Poetry

Commander Bevel was a lot like his father, Admirable Bevel.
The mad daddy who thought about things he didn’t have to.
An unlucky guy.
Very lucky to be here.
A case in point was twice as many hertz
who never threw ashes right away.
Obliged to the one eyed base.
Check engine console.
Check the yahoo with a formula design impulse
like a bullet in the side of passiveness.

Admirable Bevel was the naked cowboy.
The mad daddy who would snuff the butt that feeds you.
Convenience is a story that should last forever.
Now they say that power is the length of an hour.
We have come far enough to know, if you run too hard,
you will be defeated.
Redefining definition like a lizard on your toe.
You’re doing it inside your brain!

Admirable Bevel invented stories to rationalize habits.
What you don’t have now is the thing that you would have
if you didn’t have what you do have.
The mad daddy had twice as many hertz.
Still, it’s the frequency of what you do have
that really hurts.

Commander Bevel was a lot like his father, Admirable Bevel.
An unlucky guy.
Very lucky to be here.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

A man goes where who knows the man has gone.
All he ever asked for was the bread he needed.
All he got was a piece of toast.
Lord to the kingdom of his personal profit.
Same three guys he admires most.
He’s having a party in his favorite room,
’cause nobody showed with mushroom kaboom.

Hats off to a blinkers wit,
who’s head threads allow the perfect fit.
No difficulty convenience for you,
lights from the twilight for me.
Satisfying that natural urge to splurge
is breaking Abdul KaRule.

Welcome to issue earthly,
opportunity to call.
I only sing as a hobby.
Abdul goes AWOL.

Comedians come to right this wrong.
Actors, you can go now.
Do not hold thy fruit so long.
The bud should clip in early lateness.
Never wait for comely statements.

Of course, a hangover is no time to think about
what could have been.
Nobody would be let in
who was gonna spoil the party.
Falter not up to the altar.
Color my blessings dark to dim.

Nothing makes me mad in
the Condo Launching Pad, but
the business of my place and
the busyness I face to achieve
solitude.
Aloneness in the set.
A space indeed is the place I need.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

The kingdom’s big assumption,
is it true the king is dumb?
Why did we think it would be any other way?

Logics defense of the evidence
is sanctuary for all reasons.
I can see the rain come mainly on the frame.
And the plane flew squarely mostly in the toaster.

An idolizer is too timid to receive you.
Same result but a different dream.
A familineage bin
for each location of kin.

This is no political pullout.
Those girls were my sisters.
Reality is selectable,
so make the thing delectable,
thru portals of priority penetration.
The new approach is Abstract Location,
topical illusionary interportalation.

Stay at bay or risk a top secret leak.
The market should eliminate such vacancy.
The nexus in the pendulous is certain,
but try to explain the inane.
The conspiracy no one thought of.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

The primary colors of love
red, yellow, and blue
are the brains, blood and breath,
that make they light complete.

True love requires
the buzz of all three B’s,
organs of the body proper
working as a team.

First the brain’s devotion,
then the blood thru heart’s desire,
finally there’s the breath
of mutual inspiration.

Any less is tinted
falling back to black.
Do not fear the darkness
the only source of light.

Love is in the daily cycle,
darkness brings the light.
Living for a new tomorrow,
love into the night.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

It is all the same drug,
that you would consume for change.
It is the attitude toward the behavior
that is dependent,
that needs examined,
not the extermination of fringe elements.
That you would consume for change,
It is all the same drug.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Alphabetic Spell

ABCDEFGH IJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP QRSTUVWXYZ.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVW XYZ.

Add to this the hybrid HI.
Between the two no symbols lie.
Silence is the reason why
you stop to think before you buy.
And what the heck is W?
I like u so give me two.
Why, WW,
remove the groove with W?

ABCDEFGH IJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP QRSTUVWXYZ.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVW XYZ.

Just keep singing ABC.
ABCDEFG.
Many ways that you can say
DEFGHIJ.
Got the alphabetic spell.
FGHIJKL.
Can Barbie spell as good as Ken?
HIJKLMN.
OPQRSTU.
If he could only spell like you.
Oh, my gosh, it’s time to go.
IJKLMNO.
Now, I wish I had a car.
LMNOPQR.
I may not know but I can guess.
MNOPQRS.
TUVWX.
You must have cash, they take no checks.
UVWXY.
Some one please help this guy.
What am I suppose to do?
OPQRSTU.
VWXYZ.
Just keep singing ABC.

ABCDEFGH IJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOP QRSTUVWXYZ.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVW XYZ.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

The nuclear crooner of spiritual hunting and gathering
is getting a preachy bit punchy,
so we send him to the locker room
to unlock the locker of love,
cap the cartoon with a clean towel,
trade the variety opera host threads
for a Justice of the Pieces robe with tie-able knot,
reach for the relationship racket,
and head down to the court
for today’s holy tennis matrimony.

Do we wish to serve?
Enter the volley of love.
Un-sheath the racket.
Enhance it with your strong appendage.
Then the appendage falters.
You toss the racket to the stage,
and retract the casted sheath.
The sheath remains intended,
put it on your head.

Now, that’s a real artifake.
Let’s do an altar make.
Art needs to expose itself
for the supposed victims of fake.

Pulpit as podium,
don’t judge the judge.
Here’s your heart mam,
torn from your heart felt cavity.

A box on top of him under the hood
resting like a chest on his bosom.
You think you’re going to your dream house,
but really it’s a bombed out village.

Well, we’re almost ready for the big matrimony.
The king is in place,
but the fake mate is struggling with a case of cold wheels.

The Kingdom has brought his highness to his knees.
There’s not a suitor suited.
No one in the kingdom understands the king.
It’s all too ancient for the patriarchy.

His highness is a king of men,
highly he must see to them,
but now his kingdom’s come to put
him up where he can not descend.

It’s all fake or faded,
the magic’s been berated.
Only from the un-berated
can the magic be replanted
in the miracle of the race.

Crooning will receive it’s due
after crooner sings the tune.
Another place will fill his face
from the fullness of the moon.

So he fires off an e-mail
to the female in the sky,
to the matriarchal queen
in the Queendom of Yon Lunar.

Mother of the moon,
tennis match or not,
a Peter Pan connection
with matriarchal flaps.

The cauldron feeds the font,
the font feeds the fountain.
Lady Gwyneth Hampton
makes endlessly the essence.

After all these years in space,
a month of days across her face,
rejoin this troubled kingdom
to reign in natures way.

The darkness of the shadow,
the lightness of the moon,
the coldness of the universe,
the hotness of the sun.

Let’s change the subject
to a better bride to be,
for an angel with a life
makes a consequential wife.

Out with the old, in with the new
don’t call us to recall you.
You got to find the ones who don’t
to find the ones who do.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Class is an attitude.
Right of opportunity.
To stand up and sleep,
that is a macho thing.
Frame and pedestal gallery of homes.
Perpetual show has been going since go.

Many sights have no vision but
don’t stop mom and
spoil the taste for a
mouth that won’t eat.
You will receive help from an
unexpected source so they
diverted the river into their mouth.
The incredible drop. Tee the ball up.
I can not learn what I already know.

Hysteria was there like a
wake up call.
Got up for the ending of the
final fall.
Symbiotic philharmonic.
Open the rank for the rook.
Found a way to feed ourselves with a
symbiphonic habit.

Americana hang a duck.
Another man at a cannon.
Was it that I hung a duck from the
bridge of Americana.
A chain of oval reflection.
Don’t talk jive to me.
I can tell from how you look
you didn’t really open the book.

It’s a big pep rally.
Ducks do bark.
This is the land of sport.
The land of sport.
We support our troops and I love New York.
Look for something to shoot.

The immobile wrist. The incredible drop.
Pay them all in T-shirts.
The book. The rook. The river rank.
Americana Duck.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Americans are the new Russians.
Characters in a funny side show
could not put into fancy what I see before me.
As in a previous life,
I am alive again.
If it weren’t on the edge,
it wouldn’t be a side show.
Only fools walk down the center of the street.
The reversible power rode is poking clear thru clarity.
Don’t back up now,
for earth is the land I walk upon.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Anything French – La Boom Boom

Je m’appelle Monseur Terror et Pierre T.V.
sans T.V.
Q’est se que arrive.
Voila la boom boom!
Je suis Americana Duck.
Pour qua la boom mauve?
Voila la boom boom.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

This consequential tone
makes me think I’m not alone.

I hear the approaching creature
like a 60’s double feature.

Who would buy this vinyl sci-fi
of encroaching, please reply.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Once in the kingdom of Bevel,
not far from the docks on the equinox,
out back of the dumbbell’s dorm,
after the calamity, before the storm,
stashed in the bin of Beveldom;
the vessel of exile came to assemble,
The Beveled Ark, L’ark de Bevel.

When the flood comes down the street,
the water and I shall meet.
It will come, I will go.
Destiny knocks for the MBO.

Sure as a helmet is a hat that’s hard,
skim the scum, him’s the bum.
Who the hell is clientele,
when your back in the closet again.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

The Bevel experience had been dematerialized into a scurry
of storage-bination by a flurry of revitalization.
Apparently the Beveldom of late, the vortex of Tucson,
the center for not for non-prophet religiotainment; had
become impacted in the blindspot of progress. An
unfortunate display of that good old short slighted
yankee of incentive around the neck, where some folks
have their heads attached.

Having received a 30-day certificate of thanks in due
respect for years of payments for a place without a pisser,
we at the Mat Bevel Company began to wail, to no avail,
so we tried to nail a bid but failed, still we hailed
in a greedy gail, like a whale with legs between its tail,
not to sail with but a pail, so we bailed.

Needless to say, our ship never did come in. But when the
spirits rise, you should beholding something that floats.
So we built an ark, the Beveled Ark, conveniently
flocated in the heart of the Ark District.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Today’s Artifactual Contraption will
mimic nature,
simulate pain and
artificially activate the brain.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Let’s take a look at this bi-lobular construction.
Made by man to replace a heart that does not function.
An instrument of our own slack.
Do unto you as you would have yourself do unto you.
A friend is not friendship who is a
walking pulpit for market management.
Say friend, what’s the return on that investment?
Nothing.
And so we have the Artificial Heart.
But what does it mean?

When the heart created God,
God created the heart.
When God created man,
man created the Artificial Heart
in the image of his own heart.
And what is heart without he who give’th you he?
Art!
For God is an artist and what do artists make?
Art!
And what is worshiped with frames and pedestals?
Art!
And tell me what starts and stops the Artificial Heart?
Art!
So what is this?
This is Art!
Art! Art! Art! Art! Art!
It has it’s own life.
It thinks for itself.
It breathes.
This is Art!

Art is the Artificial Heart.
Made by man to replace a heart that does not function.
But is it real?
Or is it a bum deal?
Maybe it’s a real bum deal!
Sounds like life to me.
Except for one thing.
This Artificial Heart has no beat.

And what about life?
It’s wild and wacky
and you don’t have to suck up to make it work.
Instead, we use the wack start method.

First we administer the kick back reaction to
the action contraption to get the juices flowing.
And, of course, a cup of tea for your Walter Ego.
We stimulate articulation for dexterity
to tickle these mumbling stubs.

The time is now so slam it down.
Would you like to get in free?
With an artificial heart you can wack it back.
Sounds like life to me.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Artisallone is a General Belief System Technology Project
complex located in the soul and inspiration domain and
dedicated to the phenomena, there of, in realization of
positive enlightenment.

I emerge the earth surface from Artisallone
and joke all the folks by the baffling shaft.

In Artisallone commercials are rare,
the things that we need are already there.

Comforts of wonder with phoney baloney
are not on the menu in Artisallone.

Reshuffle the deck then deal a new hand,
beaches of peaches in nectarine land.

Under the surface conditions have context,
many reflect it but few can detect it.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

The best laid men of plans
have a frosty beverage at hand.
They hover in bunches to cover their hunches,
and look for a lover for lunch.

Leverage kills at the crow bar and grill,
and the politics never quit.
Hot head stuff comes off the cuff,
like a wrecking ball for quitters.

A sports bar school in a sports bar town,
couldn’t get it up when the win came down.
Pussy’s in a frenzy. Cat’s at the feast.
The muscle of the monster meets the brains of the beast.

What came first, the banquet or the ball,
the goofball player, or the guy who has the gall.
Dribble on the court, dribble on the chin,
fraternity of brats for to win win win.

A great mule team is smarter than the cart,
if the load gets dumber, it’s a bummer from the start.
So help me find the wit cosmetic,
‘cause I got to make up my mind.

Torn performers, pom pom top,
all the information in a uniform dress.
We are the best, you know the rest,
but who’s gonna tell when the hell goes to press.

The team is mean, the team is keen,
and now the team is ready to ream.
The baseball bat was such a hit,
the bar was Club Kinetic.

Harder times hold heros harder,
losers love the lull.
Believe your valuables in your vehicles,
dubious is the cult.

The mystery to music, if mystery it be,
is tragedy’s lack of depth.
Four more years to win the gold
hardly makes the master old.

Flung a frisbee on a breeze
to Bisbee on a fling.
Asthmatic athletes breathe with ease
as wheezers cease to please.

Longer lulls of laziness
with short spurts of work.
Family values pack,
packed with bad boys USA.

Tedium was the medium,
and the stadium was the steed.
Decapitated athletes
with badly jointed knees.

Tossed upon the field he was
with all the other guys,
and all the bent up feelings
to straighten out inside.

Hit’em low the coaches told,
crashing athletes deeply go.
Thrice the ricing throws,
three knots tied in tow.

I got an offer to stick in the coffer,
skeleton troops to the moon.
Eyed by a size the head of a pin,
tripped by a gaze upon him.

Modern day meanderthals,
high tech monkeys playing ball.
Fair play has no business match,
so why’d you bring the hatchet?

Seen’im on dippy TV,
on a horse with a face of the mount.
Kooky Luke Buffoon,
and his trusty horse in the round.

Fancy prancers on ahead,
escape domestication dead.
Dynamite the Internet,
catch your fish without the web.

A reoccurring customer
power lurches Kirk like.
Everlast your purchased ass.
Keep your baby up late.

The gal who gets the man,
the man who gets malicious.
Frustration, anger, violence leads
to lack of male compliance.

Melinda must have come,
the wallet fits her rump.
With her it didn’t sit well.
If you got a fat ass, face it.

An artist in the press box,
a bird that looks alone.
A flake behind the mic
with questionable advice.

Pleading of the player’s feet,
leading us across the field,
gentle sounds upon the ground
of still another touching down.

As cyclicle as a cylinder
of cyclones in the Klondike,
as a colander of salamanders
caging out the grounds.

The impossible snowman fell down floundered,
slipping into circumcision.
Not so much decision,
as circumstance incision.

That’s an idea who’s time has plummeted,
now that I come to think of it.
Marginal efforts typically yield,
a ball they call dead on the field.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

It’s the deep freeze for the things I see.
My photos nail the awe
of everything I saw.
Thank God I saved a thousand words

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

What’s the buzz, man? What’s the buzz?
No one could say for sure,
but it was coming from the energy plant.

So a request was issued
to the party arty scientist,
go to the energy plant
and find out what the buzz is.

The party arty scientist stood by the
chimney like trunk of the energy plant,
observing the silver foliage of the
smoke ring crown.
Buzzed by a busyness too small to see,
he figured the thing was an atomized bee.

So the buzz around town is the bees,
swarming in orbital ease.
nest of insecular, less than molecular,
sub-anatomical bees.

Forget about nuclear freeze.
Forget about L.S.D.
These are bees who get a buzz
thru higher states of quantum leaps.

If Adam and Eve were atomized bees,
and serpents spoke from honey trees,
and valence was above Brazil,
and waves were floating particles,
and days were swarmed in warnings,
and nights were less then lonesome,
and football was to be someone
who’s busyness is beesome,
then I would call the bee guy up
to instigate the hum.
A huffy in the ruff he is,
a keeper he can be.

The auto-atomic bee chaser
let the bearings take the load.
Where they bee is where they are,
this ain’t no shriner car.

There’s honey in there coach
sweet atomic honey.
I know it’s there, I smell it’s hair,
so let me have a poke.

Send me in there coach,
let me throw the bomb.
Let me insecure the jar
before I let them romp.

Little bees of light,
party in the plant,
disco in the air tonight
once I pop the can.

One atomic bee bomb
tossed into the rings.
Once you see the bees,
get ready for the sting.

Lots of strings the jock would squash,
insect cleansing thru the wash,
in the thick the cosmic licker
walked into the pit.

There’s something on my shoe
a sticky icky goo.
I’m itchy, stung, and sticky and
I don’t know what to do.

At last I found my honey,
while dancing in the wings.
I knew about the sweetness,
I forgot about the sting.

Unity comes community,
sexes come with hexes.
Next time I say heal me,
I don’t mean with a leash.

Got my jive agenda on
my jersey there to see.
When a bee you know won’t go, say
Bee! Leave! Man, Bee! Leave.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Amen, Awol Abdul,
runaway flutter to duel.
Out of the mayhem, into the maul.
Amen, Awol Abdul.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company           

BABY CHEESES

As we rounded the peninsula to the royal dairy port, we could see the bay gulls and Queen Cheese waiting for us. Speaking of cheese, do you know cheeses? Let me tell you the story of baby cheeses.

Back in the days of giveaways, many people would have starved if not for cheese samples. The belief being, that you’re a lot smarter than you are when you ingest intestinally.

These fortunate souls now spread the word quickly and conveniently in gorgeous easy-to-read dispensers with large bold face types that say: I’ve been saved by cheeses.

So whip your dippy cheeses a fond adieu. Say, hey silly, smile for the camera. Paralysis blocks the awkward, ’till desperation rocks it clockward.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company           

Baby spiders were everywhere.
The chances of one looking my way was good.
I am on eight legs too.
Two for each one of the seasons.
Two to spring with.
Two to fall on.
And the rest for obvious reasons.

Wise cracks put me to sleep.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company           

General Belief System Technology Project Expert, Mat Bevel,
father of all characters,
the only living recipient of the bars and tone award.

Sir Generalship, what does a person have to do to receive
the Bars and Tone.

You’ve got to get on your hands and knees and crawl.
If you have the brains to know so,
then you should say so.
For maintaining a sound audio system.
For defending and fending and tending my flock,
for letches fetch the unattended.
Throw not defenders into defense.
Does the horse drink water from the source?
Of course, and characters break off in the trough.
For paternal valor and for cafe puppetry.

Sounds like the dog’s eye view thru the grass.
You’re obviously a culture slave.

Not are that is but is that not our capability.
Give me the bars and tone and a pallet to stand on.
Beyond the facade of technology to the dribble of substance,
that may or may not be there.
Substance and technology are complimentary
but hardly inclusive,
which rhymes with elusive.

I’d have to say yes,
I have walked among the working.
On all fours.
Me and my puppy cam.
That darn bugger.
Left at the bar in the right tone of voice.
What a karmic hit of family values that was.
I broke the plane and simple, folks.

Let’s return to that moment on Oily Doily.
The heat of artillery convection burning up mother station.
You broke with custom.
You pleaded voluntary insanity.
You swung at the first impulse to play pop verses pop croquet.
You took a malletable backswing and developed it into
Product Line Americana.
What was going thru your mind during all this.

Maximum security with the benefits of risk.
I knew then about squandering thrift
but it was my T.V. debut.
Technological anarchism was my thing.
A hardy poo poo to substanceless abuse.

All we could see was generic flying creatures squawking
topical appeal like moths in a corporate spotlight.
Those moths don’t know where the power comes from.
No good ontogeny can all but defy logomachy.
Bad offspring have nothing good to fall on.

Above it all I made the call…T.V. is a friend.
I refuse to be board yet I serve my board graciously.
That’s no twitch factor switch.
That’s mother station letting us know that
the power is in the roots.
I afford not my chest this honor for any longitudinal clause
but thru summer lean I, in turn,
laterally capsize my Generalship.

Now, look here Sony.
Maybe the fan club could feel this breeze
and keep the fan blowers off their knees.
Not that I laid mother hen,
but this is now and then is then.

Thank you, Sir Generalship.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company           

Lightning seeks out the positive
for they are one step ahead of the population.
A bright cloud makes another look dark.
Why the token protest?
All they need is a good example.
Besides, negative energy destroys itself.

Life is simple and life is complex.
It is not convenient.
Evaluation is the only criteria.
The most beautiful girl in the room
is the most beautiful girl in the room.
Sensations on a tray.
We reflect the light that shines upon us.
Are you challenging slopes or
is this the last piss before the storm.

If experience is perspective on all known phenomena
then let us take the path to the taller trees.
Go with an easy image,
as separate but equal units.
We are truly a battery,
for I am positive
and you are negative.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I’ve been hit.
Damn smart ass bomb.
Body lethargic.
I’m sinking.
Body lethargic.
Some one throw me a floatation device.
Body lethargic.
I’m down.

It…It…It’s the Rapid Fire Base.
Saved by the base!
Again!

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I’m Don Janelous, the Coffee Guru and
I’ll be your host for tonight’s Bevel Café.

Welcome to my guruvy pad,
where I do the things I could never tell.
Note pad visualary penduli.
My pen, my pad and my padded cell.

Understanding is a vision,
it was never a decision.
If the item gets too slick,
it will soon develop glare.

Diversities of intent
are unified in purpose,
interpreting the chasm
of relevancy evolved.

Equations here would graph a circle,
edge and what’s inside.
Doodle-ation-ary from
a visual penduli.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Command and I will follow.
Follow and I command.

Such a tangled mass of oblique inclination.
I call upon my lack of luster, in short,
for which I command.
I was standing in my own light,
going point to point,
raising my voice in loudness my neighbors could hear.

All aboard!
Two by two they came in jest,
playing the same old joke,
laughing before the punch line,
injecting their own humor along the way.
This was the word of God,
the law of physics,
the latest research.
A chance to recapture those glorious moments
that passed your way unintercepted.

In this spirit, the Bevel Attack Theater presents RETREAT!
A modern day dramatization of the gestural mimicry
that sets us above other forms of low life.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I’m Don Janelous, the Coffee Guru.
I’ll be your host for tonight’s
straight talk across the hedge,
walking the Bevel’s edge.
Let’s pull up the porch, light the torch,
take it away, Bevel Cafe.

Many years to nowhere,
go from here to there.
Either way the bagels roll,
the hole in bread is very old.

The all astute salute to you
for dropping by the Institute.
Tip a cup to the wavering dusk,
and think as you were thought to do.
Attack the snack from out of mind,
one eye shy of an attitude.
Attach it back below your hat,
head high into the altitude.
The sin is not in noticing:
quality undersought.
Reward is not the cause afforded.
Here we fear the afterthought.

Living in the desert where
the glue dries fast.
Maybe in the desert we can
make it stick at last.
We tolerate the rain to pass,
and use our pain to entertain.
Down in Arizona we can
stick it with sustain.

Thank your lucky diet star
that no bloated sank the barge.
rim for on group, dim for two.
Now there’s a canoe that you can use.

Next unhappy holiday
that takes your wave away,
navigate the Bevel Straights,
and make yourself a wake.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Mike Banger of the Big Bang,
out from under the same fame as the main frame.
One beat, two feet,
three meters down the street.
Marching off the time line
week after week after week.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Gospel of the break down,
hostage of deceit.
If tabs were paid with honor you’d be
standing on the street.

And remember boys and girls:
it’s not about you and me,
it’s not about the birds and the bees,
it’s not about what’s intact, infact,
it’s all about who’s got the keys.

Gentlemen take ape ideology
beyond the obtuse point.
Never write your thoughts in words.
Never doubt the slout.

What’s that moldy thing on the ground
over by the turnips?
A dead beet, damn it, now beat it bud,
don’t turn up your nose at me.

Primates! All’a yous. Punkdom rudeboy.
Basic boots for kicks.
Do you know my code? Can I go on?
Bigatoid Ignoramics.

If chicken is a mammal
then give me a mammal burger.
I eat one of those…I feel like I’m eating
a bucket full of shit.

If that kind of shit gets thru the door,
then I would like to know.
Who the hell are your working for,
Ignoramus Fellow?

Punked out bar bus, please explain
Ignoramus Dickbrain.
And how about his holy grace
Ignoramus Buttface.

Power bitches, Queen of Nerf,
purse of chinese curses.
Alternative mainstream, unrewarded,
piss upon my turf.

Either carry the ball, block the ball,
defend your ass or get the hell off the field.
Ain’t nothing you can say to me
`cause you ain’t no referee.

Can’t play a P.A. in outer space.
Can’t play acoustics in a vacuum.
Can’t play groupie in galactic matters
when the room consumes the boom.

Low quality aimless thuggery.
Through drugs I achieve these goals.
Bleed my lips, read my poem
in the land where the buffalo roam.

Playgrounds in fear, of thee I delinquency,
can’t beat a face full of fun.
The recess to pacify you and your peers
is now between both of your ears.

Hallucinate the most from the waste among the drug upon the
floor, before the crime smelling pussy gets a
whiff woof woof of the helmet that I use
to torture all the people I abuse.

Yet, now I stub the barbless blunt
within thy pointless runt.
I hate the blood, I hate the mud,
but I still enjoy the hunt.

Let not the center of your back dip,
obscure and sure attractive.
A dip would sink thy holy ship
on a sea so hyperactive.

No-way involve my early leave
but pace me, Brut Morri.
Nothing makes a good man sick
like a Bigatoid Ignoramic.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

You say, what’s the point?
I say, there is no point.
In the space provided, let me explain.

On the back side of the next dip,
see that thing,
that’s a low item.
A triple time hick,
dippin’ on through for a place to stick.
The potential to direct currently,
might force a dip in the capacity of Commander Charge
and his battery of power supply reserves.

Fast walkin’ gimpus lean,
careenin’ clean from scene to scene.
Chargin’ chump of a drunken chimp.
Gimpin’ lean in every limp.
A quiet easy nice guy from galaxy Ook.

Get off to a new start,
come out of your shell.
It’s not much of a crutch,
but there’s something about looking straight ahead
I don’t like.

Why piss on the misses,
when you can leak on a freak.
On the other cheek,
don’t bite the ass that gives you shit.

I’ve got a hemorrhoid the size of my fist,
a melted spine and I’m really pissed.
But that’s the catch of success,
the eventual failure.

Confiunded! I floundered again.
Launching a rocket that wouldn’t let go.
Next thing I know,
quick, somebody give me General Anesthetic.
Sir, I’m sorry, but your crippled.
For crying out loud, I cried out loud.
Get me a snorkel in case I go under.

Things can improve while the situation worsens.
I can still get around on a hook,
drag myself out of bed,
take a long talk off a short ear,
a little jab, back to the lab,
you see, passion is a masculine trait.
Sure I’m a hun.
That’s why she calls me honey.

A little oil on my baggy there boy.
So what!
Don’t think we can’t stupidify ourselves out of existence.

He’s comedy’s own sacrificial ham.
Pus’s pipeline in cuss’ pit.
Yells at guys who don’t give a shit.
He goes by the name Volcano Zit.

That’s where I say notion.
No one chokes on the nation.
Too many strokes in the ocean,
to kill in the name of creation.
Better to eat then the path you beat.

The fundamentalist credulity
is dampening it’s own maturity.
A notion for no consummation.
A nation with no explanation.
Just listen.
It’s in the word.
Fundament-al.
Characterized by the buttocks.

If you choose to know,
then tolerance becomes an education.
Witness other views thru experience in learning.
Knowledge is freedom from the animal.
Too much destructive potential to go back now.
Civilize thru shared experience.
From the root of greater complexity
comes the basic notion of agreeable consequence.

Well, I took a good look at my self-portrait.
Decided to lean to my finger tips more.
A Jupiter walking stick at the hand,
I wilt from the weight of guilt.
If the tripod scaffolding is too unfolding,
…keep on holding.

I never considered change to alleviate my torture,
until a crane landed on the roof.
Evidence confirmed my initial suspicion,
it was a G.F.S., a gift from space.

That was my first G.F.S. experience.
Now, I’m hooked on it.
The law of probably states,
that if I have, then others have too.
Now, the fear of instability is gone.

They really stick that mic right in the crack,
don’t they.
Clambering leg man like morsel pest,
easy pickin’ scabs of our wounds,
for a tidbit.
What rancid disorder makes raunch reporters
the repulsive distorters they are?
Whoops!
Speaking of cockroach dregs,
here comes one now, on it’s hind most legs.

