to think that you can make me value, and your experience is worthwhile, but I know whose happy blood is splattered on the tile. I will not back down. I will not The cold And I shiver cry or moan. I am a movement. I am a religion of my own. Reaching into fur-lined pockets but finding them empty The ice is slick and the ice is thin But it hasn’t frozen me yet Drinking Helps WCF February 27, 2000 02:50 Music Welts and bruises from beatings on my psyche WCF 2-29-00 03:20 They don’t help other people to start to like me But drinking helps me to like myself Moderated extravagance and turpentine Women in plastic partitions I kissed a girl on the lips just the other day Head ‘em off at the pass And then, the next morning, she got up and went away Drinking down regurgitated symphonies But drinking helped me find her And separated tones that slip and slide Shifting into reverse and cutting coupons When pain and death surround me and it all begins to fall apart Save that one; it’ll be worth something, someday When my lungs grow tired and the blood slows, there in my heart It pulls, it churns, it galvanizes Drinking will help me feel better It wakes you up and puts a pillow on your face Standing on the Witness Stand, a Bible under my hand Salvaged sickness and brand new trash And the Lord says his final words, and I’ll ask Him “What’s your brand?” Flowing upstream into oblivion And drinking will help us get along Where the smiling faces of all the devils in hell Shrug and sigh Turn it up, you’ll like this part Turn it down; you’ll wake the neighbors And wouldn’t a little hearing damage do us all some good? Cover your ears, take a deep breath, and sit with all your might It is you It is me It is us and them Wound up tightly, unwinding slowly The sweetness can moisten you The killer instinct can make you alive And science makes it all that much more interesting But sometimes, you should just lie down, shut up, and dance Evil Twin The Beauty of Life WCF March 13, 2000 03:15 WCF March 18, 2000 01:20

Long corridors are looming I’ve had one adventure after another and they all left me breathless and I’ll Am I fully empty or emptily full? remember those thrills as long as I live, like the time I slid the VW Bug on the ice and we crossed the highway median, passing through the lanes of And tomorrow has already come traffic going the other direction or the time I woke up at the wheel and saw a We are what we feared and toll booth in my rear view mirror - that was wild, but not as wild as when I We embrace what we once despised raced my Monte Carlo against that puny little Mustang and left him in the And we grin like idiots when our dust and then my heater hose blew and I was going a hundred and twenty Greatest fears are realized miles per hour with a thick cloud of fog coming out from under the hood Popular crime invades us at our invitation completely blinding me, and speaking of “blind”, how many times have I Feel your way down the hall fallen for some chick just because she paid attention to me, when all she Don’t stub your toe on your own contradictions really wanted was some crack or new clothes or a roll in the hay and then I Having disposed of your heart-felt convictions was left hurting and writing angry or sad poems in my room all alone and by myself with no one else around, thinking of just what it was that I did You are the evil twin of your former self wrong, and the only lasting effect of any of that was that now I’m just as bad as they were, using women for my own sinful ends and then leaving them to mend themselves by themselves, and I end up feeling guilty about We’re The Ones how I’ve treated them and I wonder if they’re going to end up just like me: WCF, March 18, 2000, 00:22 bitter jealous, hiding the hurt that I let happen to myself, and eating tasteless meals out of the containers they came in because you’re just too Down the street there’s a guy who will sell you whatever you want tired of life to fix anything better and I stare at the television at four in the The kind of stuff that will put your head in outer space morning because I’m too tired to turn it off and get in bed or maybe I’m And your body on a roller coaster in Florida hoping that God will speak to me through the electromagnetic rays that And your soul on the ocean floor emanate from it, soaking my eyes and brain with filth that I’ve seen so We call him the scum of society But we’re the ones buying many times before, mostly in my own life, so you could say that art is imitating life, not the other way around, like all those fanatic, right-wing, Next door there’s a girl who will sell you whatever you want Nazi, sin-hating, devil-chasing conservative Christians want to claim, The kind of stuff that your wife wouldn’t do in a million years because it makes them feel so fucking powerful when they get to censor a And she doesn’t care if you cuddle afterwards show or movie or song or radio station, when all of those media are just Or whether you clean up around the house trying to give us the entertainment that we’re willing to pay big bucks for, We call her a criminal because it gives us a thrill to know that famous people feel the same things But we’re the ones buying we do, or because some of us never get to do ANYTHING, so we have to At the record store you can buy any kind of music you want pay to watch someone else do it, of say it, or talk about it, but that’s just The kind of stuff that you wouldn’t let your kids listen to the way the world is and I wish those faggot Christians would just leave us They say they kill cops and each other all alone sometimes, but then at other times, we really like them, like when And they use every word in the book Mother Theresa spent her whole God damned life in India with the helpless We call them vile and demented and hurting or when Martin Luther King, Jr., fought for equal rights, or But we’re the ones buying when Billy Graham has another Crusade and spends millions of tithers’ dollars to put the freakin’ thing on TV, or when the mission downtown gives Uptown at the stadium you can watch your favorite gladiators that ugly, stinking, worthless homeless guy a bowl of soup - yeah, then and The kind of people that your kids idolize The ones that do drugs, commit crimes only then do we really start to appreciate what the fucking Christians are And play as dirty as they can doing, but somehow they always get back on their powertrips with their We say they’re not worth their salaries shit-eating grins and point their fingers and say I’m going to hell because I But we’re the ones buying screwed a married woman or got a blowjob from a chick I’d just met, or because I think it’s cool when a woman gets her nipples sucked by another Up at the capital there are those who will say whatever you want woman and then they eat each other’s pussies, even though I shouldn’t get The kind of stuff that the polls say will help them win too excited by it, since every time a woman turns lesbian that means there’s They’ll lower your taxes and clean up your streets one less chick on the market for me, so I guess I should just hope that they Then make your kids smarter and your doctors cheaper We know they’re lying vermin turn bisexual so that way, I’d get some of that pussy too, but either way, But we’re the ones voting I’m still in trouble, especially when I fantasize about doing twin sisters or mother-and-daughter or something like that, since the BIBLE says it’s So isn’t about time we shut our fucking mouths about everyone else’s wrong and so I’ll burn in hell for having fun and getting my rocks off to problems something that I really enjoy even though it was “God” who gave me these Especially since it’s our own weaknesses that create them horrendous desires that plague me, like the desire to smoke cigarettes And looked in our own backyards? because it calms my system down and mellows me out, but they tell us that And cleaned the underside of our own friggin’ toilets? smoking will kill us in the end, and drinking will kill us in the end, and sex - We’re not too happy with our lives But we’re the ones living them especially indiscriminate, unprotected sex (the best kind) will kill us in the end, and using cell phones will give us cancer and getting breast implants will give us cancer and jacking off will make us go blind and driving fast without a seat belt can kill you and not getting enough sleep will kill you, besides the scary facts that shooting yourself in the eyeball with a bazooka will probably kill you and chopping off your left arm will give you a good chance of bleeding to death, swallowing a gallon of Drano will make you slightly sick, taking a nap on the expressway could cause serious bruising, jumping from a tall building can cause shortness of breath, and soaking yourself in gasoline while holding a lit Zippo can cause a burning fever, but all of these pale in comparison to the fact that even the best life can really suck at times, and then you’re all going to die. Where the tracks run through, and the pigs don’t visit too often Rat Bastard Like Yourself ‘Cause there’s really no fuckin’ point He drinks, he thinks, he reeks and he stinks. WCF April 19, 2000 0200 Wondering when his wandering will come to an end Wondering if he can ever even be his own best friend Grinding and groaning and grunting and going Not really caring what’s around the next bend. Sinking and shrinking and sucking and showing And you could end up there, if you’re not careful With nothing to show for my trouble Or if you let your heart get the best of you. And nothing to reap for my sowing I know you think I’m shittin’ you, but I’ve been there, and it’s true Breathing and bathing and barking and baying The man is him, the man is me, the man is you. Parting and playing and peaking and paying Step back under the cover of your delusion With nothing to gain from my efforts Try and resist the intrusion And no one to hear what I’m saying Duck under the protrusion - start a revolution Huffing and having and hurling and heaving But be wary, life is scary, my balls are hairy, and I’m not a fairy. Lifting and leaning and list’ning and leaving But I won’t get married, not to Sue or Jane or Mary. With nowhere to hide from pursuers Not to Steve or Sam or Larry. And no chance of any relieving Live a careful life, avoid the trap of a wife Moving and muffing and marking and making Smile at another man’s strife, but with pain, this world is rife. Talking and tweaking and tearing and taking Make sure your walls are under construction With nothing to warn me or show Fight off the destruction. That my heart is definitely breaking Listen to my instruction, pull back from the suction The drawing power of lust that will leave you in the dust You’re a sad case, buddy, but I gotta tell ya, you pulled some I’m telling you that you must not give up the fight sympathy out of this cold ass heart. Normally, I wouldn’t look twice For sanity, for good, for right at a rat bastard like yourself, but see, I’ve been in that shit hole Not that there’s any hope at the end of the rope of dope before, I know where the hell you’re coming from. Don’t look now, That helps you to cope after you bent down for the soap but here comes that bitch again. . . Sorry, man, gotta split. . . Not much, anyway. Just that tomorrow’s another day, and every Choice leads to a different way, a chance not to go astray He lives in a hole with no fish, no pole And when he comes out, he’s only playing a role Smiling and seeking and searching and seeing But I wouldn’t get up until the whole story’s told Flying not falling and fighting not fleeing He’s dressed like a bum, can’t do no sum With a little hope for the next time you forget you’re a human being And he can’t remember the last time he cum Rolling and riding and rising and reaching But if you give him a dollar, he’ll just go buy some rum Speaking out loud, just one voice in a crowd Trying and turning and taking and teaching But when the show was over, he went out and bowed With an open ear for the truth that I give you when I’m preaching He was happy just to say his piece like he vowed And now you’re trippin’, like a fish, you’re flippin’ Hey, ain’t you the same cracker that I seen in that alley a while back? And eat that piece of pie that you been dippin’ Looks like you found yourself, or somethin’, man. ‘Cause you was But when he gets you down, you’ll be unzippin’ lookin’ bad and stinkin’ like an unwashed whore outside that liquor store when you asked me for change and told me you’d work for Man, didn’t I see you out here last week? Don’t you even move from food. Hey, here comes that bitch again. . . What? You’re not scared one motherfuckin’ spot to another? Your ass gonna get friggin’ anymore? That’s cool. . . sores, from sittin’ in that same goddamn place. Yeah, I remember the bitch - what happened? No shit? That’s a pile of shit, dude; Laughing As We Bleed shouldn’t let no whore treat a man like that. . . Fuck! Here she comes WCF April 22, 2000 1600 again. . . This world, they say it’s weary and that it’s seen a lot And now, if you can’t see what I’m sayin’ And people, you know they’re tired of the battles that they’ve fought Then you must be that bitch he was runnin’ from Some, they keep on pushing, still trying to get ahead Or another one, just like her But no one’s been listening to the things that are said And you prob’ly turned someone else into a bum We like to blame others for our own confusions For the simple-minded, let me break it down Still we are the victims of our own delusions Serenity can be found, though, if you’re not trying too hard And explain each little part You can escape most of the pain, if you don’t let down your guard If you’re brain-dead, it’ll come to you slowly If there were a thousand hours in each and every day Like the smell of a silent fart Would you put aside the pressure, to find the time to pray? You see, he was workin’, jerkin’ Find the time, smell the flower, watch the stars, climb the Pullin’ more than his fuckin’ fair share tower And then she-devil run him down, See the babes, kiss the women, tame the beast, gain the And now he can’t even part his own hair power She nagged and she bitched The evil that constrains you, and the good that you find And she cheated and she stole They don’t make it easy, even on the most powerful mind Always lookin’ out for another, bigger man to fill her hole We falter and waver, continuing to bleed With no respect for a decent chump, a simple fella And sometimes life doesn’t offer just what we need An’ now he’s runnin’ scared, he’s turned a little yella Wouldn’t it be so easy to just give up and give in? She’s got no respect for a decent man, a simple fella Wouldn’t it be better to forget the places you’ve been? Instead, we stockpile emptiness and on nothing we feed An’ now he’s drinkin’ it down, his piss more orange than yella Thinking about vacuum and lighting up the weed We falter and waver, laughing as we bleed Sittin’ on the curb, on the street corner Knowing that life never offers just what we need In the low-income end of town, smokin’ his joint Put Me Down For Neverland WCF April 26, 2000 0300 Wednesday WCF April 22, 2000 18:00 (To: My alternate personality, who also helped to write a few lines and to the Every outlet of music fury and pain that rises from laughter management of McDonald’s, Jacksonville AR) Any inlet of beating relaxation and sensitive society How does it feel to watch a soul die? It all burns in my mind explodes complexity and light Knowing that you could have stopped the bleeding Diversion of insanity and talking to her sister for neverland How does it feel to ignore another’s pain? Hopping on one foot entering evening with aplomb But instead you joined in on the feeding Contact under frightened musings and compilation learning And there he rests, resting not in peace, Introspective inferno of butterflies and acid consuming and even God stands a ways apart Decorative density overturns cumulative trepidation How do you keep such an evil thing from finding its evil start? Holy separation belying weary ambition but focus Slithering upward still choking underfoot Or are we back to the falsehood that you are the center of the universe? Colored survival eating video bytes of worms inside I can forgive you for that, since I am the center of mine, and cursed Exit the masterpiece beside carnal expression So go on, eat your young, consume the joy, spit out the dung Silvery wings bandages usurping signals of doom Set the ladder on fire, and make sure to break every rung Resisting riding consorting cavorting into dusky dawn Fainting lesser gods centered on stage Not that it matters, since I wasn’t climbing anyway I like to sit on the steps, eating an apple and swallowing the seeds As the world turns, rolling down the track, oozing hate and excess These Are The Things (2) I guess I deserve my fate - “we make our own future”, don’t we? WCF April 28, 2000 02:15:03 Thousands of youthful, naked slaves Glimmering mountains of uncoined gold Since you’re not using your shovel, could I borrow it? Hidden retreats inside utopian caves I’m currently working on a project called “Digging my own grave” Different lovers daily for me to hold Oh, you want to help? These are the things I want to have Thanks, man, ‘cause I’d be digging forever, by myself Skyscraper-sized movie screens with stadium sound It’s good to know that there are kind people like you out there, To watch, retreat, to think, imagine and BE who will assist in the destruction of a life A copy of every recorded song ever found Jeweled computer stereo to play them for me It wasn’t good enough that I stabbed myself in the back, right? These are the things I want to have I need your helping hand to nail this coffin down real tight Island tropical nation, surrounded by deep blue sea And without you, who would put the dirt back in the hole? Middleways, a mansion like an iceberg of bliss Or inscribe the epitaph: “He should have sold his soul” Cavernous rooms, cathedral halls, immense times three Fountains, balconies, gardens - no eyesore, this I know I’m the selfish type, but I’m willing to give you some credit These are the things I want to have And when, as a ghost, I write my memoirs, I’ll need someone to edit Smoothly applied massages, with exotic oil So, no, your work here is not even close to being done Automobiles of every color, size and shape Here you go, I’ve made a list that weighs almost a ton Wealth enough to never again stoop and toil Brightly gay floral arrangements dotting the landscape Poke me in the eye, and don’t forget to hit my scrotum with a bat These are the things I want to have And twist that knife around a bit when you’ve finished with that The listening, curious ear of every world leader Make sure that enema has a lot of splinters, and breaks off inside Front row season tickets for every arena on the globe Strap me to the bottom of your car, and go for a speed-bump ride Walls, halls, floors and ceilings of Mediterranean cedar Glittering, golden, custom-fit daytime robe I haven’t suffered enough to really enjoy this, you know These are the things I want to have So feed me live scorpions and make sure to laugh as you go Stockpiled weapons of every caliber and brand Read me words that make no sense while water drips on my head Ammunition to last throughout my life Then sneak in at night, and pour some rancid piss on my bed Daily sunbathing on beaches of smooth white sand An end to pain, loneliness, confusion and strife How does it feel to leave me out in the cold? These are only some of the things I want to have. And then wave at me from the inside How does it feel to watch me starve? While you eat and throw your leftovers aside I hope it feels good to you, ‘cause I’m enjoying every single day All Along WCF April 30, 2000 04:01:25 I really hope you remember it, ‘cause, soon, I’ll be going away Helpless, tortured hearts inside each of us Lonely in a crowded world Every passing ship holds a different flag A different message, a different map Without knowing where we’re headed Unsure of whether we’ll like the destination But we keep those oars moving And the sails flung high Not mine I’ve carefully folded the canvas, and pulled in my oars Maybe the current was going The Right Way All along Enter Me Higher WCF April 30, 2000 18:14:29 (rap #7) (words and music by Olonxa, for my fictional story, “Mordecai”) Wil Fry May 12, 2000 21:22:21

