Zombie Road

at dusk. Those poor little orphan's bodies.

scattered through the brush.
Like lost boys they stand together.
their tiny little silhouettes.
destines to haunt & be haunted.
what a Frightful sight that lonely highway is.

Edgar Allan Poetry.

Baltimore.

Like earth & old books.

he smells of dirt. musty pages.

And now I have Edgar Allan Poe

under my fingernails & in my

clothes, his dirt in my pocket.

Written in Baltimore, Maryland after taking some of Edgar's grave dirt.

Spontaneous Combustion

Flamboyant flames licked

the ceiling above her body.

colour abound

as her skin blackened.

Ashen from within.

In the postmortem picture

was only high heel.

partial leg. & char.

lots of charred,

unidentifiable remains.

When I was a kid I watched a special about "Spontaneous Human Combustion" on the Discovery channel. I couldn't sleep for weeks after. Terrified I was going to burst into flames at any moment. The biggest thing I remember about that show was this one picture.

Protect yourself from the Undead

"Zombie Apocalypse Insurance!"
"What? for when you become a zombie?" he looked confused.
"No! Against zombies-for when the Undead fuck your shit up!"
"That's your big business plan?" still trying to wrap his brain around what I was saying.
"Yeah!" I laughed.
"Jess, do you really think people are gonna buy that?"
"Hell if I know, but it's the best idea so far-and there are tons of zombie fans out there! And some of them actually believe this stuff. Shit, sometimes I believe it's gonna happen. We'll all wake up one day to a loved one trying to gnaw off a foot." I nodded, thinking to myself.

"Then what happens?"

"hmm? Oh, well then we pay out. If someone is attacked, or zombies wreck their home, whatever they have coverage on, they'll be reimbursed!" I explained excitedly.

"zombie apocalypse insurance" he sighed, shaking his head.

"Yeah!"

Gun Shot Athena

Tattoos torn across her flesh
like tattered wings on a butterfly.


This started with Shattered Aphrodite, from my poetry book. Eventually I'll do a whole group of Greek (maybe Roman) Gods and Goddesses.
I think the Amazing food we ate yesterday at Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral in Pittsburgh influenced the name a bit though.

On a side note, living out of the truck has been amazing thus far. Headin toward Philly, probably tomorrow. The only down fall is two weeks without a shower! Ugh. Been using bathrooms to clean up in, it's the only way to stay sane.

director's cut

I've been writing some short story stuff, along with poetry. But here's one of my more "darker comedies". Enjoy.

"A snuff film"
"what?" I looked down, then squinted up at him.
"A snuff film! Think about it...we need money while we travel. We find a drifter and kill 'em on camera. It'd sell for loads of money on the 'black market'" He laughed, looking a little too excited.
"kill one of our own?"
"Well it doesn't have to be a drifter...just thought that'd be the easiest"
"Nobody looks for drifters" I whispered, more to myself than anything.
"Exactly! See I knew you'd understand where I'm coming from!" That fire of excitement in his eyes.
"When I said we needed money for travel I didn't mean this! There's gotta be other ways of making money." I said with nervous anger in my voice.
"Alright, but when you realize that we're never gonna make as much money a snuff film would bring in you come talk to me" His attitude sober and serious now, staring into my eyes. I looked away and bit the inside of my lip for a second
"Ok. I'll think about it" I said quietly

The technicolor yawn

Yellow Springs, Ohio has left a bitter (yeah really bitter) sweet taste in my mouth. Today I take in my first 10 books to be sold in stores! They'll be proudly displayed at Urban Handmade.

A few short hours after hearing this news I got violently ill from a stomach bug. I spent the whole night spewing off the back of the truck. But luckily everyone is very nice here, a jogger asked if we were ok, and the cops don't seem to give a damn about what we do-it's been nice. but my tummy-box is better and can't wait to drop my books off!!!

PS you can still buy my book, Atomic Wanderlust, on Etsy.com just follow the link in the sidebar.

cheers,
Jesse.

simple pleasures in savannah

Train rats. in town. from all over.

for Savannah St. Patrick's.

traded 4dollar wal-mart shirt
for paint-chipped one.hitter.
perfect fist day as hobo.
More rats. Reynolds square.
selling energy bars for dogfood.
all coloured in the same greasy brown.
three dogs and dog bitten-snake.
Mandolin only having four strings
& a little blood on the neck
from last nights busted finger.
snakes skin cool on mine
as she glides lightly atop my shoulder.
We gave them a dollar and salute.


In between talking to train-rats and seeing the beauty Savannah GA had to offer during their St Pattie's Day celebration, I found Pulaski square and geeked out over the Polish name. In 1837 the square was named after the war hero, General Casimir Pulaski. Plus I love how my combat-boot clad feet and skull socks look in this pic.

Marshmallows are animal

Isn't it all? Made up of animal bits
or poison? Isn't it all?
conveyor belts. mustard stains.
inch by inch. soul by soul.
the grin of a dead child in the bathtub.
None of this is good for us.



My first post was set on a shaky foundation. As I was finishing up, and ready to post I somehow punctured my foot with a mechanical pencil. With an empty stomach and intense fear of flesh-eating viruses the adrenaline rush made the room go dark for a moment. As I laid back down I noticed my update was still sitting published. So in a slight haze I pressed "post". It's really funny how the exact moment I'm trying to make it as an internet writer, my tool of choice comes up to bite me in the ass, and stab me in the foot. Do I smell irony?That's my poor little foot, the skin that's flipped back was shoved underneath and I had to dig it out with a needle. Fuck mechanical pencils.

living life in pencil

Well I've done it. We've done it. My childhood dream; living free. travel writing. Carried along like leaves in the wind.

What did it eh? that first spark? Reading the Boxcar Children in second grade? Oh god how I wanted to live out there with those kids-hiking through the woods to get to our little home. Thinking how witty it was to keep the milk cold in the stream that ran next to the rail-car. Or maybe it was listening to the Two of Us by the Beatles? Instilling perfect ideals of living on the road. Free and easy. and no agenda. Whatever it was started young. Fusing with my soul. It's taken 23years, but now I'm doing it. I'm free.