Another beat of our failing heart,
before we lose the bout.
The station that gives you the down and out…
Mr. Man-on-the-street,
what do you think about things from space?

Don’t mean to depress the press,
but I question the whole thing about space.
Where do they have room for all this space?
If it’s that many miles,
then what do miles mean?

From out in space, everything is points
and accumulations of points.
The space thrillers between these points of view
are lesser stars like
baritone Lungs Love-it from the Mississippi diaphragm,
assorted hot clumps
and miscellaneous nobodies.
There’s a drop off site on the premise,
that your hassle is our favor.

The part of space that I find ungrounded,
is that nothing is not something.
In fact, my research shows,
that nothing is essential to something.

Any theory on nothing as opinion of something,
refutes the basic concept of space as universal.
Points of view are spaceless.
You say, what’s the point?
I say, there is no point.
Space can only exist in the realm of pointlessness.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

BLOOD VESSEL

Waving away to the peoples parade
afloat on the waves of passerby’s,
steady she goes to the circular wave’
who’s on the float, and who’s in the moat.

Like any port in the storm
the ship was up against severe pier pressure.
Fuel, power, corruption, scum,
pollution of blood in the puddle of love.

Open up the gates of blood,
puddles of the crimson flood.
Once the flush of love begins
that’s when garbage rushes in.

That’s the sin that puddles make,
beauty that the beast creates.
A bloody lake of love and hate
once you open up the gate.

Pardon me barges, state your matter,
solid, liquid, or gas?
Art, science, religion,
are the models of opinion.

Blood is the power, the honey of love,
the honey of love is an energy buzz.
The buzz is the bees, one, two, and three,
love is the power that circles above.

Floatilla the Hun and the sailors death,
brains, blood, and a sail full of breath.
They tackle and shackle, they push and they shove,
they capture the bees by the power of love.

Greetings go round by the circular wave
for the next includes the vortex.
A storm to warm the bloody stream
as I state the size of Texas.

A new kind of junk with objects of art,
a barge of important parts.
On a Bogey Gulf in the Tee-off-and-Sea
we take to the bleed center beach.
385/2/2

Sail for comfort all you want
as long as you never arrive.
Keep the secret up the sleeve,
search but don’t achieve.

Laziness of age disease,
genius of the species.
You can tell if it’s vessel personnel
by the way they conform to the horn.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

BODY COMPUTER

Boot up your body computer.
Take the position of your postured sickness.
Compress the organs that touch
the emotional pain that defines
your limited character.
Save as repressed fleshy hard drive
emotional muscle memory.
Follow in the failed footsteps
of the friends you posture with.
Be the weak one they want you to be.
Define yourself by the limits you look for.
Be unreal together and you can
all sit around discussing the
field of dreams that separates you,
the dreamer, from your dreams.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Sit the white male hetero-phobia upon the barber stool for enlightening crop. Tip the bald barber. His confidence has grown three-fold since joining the one triangle circus, belieivng against better judgement. And what the hell does belief have to do with what’s right. Rotate your stock for a good layering of disaster. Escape the enchanting castle in the luxury of a trans moat boat. Your last chant for facing grace.

It’s the practice, not the reason why. Handling paternals of the fondling fathers to duty’s convenience for the viewing pleasure of all the ladies and cablemen. When pleasure is under measure, ritualize the spirit, so the non-believers hear it. As believer he can go, to and from the body ego.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

You can join me on the Box Caboose,
on a train that rides infinity,
through illusionary unity,
by the locks of the Box Caboose.

I give the box a smooth ride,
still it knocks everything loose.
I administer disturbance
by the locks of the Box Caboose.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Structural realignment as we
beef up to corporate status.
The choicest lean we spew at you
for the fat you cuss at us.

Suspended by extremes.
Variations on a theme.
Supporting stays to pay the rent
a brace of mutual intent.

I am no profit man.
I’m the man of a million words,
of occupational enterprise
and cerebral supplies.

Thru efficiency and quality,
entrepreneurial opportunity
of inter-global peddling
with an optimistic ring.

The purpose that I consummate,
anticipate, participate,
grandstanding for demands
where the liability lands.

I do declare ambitiously
achievements of the entity,
embodying phenomena
persistent to locality.

No one else can introduce
the articles for less.
And the people who invest in me
have a stake in my success.

Naggingly conclusive,
authorized personnel.
Recreate autonomy
for everything we sell.

Plant the seed below the surface,
penetrates, appears and cometh.
Reap the harvest, pick the fruit.
When do we get the loot?

Spit the pit of wisdom on
the soil of sodden body.
Bond with your community
but please discourage nudity.

Intentions of the mentioned,
bended double ended.
Discussion on civility
leads to feasibility.

Inherently possessable
thru every social tool,
viable endeavors happen
in and out of school.

Attracting local backin,
a shoe-in luring tour.
We make no promise, that’s a fact,
as written in the contract.

The city needs intelligence,
the visionary beaconship,
the flexible wings to fly
that all of us exemplify.

This is a fate you won’t forget
in a world wide stingy market.
Great potential solvency
with no investment vacancy.

I am no profit man.
I’m the man of a million words,
of occupational enterprise
and cerebral supplies.

Low over headed milk’n herds.
Interception management.
Speech of peace, art of inc.
So now what do you think?

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

The only time I’m alive
is when I’m killing myself,
tormented no more unceaselessly
than the bitter taste of a put down.

Everything is throwing fits together perfectly
in deliberate contemplated tantrums
of ever chasting strife.

My life is boiled alive
crawled up in noodle and cried.

My friend here is less than quaint,
he’s not, he isn’t and he ain’t.
His timber is tainted, his spirit is sainted,
he should not be mistaken as faint.

Born across the sea,
hung by the neck of a tree.
Embarrassing, yes,
but not unexpected, no.

No bank will give him credit
for the loan if they could lend it.
Even Tonto not arrange the loan,
’cause he’s not the loan arranger.

Mr. Dayglow, where’s your helmet?
Time to clean what should be in it.
I’m pushing you so you can get it
to where you think some idiot hid it.

Life is short, the hour is long,
hoarded culture has it wrong.
Flower power rings the brain,
once a day and life’s bouquet.

Plenty of showers in twenty four hours
to grant your dirty mind a wish.
Treat yourself to squish’n squash,
we’re going to the brain wash.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The train on which the rulers reign
has fallen thru the tracks,
and cracks with every vertebrate
that pulls the big campaign.
A failed excuse for getting railed,
unaligned with either.
Far from being unfulfilling
doesn’t mean you will.

Tired and a twitchen,
been to cafe till the witchen.
Slowly sipping masquerade,
freshly worn in mystery.
Now I’m tight as midnight,
the nicest night on ice.

Living by the river looks
inviting when it’s low,
without a sign of rising in
the sky.
I’m a bred for comfort man in
a take advantage sandwich with
a dish of all but dead beat on
the side.

They dressed me up for sunshine,
but the storm it was a doozy.
The carpet on my mail box
got very soggy wet.
Joy is one thing boy,
but this is something else.

When I decide to take a bath,
I’ll jump in my jacuzzi,
and soak myself in my desire,
dressed in my attire.

Father was a chicken,
mother was a hen,
Could all the immaturity
not be making men?

Every girl should have a whirl,
better mate than never.
Maybe they should contemplate,
better never mate.

Luxury on luxury,
raised from rags to rituals,
served upon the palate
one on top the other.
Eyes will pop the most,
like slices from a toaster.
Grumps who gather goldfish like
in novel chapter waters.

Bread and butter loves it simple,
lots of simple looks complex.
So we’ve prepared a god for you.
No fewer words were true.

Foods that help us eat it,
and help it keep us down.
I didn’t hear the pot luck, but
I did see bring the food.

The baker was upset that
the flower grinder left a fungi
residue.
Who do? The mill do!

I find that I’m so bored, I think
rewind is reward.
One more cup of coffee with
a slice a bred for comfort.

Before the beauty fades,
the fungus lunges at us.
Foaming down the face to
le plungeres disgrace.
A vacuum without attachments,
a sucker without a cause.
I play the aimless sucker
from appliance to applause.

The seal is in the cafe,
yelping off a stool,
fussing like a fool in
the later stage of lust.

Is it true there’s nothing you can
do?
There’s no success like suck sex,
the slurping sound of success.

The knees of aborigines
on a crock of water tile.
The keepers of procedure are
proceeded by their nature.

Lucky you look pasty,
this place’s got discriminating taste.
Soak your dough in H2O,
like all the funky white folk.

Are you-all rich in ritual yet?
Tales of tortured tots.
Chronic psycacidic new age
in acidelic hell.

The death of sex is next,
flaccid as the fixture gets.
Labor in the ways of youth,
like papa guru told me to.
Nednick was a nickname that he
gave me in the raising.
White enriched and always bleached,
monotony smooth as flower.
If there were any less pressure, I’d be
living in a vacuum.

With all the things to do with dough,
I could have been a loaf you know.
Instead I do a comedy show,
that maybe sucks, I dunno.

As one in desperate inspiration,
same as if I never came,
I could blow the whole thing too
with a suction of my head removed.

Analog is capable of
the infinite complex.
Barely breeding well breds
choose digital instead.
Didgerydoo and digital too.
I upgraded to digital,
but I went in DAT to do it.

Realign eraser heads
to execute the cute exec.
Functionally slick in every respect
in fear as much as frolic.

Breeding was agreed by all,
further proof that seeds evolve.
Keep the money they all agreed
as punitive to the deed.

No victimhood to call their own.
What’s a privileged guy to do,
but accept the puny immunity of
his impunity?
Or he might inject his collapsing favor
to suffer in his own good looks.

Hi, Gene! You’re looking good.

Predators hear what may prey tell,
victor to the victim’s hell.
I’ll give you something to scream about.
It’s the rage.

Crying baby icon pink,
the spoiler raised a stink.
No matter how he flips the frown,
he’s always up for the down.
Like a rocket on a leash,
the puppy takes the lead.
Maybe irrelevancy is not as important
as a guy with a stinker thinks.

He’s really not much of a men man
when he’s not with other man men.
The ball and chain of command
determines what and when.
What are we doing this weekend?
Which car we takin’, dad?
Excuses only a parent would buy,
but the only excuse he had.

Lay it on the me fable,
coffee table magazine.
The kid should see less about you,
and more of the we not I for me.

Taken care of but never raised,
vocal porker, me T.V.
On dog and hippy street,
the proof is in the pud.

3-D billiards, photon pool,
with an idiot and a psychic.
Gi’me the shop vac back,
you suck enough without it.

Discipline is not an angry response.
I went for comfort more than once.
I! And I mean shout it!
The only way to pronounce it.

Inverted pervert sexy vac
blew with such inertia.
Bred to blow the breezes blue
when just a sneeze will do ya.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

In the aftermath of blood,
its fear that fans the flood.
Keep the patients teeth intact
so the cows can chew their cud.

If you want to keep the game the same,
you got to want a mantra.
People caught too deep in thought
remain as they are taught.

Authorities big priority,
take the hobos off the track.
Put your cracks in fanny packs
with bricks and fish and artifacts.

See the serpent looming large,
let the artist lead the charge.
Take us to a distant star
where all the inspirations are.

Ornament the hooded one
in keeping with the ancients.
Bringing of the breath will come
by seeking out the patient.

Wake up and take your treatment,
the bore before the boom.
Heart patient relationships,
already a relic to you.

The serpent takes a breath,
asserts his inspiration.
The mechanism glistens with
spontaneous reflection.

Busted puppets come to life,
let the luck survive.
Tell the doctor and his wife
that magic keeps us all alive.

Balls that go beyond the bounds.
Broken rules upon the ground.
Keep your eye upon the ball,
and call me in the morning.

Anthropolaticians,
apply to your positions.
Breathe what inspiration tells,
that only blood can feed the cell.

We are as ministers,
we serve the head of man.
We shower off the sinister
with all the gifts we can.

The sun will be my fire,
the planet is my lung,
the breath that I inspire
will blow across the land.

Singing from the swing tops,
stuffing up on yuppie chips.
Healing makes us more appealing,
fit beyond the feel.

She could have been a mother,
as good as any other,
but all she knew to sanctify
was wrap it up and mummify.

Balance the extremes,
keep the middle clean.
The craft will let us hardly see
the conformist from the tree.

Thru blood the heart pumps love
sending breath beyond the lips.
Ironic how the healing needs
the gasping of the sick.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

If you’re going to waste your time watching television, then
waste it by watching Bevel Cafe, a celebration of the human
condition in overcoming the doldrums of a predictability crisis.
This wow kind of experience for young people of all ages skirts
a fine line between puzzlement and the brink of intuition.

Bevel Cafe is a one hour craniotainment spectacle featuring
updated lifestyles half-baked in a mainly course dish of classy devices and served weekly in a lyrical sauce of fresh commentary
All the men you know favorites are garnished in a hot bed of wisecrackers and offered for you to swallow in a wide variety show of material poetry by world famous dimensionalist, Mat Bevel.

Robo-sculptic celebrities propagate around in vehicle aided apparel of unparalleled apparatuses, head gear and miscellaneous gizmos. Joining the technical heckle on audio channels one and two are the instrumental health care professionals of the Mat Bevel Orchestra. And if that doesn’t fix your ticket tactically, enjoy the unantiquated antics of those juvenile fanatics, Molly and Rachel Bevel, the most co-hostliest duo on the tube.

For all the people choked on glitz, clear your throat with a
comical blitz. Cough it up now before I have to say I told you so. If people are watching, call it Ironic Theatronics. Ask
any dead Bozo you meet on the screen about preventing bad
television reinception, and they’ll tell you about Bevel Cafe’s
Video Interruptus, self-control format. We give you the better
picture, high fidelity with a low fidelity feel.

And it’s all obscene through the watchful fisheye of Sony, the
candy man of handy cams. He’s our portable witness, who’s format
of camera informality makes the show so spontaneously so. Bevel
Cafe takes television format off the wall and to the mat. In
Beveldom, everything is for Mat.

Did I mention art? I’ve already told you that it’s off the
wall. But where? Where it belongs, on the body of the artist. Art wear, a body of work in wardrobes of spent statements.
Sent but never spent a cent for.

But now the scent is overwhelming. That multi-million holler
scheme park going up all around us, has the distinky odor of
bad taste. Bevel Cafe allows you to breathe in again with
Available Resource Technology. We’ve created a why life refuge
where the whole family can get away from pop culture and
experience life in the making.

Many people feel dirty and cheap after watching T.V. Our time
slut is different. By taking a position of stance, we encourage
others to abandon the squat. Assume the fumes of your own
plume. Choose the alternative to medication, reality and suicide. Bevel Cafe, America’s home for artfulfillment.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

These orgasmizations are up and coming businesses. That’s the motivation of the mindset. No lather, no gather.

Our local chamber of calm horse insists, we shall take no tourists. No say hear? I’m trying to tell you that you’ve got to have a product. If there ever was a story, this is the mystery.
One more item, that’s all, one more item. In a forest of items, how does a basket case make it so obligingly so. Stick her with wiker. But as every sticker stuck, this was the dick that broke the camel’s back.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Leper Mojado,
Pariah Messiah,
Brother of the thoroughfare.

Chummy compatibility, personal vision and
what does torque arm mean in terms of threaded turns?
Is it shooting from the hip to say
there’s a frequency to tickle everyone’s fancy?
I’m a one legged go alone
in a thread breasted turn.
In solitude when yo is me,
can a wing nut drop the tone?

Basic ground rules of humble debasement
shelters the wandering
and pleads no exile.
It’s the only station of stability.
Basic therapy for the winds of debacle.

What am I talking about?
Sitting by the nut counter as canopy lowers with a cable.
How clever a vertically mobile ceiling could be.
Bringing the house down for security and maintenance.
I ponder the wherefor of torque and friction.
They call it agitation.
At home we call it stirring up controversy.
A basic mixing procedure.
How more basic than a base and what comes from it?
Basic treatment from the soul.
Home to unconditional stability
that all rocks anchor ships to.
Flashing pillars which thunder claps for
in a one beat kick for common ground.
Base of a railing to hang out from the gut.
Firm hand slaps ass up mother nature’s rooted clutch
and I’ll be here when you come back.

What am I talking about?
A base and what comes from it.
Basic treatment from the soul.
Imagine that, a one note clap,
followed by the beverage cart and a complimentary snack.
Though true I heard my father speak,
thou shall not touch,
thou shall not peak.
We’ll probably get together for bit size sandwiches,
kick the balloon and throw a couple lincoln logs.

What am I talking about?
Basic treatment.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Easy Flicka, yonder’s a bull before us.
I’ll go plug’im in to see if the bull’s gonna charge.
Steady while I dismount
I know…sounds like your typical bull schtick.

Now, that’s the sight of a charging bull,
the indicator lights of lust,
the size, the color, the way it glows,
of a bull that’s ready to bust.

If the bull can hold the charge
will the power be abused?
Will he use the power wisely,
and take another charge?

Considering the magnitude
and sources of the bull,
can he still survive the charges
with his indicators full.

The bull is bigger than you and me,
a massive singing over ring,
with architectural integrity
to reach the point that meets our needs.

Bionic bull schtick, dancing implants,
disco tech for chip for brains.
How to hang a rampart,
a brick and British rampart.

Circle the stain,
give it a name,
and charge it to the matador.

Once inside the bull ring,
it’s bull fight or flight.
It’s like Tucson, some people stay and fight it out,
others take flight. But ya know, they always come back.

Ya know why people always come back to Tucson…because it sucks.
Ya know what I mean.
I’m talkin’ about the suckin’ sound of success.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

He’s just a bum walking.
Yelling irrational.
This lamp is a decoy.
Ice cold beer.

From my window I see produce.
Dolly Madison Cakes.
Another living legend
takes a hike for goodness sakes.

If you’ve got 28 channels.
I’ve got 29.
You’ve got to have a good box of rocks.

To make a stray dog bark.
What do you have to do?
Zero in on it buddy.
It’s the battle that hurts.

Why do we see faces
in the most unfriendly places?
In a spiritual sense,
it’s a mountain looking at you.

A strange place of caves.
Only six cents.
I wondered why the lines were so sharp.
Then I noticed they were painted.

They’ve always said,
he’s gonna get us all killed.
He’ll never stop talking.
He’s just a bum walking.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Welcome to Butterfly Company, makers of fine art kinetic Lepidoptera.
Enjoy the gentle oscillating motion of God’s little canvas, the butterfly.
Seventeen inches of .01 inch thick PVC color conscious tip to tip lift.
Built and powered by a satin black all metal oscillating fan base, and
boy do I know something about operating off an oscillating fan base.
Truly an out of body mechanism.

–

This little flapper will bring healing to the room.
Broadcasting a philosophy of metamorphosis…known as metamorphilosophy.
Oh no, you say… Not more philosophy!
Just this…we are a metamorphosising system.
We must go limp of what we know and trust the body memory.
Let the current of life take us down the river of our selves.

And here’s our friendly staff to help you thru the process,
the caterpillars of the community, your partners in metamorphosis.

–

Back to the product.
Why am I alone in offering this wonderful item?
One word answers that…Rank!

–

Don’t take enlightenment lightly,
acknowledge your connection to the collective contraption.
From the city to the valley, from the factory to the field,
the most difficult path is the simplest way.
Be your own parade and the world will come to you.
It’s not just magic…it’s a job.

–

Both wings of the healing process are included because,
without balance there is no flight.
Don’t start the new season with last years leaves.
The butterfly has landed and the story is in the wings.
It’s all about presentation, as god was surely thinking
when he invented the butterfly.

Spend most of your life worm like and then become something majestic?
If the butterfly can do it… you can do it!
So which way’s the display?
Just look for the movement.

–

Butterfly Company, bringing metamorphosis to the masses.

This is General Belief System Technology Project expert Mat Bevel,
transmitting from an undisclosed location,
some where, some how, some way.

CHORUS

Some where, some how, some way.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The funny thing about it
was the butterflies and fly-bys.
High above the concrete block
like a cookoo without a clock.

I’m not a fool for fancy ties.
I’m surprised when a tough guy cries.
But when I see the wings of butterflies,
Beauty brings tears to my eyes.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The funny thing about it was the butterflies and fly-bys,
high above the concrete block like a cookoo without a clock.

The Ministry Of Motion is broadcast from high atop the Bevel Butterfly Tower in downtown Tucson, Arizona. Built by Bevel Butterfly Company, this iron butterfly with its gentle oscillating motion was installed on May 4th,2012 by an elite team of kinetic Lepidopterists.

The brave men who made this happen will forever be in debt, but they did it to bring metamorphosis to the masses. Lepidoptera, better known as butterflies and moths, are the only living beings capable of completely changing their genetic code during transformation. They are the symbol of total transformation.

Metamorphosis is here. The butterfly has landed and a new iron age of hemoglobal consciousness is upon us.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Retain the shape of head scape,
buzz cut the crop.
Resist the urge to manage
force yourself to stop.

Skulls are sculptured anyway,
the smart will part no more.
Soon the shears will hear your shrill
your locks upon the floor.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

BYRD HAYDN (A)

There is no way to go.
Only ways not to go.
So where do I go?

Just ask Byrd Haydn.

Who is Byrd Haydn?

Who else but an old blowrooter.

What is Byrd Haydn?

What is in a name?

Where is Byrd Haydn?

Where you can get ahead.

Why is Byrd Haydn?

Why he’s a trophy specimen.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The gutless wonder had a big fake smile,
disassociation for the chicken out file.
Tell that fox to eat my socks,
had to have it frigid so she had it on the rocks.
No scum tolerance, a caged heart martyr.
Made a deal that wouldn’t heal.
Now she’ll only barter.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

At this point in the Tri-Life package our tempolary finds itself positively impacted. Sure we’d like to help, but our success for the search has been causing a perch by some non-stop virtuous crop to pop vulture.

The totems of Tempolary, though fine for the feat, comes up a little short handed and, there one two three four, we’re standardize testing the smarts of Beveldom for the right animanimated person to serve out citizens up security. We’re waging wisdom, and we need someone to take the citizen beat, bring it back taller than a totem, and get it into their heads.

All the character needs is a good latitude, some one-two follow thru and a pound of proverbial pavement, which is not what establish meant. What it do mean is a bowl of raisen brows with little loitering cloisters spooning down your frowning mouth, skiing glee like behind a tug of your favorite collectables. Content is immaterial. I trust your belongings speak for you more than a lack of belonging.

Just picture the lady wearing distress. She’s got security, now she’s going for satisfaction and soon she’ll reach for stability. Whether it’s fashion or booty, she’s still a fixed’em of substanceless abuse, following habit like a rabbit. When I grew up it was safety first. Now it’s release the safety first.

Every step to the Tempolary is a ploy to the contrary. And that includes some very suitable ploys, but of course, ploys will be ploys.

Find something comfortable from your collection of affordables to underexpose yourself to. There’s a gateway to the galaxy with every character. So, will the real wheel of whom I spoke stand up now before I choke. Don the duty called upon and fill the feet of Citizen Beat. Please stand by for the new catalogue of exciting gift ideas.

Welcome to Bevelfellow dumbell, I mean Beveldom fella. As soon as you enter completion, and you know you are in complete, then you are ready for Tri-Life.

We just about gave up ’til we found you. When the patients departed, it stopped where it started, half-way up the steep, half-way down to sleep.

The only choice of choosers,
concede or be conceded.
If they could pull their hair,
they’d see the monster that wasn’t there.
But as I recall the romp,
the easy heros have all been stomped.

As the time for rhyme is thinning
the time for work’s beginning.
Bringing the broke to unity
by singing devine opportunity,
and this is how it goes.

Press play to peel away, and you will get to Tri-Life. Remove the lurching stermons, and free the Tempolary of all but the one-beast.

At the bottom of each box is a bliss,
a consolation free beat, unmissable as this.
At last you beat the best for least,
and there will be the one-beast.

The bite is worth every bit of the bait,
but don’t beat off more than you can chew.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Where I lay, I sit, I stood.
In fact, I recite theatrics,
for I am your fiend with a kind heart.

Torrential rains came and they came hard,
with a resurgence of execution.
Too much knowledge is overwhelming.
Words get pointed
as stories weave coincidental baskets,
guarding our fears from extemporment
and gunny wit.
It hurts so much I could talk.

Attached thusly to God,
I announce the arrival as a call to enlightenment.
Seems to be some flapping symbol
with a fanfare of excitement coming off the wing.
The illusionary bug on a barrel.
I felt the worst-for because of ridiculous things.
I’d love to say yes to something,
but there is no good reason to get too excited over anything.
Even fog from a cool ocean
has the fuzzy edge of a sharp outline.

There are those gentle moments
when a man can sit by and be with his pets.
Regular moments are those
when a man slides into failure.
As a fact of life,
though,
alternative developments are always possible.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Don’t move now,
it isn’t too late.
Paying the price for avoiding failure
from not extending a hand in the first place.
Ideas in the flock of geese
that distract the nice hungry people
without a thought for societal nature,
ridicule the essence of a
typical white man law,
obvious black man attitude
and everything in between.

We are all subscribers to the Earthly Continuum.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
An aviary complex of reversible context.
Expectations for the wandering goal.
Periodic pendulates show
that he’s not just making french fries.
A bird in hand is worth many that are not.

Between the gun operating drill,
I know God,
who drives the radians of my linear vision,
yet the plane encompasses all.
As we listen to the sound of success
from the pillow of failure,
witness the sacrificial flight.
For I have for-given it to you
that you may hear these words in comfort.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Go ahead private, laugh with rankles abandon.
You can mess with the man,
but you can’t mess with the machine.

This is the industry that’s in your interface!
A virtual factory of decoy kinetics.
Made to dazzle the mind and settle the stomach.
Built and powered by A-R-T, available resource technology,
Our patented method of making anything from nothing.
Working with things that come freely creates abundance.
With abundance all things are possible.

Let the object into your life and give it love.
Art as healer through faith in the unknown.
With A-R-T we let the pieces do the thinking
because it is their creation that becomes the actual work of art.

We are always provided for,
but sometimes we get distracted by comparable items.
With A-R-T we don’t need comparable items,
we have items galore.

Let’s go down to the parts and crafts department and check out
the who’s who of who showed up on our doorstep.
By assisting in the manifestation of undervalued potential
we create abundance from waste.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Having just nearly hit a dog, I was straddled by two canine units leaving Dunkin Donuts. The right one was 670, the one on the left was 666.

Odd they never saw me,
so I finally looked away.
There in the rear view mirror,
was unresolvable dismay.

Back thru the chambers of merry manor,
wrapped like a packet in a straight gene jacket,
locked in pathetically terminal means,
insightfully away from the candy machines.

Down the hall of fallen kings.
Down the stairs of no nice things.
These are the stares, I do believe,
the stares that I receive.

Past the rooms of living and dining
and the gloom of the family room too.
On the other side of the curtains,
is the window of my life.

Remembering back, recovering my tracks,
a view I would like to explain,
but the glass had so many cracks,
I couldn’t see thru the pain.

The man appears to be paralyzed
in the philosophies of his game.
“Hell with handicaps!” he would say.
“If people want a handicap, they should learn to golf!”

The parachute never opened, the dispute was never closed,
which alarmed me to the motive of resistance oriented steering. If you can’t get thru them, go around. That’s what I’d say too if I drove a bus, but I don’t. I drive people crazy.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

CAR CONDO

I depend on a strong cup of coffee.
My dull was a bit of the drill.
Serial filler, company issue,
save the vital tissue.

At General Plant Protection Co.
It’s good enough for the rodeo.
Interest benefits investment
and purchasing compliments pride.

Vises don’t make the defender
`cause the song about thongs is wrong.
No certainty goes the right way
who certainly knows the wrong way.

The road to Phoenix is paved
… with good intentions.
You are on the right course, please move over,
automo-condomo-shadowmobile.

Majority rules the majority of fools.
Please use alternative route.
Car Condo, driven by audio,
coming to a carport near you.

As I approach the door there comes a knock.
On the map it is unlocatable.
Say no way to the compass master’s
threshold of disaster.

In time for the final syllable
came a thief who didn’t rob.
Pro-tec P-lation can not toll call
general plant protection.

General Belief System Technologies
for plant growth protection
of important company issues,
one page at a time.

I depend on a strong cup of coffee.
My dull was a bit of the drill.
Serial filler, company issue,
Save the vital tissue.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

My name is Mat Bevel and I live in a card board kingdom.
Between the picture and the frame is the portal of my name.

Put your worst foot forward with a shaky hand and
a smile on the face of a man who can.

