Archive for March, 2013

March 30, 2013

Along the Mississippi (part 3)

Footprints to wherever, below where I sit, on the snow covered ground.

Teetering backwards and forwards, flawed, side to side, straight line.


He had a zigzag step.


I died wearing that pack.

My bag sits above and behind.


Snow and leaves in between trees, far away from cars which pass.


NE fixed, feels like old town.

Feels like La Crosse.

Feels like hollowed ground.


The tracks lead to my location.


I have been here before.

I was here before Riverside.

I cannot swallow my pride, this river raised me from a baby.


Bathe in the waters and curse it for unclean.

Once a small stream now draws those which make steam, make money, make dreams…


It seems, seems funny.


I sit near this mighty mass of water and think.

Goddamn, I’d be sick if I took a drink.

March 28, 2013

A Bathroom View

Thoughts of love as I sit bedside this morning with a bathroom view.


She looks so fresh, so clean, so new, so cute.

Life expectancy high; much time to choose.

I stay to see proof, or a poof.


And I know.


As I sit-not sleeping, I remember, open door looking through:  you snooze, you lose.


This is magic but real.

This is the truth.




March 25, 2013

Along the Mississippi (part 2)

Every moment serene, sitting perched on tree root, aside the mighty Mississippi.  The river at this stage is a docile and friendly companion.  The breeze is mightier, vast a complex, cold and harsh.  Sitting in contemplation, pleasant situation.  Pre-springtime life.

I can see hither the Western banks yet I cannot command the impasse on foot, rather by structure.  Nor do I stir; the quality of life in this sedentary placement has left me lazy and awestruck.  I spin my head what I can to take it all in; a beautiful sight, in a beautiful land, with nature, my friend.

Brown and dirt is omnipotent; the color of the bag in my hand and the bottle within it, the ground around and all that is found.


Birds, although sparsely fluttering, chirp in the distance and over shoulder.

Leaves moving alerting ears to a passing threat, forget that, just a passing threat.

Just the wind, we catch our breath.


The sun is mediocre-warm, although bright enough for shades.

My hard cider is cold but it warms.

A bell rings when a locomotive is pressing, a whistle, a Northstar train has passed.


I sit back as the water slowly slides south.



March 25, 2013

Along the Mississippi (part 1)

Over there on that bridge I lost my shirt.

Over there I made a fire.


Where am I?


I got so used to writing 12 that I forgot to write 13.  #f


Its easier to edit one piece right now than it is to edit 20 awesome pieces you did 3 years ago right now.


As I explained before, don’t listen to your grandmother…

Morphine drip killed me and I survived WWII.


My grandfather explained this all to me in a dream I had 2 days ago.

March 21, 2013

Marching through March

Lunar landing below boots: en route through schoolyard, stumbling over snow blanketed roots.


The crunch and puff sound is ubiquitous in the frozen air.

Particles of snow and ice travel through the wind.


Surrounded by physically changed water in a dehydrated saunter.


The night sky is chilling, desolate, and excitingly uninviting.

I want to be inside, undercover, next to lover.


I want to burrow to spring time.

I want summer to be around the next moment.

I am shaking from cold and sadly disappointed.


Anointed by the touch of wind gusts.

The landscape is shaped like desert blown sand hills; yet quite the antithesis.


Reality is we are boxed in by weather, a climate not of pleasure.

Frozen state, what awaits?


Is this our last bout of a past season?

March 17, 2013

Note Club

A List of shit in my Pocket-


Trying to be the oldest person alive.

If you’re not doing something you’re doing nothing right.


June Bugs, May Flies, life happens, people try.



Bring:  2 button-ups, a pair of pants, 2 pairs of socks, and a pair of contacts.

-And $500.00 personal burial money.


I dishwash, I hardly drink.  I speak then I think.

I don’t smoke weed, my logic’s not flawed.

I am just in love.  This is like Disney Land.

I hardly try.

I like it raw.


Into The Toilet,

Into The Trash,

By Terry Scott Niebeling, on mplsscene, on WordPress.

Kiss my ass.


Snow falling like flowers from a mantle place.

In these photos I will always be at my mother’s house.



She’s Post Irony, I’m Post Awesome.

Alpha male, alpha fail.

My shit’s fresh, your shit’s stale.

My words are like flowers, they blossom, petals flail.


I come part broken-hearted outspoken mixed-feelings absolution skin-peeling hot-emotion, that’s a portion of how I am feeling, so let’s get an abortion.

I am all transpire and little chance by happenstance.

More poetry, fiction, prose, and words than those who don’t try, so take a walk, so don’t talk, or try to fly, or get lost.

Who knows?


And I tell them…

How a business falls apart:


-Employee/MGMT Relations



-Glory with no Responsibility (MGMT)


How a Fight Club starts:

Get T.P.


Plant on Bonham’s son on drums.


The unemployment line will be easily found, its easily one of the longest lines in town.

Where will they go when one goes down?

Will they budge ahead or crowd around?

We are all hungry.


Other works; some plight.

We don’t need jobs as much as we need respect.


Empty Batteries.

I have done everything.

I run on everything.

And there is a piece of paper that says I have an Associates Degree on something.

I threw it all away and have nothing.

I am set free, how lovely.

More Notes:

Underlining the red words of God.  She sits head stuck to the pages.  A red, blue, and white striped shirt clings taught to her chest; all American everything, and Christianity sits in her lap.  She packs her belongings and exits near Lake St.  What an interesting subject to watch while enjoying mass-transit. 

From False-Positive with Aids and back.

The Okcupid upgrade guarantees you at least 12 more mediocre fucks than expected.

Set up a Jeffrey Dahmer profile on

March 16, 2013

The Most Important Sentence Ever Written

The value of which you give yourself is the absolute value of yourself.

March 11, 2013

Out For Coffee

As a rule:

Don’t drink.  But if you do, only have 2.  Don’t drink more than 2.  Don’t drink and drive.  But if you do, don’t drink more than 2, and try to stay alive. 

I love someone who had more than 2 and tried to drive, and they almost died.   


As a Day:

Make a magnificent video for all to see.  No fear to be real, so free.


Sit sipping coffee, laughing high-pitched and lofty.  Life is sweet as toffee as you can see.


Pondering oft-hesitantly.


Real snow on the ground outside of the warm café, for drinks we stray, for hi-speed we stay, reading a book, getting a refill for sixty-five cents, with coins we pay.


This is no movie.




We hope to reside until summer time.




The sun will blind our eyes.


We forget, we forgot.  Remind me.

Quietly show on time-show up with pride.

Pick a bride and die.


Unbundle and stretch out.


This is life.


Alone we cry.


But why?


There is so much to learn about self; looking into a mirror what can you describe?