Stand with patience at the threshold Weakness is willing and weariness wanes Of me. Scared. I know you are Strength soaks me and gone are the pains And fear of hurting and fear of dying Enter a new phase, feel the sights being raised And now I’m climbing over the walls of the maze And fear of tears and fear of temporary But waiting will not help you acquire I keep looking back, I’m still keeping track, Me. Or mine. I know you want it and this summer’s night is the blackest black. Want the touching and want the caress I took all the flak, I got stabbed in the back, Want the body and want even more but now I’m using the oldest trick on the rack. On no one else can I fully depend, from here to the end, I am flaming - I am frozen not even your closest friend, I am eager - I am scared So I look to myself and do what I know I can - I can stand like a man. I am worth it - I am worthless I am my own biggest fan, not an also-ran, I will love you - I won’t even care and I finally got my head out of the sand Step inside love’s misery and become So, put down your book, take a look and smell what I’m about to cook I am not a crook, I didn’t commit a crime Battered. Reeling. I know you will Still, I found myself doing the time, From sharpened, broken edges and sword caught silent and clean-handed like a mime From jagged roughness and hate Unable to read, write or rhyme Step inside love’s beautiful and caring But that’s fine, yeah, that’s okay. Today is the start of a brand new day Heart. Feel it. I know you can Hear what I say, ‘cause I’m not going away I won’t vanish weakly into the night Feel the tenderness and feel the stroke of my hand Without a fight, because I know I’m right, Feel my smile and feel my nakedness and now I’m wound up real tight I am fire - I am ice Feeling better, like silk and leather, dancing in the heather I am reaching - I am numb Bound with rawhide, I will turn this tide. I am a jewel - I am dirt I have too much pride to take this long lonely ride Without telling my side I will love you - I won’t even care Unlike before, when I would run and hide, weep and cry, or just try to get high Just try to get high, try to avoid all the pain, hiding from the rain Now, it’s not the same things have changed I’m stronger, make my life longer, I’m smarter Where Is Eli? I’ll handle the shit when life gets harder and I’m tired of trying to barter WCF May 12, 2000 02:50 And compromise, telling lies, standing back, afraid of the attack, the wall to my back Was it a whisper in the dark, or was it madness? My life has been both white and black, Calling my name again but now I’m getting back all the things that I lacked I’m catching up instead of loosing track A regret, business unfinished, problem unresolved go ahead and smoke your crack Did you feel that? I thought I felt it. . . But you won’t find me there, pulling out my hair, A hand on my shoulder gasping for the next breath of precious air A movement - always behind me A lost, lonely and vacant stare Goose-pimply, eerie and odd I’ll get my fair share, my rightful due And to do it, I might have to walk right over you Is it a trick of the mind, or is it God? But I’ll get over it, ‘cause I’m not through Where is Eli? I have a question Just watch me, boy, and put down your toys And in my dreams, there is life See, I’m out to find some real joy – Night meanders into my depths and I’ll find out what makes this little world tick, And it drags me, taunts me, beckoning whether it’s the cash, the trash, or having a big dick Just stand back, and watch and learn, watch as all my old stories burn I need to find the way Take your hand off the page and watch it turn. The portal And your stomach might began to churn The door But I’m on top of it now. I’m watching, I’m seizing the day, Into that other side I’m not sliding down Where I am me Gone is my familiar frown, as the goal is found, and, while others might slip and drown And all is as it should be I’m reaching for higher ground, hearing the stronger sound, and getting the better of this town What goes around will eventually come around, and now it’s coming around. It’s all coming down Coming unbound in my grasp - I won’t finish last, and I might just have to pass On that next piece of ass If doing so Takes me Higher Glad She Came Back Oingdingdah Wil Fry May 28, 2000 21:15 (regarding KLM, who visited me a few nights ago) WCF May 22, 2000 00:30 & 20:00 Tah, tatah ta Enga enga teh teh tata Enga I think a beer might calm me down She stepped through the door a blast from the past You think? I am Zebra turd, stripéd shit Floating smoking shaking Somehow uncovering those feelings the kind that last Rhythmically smiling ghost of pale fabrication Growling oingdingdah Looking down but not beaten Inhale Exhale frightened night turning key in lock as the shell It looked like she hadn’t eaten implodes Smiling face of Jefferson on glass table Burning charred For days and nights - the days and nights take their toll cherry fingers and smoking When you’re snorting, cavorting, and fucking, just to roll Growing grass on your tongue as your mother lode bleeds Ridin’ trippin’ buzzin’ rollin’ flyin’ Oingdingdah Oingdingdah Oingdingdah Tata tata Enga I could see that her heart inside, it was dyin’ Ta Ta tata tatah Enga Oingdingdah Smelking shivered bones and hair while demons investigate Looked like she gave up tryin’, but she had on a bold face, Standing on end of hair zorga zorka melda meldon gras baul maybe tryin’ to erase the feelin’ Honta Honta sabonta ragdag sloort breathing heavily That left her reelin’ and cramping bending leaning breathing ahh ah ahh oh. . . Ungh. My heart wasn’t breakin’, ‘cause she already broke it Thank God, I’m back. And I had no love for her, ‘cause she already choked it I think. Take another drink and I’ll be okay No more hopping around, I That was last year, when she was with me, promise, I’ll be good Take a deep breath. I’m okay I’ll be okay I’m then she dissed me, dismissed me alright go away. Whooh. Walked off and forgot to kiss me, but now I think she might miss me Why else would she stop by, livin’ on the fly, just to say “hi”? It’s Dead I don’t think so, it’s too far to go for a five dollar ‘ho’ WCF May 28, 2000 21:45 I never said I was perfect, I never said I was God’s gift to pussy But I never got violent, I never got pushy – It’s dead It’s dead with her, I was all mushy, like a wussy The candle is dead No more light from the wick Doin’ what she wanted, I was quiet while she flaunted, No more flame the molten wax to lick and now my heart is haunted It lit up slow, but it was gone too quick By those scenes from my life, when I was stupid enough to want her for a wife It’s dead It’s dead My friends warned me of the strife, The baby is dead No more air in the lung but I was blind, and way too kind The angel of death has this one stung And so I fell behind, and missed all the signs Never to kiss, or piss, or drop some dung But there she sat, quiet as a cat when I let her in and I forgot to mention our previous sins It’s dead It’s dead I didn’t ask her about the why’s, where’s and when’s And to be honest, I didn’t hear a word she said, and I could see by her eyes that her soul was dead My heart wasn’t breaking, because she had already broke it Another Healthy Day I didn’t feel no love for her, because she already choked it WCF June 1, 2000 23:10 Sometimes, I guess it’s better to see what you’re missing, than to sit around wishing And wondering what she’s doing, You wake up to your caffeine and cigarette and finish just in time who she’s doing, how she’s doing For more caffeine and your vitamin-packed powerbar breakfast ‘Cause now I know, and I saw her low - maybe it was Fate, maybe it was the will of God you know And then you down your six-pack of multi-vitamin pills It don’t really matter, ‘cause I’m over her, Maybe a vicatin will help, but the doctor wouldn’t give you any I don’ wanna go with her, ho with her, or drop so low with her I learn from the past, try not to repeat my mistakes, “Borrow” one of your son’s ridalins - or take an Extra-strength Tylenol so go on and raise the stakes But now you’re drowsy, so some minithins and more caffeine I’ll tell you to go jump in a lake My heart won’t break, because she already broke it Will help you through work I won’t feel no love for you, because she already choked it. But you’re hungry, so stuff down another double quarter-pounder with cheese Afterwards, a cocktail or a beer will relax you And don’t forget that evening cigarette-smoking fiesta But then you’ll need some Exedrins and Sleepinols to Help you through the night And don’t forget to Thank God for another healthy day. Half My Brain Open My Eyes Wil C. Fry IV 6-13-00 00:53 (words & music by Klin Romnel, in my story “The Last Rock Band”) WCF June 4, 2000 23:00 Sacrificial LIZARDS drink the painted dwarves She stole my whole heart and half my brain Hearing chirping laughter under darkened house All her love wasn’t worth all the pain Climbing walls with fingernails chewed Swim in venom Slapping my face and coming unglued And Wait. . . Wish I’d never met her Wish I’d never met her Because the lights are foggy and wet in the desert Wish I could forget her Wish I could forget her Cloaked woman with no face leaps softly from the tortoise back But I can’t, she’s in here, in my head and continues swinging from silk curtains with growing Washed out my eyes so now I see red flowers wrapped around them Wish I’d never fallen Wish I’d never fallen LIKE PANCAKES But I fell, and I’m there, and I don’t really care Smelling , THE FLOATING PANCAKES on which we ride And every time I close my eyes, I see her standing there HIGH But so , we must be careful She stole my whole heart and half my brain We come to rest on a tree, and the door And all her love wasn’t worth all the pain OPENS So I step out of the cloud onto a She cost me my money and so much more lava flow The whole time I loved her she played the whore And cool off. Trust the next one, I don’t think I can Who are these strange PEOPLE around me? I hope it doesn’t make me less of a man (I’m a man) The purple ones with lily white hair Wish I’d never met her Wish I’d never met her Are they afraid of the purple people eater? Wish I could forget her Wish I could forget her On the path I walk, I’ll meet her some more (and again) I saw it flying above us, in the dirt A different girl, a different face, but some more (same sin) So I hang there, UPSIDE DOWN Wish I could stand alone Wish I could stand alone And open my eyes. But I’m alone, not happy, need another love Even if she fits me like a shovel in a glove She stole my whole heart and half my brain And all her love wasn’t worth all the pain Janis, Jim, and Me All her love will never be worth all the pain Wil Fry 6-16-00 03:52 (Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison: ALL DIED at age 27)