Because I am 3d, they all want to flatten me.
So take me back to scarcity, the found, forgotten, friendly and free.

The objects do the thinking ‘cause the pieces play the part.
It’s the junk in evolution that becomes the work of art.

The artist is the catalyst, the prince of payless cashlessness.
I assist them in their destiny once they find their way to me.

Art has changed a lot since the cave, but the humans look the same.
That’s all the proof that I need and I have a bachelors of science degree.

We are always blessed but feel distressed by other comparable items.
The proof is in the pudding, and now I’m putting it to you!

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Asylum, refuge, hold the fort.
Resistance, please, please, please, please, fortify.
Hell citadel repel the mean.
Cart Glamo, bamo,bamo, MORE CAFFEINE!

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

CATTLE BUFFET

I had received a call from a Frank Clone-Pauler, who claimed
he was also from Compliance, the state’s largest penal implant
colony. “Does sinner mean I’m a bad boy?” he asked, sounding like your average Joseph. He was trying to start smoking but couldn’t stick with it. Tossing his butt, instead, into a large nurturous hole of hate. Fury stated while you wait.

The next caller, to the audience’s rumble, conceded her settlement, then proceeded to break down the carbon chains around her, till only bad air was there. Dishonored with a slight for fallout or where the fallout falls, followed by a fall where she fell into the fountain. When it comes to falling, she’s a flop.

A great failure once said, “From many drops upon the floor, I wake up wet outside my door.” And, of course, it further derails her from the real future, the future of her family and all the kin therein. If you train people to de-kin themselves, they will find someone to de-kin themselves from. Another solution that puts the problem to shame. An attitude widely succumable to, that someone obviously not the victim must bear the guilt of sufficiency by wearing a quilt of inadequacy, made in designs of spite using threads of public reasoning rights. At the foot of the fallen felled, as this old method below is known, the girl masters wisdom by practicing dumb, in the name of the sirens of shame.

Suddenly a white man from the audience gets up and walks off proud as a cloud, while the black man sitting next to him laughs up a storm. Not as funny as the gal at the lower end of things, but if it’s good enough for T.V., it’s good enough for me.

After a message from the Communist Party on state job opportunities, the same folks who foster the attitude for metric illiterates –
no wonder they all play ball, we go back to the phones.

S.H.- Hello, my name is Weiner Schneider Housen, the notorious biter.
I was born fidgeting with digits, I was never part of a silent crowd, and I served the dog as an alter ploy throughout my childhood years. I abstain from normal behavior lest I behave as bad as they do. But I’ve always been a hoper. My hope is strong. My ascertaining pertains to the apple and Adam and Eve. How did she tempt him, and for what.

Bev.- A strong body will overcome many things, I tell the teller, but complimenting influence is nonsense. The only order given, for
a ploy to light his candle, is to always wiggle the handle. Even
as a child in the aisle, I’m sure you were taught to go as much as you can go before you go. Forget the feeling, I say go for the getting. I also heard there was no apple, just a banana, and Eve
said, “Don’t stick your banana in me. Spermicide your own side.” Something you might expect any worker to say to his or her co-axial worker. A salt is the residual of reactive opposites, sort of stereophonic mono.
284/2/6

Let’s suspense with all the hysteria and look at the altercation
as the initial craze is was. The original shamming of the dominant culture. Innocence lost, innocence found, but very humiliating
just the shame.

Thanks for the call Weiner, I like your hot dog attitude. Keep
this in mind, under every Christmas tree is a hope for brilliance.
Bye now, sell it later, there’s always time for hope.

Before we go to the phonies again let’s bring out the next sucker-victim-guest. What would it take to pop the lid on this next eye opener. I’m looking for answers to the things I’m diluting to.
Maybe someone can lettuce in on this salad state of affairs. I
found croutons in my fouton and I want to inquire a stance that a
lot of money will go a long way towards putting me in good standing. And this is the lackey to ask. Less value than a lack of vision,
he’s the author of “The Selling Out of American Genius.” As he
writes in the book, “We crack up every time we tickle our genius.” He goes on to say we should, “toss the lighter to the crack.”
He invented computer equalization, not just the term but all the
terms. They love him when the serfs are up and all the way up
the mainstream. Gentle ladies and men, please give a hearty say-so to ol’daddy scavenger himself, Pop Vulture. Hello and welcome to the Cattle Buffet.

Pop – Hi.

Bev – Say Pop, how’d you get the name Pop and how do you achieve
all that contact?

Pop – Well, pop in that it’s generic junk and, you know, anyone
laying down is a possible victim.

Bev – What a latitude.

Pop – Sure, cop some pop and never stop.

Bev – That’s out of sight.

Pop – A vulture has no vision, just an overview. He feeds on
the vision of the highly visible. First you design the
desire, then you regulate the remedy. Feed the ducks with
want, not whips.
284/3/6

Bev – You’re doing your own children’s show now, right?

Pop – Wrong! My show’s for all ages. Everyone falls for my
line. Kids really fall into line, that’s for sure.
Who do you think bought ’em line in the first place. Me!
Pop Vulture.

Bev – Being well versed in the curse of the empty purse,
sometimes I feel like a fox in a flock of sheep. And
it’s not just me, many folks are choked with glitz.
Dare I say a wave of sinusoidal tendencies have been
reported. Even with a new speedy pay-away plan like, you
suck-I blow, and I end up dizzy as a saxophonous wrecks.

Pop – Not when you reckon what the flask at hand is.

Bev – What is the flask at hand?

Pop – Manufacturing satisfaction, it’s as good as money.
That can mean many things but some ways are easier than
others. Me, I say the cake is here to hold up the
frosting. I have an itchy butt and if there’s one thing
an asshole can’t stand, it’s an asshole bigger than he.
It’s a cheap job but somebody has to get rich doing it.

Bev – As the din within continues, let’s try to mean what the
state meant when the governor addressed the envelope to
his constituents. Here with a rebuttle are the three
hard hats of Helmo Tripolet, the head of the rest and the
patented tapered Bevel, Crazy Head’s band of marching
fools. They’re docked off base, so join us in the war
ship of Freddy Fresnel. Griddy gals siding at the stand
of the road, playing music for a group of cattle, so it
can be heard. Further alone the road, past the orange
shape, shoulder work ahead. My question is, have you
heard of cattle?

C.H. – Hello boss, no loss if I don’t get my lick, this is
Manual Wick, burning the stick from both ends. Cream of
cabbage is one extreme, from psychic spinach to spastic Popeye. Send me to your mouth piece. A hat with
a head to put it and a head with a hat upon it.

284/4/5

Confuse us to say, if I censor myself now, others won’t
have to. For crying out loud, look at your back!
Backbones are the background, led around by the lower
spine. Only an asshole would feel at home in the
flaming butthole of such a holy business.

That’s our motto, the right notes at the right time. The
whole point, all the point and nothing but the point. If
everyone is unconformingly conformist, then the middle
ground is shelf meat like the dead decks on the ballad of
Deck Newman. Encrust your fat to the man who scares the
cat, and you will sell unreal estate to the
exceptionally normal. Rattle till it rumbles to the loss
of informality. Someone said, if your gonna be up there,
Crazy Head, why not entertain them.

C.H. – I’m for moving forward, making the world work for
itself. A self-deployment policy which in no ways and
means, inventing markets to produce for. We look for
water, food, space and compatibility. Not words of a
perfect world, just preventable catastrophic die-off.
The clueless are menace to the mess. In the stink for
survival is now strategies of stability. Planetary
stabilities and ceasing extinctabilities. Eco-items do
not return for the sake of nostalgia and then forget the
sprints in the long run. I think extinctabilities stunk
in the first place. Don’t tell me that when you say
flute, you mean the one on your back. The ever astute
smell of the crack. Straight down the wash to the bank we
go to wash our dog in the walk. It’s a lump he’s got to
get over. When you know how bad he thinks, it’s only he
who stinks. Knowing how active men twitch, he would
practice many hours. Dropping his favorite twist top,
like a prop mill to the wind. The recording deal is on
four tracks, practicing safe sax. Organs to the front of
me, vertebrate to rear. All upon the line of chi, where
all the rages hear.

Bev – And what else?

C.H. – Don’t lock your knees above the heels, back upon the
spine. That’s dress up code for hit the road, said the
heat hen to the chicken. When you ask, they won’t.
When you don’t, they ask why you didn’t.
284/5/6

Bev – Back to the beat and the plight of pestitude. You can
fan me with your paisley eyes. I hope you don’t find it too
intruding on your loop. Reasoning won’t change the
workings of the world, but it’s the only tool that works.
If I can get a call I’ll take it. Whatever happened to
majority rules? How about a panel of experts? The luck
to duck and the skill to kill. Say that solitude is no
where? Does a turd give thanks to the septic tank? If
your watching ball, then give me a call. Hello America,
what’s the score?

Man – Hey fella, shut up and watch the game! You’re giving me
an artichoke on a tack. How about going out for a long
bomb with a short fuse. When was the last time you got
down on the field and threw a block. Light on the right,
heavy up the middle, how’s about some respect for the men
on the by-line. This ain’t just a hobby, it’s a pastime!
You give that ball to the scarlet gray nay-sayer and he’s
going full circle. Over the bleach, past the circum-
ference, all the way to the larking pot. Get some steamed
spirit would ya. You make me stick! This is every man
for himself and you talk like some over populated rat. I
heard you guys hump your buddies. Is that true?

Welcome back to the Cattle Buffet. Thanks for the call. I suppose you won’t be writing a check to ARTEC any time soon. While I disconnect your long end to the tail head and the short one to the nose butt, what does your daughter think of all these balls? Is she to assume a forced format evolution? Maybe you should pass the ball to someone you know. That way you can put the information down on the field for the secondary. Meanwhile, up in the press box, keep those cameras rolling. It’s better than a good shot. And while we’re in the slime light, cover that little red slight.

When the simplified man, complex version, meets the complex man made simple, why not have your sandwich in hand and a bite in your mouth. Over think the animal fatalism that distracts the welfare of your offspring. And that won’t happen if they’re choking on a hero sandwich. Join your peers in war ship. At first sight of culturalite, we’re cycling out of this stampede for some stability. And if you don’t want to be stuck on the one yard lie with all your downs depleted, then I suggest you get off the border lying to yourself and take a cue, cumbersome as it is. Gee whiz, you could be smarter than a centrifugal pickle, instead of drawing blanks in the think tank. A massive activistic word process and all I get is a blinking cursor. If you like them when you hate them, boy do we have a deal for you.

Anybody got a yell to spare? Then give me a call. Adios, see you later, nice to know you? Hello, and welcome to the Cattle Buffet.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Put your head on the mental block of departmental parts.
Let’s look at this scientifically. My name is Jester Physics and I work in the Department of Science.

On top of my head is the Forward Rolling Anglo. Yes, those anglos just keep on rolling along. Remember, we’ve got caucasians for every occasion.

I just finished an important experiment down in my lavatory.
Of course, I can’t tell you the details because it’s top secret. But the general description of infested stations running up
the beach from the rising slide is accurately described. To
the high and smoothly grounded, surrounded by the rising slide.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Earth is but a space ark.
a labyrinth of cave art,
a modern ship of change
in an ancient sea of play.

But it’s more than just a game
on the intellectual plane.
It’s maids and males a’mating,
and pilgrims on parade.

Make a start with cave art,
heroes make it matter.
The ark appears from darkness
as the artist draws the cart.

Micromorph your efforts
ancient modern man.
From cave art in the dark
to monolith facades.

Whatever the form of the beast
the audience gathers in disbelief
to witness something brave and new
as only the mind can do.

After the days of cave gave way
to schools, churches, and institutes,
Experience powers of sanctuary
as only the mind can do.

If only the mind can do it,
then surely the spirit is near,
That which defines us, also reminds us
that nothing could be more clear.

Peers amid the pyramids,
were proud of what they did.
Accomplishing in common
the largeness of their love.

The monolithic box
is only the tip of the ark.
A landmark of awareness
in the shade of lurking shame.
390/2/3

The train brings the rain
to fulfill the flooded plain.
The water rises, the ark will roll,
and carry the seed where nobody knows.

I can go alone in life,
and hover over the drink,
nothing says it has to float,
it just can’t sink.

Everyone has a leaning,
now the ark’s careening.
Offer up your gift,
and help level the list.

Old religion is fine,
but wisdom grows with time.
Who’s gonna make the myths,
and how do the makers exist.

A seed, plant, factory
one for the world to see.
Build an ark community
one, two, three.

Three days for the morph,
a day in every in every state,
An ark for every door,
a door for every day.

To penetrate what’s the matter,
shatter every state.
Three days on a pilgrimage
every single day.

If three points make a plane
then three planes make a point.
On the intellectual plane
inclination reigns.

Transperformers roll away
sloping steep as deepness be.
Morphing into more dimensions,
tumblers face the grade.

The ark is realization,
the making is the mark,
The ark is in the building,
the building is the ark.

Look up and see the ceiling
your seat is upside down,
With half a revolution it’s
the bottom of the bow.

The ark is an island community
in a sea of luminosity,
Iconically stacked in columns of trash
as far as the eye can see.

Thru atmospheres of plastic clouds,
the ship resumes it’s trip.
For the seed that travels in an ark,
the ritual is symbolic.

Beauty lacks the alien
contained, contrived, in captivation.
Artists gather at sunset
to capture the situation.

Picture the wave mechanic
with electromagnetic attachments.
He stands within a container.
He’s sinusoidal in nature.

Saturation is so abused,
time to lighten up the hues.
There are more ideas in the tip
than he knows what to do with.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

It was the last of the chopped off lizard. A big hard cylinder of glue that Morse the bassist had the deepest remorse for. Pay me for classes, I teach you to pass. Sometimes the road plays tricks on your pitch.

There you are in Beautiful Nowhere, flawed access to the flaw zone with all the special feelings to go by. Pissed off at a sawed-off swing, working hard for the bread to loaf. But when you get home…no whopper.

Excuse me, I forgot my whopper.

Once again, I’d like to expend my flatitude for all your latitude, but take it under the hood if you would. Even with the best of intestines, flatulance is something we all want to put behind us.

For cod’s lake, these kids get away with everything but a way to get away. The disturbing nature of life results from a life of disturbing nature. Hear no amiable applause, for I am pictured as a dainty maker of soft items. And my friend who bespoke good weather is kept a freak by involuntary abstention. Well kept.

Detain the crooks like you detain your looks and you’ll be up for the member of the year award. And it’s about time. You’ve been dicked around long enough.

But who knows? Everything is in a constant state of is and isn’t. What we clearly have is a national consensus on doubt and the article of faith is hate. My uneasiness lies not in that I wish not to be turned on, but that I wish it not to be in the bleachers.

Every sailor knows the lonely sailors creed. Keep it below deck or don’t leave the beach. The tale presumably tells, of a great non-bully-lover seafarer of old. This noblest of men, on a nightly occasion, would jack-off into the sea, and that’s why ocean going boys are called seamen.

Once again we ask the question, is it hobby or habit? In sports, where I received my training, you don’t worry about whether people get it. They don’t know if you’re smart, ’cause they don’t know what you’re talking about. The experience taught me not to bangheads with buttheads. The word is joy, and they joyously mock your words.

Hey, there’s my psychic sidekick wearing a new pair of Jerk-in-Socks. A big obnoxious hum. A real hum dinger. Chompin’ two bit legit, golf cleats up the middle, fiddle in hand, we didn’t see it, it wasn’t even there. An injury received back in Be-it
Phlem. Oh, you didn’t know? He’s a highly decorated Be-it Phlem vet. Or was it the Mucous Conflict? Whatever. A victim of misplaced formality. Another excuse to sign on the line. When you get to pian, just initial gain.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The puppeteers are here,
abstained above the plains.
Hounds for bows, take a bow.
Wow, say hello to local Joes.

Down size surprise of
a skyline recline.
A chorus line of puppets
with stifles at the hip.
Baffled in the scaffolding
suspended men to end.
Babble in discrepancy,
pending proper ending.

Robusted but improved,
a bunch of kooks and buffer dudes.
Moody lewd gyrations
for times when bust and up will do.

Posture lies a rack away,
until the props are postulate.
Hanging out to pasteurize
as paper weights for robo guys.

A balance act of no stand backing,
steading stacking packaging.
Statue of hideous corpus,
deceased and standing with us.

The saints are coming in march
when recording is more rewarding.
Ravi Shandkerchief will be here too
with a big band and a big bandanna.

Put them up to the brass ring
where they drop like drapes to the very last thing.
Show these puppets a little applause
for hanging on to the cause.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Call me old fashion, but all these tools give me nervousness, opportunity divine for giving one forgaveness. As without faith, too, there is nothing but truth. The spirit is how you hear it, apply scrutiny to all.

The dog, the master and the only leash. Love him like he’s heroin, use his mane in vein. They’re going to sell you this panic item, for a lot less than the truth. Pray for anxious thanks. Worch the churship in angst. Come to the Church of The Other Cheek and face the reeking meek a fresh.

Brother Neil. Brother Neil, down to the altar please.

He told me I needed some dog footage. You mean paws? Hell, I’ve always got the camera in pause.

So God created work and play, the bittersweet way to pass the day. What stinks is being dumb enough to save the pews if no one comes.

On the large bridge, I pull down the wall to go thru. A reindeer jumps off the end of a flag pole on the neighboring skyscraper. The orchestra plays as we prepare to leave the apartment.

Outside the opening with naked ladies, mud balloons are being thrown. I’m trying to get my daughter to eat her eggs after bringing her a bag of cherries.

Intensity is building on the neighboring skyscraper where people see the world thru the back of their head. They love the sound of thrust, lurching in the lust.

At the local church support group,
they’re talking crap and speaking poop.
They contemplate commotion
like a clog in his commode.

Don’t fill the bowl with wasted matters.
Flush it down, flush it down.
Here’s a mouthful, pass it on.
Flush it down, flush it down.
If you need to think, think in the sink.
Flush it down, flush it down.
The water’s yellow, the soil is brown.
Flush it down, flush it down.

Flat Earth was an old argument before it was new,
and what was new was more than they knew.
So the Earth would lay there flat,
the dog would corner the cat
and everyone wanted to kill the rat
who said the world was fat.

As it was is how it is.
Blame it in the name of his.
The father and the holy pop
and lots of holy fizz.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The dog, the master and the only leash,
love him like he’s heroin.
Use his name in vein.

They’re going to sell you this panic item,
for a lot less than the truth.
Pray for anxious thanks.

Worship in utter compassion.
Come to the Church of the Other Cheek
and face the reeking meek a fresh.

Brother Neil. Brother Neil.
Down to the altar please.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The deadliest dream alive
had the very happiest ending
with axing by antagonists
in a comedy of grief

It brought me from the rafters
to a break up on the floor.
Escape denied futility
thru the triumph of the door.

Embrace me in my birth song
and the clutching touch of love.
Let frustration falter from
the rafters up above.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Cock a rifle. Cock a doodle do.
It’s a proud moment for me and you.
Cock a rifle. Cock a doodle do.
A chicken chokes. A chicken flew.
Ha! Ha! Ha!

Cock a rifle. Cock a doodle do.
It’s a proud moment for those who flew.
Cock a rifle. Cock a doodle do.
A chicken chokes and so will you.
Ha! Ha! Ha!

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I’m Don Janelous, the coffee guru.

The concrete underfeet is not so neat,
but it is fine in the right frame of mind.

Hello there, we got new batteries today.
Designed for efficiency at designated speed.
Minus to minus, plus to plus, as is the custom.
We would be suspect to opposites of the same letter.

Large atmospheric halos from low founded shadows
of the dark arc sparking.
Sort of closed it’s circuits when it saw me coming.
Had to jump back or pull the plug on me.

The Guru gyrates…and the people move back.
You will soon embark on a business venture
in the upwardly mobile spot.

The cardinal mind is enmity against God.
You have no right to place prejudice upon us.
Cease!
Give us back the peace of our mind.

Always complain, but do not complain all the time.
The Raven gets rave reviews in my haven.
In the lowest binge of cringing,
could a person be a poet if the person didn’t know it?

Eternal speaker in perpetual preparation,
ain’t nothin’ been pounding on you.
Like the endlessness of a boxing stance,
but do you ever get in a good punch?

Hard boiled eggs opposite wind tunnel.
The smell you live in, you must also rise above.
If you got a job at S-Mart, would you learn to push a cart?
For people inbetween, this job chooses you.

The time is now, this moment is what you wait for.
If you know, you can’t help but do.
Everything else is what you don’t know.
Sure what we see is there.
It’s what we don’t see.

When the students come hoop hole hollering home from school,
tell them;
goal to goal, trust what you must,
on multies of unity lies opportunity.
All excelling is equal.
When these students approach you, they might say,
please buy this candy bar and help keep me off drugs.

Excellence in mediocracy is always something to think about.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I’m a junk biologist specializing in shutter flies, the gorgeous storytellers of the field.
On wings of circuit symbology, they flap at the frame rate of flight like cartoon fire-flies
Hanna-Barbarraring in the breeze.

Today we’re studying pendulates, creatures that derive their power from pendulary activity. When mood swing is the perpetuating oscillator as in a coocoo, we have perpetual emotion. Psycology is the physics of our emotional forces.

Let’s take a look at the “Broadcast Flower”, a balanced oscillating energy independent
power plant that utilizes available gradients to produce a steady pulse of alternating torque in a pendulary-flywheel that drives the movement going on inside the Mat Bevel Institute. Hovering in the Broadcast Flower’s dish is a reflected lepidopteral pendulite, technically, an “inline” shutterfly, teetering in global balance.

We lock our momentum to the collective contraption of all mass and energy, by inducing the same physics as planetary objects. Our feelings are direct reactions to tension between our expectations and these forces. Just ask a baby.

And that’s the way the weight of this locomotive wants to locate. The cycles of our personal intentions are just as connected as the planets. Migrations are oscillations that push relationships like wheels of a clock. All things are interconnected thru spin. Differentiation creates surface, but the migration continues with our emotions left to figure it out in a dance we call life.

Here at Butterfly Company, we’re more than happy to join the machine. We call it the Rolling Show Case. Our “heavy” connection to the world. Heaviness is about weight. Weight is grounding. Weightlessness is for the birds. We are all passengers on the collective contraption.

Make way for all objects for they are part of the same evolution and they are coming through. The ball of confusion is only a surprise to you. Go with the flow and see what will grow.

We are cause and we are effect. We are taken on trajectories to the future and the past
on momentum of the present. It is the fate of the flower that we call our own. Health is the eventual awareness of the unfolding flower. Be at peace to experience atomic destiny from a unique point of view.

This is General Belief System Technology Project expert Mat Bevel, transmitting from an undisclosed location, trapped inside the collective contraption, enjoying every minute of it!

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The colors of love are primary in their potential for human possibility.
They come together in a whiteness that saturates the mechanics of human visual biology.
A lower frequency red on the first day as we listen to our mind.
A higher energy yellow comes on the next day when we accept our heart’s impulse and finally, the highest visible vibration of blue on the third day by following our inspiration
to the full spirit of our collective potential.

Nothing can be known of our destiny for it can not exist in the brain, the blood, or the breath. It gets there when it comes. The tug of inspiration achieved thru discipline of desire that evolved symbiotically between consciousness and nature, culture and animal.

Symbiosis of human culture and animal nature has evolved means of external realization thru actions of these domains.
An infrastructure of balanced behavior encourages habits of activity where our future can be realized.
It’s the sickness of the spiritless motivation that creates the complexities that overwhelms the animal with obsessive desires for pain reduction.

Three times around the light source. Each day emerges from the darkness to a peak intensity of each of the primary frequencies of the three pedaled orbit of human potential. Every year is a life that could shine as white as the source of it all. Three cycles per orbit of the source, available to all but realized thru discipline of self-distraction.

For the self is the sin of the spirit, scheme of a shallow society. Where animals channel the source in it’s purity, humans dissect it by discription, then must reconstruct it thru a discipline of spirited ritual defined by rationale. It must exceed our abilities to talk it down. We readjust the mirrors and lenses of self perception to allow the light to again pass thru us fully white.

As it happens we have turned survival into a lifetime of maturing as the pain of self tinted trama is followed by the possibilities of healing. Where the bird discovers proper flight thru example and the pain of improper flight, we can discover proper light thru example and the pain of improper light. Improper light is tinted from the pure white of the source by an imbalance of the primary colors of our dissected perception. Human culture offers examples of behaviors to achieve a healing balance for those in pain.

What makes our lessons of completeness unique, though, is that the civilizing tendency of the human experience unwittingly derails our attempts at integration in the name of education. The challenge of conscious integration for humanity creates a wide variety of lifestyle adaptability compared to non-human life forms. Various forms and levels of education vs. integration define the multitude of cultures. From complete annihilation of survival instinct in squanderous conditions that no animal in nature would stoop, to the extraordinarily insightful wisdom of high art societies, humanity has it all.

As we learn to walk only thru falling we can shine only thru darkness, for the imbalanced experience will fail us and send us back to complete darkness. Encouraged by those who fly, the creature attempts again to fly fully, but maybe not this time, maybe lift but no sustain, maybe red and yellow, but no blue, maybe the mind and the heart, but no inspiration.

Encouraged by those of the spirit the human creature attempts again to live in the bounty of full flight. It is there for all. It is in our nature. It will be achieved thru painful falls and spirited healing. It is as it should be. It is life, and it must be lived.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

COLOR THE VECTORS

A kingdom will come whose king is dumb. He is the one-beast. Color the vectors back up to the force that permeates Tempolary, know him as the primary points to illuminate him.

He is King Dumb and his lady is Queen Smart. She has all the answers, for she knows all the subjects. But the king, he knows all the problems, so he has all the questions.

Like how will they cry when I die?
And where do my feelings go then?
You can’t smoke here, but you can smoke in moderation.
If I smoke out the hive, will any one bee leave?

Breathe both ways to the north,
away from the second hand joke.
Without the nozzles forceful fist,
the finest spray is mist.

Droplets drop but wish it not,
for God’s disguise is cloudy.
A minnows heart will bleed in vain,
sure as sharks know sushi.

The place is usually calm,
except when King Dumb comes.
It’s enough to send you back to the old country,
back to the land of Dumpsterdom,
where the dumb stermons live.
He’s taking the job of the hierarchy here in the Kingdom of
Yon Lunar, where roams the mostly enlightened moon people of
the sun.

Inlets in the shelter bring the chill in.
Outlets out the safety of the children.
Shut the damn thing off,
stop the frigid compromise.
Seal the cold retreat,
and generate some heat.

Consider nasty elements,
with all dislike embellish it.
No dollar bills but still some cents of
change.
Behavior matters more
when consequence is grave.
Hang it! You’ve got support,
and now your shivering grates on me.

Down the throat of Dumpsterdom
by home, church and state.
When totems are kept, as in keep,
the one-beast is the kingdom.

Once we’re on our feet and the king looks good in the eyes of
his loyal customers, we stand to make a handsome profit.

Wave to the phase shift happiness,
his daily dose of highliness.
Put it to K-I-N-G,
here on kingdom radio.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Three hundred stooges in party boots
can boost a man’s moral.
Witness truth in unison
at the comedy corral.

They wait to watch the hero
when the hero plays the role.
Now he’s doing stand up
in the comedy corral.

Ready for the real love
full of inspiration,
going down in history
to the bottom of the sea.

Myth negates the quilt,
the hero helps the flow.
You call this a corral?
This corral’s a joke.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

We had just put
St. Louis Cinemascope, Suite Cappachino Blues,
back into the horn players brass hole.
That’s where the similarities began.
Two mirror image feet.
One was an otherly unreal,
comics glyphoon of a shaded foot.

Nearly a foot of comic belief is stationary,
with no movement to write about.
The idiot cart goes right down Main Street,
for all to see.

Why does a stationary letterhead
need three extra suits?
Naughty-mobiles litigate
past any car pool the neglected might detect.

I think he has a point,
or is that a birthday cap?
No, I think he has a point.

Ideology is idiotic.
It’s idealistic.
It’s easier to raise the subject,
than it is to raise the court.
The miracle is believing.
Mastering the bewildered subject,
the Hindu pilot crashed after losing his turbine.

The monkey was perfectly satisfied at the altar.
And the monkey stood up to be the sacrifice.
How would he incorporate his drawing skills
into a theater setting?

Jaime the homeless handicapped homo
was granted another stipend
for manual dexterities that hackers lack.
His cardboard props flew paper planes
into hostile dickhead taterships,
on and on until it broke.
The more he whined,
the more he declined.

