Schwag | nofriendo

A man who owns
a record label. Musically toned
Rescued me from
Sleeping in and eating alone

Dinners with orange chairs
Dance. Dance. Neon flicker stares

My bed a road case full of CDs and shirts
Rocket man selling drugs and merch

The lights are on a Canadian girl
But Mr Young won’t let me sell
-The opener’s hell

Chords and words and
A jewel of rings
And so she sings and so she brings
Foolish things

A row of buses and I’m found in one
Mario brothers roadie games and fun
Nintendo controller there’s a
Knock in the rain. no sun

Her fans were all babies. Screaming in vain. We let them on her bus for pay
Tween beat teenie boppers

Fashionistas in pain

When she came off that stage.
What it looked like and what it was
Weren’t quite the same


I jumped too soon and shrank

Schwag | Chaperone

My only previous trip to Boston from Maine was in 1988 to buy some Doc Martens, there was only two stores you could go to; both in bad neighborhoods

Road trip

Who’s got gas money?

I wanna get, have to get the new Spawn 1st edition or I’m not in

Are you all crazy? My cousin got his ear cut off by skinheads

Blah blah

I ain’t afraid

Class trip to the science center. Skip the bus ride home. Billy’s uncle will get us home and buy alcohol.

Didn’t think this through.

Mom’s all in panics. Cops involved.

Doc martens confiscated

But here I am now living in this shit, waiting vainly on a dime bag in Chinatown

Shaved head. Eying some 128ers wet behind the ears

Needing to cop. Needing their greenness to benefit me

Where is their chaperone?

Green bomber jacket with American flag patch, loose suspenders

Plaid shorts, wallet chain And my purple docs.

Waiting on the white dread locks who’ll never show

And someone hands me a Demo tape, I’ll listen to in the dark

In the mirrors of cars and reflections of shop windows I watch everything happen

And I’m never gonna have to look

Behind my

Never gonna have to

look back

Schwag| Stomped Box


Electric cables and bands on the radio
500 Stompbox stickers for.
A naive rodeo

White kid from the suburbs 1991
pop on a CD Cypress Hill
What the fuck?

Next thing I know I’m in the projects
Paranoia sets in is well as the objects.
Everything seemed cool we
like a team
I’m in a safe spot

but once “reality” kicked eeeeen

we knew where we were where we was where

-Mom was not-

I’m pretty. …uh…sure someone just got shot

I plugged in an orange amp -POP-

Woke up across the stage safety is not

First priority at the Grog Shop

• I bought a Darrell in the bathroom a

Dimebag was the caust

My first roadtrip with a crew

Big boys little rocks

Til they left me in Maumee sold my.

yea I showed my cock

The van got stole

Bassist with a stripper ran off

Our big break

Call this tour our first loss

Schwag |traffic jam

Highway 94 westbound to Milwaukee, stuck in a traffic jam heart beating to the wipers play. I’ve been here for a week it’s done nothing but rain.

In the grey – POP- swirls of exhaust

He steps out and is walking towards me

Another American shooting spree

Well ironically

which you’ll learn by the end of this story. I’m listening – pop-

Nothing I can do I didn’t come prepared

I have an apple. I turn on the radio

Do you remember when we pushed little mustangs and tried to put and keep together the little racetracks, the smell of the electric as you fit the little pin? ….the tiniest bottles of oil.

1994 many years ago

coming home from Cleveland cold shit snow

the lead singer of my band pulled over sometime around 3:00 a.m. to get gas and I heard him pull out and start playing with a butane lighter. he doesn’t (didn’t) smoke he’s got other things on his mind he’s got the love of the world and all the women that he left behind and that


his heart

and he had big dreams they were squandered by miles and miles of square houses and meager eyes all those still hope


When you travel the world it becomes a small town and we still have the desire to leave

I posted about this in some other war on Facebook and the comments

” He must have been a snowflake. ”

The man the men the unstable trends not enough likes or comments or friends

They pull over

Smell the roses. Ignite gas stations.

Tonight or tomorrow Ohio is on fire.

I used to sell schwag for rock bands

And I’d write a book about that but

Some snowflake rock star asshole killed me while we were in the van trying to write a song and smoking pot or sleeping or

Highway 94. I turn off the radio and let the wipers set the tone. There are no screams or horns just silence and -POP- grey and the sound of the rain.

I just want to make eye contact with the fiend

Ironically a light ahead turns