I shall die. Out Of The Closet This is not morbidity; it is fact. WCF june 8, 2000 23:00 I will not die for your sins or for mine. I will die. I turn on a horror flick, but don’t really watch it Not because of HOW I lived, but BECAUSE I lived. I am a skeleton, pulling a man out of the closet Every living breath I am the bad man who has something good to hide A step closer to death I am the wolf with the sheep inside I won’t tell you no lie I will think of you when I die The food that tastes so bad, but is good for you Your particular face The friend that won’t call, but always comes through The way you ran your race My only tattoos are of a heart and a cross What is death? All my gain I count for loss Many times, it is synonymous with the END I watch the porno, but don’t get turned on The “death of an idea” The “death of his popularity” I am the coals you buried that (in the night) burned on But do we END? Do we STOP? CEASE? DISCONTINUE? I am the beached whale, secretly breathing your air Are we only occupying this small space on a timeline? I am the asshole trying to make things fair This is “the strangest life I ever lived” (-Jim Morrison) If it ends after this, then what’s the fucking point? The skinny guy who’s actually pretty damn strong But I’ll enjoy it till I get there The little bit of money that lasts for so long “I’ll get my kicks before the whole shithouse comes down” (-Jim again) The seemingly weak-hearted man who lives through strife I’m not afraid that death inevitably comes And all my death leads on to life Just apprehensive about the changes I swear quite a bit, but I really mean no harm Styx is not a tiny river, dividing two landmasses It is the ocean And if you’re ever too cold, I will keep you warm And life is but a tiny island Where the ghosts outnumber the living That’s okay. Soon, ghosts will be my friends. Essence Of Sleep Fin the whit sits the hucking fan Willal Fa 6-21-00 18:01:32 somnifacient somniferous somnific somnolent somnolence somnolescent Wil Fry 02:01 June 17, 2000 Stop playing silly games Rest these weary bones and stop calling me stupid names Listen to soothing tones and quit fucking with all my things Aren’t you tired of aching I don’t want to hear you sing Isn’t your back now breaking and I don’t want to hear the phone ring Fading is all the hustle bustle if it’s you at the other end Feel the leaves in wind rustle Just because you want to bother me again Lay your aged body down you can’t catch the wind Pillow underneath your crown and my resolve won’t bend Feel each nerve that plaintively cries I’ve told you a thousand times if I told you ten Close dry and colorful eyes I don’t want to know where you’ve been Drift on into new and familiar dreams or when From silent night blossom healing beams I’m tired of watching you spin Reparation seeping through each vein Unrooting each unruly pain and I’m tired of being your sin Rest these weary bones and I don’t wanna be your friend Emit unconscious moans When will you understand Rest this weary mind that you’re the one who’s damned Peaceful dreamland find and the one who’ll get slammed Rest these callused hands When the shit hits the fucking fan Hourglass dropping sands Sleep this painless night I’ll never be a hillbilly Cool each burning light and I’m tired of running willy-nilly Slow these running feet and I’m sick of looking so damn silly Soothe with healing heat Running with a used up old filly For soon, morning will arrive you’re a filly and I’ve had my fill To find you newly alive So, before finding breaking dawn everything you gave me was nil When shortened shadows travel the lawn There’s no one you have to kill Before waking with stifled groans and I’m not looking for another thrill Lay down and rest these weary bones just let me out of my cell Where I’ve been stuck in this jail growing ever more pale Thirteen and collecting your misdirected mail (or: Another Bullshit Poem With A Different Font) Neither my shell nor my soul is for sale WCF June 17, 2000 21:00 so I guess it’s time to bail and head on down the trail The last was twelve, and this is thirteen, I’ll catch the next outbound train the luckiest number that I’ve ever seen ride out of town in the rain Thirteen loves and thirteen good-byes, so get good and ready to lose your man thirteen times flying the friendly skies When the shit hits the fucking fan Thirteen little hairs upon my skinny chest, maybe thirteen is actually the best Thirteen tracks on my first compact disk, and I don’t care a bit about the risk Thirteen books that I will read again, Lowest Road thirteen fires burn me for all my sin WCF June 23, 2000 19:35 Thirteen steps up to my front door, thirteen up, and down is thirteen more From the highest place Break my mirrors, and count my stars, I took the lowest road and I always wanted to die on Mars Wondering which path would take me home Walk behind the blackest of cats, and shoot the kids with the backward hats Wondering where home would be I never really believed in good luck, And where it would leave me not that I’ve had any: my life sucks Would I still be alone? Now I’ll see how much cussing can rhyme, And will you forget me? since I’ve got an assload of free time And walk away One of the thirteen chicks was a bitch, would’ve been better to fuck a witch I lay under starry skies Down on my luck, can’t get a fuck, Feeling the wind on me don’t have a buck, and I won’t drive a truck And still I found no guide Never wanted to get fucked up the ass, To take me home never liked smelling your ass’s gas Some say home is I can’t brag, I have a medium cock, but it’s the only one I’ve got in stock Where the heart is Most times, though, it’s hard as a rock, Some say to take the high road and I time my masturbation by the clock Or you’ll be burned I’m still looking for the perfect pussy, But I will wave at you but when I get a chance, I’m not fussy From the lowest road And I’ll never ever give up or quit, even though my life’s a pile of shit. And smile Another Realm Untitled WCF, 6-25-00, 23:30 WCF 6-27-00 01:31

Voices intermingling Finger in eye and both hands joking Spine and skin are tingling Splashes of light from all the poking As I connect to another realm Incandescence falls there and around Control slipping and lost Hearing not a single, simple sound Thank god there is no cost Breathing a high of my own making And there is no one’s hand on the helm Ridiculous thoughts there for the taking Taking too much of unhealthy dose No Longer Enveloped Out-of-focus and way too close Wil Fry IV 02:27 06-26-00

More than me is existing More than this world More than the senses can see I know it First Date I feel it Will Fry 23:00 July 11, 2000 I used to believe it Is it a date? Are we friends? Do I get a goodnight kiss? A ghost Maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s sin, Maybe it’ll end in bliss A spirit I know next to nothing about you, except you look good A heaven Do you wanna see a movie, or do you wanna go get some food? A hell Do you want me to pick you up, or should I meet you there? A God Is it alright if I run my fingers through your hair? A road beyond death I know it’s hot outside, but I’d like a moonlight walk A reason Or, if you want, we can go to my place. . . and just “talk” A plan Can I have your number? Can we go out again? A purpose Sure, of course, I’d like to hang out with your friends Destiny -Where are you from? What kind of music do you like? Fate I like to read, listen to music, and camp and hike A soul Well, it’s getting late; I can already see the dawn’s early light Love I guess I’ll take you home, drop you off, and say “goodnight” Right Good And so on I KNOW it’s around me And sometimes it touches me But I am no longer ENVELOPED Life In Jacksonville, AR Underwater July 16, 2000 03:41 Sunday By: Rumpledforeskintiljeklie (Wil Fry) Chandelle 6-26-00 02:38 Hooded sweatshirts in the summer’s night Handguns loaded to while away the fright Weightless Snoring Jack-O-Lanterns whisper on to doom Floating And snake-skinned wily witches without a broom Not breathing Disappointing favorites cry from carpet burn With blurred vision All the money you get is a third of what you earn Below shimmering surface Using longest words to describe boredom so simple Blue ceiling ripples above Just to find that your happy bubble is a pimple Cares soaked into liquid Longing for a long-lost legacy of intensity Pains fade with evening sun Finding a drop when looking for immensity A gasp for air Not enough heart or soul to make a single tear Then back down I go Borrowing a fortune to buy just enough beer Into my solitude Arrested, stoned, confused, jobless, quit and fired Voices fade Exhausted, dead, sleepy, weary, numb and tired Even the ones in my head Pay phone cost versus the sum of a movie rental Let the current caress me And what the hell’s the point of being sentimental Massage me Under water Untitled Make Me Guilty Will Fry 00:57 7-24-00 Wil Fry IV August 17, 2000 1430

I’m just an old drunk My suburb is a facade, you tell me Wearin’ a young man’s clothes So I buy the pack of lies you sell me Don’t knock on the door And now I learn my money is filthy ‘Cause the store is closed. Hey, wait. . . are you trying to make me guilty?

The Indians? I never killed a one The slaves? I didn’t bring ‘em over here The oil spills? I never spilled a ton Things That Hurt But, still, please, forgive me, mother dear Wil Fry IV 7-25-00 03:06 The inner cities? I didn’t slum them down I just don’t like to wake up in fear Scorpions, dust in my eyes And I was smart enough to get out of town Snakebites, papercuts So, please then, forgive me, mother dear Third-degree burns, walking on broken glass Bee stings Is it my fault? The starving children far away LONELINESS So now I’m guilty, just because I ate twice today. . . Extremely loud noises, broken bones And I’ve heard that the ozone is peeling away Pulled muscles And you tell me that’s why the skies are gray Whippings, gunshot wounds Yes, I know that your heart’s been rended Hangnails, staring into the Sun But after I say this, you’ll just be offended: FEELING WORTHLESS Okay, so I drink, and once or twice, I drove Migraines, sore throats But I didn’t hit your little girl out on the road Blows to the head, starving Giving birth, passing kidney stones So, quit playing this little game of blame Amputation I’m not the bad guy, even if we look the same BEING UNLOVED I didn’t piss in your Cheerios, so I don’t see Red hot needles under your fingernails Why you’re always dumping your shit on me. Razor burn Toothaches, constipation Drowning, a hernia BEING ALIVE Sometimes They Go Away WCF August 25, 2000 22:30

Every time From Good Seed Comes No Reaping I don’t know why Wil C. Fry IV August 2, 2000 It is there They are there Hunted and haunted, hurried and harried Still behind me Baited and broken, busted and buried By the dawn’s early light But still smart enough to not get married And sometimes, they go away when I open my eyes Sunken and smoking, shortened and sorry Shouting Writing and waiting, walking with worry Shooting And I don’t know who they are And after all these years, I’m in no hurry I don’t want to be crazy Drinking and driving, diving and ducking Who are they? Fighting and falling, farting and fucking Those who shout I quit trying and started sucking They are battle-hardened witches Covered and Quiv’ring, calling and keeping Tormenting me Whining and whimp’ring, wailing and weeping They are soldiers of fortune Because from good seed comes no reaping Targeting me They are naked teenage girls Taunting me They are bright balls of burning light Streaks and rivulets of luminescence I am heaving, shivering, wet and unclothed And I’m not dreaming. Don’t Know Circling, We Came Wil Fry September 5, 2000 0200 hours Wil Fry August 27, 2000 2335 hours I don’t know “Life is life, no matter how hard you try to change it.” -Millal Ba I don’t know Where I came from We knew that neverland bouncers were watching Where I go We saw their calculated glances, suspicious I don’t know We leaned toward the fences, on our heels rocking I don’t know We saw the guard dogs, their glances vicious Why it all seems so slow And circling, we came Why my blood keep on flow Is my body always cold Not wanting to be the same As now I sweat under folds Intrigued by the name I don’t know Tired of the tired game I don’t know Such from high came to low I love you all, you know We knew that life was aging and wearing out We saw the pathways outlined against the sky We leaned into strangeland, spinning about Falling In Love (Skyscraper) We saw that pain only readied us to die (Sonnet #1) And circling, we came Wil Fry September 5, 2000 21:10 Not wanting to be the same Well, there she was, sitting on the rail Intrigued by the name Sweat trailing past her brilliant eyes Tired of the same old game Powerful sun seemed to make her frail But still a hurdle to any man who tries