Many unstationary Japanese guys
appeared from the dark.
We’re looking for a few good millionaires.
Finally, he had the master behind the lens.
Let’s stay on the subject men.

Sir, I don’t know what to do.
It’s…it’s a homo.
What should-would-could I do?
I can not help my self,
where I have not been trained by another man.
My father’s leg is planted firmly
in the crotch section of my jet seat.

The tender shall not be prodded,
when the wit can not take it all the time.
Even letterhead can not be stationary for ever.
Constant attention is endless detention.
So escape yourself!
See the world from other places.
Stagger your vice, consistency is nice.
The restless need less rest than the rest.
But that insight depends on the height of the looker.

The guillotine shape looks great on paper.
Weight from the center, where no baby bent her.
Candy Hologram had a pair of mers.
Two mers.
Up lows, up highs, forget the noise.
Like the night I buried the trash in aluminum pillow,
asleep on a moon clear skyboard.

The problem with drive,
is that you may drive in the wrong direction.
My Germanic acquaintance Bitten.
Full name, Bitten Hard.
The sticky stuff that stems
from the staple of starvation.
Though, to him is no insult
to speak in third him.

If the pain is in your head,
why not leave it there?
From bottles collected under my chin,
to the wonderfully trained voices of men,
learn about ladies and larger lips
in the new improved age of shared leadership.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

ELEMENTAL OXYGEN

After the beginning,
plants polluted the earth with elemental oxygen
in a hind sighted genesis to the prolific slime ancestry we stem. My work incessantly requires decoding capabilities of immediate nature. It’s a way of keeping yourself company during fits of solitude.

Do you know what people like?
Do you like what people know?

NO SUBSTITUTE

There is no substitute for space.
There is no socio-cultural rationalization for practicing
complex guilt.
There is no lobby in the magic of darkness.
Your proof has been eluded.
No need to hang around accomplishing tobogan runs of disappointment. Initiation for destitude.
Understanding vision.
This side up.
Life is a three ring notebook and who the hell is Chuck.
Quit sucking on those dollar bills or your’re going to get buck teeth.

Do you know what people like?
Do you like what people know?

YOUR SYMPHONIC HAND

I want to hold your symphonic hand.
I want to hold your complex simple to your simple complex.
I want to feel that stuff.
I want to witness the crawling of the beast we witness.
I want to guzzle chaos from the house of the weaker sex.
I want to buzz word God for eternal life to the chamber of doom five times over what it’s rated.
I want to sit in the lobby with Bobby for to cleanse the already spoken.
I want to be a partaker of the table of the lord and quench it from the devil’s cup.
I want to feel as old as the younger child.
I want to hold your drum and pig machine.
I want to hold your symphonic hand.

Do you know what people like?
Do you like what people know?

RESULTS ARE HARD TO COME BY

Quit sucking on those dollar bills or
your’re going to get buck teeth.
The one that becomes gluttonous does not survive.
And now they want to kill the guy.
Ideas are men in suits and ties.
Results are hard to come by.
Root for the good guys, they’re number one.
Alarm the bad guys, they’re in big trouble.
If you were going to make up a story,
what story would you make up?
Poetries allegiance to itself is unextrapolatably forgotten.
If answers possesed a questionable loyalty
then they too would be forgotten.
The honorary intelligence of imagination with a
formula maintenance schedule for essential busy work.
Only an artist can draw the line.
Science is the discovery of not soul searching,
guaranteed for life or as long as it ownes your vehicle.
Which ever comes first.

WORLD HEADQUARTERS

Four world headquarters squat in the launch pad.
Mutants for Congress and a ground zero hero.

The call is the ball of the game of the same name.
If you don’t get caught then you don’t.
If you do get caught then you do.

Developed thru attitude, spread with blood.
Habits infect us, maybe they kill us.
Was, is, were or could be
that it wasn’t a bacillus.

REMARRY THE NEXT DAY

Divorce can be completed in as little as 60 days
from the forms completion.
Remarry the next day.
Where abouts of other spouse is not important.
End liability for the actions of your spouse.

CONFOUNDED SIGNALS

Please go back to your homes.
You are needed there.
There is a shaft shoot shank
thru the shaft shoot
in the shaft.
The narrow woods lost the man in the lay of the land.
When he reappeared
he reappeared will founded
for he had found it in the way that found was founded.
Thru confounded signals.
From the complex simple to the simple complex.

Do you know what people like?
Do you like what people know?

TOO COOL DUET

Throw history in my face and say remember this.
But you remember this.
It’s only coincifatel that my house is next to yours.
187/4/4

Already in transition for a place to place my tower.
My too cool duet already again.
From the complex simple to the simple complex.
For my own incidental coinsecurity, I ate the fate already.
Like the Guru thing,
channels intrudably by the banks of protrudable habit.
It’s a way of keeping yourself company during fits of solitude.
It’s guruvy.

Do you know what people like?
Do you like what people know?

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Talk about pulling rank, let’s haul ass.
This old fart’s getting jerked around.
Good evil to you, said the Concrete Yuppie.
I want to borrow it!

I can not talk with a spoon in my mouth.
If I took it out, I could say my name more.
With out a coach, he takes the novice approach.
He blows a whistle we all can hear.
A better beat with less conceit.
When they voted on the noted,
the show-off was promoted.
Entertain your feelings for entertainable traits,
as the elevated feelings of indulgency states.

Pull the royal self up by it’s floral head-upon-it.
Win a free overflow with Master Cool,
and purchase a cube of clothing
for the guy and gal at home.

We can not treat you until your injured, hurt or crippled.
It’s the ultimate no shit kit.

A couple bags of crete, to bottom line your feet.
Pull the plug on all this dirty water.
America’s treatment specialists
in flow clog denial.

He ran out of checks before the new ones came in.
Developed control to control his own development.
The most you can do is nothing.

If the global gestapo teaches sympathy
in two paramilitary shoes,
then how many implementors do they defeat?
Demanding more for less reward.

If I can crawl down the valley of futility,
I can make it to the hilltop of awe.
The result hath chosen it’s validity.
Perverse or worse, it’s the law.

Undermine your species,
is to eat your latest feces.
Master your clauses,
like you would muster up your causes.
It’s very polite to share the wealth.

Archie Backster,
he’s gonna make a great plant for the show.
His nonactivity is considerably productive,
because that’s the way he wants to live.

Look sister, it’s a better bet,
I’m the ass and you’re the ass-ette.
In case that sounds a little mean,
the boss is here, so keep it clean.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Because you’re not a cosmonaut
you’re not without a cause.
You have your condo launchpad
with a beach house on the side.

The beach is many miles away,
the agent must have lied.
Mentioned that he knew your dad
years before he died.

A couch that eats you up
will spit your bones upon the floor.
There among the carpet shag
is the truth of your decor.

Welcome to our beach house
in the middle of the desert,
in the shadow of our condo,
the launchpad to success.

Here’s our tidy kitchen
with room to move about.
The phone’s beside the table
`cause we always order out.

Fell right thru the money trap
on a heavy date with condo bait.
Landed on the thoughts we had.
Is our memory that bad?

If a man looks good in gentle pastels
he’ll never leave your side.
That’s a thought your mother had
years before she died.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

In my house, every tube’s a boob, but not every boob’s a tube. Take a bonus free chop off that last statement for suggestible TV sprees with chocolate silicon chips. Invite all the evils into the comfort of your home with a family breakdown box. If it can’t come thru the door, let it come thru the box on the floor. Fragmented family market groups for maximum dysfunctional purchasing power. More TV’s shop consumer brand functionality for less than the price of family unity.

Empower the children for naught, but naughtiness bought. Child outwits parents to the purchasability of their better judgement. Maturity is worth no refusal. Break the burden of cohesiveness, possession is your inevitable right. Home seduction device, watch it as long as it dysfunctions.

Buyers be selfish, demand your impalements.
Sitting in front of its cause for the ailments.
And they have what you need after
watching this box, indeed.
Quick judgements, hasty conclusions, speedy settlements.
This technology eats itself.

Mosquitoes are sucking people into the woods like a fist of twisted opportunists. If I can bite the bush, why hope for the harvest to hit my head. But it did. It hit me as soon as I hit the beach. Making my stand in the sand, my ears full of brainwashing fluid, I heard the moo. Did you?

Pitfalls are potholes
that more and more will fall for.
All this talk of money,
sounds of the bizzare.
Distribution mechanisms
logo like and sure,
blowing in the market
like a vacant lot brochure.
Quality’s my middle name,
quantity’s my middle finger.
That’s the sign that guarantees
the privilege to linger.

Predatory weasel
choking on a gag,
the cost of occupation
is written on the tag.
A very lazy laissez-faire
will keep the bums at bay.
The price of deviation
is still the price you pay.
308/2/2

As it may, the dog will stray,
the cat most likely not.
With a cow in every house,
and a chick on every pot.

‘Tween source of her who wore the lock,
which craft makes the schlock?
One step forward, two steps back,
where do I put the computer jack.
A plot that thickens children dumb,
’cause smartness is a look.
Ask a multitude of jerks,
mimicry really works.

A lovely wiff’o the witches winch pulls you past the picks and hides aroma antics. She tried to talk all day, I tried to get away.

Handisexed parking only, was a point of much insurgency.
Such emergency as consewerism, though, was the ways and means to an end. Sewers under consumers mean more consewer murmurs based on rumors. With misery in stocks of available wealth, manhole cover, covers whole man.

She tossed me her matches, no two of which were alike.
Then she cast me a fowl. How revolting!

Recognizable across examination of the offense flailing at my feet, was the symbol of American pride; sick weary and unable to fly. But I knew for a fact, that the ailing portrayal of our national emblem was an ill eagle act.

In America, you’re illness until proven healthy. For that reason I’m going with the candidate who speaks out on instrumental health.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Looking up to see the constellation,
I was struck by the truck of my own bad luck.
Without a date I must create,
a gift from space for my other place.

Well, it just goes to show you,
you can never look an idea straight in the eye,
for invention lies in the periphery of distraction.
Here at the Mat Bevel Company,
we bring that idea to a head.

It obviously came from the Hoover Constellation.
It was written in the skies,
that I should buy more eyes.
The Hoover Constellation,
where all the good ideas suck.

Shall it be opened?
Here’s the latch.
Let’s have at it.

But first, let’s see what Professor Cook says.
Professor Cook, take a look.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Mat Bevel pioneered the
Contemporary Southwest Generic style
in the conceptual days of reconsideration.
Widely accepted as a cookie cutter
for the regional art movement,
Contemporary Southwest Generic
is an absolute hot cake
of consumer buying power name brand items.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Slip dat back in de packet.
Take dat slack an’wack it.
If you make dat crack I ain’t never comin back
cause I got to have a coo blue jacket.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Whispering logo, for thee I achieve.
To whom do I owe this favor?
Don’t prove anything to me
that could prove to be a savior.
Bombarding orientation,
aligned in a 2-d grid.
Materialistic instinct,
down the sink, I think.
Alignment of a line meant
an axis of polarity.
Free power to the people.
Solar from the steeple.
Transcirculating bipolar grids,
any place in the space.
Everyone has a side,
many sides without a view.
The other version, as seen here,
driving home from work.
Opposite magnetics must
cross the axis to get their kicks.
Locus pocus, hypnotism.
Push for coordinate magnetism.
Roll in diplomatic yanks.
Got no pull, get no thanks.
Only the role of the poles can change.
The strength remains the same.

Roller of opposing color.
Help me. Help me. Help me.
Painting on the main frame
will quick to quirk my irk.
Never mess with science
when using common sense.
Spirit comes thru. Why not you?
Many parallels do.
Sharing the mind of a sharable mug.
Last chance to hug.
Split the river of static.
Polarity makes me ecstatic.
Appropriately it accommodates me,
the landlord and most of the tenants.
Ease your easabilities.
Unplug charger please.
45 degree angle doo-dads,
the ones your daddy had.
I’ve expended my purge for the day,

now push me the other way.
Locus pocus, hypnotism.
Push for coordinate magnetism.
Roll in diplomatic yanks.
Got no pull, get no thanks.
Only the role of the poles can change.
The strength remains the same.

Ramification upside the head
leading us to believe
something was coming which, no doubt,
was something that never came.
Performing the act of love while
addressing the role of hate.
Loving to hate the way of abuse,
the only excuse to produce.
Drawing up plans in the bathtub, man.
Never too late to get it straight.
Treat the props like captors.
Beat the dry wall, down the doors.
If they have their own opinion,
pull the rip cord, all aboard.
Freak the people out with
devotion to a charity.
Regulate the gasses to the
axis of polarity.
Funky jasmine, check your zipper.
Fish don’t pull they use a flipper.
Locus pocus, hypnotism.
Push for coordinate magnetism.
Roll in diplomatic yanks.
Got no pull, get no thanks.
Only the role of the poles can change.
The strength remains the same.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Please follow the Pan Man to the other channel of the room.

Please channel behind the Pan Man to the following room site.

Please everybody up and pan their channels to the room behind you.

In conjunction with tonights function,
Corral Viewing Services pedals stage defining ways
by satisfying face value criteria
where by light is the stage.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

At the point of multiple images
are many re-reflections
of production doodoo,
robot tested,
craniotainment spectacle.

I’m proud to stand for kick stands.
A stand that can take a kick.
They shouldn’t have left it folded.
They were nuts because they bolted.

Why should you have to go 30,000 feet
just to get somewhere.
All you need is a Gypsy Martyr,
grief loopateable chair.

One of the many courtesy prizes
waiting for you from the
Leisure Loop Lifestyle.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Act your age and do what no one
younger than you can do.
Extend the end of coverage,
tapes the ruling tool.

I don’t write to read,
I write so I can speak.
I manufacture measure,
the only tool I need.

The quirks of great endeavor
look selfishly induced.
The words I speak, speak for myself,
and the better for me they do.

Sometimes I think right,
and then I think revenge.
Satisfaction less commitment
leads to disenchantment.

The after life is dead.
The rest of death is after that.
Behind the recipe comes the cook,
doctrine bound, so buy the book.

Carcass bowls and flesh plates,
much too short and way too few.
At this pace I’ll be dead in no time,
totally demoted to you.

Just when it starts to happen,
that’s when it falls apart.
Time to support civility,
abort the abatement please.

Taking leave of self employ
and the helplessness of hope.
Finding in the aggravation
purpose as we go.

Miners dig the post hole mortem
by the mortar of moral authority.
I never knock inducement,
the movement is bigger than me.

Never do the peaks of highways
even make the grade.
Leveled in design phase
before the road is laid.

Two tickets to Chile,
towards distance I go clearly.
May the glory that stands beyond you
be seemingly out of reach.

Let Jesus stand between the man
of you and your reflection.
Temper is the look of longing,
Jesus had it too.

I come up with nothing,
which is more than I deserve.
Find a hobby, the fortune states,
it’ll relax your nerves.

I take my walk the safeway,
a rolling strolling soiree.
I hear the pity patter
of a hundred happy hatters.

I battle community doom
and what the believers consume,
the temptuousness of desire
in a culture of mass despair.

Stability ailment counselor
for other brothers who care.
One of these days on a mobile cafe
ballerinas won’t ballet.

Excuse me for thinking out loud,
art is the work that I do.
I earn my way as a hobby,
which makes me a hobby tycoon.

Evoked beneath a cloak of stone
where hollow haloes go.
Looks to take the space of air
without the center there.

Down the line the luck is up,
and all the yolk has done been sucked.
Chickens hatch from empty shells,
and lead a life of borrowed hell.

Surviving means reviving
famous folks of note.
Worn in place of negligees:
idols, heroes, protegees

Of all the briefless grief to skirt
the subject underneath.
Ain’t no cotton down in Scotland
sweet as fleecy sheep.

Just hot carafes, and hover crafts,
tartan lads in wooly plaids.
Scottish bars of copulators,
hills as high as helicopters.

Poison on adjacent lake
with every scoop of deadly soup.
A store with more of everything
but silly ass civility.

Interludes of servitude,
work that’s worth relaxing to.
My company was our business,
yet I detect indifference.

Every time you turn your head
you change your mind instead.
Break neck fans, crash caravan,
spiraling so inspires me.

Out to lunch the other day.
Move before you have to.
A legume has no self-esteem,
he ain’t no human bean.

Sicking men on men is something
surly quit unaviary.
Even as we speak I freak,
perching bird-like under beak.

Looking up came casting down
from the humming bird to me.
A well equipped commitment
from a twig atop the tree.

Vested in a nested fence
built on bills of bird like beauty,
vents protect our cheap consensus,
pent up then repented.

Paper island gimp,
limps with just a hint of rumor,
straddling the boulevard,
with little island humor.

Standing wave to congregates
caged in a page of K’s.
Run the other way in
a manner not the same.

Chirp and wee wah crosswalk,
little twirpy birdie burps.
Why not take a lower risk,
and move your ass to Phoenix.

Follow the carrot in front of who knows,
wild monkey tranquilizer.
Orange soda bum eye,
shot’n plundered, then die looted.

Mouth to mouth reassessment.
Always work. Work all ways.
Catch no dead in People’s Park
where dissipation starts.

Ball of wax, get out of ear.
M. B. Over easy.
Every week they lay their lives
down on the line for me.

Around the V’s are laughing E’s,
prorate more for humor.
Then conclude mood fortitude,
charm can carry thru.

Play the edge of the stage
with honey, molasses, and cane.
Perfection is likely imperfection
masquerading as play.

The coating never breaks,
but the glass below it will.
Fucking fat ass glass blowers,
titan belts and mistletoe.

A glassy glare that’s always there,
pecularized as purple eyes.
Beaten to a purple mass
in a wink of a chicken’s ass.

Quaking cars go up and down
to the sound of Lavender Lounge.
Devils don’t discriminate
between the shades of grey.

Juices flow where genius goes,
and full potential follows.
See no Hopi in the stars,
no adobe bars.

Dust and dairy, so contrary,
litter airy snoots.
The crook within is arbitrary,
truth is absolute.

Attention men with steady jobs,
a bayonet stood there on.
Misses Big-Projectile,
and Mister By-A-Mile.

Highly spirited hit or miss,
the way I risk the iris.
See by pupils eyes to see
the symmetry of sides.

Trickle down my leg theory,
steamy as a taste of Satan.
Media wise messiah bearing
buckets for the guy.

Pump up the funk, pulled from a dump
for me.
Back up occupier.
I need room to think.

A cautionary frog,
on a grin of sins committed.
He croaked and was acquitted,
confessed and was admitted.

Get your gut out of the mutter,
the suspension is killing me.
Tell the girls about life at the Y.
People are hot and dropping their flies.

Put your pointy objects
at the level of the eye.
Make your point a view
that everyone can see.

And watch the witch for what?
A serious lack of clue?
Remember what the objects mean.
I don’t remember a thing.

Dirty Swami Bosom glare,
belittles every little being.
Somewhere there’s a sinful place,
a place of sin in need of grace.

The profile that I drew,
or the contour I conform to.
With a second story view,
you can look down on them too.

Ascend a skyblue belfry,
fresh from the land out of love.
Look up the ladder to destiny,
pinkish inside like me.

Fast as falling feet can be,
erectus man proceeds.
Somewhere in between the feet,
implications meet.

Big erection’s no direction,
better aim to tame it.
Picture it pink as a red and white rhyme.
Efforts don’t count if the pleasures all mine.

Erase abating labor saver,
spray the Hall of Murals.
Works that count on effort never
count as much to girls.

Plaster tags on back wall grey,
safety’s not the artists way.
Art no tags a man can call
his own evolving walls.

When the writing on the wall is gone,
there’ll be no more writing on the wall.
From embryo ear to media mouth,
partaking negates unerasable hate.

I found myself a fuck off
smacking dab in front of us.
A well hung door is more than just
a swinging gate for lust.

Lust is in your future,
lust is in your past,
lust is in your dirty mind,
how long will it last?

Improper organs do forgo
the proper implorations.
Tissue better used induces
winning correlations.

Honky if your horny.
Spermata goin’ fastly.
Foam rose up the open neck,
the hollow stick was phallic.

I have life that walks away,
as much of life will do.
I have life I’ve never met
‘cause I’m if life with you.

Girl hates guy as rule of thumb,
scoot along you Honda blonde.
Risk arrives in mail today,
see if bomb explodes in face.

Blow your bonus Kooky Luke,
burning man buffoon.
Lad’s buffoonish jelly fish.
Kooky Luke Buffoon.

Jelly in the belly,
fish for independency.
Out of Ana’s pantry comes
a human sea of pregnancy.

Body costume large and loomy.
Shyer than I, she said.
Kooky wooky Luke Buffoon,
Luky the kook Buffoon.

Buckaroos for every grab,
my tip is on my tab.
Birth control’s a walking billboard,
that’s the end of that.

Destiny of downward class,
lethargically in mass.
Convenience is an evil ploy
of those, the last to laugh.

First you got to hocus pocus,
then you better bottle us.
Now you done did genie us.
Smarts are just a wish to us.

Blind believers lead us all.
Dixie recluses talk with drawl.
Givers of care, wanna be freaks,
leave the weak deleted bleak.

Ain’t no shit this man be rich,
with God given properties of oil.
How far down must we look up
to keep his love above us?

A happy surface to penetrate,
digital guts with analog face.
First your face is all appeal,
then you cut it off.

Dreaded hero Half Head,
top geometry suddenly stops.
Moratorium everyone.
Thank God it’s just facade.

One gelatinous Jesus,
on a happy plated face.
Yellow Jell-o Jesus
on a hippy holiday.

Jesus told of Jell-o molds
and shaky things of old.
Finger food for solitude
chewed with chilly attitude.

Future mucus idles lately,
masticate procrastinate.
Leave me with turgidity,
tomorrow I’ll tar more.

Miracle Whips and picnics,
spreads on a duh duh view.
Yes is just a biscuit,
no is meal you can chew.

Emotion censor, Chinese cursor,
animated finkle foes,
gringos bobbing red sombreros
laid up down in Mexico.

Invalids feel invalid,
and natives are still neglected.
From what I could, to what I didn’t,
with what to do between.

Go for gophers, bad burritos,
one duet of duo doers.
Possessed by my own head to do so,
moaning bows of Hermosillo.

Risky micro show theatrics,
turkey teriyaki jerky.
Future re-enactments
on TV made for real life specials.

Hey you racy honky,
give it black to me.
Many third world people fight,
they don’t know Wong from white.

Jorge came by Georges way,
and tossed grenades on my brigade.
Minorities unlike meteorites,
drop by every day.

Dark denies where darkness lies.
Meteorites headed right for me eyes.
No wonder why I scream inside
my dapper Danny hide.

If you’ve got incentive, I’m still retentive,
trying to be serious some what.
I’m a dumb white slave, working in my field,
trying to be serious some how.

It smacks of inspiration,
but smells like perspiration.
Up from a slave the power was raised,
and the conduit down to the stage.

Adult free labor hands were full
of soft and gentle tentacles.
When what to my wondering peers should apply,
but eight tiny workers in dark sweaty hides.

Turn to wine at thirty-nine.
Tie one on for China.
Careers unmatched around this here
disco San Francisco.

Abruptly comes disrupted time,
nothing stays for long in sight.
We all can land in paradise,
but only half to a handful might.

The jerk drove in like a dirty hypodermic,
asleep in a deep blue dream.
No grander canyon underneath
was in plain view of me.

Up to camp Jerusalem,
twisty turns and roller burns.
Selections from the Berlin Wall
in a merry can of cold resolve.

Parameter is a boundary,
the boundary of in and out.
Poetry in prose,
a secret I can shout.

Shake your spear more than once
and you’re playing with a tragedy.
Slap the baby oaky doaky,
comedy karaoke.

We’re opening up an orifice
for clients in the sticks.
As socially sympathetic,
as static is sporadic.

Way up in kalimba land,
shakers make a sexy man.
Now we’re drinking cherry beer.
Who’s the misdirector here?

As life begets we soon begin
this gradual decent.
A slow decent of decency
with errors for effect.

A secret hardening agent
bent around a rodent’s cage.
No religious purchase,
and I don’t buy Baha’i.

Saratoga Happy Dog,
down from Cafe Swig.
The annual trek of hardly hopping
spaniels aiming wanderlessly.

The original is a bastardization
of what the thing can do.
Psycopathetic people
in periodic moods.

Cafe Swig of saggy tree,
lavish boughs of green.
Call it a hobby, call it a job,
there goes the condo Bob!

He’s giving up the home
for a house that almost was,
soon the womb will be antique
as a rinky dinky sink.

No schlepp deprivation lurks
in Forest Foster Woods.
Impractical by nature
for baby talk to work.

Families want an instant solution,
so make your home an institution.
A home is already a house,
business is what it’s about.

Up to the task of lineage,
back from whence ye came.
Quick success is fun,
but much too soon for some.

Reincarnate into kids,
kids do more than mimic.
Character can shape a future,
poetry forever.

Arrivals the point of departure,
the further along the farther.
Far too much is much too far,
but still not far enough.

Homo Neurotica’s not at home
in double scenes of screen in screen.
Felt the coming delta,
wet as a water pipe dream.

He rows a boat of heros, nearly
nipping ports of epic patrons.
Summing up civility
humbles ones abilities.

As wet as an artisan gets,
would dry an artesian well.
A day of great indulgence,
on the dotted line appeal.

Glaring insincerities
of celebratory pastries.
First offender in my face,
wins a free dismembership.

Torque’n digit finger cam,
freelance courtesy stabber.
Borrowed hands who torture man,
armed with fair-weather fans.

Lead a cheer of cheer, dear,
lead a cheery cheer.
Let a cheery cheerleader
lead a cheery cheer.

Sixty know who I am,
forty like what I do,
ten are fans who’ve seen a show,
and two will actually go.

Friends as endless disappointment.
Only meant to make a point.
Printing press to TV set.
Recall when I forget the best.

Infected sect of them defected,
bled from bloody TV greed.
Spirit lacks around the set,
only spirit severs threat.

If you don’t have a theory,
then you don’t have a thought,
regardless of the multitudes
of searching being sought.

Alleviate confusion,
as contradictions do.
Only so when thinking so,
dilemma knows it’s place.

The art don’t leave for reasons like
there ain’t no show of any length.
A pull can do what no push can,
develop a stroke of strength.

Crash flow living
in forwardly duration,
where crowds observe the way it goes,
and people serve a crucial role.

With outcome short of income,
the greatest thing can not be known.
She wore a piece of late Matisse
in a vehicle all aglow.

Mulatoes maraud has come to pass,
get out of the way of my happiness.
A weaker beaker must be busted.
Blood is weaker than lust.

I see a world magnificence
by focused folks of civil sense.
While pesky uptight socialites
drag their feet in self-defense.

There’s perpetual locomotion,
there’s motion with a prayer,
there’s extra immobility
in self propelling chairs.

Nothing to be done for,
disorders are a pity.
Step aside and make it wide,
sweetness ain’t sincerity.

Rolling carts of sinisterism
after the art ballet.
Art is for the starving,
I feel no dirt for my part.

.All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Who let in the riff raff?
Who let out the air?
Who distains the greener grass
where all sustainers dare.

Who would rape what others reap
and put the golden age to sleep?
Where gold spermatozoa reaches
eggs of golden geese.

There’s illness in the room,
a noose around the golden goose.
Maybe we should kill the beast
to bring about the new.

After sickness strikes
remedies appear,
maximum rejection means
the turnaround in near.

Confusion is an order form
to purchase transformation.
The truth of how you’re doin’ is
to move within the ruins.

Someone’s fault is not the reason
that would mean committing treason.
Take your lot within the rotten
fruits will drop this time of season.

A mission unconditioned,
judge less in your cup of joe,
roaming to the flow
like a homeless buffalo.

Don’t ask mom for willy nilly
she believes the plight is silly.
Rejoice in your dysfunction,
free to change your ways.

The mother of this function,
the mouth may meet the mug.
Survival now is purpose as
it slithers on the rug.
382/2/5

Within the groove of truth
incited by the move induced.
Change will grow it’s own excuse
as serpents often do.

Diamond frames at florin face
have purpose to their needs.
Without it they are easy prey
to selfishness and greed.

When ever serpents perpetrate
and show their happy face,
feed ‘em like a worship shrine
cuz serpents need a place.

Sir I come from France
in circuitous circum and stances,
imbibing in the serpent scribe,
a sip what a serpent dispenses.

Headlines read of dreams denied,
and a strong incense of humor.
Circumventing years of work
as a burpin public serpent.

The snake like creature’s mouth agape
gasping for some intake,
spits the spirit out of his mouth,
but gets no spirit back.

Mission of the shedded skin,
tip the serpent in the tin,
give what has been taken
spent on transformation.

With little catalistic tip
to talk the serpent down,
the setting comes to serpent scribe
the inspiration serpent.

The curtain calls for all
who hit philosophies wall,
going thru the stages,
acting out the changes.
382/3/5

Turn them straight and they will follow,
entry holds the key.
A slow and purposeful entry,
a touch of expertise.

Awoken from the vault he came,
he took no fault and gave no blame.
Yes, no, maybe what we say,
that’s not Alley Baby’s way.

Black and white is out of sight,
but darkness brings the daylight.
Early morning cookoo,
prays the bellowing men-are-at.

Wake up to a nice fake morning.
Break your fast with cake at last.
Dawn was meant for stimulants,
a rush as rare as common sense.

Here’s your toasted wake up host,
Host of the Cosmic Toast,
a morning man with half a plan
the other half he jams.

The Coffee Guru lead the lad
on a bachelor’s magic carpet pad.
A poke at folly delusions,
and fakes and fools and fads.

Awake the dormant nature
that perpetrates the clouds,
it wets the individual,
and pours upon the crowd.

Goons and geeks and sidewalk freaks
with way too much to think.
Topics ‘tween the temples,
a caravan of café drinks.

It’s part of the solo initiative,
a dart may follow but miss a hit,
You can’t place us at the plate,
cuz the table in non-locatable.

Let the coffee spout,
that’s what it’s about.
It wakes the roving loner
frothing at the mouth.

People don’t get down,
they stand on popular ground.
Here we offer substance
to help the thinkers out.

If that doesn’t work,
forget coffee and try cacophony.

Fixtures at a table,
mixing up a fable.
Café patrons drink the juice,
it makes their lips feel loose.

They lack the biomonotony
of living repetition,
tedious boardroom tendencies
of philanthropy and pity.

They’re not metropolistic,
they’re very deep in thought.
Free of all the busy work
the lingering can think.

Actions and attractions,
developing distractions.
Sometimes inactivity
is the smartest form of action.

Great ideas, crazy thoughts,
café couples all but subtle.
Every charged particle
is a free radical at large.

We’re sitting down with sin
cuz it’s taking up a seat.
After a long vacation
it’s back to the color of cream.

Once the coffee flows,
the winds of change will blow.
From the café comes the prophet,
on glamo he will go.

The darker the coffee, the deeper the thought,
what hath inspiration wrought?
A locker room philosopher
with all the trappings off.

In the bone white shade of the cream café
on the old fake ancient way,
I rest my case for sameness,
the future is a steak.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I pose to the long line of creation before me.
Do I have to axe myself to leave?
I won’t be a warlord, if you won’t be a whore.
You can take the men to the mayhem,
but you can hardly afford to pay them.
Large armies marching to the cadence of a million mercenaries.
Talk about taking a big trip.

The singular mind is outside the loop of nations.
A center piece and an off center piece.
In distraction I conjecture.
A treasure is a gift.
Creative swell that surges up to make symbolic acts of fate.
Build a tower, that’s your power.
Play with that which you partake.

The untopable figures, pillars of community.
If it’s gonna be an ark, then it’s got to be a float.
The seed, the code, the one man show,
damn the tomatoes, let’s hit the road.
A cold frost damages the growing tip and stimulates flowering,
causing spectacular branching.

The death of an idea.
When something dies and goes away a great idea hits the ground.
It drops and breaks, it ain’t no more.
Never will it run it’s course.
Until you hear the crack, no shedding of the skin.
The crisis of ecdysis, the glory is within.

The death of an idea,
don’t expect your money back.
It’s ok to let it go,
save it for the next attack.

The caterpillar of the community
expands until it outgrows it’s own skin.
Assuming a stance of calculated vulnerability,
the skin splits and a more advanced
larger skinned caterpillar emerges
from the discontent of it’s own limitations.

We are shedding our skin, ecdysis.
Wait for the crack.
Until you hear the snap,
there will be no shedding of the skin.

The crisis of ecdysis,
crack, crevice, and crash.
Growth proceeds until crisis
creates an opening for change.
There is no other way.

On some branch, somewhere,
if he were us he might ask
“Why me?”
later he might think,
“What a coincidence,
that crisis created the opportunity for my new life.”
The rational connection between the
need to change, the crisis, and
the change are self induced by
our own expectation for meaning.

Growth causes the crisis.
If we survive we’ll be blessed
with a renewed configuration.

The solar sailor was born
so as not to block the sun.
On an otherwise sunny day
you get up again,
and you’re better then you were.

In a moment of brilliance
in an otherwise darkened hour,
the sun is coming up
like a filament of delight.
A new emerging art group
metamorphosized in form.
All this country needs
is a little mouth to mouth.

That’s me… projecting my theories on the universe.
Then I turn it into entertainment.

What about the asteroid belt?
A clan of habitually reoccurring near earth orbiters.
Orbitual irregularities of
rock, ice, and dubious intent.
Not to mention impact.

Meet Punchy the chic,
raised from the white trash of
the American Dream Landscape.
Punchy will slowly punch the next asteroid
that threatens to jerk us around.
It’s not just the impulse, but the thrust
that will save the planet from our own smithereens.

We’ll make a balloon payment to
launch our new season,
that finds Punchy floating to the dangerous body.

“I’ll give that asteroid a belt.”
says Punchy.

It sure made a compression on him,
and he didn’t even know it was coming.
It’s what you don’t know
that’s going to save you.
Don’t be sure, be suseptable.
Day after day, it’s a new day.
The same old unexpected thing.

The type of ark is an archetype,
relics shared by politics.
A stork in a basket
under the gases of the birthing turtle.
Deliver the baby and taketh away,
the birth of emergence, day after day.

The lung descended balloon like
following the gas laws.
The little mixer was inputless
no noise could Punchy procreate.

Little Billy Zygote
was grazing in the grass.
While over in the birth canal
the tent attendant passed.
These are holy relics
things that we’ve disposed of.
What we see is on T.V.
Now let’s wait for the economy.

Why should this form of intellect
be limited to people’s weekend evenings.
We’re ready to leave this joint.
Everyone’s strapped into their search engines.
What are they searching for?
What are they not getting?
The signal,
the source,
or the ability to receive?
Take your face from the intake.
Grow away from the seed.
A vast and steady force
the signal and the source.
The ark is in a critical place,
and that’s Noah… counting for taste.

Take the road on the show,
put the show on the boat.
The big stem is the one that grows
to the maximum potential for growth.

I web cast the net
to the sea it clearly
as a means of dissemination.
People come to worship,
that they worship something else.
We send them to the asteroid
and give them each a belt.

The only one who’s the only one is you,
the source.
But you don’t have to be alone,
the signal.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Major Crisis!
Major Crisis!
Calling
Major Crisis!

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Be of the now.
Now of the be.

Be not that I am whoring my wares
or drunk with zeal on Super Trike.

For christ sake forgive him.
For he is Organo Christsake,
preacher from the Black Lagoon.

The world is a stage I shall not want.
It leadeth me into temptation
of the crazy explanation.

Mothers mourn what’s worn is torn
her little big horn born for porn.
Adorning many ears of corn
the ornamental thorn of scorn.

What death employs in my homely Alliance
is the life support Crown of Annoyance.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

At ease men. I am Major Crisis,
and this is Private Poof Mundane.
Le Poof Chauffeur. Dragster Mundane.
Who brought the bomb in here?

(Four tracks of denial)

I can see the future in this thing!
This is not just a bomb.
This is a crystal ball.

It’s a crystal bomb!

That’s right.

Well what do you see?

I don’t know. Everything keeps moving around.

Well turn it off.

Now I can’t see the future.

Say what?!

When the bomb is on, the future is crystal clear.
When the bomb is off, it’s just a globe of wire implements
supported by an old rotisserie..
As I see it, understanding the present is a past exercise
of predicting the future and since the present is hired from
the future and retired to the past, the past is just a
second hand future. So that understanding the past is a
delayed understanding of the future and therefore the future
is a hasty look at the past.

That’s correct.

But the present is all we really know
for it is the experience.
The rest is all speculation.
Past is a memory of what happened.
Future is a memory of what happened
if we were ahead of the future.

Wait. How’d we get ahead of the future.

We get ahead of the future by assuming
that things will continue.
That’s why I can only see the future while the crystal bomb
continues to operate. Once you break the continuity of the
continuing situation you explode
the conveyor belt of assumption
that gives you free ride past the future for a memory of a
past expectation of the future.

What your saying is that the world
won’t stop for explanations.

What I’m saying is I better get this bomb out of here.
It’s making a lot of people nervous.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

There’s a church of chimney consciousness
for anxiety and hope.
Hope is what the healers need,
but what does anxious mean.

A distortion of consciousness anticipating actions
of the unconscious mind in fear.
Symbols accumulate like gems of chakra blocks
vibrating around the clock of the soul.
A break in the action between areas
and polarities of the brain that leads
to susceptibilities that succumb to the shoot.

Make the mandala and
burn it in the candle form.
To start again you have to blow out the candle
and proceed from darkness.

How do you bust through a blocked chakra?
Like a rapid in a river of debris,
build up a head of steam,
and shoot the chakra.

The archer in the arc aims his epiphany
by the radius of his bubble boy block.
Wearing the hat of one of Santa’s helpers,
God descends the cupid shoot like
flame down a wick of your favorite burning mandala.
Fight the heroics and hope.
The flicker of flame will flow like a fall,
shoot the chakra, once and for all.

With a simple wave of the spine,
the breath expands the blood,
the blood excites the brain,
the brain empowers the body.
Down the back and
off the tip of the iceberg.
What does anxious mean?
Anticipation.

It takes a lifetime of anticipation
to ascend the tower of unconsciousness,
one foot hold of fear at a time.
Praise the burning candlestick down
for the sanctuary of anxious thanks.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Put your smile on the beveled isle,
and sin the wicked grin awhile.
Survival spells retaliate
for those who wish to wait.

Whipping post of the whipper.
Take karma for what you grow.
If a sinner owes the favor,
a sinner pays the price.

Sin a sin for you,
but you haven’t sinned for me.
Evil sinner go away
with your whip addicted things to say.

Dance you evil sinner.
Talking feminine, speaking male.
I see you in my puddle,
when I piss and miss the pail.

Mistakenly taken vanity
is not the sinners modesty.
When all neglected votes are in,
the sinner is the sin.

Put your smile on the beveled isle,
and sin the wicked grin awhile.
Survival spells retaliate
for those who wish to wait.

Trivial as the turrets turn,
who jive to stay alive,
till never a humanoid is left,
compliments of the chef.

Good is what we’d like to be,
but bad is what we are.
When sinners lose the ball,
sinners dispute the call.

Destructive traits, our new found faith.
Facts don’t mean a thing.
Score is high, attendance low.
Where did all the winners go?
238/2/2

Culprit tanks of crudeliness,
cue my righteousness for gas.
And the traffic opened up
for the poets bike to pass.

Put your smile on the beveled isle,
and sin the wicked grin awhile.
Survival spells retaliate
for those who wish to wait.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Liberty Hangaduck hung a duck.
Exploded on her head.
Does liberty mean consume to extreme.
Liberty Hangaduck hung a duck.

Scare crow to an idiot.
Boobs and broken tubes.
A famous boob had lost his tube
cause he did Vegas fat.

Nothing original there.

So the duck fell like a box of rocks.
You gain the strength of those you lose.
Watching the duck.
You need a box of rocks to watch the duck.
Watching the duck is a miconic event for the entire family.

Aspirin stops the spasm.
Propaganda confrontation.
Lot’s of fun.

Liberty Hangaduck hung a duck.
Exploded on her head.
Does liberty mean consume to extreme.
Liberty Hangaduck hung a duck.

Let’s just watch the duck.
Let’s create a feel good situation.
Let’s get our rocks off on a good box of rocks.
When you get there.
You can’t see where you were.
When the horse fly stops.
Danger lands.
Nobody humiliates my boy.
Lot’s of fun.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Honor them, and bury them.
Offer them an honorarium.
Like life support systems that glow in the dark,
show me a park with a lake and a stream,
and I’ll show you a carcass
at home in the darkness.
Quadra mode models of Hear the Wind Blow.
Instrumentation of all that we know.

Hear the wind blow, dear.
Hear the wind blow.
Hang your head over.
Hang your head low.
Hang your head over.
Hang your head low.
Hear the wind blow, dear.
Hear the wind blow.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I’m an infantile bunny.
Ain’t I just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.
Here’s a song about the mommy and daddy
of everybody and how they live together
here on Earth.

Man had a date with mother nature.
Manly things took shape.
What he was calling peace on Earth
she was calling date rape.

Create, re-create
and recreate. Ye ha!
He stands dumb at the tumbling crack
while she lays on her back.

Horny dogs make lobby Gods
to sniff the same old line,
That it’s OK to rape your mother
everything is fine.

Man would say he loved our mother
but he was off his rocker.
Every time she turned her back
he would try to sock her.

We would have to sit and watch
as daddy humped his self esteem.
How could such a beautiful thing
be made to look obscene.

Horny dogs make lobby Gods
to sniff the same old line,
that it’s OK to rape your mother
everything is fine.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Sometimes it awaits you,
Sometimes it escapes you.
A stick, a hand, a mixed up man
harks from his debarkment.

Wack me out a place in time,
a date without a dogma
Opt for commonality,
and drop the big to do.

Whole American picnic rolls,
roads of rubber chuck holes.
Super model citizens
everywhere we go.

Man tormented must be seen,
the life he knows is over.
Smallest little firecracker
sputters into space.

Tow the man at his expense,
drag him thru his own regret,
have the man demanded of,
etched upon his face.

Blanks are not from my affection,
safety starts on top.
Take your God and run,
down to the rod and gun.

A title is a vital role,
carve me out a lower hole.
I remember awful days
when nothing left was not to say.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Blessed be him for bringing up sin,
and turning it into the spin that it’s been.
Sin is a road ridden by sinners,
leading the hidden to heed.

Correctly cast in yonder path
out front of Dear Reiny’s way.
A stunt of never lasting joy,
perplexing to the vexing point.

But whose perplexity is pure,
when sexuality’s unsure?
Culprit pulpit, sanctuary,
what the heck’s with sex?

Talk about abuses,
let’s talk about excuses.
Santa makes the claim,
Satan takes the blame.

When sin walks in, doubt walks out,
at the cross of each others path.
Make no rent with no regret.
Why pay someone else’s debt?

Dear Reiny navigates ahead
on a pledge she’s made to Santa’s sled.
Satan gets a lift from her.
Santa’s got a gift for her.

Gallantly dash to the top of the class,
a class that only she could pass.
Ain’t never been no cross to bare
that she can’t bare to cross.

Satan’s Dear Reiny follows the rain,
behavior that’s good for the neighborhood.
S butts in with sinister.
Just bumped into the minister.

Eat for the rain and she will appear,
ate by the fat caboose.
He’ll probably call her dear,
but he’s really thinking moose.
310/2/3

Satan’s work continues
as long as sins survive.
Better to die by the bowl
than to stay alive by bull.

Bless the lard, for it is hard at room temperature.
A man with no commitment
maketh us commandments.

No one hangs up purposely,
who hangs above their toes.
Grand assumptions calling.
No one hangs who goes.

A prototypical caste
from an early dated mold.
Once the concrete hardens,
the purpose of the form is old.

Believe in that which you are part of,
be not failed by words again.
Caught in a trap without debate.
Does that reflect a confidence in fate?

Change is only a constant
of moments constantly instant.
Capturing one’s a belief in one,
a logic lost on everyone.

But words that make a movement,
leave footprints in the pavement.
Tell me what you want to hear,
and tell me if you get it.

Intellect wants to save its ass
through logical forms of employment.
Intellect is a false god.
Nature has its own job.

The scoop on the dwindling rains
is full of god dampened facts.
The devil is lurching the dog for a walk
back in Dear Reiny’s tracks.

Sergeant Clause does surf a worthy
cause.
The goal of every wave is
a ho ho ho hello.

Once the daylight’s dawned on you,
values glow chromatic.
The more the eyes nocturnalize,
the better to see the sunrise.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

A man was trapped in a tile of guy,
deprived of the sky, far eyed for you.
About 9am he feels the suns pull,
stumbles upon each remaining wall,
three falling stars does not maketh a shower.
Jesus Flakes and Glee Pop Chowder.
Don’t try to beat a dead horse to the ground,
how could he be such a stupid fool.
When making meals from plants, you boil it.
In hindsight, he should have gone for the toilet.

I had wondered whether my father, living in a wheelchair,
was not really ahead of his time.
Maybe we are all becoming vegetables.
Cowboys falling off horses
like thunderbirds hitting the grandstands.
Somewhere between Haight Ashbury and I hate everybody,
I remember thinking; I cannot Gerald afford this anymore.
They must know they are wasting everybody’s time.

The impulse of the uninstinctive,
uttered speeds of the unimpeded.
A reckless rash of swifter smarts
from artless wades through shallow parts.
While the lotus goes unnoticed,
consider vision unattended.

Larval capabilities,
infant possibilities.
After 100 years he was the head of insecurities.
As mentioned in Carlotta’s card,
a helmet is a hat that’s hard.
Stupered straight, buckster type.
Stripes, hype, water pipes.

Peter, Paul, and Mary’s all,
but all without a peter.
A happy respirator later
receive another sucker.
Not your collapsible steady,
wouldn’t say yea to that.
See the many cultures
deep in my agar vat.

I’ll be leading you astray
down many a curious pathway.
The Forward Rolling Anglo
just keeps on rolling along.

Too much to say, too much to do.
Everyone’s plans are smaller than mine.
Keep my packages out of sight.
I’m too white for Tucson tonight.

With me and he it’s insect like,
hexapodal look-a-likes.
Defender of the shield,
expertise without a field.
Makes out body resonate
with no good reason not to.
A radio set that, yea you bet,
has no speaker to speak of.

No compresse. How you say
If you want a better way, you better get away.
We were all sent here for a very special mission.
Comedy routines with sober scenes..
Up the pavement to the pondering
pickle heads we go.

A one man ad for the other side.
Red Chinese dictator, Mouth Full of Tongue,
a college of knowledge straight from the lung.
No excuse for Big Inch the Moose.

Mat rather than Dan Bevel,
live at buzz’s phase out.
Fall on sand with hand on ball,
on the bank of commercial lending.
Our justified grin is what you’re into.
So, go ahead and take a hit,
if you’re taking chances at a bad hit.
When batteries contain a stream of thanks,
what a joy to charge the banks.
Need a load? You can get alone
by the banks of any secluded branch.
Not a fish I fail to miss,
for the fish that I have waited.

Were it fair to say,
my line has been abated.

I negotiate for hours
with pig heads of the horses ass.
Three mules as the escrow flies,
two mules live, and the other one dies.
I looked engaged upon the brook,
by the creek I seek to marry crook.
With wedding books the wretched sign,
I took the bride of Frankenstein.
No tug my drudging memory harbors.
Dredging speeds the mystery sub.

A thin sheet of plastic is stopping those rats,
and it won’t take long to gnaw through that.
What’s in it for them? A big loaf of bread.
Once he’s through he’ll chew you too.

Look! It’s dad,
dying outside the living room window.
Propped in potato padding,
he hasn’t but a leg to Afghani stand on.
I guess he’s going to be with us now.
His presence presents a needed lift.
Attach a string to every gift.

The whole think is forever never.
New world tolerance excludes group ninnies.
Take your ejacumate of late,
your friend of phantom sex, and beat it.

The damsel dog will have its day,
pooched on top of the world.
Maiden mutts will take their turn.
Tycoon bitch with bones to burn.

What genius wouldn’t be an idiot?

Quiet please.
We are receiving signals from the Earth Observer.
As you know, the mission of the Earth Observer
is to orbit the planet Earth,
at the low critical altitude of five and a half feet,
while analyzing attitudes of the social climate.
Strictly state of the art of the state.

The Earth Observer’s great success
is a product of the process.
It’s intended use as art object,
lends legitimacy to the lift off,
as a service sector spin-off.
Now there’s a clever get up.
How great thou art is.

Tail of me feather, don’t fail me weather.
unbalanced as an old man on a slippery sidewalk,
in the event of an earthquake.

I had a lollipop in my cheek that said sucker,
and a stomach full of Jesus Flakes.
Perfect recipe for vegetable sacrifice.
Crucifixition quick stuff.
He choked on the dough and suffered insurmountable suffering.
sucking on a pipe of dirt.
An assortment of favorite products.
This is a stickup, shove ‘em under.
I be fixin’ my chixin’ for Nixon,
he’s my pixon.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Lifeline to the love force,
the he and she duet.
Sailing to derailment like
the sun that’s gonna set.

Momentus is the train and
the station still remains.
Derailment reincarnates as
the pieces rearrange.

Fuel to feed the engine,
power drives the train.
He’s the engine, she’s the fuel,
that’s the story not the rule.

A really wheely barrel in
a previous life she was.
Now she plays the wife
to the stationary bike.

‘Tween the company employees
is the darkness yet released.
The culprits in the lap of
the one who holds the beam.

There at last the push will come
and wake it’s dustful passing.
Darkness as the train appears
rises as a puppeteer.

When matter and the meaning marry
metaphor proceeds.
Trains will roll on wheels of will
and loves another hill.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Cupid hit Achilles heel
right between my teeth.
Again we find the enemy
engaging us in speech.

The fog comes in like I go out
on wheels that spin the cotton cloud.
The bulls eye opens wide,
the arrow goes inside.

Go ahead and dig a hole,
I’ll be down there soon.
I see life completely from
another point of view.

Pry away the fallible,
weakness to the rescue.
The best of what they don’t expect,
the worst of what they do.

Patience of relationships
accentuates the break up.
Deploring all my change for you
makes old stagnation new.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

He really came to see me.
Some come not in mauve.
A good man from another time.
Disciple of the bomb.

World of pentagons. Digital warehouse.
Mechanical Icon of meaning.
We made a pretty one, number four.
Body guards to the rescue.

On the phone with headquarters.
Army to civilian.
Let’s put it back together boys
in a way we can understand.

How many stand to face the mark
with heads out of the window?
Bodies, bombs and buckets do.
Body guards to the rescue.

Fantankia Stealth. Buck full of wealth.
Lay down a one one one.
The mauve is bomb. The bomb is mauve.
Disciple of the bomb.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I ride this obsession
like a surfer on a rippled quirk.
Vodka belching from my gut
in a restless twitch of resolve.
Displacement is the foundation of erratic behavior.
A disruption in the energy field.
Still it wants to go together.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Attention passengers.
This is the final call for flight dumbo dumbo
with continuing service to Moron City, Stupidville,
Dumburg, Yahoo and Phoenix now leaving from gate bozo.

Passengers who have their tickets,
face your partner, here we go.

Metal detectors one by one,
show your bag but not your gun.

Travel light, enjoy your flight.
Fly all day. Fly all night.

Grab your suitcase with your hand,
take your kids to Disneyland.

One more thing before you board,
kiss your wife and praise the Lord.

Doe se doe stop that talkin’.
Miss this plane and you’ll be walkin’.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Let the monkey down.

No!

Why won’t you let the monkey down.

I will never lower my monkey to someone elses standard.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Two lock lock lock. Two lock lock lock.
Punt and pelican. Can you say torque?
Disposable income. Screw the cork.
Easy income. Easy loss.
Figure it out calculus man.
When the civilized gets the animal. Get it?
Educated but dumb.
Does anyone get it? Does anyone get it?
Don’t remove the stimulus.
Don’t remove the stimulus.

Shoes of hemp. Can’a piss.
Vote reality.
Pigeon vision jealousy.
Partaking in imbiberies.
Maybe you should wear that. Maybe you should.
Got a tough to hoe and a road to run.
I don’t know what I am but I know what they are not.
Don’t remove the stimulus.
Don’t remove the stimulus.

Two lock lock lock. Two lock lock lock.
Just a pile of junk?
Holy fools break the rules.
Could never get around’em. Could never get away.
Haven’t stepped toe out of this foot all day.
We don’t have to say a thing.
Cage condo bonzo. Does anyone get it?
Don’t remove the stimulus.
Don’t remove the stimulus.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Bevel Expressed we come to be,
past the bricks by a sundering thrust.
Ark did pierce the chamber’s gloom,
marooned in a dingy room.

An opened inlet crack.
Earth goes whack subside the head.
Dangling down in damn disaster.
Tight, like a digit in a dike.

Maybe I’ll out last her.
Maybe I should take a hike.
Maybe I am dead,
and this is what it’s like.

Dug out a hut to dig on a hit,
to sit my no buts about it.
Down to the tip of my temporary gig.
Get me a cigarette.

Emission control, reporting slow growth,
except for the one in my gut.
Shy of any clearance.
Vast a spasm of difference.

Smile, it’s time for the show.
Up to my waist in H20.
Had I but known what now I know.
Down the tubes we go.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Friction’s your friend and friction’s your foe, and freedom is not so dumb if it’s free. Make your senses aware, aware can your senses be.

It takes a well adjusted gesturalist to change an implement, but it takes all the ingenuity of a fine art dynasty to implement the change. At the Mat Bevel Company, we mobilize the object as a particle of faith. By constituting a force worth asking a task for, we’re instituting a task force worth asking for.

And that’s what technotainment was meant to attain. Kits of catapulted retreads farther along than this. To those who see thru to it, a venture in full capacity grasp is a firm with a handy grip.

The time at hand is the medium in reach as more dimensions teach us. A stance that lasts as long as a glance is only a look away.

Select a fittest fate of eyes to watch our mutual egos by.
Collect a gift of gate as briskly made as you can visualize.
Pick some fresh redundancy by dignity of its means.
Ponder the way to wander away on a drama crusade with me.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I was sitting below interstate eight. At one time I would
be dead now. There’s a mighty bird over there on the mud
flats, though, nature barely occurs to me. It’s the can of
Vegetarian Beans. If you have to talk about reasons, then
you have to talk about opposing reasons. For every no, there
must be a yes. I know what’s going on and I don’t know
what’s going on. But what else can I do?

A return gesture of good faith and the good sense you
were born with. Redependability upon our brothers and
sisters, to follow forth and redefine a judgement statement
in a Lord which hath within given all that is without,
that holds true. Basis of love, basis of fact, basis of
fiction, basis of anger. The way we speak to ourselves
and go forth in the manner that we do. Become there, and
for within, as there is, for in which there is. For there
is one, which for in with, that he who comes there, goes
opposite in thyself.

Time becomes engulfed in a tragedy. A coordinate system
based on you and me. Perspectives well taken. Initial
standards reflecting a primary situation. In hindsight,
a relapse was occurring. Something’s got to be done.
What do we do? What do we do?

Nor was Thrift Shop buying that Dolly Madison Cake Story.
Crash riding nowhere thru steel wheels and smoke screens,
he’s learning to wonder and to marvel. But it’s the same
burned bike. The easier errors may be corrected, the more
errors will be made.

So happy morning sunshine to you by the pool. My name is
Thrift Shop. You must be Dolly Madison Cake. You’re a
living legend.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

While the Fine Fellow mellow
plays a mood in chair-o-cello,
Fellow and the little
do 180 on the Eve.

My instrument hangs where the fellows go
but not to those on twinkle toes.
Tempted by thy gazing heavens
which gravity’s tender thoughts deny.

I looked down and noticed a familiar stranger.
Everyone I saw all day was a stranger.
It felt so good.
Those are the ones I know for sure.

I am concerned that I have been burned,
another small lesson I forgot and relearned.

They would say,
replace that horrible habit
with another horrible habit.
Try the Drone Method.

A tangled mass of oblique inclination
penetrates the surrounding bush,
arousing much delight in the neighborhood.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Time for my favorite show,
the only show that’s on,
Americana Duck.

Every comedian knows about bombing,
because humor is humility,
and face it…
duck humor fits the bill.

When the bombing begins,
I wanna’ duck.
Bombs are a boom in my business.
When I think about what’s between me and my audience
I realize…it could be curtains.
So let’s tune in the duck.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

We think we can get into people’s homes.
Well, you won’t find me looking at a song.
Everyone needs something to take home.
Subsidize your subtleties.
You’ve got to get a handle on the duck.

Mat Bevel Company presents
the mechanico poetic opera
AMERICANA DUCK.
Diary of a kineticist.