We read the printed signs, the warnings scary Two doors over, and only one floor down We looked into eastern eyes, quite a stretch I found that my eyes invariably would stray Below dangling tendrils of hair so brown We looked over our shoulders, not so merry To where my nestled head would like to stay We stepped over predecessors, trying not to retch And circling, we came Knuckles white as the rail she gripped Traffic below and planes that soar above Not wanting to be the same Mere distractions to my heart as it ripped Intrigued by the name As I wished and leaned out for her love Tired of our little game Her heart’s door, her eyes, turned ‘round to bore into mine As I lost my balance, falling, I knew I would be just fine We scanned manuscripts, gleaning instruction We gaped at the failure, back into the hole Do Insomniacs Dream? We climbed over fences, witnessing destruction WCF, MB, KR 9-13-00 0133 We looked into the dark side of our souls (for this, I had to recall early 1999; also, I just saw an Oliver Stone film) And circling, we came Welter-weight bouts in this crappy southern bar Not wanting to be the same Dancing halfway pretty girls with thick, pasture-like makeup As they ask for money Intrigued by the name Sirens wailing - then silence - sirens wailing Tired of life’s old game Open my eyes to see the bar is empty And I’m walking on the street In the street, twirling about on a misty night And circling, we ceased Dawn cracks open Not believing the ease Awake in my bed with my clothes on Smelling like trouble Incensed that we were the same Music is playing as the lights go out The circle, completed, ended the game The heat comes on I’m in a car, street signs flicker past my eyes As I rub them, nodding at new friends (some manuscripts omit the following lines:) “This is Diane.” “What’s up?” “Hey.” “For all our striving and attempts to find a secret, Eating French toast at Denny’s again for all our work throughout the night And now I’m paying the bills Every time I open my eyes, I’m in a new place We learn that no secret exists, life must be accepted The background changes and that there is no Light” Lying naked on the carpet Who left the light on? I’m in the shower - How long has the water been running? Punching my face with my fist Until I can go to sleep It all goes away And I rest For a while. This time, I’m walking away from all the rest A Nomad, As Always (The Saga) All on my own Will Chandelle Fry September 11, 2000 closing in on midnight Blurry photographs in my hands Remind me of where I’ve been An era comes to a close, in my meaningless little world Maybe it’s my eyes that are blurry, not the film It lasted too long, everyone knows And maybe I shouldn’t be so overwhelmed This time, I’m not drifting; I made a decision This time, forging ahead, counting the scales I’ve shed All on my own All on my own Instead of letting the winds blow me where they will The lovemaking of marital bliss becomes It’s time to get my fill of another place The fetus growing and listening becomes Stepping further from the confusion The infant cradled in loving arms becomes Fighting off the elusive delusions The toddler stumbling and laughing becomes Somehow, I evaded the illusion The child learning and playing becomes This time The adolescent seeking independence becomes I won’t be drifting, all on my own The young adult looking for love and safe haven becomes Floating with the winding currents of life, fate, time The grown man paying his bills and wishing it would all go away The niche I have carved here - for myself - on this shore Becomes this man, sitting here, decision made Is not satisfactory or stimulating Just wanting a seat in the shade Anymore All on my own So I’ll move, a nomad as always Well, we’ve lost our faith in many things This time, picking my path, and enjoying the trip, all on my own Haven’t we? Leaving behind some more memories that will fade Love and Heaven and angels with wings The journal entries that seem so fresh will one day seem strange And there, on the corner, an old man plays and sings And far away from where I will be then His pitiful music rising up into the sky I know I’ll read them with moistened eyes And, just like me, his lyrics asking “Why?” As I remembered when, as I remember Some of us just learned the hard way This time, when I moved on, made a decision, all on my own That life wasn’t stable in any way Lord, help my ailing mind to capture these last moments This time These last few days that remain It’s about time And tuck them away, somewhere safe To settle down and figure it out again These places, these times we’ve had All on my own They’re a part of me now, they’ve made me who I am Again Or will be We thank you for all the help you’ve been giving This time, as I step forward, all on my own And for standing near, in this life we’re living I hope I don’t regret it, leaving all I’ve known But if I stay here too long, the roots will go too deep Maybe it’s time to prove that I’m grown I never sowed a seed Going along for the ride, there’s no one by my side Because I knew I wouldn’t be here to reap This time, leaving it all behind It’s a good thing I know the landmarks by now Squinting as I struggle to forecast the future This time Will I be alone? Walking a clearly blazed trail I’ll have these poems, these stories, these journals, these memories All on my own The same questions as before (If this is boring, just remember, I didn’t write it for you I’ve studied, but still don’t know any more I’ve got to make it all the way through.) Than I did before I learned the hard way that selfishness will bring me down Thinking about the last five years, I’m not sore And I learned that selfishness is why I’m still around Things could have been worse, I suppose (Only Heaven knows) This time And every thorn has its rose, even this one Doing it for myself This time, I pick my poison, all on my own All on my own These legs were made for walking, so open the gate Never put down your kickstand I still sense that Death is stalking Don’t shift into “park” But I’ll face my fate Don’t put the trailer up on blocks This time, looking before I leap, all on my own Never get too attached to this man And, all along, I knew I’d have to go back home Don’t sleep in the dark But you can rest, your mind assured And when I leave, don’t be shocked That this questioner will always allow his mind to roam This time When you count it all, I’ve left a lot behind You knew I was made for moving At one time or another All on my own But it’s all still here, in my mind The soft rains and crashing waves and warm sun An era comes to a close Of the volcanic island, where I became someone In my introspective little world The busy streets, strange tongue, the shorter people there It lasted too long On an island nation, where we had the only blond hair As we all know The mountainous church, boyhood friends and soccer fields This time The sprawling house, my fast and furry best friend, my grandfather I’m not drifting That first job, girlfriends and school friends I made a decision Cozy college, greasy jobs, tiny rooms, and so many fads All on my own And, Oh, the times we had! And I’ve walked on, outward From bad habits, dead rabbits The little harmless plastic bags, filled with powdered death All Your Cash Foolish Wise Man September 16, 2000 01:00 hours Wil Fry IV Willal Fa 5:00 pm 9-26-00

Master of disguises, and the jack of all trades Self-repressed as it burns Step into your high-rises; deal, but keep the spades The sun so far away Master of the freeway in your Mercedes-Benz Scraping roundly the world turns Just sit back laughing as your money-counter spins Comfortless in each day Dropping high-class names, wearing silken suits Rotting wise men Weekend at your ranch, with leather riding boots Selfish every one Nightly making love to your liposuctioned wife Who defines their wisdom - Living your dream, in this impossible life They alone? For wisdom cannot be Someday, coughing, when blood runs down your chin To pine away Laying in your bed, saying, “Remember when. . .?” At a desk In a church On that day, we’ll be equal, you and I Profoundly thinking Since none of your riches will ever help you die Dead flesh stinking Lying in our coffins, perhaps side-by-side While outside They said you’d go to Heaven, but you know they lied The sun is setting So now where’s your money, and all your cash Ha! Finally, like me, it’s all turned to ash

Give Me A Notebook Normal-Man September 25, 2000 WCF 0130 Willal Fa 9-26-00 Tuesday 17:00

Give me a notebook any day of the week Hear a shrill nubile cry A pad and pen I know the world has moved on without me As the boy-band passes by (It always does, doesn’t it?) “Teen idols” - “Heartthrobs” To computers, “wordpads”, Palm Pilots and digital recording piles of crap In the spotlight for a minute that cost too much Don’t envy them, Normal-Man Have you ever known a rich poet? For they shall lose Born rich? No. More than you You can’t write about pleasure if you haven’t known pain Before it’s all through And you can’t write a decent piece of poetry on a computer All they will have is Unless you have once been poor enough to not afford one So, give me a notebook any day of the week The memory of greatness, A good, solid notebook, with a lot of pages, college-ruled to save space While you and I Well-built, so it won’t fall apart Can still achieve it. Because some of us don’t have soft, nice, safe places to live, And our notebooks might suffer a little damage Still, it’s a notebook It’s physical Next You can hold it WCF 9-26-00 17:35

Help Us Be Men “You’re next!” September 25, 2000 0230 WCF I heard the call You can take your polls Oh, so hexed - Make your lists I want it all To sell your magazine To gullible young women Until I’m vexed You tell them what WE want Then it’s so much garbage How they should shape themselves Paint themselves dress themselves Ashes Dust Mirage How the hell can you be so shallow? Floating wet into stillness And I heard the comedian With his gross generalizations Don’t be upset And I laughed along with Or act out your mental illness The rest of you But I can tell you When seeing her picture It’s no longer On my wall In my wallet Making me laugh Do you really want to know “You’re next” That’s all you can be What we want from you? Don’t expect to be what she We want your softness to ease the abrasion from our hard lives We want your confidence when we think less of ourselves Will always be to me We don’t mind that you are intelligent, as long as you don’t make us look stupid We just want someone who won’t drain us, who won’t Take our money, our self-respect Cosmo, keep your beauty tips Vogue, you can save your breath Just tell your women To help us be men. Untitled A Little Late Wil Fry 9-29-00 23:22 WCF Sunday 10-1-00 22:27 The Three Shortest Poems In The History Of The World Too bad the recorders weren’t rolling Spent too much time By Willal Fa October 2, 2000 When we all caught fire melting down all my desires Too bad you never gave in to your And I had to put What I Said To The Doctor (When He Deepest, fleshly desires out way too many fires Announced That He Would Amputate My Keep the bright lights Now, though, I got the list Heart) Keep my name off the marquee narrowed down 15:45 I just wanna see the sights Just as I get ready “O.” I never did care what you think of me to leave this town Were you there? Did you see? I’m in charge now, The Expression On My Face When I Saw controlling my fate Hell But, checking the clock, 15:48 I may be a little late Hating You “!” WCF 9-30-00 00:25 Emotional Leper Moan with the rhythm WOMEN (alternate version) Use your nails to scrape my skin Wil Fry 10-2-00 02:18 15:52 Showing me the pain They make you, “I” And make me enjoy my sin They break you Beat me with your fist They bring you in and take you out I love to be all black ‘n’ blue They gain your trust, then fake you out Kick me out your door They feed you, Make me enjoy hating you They lead you Paint Me They grow you up, and weed you out Wil Fry 10-4-00 23:29 They give you food then slap your mouth They hail you, Sedate me Untitled Assail you Degrade me 9-30-00 WCF 00:53 They arrest you and bail you out Paint me onto silken banners They box you up and mail you out Bury me with imaginary kisses Busted eyeballs Defend you, Berate me Spilled onto sidewalk Then end you Deflate me Rumbling automobile They hold on tight, then lend you out Fill my soul with cold porridge They hold you close, then send you out Then drink till centipedes take flight Behind the scene They fill you, In front of the They kill you Lacerate me Small clapboard house They plow you up and till you out Separate me Next to another house They drink you up and spill you out Divide me from boundaries and shackles Spreading red pools Till you’re gone Rise with me into unfettered dreams I can see my reflection Complicate me Smell smoke of gunpowder Titillate me Ride away What You Have To Do Give to me what only I can take Willal Fa 10-2-00 02:30 Leave me with pleasant memories of hell. These Walls Never fear, come in here 9-30-00 13:19 WCF Burn the pier, yell a jeer Home In The Country (At Last) Smear the queer, shed a tear Wil Fry October 10, 2000 5:17pm Thank God these walls can’t talk (the first poem written after I moved to Oklahoma) They’ve seen too much And thank God they won’t see anymore Do what you Too cold for chirping crickets Can you hear their sigh of relief? have to do On this dead October night To be true, Silence As of the wide-open spaces Untitled cry into It is almost too loud to bear 9-30-00 13:41 WCF Yonder blue, I walked a distance (regarding “Fragile World”) till you’re through Still seeing nothing But trees, grass and sky Bleeding fingers Any minute, As I pick out the glass slivers Don’t wake up, or break up Expecting a car to roar by I was only trying to sweep up This fake up, just take up or a light to turn on The broken shards Your make-up, and make up or a gangland shot to go off Of the once-shiny glass trinkets But That were our lives Alas Sometimes the clean-up effort I am home in the country Is worse than the destruction At last Where Demons Are Few Dream-land My father, 9:49 pm 10-10-00 Wil Fry Wil Fry 10-15-00 10:17 P.M. the strongest man I know A spirit could be my guide Copyright © 2000 by Wil C. Fry IV Well, now he closes his eyes Written: November 7-9, 2000 Or I could hide alone inside And who knows where he goes But the demons have been released His hands were strong And my heart is now at peace Or what he sees But at least the grass is greener I felt them as he held me, carried me The organized wilderness of the city has given way Heard the grinding as he loosened rusty bolts To natural country paradise And at least the people smile Watched as he built barns, fences, Where demons are few At least the wars get won Our lives And far between And no one dies Felt the restraint as he disciplined Oh, to stay in dream-land! And knew we were safe Where things keep getting better In his hands A Few Hours On Friday Night You wonder why he sleeps so much Wil Fry 10-13-00 Friday midnight (full moon) While life keeps getting worse His heart was strong I watched him cry, and felt the hot tears Rumbling bass drum beats Isn’t it easier to enjoy dream-land Than to try to change our world? While he forgave me, inspired me Make the air throb with excitement I knew he would give his money, his advice, And pom-poms flashing brilliantly His time Under a million watts of light Take a bullet if need be Wisp of cigarette smoke For any of us Is drowned out by the shouts Chilly Autumn Nights Right in the heart Get your nachos, get your hot dogs Wil Fry 10-21-00 4:35 p.m. But get to your seats before His mind was strong The kick-off See the rain-wetted leaves now falling, As he taught me, corrected me, surprised me And war is about to start In the distance, winter’s winds are calling. With what kinds of things he knew The two tribes face each other All the creatures have found a place to hide How he could figure things out so quickly Armored from helmet to cleats The gray expanse of sky is ever-wide Amazed us Fight for pride, for recognition What use was there for a science book? For mention in the local newspaper Coolness that was hidden now controls the day Chilly autumn nights keep the heat at bay When my dad was around, The parents, the girlfriends Speaking his mind The alumni, the rest of the school We watch His back was weak The clash, the crunch, the carnage And laid him out more than once, I guess As physical prowess and mental agility We weren’t sure how to handle that Seize the day How I Wish That I Could Paint But he always seemed to get back up “Get another touchdown, Wil Fry 10-29-00 Noon or it’ll be a long ride home. . .” (So far) (written while sitting on a rock near Granny’s “1st More than anyone else, he could push himself Football is god in the small town Lake”, just east of the house) For a few hours on Friday night With the entire world How I wish that I could paint Riding on his back. the shape of each cloud in the sky; And how to shade each rounded wisp She, so young as they lazily float by. Wil Fry 10-15-00 10:00 P.M. I wish I knew which hue would show the depth of eternal blue SOFT SIMMERING SOUND She blinked her eyes at the sun That hangs overhead each day I walk Wil Fry 11-19-00 8:40 p.m. Then looked at me, sitting there, in the country to see the view. off to one side Yes, I yearn to brush the strokes, Soft simmering sound I tried to see past those moist, to somehow record what I see: And a rosy glow crystal-blue orbs The golds and reds of each falling leaf, Then it hit me But instead, I was hypnotized the greens of the moss on the tree. Huge, massive FIST Browns and grays would be the rocks and hated myself for it Plummeting upon which stand the saints. hated my weakness Quick shake of the head Then silver and gold for a sun-setted lake; Look her in the eyes she, so young O! How I wish I could paint! holding so much power over me Like only you can