Maybe the truth is what you believe
since the only validity is time.
So get a handle on the duck.
Like the duck she flung before it hung
and landed in the clover.
A day is long.
The time is short.
It’s incredible,
then it’s over.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Duck war. Duck war.
As with all things associated with gas.
It will pass.

Some Joe tiddledywink ya hoo tee pee flag earth bully
calling up with suck a lame business.
Exit one one one. Let’s have the sun.
Glitter, golf and giftware.

Watch the flag blow, early dust storm.
Highway feels like a landing plane.
Squeeze some plastic lemon on your head.
Dis is dee land I walk-y-pon.

Don’t do that. The custodian will get it.
There ain’t no wheel in a rainbow.
A day is a long time in a chicano john
for a contemporary southwest generic.

Little Brat and Brat.
They know about harassment.
Cranes and trains and shopping carts.
Men with broken hearts.

From jail he comes victorious
to the banks of the shallow cave.
New perilous creature makes the plunge
like pee off an empty bridge.

Eat your bean on the big machine.
Going down the road being bad.
Nature’s workshop will provide you with
the happiness to make you sad.

Go when I start and stop when I end.
When is friction your friend.
Battery capacity alone will do it.
Spontaneous intelligence will not.

Like the duck she flung before it hung
and landed in the clover.
A day is long. The time is short.
It’s incredible. Then it’s over.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Ok!
This meeting will now come to order.
Excuse my very stiff,
overly choreographed,
gestural econo-trends.
But I get very nervous climbing ladders.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I am “Eduardo Sproketchini”, inventor of the “Sproketchini Flying Machini” !

Sproketchini, Sproketchini, Sproketchini! …but enough about me…what about…
the machini? Sexy. Lovely. Perfecto.

What is getting you down, my dear?   Gravity!? Gravity is no problemo for me.
I, the great Sproketchini, make the gravity work for me.

They said it could not be done.
That I would never leave the ground.
That I was living in a dream world…somewhere “off base”… closer to “cloud nine”.
Hm…Well…do not wake me up to speak to me the reality. LET ME SLEEP!
I am “Eduardo Sproketchini”, inventor of the “Sproketchini Flying Machini” !

I feel a change in cabin pressure…or is that cabin fever…hmmm…
I do not know…maybe it is true. I am cooped up in the laboratory all the time.
It is all my research…to find the right motion to give me the flight.
You know…the motion…Ha! Ha!

But remember…it is not just the motion…it is the movement.
Ha! Would you like to join? It’s a revolution! Let’s get revolved!

I’m crazy! I’m ridiculous! I’m in love! I am the great “Eduardo Sproketchini”,
inventor of the “Sproketchini Flying Machini” !

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Sometimes when I’m not up to being the general, my wife and I go to Ego Village. You can not realize your self apart from the whole, though you can individuate as a physical being. Knowing where those thoughts fit into your day, that’s the trick. But here’s the ego’s dirty secret, our needs are so similar as to be identical.

In Ego Village, life is about wanting. Wanting is story telling to fluff self image, because inquiring minds want to know. As the oceans turn to jell-o we ask, what’s on TV? It depends who’s watching. You might think your watching me, but I’m the camera man for you. So who’s in front of who.

Through portals of crude apperature, I look to harness the self inflicted harm of science, art, and industry. Let’s try to remember the last time we got that far. According to the records, this thing’s gone far enough. Swimming in a current of events, animal movement is actually a response to the planetary creature. When you let people make your bed they feel like they can dress you.

At Ego Village we do decoupage. My whole garage is decoupage. This garage is the hanger for my reflective plane. There are tunnels that take you from the garage to just about everywhere. Everywhere and every plane. And every plane has a decoupage garage, which is plain weird. But it’s good for the ego, which is why it’s big down at Ego Village.

Have you made the gradient today. Posture is a paralyzing fear. If these statues are ever going to amuse the masses, we’re going to have to get them out of the air conditioned cubicles of the lab and into the hot humid reality of the field. So turn off your nuclear slide show and let’s crank up the kinetics. Civilization, like yogurt, contains live and active cultures.

This is General Belief System Technology Project Expert, Mat Bevel, transmitting from an undisclosed location. Now I’m going to go out and check the gradients.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I, like the mutt, embarking on the ark,
nurse my hardships with a beveled wedge of chocolate pie.
Part of the no-tech elite
who use their own dexterities
of what one must, and in one’s trust,
to take advantage of the skillfully illiterate
designer quilt revoltatrons,
whose actions are part of and tended by
the all predictable volt.

Terminal, you’re at it for life,
the husband might attack the wife,
with lips so chapped from kissing ass
that caressing is embarrassed.
Naked and blushing,
I am bare assed myself.

When your partner wakes to the morning pastor,
watch how they fall asleep.
Which rhymes knee high in the depth of deep.
My stroke is coming faster.
I apply myself in place of plaster.
Dry not, but with no master.

Not just any Bisway, U.S.A.
Traditional blasphemy all the way.
Crude eluded cyber dudes
battle in the suit of cattle.
So, why entrust the patio
to the level of the enemy.

The flood has wet the underwear
of Goldy White and the seven bears.
They say I have a pretty good stroke,
but my father had a really good stroke.

Continue sending dollars,
to pay for broken cameras.
So I can throw the camera down
without the fear of damage.

The view of Earth from outer space
is the great success of our own mistake.
I stare from there, I hear what’s here,
’cause I work with found objectives.

Standing snot nosed high and dry
and wondering how I do so.
Never seen a marine so dark.
Even presidents come from Ark.

Salute the sea with a choppy wave,
display that company image.
Art that falls apart at sea,
is nothing but debris.

Be thankful for a pot to pee in,
as clientele to go to hell for.
They’re German and they’re just like you,
you’re a pee-on.

Send me in Cochise, I want to play,
the reservoir has over flown.
The canopy of castaways
fails to hold it’s own.

Woe to those who shot my yacht,
I’ll paraquat my own pot.
At the mercy of myself,
the one they all forgot.

What starts with conclusion, ends with dilemma,
with nothing in between.
If you’re smart enough to know,
your smart enough to watch my show.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Urgent Stress…Urgent Stress…
Emergency Panic Alert.

It’s a crisis emergency urgency agency
for urgency of the agency for crisis emergency,
thru urging the urgency of an emergency agency
for crisis and panic of emergency urgency.

Personal Panic Protection.
Just look for the rotating auxiliary axis,
the emergency urgency stress code of crisis.

Important Normalized Emergency Protection Technology
expert Mat Bevel explains: Emergency Panic Services.

Boo Hoo…

Ah..What’s the matter with you.

A foul breath of failure precedes my expectations
for successful operation here on in.

Oh, hurly burly hullabaloo,
try this fit in another shoe.
Opposing mindsets of what is fair.
Sailors on deck, all hands in the air.
Important crisis.
Hopeless dices.
Just an inch from a nasty pinch.
With hysteria there,
the trigger of despair,
a flustered man is unaware.

Wait…Let me think.

Decoding important data information
and basic selection thru choice guidelines.
And remember.
Many tales of good fortune lay in reach while
searching for other fortunes.
Look for nothing and you will see everything.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Many sinners a stray.
Many organs to play.
Many dutiful days.
Many others will pray.

And he died a swift death
like the end of a tape.
In the dark he wore the organ cape.
The master makes a record deal
which giveth us the empty reel.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Simple Science says:
Even though the ferry sank,
I laughed all the way to the bank.
Ha! Ha!

Simple Science says:
Technobiotic peasants!
Lords of Digitronics!
The king has declared a state of murphy’s
law throughout the kingdom.

His master’s voice has not been spotted
or has it just not been a spot…
or not?
A handful of people does not maketh one feel
worthy.

A muscle pull from crap de bull
and a cramp in the other camp.
If there was a net we’d be playing cow.
That’s how big it is.

Concepts fail but sisters won’t.
Meet Hooya Do and Hooya Don’t.
Whenever sister Hooya Don’t do,
Hooya Do do too.

Simple Science says:
Video ants and leaning things.
Geneatoids with metal wings.
Me oh my oh, send a bio.
Science of the earthlings.

What if heaven show’s it’s face
to thunder clap the global case.
Footnote of our lives to boot
to make it clear why we are here.

Excuse us for the mess,
extensive testing and the pain.
Thank you for the time
and all the efforts that remain.

This has been a research grant
from God to study greed.
The job is done, hope it was fun.
Thanks, that’s all we need.

The END OF THE WORLD

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

In the previous epic to episode,
lucky as you are to recall,
we had Private Mike Banger
soloing out of control,
in a grueling two hour demotainment
step-backular.

The war of smarts, of sorts, was won
with 18 feet of machine gun.
A machine so listerine clean,
shot clear to the mass mutineer.

The big blue Thought Launcher blow up bike,
offers 360‘ of turreted staunch support.
That’s omni-directional, Mike!

A yacht of fun on the sea the blue ocean
____ ____ in cranial motion,
while trying to explain a refrain yourself please,
____ to me, ____ the one who was
left a victim ___ when war was
waged with fluff-in-buff,
the key unlocks of golden stuff,
succumbing to the gravity
of the girl that sleeps beneath me.
And to make what matters worse,
the heads of hair emerse
in flocks of locks adorning,
will you love me in the morning.

Pat yourself well on the butt,
and kiss your tofutti good-bye.
Dysfunctional America, hallelujah,
how the hell do ya’ do ya’?

Does anyone care if I eat the last pear?
Fruit? No! Those are vegetables there.
Never blue clue that didn’t voice choice,
who didn’t eat rice and drive a Rolls Royce.

But how shall I take it?
Inject.
Force feed with a T.V.I.V.
Fresh we pipe it, yes siree,
the City Hallucinatory Authority.
Let us fill-full your destiny
with stamp impeded mutiny.

Well sir, Mr. Wellsire,
the fortress health is wanting,
looms largely in your waiting.
It’s the wall that makes the castle thick,
it’s the music that makes you sick.

Torture chamber music’s hell,
spirituals make you well.
Wow, what a remedy!
When I take the melody I get high fidelity.

The procedure, though inept,
elucidates a concept,
that sails along the song traveling
tactically to target.

Though we guarantee the tune,
some parachutes are still intact
after the fact of impact.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

To get no place and watch the place go by.
Time is running out.
Now with the normalization of exhilaration,
they’ve got the weapon of choice.
Deciphering the old stories I come up with nothing.
NOTHING!
Well, it happened again.
I was hit in the head with a dead plant.
I’m stomped in the ground.
I’m stomped!
I see the lines of choice.
Escape is the only escape.
Many have died unfulfilled.
I always knew I’d come out behind.
But I never thought I’d have to,
ESCAPE FROM NOTHING!

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Every blessing is a curse.
Think of people as plants.
They come around at a plants pace.
After all this they still wrap themselves up
in the same stunned security of grief.

Touch me then make me weak.
I’ll just pick something up dear.
Grief that comes around,
goes around.

Hey! Give me that lounge chair.
If you want something go hide.
The pig face down is you.
I’m talking babes boobs and ballgames!
And you’re talking flip turns!
What next?

All things we know
have a built in clutch,
so they don’t strip gears
when they get too much.
Mother natures
Vous ette mon pet peevette.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Cobwebs over the sign reads
crooked spine does dirty deeds.
Tales about the wieners go,
all night cripple traveling show.
Ants bump heads so we learn from machines,
funny business full’a silly scenes.
Multi aspirational creed.
Multiple aspirations indeed.
Rub that nose in the dirt. Repeat!
Rub that nose in the dirt.
There’s nothing else like it,
it’s the same old thing.
Mr. Fuselage, plebeians plea,
T U V W X Y Z.
I’m going to make you proud of me,
losing strength of diversity.
Once you see where the people lie,
rules do too, they don’t apply.
It’s not a choice, it’s a militant voice.
Greatness beaten by little clubs.
Evolutionary Twist.
Hell with you then carry this.
Devil worship. Jesus Christ.
Who’s looking up to the guys we despise?

Table fables flow below
the hedge I split with drip edge.
Remove the fit, remove the miss,
remove the fits of misfits.
A bread winner loser lived in the house
of a family obsessed with time.
If you wonder why the open fly,
the guys got ants in the pants.
Would you like to go on the floor anymore
to snore anymore on the floor anymore?
Would you like to go on the floor anymore
to snore anymore on the floor?
Evolution is the voice
of incremental choice.
The glory up above
is the velocity, there of.
Slow explosions, inquisitions.
Cyclist and the freight.
Is the holy imposition

a joke that you can tolerate?
Evolutionary Twist.
Hell with you then carry this.
Devil worship. Jesus Christ.
Who’s looking up to the guys we despise?

I’m pissed about d’lutionary twist.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Remember the members that pull from the plank,
instead of the normal yankity yank.
Members expanded, released and relanded,
the critically clean Expanded Manchine.

Expanded Manchine is both man and machine,
exploded machine extended on man.
Expanded, exploded, explained and reloaded,
Expanded Manchine is both man and machine.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Really bigot time art collectors need someone
to complete their rich thoughts.
They like the message,
but they love the messenger.
What a bright light he has.

I once had a pair of vise grips around here.
What’s your advice to that, grips.

Bits.
Dull bits.
Dull bits make it sport.
Now find the vice grips.

We need a character who can wrap all this crap around a finger, slam it up
against the wall and call it art.
As artists, we seek what the great explorers feared the most.
Exposure!
Where I come from, people die from exposure.
Another interesting video cue from the Mat Bevel Company.

Let’s take a look at idle aspects of language use in
conversation development.
When chemistry is under wired, electricity is desired.
Background noise equals the product of light and some
constant reminder.

Calibrating this memorandum of staunch continuity is the
steadfast loyalty around the finger that really grinds
your teeth.
Standard nemesis of the electronic McSonic age of
irresponsibility, causing severe mild paranoia.
And, of course, if your not paranoid, your stupid.

Yes, I have the devil beating at my walls every day.
Yes siree I do.
Thanks to our friendly neighborhood punk band.
Ya volts!

Noise reduction was in the stars for me.
Make the quiet choice.
Don’t do for Dolby what Dolby didn’t do for me.
Protect yourself.
Deal with recording accordingly.

Another scrap on the lab coat of memory to my late serial
artist brother, Hector Jester, who died from a horse kick
to the head.
He left his jacket to science.
That’s where I picked it up.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Has your would view come to an end?
Has the global lobe descended?
Then join us in re-entry
on pyramid T.V.

Show up at the rocket pad.
Blast off to the Port of Bevel.
Sign the form beside the door,
and head on in to the snack bar.

Have a brilliant future.
The brightest flowers grow from stench.
Unless you play an instrument
you’ll soon be serving condiments.

Tri-lobular spin patterns,
three bilobulars will combine
in opposite directions
every other time.

Systems link, and systems sync,
two by three in symmetry.
What we need in every case,
a taste of global interface.

Pulley me with puppetry
from the hemisphere below.
I represent the southern lobe,
and I say, what about me?

Qwell the framing phobia
that infiltrates the cave.
More to the words than anything
on the page could ever anticipate.

Pillar of the profit,
another partner in rhyme.
Holding the eye of the beholder,
there I behold the eye.

The prophet rests on the eye of the view
by the bellowing breeze of the Hoover.
Where once there blew the vacuum,
around it gathers the crew.

Reality or illusion,
perspective or confusion.
If you can see as well as you look,
then sign your name in the book.

The stunning success in the shallows
leaves a vacumus void in the deep.
We don’t need no voulunteers.
We need a crew who believes.

Art is evolution,
it dies within commission.
We will make no job description,
please evolve your own position.

Why is everyone looking at me
as if they never did what they do?
I don’t know what you’re going thru
I’m just telling you my point of view.

The headsman cries and cries and cries,
he’s out in front and way behind.
The place he must accomadate
haunts his lonely mind.

A solar sailor sent aloft
above the blues of Beveldom.
Of institutes and absolutes,
let all the kingdoms come.

Put me on a block of stone
somewhere north of the great unknown.
Bubbles, babies, balls, and bees,
boys, and buzz, and now T.V.

Bevelvision came to be
the brains and blood and breath of me.
We got Elvis, we go Eve,
we got one for the world to see.

Sure, I’m humbled ya,
But what do I think of the humbler.
Buy the dress, and then depress.
The rest is all a blur.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

I speak to you with obsessive hopes
in letters on velvet envelopes.
Readings unclear to the impetuous ear.
Back to romantics my dear.

As a lad my antics were sad romantics.
Just a bit? Gotta split.
Given so many smarts away
hardly got any left.

The celebratory cake snake.
Genius of the antique stage.
Original she was closer to me.
Hey, I want to be somebody.

To handle the bottle my aim would dethrottle
the carrot in front of my face.
Tween pies in the sky are the spaces I place
the bottled up aim of desire.

The tunnel of love is push and shove.
Don’t waste your wad on a stage facade.
She has the character of a molten goddess.
Stuck with a character like me.

In my lust I must repress thee.
Love that flows is very messy.
Once the juice hath left my heart,
the noble serpent falls apart.

So easy to break. So hard to make.
With a non-negotiable aim.
Keep your eyes on the carrot. Grin and bare it.
Back to romantics my dear.

My body chemistry. Mentor of lonely.
Plantation of experimentation.
Don’t go back. My life as a boy was just
too damn heavy to carry.

My Chiquita is a cheap makita.
And to think that I was appalled.
I’m strobo sighting in facades of posture.
Freeze and others will follow.

Who will get in and push the dream
for me and my memories.
Cut a good lady off at the handle.
OK. Next one please.

Civilization it seems
is a case of many extremes.
Nice house. Bad life. My babe. My wife.
One hell of a story line.

Want a cookie but you need a carrot.
Happy endings come late.
The fact of fantasy is factuality.
He’s a bug and he just got squashed.

Social awkwardness puts awareness to a vote.
As a tribute to breasts erect.
You could tell by the photo they were not happy people.
To be sad is a heavy effect.

Don’t care what I see, can’t see nuttin’ anyhow.
She says to the baby saguaro.
You’ve got to let us know if you’re serious.
Go team. Go team. Go!

I run like mad it’s really sad
at the carnival of horses.
Like other folks who ride the hopes
of over coming forces.

To swallow up reality
with hollow sexuality.
To understand the beast at least
can dignify elation.

I would have you think that
and I would think that too.
But when I hurt I really hurt
until the day is thru.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

Believability has no faith,
faith is work that has no word.
Faith questions not the force,
faith answers the source.

Culture begins where culture left off,
like a bolt of lightening rods came to me.
Faith is only accountable
to challenges of the surmountable.

Faith in absence, faith for filler,
faith to replace the truth.
Look not behind the curtain,
for faith is almost certain.

Sparks could cause a fire,
so dark shall be admired.
How do you learn to live in gloom?
Faith in a darkened room.

Believability has no faith,
faith is work that has no word.
Faith questions not the force,
faith answers the source.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company                       

The clan grew up to the canopy,
the company kept us canny.
I could prune the family tree
by the leaves I’ve taken lately.

Family business offerings
that offer me the offspring.
Next we have a generation
orientation born.

Slamming back a lack to fill
as far as give aways go.
Nullify the stock or else,
void the shelf yourself.

The actors left the stage,
cast in fits of rage.
Distraction hits the crowd
as the hero leaves the house.

A package labeled grown ups,
adults in every box.
Avoid the mess of raising kids
directions warn against it.

Not a great mistake was made
the union of our making.
Format of the family matters,
proper form or not.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

OK, boys and girls
if you want to get some feedback
go back when
they invented base ten.

OK, boys and girls
a story of progression
step by step
Fascination Promenade.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Put a hat on a cat who’s fat,
and you’ve got a fat cat with a hat.

Pilgrims of the profit, guided by the rich.
One piece of the cat’s obese, girth of all the earth around.
Lofty of an animal as petty crime can be.
Grand Pa Larceny as far as I can see.

The eater was a heater, heavy on deceit.
A stomach for the register gurgles forth receipt.
Guilty when he posted me a feline in the mail.
Rob the banker pleaded me to fold it into bail.

Barter time for no one but an equal.
Twelve hours to reach the verdict equi-not.
Your honor was proceeding before the crack of dawn.
Look who’s up before me once the cat is gone.

Ceiling hooks to hold me. Anchor deep in testimony.
Jeopardy from head to toe, faith awaits my load.
Syncopation too was offbeat,crawling on the ends of feet.
Constituents in greedy ants, all six legs were up in arms.

Top of the cat is hype, frothed above the pipe.
Establishing the cat is rabid prior to the bite.
Gratuitous upon us, growling like a nemesis.
Dogged along by skill, hounded by the kill.

Tack this coupon to your lapel for an
offer at no expense.
Just for taking part in this
one of a kind event.

Richness pours at the bar.
He extorted the lady to her car.
Redeem the coupon’s value
for what the paper’s worth.

Cocoon of a classier thread.
Machine with a velveteen head.
Caterpillar of the community
Covering for Grand Pa Larceny.

My vegetable broker said,
celery stock now!
No one’s gonna pull the silk over
his eyes.

Respect is paid to the one who pays,
who then pays the talent contempt.
Scoffing the cost of achievement
out of control of attempt.

The cat ran sacking in a furry ball of fleece.
All cars calling for Larceny to cease.
Headed his career with a splatter and a spear,
like a fire spitting spartan out of Greece.

The police came chiefly for the epically obese,
at least he’s got the gravity and richly well to do.
In heritance was in the air, heirs of millionaires.
Gratitude for me, plentitude for you.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

One animal submits short spurts of expertise.
I know a hot mango when I see one.

Folly math inequalities on the over bias structuralization
of habitual spectacle.
Plans for plural 2 creator sport running out of self esteem.

It seems so far away.
Yet if you hold it too close
your eyes will cross.

I have a wrench in my pocket.
I have a wrench in my pocket.
I have a wrench in my pocket.

Another fate coincidental to act upon the poetry
to support rhyme and reason.
Is it fate coincidental that he drives a continental?

When the slacks relax one might say.
I do not have a wrench in my pocket.
I do not have a wrench in my pocket.
I do not have a wrench in my pocket.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

On a high stage in the alley
or playing the Feet of Jesus,
when a hero gets down,
he’s only trying to please us.

Oh, the weight upon my shoulders.
If I could boost him up…
I be playing the Feet of Jesus.
Seems no one dies at home anymore.

I be screaming yellow Jesus
when I crawl up and die.
And I ain’t a whistling Dixie
when I hit the other side.

Standing firm
I be keeping it in line.
You play your Jesus.
I play mine.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Fellows of the horse,
overwhelmed upon their course,
men who breach the secret vault
to mount the sacred horse.

The cow pokes in the home,
the home is on the range,
Pals of the pasture
they raise and praise the same.

Die to be reborn as
a hero of the grail.
Down the fellow utopian tube
as a fellow and a man.

Cows are bred for beef and cheese,
but horses squeeze between your knees.
Stuck inside a stall pattern
ever since the sixties.

At the spur of the momentum,
by the monument to men,
sits a slick and silly sidekick
with a steady western clip.

He works, but he’s no worker,
He’s a fellow of the horse.
He’s silly and he’s senile,
but he’s serious to the core.

He rides beside our hero
on a fellowship he goes,
a messenger of rhythm
taking tempo to the folk.

Very far flung cowboys
in a one stick pony town.
Is this a revolution,
or a tail spin in the round?

Shoot’em in the gut,
pierce the icy blues.
Opposite of popular’s
the sad and lonely truth.

Napoleon was his De Gaulle,
he, the junior high priest.
Riding out the stall thru
philosophies fifth wall.

FELLOWS OF THE HORSE

Fellows of the horse,
overwhelmed upon their course,
men who breach the secret vault
to mount the sacred horse.

The cow pokes in the home,
the home is on the range,
Pals of the pasture
they raise and praise the same.

Die to be reborn as
a hero of the grail.
Down the fellow utopian tube
as a fellow and a man.

Cows are bred for beef and cheese,
but horses squeeze between your knees.
Stuck inside a stall pattern
ever since the sixties.

At the spur of the momentum,
by the monument to men,
sits a slick and silly sidekick
with a steady western clip.

He works, but he’s no worker,
He’s a fellow of the horse.
He’s silly and he’s senile,
but he’s serious to the core.

He rides beside our hero
on a fellowship he goes,
a messenger of rhythm
taking tempo to the folk.

Very far flung cowboys
in a one stick pony town.
Is this a revolution,
or a tail spin in the round?

Shoot’em in the gut,
pierce the icy blues.
Opposite of popular’s
the sad and lonely truth.
388/2/2

Napoleon was his De Gaulle,
he, the junior high priest.
Riding out the stall thru
philosophies fifth wall.

FELLOWS OF THE HORSE

Fellows of the horse,
overwhelmed upon their course,
men who breach the secret vault
to mount the sacred horse.

The cow pokes in the home,
the home is on the range,
Pals of the pasture
they raise and praise the same.

Die to be reborn as
a hero of the grail.
Down the fellow utopian tube
as a fellow and a man.

Cows are bred for beef and cheese,
but horses squeeze between your knees.
Stuck inside a stall pattern
ever since the sixties.

At the spur of the momentum,
by the monument to men,
sits a slick and silly sidekick
with a steady western clip.

He works, but he’s no worker,
He’s a fellow of the horse.
He’s silly and he’s senile,
but he’s serious to the core.

He rides beside our hero
on a fellowship he goes,
a messenger of rhythm
taking tempo to the folk.

Very far flung cowboys
in a one stick pony town.
Is this a revolution,
or a tail spin in the round?

Shoot’em in the gut,
pierce the icy blues.
Opposite of popular’s
the sad and lonely truth.
388/2/2

Napoleon was his De Gaulle,
he, the junior high priest.
Riding out the stall thru
philosophies fifth wall.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

There in the eye of war they kissed,
members of the press were pissed.
Unaligned for smiling
in his feminine recliner.

It dawned on him a later date
that once he ate the wedding cake
with someone elses bride.

They danced at last and twisted first
before the preacher hit the dirt.
He’s drunk and prays to booze,
so sick of it he is.

The day he started crying,
in doubt the notion broke.
A sudden laps of happiness,
blind before his eyes.

Out of slump and over bump
she hung it up before his time.
Anarchistic artistry
the medium is the massage.

All I hear and see,
to me it could be heresay.
Perform an act of confidence,
call it personality.

Adopt your own persona,
create a conversation piece.
Ten minute tangents
to entertain your fans.

Stupid cupid shoot on thru,
clutch the point of absolute.
Shot the bow that taught the stork
and brought the seagulls to the shore.

Thank the Lord above
for alot of stored up love.
He ate a slice of side act,
but not enough to last.

Alleyways of poochy sushi,
Japanese volcanos.
On closer introspection sat
a stack of manifestos.

A radio of disco hits
for cafe cliental.
He had to beat the ladies off
with both ends of the stick.

Put me in! Put me in!
The player first insisted.
Throw me the ball! Throw me the ball!
The player later called.

Fun, games, and prey at
the church of Yoko picnic
The hat gets runeth over
without the head within it.

Slippers of the chipper gold,
heels as high as souls can go.
Healer’s dirty beds unfold
exposing dirty sheets.

The likeable Viking of stone
did all of his biking alone.
Biking about with a Japanese stout
looking like Vincent VanGogh.

Exercise your devil,
work that evil out.
Tighten socks, and loosen shoes,
stand your ground and shout.

Eric has dramatic eyes,
red chromatic power cry.
Go give froth and multiply for
baby dolls and tweety pies.

Ranting phantom occupant
of old Virginia Mary.
Dashing Never Never Land
in a flashy craft of plumage.

Lumbering all about,
he almost hit the house.
His new years recollection was
defection over doubt.

Wizard of the magic,
royalty thru and thru.
Loyalty always finds me
beside myself by you.

Meet a drug store beatnik,
or a soda fountain poet.
Beat me down to Club Kinetic,
motion is the movement.

A drumming baby lover boy
was very glad to meter.
Clam your dirty diagrams,
date a silly sideman.

For the sake of a lie you can try.
Move out of the house more often.
A lap in the pool with a pal in the loop,
a sequay smooth as milk.

Straighten up your mind,
the spine’s an awful thing to loose
The limp is what affects you,
back to back with brutes.

I made the motion E-mail
to pay the piper retail.
Move emotions into moods,
and firmly hoist the gails.

Club Kinetic kick off bash,
pencil in with brick and brack.
The best that mortar offers,
cohesivness at last.

The artist lacked a license,
but the bozo had a logo.
He needed new ensignias
to plug his bloated craft.