With some regret, with much pain, And I’ve seen it done, 23456789012345678901234567890121234567890123456789012The message passes between you I tore my eyes away so I know it can be done! from that trance But I just don’t know how. Turn off the stage lights I got up and walked away Break the camera to save myself. So for now I’ll run; Throw out the script through these golden fields I’ll run, I need to go home And just enjoy what I see right now! Peel back the fabric Of the universe façade Tell me the truth Peeking through the keyhole I Miss You Sitting In A Chair, Having Thoughts Wil Fry 11-23-00 22:40 Wil Fry 12-9-00 21:16

I don’t have to think about it for too long Frozen lifelines cracking and wheezing To remember everything about you, girl And my potted plant withers with yellow decay But with each day that passes Cedar-lined ornaments glisten Another piece slips away To familiar age-old happy carols And my peace slips away While the wall is our life, fRamed and fading, I can still see your soft eyes as they smile A history of what we wanted to look like Telling me just exactly what you’re thinking Next to the hot iron coals that shimmer But now those eyes see other things And breathe deep into a country Christmas And I know you’ve slipped away Each tick means our eyelids are You said “no”, and went away Closer to closing so close In my mind you are still holding my hand Enough work has been done today, Your warm skin that dared to touch mine So rest well. But now your heart is colder My memory starts to fray I remember less each day You were holding me Syphilitic Nursery Rhyme Through every weak moment Wil Fry 12-9-00 21:22 But, since then, I’ve learned to be strong little jack hornier Tho’ now my tears go unnoticed fucked in a cornier, They’re still dripping away eating pussy and cunt. You’re still slipping away ev’ryone said, The smell of your hair, “his penis is red, As I nestled my head deep and all covered with bumps.” Like rose blossoms, or fresh honeysuckle But with each day that passes Another piece slips away And my peace slips away Joyce’s Man Wil Fry 12-10-00 21:54

Celebrate Your Dismal Life Joyce wasn’t pretty, Wil Fry 11-27-00 10:02 p.m. And Joyce wasn’t smart. Joyce liked to burp; Celebrate, young one, celebrate your dismal life Joyce liked to fart. For it is the darkness of pain and suffering Then Joyce found her man, which makes the light shine brighter. With no ears, eyes or nose. For who can appreciate the love of a good woman better than He fit her just fine, the man who has known full-blown loneliness, or Or so we suppose. the man who has known the ball-and-chain of the bitch? And who can appreciate a stack of money better than the one who has long had none?

Celebrate, my child, celebrate in your depression Untitled For those long years shall make you wise… Wil Fry 12-12-00 21:27 (still not smoking crack) Or insane… And either is better than never knowing the extremes, Each weak and sickly, spindly coward The richness of life. Will with beady eyes seek shelter While a strong, tall man gazes levelly Even manure has its purpose As the weather goes helter skelter And so shall the shit of your life bring forth fruit. (If she asks, go ahead ‘n’ belt her) (But who knows the words to melt her?) Elegy for Mr. Know-it-all (No one. Just be glad you felt her.) Wil Fry 11-28-00 TUE 10:06 p.m. With much singing and joyful exclamations of trumpets Blame & Thanks Shall we dance and frolic upon the soft, unpacked 12-12-00 21:34 [By: Millal Ba] Topsoil of your grave Harpsichords and lute, cymbals and bells The baby-killer operates at the will of the politician. Flickering firelight and painted faces The mafia operates with the permission of the police. Of forest satyr and giddy river sprite The preacher operates, so he says, under the blessing of God. Those who mourn your loss Shall run the risk of joining you The whore operates to serve the needs of the people. In your new home Thank God for the whores. THE COLD ‘NEATH THE ICE (alternate title: What Love Will Do ☺) Wil Fry 12-27-00 (WED) 10:39 p.m. Wil Fry 12-14-00 22:04 Stand amidst the crystal-coated foliage It slices seeps soaks The life under a sheet of ice It is dark when the mother light vacations Deep down in your bones And cold Inundating you with awesome weariness The air is still. It aches in your joints Hear the distant creaking Tingles your toes Nature’s tweaking Reddens the nose As living monuments buckle The landmarks cracking It bites the flesh Like us, they can only bear up It chews the blood Under so much It sucks out the warm life The window’s candle is flickering From inside you. And lantern’s gentle gaze It can make you come alive, out of stupor. Are flowered reflections And multiplied refractions It can kill you, if you’re not careful. Through prismed twinkles The people, the creatures And the land of the gods A Different Set of Trees Lie huddled ‘neath the ice Wil Fry 12-18-00 21:55 Death & Taxes “Onward, ho!” shout the trail masters Wil Fry 01-03-01 09:40 While the weak lag behind The wolves will eat the stragglers, we’re told, “Hogwash,” said the Senator And those that ran ahead, we cannot find. Upon hearing that his taxes caused me strife. “I haven’t paid any tax Some wander from the trail, on either side On any single day in my life.” Into oblivious dark and cold “I had heard as much,” I replied, The rest of us, rag-tag as we are, keep walking, Shining an evil glint from my eye, Staying safely in the mold. “So now, I guess, all that’s left Is for you ‘to do and to die’.” But each of us will arrive somewhere, I’m sure; The front runners get there first. To Take Him Apart (An Ode To Our Aging Senate) The stragglers, now eaten, will fertilize the forest Wil Fry 01-03-01 17:00 And the side-winders, upon new trails will burst. I saw an aging politician, With lines carved deep into his face; Each life has its purpose, some strange and varied. For him I could feel no compassion, And upon each back, a different burden is carried. Since he led our country into disgrace. Look not harshly upon another pilgrim, if you please, His thermostat was turned down low, Merely because he walks under a different set of trees. The fan upon it was set on high. His breath was even, and awful slow, And I began to wonder why.

In fact, I wondered if he had lungs EARLYEARLY OKLAHOMA WINTER With which to breath his precious air, Wil Fry 12-18-00 21:59 Since I knew he had no heart, Nor guts or courage to be fair. A mud-ridden town With snow in the ditches And with no heart, no need for veins That would nourish his aging bulk. The empty sky blows coldly You could see it plain – he had no brain, Onto reddened, dry skin So why in the world should he sulk? Each back is bent, He never burped, he never stank, Each body is shivered Nor bleed, nor sleep, or eat or fart. So I paid a scientist Rushing from one store to the nextnext (Handsomely) To take him apart. And get back inside What we found, you don’t want to know Light the fire (And most of it you would not believe!) Watch the weather Some wires and springs, and Three Blind Mice This early, you know the “Mr. Senator – it’s time you were relieved.” Worst is yet to come Waiting For Beyond She Said, I Wonder Wil Fry 1-6-01 22:21 Untitled Wil Fry 1-31-01 21:29 I told too many lies, then I fully compromised, Wil Fry 1-20-01 01:01 “It’s just a harmless kiss” And I did all the things I said I’d never do. (With a shrug and a smile) I closed both my eyes, and hardened my insides, Shakespeare, O Shakespeare But all the while, I waited to hear From You. (With diverted eyes) They say you had no peer “What’re you jealous for?” Did I mature too late, No one could twist the language like you (With outspread hands Or have I matured at all? (except for Dr. Suess and Kalamazoo!) And a hurtful glare) Perhaps what we sometimes call “death” I think you’re not so smart “Don’t you trust me?” Is actually our final stage of maturity. (With a huff and a sigh, Much like the caterpillar, we live our useless lives Acting hurt and put upon) Until the tomb’s cocoon propels us to beauty. So it was my fault, she said ….Waiting for….Beyond…. Winter Dreaming I was over-possessive, she said And she had no freedom, she said Wil Fry 1-22-01 21:47 This Sinking Mountain She felt trapped, she said “I’m in love with someone else” Copyright 2001 Curled up by the roasting fire Written January 13, 2001; 5:07 PM, by Millal Ba Listen to winter’s wind lapping at the house (With an innocent smirk, To: Kyle Cotton (original manuscript was an email) Its timbers creak and moan Relief upon her face) All else is quiet and still So whose fault was it? I wonder what can i do? In winter’s embrace Who “possessed” whom? I wonder what can we do? Warm fire crackling and popping Who had the freedom? I wonder we must DO Chill wind whistling and whining Who is trapped, now? I wonder to LIVE All is safety, comfort but it’s harder than it looks Drowsy and we hang around with crooks Adjust the blanket to turn the page A Page Already Turned or stick or noses in books Lean toward the light (1998-1999) or snort our lives away But the story will not be finished tonight Wil Fry 1-31-01 21:30 and it’s almost never worthwhile Before logs turn to embers i can still taste the bile My thought turn to dreams Careless kisses (and) that rose when i thought of my life Where no fire is needed Beer-soaked pisses my failure All is safety, comfort It was a means with no end my indecisions my bad decisions Dreaming Flirtatious glances that haunt me when i look back (And) midnight dances so i try not to look back All You Little Fagots Still, I found no friend i look to the future and attack Wil Fry 1-22-01 21:59 Tunes a-spinning but my past is still there Merrily sinning and it is heavy All you little faggots, just run around and play Nightly meetings to attend You like to suck dicks, and ass-fuck thru the day it is a weight Well, sure, I’m horny, and, why yes, I’d like to fuck Tired of thinking that pulls me down And just like every man, I like getting my dick sucked. Thoughtless drinking lower, it seems, everyday But all you little faggots, just stay away from me Now with a body left to mend as i climb, the mountain is sinking I don’t want your asshole, and you just can’t have me Tossing, turning i keep trying, i keep thinking My asshole is for farting, and for shitting too the warning lights are blinking And, yes, it’s for spanking, and for sitting, too. Bridges burning my chances of success are shrinking But my asshole’s not for fucking, that’s a fact of life The fire will burn thru the night but i keep climbing So you’ll have to find another man to be your man-wife Souls a-weeping So all you little faggots, just stay away from me Restless sleeping and the climb gets lonely sometimes I don’t like your flirting, or your herbal tea so i hope you don’t give up Go on and fuck your man, but I don’t want to know It’s too hard to do what’s “right” like i want to give up Anything that happened, or how long he took to blow so we can have some company I like to fuck women, I hope that’s plain to see, as we climb So all you horny fagots, just STAY AWAY FROM ME! Chores forgotten (and) this sinking mountain Life is rotten Jailbait And we wish it would all go away Wil Fry 1-24-01 21:44 Conscience blurring (and) Speech is slurring “Jailbait” Missed Chance That’s what they call her But we lived to see another day Wil Fry 1-17-01 21:31 “She’s too young” Goals are fading But her nipples are so perky Sight degrading A word, a glance “Robbing the cradle” There’s a gun up to your head But her pussy is so tight and fresh A drink, a dance “Generation Gap” Glasses tipping I wonder if I can take that chance But I say she’s unspoiled Hurried sipping A touch, a kiss Her eyes are brightly smiling Drink what you can, before you’re dead Her skin is unmarred Losing friends Yawning Abyss Her soul is fresh I try to ignore what I know I will miss Her mind is sharp Finding The End. But still she’s Jailbait Just A Sip, Please The Break-in Wil Fry 2-4-01 23:44 Wil Fry 3-1-01 21:40 Just a sip, please I never heard the click Sir, I just need a taste And I don’t need you to tell me of the door as it opened That my life has gone to waste I never saw the closely Just one bottle, I ask guarded flashlight rays Just fill me up one frosty glass I never knew what I I’ll cause no trouble, I promise; was in for, there in the dark I’ll sit right here on my ass Until it was over Just to calm my nerves My things destroyed (They’re not made of steel) (The ones that were still here) Just to ease some minor pains My heart stopped beating for a moment For once, to cease to feel Then I realized They’re just things. 2-13-01 Wil Fry 2-13-01 21:34 Studying People Wil Fry March 6, 2001 17:59 It’s starting to come together As I live in rainy weather I stood in the church My goals and plans take shape Facing the open coffin My frown begins to break Saw the clumsily masked decaying form As I move on to bigger, better things And then at the mist-layered grave site My heart, it longs to sing As the overpriced wooden box was lowered Not a dirge, this time Into the moist and yawning earth But a merry, flippant rhyme And said to myself Every time I smile, “There, someday, shall I be” It lasts a longer while And soon, you won’t recognize me I stood on the street corner as the man I used to be Watching the oblivious passersby Saw the wrinkled stooped old man His eyes cloudy, his electric ear humming Hope it never Comes And saw his clothes that had been new in 1975 Wil Fry 2-27-01 22:20 Hanging loosely from his shrunken frame And said to myself I’m waiting for the trouble “Will I ever look like that?” That I know will burst my bubble It’s gonna come – it always does I sat on the overstuffed sofa Although I’m not superstitious “Life’s been good to me… Facing the crowded living room So far” Saw the plump innocent bright-eyed infant Sang the wise man Every sense awakening new-found joy in his heart “So far” are the key words And saw that nothing seriously troubled him And they’re ringing in my ears As he played there on the carpeted floor How long can it work out? And said to myself How long before the turnabout? “Was I ever that young?” I’m preparing I’m steeling myself for the blow I stood in my bathroom Yet I hope it never comes Staring with disquietude at the mirror Its shiny surface reflecting a well-known face Watching Television A face stranded between innocence and the grave Wil Fry 3-1-01 21:00 I saw the growing wrinkles, the tired eyes Slightly worried, slightly satisfied I don’t know what time it is I don’t know what day it is And said to myself All I can see are colorful flashing lights “Who is that?” And faraway people Surrounded by pleasant, moody music That changes every thirty seconds Words that someone thought were witty float in the air Then drop to the ground like a brick So I turn off the T.V. And go to bed. All I Need Let’s leave it at that. Okay? Tell Me It’s Okay By Wil Fry March 7, 2001 22:15 Wil Fry 3/19/01 22:05 Wil Fry 3/29/01 21:30

(Words are my defense I saw you there No one knows the depths of evil Words are my therapy With your smile and your hair I have seen I have done Words are my weapon And your blue eyes It is in me there is no escape Words are my plea bargain.) Were messing with my insides No one can know it must remain my secret Words are my Prayer No one knows the secrets of my soul You walked out the door What I know is mine alone I need to Thank God you didn’t want more Secrets that will ride with me to the grave My face my mask I need to walk a little further, ‘Cause I’m empty My smile my disguise Get those power ballad chords And I’d’ve died if you kissed me out of my head My stony heart I need to lean back Imprisoned by the blood of martyrs And feel your arm there It’s not that you weren’t cute You cannot look into these eyes And for you to sing me to sleep And the poem that you showed me was nice And tell me it’s okay Until horrible demons have run But I’ve danced to the devil’s flute These tears are for my secret pain to where they hide And it’s time I started taking my own advice And yours I know you feel it too I need your delicate fingers Weep with me awhile To trace soothing patterns down the scars So for now your smile will be But don’t lose control stay alert They’re still after us on my heart For me a happy memory (I know you can’t bring back what’s been lost) And the words that I read I don’t want it anyway When smoky shafts of angel’s light But you can bring something new) Will be ringing in my head Illuminate strains of glorious music If you try to fill And expansive flower gardens The hole inside me And let’s leave it at that. Okay? Surround summer’s gentle cottage… It’ll wear you out Perhaps the fear will subside I just need you to stand on the 3/21/01 edge of that gaping wound Wil Fry March 21, 2001 22:00 And plant a flower To Meet You Every little bug bite every little night fright Wil Fry 3/29/01 21:44 Job insecurity with beady eyes and pudgy faces Let’s forget my past Wishing wells surrounded by electric fences When all of Earth is engulfed in flame Let’s start anew Electronic interference on a shifting foundation I want you to squeeze my hand Start something that’ll last A sinking sensation When on death-bed I whisper your name Something with you. And dusty carpet Be my biggest fan No blade can carve me from you My peace is in thoughts of you I want you I need you I’d Rather Have The Memory And I want to meet you Wil Fry 3-18-01 21:29 Seminole Sunday Wil Fry March 25, 2001 22:15 Sometimes, when it gets quiet here, Here inside my head Angel’s feet and broken down buildings 4-5-01 And I think about all those tears Indian ghosts and crumbling bricks Wil Fry April 5, 2001 22:01 For you that I shed Alongside this paved cattle trail the sunshine warms the skin, It’s been so long since I held you Look around and see but leaves the soul alone. Since I felt your love But I know I can never forget you The solitude only night has seen where I’ve been, Yes, life is rough Of each and every individual the pain my soul has known. We’re decades away from the Steel Empires Maybe that’s all I’ll ever have Smiling faces and rotting wood Those precious memories Smoking cars and potholed streets And thank God I forgot the rest Middle of Nowhere – the stressful moments – That are empty on Sunday Wil Fry 4-8-01 16:00 Look inside and see Engraved carven stone frozen souls I wish I could hold you now, The solitude but only like I remember it Of every minute of my life Rigid and staring, unseeing That’s why I don’t pursue you: A testament to mortality ‘Cause I know that the reality of your presence would chafe at me Not Human Anymore Who are we, really? Wil Fry 3-26-01 21:55 Outside of a few pitiful centuries So I’ll gladly take the memory Of measly existence, crawling around Where you’re warm and soft High and mighty they seem to be And caring, and everything works out They never been a friend to me On a tiny planet They got the money, cars & planes Yes, I’d rather have the memory You never see them riding on the trains In the middle of nowhere They don’t shop at my store Than you They’re not human anymore Or is it me that’s not? Pack The Car The oven where I cook my lonely meals Wil C. Fry April 8, 2001 21:58 To: Stephanie Atara Joseph And I wonder: Who’s in charge? “I’m too old to grow up” (Dennis Hopper as “Huey Walker”, in Flashback) Has Fate written our stories So that we’ll never cross each other’s paths again? I sit on this worn wooden stool Does Destiny decide to draw us apart? at my kitchen counter Or do we make our own roads? Thinking of you…  I hear the cars outside and wonder I don’t know how to end this rambling, If you’ve finally lost your mind pitiful cry for help, And come out to see me… But I’ve learned a few lessons I wonder, would you care enough (My gun is safely stored away) To make that effort I wonder, are you sitting somewhere, And I can’t decide: Thinking of me… -Would I rather be alone than to take the chance? -Or would I rather take the chance of you breaking my heart, instead of In the movies (smile) knowing I didn’t have the guts? When a man feels like I do now, For that matter, I think one heartbreak more would do me in He leaves it all behind, And I’m no longer convinced packs up his junky car, That true love exists… drives across the country; To find the woman he loves You can see I’m a little shaky right now… Then he makes his speech Maybe I’ll go pack the car ☺ Then she – with moist eyes – accepts him With open arms

This is not a movie, I know, Spring ’01 But my keys dangle from my fingers Wil Fry April 15, 2001 23:00 As I consider the drive. I’ve got just enough cash in my wallet When dusk has fallen asleep To get me to where you are And fireflies are sparkling Not enough to get back (smiling, with tears) The Dance of the Ages Green is shrouded by night’s tender caress If I had even an inkling Sprouting emerald smiles That I’d meet with a positive reception, Shrouded in darkening gray I’d leave in the morning. But life so far has hardened me To such flights of fancy.

Then I get the feeling that Just Enjoy I’d just be another second-rate stalker to you Wil Fry 4-21-01 24:00 (midnight) I feel like the nerdy teenager With a crush on the prom queen Will we ever tire of writing And he knows she’d never go for it. Or expounding upon the theme (I was a nerdy teenager Remember? You were there.) Of Nature’s relaxing Power You weren’t the prom queen, were you? Or the cleansing of her stream? Well, you should’ve been. (The refreshing winds gusting I feel like the “comic relief” character And the Sun, so soft and warm In a serious movie drama The endless verdant hillsides You know, the one who never gets the girl, Where you’re always safe from harm) ‘Cause she’s just too hot?

As I lay down, and flip off the light Will we run short of metaphors For my final thoughts of the day Based upon Nature’s calm I fold my hands behind my head Listen to the cool spring breeze that whispers your name And cease to personify And smile, wistfully The healing of Her balm? Maybe I missed my chance Maybe I never had a chance And you’d probably laugh at the Or can we learn to merely sigh, Way I dance. Sit back, and just enjoy And romp through the wilderness I look around and see the things I’ve amassed for myself Like a curious little boy? The things I buy to feel better The computer that holds my printed thoughts (many of them about you) The music that soothes my soul If I Can’t Have You (What Will I do?) To: Stephanie Joseph By: Wil Fry 4-24-01 22:43 See If I can’t have you, I’ll… Wil Fry 5-5-01 16:37 I’ll what? Keep on living my solitary life? Aren’t you tired of not seeing Probably, that’s what I’ll do What is real? If I can’t softly place my hand on your knee, Don’t you think it’s time you Then I’ll… Retrained your eyes Well, I’ll just drive too fast Refocused your thinking Through these city streets So much is going on that you And if I can’t caress your flawless hand, Never think about I’ll go and… The ghosts that wander Yeah, I’ll sit around drinking The Spirit that speaks And maybe start a rock band And radio waves If I can’t look long into your caring eyes, Then I’ll, I’ll… In the back of your brain Go out and get a new compact disc The germ that infests And listen to it, till I cry Can you possibly broaden your horizon If I can’t have you Beyond your simple and Then what’s the fucking use? Passive existence If I can’t have you The UFO cover-ups Then why should I have anything? Spies, lies, and camera-covered skies If I can’t pick you up Just wake up And carry you in my arms Do you choose not to see? If I can’t lay my life down Or maybe you can’t? To divide you from life’s harm If I can’t buy you something nice, just to see you smile If I can’t take your (and give my) advice, then this is what I’ll… Insomnia (3) What WILL I do? Wil Fry 5-8-01 23:11 I am writhing inside Twisting and stretching Reaching for Sinking My Ships who I need to be Lying awake for no reason Flipping Wil Fry 4-25-01 22:35 through channels in the middle of the night Brushing away To: Stephanie Joseph the cobwebs of fantastical dreams I am climbing the walls If I asked you to repeat Chewing the plaster Tasting the paper and glue compounds those wonderful things you said that surround our timelines As they morph into white puffy Would you have any idea clouds Reflected in the river that ripples Rampaging through What’s going on in my head? Would you know that your moving lips my veins For no apparent reason Other than to frustrate me Are sailing and sinking all my ships? It is all so clear to me now Like a foggy morning in a sandstorm Clear like a glass of old milk Easily understood like an alien language Or a tax return form And so I bask A Prize I Can Find A Prize I Can Find in my confusion Relish my headache that comes from my To: SAJ written: 4-30-01, 15:01 Wil Fry (original contained in a letter to SAJ, dated same as above) soul Wrapped in this blanket of nothingness If I stay up much longer I’ll be sharp in the morning Sharp like the I wish you didn’t think I was joking knife that thuds onto butter Or like the arrows that bounce Please don’t ask me what I’m smoking But understand that I can take it off unprotected flesh My breathing is shallow yet rapid and My heart’s gone – so you can’t break it my heart is quickly marching Now I shall lay down my From the lines in my face pen and attempt the descent into sleep once more But why? you can see the years haven’t been kind Only because my dreams are where I need to be Maybe I didn’t win the race QDRUSTHENKAL? but maybe there’s still a Prize I can find I wish you didn’t think I was too old ENGRAVEN Please remember that my heart’s been cold AGAIN Just understand that I’m weak no longer (Maybe a little…) but you could make me stronger… Till The Day I Die Live With The Pain Wil Fry 5-13-01 21:51

(Ode To My Mother) live with the aching Final Version Wil Fry 5-11-01 when your body is breaking (There’s so much more I could say… Smart shopper, Master’s degree, home live with the pain school teacher, giver of well-thought-out advice, the best family cook in the world – bar none, THE BEST MOM IN THE WHOLE GOSH DARNED shut off your brain WORLD! I love you, Mom.) stand up and take it ‘For richer and poorer’ when you think you can’t make it My mother has lived and loved life is full of trouble Every moment in her life greatly prized you can’t live in a bubble From Arizona’s deserts To Oklahoma’s wilderness live with the pain And the rest of the world, besides children of Cain ignore the pain She walked through the largest cities in the world with great disdain With wide-eyed wonder and girlish delight Although she never feared returning home living through pain To fight the good fight will lead to gain but then, giving in Where she raised four wild children isn’t always a sin With much grace, patience, optimism, And a firm hand still, you can be a man The Home that others envied take a stand Where she held us, loved us, live with the pain And was always ready to understand live with the pain Where she cooked, cleaned, washed and sprayed wipe off the stain And worked, and prayed, studied and stayed go against the grain And few were the times we appreciated weakness will kill you The sacrifices she lovingly made giving up will still you Where her gardens grew green so live with the pain And fed us many times live with the pain But don’t give credit to a “green thumb.” She worked, slaved, persevered And brought the flowers and vegetables up No matter how hot the sun