Hip heighth to the new and used.
Short guy sports a fu-man-chu.
Living like a new cartoon
newly bathed in blue.

Armagiddy’s fun finale
peering from my dungeon drag.
Slower than the range of change
I know my thing will grow.

Look out from your out look,
no accounts for doubt.
So much hope surrounds me,
but doubt can keep me down.

A pack of pillaging’s condiments
armed with mints and condoms.
Vikings hiking side by side
mingling for millenium.

Out without a pack
left ‘em none to sack.
Close to none but anglosize
that all the Vickings like.

Steer me clear of weirdos,
drive me by abodes.
Scandanavian navy boats
with creudly bearded crews.

A man without a floor plan is
a day without the foreplay.
Empty femininity
extends the glacial pace.

Haunted by the sets of seven,
all my cells have gone to heaven.
42’s another start,
fourteen years apart.

Wackable Mister Cane,
skilled as a spiller at will.
Not as lame as the name implys
he kills for a cup of Chai.

Lack of empty highway flow,
oven cup of chi will go.
Watch the hand that rubs the man,
but doesn’t touch the soul.

Comfy chairs and table ware
civilize the best.
I shall not be foiled again
like a sandwich lunch has left.

Plan a one pan meal,
become a living pun.
Reach out with a good push back,
the winner will have won.

From a princess to a mess,
use ‘em or you loose ‘em.
Finally she had met her muse,
and boy he needs amused.

I am me, who else could be.
I am not my remedies.
Use me as a deal to muse me,
I’m a muse as well.

To know it and to go with it’s
to bring it to my corner.
The meeting of the muses
will now come to disorder.

Friends careening graceless,
pacing at the speed of space.
Look how they would speak of me
if I were in your place.

Logic is as quick as hip,
I fill eel and I see sick.
For all of us kinetisists
the movement is the picture.

Seeking mates to man the ships
before the storms of hell hit.
Positions are available
for quality personel.

Give me just a little time,
and I’ll extend your credit line.
Breakers of the precious art
never need apply.

Shyer than a hideaway
who shows no shallow vision.
Each misstep will bring the chisle
swiftly to the shit list.

Back in 97,
the years of all the 7’s.
All those 27 deaths
are on their way to heaven.

Vandals make agreements
to keep the burners fired.
Earnings go up higher when
calamity is dire.

You chokin’ up the bat,
or swallowing the club?
A dirty mother father having
unprotected love.

You scared to take the tip,
or fearful of the end?
Affection by the instant is
defection just as quick.

The womb of the unknown girlfriend,
perplexing of the guard.
The changing of the sexes is
a pill to swallow hard.

Think with body, talk with face.
Born with love to burn for life.
I would die to have that place,
but good thing I don’t have to.

I wrote this note of enthusiasm
on the smoozy ooze of a smoke filled swing.
Bigger venves, better joints,
choose the menus finer point’s.

Words and music give and take
beatniks roam the land.
Years of frantic passages
and making great demands.

Snuff the slayer, smoke the roach,
punchy player chokes the coach.
Ham and cheese upon it’s knees,
the sandwich begs forgiveness.

Waiting in the wrong cafe
to lead the troops astray.
A down a hearty drink of life
and concentrate on space.

Touchy Roman soldiers in
a crowded Roman bath.
Reaching out for love,
and love will all come back.

A liking I would like to see
so take a liking to me .
Raise the hairs upon my head,
lay your rays upon me.

The video was over when
the sun came into view.
It’s way more fun below you when
your love is shinning thru.

Remember, be a crowd member,
show your teeth for modern man.
Premature evacuation,
woofy, warm, and low.

The most uncalist bassist
to ever hit the big time.
A sober sort of love affair
to wax the lax attainers.

Babies of polarity
are never in the grey.
Forbidden by the policy
to drop a leap of faith.

Humpin’ hounds of hurricanes
barking in the eye.
Round the clock observance of
the stricktest non-surveillance.

Heart, emotions, H20,
six of cups a sipping.
A more than pleasing wetter jester,
friend of polyester.

A wave of great abandonment,
a couple cups of saki.
Broke my stride and lost my ride
with not a soul beside me.

Love will let you learn,
the open can of worms.
Bait, wait, excentuate,
the fish that got away.

Less expectors scatter quickly,
fast as mates accumulate.
Good ones wait the baiters out,
and still they wait around.

Search the meaning why
some of us survive.
The meaning makes us hungry,
the thirst will make us dry.

Arrow headed reject
of mother anti funk.
Have at it with a hachet,
wack the boulders back.

Bombs are too bombastic for
the populace to take.
Practice social artistry
in every mark you make.

So, you finally ground the coffee
to a kareoke grind.
2 of them are liars and
the other’s out of line.

Poets, learn to speak on
your feet and not your knees.
Slosh the extra nautical mile,
to sniff before you sneeze.

I don’t need the stiffness,
but I could use the stuff.
I may use your vehicle,
but I don’t need your truck.

Patron must be willing to foothill the bill
acheive philosophical outreach,
global interface the music,
draw in social circles,
and spontaneously construct.

If so, then meet me over E-mail,
for E-mail over lunch.

I felt the asian crisis in
the wettest mother’s crevice.
Space, the final front to rear,
the portal gaze I face.

Top notch people pods,
jumping castle factory jobs,
eggs on end for equinox,
instead of the human head.

Locking on a rock hard concept,
people as themselves conect.
Reinvent the embryonic,
reinvent the self.

Get the ax or ask ‘em back,
you ain’t jack without the facts.
Later I got drunk and puked
from excess academics.

Interface the fellow man
faster than sound of speed,
and lanquishe in the liquid lows
obesely as the beast.

Dead man dying,
horrible as it is,
it’s not a live man lying,
totally consumed.

His party’s all confirmed,
snug within his tomb.
Where’s the room to seek,
when all he sought’s assumed.

The handles on reality
are split like personality.
As furious as the furor is
the peasantry is pleased.

Darted in the ass,
she slept on a cot in the act.
The story had its orgy in
the origin of the species.

Virginous in her web wear,
sexy in her booth.
A worldwide destination package
sat within her view.

Put a smile uon your face
and a bullet to their head.
Kinetically asthetic
as a sexy discoteque.

Foot dragin’ side kick,
lame and all but static.
Acrobatic artifacts
and the all chromatic mix.

The medium in my hand,
she does this and I do that.
We disco round the playground
with undulating grace.

Funky D.J. wizardry,
the people need the funk.
Monks releaving labor while
the labor feeds the monk.

Slightly slanted implants mimick
nature by degrees.
Not because he has the need,
unless he does the deed.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

You want to sleep?
What a better way to find sleep
but to seek your final resting place.
Maybe this could be your final resting place.
Go ahead. Take a nap!

You go to sleep and BAM!
you get it.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

It only takes one good idea to get you thru the night.
In came the artists created by demand.
Your sire. I am here.
Romeopathic trickster with comas between my five cigars.
Fist fights breaking out down the hall.
Huuu! I’m telling!
Hot topics can disturb the mind like bombs that
blow the fire out.

Don’t punch a gift horse in the mouth.
The enemy is more sympathetic with frequencies that can
work together.

Ring’a fire is very tongue friendly.
Comes with it’s own technical support.
That’s why I love this business.
Where else can you stratify lingo while you watch the enemy?

The new and improved state of the art.
Good stories from bad language.
That’s very nice out.
Things aren’t always easy.
Things aren’t always fun.
Just don’t let’em hear you say it.
That’s the entertainment of philosophy.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Hungry for a flavor drum,
but not too dumb to hum.
Allow me to lower the drum some.
Flavoring component number one.

The Mood Patrol is on patrol.
Who else could speak d’english?
If there’s something to say, someone will say it.
Help is on the way.

What I see is what I eat.
What I eat is citizen beat.
What I beat is my excuse.
It’s the only party I’ve been able to walk to.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Retroactive bonding is
an act we didn’t ask for.
Lesson one for generations,
nothing certain comes the person.

The nurturing that flesh connects,
that naturally the flesh protects,
that ultimately still affects,
is non the less what flesh neglects.

Riped from out the grip of you
with all the other things to do.
Gone for now, as gone for then,
the trust that it will come again.

Natal failure generation,
intellect reflects.
Deficiency of flesh expect
all the world is flesh deflected.

Commitments never made,
commitments never keep.
The selfish way you treat me,
is in the way I teach.

Arrest who stole the family breast.
Formula pushers down the street.
Give the body what it needs,
body as it feeds.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Every day of every season
someone makes a flight of reason,
staging café interface
as part of the parade.

The New Non Prophet flew the coop,
a hot dog stand for thought,
a roadside ritual attraction
that in a sense is lost.

The luxury you lose
is the gravity you gain.
Heavy condensation
puts people down like rain.

Lean on us and we will wean,
and tilt you on your way.
Welcome to the groping slopes
of the intellectual plane.

Magic trails the wind,
where ever wind will blow.
Tell the mediocre Joes
to learn what they already know.

Mock your musty baggage
tip the end of trust,
Lock me to your luggage
on the cul-de-sac of lust.

What’s inside those bags?
Art supplies for lonely days.
Work it out, look’n good,
a firm and roving show case.

There’s magic in the air,
tragic as the open sea
there’s humor for the tragedy
to lift us from the gravity.

Fantasy gets people antsy
crawling thru the holidays.
Don’t deny your dream time.
Strap into the Firm Line.

We find the party arty scientist
on the roving workout wagon.
Teaching arobic math
on the philosophical flats.

Ridding on the range of change
frozen as a freeze frame.
A cowboy in the rain,
that’s his fame to claim.

He struck his wayward feet
in the stirrups of depiction,
a spur that lands assuredly
with a firm and galloping kick.

The horse that he blew in on was
a rancid wind of pessimism,
the unoriginal sin,
of the universe within.

Bless the volunteers,
they come up independently,
squares of dance society,
free of group identity.

First the pieces separate,
then they rearrange.
Flex the cultural muscle best
from fragments of our setbacks.

An angle in the sand
now impedes proceedings.
The hurdle signifies the leap,
the common thread is so unique.

A fountain on the mountain,
a beacon on the beach,
a substanceless abuser pushing
philosophical outreach.

The man is undetectable,
his manor is impeccable,
he manages a spectacle
to span the range of ages.

From Moses up to Bozo
and a million drunken uncles.
A slanted roving showcase
and a long parade of props.

The final prop is turning,
it’s God that keeps him learning.
He’s hit, humbled, and healed,
his destiny is sealed.

Leader of the outer leagues,
miraculous as the air we breathe.
A show case roving raving views
to make the case for shows.

The fellow fires, the serpent inspires,
a serpents breath it spits.
The smaller the wheel, the less unreal,
and the bigger deal a crack is.

So low was the journey,
he had to go alone.
Who knows but the one man crew
the most efficient thing to do.

Off the 2-d flats
to the banks of the beveled mat,
he figures the bigger picture
with philosophical math.

Just outside the picture
still inside the frame.
We’re wasting great amazement
clinging to the page.

Rip the wackos off the wall
watch the inhibitions fall.
Magic fits of creationism
at the school of intuition.

Out of the valley, off of the ridge,
into the space to move.
A trip within the lots of room,
an inspiration vacuum.

He climbed the beveled mat
to contemplate complexities,
and take the folks on the 2-d flats
to higher dimensionalities.

I don’t know a lady
who doesn’t D.J. someway,
and every man will dance to that
given half a chance.

The dough is in the nation,
so give us your donation.
No one eats a scone alone,
no one’s stone is left unthrown.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Condemned by his own worst enemy
to die in the desert condemned.
Popping the pill of a pillory,
asylum was all he could take.

All the awards of a moron,
awards of a moron gone.
Invention intervention by
a tepid water drink.

Origin whence the wind,
black as drags the cat let in.
Please to squeeze the beans of means,
so weary am I now.

Way beyond the take,
the taker meets the maker.
Drinks the drink from hollow gourd,
and swallows for the Lord.

Religious acts of savagery
in heights of moral ecstasy.
Flocks cavorting upright,
a sign from God that things are right.

Now that you can choose your brew
from canisters to serve you.
Serves you right with each new road,
comes one more way to pave.

Wisdom in the age of romance.
Rituals of the new revival.
Tradition means but one thing son,
a no known prophet in a Mohawk bun.

Define a find as what is there.
Custom fares till no one cares.
Longer weights than lumbering freights,
and ships to give her shivers.

I was dinking, I mean thinking,
medical free solutions.
How the red shift is to Jesus,
stars, and revolutions.

Finest grind of pulverizing
uppers in the cupboard.
Suck a cup of uppers down,
discover how the ball abounds.

The man of ultimatum,
ultimately mated.
Mug shot up to face the day,
give the mug a java.

My out look on the spot
is to mop it, need it or not.
Either way the coffee flows,
see the folks you never know.

But seeing is believing,
believing is conceiving,
conceiving is the fertile mirth,
and fertile mirth is worth it.

Surfin’ off a buzz he was,
serving up a hill.
A table fit for angulation,
fabled with a tilt.

Stimulated, angulated,
artistry articulated.
Stuck in place of space it stays,
a sucker with every cup.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Whilst thine observer as in mine
puts a plum upon my thumb.
Frustration spanks desires woe,
hath made this foe employ my tool.
So kiss thy love without thy lips
for what I miss doth play my fool.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Joe eats cattle in Santa Fe.
Next Circle K is three days away.
Many folks would lose their way,
were it not for the Shrine Buffet.

Impose the desire and the means to receive.
What does it all who’s mean.
With no interest in debt,
there is no interest to borrow.
Each venture must incorporate an itch,
and a productive way to itch it.

Everything can concur to produce a successful result
at the year’s end.
Deconstruct, disconnect.
Period, comma, Daytime Drama.
And look at how it’s built.

Reinvented organs,
all chock full of caulk.
No better sleeve to stick it,
makes it easier to kick it.

Live everywhere in the gut for disism.
360 degrees of uninterrupted steer driven action.
An all encompassing format so unnarrowly focused upon.
Temple of Bevel, kinetic cafe,
TV show, eatery combo thrill center.
Please stand by for the new catalogue
of exciting gift ideas.

Consider your roll in society
when your wheels touch ground.
It’s like finally having a truck to pull your rig,
and the club house staff as a driver.

All’s fair at the shrine, you know,
you can’t undo a demo.
Joe’s life is habitual,
he exhibits the forces of ritual.

All the time is your time,
play for what is fought. You need
overactive senses and
a body full of thought.

—————-

The exposed nerve was spared the onslaught
of the continually glancing blows.
Watch which way you point the pistol
as you reload the revolver each round.

He lost his tale repeating his story
to the hapless history class.
The memory lapse certified the unavoidable truth,
that he was destined to repeat history.
He would struggle down the road again
with the usual proficiency of forgotten faculty.
Remember,
it’s the things we forget,
when we wrestle with the same opponent.

From his vantage point below deck,
it was not possible to glimpse
the reflective glimmer of the brilliance.
Lost at sea,
he was in the dark,
in broad daylight.

All the time is your time,
play for what is fought. You need
overactive senses and
a body full of thought.

—————–

Pay no attention to those people.
Come hither, come dither,
not to come slither.
In the real world,
a take is the same as an edit.
Logos and tigers and bears, oh my!
Constantly cringing by.

His advise to me politically,
get down on the pad where you kneel.
The powerful stoop on the dip low mat.
In the Temple of Achieve the Chi.

Contour to popular relief,
only shape is pitchable.
Adjustments in final volume
implicates the actual amplitude
in your vinyl folly room.

Of all the hertz that signal hum,
so bothersome in the sixties,
an abundance of noise came out of the woods
with a massive infliction of goods.
Symptoms of a later tragedy.

Put the masses on the temple steps,
and the sound goes up the steps of it.
Hum of distorted spirit.
Now, everyone can hear it.

All the time is your time,
play for what is fought. You need
overactive senses and
a body full of thought.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

I’m going to pull somebody up from the audience now.
The string please.

It’s the Man from Uncle Sam
in a self audiated manchine.
Hey, we’ve got converging ideologies.
And I should know,
I’m coming together as an ideologist myself.
Excuse me but are you the P.R. Esident?
I represent the Society for Ideological Studies.
What is this, some kind of a formula personality?
Hey, you’re a dame!
What do you say you and me take a hike after the show.
Huh? Come on…

Look you’re a disaster of disguise.
From whence did you crawl,
the powder between the grooves?
Tell me what grown men have to crawl in the back room to do.
We’ve got to get some green around here.
You look like trash.
That’s it.
The selected event.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
up next…
the marriage of meaning and matter.

Let’s bring up the other contestant.
His name is Maxillary Palp
and he’s a member of nobility.
He’s a victim of creationism
who likens his unique configuration
to the free wheeling theories of convolution.
Maxillary Palp, it’s time to meet your
bride to be, and future honey,
Big Mouth Mama Yak.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Some waves knock you down, others knock you senseless,
but they all hit you where it counts. My father,
Admirable Bevel, used to say, pay me like a man, and you
can treat me like a boy. That’s probably what kept him
so young. And while pop cycles into fickle sickness,
I’m trick or treated like the lying dead, though, I fear
that I may be harder than a cockroach to exterminate.
Neither one would get the government off our back, as
our belly off the pavement. In what a trough the mighty
might nestle. The porkers opinion, that people put in
the eye of the pig get the well defined lie of a swine, reimburses the purse for the prospect of imported potency.

Get lost?! Hell, I’m stranded to the hilt as it is.
Safely ditched out of harms way for a bit, achin’ with
steak and bacon, my company stands in no line for cows.
But we can still, bite off as big a bite of beef as any beefeater. If you’re uptown from where the center’s
found, bend over, get over it and become the chi some.

Pay no attention to those people behind the curtain.
No matter how artful of art, honesty is not taken as
truth, though, it can be given as such. Start with a
hip-wheel pistonated underrated throw, clearheaded
siding down the back slide of the mountain. Sign us in
at the phlegm de lodge. Secure a big manifested foot in
the foundation of underground status, because every
property buyer wants a cellar. It’s the oldest joke of
the pre-provoked, made for the sunken grade.

Which brings me to the topic of surreal estate, the
property of our dreams. Elusive as a highwire night-
mare; within reach, but impossible to get our hands on.
With no straight chaser, I take my anger with a cause,
like a tender penguin nursing a cold sore. The tape was
eaten by the audio tech, so I lost my temper and hit the
deck.

Realizing how exceptionally normal the surrealty is, in
terms of real property, I post a call to all likably
minded construction paper workers of every shape, color
and thickness, to bend over and get over it. Achieve a
center within thyself where the odd body belittled may
dwell in latent wellness, below par, of course, yet true
to the pupil’s view.

You can start by signing up with your local sign post.
Don’t spin your wheels, become revolved. Get off your
tank and join the rank. God didn’t put you here to be
a stupid fool. Enlist in the Rational Guard, now!
Attain Beveleer group-trouper status and become one of
us. Send your name and whereabouts to the Mat Bevel Company
and receive all the latest MBC mailings and up-to-date intelligence findings. Anything short of a good showing
could result in tomorrow’s race being cancelled.

So, take a hit from a roster for an arian. That’s me,
General Belief System Technology Project Expert, Mat
Bevel, extending a carrot of such quality and value that
even an ass could folly thru. A trance of a lifetime for
all the fans who helped make this desert hot spot so
cool. Make yourself a marked individual. Become a member
of the Mat Bevel hit list of champions. Transmit your
street coordinates, including zip, down here to headquarters,
and our tranquil agents will take care of the rest. Your
days are numbered, so why not let us count on you.
Protect your neck from the choke hold of safety. Enjoy
the artfulness of America’s home for artfulfillment.
Your personal fattest action is guaranteed.

The artwork ends where the hard work begins, so let’s
pledge a pen for the dog, while his novel approach is still recoupable. An epicly unique stream of consciousness that
he can really sink his teeth into. Thank you for your attenuation and may the dog bless you without incidence.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

So he left the area.
Very frustrated.

Frustrated to the point
that all he could do was leave.

So he left.
Frustrated.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Send a crooner from the crew
to carry me in tune.
I can sing it, you can wing it.
Let the crooner carry thru.
Music to propel us, as
propellers we excel.
Judging by momentum, we
propel the message well.
Much of music means to do,
what only music meant to do.
What it means by meant to do,
is only meant by means to do.

Meanwhile on the mission,
the crooner has begun.
The audience is horizon,
to watch the full moon crooner rise.
Lunar crooner serenade,
winning message full and round.
Labeled items neatly packed.
What a well felt voice you have.
Amazing what amusers do,
places crooners take us to.
Here’s the tune I use as proof.
Let the crooner carry thru.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

She clearly states the go ahead, and laterals the ball into his gaping hands. He gasps at the toss. Confused and befumbled. Hobbles and flops at the squeeze of greased pigskin. On the floor with a chin, bang. The long lost ball, up for grabs to all but he who loses it. Ridiculous fish, dying at her feet, slapping at her foot and a ball once possessed by the fumbler.

The bumbling ball handling continues until she picks the ball from the situation and takes it like a woman should. With a subtle roar of hilarity, she comforts the bruised and bleeding. He tries to catch a breath but she gets it first. She holds it until he’s blue in the face.

Nice game she says, smirk in cheek. Unimpressed by the opponents failure to engage the rival, she forgoes the traditional handshake of good matchmanship and walks off the field.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

The one with a scar on the fin
is the one who eats us all.
He’s called scar fin.
He sees in me the epitome,
a view poke blunt of a runt out front.

Each berate that scar fin ate,
he eventually would defecate.
So every bite that scar fin bit
feels like a piece of shit.
And a pooper who stands to stoop,
will surely get down on you.

Hemmers know the hemming way
is way too low to go.
Stitches of opposing prose
enrich the lowest pose.

Adventure series come and go
but not the no hose panty show.
Advancing dancers under beat
like to meet on a foot worth of feet.

I can’t avert my own alertness
wrapped in skins of dancing thugs.
Just maintaining body fatality,
causes positions of fetal reality.

Ribbon has more than a wrap to it,
applied like a boy scout tourniquet.
Stability is seldomly seekable
in a sea that seeks to be leakable.

Half of an evil set later,
we find a man with half a mind.
And I’ve got half a mind to know,
the other half could never know.

If you’ve ever been given the shaft,
then you know what’s holding things up.

In dirt you learn to bury deep
from things detractors pull.
Some funky detractor is sure to take
a plow to my furrowed brow.

This is undefunkable.
It’s logged in the anals of man.

Dude of the nouveau rudeness
your pride gets nothing done.
Being one can make it hard
not to appear like one.

The manners who tought you civility
put dialect into captivity.
First you were using symbols to speak.
Now even patterns of speech are in reach.

The drunkards in the junkyard,
stuck in the slick again.
The mud’s as wet as mud can get.
Don’t judge joy for me, my friend.

Rotten karma is defecation
’till the floor is full deficit.
Don’t judge the judge so fast,
the judge holds the grudge at last.

Have no patience, scant the time.
Have no manner can’t define
why commitment fails to be,
and rudeness hails stupidity.
By the way, validity
sits with stupid fine.

Many former civil ovations
have bit the butt for less.
I commit to toleration,
and you say only yes.

Pride resides beside the point,
after and back of the fact.
Detractors in a filthy funk
high above debunk.

Knob around for indication.
Dial to someone else’s station.
Where do you get off detractor,
that’s where I tune off here after.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Gadget Visionism.
Starring hydro vasculation. Safe six.
Safety in sixes.
Couples of the triangle.
Growing tips are not from lips
that speak of rules in grammar.
Gadget Visionism.
Awaiting hydro vasculation. Chase breasted limb saw.
Safety at the growing tip.
Packaging ideas.
A free for all on Mr. Me
at home without the sniffles.

Gadget Visionism.
Resuming hydro vasculation. Inner space.
Safety in dissemination.
Got to hit’em low.
Wack perception to recollection.
Let’s run with that idea.
Gadget Visionism.
Sporting hydro vasculation. Trickster bush.
Safety on the field.
Go team go! Hit’em low!
Trojan pig’s dig the gig.
Defeat will fall
so punt the ball.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

How dare thee slimest these parts
with thy swarmy sack of smelly scum bags.
Do not suck up to me within thy rising gazebo
that crawls from the pit of Hell.

Gazing through portholes,
I was waiting around for the next phase of enlightenment.
I saw dumpster culture squeeze lanes riddled with space
junk droppings like the sidewalk puke of a trashaholic world.

And as I sit upon this toilet I think of you.
Looking down I see the reflection of your face
talking the nonsense of filthy denial.
And that is not a polluted river in Egypt.
What goes out thy window comes back in thy door.

The messes we make are a filthy mistake,
we piss in the river and shit in the lake.
Load after load by the side of the road,
these assholes are making the Earth a commode.

When home seller monsters appear at your door,
resist the temptation, embrace them in war.
Step on the people who step on the crack.
The suffering solution calls itself back.

But we can overcome the galloping crud.
Reinstitute the dialogue and vote down
particulate people who decorate the smoke.
As little Johnny Junk would say,
recycle, reuse, be aware of repair,
for the things that you need are already there.

We live in a round box called Earth,
consuming to the myth of osterige discardation:
out of sight, out of mind.
Though, low and behold, we only move the crap around.
Like the ghost of Christmas past,
like Karma,
like good and evil,
it all comes back to us.
A man is no better than the trash he leaves.
And the same goes for women.

Earth is a classroom in the school of eternity,
and each class must clean up it’s mess
before the next class comes in.
These are lessons children learn.
Maybe these children will remember.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

As a primate I stand erect,
as a private I stand corrected.
Evil is easy, good is gravy,
I may be queasy, but I’m not crazy.

The next man to speak
is a man with a mind at it’s peak.
I’d say he’s a star, but that’s too small.
He’s bigger than a star,
greater than a galaxy,
too immense to be here tonight.
Ladies and Gentlemen…
General Cluster sends this message over the inner calm.

Please direct your attenuation to Nose Cone Central.
Finally…
the unfurling we’ve been feeling.
A menacing alien presence
in the fiery hearth like spectacle
of a rockets red glare.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

General Belief System Technology Project is a
social research foundation for general study
of the four headed monster, quad generalship:
the Four World Headquarters of our undeniable
military might be.
Explained in simple complex terms by
the top civilian in the field,
General Belief System Technology Project Expert,
Mat Bevel.

To be a general, rank and file,
consider general appearance.
Believe in him to follow the lead.
Support, belief and the will to proceed.

Belittling a general idea on a bewildered
General Public, his assistant Private Parts
and the unbelievable state of the union.
No claims of excellence from this moment hence.

General Lee Speaking on the subject of specifics.
A little alternative attitude in the outfit.
Not every stingy donkey’s a tight ass.

General Boxhead of the Rational Guard.
He’s hot snorted and aborted, a bull in a bowl.
To you he stoops by the hole to be.
Ditch that dolby, hell with hiss.
Now listen brother. Dig it!

If you’re kind of well, but sort of sick,
go with General Anesthetic.
Alleviating the burdens to bare for
the Legions of Despair.
The person I’m standing with, notwithstanding.
Pride, embarrassment and often pain.
His generalship is not asleep,
but his head is definitely below his feet.

Private! Send me another.
Look, Private Line, I think it’s your mother.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

I’m six star General Lee Speaking,
hexa stellar generic boxhead.
Bring it here brigadier. General Lee
Speaking at your service.

Resume status of financial ruckus,
square hair gutter of boredom.
Send in the mouse in a home work house
with hexa stellar decorum.

Just peel off the panels, what a deal,
for the ultimate stick on wheel.
Ain’t nothing cute about disrepute.
I’m General Lee Speaking.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Jesus! Jesus!
Get back up here.
Right now!
Last time you went down there
you were gone for more than 30 years.
Quit causing trouble.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

“Watch out for the Japanese!”
gruffed the old man after ordering the
boneless breast of chicken.
Sunday was breakfast on the house,
so he became a sucker snake to the good old days.
A boneless breakfast of chicken breast
did not compare well to his last eye opener.
So the old man threw his wallet at the cook’s face,
coughed for almost a minute and barked,
“Where the hell did the bone go, bud?!”
The cook replied,
“I think the bone is up your ass.”

How come everything looks the same?
If you listen to what I say you might agree.
Creativity is an act of aggression.
A casual soldier it is not.
Being creative is being different,
and that’s too much for some.
Old dogs.
New tricks.
Is there really much to look at?
Everyday is another day,
not the same day.
So how come everything looks the same?
Is the magic disappearing?