She was an example to us, and to others A counselor, a teacher, a fount of wisdom, and a friend A sewer, a mender, a sower, a reaper, I meant no harm A rock in times of trouble Wil Fry 5-14-01 22:59 And she will be, until the end I meant no harm When I bought the farm Although I am trying, I cannot express in words And I didn’t really care How she was tough as nails Yet as soft as the petals of a rose When the coroner combed my hair Not given to flights of fancy, I thought about where I’d been She taught me the value of researching my opinions As the shovels buried me in These are things only a mother’s son knows And wondered where I’d go As my decay began – so slow Sometimes, I wish I was still that little boy, playing outside So I could come to her with my skinned knee, and bruised pride So she could hold me as long as I needed her to Hearing her prayers over me as I cried That’s what I’ll never forget Till the day I die whispers of angels Somewhere behind me wil fry may 16, 2001 903pm Wil Fry May 16, 2001 20:56 Hear the whispers of angels Somewhere behind me With broken hearts Before the setting flaming sun Who are too tired to fly Before it all ended Anymore Before I got tired And they sway Somewhere behind me They sway now in the breeze of Time Before I sat down Softer now than before Before the lights went out See their pictures Before I closed my eyes Those happy eyes Somewhere behind me From way back when I can hear the whispered promises They’re not smiling anymore It’s a sure thing Even though they’re trying They said Echoing in my soul You can’t fail The echo of love They said That could have been It’ll all turn out okay And somewhere They said I believe Somewhere behind me There may still be an angel Sometime before now A brilliant glittering diamond As I lay down The mother lode Hold my aching ribs But the lights are growing dim Sobbing my aching sobs And the skies are growing dark That are silent I stop for a moment My sorrow is not worth To listen All the noise To the whispers of angels Somewhere behind me I made my mark I lived my life I battled Destiny A story unwritten Somewhere behind me Wil Fry May 16, 2001 907pm I had some good friends We had some good times Usually after dark A story unwritten Somewhere behind me A story untold Sometime before this A heart still unloved This lonely hole Is undiscovered gold This boring routine This waiting for the end Somewhere behind me A path not traveled I lost the beauty A road not taken I found the cynicism Once, I knew that love I packed my bags Or am I mistaken? And left all that I knew Somewhere in a semi-forgotten past I talked of dreams that would never last A word unspoken And the stars fell from the heavens A tongue held in check Landing on angels who failed When the heart is bursting Sometime long ago Leaves only a wreck I forgot all that I would ever know And the truth is buried again Buried here in me A secret forever kept Or somewhere behind me A secret unrevealed A chance that I missed And now my fate is sealed Too cowardly to express My Apology To Poe Wil Fry May 16, 2001 915pm Wil Fry 5-20-01 23:23

I tapped my foot I heard the ringing of the bell In the timeless hall The single, solitary, tolling bell Where beauties dance Cringing at the announcement of Hell And monsters fall The swelling of the telling bell Hidden desire That told me of the opening of Hell Apparent never more I didn’t need the bell As I tapped my foot To tell me that I fell There, upon the floor It was enough to smell Sitting in my chair To smell the stench of Hell For what seemed like ages I knew I wasn’t the first Acting inconspicuous To have my swelling heart burst While insanity rages From the flames, since I smelled the smell Too cowardly to express Of the burning flesh of others who heard the bell What I knew I should say Nor was I the first, nor the worst Sitting in my chair Of all who had their souls to sell There, beyond the day Of all who ended up in Hell But still, I heard the bell Thorns in my mind Wil Fry 5-20-01 11:11pm The inexplicable longing Wil Fry May 22, 2001 21:24 Escapades of innocence The inexplicable longing – it’s still with me Temporarily blind me And I guess I’ll learn to live with it To who I am But it hurts, sometimes, But my nightmares remind me Kind of like when you get your fingernails My moments of weakness pulled out by pliers New Jerusalem awaits Or when your skin is slowly burned off Everyone else by a cigarette lighter A crier in the desert You know that slight aching that I mean? Proclaims my Fate Is it a longing for love? Through the forest I wonder Or for places unseen? The thorns in my mind For eternity? My fear is all that Whatever it is, I will go on wishing Keeps me sane That I had something that I can’t grasp Fear of hell, and Waking up from a dream with my hands Fear of the pain I could cause Grasping thin air If my insanity ever escaped And I can’t quite remember what was there So I drink down my dosage In the mists of a time forgotten And collapse into the arms You can make me laugh Of unconsciousness again You can make me cry My resolve grows weaker But you cannot fill that hole Warm and humid So don’t even try Is the air In my tomb. Faraway faces and faraway times Elusive Illusion Wil Fry June 3, 2001 21:18 Wil Fry May 22, 2001 21:30 I tried to use my illusion Faraway faces To live inside my fantasy And faraway times Fabrication They always plague my dreams Nice people, easy money And leave me with that bittersweet feeling Success from hard work and sweat I wish I was back there, with them And the good guys always win But I’m glad it’s gone I guess you’ve guessed I miss the camaraderie It didn’t take long The laughs we shared For the illusion to hit the road There, across the table With a drink and a song The same table we always shared So now I see the world for what it is And the nonsense we talked about Hard work and sweat to just survive And knowing that they’d protect me from anything And the good guys have some disease Even from myself They got in the Persian Gulf But I don’t miss the pain And the money’s easy, but not to get The pain we knew So here I am without the illusion That always rode with us Seeing the truth of it all The breakups But I wish I still believed The fights The illusion The long and crazy nights Trying to find a ride home In the middle of the night Heart in a Blender And feeling like worn boot leather in the morning Wil Fry June 6, 2001 22:09 I don’t miss that Maybe my life is just too quiet now Never once did I think Without those faces it would fall apart Those mixed-up days Or that she could be so cruel And maybe they’ve changed their ways as to break my heart I know I have Not that she broke it, per se…. For the better More like she ran a cheese grader over it, I have loosed many of those old fetters Then put the shavings into the blender But I’m not quite flying free And poured in sulfuric acid Like I thought I should be And arsenic And now I can’t figure out what’s holding me down Before turning it on It’s just that there’s no one around After a minute, she made me drink it So I sit and wish I could still have those Then I shit it all out Faraway faces And died And faraway times Bad Call Everything that you said was true Wil Fry 6-10-01 22:17 Wil Fry May 27, 2001 5:38pm Journey through the anger Everything that you said was true That boils under the skin And now I wish I could be with you When in the last few seconds I can’t believe that we’re all through With the game on the line ‘Cause I have no idea what to do The ‘Hail Mary’ shot is taken I’m here all alone with my pride and shame The foul is flagrant I can’t stand the thought that we’re done with the game But no whistle is blown I really don’t feel like placing blame No call is made But after loving you, I won’t be the same The game is lost So I go on living in my darkened life The refs are blind Without you around, I can’t see the light But what can you do? I’m wishing that I didn’t have to see the strife Isn’t that just like life? But I really don’t wanna give up the fight It gives you the chance to win Then takes it away at the last minute Everything that you said was true Leaving you to die And I now I know I can’t be with you Or to get up and fight again I guess I’ll keep on living even though we’re through Will you wilt away But it’ll take some time to decide what to do Just because the Ref Made a bad call? Come On Home Blow Up Your Car WCF 6-11-01 (at Joe H’s house) Wil Fry 7-8-01

After you travel so long One day when I was young Every town looks the same Sitting in a class The people that you meet Thinkin’ “take yer stupid rules (You) don’t care ‘bout their names & shove ‘em up yer ass” I don’t like the way you talk And when the money gets low Or the way you think The places that you live All of this oppression (Just) ain’t home anymore (Ya) gave all you had to give Really, really stinks I wanna, I wanna So you wander around I wanna blow up your fuckin’ car Drink all that you can drink I’m gonna, I’m gonna Livin’ in a shithole I’m gonna blow up your fuckin’ car Don’t care how low you sink I just ain’t gonna tell you when Just the other day Ain’t it about time you found a home Drivin’ down the road Bring an end to this long and lonely roam A cop was starin’ at me Come on home Some day you’ll leave it all behind I wanted to explode The women, the weed and the wine Tell me what to do Come on home They tell me what to think Come on back home But I bet they’re just like me I bet their assholes stink The sunset, it dims (repeat chorus) And the wind doesn’t blow You don’t know where you’ve been Or where you’re gonna go Runnin’ Down WCF 7-31-01 (at Joe’s) Ain’t it about time you found a home Bring an end to this long and lonely roam Haven’t you heard Come on home Every song by now? Some day you’ll leave it all behind I wanna make it big The women, the weed and the wine Come on home But I don’t know how Come on back home Bought a cheap guitar In a tiny old town Sit at home in the dark Way Too Fast Play it way too loud WCF 6/20 – 7/2/01 (metal – dark sound) With the tears runnin’ down With the tears runnin’ down Trying to scream – I cried out your name Neighbor bangin’ on the wall Not that I miss you – Just don’t like the pain Tellin’ me to turn it down I thought bein’ with you – Was torture enough Tell him to go to Hell But here in the desert – Life can get rough Or I’ll burn him down Reddened eyeballs smokin’ With my tears runnin’ down Suicide pistol chokin’ With my tears runnin’ down Hope’s on a fancy vacation I left my car Fuckin’ asphyxiation On the side of the road If you ever catch me, When the engine blew up You’re going way too fast A week or two ago Every breath I’m takin’ An’ I left my life Feels like chewin’ glass Right beside her heart If you’re where I’m goin’ That was back when You must be gettin’ smashed I started coming apart If you ever take me in Now my tears are runnin’ down THIS MAN WILL BE YOUR LAST Yeah, they’re still runnin’ down Nails in my eyeballs – without affirmation Severed bloody veins – and no more patience I thought when I left you – that Hell would go away But now I’m sinking deeper – every single day (repeat Bridge) (repeat Chorus) What Did I Ever Do To You? Drink ‘Til You Drop Wil Fry September 8, 2001 WCF 7-31-01 22:35 (To: Susan, Sonya, & Kristi)

Light a little candle “Exorcise the demons,” Worshipping the devil the psychiatrist said to me Then go ‘n’ dig me up “If you can’t control yourself With a bloody shovel Then you’ll never be free” Why don’t you mock me? He tried a little counseling It really wouldn’t shock me Like the rest, you can And some therapy on for size Bend me over ‘n’ fuck me None of it was working What’d I ever do to you? So he had to hypnotize But love you all the way through Try the ink blot tests I did everything I could do And reversing roles Never looked for someone new But none of this (none of this) What did I ever do to you? Love’s your dirty word Could save my soul! You use it all you can Whiskey or beer Just give me back my heart I really don’t care It’s time for this to end Drink till you drop Just tell me… Even then don’t stop (chorus) (repeat) I’m gonna blow out your candle I’ll be your fucking devil You work hard all day Yeah, you mocked me So drink till the night turns gray Yeah, you shocked me All work and no play Then you told your mother And you pissed your life away About how you fucked me So… Drink, so drink, so drink till you drop But… I tried all the churches (chorus) To see if they could help me out I prayed up at the front Tell Me The Truth While the choir sang ‘n’ shout Wil Fry 8-13-01 22:23 Taking notes on the sermons, Tell me the truth I filled five or six books Do you detest me? And I gave all the “sinners” ‘Cause I took advantage Of all the times God blessed me A lot of dirty looks Went to all the socials Don’t lie to me now Don’t know if I could take it And played my Christian part Did I steal your love? But when it was all over (all over) Did I take your heart and break it? I still had a broken heart! Don’t pull my chain (chorus) Now is not the time Go on & say it Found me a good woman If all the blame is mine And did everything right

I’ve come too far (on this journey) Bought her what I could Ain’t got time (for no more lies) Made love to her at night No turning back now I thought I had found It’s time to make it right What both of us would need What I never knew was She could make me bleed I tried to work it out But she didn’t seem to care My brain, my soul, my heart (all gone) It’s all so unfair! (repeat chorus) Never stop! Test Drive You Wil Fry September 12, 2001 12:50pm Wil Fry Oct. 1, 2001 11:50pm To: Stephanie Joseph The Car The Girl Walking by the car lot Walking down the street I’m feeling fine He stops in his tracks He stops in his tracks ‘Cause I’ve got plenty of time Appreciating her form from afar Appreciating her form from afar The wide-track tires Her graceful legs To think of you And sleek, rounded fenders And sleek, rounded hips Tingles in my spine He admires the aerodynamic He admires the aerodynamic slope of the hood, curve of her blouse, That I get every time and imagines what is and imagines what is I think about you underneath underneath I never quit trying He quickly thinks of his bank account He quickly thinks of his wounded heart But my heart quit dying And battles with his desires And battles with his desires When I thought of you He considers what his friends will think He considers what his friends will think There are no thanks When they see him driving her When they see him dating her How their jealous stares will linger How their jealous stares will linger On these muddy banks Contemplates the pleasure of Contemplates the pleasure of But there is always you Driving her Loving her And decides he must have her And decides he must have her