The mind craves excitement.
I offer the excitement of creativity
as a challenge to the conformity of our times.
Conformity makes creativity that much more important.
It’s the unexpected things that make you wonder,
and wonder proceeds great thought.

Applying shade the American way.
Give the dog a bone.
Lay a pad of concrete,
so I can call it home.
It’s a dog’s world when boredom is a man’s best friend.
Ignorance makes everything look the same,
but only the ignorant make it the same.

Wiping the wallet from his face,
the cook prepared a bone from a batch of concrete.
058/2/2
The old man was still barking for his bone
when the bone was served.
He continued to bark as he gnawed on the concreteness
of his own existence.
What good is a breast of chicken
without a bone to choke on?

And that’s just what happened.
The old man gruffed, sucked, barked and choked.
They carried him right to the cemetery
where they buried him just like in the good old days.
And, though, the papers said he died from a bone down his throat, he will be remembered as a man who lived . . . with a bone up his ass.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Meet Glow Gordon, a cool ember of his remnant ancestor Flash.
With more or less of an ego,
he’s glowing with a light that isn’t showing.
His glow’s only goal is to illuminate the unseen known.
Blinded by his own glow, others follow, for the glow is all knowing.
The unglowing is unblinding in its seeing,
and sees by the glow of the glowing.
They seek the glow, and now they know unglowing.

But the spark has a way of reaching its potential.
The force of dissemination, source of all purpose, is a lightning bolt.
Lighting the path of the forward flow,
through seasons of knowing, solstices of glowing,
accepting awareness, awakening the soul,
they come and they go.

Clear skies tomorrow, but for you, the gift of glow,
a flicker between flashes that you alone can hold.
A compass in the darkness, a fire in the cold.
Healing is a halo, ‘cuz Jesus told me so.

Light is life is breath is change,
God is good , it’s all the same.
The secret’s in the cycle.
Once you know, let it go!

Meet Glow Gordon, a cool ember of his remnant ancestor Flash.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Torture, torment, terrible ills,
grief and agony, tragedy kills.
What’s happy is sad, will drive one mad.
Frolic, frisk, tickles and thrills.

God appears when disaster nears,
from minds that cater to our fears.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Thoughts radiating from our souls
concentrate at the earths center
and return to us as inspiration.

Inspiration is a composite blend
of our situation.
A reflection of ourselves.

Inspiration, ascending thru the flesh.
Joins the soul in the agency of enlightenment.

God is enlightenment.

God lies at the earths geometric center.

God is an artist.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Godliness signifies patronization.
Balancing morals of equalization.
Never excusable. Hoarding the spectacles.
Speedy stampede to have more than you need to have.
Why do we talk about God?
If God is the booty then what is the duty?
Why do we talk about God?

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

GOD SAID HAHA, this is a GAS.
God And Society, spirits will pass.
Gestures Of Divinity at the geometric center,
Earthly GAS that passes from the souls of earthly masses.

Thru the Soul And Inspiration Domain
the Heaven And Hell Arena sees,
that GOD said greater truths explain
why questions answered, still remain.

Medium Above Spiritual Kingdom,
MASK is the place when taken to space.
GOD SAID HAHA, this is a GAS.
Wonderful GAS MASK. Wonderful face.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Cock-a-doodle-do,
I’m Rooster Do.
Let me take the chicken position.
We’re the ones who laid the egg,
and won, in the first place.

Well, I didn’t,
my wife did,
I’m a rooster,
she’s a hen.

She’s been promoted to
the top of the totem
over at the aviary complex.
A big wig on the tip of the twig
droppin’ eggs for the big bunny account.

Who would have thought that
the charioteer of Christmas cheer
would be fathering eggs for the
big hopper.

Here at the aviary complex
we believe all eggs are good eggs.
A surprise ready to crack.

So don’t count all your eggs in one basket
before they hatch.

Even the little chick is held by the shell
it’s parents so encapsuled it by.
Until it sneaks a beak and then both feet
out of the yoke and into the smoke,
choking like everyone else.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

We’ve had our fun beneath the moon.
Beware the sun…T’will be here soon.

And so it goes as everyone knows,
grass will grow between your toes.
And when a moonbeam finds you sleep,
a pleasant dream is yours to keep.
Isn’t that what life’s about?
You see the Queen, you scream and shout.
And when I say that we must go,
you probably think that I don’t know.
But we must walk the threads of time,
in time to thread another rhyme.
And left with that, as time will tell,
we say good night and wish you well.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Remove the torture mask from your
favorite T.V. mascot,
wake from the bed and break fast.

The deeper the sleep,
the sweeter they keep ya.
Become a leading swinger,
start swinging from the hip.

Give your Easter bennie a resurrection,
and if you’re very gentile
you can fill your grass basket
with bunny’s colored eggs.

Lay your eggs on the counter.
Now a counter, that’s not a cage.
On the contrary.
on account that it’s a counter.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Honoring the immaculate contraption
with the belief that you are lucky.
Pitch ahead forgetfulness
ignores the wrongs of righteousness.

Denial of situations
bearing anger on yourself.
Bargains ploy of odd depression
terminates acceptance.

Laden guilt for judgement
to the period of pupation.
A saddened group on the suffering loop,
and this is grief loopation.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Below the turf, sod of murk.
Inevitable sod in mine eyes.
It’s a worm. It’s a blip. It’s a growing tip.
Construing the sodomized bill.

Walking out of walking into.
New Americanos.
Zoo rug sludge pool. Tricky pop wheely.
Down the hole it goes.

Be wise the decoy trickster,
first around the drafted pick.
While the camera flaws the awesome, simple
fades is a blossom.

Crap the plumbers clear could
rap the preachers ear.
They may be someplace but they’re not around
here.

When the drafted laughs
look the other way.
Bias against controversy
… in which they bathe.

We of the weasels that be could
never see the c.
Bob Bailiff the bailiff bob.
Bob the Nazarene.

To the edge of the state to get a lite so
laps lie in my facilities.
Entry ways jam the nut mix man.
Calamitous acts of ability.

What’s the name of your project kid.
Too many boards have been cut.
Tell me the bad so I can go
below the ball where the wing tips grow.

Peter’s in pain out of action
following the nose of distraction.
Ducks and donuts and complex art.
The trickiest part of the show.

The flag was so tall in the courtroom that they
had to cock the eagle.
They drafted the shoot when they gave it the boot and
peeled it right off of the field.

floating audio, what d’ya know.
When you’re up you don’t look south.
Whether pushing to pull or balancing bull,
my eyes pop out of my mouth.

So what the hell are you doing now
bathing in the pool?
Tricky lips. Growing tips.
Cut the Holy Fool.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Welcome to the guts of the machine.
My name is Sabino and, of course, I am dead.
I am the safety guru making sure no one gets hurt.
and now I would like to introduce you to our co-hosts.
On my right, the robo-co-host with the mostest,
Magnitron MT-2.
Glad to have you my friend.

And on my left, the one and only,
yes, the genius himself,
ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome, Ray Charles.

Whoa…hold on…

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Maybe the truth is what you believe since the
only validity is time.
So get a handle on the duck.

Like the duck she flung before it hung and
landed in the clover.
A day is long. The time is short.
It’s incredible then it’s over.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Welcome back to the holiday show,
an episode old as an orbit ago.
Baby Jesus born to die,
crucified and back alive.

That was Easter, eggs and all.
Now it’s winter, the finish of fall.
Football, Hanukkah, trips to the mall,
and Mary and Joseph are stuck in a stall.

Talk about born again, here’s what they meant,
Jesus’ purchase was heavenly spent.
Add to the list of your holiday tips
a bonus so big you can’t get over it.

Another year over, another anew.
The baby, the Jesus, the virginous womb.
Rebirth is worth it, so I assume,
considering retail birth is a boom.

Ear to ear feelings of holiday cheer.
After birth’s over when Santa appears.
With aim of celebrity celibates clear,
Santa stays sexless year after year.

Though pokin’ and popin’s a common display,
Hollywood isn’t the holiday way.
The hit machine, the Nazareeny,
wears a dress, but where’s the beanie?

If it’s going up in effigy,
by golly it’s methodistology.
One can be cross and die that way
and still have a happy holiday.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

At the general cookie meeting with milk,
where purity is a weakness
and variety is a virtue,
where early-healers-mourning-wake-up
ritualize inevitable harm with overtures of fun fun fun,
the Happy Sad Boy had his first look at the final peak
on the plains of what remains.
Toes pointed forward,
followed only by the heel,
heaving fully out of keel.

This will survive me, he declared,
of the all dismantable chair.
Then said the character alluded to,
if you don’t like this, eat egg fung you!

A bad solution may just be inappropriate.
Wean the creature clean.
Present the large certificate.

Be careful not to overspend.
Update the manual from either end.
The dividing lines are changing
as the river of myth meanders.

With odds, dare say, of dirty switches,
he’s less conceptual as a bi-biceptual.
Unbalanced motorized convulsive twitches
have yank advance to spastically enhance.

He pounds the base till mom sedates
the antics of the anti-cute.
I must believe the race is him,
is less of race, then a race to suit.

Within his crumbling ever present,
let there be tranquility.

When we lefted old fisheye,
he was righted in our sight.
He was breaking the surface’s tension,
as well as the broken ice’s.
Climbing up Mt. Crisis
in hopes of expiration.

Was he shy of deviation?
Off course, he was!

The common thread is dead.
Shock your friends with your own departure.
One thing about the me thing,
the concept of dying is the source of such grief,
that the event provides relief.

No redrum live tonight.
Dang thing to be said wrong and not read right.
The organs exile hangs too long,
while dingers and dongers dangle.

It’s the everyone’s old vision common enemy trick.
Last of the fancy criers.
Evil murder makes me sick,
I hope they all die liars.

Early mourners wake up call
for times like fancy’s mishap.
It’s electrical, not gas,
and it’s coming from my lap.

From the auditorium of the Bevelorium
comes the melody of Jim B.
The organization to rethink the insanity
of unwise mythology.

While mother’s on vacation,
his brain comes to the station.
Whose matter was a fan of mine
before obliteration.

Elation rattles in his cup
and things are looking up.
The Happy Sad Boy artistry,
displayed for all to see.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Hark the moon hath made me grin.
To tell you that is not a sin.
Tonight, Oh pinions, cross the tease.
Deluxe LeGran is Taiwanese.
How absurd to have a bird
who does not say a word.
To see it and to find a word,
makes it no less more absurd.

His Majesty’s chick has come to collision,
just flew into tell’a vision.
Came with me but left with you,
not to be but what to do.
So hark the herald angels sing,
to one and all, the past is king,
a throwback to the in-between
made possible by Queen Routine.

Your nobel seat was thrown together
and thus has earned it’s name.
Every bird who has a feather
plays the same old game.
How absurd to have a bird
who does not say a word.
To see it and to find a word,
makes it no less more absurd.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Swami Robbi Bobbi, the loneliest monk,
a lot more fun with a monk than none.
standing in the stairwell of Haritual Hall
at Spillway University’s watershed foundation
for the ravaging savage homeowner.
Today’s lecture is titled, “A Reason for Instinct,
Impulsive rituals for Repulsive Habituals.”

Come rustle in the den with Swami Robbi Bobbi
at Livestock in Silly Verse,
movements under the sheets of sane refrain.
All domestatistics agree,
he’s flesh familiar of smart look.
Here in barbarians disuise,
veiled in subjective rational
for 52 weeklings as a yearling.
Take the tram backwards to visitor’s center stop,
other galaxy pop.

Smell-a-kayak’s council on clean signal,
with a kick to boot from the Insubstitute of Substancial Loot,
is proud to announce a date of dutch treats
through the Holland Tunnel of Love
with Swami Robbi Bobbi.
Learn to play the gym bag
with a bag’s eye view of athletic triviality.
Sound freshen with each lesson.

Say, hallelucination brothers, the shovel besheveled.
Stoop to be conquered, the spade be beveled.
Baited off track from the bite of a dud bicuspid,
back in spirit, Bobbi can hear it.
Squeak speak spoken to the final token beat,
when the last monk passes on the bottom of his feet.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Ritualizing behavior suitable for social maintainability.
That’s what ritual was always meant for.
No head first loiter down some hilarious cul-de-sac,
with a chicken shit myth that non popular work is misdirected.

Pop is so home on the range,
it makes me scream for change.
A declaration of spiritual commitment
to intellectual difference.

I’ll be entertaining ideas on my own variety show,
while providing substance for the slave caste middle class.
A crusade of personal vision
thru the pillage of mass like the Romans do.
They be trained in suspicion of abstraction,
dismissing all distraction.

Greed perverted seduction, brainwashing children
into eating up and shitting out a sacred heritage,
so bastards can make a few bucks.
Beware!
They come to suck.

The remedy for appliance is alternative compliance.
Ritual exploration for some spiritual accommodation.

As usual, on the other side of town
the Pee Wee Golf course was the first place to be inundated.
“Is Pee Wee under?” people ask when the river starts rising.
If it is, they start to evacuate.

Pimpy hard hat victims of the violent prophecy.
Death can bid it’s very deed,
faster than the sound of speed.
Make a pitch to swim inside
a central valley ditch.

Mass.
Breath.
Power.
Fuel.
Speech is no slave to music,
as would be the case to sing.
Dispense the essence of the universe.
Squeeze gut air past pitch-a-phone.
To relate, annunciate in proper tone.
Movement causes vacuum in all mediums not in vacuum.
Thanks to scientific evidence
we can put back the facts of history.
Recreate a forgone conclusion
fashioned from coagulated non vacuum matter of the universe.
Not to be confused with university.
Let’s first normalize gauges.
What is the matter of the universe?
If one attempts to inform you, hump’em.
The hairs make them do it.
Get it all over with a leg.

Were I not to see back spastically,
the bellowing breath of retreat,
the science of noncompliance,
the way that I stand on my feet.

Breathe for all who know
Old Nirvana Joe.

Shackle me up all tight,
Chicky Chicky Chicky,
whippy me oh,
Ouh!

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Throughout the ages changes take place. Did you get hung up in the world-is-a-stage.
Pop out of it!
We want to know if you want to hold a puberty release party.
Get your spine back from those kids down the block.

Make way for the healer to heal.
Healing is a team sport, and the healer is the coach.
To the animal, survival is the breath.
Man bypasses survival and must synthesis ritual for breath.
We play orchestras that play the song of life and tune our instruments to it.
Together we play what each of us can tune to.
To play in tune is the natural thing to do.
Our frequencies are sympathetic.
Dissonance is nerve wracking.

We are no longer animals in flow.
We are animals of repressed nature, defining ourselves by the flood marks of interrupted flow.
Memories are finger prints of “broken bodies” that fool us into concentrating on our past traumas, solidified into personality traits, symptoms we are being called upon to heal.
The ooze that squirts from our crinkled tube of tooth paste, hardens into manequins of our fasion.
When we make definite statements about ourselves, we are holding on, calling upon our bodies subconscious memory, the personality we stand by.

We must let go of memories and stay conscious in the body.
You want your good feelings to come from your bodies uncompromised immediacy between poles of its senses, allowing the self healing of body memory, removing stored trauma from the image behavior.
Your personality is seeking for completion.
Otherwise your feelings are entangled in projections of your missing traits upon your relationships.

Heal the body.
The brain is the body.
The conscious brain knows the blood through the breath.

As we twist, so shall we unwind.
Emerging as a beautiful butterfly from an ugly caterpillar.
But beware, this is the most vulnerable time of all.
No longer able to blend in and still not ready to fly.
We must greet the darkness so lonely in it’s calm.
It’s there that you will see your friends with placards of your past.
This is why we forgive.
This is where faith comes in.

We are deployed as polar beings with a differentiated system of equal presence requiring immediacy between the poles.
Emotional memories stored in our bodies impede the flow.
To be fully whole and functional we must regain our polarity express our magnetism, and acknowledge our gravity.

Gravity is a universal given.
The gravity of attraction causes combustion.
The attraction of approaching change provides the critical mass, the increase in heat necessary for explosive transformation.

With each transformation a star is born.
But it doesn’t matter that some person has the potential only that the universe is pulling the potential from the population.
If one person doesn’t get it, someone else will.

Remember you’re missing nothing.
These are not normal mortals.
They worship fully conscious in the depths.
When the water rises, they will roll over in the bouyency and their eyes will face the new day alive.
They will not fade into darkness when the light is on for they live with the universal body.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Heaven and Hell arena,
playground of the Gods.
A person having no guts.
No buts about their lack of guts.

Demonstrations are becoming old.
Many helmets among us.
Dipole beliefs line up like magnets.
Dumpster culture squeeze lane.

Some things must be straightened out
and beliefs, thereof, altogether.
It’s still a fascinating time to come,
and enjoy the wonderful scenery.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Congratulations, you’ve succeeded in reaching the bleed center.
This is Hemo, the seven foot mosquito.
You’ll be his host for today’s extraction.
We’ll be coaxing substance for your flow chart before you know it.
First we’ll gain your trust by making you unknowingly comfortable.
Then my blood sucking assistant will inject anti-coagulant to speed the bleeding.
One small piece of casuality to induce the point of casualty.
A vile filling smile with ample sample to draw collusions.
He may seem like a pest, but don’t we all at times.

On the trail of the ailing poser is a bug ready to steal the zeal
from under the rug of his composure.
One more selfless segment of sickness comprising the patient series disease list.
But not all sickness is insect inflicted.
In fact…

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

I needed fat, I ordered fat,
and then one day I got fat.
The lean of boyhood lost is seen
but never understood.

I underwent the torment.
Hoisted, I was over thrown.
A giant little boy,
high on the shoulders of Bozo.

Space station destination,
I’m your guardian rocket,
potent as a butch surprise,
peaking when I’m 45.

Galactic smash expansion,
dis way disco dat way.
Geodesic wisen hymer,
party man designer.

There’s a party in my place,
I’m the manager of space.
Rocket stages everywhere,
a blast on every face.

Congregation hodge podge
Of old forgotten lust.
Someone keep the horse contained,
And I’ll maintain the course.

On the edge but off the desk
where once I was composed.
He hasn’t got a torso,
so leave the boy alone.

Agents of surrealty,
give me peace on T.V. please.
Bastards, they can squeeze me in
the landfill when I go.

The dust I put between us
is a tail between my teeth.
Memory is a mouthful I
can chew with disbelief.

Fillin’ in the aisle again
the crowd is split with grout.
Pain inside your mouth is worth
a gap, so pull it out.

I wouldn’t fill that in
for all the tits in Finland.
That’s the time I give it up
and finally go to bedlam.
354/2/2

Flapping for the passers by
emblematic colors fly.
Soon this flag will fly no more,
tattered, ripped, and worn.

There isn’t room to waste.
It’s not convenient to portray.
See me on my web page,
that’s the way I date.

Don’t know why they’ve gone and died
but now they cry revival.
Maintain space advantage,
keep the boy alive.

The wine is here so drink it,
the drum is there so beat it.
All my plans to keep it spotless
die it I’m to mop less.

If I chase it, it’ll flee.
If I hasten, it’ll speed.
So I’ll wait and maybe it
will come to me.

No casual embrace will do,
no grass is greener too.
I’m already here,
they will have to choose.

The stage is over now,
the play it gave is given.
Remaining is the living,
there I must be driven.

All men’s nemis,
now I can not stand to see.
With no one here to talk to
I think a lot more clearly.

Give witness to the moment,
hub of all divergent hopes.
Give less to be in flight,
and let the moment soak.

Not too many years ago
I’d stick it in my wallet,
and there it would remind me to
forget what I had learned.

Where once I made my void vivacious
there my boyhood stood.
I ordered fat and got it, which
is just what I deserved.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Back when I was timid to
the melody of muse,
heavy on the visuals,
brevity of groove.

A new befriended music man
encouraged me to pick,
handing me components from
the instruments to fix.

Gutted in the clutter in
the dungeons of repair,
a pick-up he would slip me.
I was off to make a base.

Harness man to Gypsy Base,
push it in the alley way.
Generous in spirit as
the Hobo Virtuoso.

Understated blues inducing
pick-up slipping fixer.
Rainer more than record liners
mused beyond the tune.

Recipients will now perplex,
one creative soul to rest.
Savoring components
where the legacy remains.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Holy Banana Chiquita.

Her back is a rack
but that’s no disgrace.
With a chip on the hip
and a hanger made face.

From a pile of rusty junk
to a chimp with dignity,
she’s a puppet from a distance
but she’s the closest thing to me.

Don’t give me no chimp eyes.
Sorry don’t cook pizza.
For what it is and what it was
I give you my Chiquita.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

We stand abreast where the stance is best,
on the chest at the end of my bed.
Deriving judgement, stir the values,
for flavor just add vice.

Where is dirty habit at?
Pollute the process tit for tat.
A breast is where the home is at,
have a tit for habitat.

Secure the family couple,
gather rhombus please.
I picture myself as someone else,
that someone else is me.

Mom and Pop, monumental props,
family box collapsing.
A pair of telegrams with two compliments,
each of a bevel inbetween.
Paralyzed parallelograms,
neither leg the same.

Theater in the rhomboid.
I’m a rhom boy too.
I didn’t know your angle,
so let me askew your view.

She wanted a break from child bearing,
united fight for the earth.
People not of a certain kind,
a kind I do not find.

Bags of juicy components
with little bony appendages.
The advantage of the home court,
no mention there of back support.

Acknowledge their glory unto you
with a duck over door that you duck to get under.
Turning into role models
faster than they can abort.

Now I’m at your home,
I hear the metronome.
Mother’s on the fork’n spoon,
Bloomers on the boom.

Daddy’s pulled a square root,
he’ll never finish his rice.
How’s if you chop the sticks up,
and cook us a cube of ice.

Halfway to the cafe
with an epicenter soda.
A refreshing way to spend each day
free in each pagoda.

Father, dear, home base is here,
but I take my guru from you.
Inhale the stink, it’s heaven scent,
in hell it’s entertainment.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

The Home

The home for lonely men,
alone for only them.
Corridoric luggage toting
gentlemen a groping.

Many men a’slacking off
about the down and out.
There’s something new that’s not for you
at the home for lonely men.

Dogs do super human things.
Screw ups from the old school.
A man that is not welcome in
the butt of his own joke.

Flamboyant men in hardly hardware,
know exactly how they got there.
Men with nuts but no attachments.
No life guys with a no life look.

I want to walk to the rusty nail
but I don’t want to walk alone.
I want to meet my friends for lunch
but I don’t have any lunch meat.

They were called to glory too many times.
The kind of men who stand in lines.
Where else can a blurry eye go?
The home for lonely men.

Larger than my brain,
and always entertaining.
Here is everything you want but
the kind of thing you need.

Prey rodent bird, toughest midget,
sinner thief I’ve seen.
Prey rodent bird, thou sinner thief,
toughest midget yet.

What if you discovered things
you thought you had invented.
This is barely feasible yet
hardly inconceivable.

Desperate fictitioners,
short on a few essentials.
The long one is the wrong one.
Take it in for show and tell.

A stupid man needs to be
a smarter man than he.
A man is only tall if he’s
taller than them all.

Let’s invite unwelcome vibes.
Distorted George’s black hair boys.
Never turn it down to warm.
The men stay in the dorm.

Another quacky duck-u-mentary.
Duck with every quack or two.
The people work for raoches.
The roaches work for food.

The sound of men who lurk, and
in the morning go to work.
Proven loser, fifty cents
for what’s behind the fence.

A man takes time to get this way,
a fork without a tray.
Silly insti-chocolate guts and
a bunch of polaroid coconuts.

A job? You mean like waking up and
marching off to school.
I went thru that before and I was
treated like a fool.

Miserable drizzle, rain on a chain,
sick unhappy dog.
A binge on Bruce’s spring seat like
a cricket in the fog.

A man without a hat is
a man without a head.
A man who’s never thought of that is
a man who’s better dead.

The Medicine

The wind we, wind we, wind we breath
every screaming Jesus.
Need we draw a trapezoid
every screaming Jesus?

The church is made of losers who would
soon turn into boozers.
Need we ever stoop so low
as to beg for our salvation?

Algebraic godliness,
the one we seek is constant.
Use the chapel telephone,
but never call alone.

Before you ride the photons,
it helps to saddle light.
Control your raging appetite,
indulgence clogs the mind.

How do you juice a kiwi
for nuclear reactivity.
Take your medicine every day,
there is no better way.

Never feed a kid baloney,
the cause of queazy couth.
I care not for the answers but
I sure would like the truth.

We are the living casualties,
nor should we ask forgiveness.
Who cares about unhindered saplings,
less for lack of stress.

Finally, heathen chieftain heaved and
hoed upon the dignitaries.
Takes no time to reach no peak,
and seven days to make one weak.

Let me guess, a fear of success.
Assume a past with dignity.
No unimpeded items fit
through hindered permeations.

Circle eyes with twinkle till
the crossing omen tilts.
Then you rub a little bit
of everything you did on.

Be confident in whom you choose
to share your confidence.
Blessed with this malfunction as
a bitter failing male.

Avoid the topic, pick a void.
The Bible book of libel.
Stability is a fragile system.
No head to rear survival.

Video screens, bottled up
lighter fluid duplex.
Out of the kitchen, into the heat.
Flex, man, flex.

Solar powered grow lights for
the paranoia hurts me.
The bottom line in quagmire,
which man do we hire.

Never sick a day in his life.
Never a life in his sick day.
A crutch by any limp achiever,
lame by any other.

The Death

The lady lost a bettors debt.
God spilled his grace on thee.
Nothing better than being alive
impaled with a couple of nails.

Self-induced illness of
an ill-induced self.
Where have all the spent women
went?

We nailed her ass thru the crotch and
screwed her down for the fuss.
But she cleaned our slate with manipulate,
she lied on the cross for us.

Never a chance to pat thy pattor,
till the hand of the pattor was gone.
Blame it on God, the fishing rod,
the hook, the line, the sinker.

Delight the flame in still air,
by the puff on a passing sigh.
Death is a form of torture
for us, the unwounded, of course.

Punishment of the usually cruel.
Hot but looking cool.
Prophecies of population
lacking moderation.

A revisionary throwback to
a choke of revoking in each retractable
mouthpart of the after-hours
undertaker.

At opposite ends of the same place,
men slide into home base.
Sassy Ax and the Howlin’ Owl
toss the towel in for lost.

The home for lonely men,
alone for only them.
Corridoric luggage toting
gentlemen a groping.

Many men a’slacking off
about the down and out.
There’s something new that’s not for you
at the home for lonely men.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

Don’t divy up me vision
by verdict of critique.
Stand in line for the philistine,
give the other turn a check.

Conceiving is deceiving,
leave your poultry cleaver free.
Takes no guts to match it,
and fewer butts to hatch it.

Pass the class with no reprove,
honor thy process too.
Respect is no approval
assumed upon review.

What’s a myth to mess with
without seducing Zeus.
The exception is inception,
birth of all abuse.

Suspect the censors innocence,
condemn the judge instead.
Obstruction of opinion makes ‘em
guilty by suspicion.

In place of cruising thoroughfare,
your watching the edge of failure.
Take the route without a doubt,
and get thee back to the senses.

Down at the university,
there’s nothing left to say.
Let the words fall freely,
endorsements on the way.

I see me in the mirror,
and in you, I see me.
So why in my reflection, dear,
you I do not see.

All contents copyright Mat Bevel Company

What’s with him?
He’s on the horsy in the round!

Riding into town
on a wooden blend of brown,
my heads a hooded ornament
that hides a hidden frown.

Art is not a hobby,
it’s a burden of concern.
For the people down on main street,
it’s a change that over takes me.

The clock rockets onwards
as the universe unfolds,
the two handed tool rule,
the handle and the hold.

Bounded by the sound of ground,
how do I get way out?
I use the drone,
the drone that groans around us.

Horsy pedals round and round,
and finally pedals thru the town.
His movements are cliche,
but it gets him on his way.

Every day’s a circular wave,
then the morph meanders.
Horsy morphs down to the core,
same routine, different scene.

Spring like as a slinky,
wink and it’s proceeded,
a cycle of the seed
that over time succeeded.

The seed informs the plant
what the plant can only hope for.
Such the mystery masks the morph
that makes the morph meander.

What seems to be discrete
is part of a grander scheme.
Every line is but an arc
in the universal ring.

The cycle is the clock,
the period is the time.
Once you see the clock,
then you find the time.

Mass is just a force in cycles
multiplied by multitudes.
Complexities in harmony,
the earth, the sun, the moon.

Processing cycles in a cycle
of itself process.
The evolution of a seed
is the seed of evolution.