A quick word with the dealer A quick word with the woman To let him know he is interested To let her know he is interested INDIAN SUMMER Without coming on too strong Without coming on too strong WCF 10/5/01 Friday 00:50 am Then he asks for a test drive Then he asks her out for coffee

Sitting down in the driver’s seat Sitting down in the café booth Depressive Indian Summer heat streak He mutters a word of greeting He mutters a word of greeting Stuffs us back into heavy breathing His eyes aglow with delight His eyes aglow with delight Impatiently longing for cool night winds A turn of the key breaks the ice A quick joke breaks the ice That can only come some other night And the engine begins to rumble And the date is underway He can smell the sweet tang of He can smell the sweet aroma Tossing and turning, sweating and burning the leather seats of her perfume Waiting for winter’s whispered shriek And is intoxicated with her power And is intoxicated with her beauty Here, in the early morning hours He is hooked He is hooked Lethargy and burning eyes aflame He leaves the dealership He leaves the date With a promise that he’ll return With a promise that he’ll call her Hating heated haughty summer glances The water that can never completely cool But winter’s chill is in our souls Tiny Glimpse And the season will be with us soon WCF 9-25-01 10:20am Brilliance comes, and then it goes Late Summer Lament And genius often wears dirty clothes Wil Fry 10-5-01 00:51am Once in a while, I get a tiny glimpse And begin searching for recompense Midnight blackened shoulders Still sweating in sultry summer Darkness brings no relief Friends “Forever”? Memory cannot retrieve Chilly days of yore WCF 9-25-01 11:21am Hollow eyes under sunburnt skies We said we’d be friends forever Faltering steps We said nothing could take that away And skin that sweating wets But Time is a cruel slum lord Bury me in a mountain river And wash me in the snow He will always make us pay Now I’m a different person And, I assume, so are you Old New York Photos I don’t know just where you live Wil Fry October 5, 2001 (Friday) 3:15pm And have no idea what it is you do So I guess “forever” is over now Looking through my old photos I was looking for those of me and you Even tho’ I still remember what we had Then I found a few, taken in front And although those memories are good ones Of those New York towers two They somehow serve to make me sad I know the towers are gone now And we’re still not sure what to do But I couldn’t help but wonder - If the towers are gone - where are you? Another Ode to the United States of America You Can Not Crush Us Wil Fry October 5, 2001 3:27pm Wil Fry October 14, 2001 Sunday 16:30 hours

Flaming devil faces sprouting smoke We act like we’re surprised to learn And the tiny specks in the sky That others in the world hate us Are falling bodies That they could kill us Soon to be covered in rubble And our precious soil has been bloodied We watched it all in real-time In our wounded pride and confusion Sitting in nervous horror We seem to have forgotten A thousand miles away That our greatest homeland wounds Wondering which Boeing plane Were inflicted by we ourselves Would drop from our skies How many are killed every single year Pondering the possibility of an invasion Murdered by Americans in crimes of passion “Am I ready?” I asked myself Murdered by Americans who can’t control their liquor Looking through the closets and drawers Murdered by parents who leave their children in dumpsters Gathering supplies – just in case… How many had to die in the 1860s My gun, my flashlight, my hunting knife Just so the Federal Government could Extra clothes in the same bag with Take full and final control Ammunition, batteries, vitamins and And, oh, how we’re finally so patriotic A notebook – always a notebook And we finally stopped burning the flag Returning to the evening News, to see Or did we? That the horror was ending… I will say the ‘pledge’ as I salute The skies were empty for the first time With tears in my eyes In fifty years – maybe more But there’s always that pain in my heart Knowing that the bodies would be gathered Remembering our hidden sins The rubble would be cleared And our dark history - dark red And knowing that our nation was strong With the blood of my fathers A pinprick like this could never wound us Whose dream died when their hearts stopped beating A tiny mosquito on the back of a blue whale In this land of ours - Even a thousand planes Oh, wait! I forgot! It isn’t ours at all! Would only be tiny dots in our expansive sky That’s right, I just remembered... And a thousand missiles will bring them down We stole it all from red-skinned savages How long has it been since we felt Right before we raped and massacred them This patriotic, this strong, this togetherness But, oh yes, of course I’m horrified Knowing that ten million other Americans Were checking their guns too Fueling their cars, putting batteries in their radios

Even in our complacency, we are strong Even in our drowsiness, we are ready Even in our fear, we are loyal And you can not crush us.

On Our Way to Being Dead WCF October 15, 2001 Mon 02:04 With stress and trepidation, trembling, He scratches his powdery head To what end is all this leading On our way to being dead? Waking hours without order, in torture, Torment his lonely, scaly soul Midnight cigarettes and whispered prayers Then memories begin to roll Soft, tinkling childhood laughter Too quickly begins to fade And old gray wrinkled pain emerges As the casket is being made So fast, our hurried lives creep on “Forever” was a twisted lie Don’t be surprised that it’s meaningless When you lay down and die The Indian For a Little While, at Least (Regarding my niece, Taryn Morrow) WCF 10/20/01 1330 Wil Fry, November 19, 2001, 22:06 hours Dark skin and ancient eyes Sweltering coals for eyes Hiding under bloody skies But I saw no pain there, as I gazed inward No more tears he cries The childish tilt of her head Each broken day he dies The golden glint of her hair And a sunshine of happiness That will light all our lives For a little while, at least Human Waste Wil Fry October 28, 2001 21:57

In the neverland of my dreams, I see what I wish could be Wise Ones Happy children and smiling souls that are not lost Wil Fry 22:00 11/27/01 But I wake to find a gaping hole and a knife in my hand The frustration, the loss, the hate Oh, the Wise Ones must have chuckled The pain, the loneliness, the darkness in our souls When in uncertainty we walked What the fuck’s wrong with the human race? And surely they laughed themselves silly Diversions are not enough to soothe us When in our wisdom we talked Guns cannot protect us But they are still curiously watching Drugs cannot numb us Each stumbling word and deed Selfish and ignorant, we stride on through And sometimes bend to lend a hand Ducking our heads and hiding our hearts In order that we might succeed Just hoping we don’t get torn apart Immune to the smell of death Impartial in each breath You don’t care I don’t care Good Times But where Wil Fry evening 12/1/01 Is the innocence we once knew? I guess those times are gone now Well, we’ve had our good times We want them back, but we don’t know how And we’ve had our bad And we’re too tired to try And you’ll never know Just garbage that piles up and stinks Just how many times we’ve had A wasteland filled with us. And we tried our best, just like you knew we would But in the end, it didn’t do any good And we felt your tears – you know we were cryin’ too ‘Cause in the end, what else could we do? Paranoid And we’ll keep on tryin’ – until the very end Wil Fry 10-29-01 10:32 p.m. When you will find – all you need is a friend

I see the shadow ‘round the corner Who could it be? Who could it be? If You’re Gonna Leave Me I see the blood on his darkened hands I see the blood on his darkened hands Wil Fry 22:01 12/5/01 Could it be me? Could it be me? Checkin’ my pockets, checkin’ my gun If you’re gonna leave me, at least don’t deceive me Might be no one – might be time to run Just tell me the truth before you go Might be everything I’ve been afraid of I’ve had about enough of all your crazy stuff Might be just what I’ve always wanted I might just be glad to see you go But you never know, you never know You drove me outta my mind nearly every single time And it’s there, just over your shoulder Telling me all that stuff that you know Growing stronger each day you get older I thought that you were fine and wanted you for mine You can hide, but you sure can’t run But now it’s time that you should go Check your suspects – could be anyone Untitled Thank God (WCF, 2/17/02, 01:51) wil fry, february 18, 2002 00:52 Can the one born of dreaming Thank God for freedom! Escape truly into that world again? Each day, I see all that I’m free to do And can the images thus sustained Free to drive as slow as the law will allow Be part of some immaculate plan? And to give the government my money without my permission Possibilities exist beyond abilities to calculate Free to plant a tree And the longing is there for sure I’m free to own a gun as long as I don’t keep it loaded, or take it anywhere Why should such a falsified existence Or shoot it Hold such vast, powerful allure? And thank God for privacy! No answers hold this man, I have the right for anyone in the world to have My phone number and mailing address Except that I wish to take the leap And the right to have the police search my person or home or computer To visit that beautiful place again, Whenever they get an itch When once I finally fall to sleep. Ain’t it a bitch? And thank God for democracy! The wonderful system by which none of us actually votes for president And under which we can only vote for one of two rotten choices Nights Long Forgotten Why give us a choice at all, you silly bastards? wil fry february 18, 2002 00:36 And thank God for public schools! Where each and every individual child can receive a quality drug search Nights long forgotten are here to haunt me now Where you can learn all about propaganda and why it’s right for you Maybe to bring a smile Where you can easily learn to get pregnant so the hard workers Wistfully Can pay for the rest of your life Remembering the flashing strobes And thank God for television! Where you can receive just enough news to be more ignorant than before Thumping bass notes And by which you can increase your level of intelligence to that of a toad Bumping bed springs And where you can finally, after years of searching, And all the other things Begin to think what the System wants you to think That made those years so fun And thank God for love! Without which there would be no misery Where I’ll be in five years, only a psychic knows Without which there would be no heartbreak or loneliness Unless you can tell me where the wind blows Ah, Love! Such a good reason to get drunk and shoot a man Yeah, we had our good times Because he bumped into your woman And, sure, we had our fights Or to beat your woman because she didn’t cook it just right But no one can convince me Yes, thank God for all of these things. Don’t take me wrong. I’m not trying to be sarcastic That I wasted all those nights Because if for none of these things, then we might be happy. Waking just after dusk Smelling vampire musk And feeling the night start to live Waking to hear the traffic dying down Brainiac Timeline The lights fading from my view Wil Fry 3/18/02 22:20 Driving to the nightclubs, looking for you Worried that morning would come too soon One memory, linked to another Daylight bringing the gloom of knowing that it was ending On a long neuron chain At least until the sun went down again Synapses exploding, crashing So we could return to the night Inside my brain Our shell where our faces were shaded But for that fading photographic dream Our hearts were scathed and jaded All is lost it seems I have to admit I loved every minute of it Inside the mythical place that is my past So I could numb, fly, live and covet And each future plan that stamps its feet Now, those nights all blur into one long Shivering in the chilly sleet Stretch of party, smoke, drink and song Seems to shove ahead too fast And someday, I won’t remember them at all As life unrolls and stories told When the Long Night makes its final fall The truth is that nothing lasts Severed Dreamscape Wil Fry 3/18/02 22:25 Sex What is the cost of nightmares 12-15-02 Measured in stifled screams? By Wil C. Fry IV And who shall claim the prize of Lonely mortal dreams? The door into Summer; gate to Paradise Whence comes the shadow Fills us in our hearts and in our eyes That bringeth only fear? When, upon touching beautiful flesh, And how long before Two ‘twined hearts begin to mesh The sting of Death draws Near To some for love, and some for pleasure Bountiful bounty, though none can measure Burned hearts sometimes can bloom Given sunshine and enough room This Silver Ring I Wear Innocent souls also are crushed, split Wil Fry 3/19/02 22:51 By the sheer weight of the action, and it Never seems to be enough for the lustful This silver ring I wear Always yet too much for naïve and trustful With tiny jewels missing Reminds me of women Twinkling set of eyes, wide with expectation I will not be kissing Darkened later into sinister retaliation The tiny brilliant glints Smooth of skin and wetness of perspiration Of reflected silver light Yet nothing can taint this confederation Teach me to avoid Temptations of the night Humanity enjoy and religion ban The intricate carvings Shyness stutters, yet no one can And open empty hole Through trying the slightest rift make Are symbols for the pieces Nor God’s loveliest precious gift break That were carved from my soul

Untitled Untitled WCF, 2/5/03 Wil Fry 7/1/02 1:23 a.m. Now the snow starts falling Dive in mind that feared of free In my bed, my skin crawling Indulge with wrath the twisted king Like the boy, his first sled Rockened hall, light of flashing Smiling up at his dad And loosening cranial blurrage Imagined and catatonic letters Riding his first bicycle Waver the chandelier Then watching nipples wiggle Squares underwater With the joy of the cold And thirsty. We don’t feel so old

Now in dark, the sky is white All is bathed in ghostly light When calm settled on frozen land Listen with soothing angel band Plays a symphony of restful sleep Sure hope the snow piles up deep