Portland's strangest duo publishes their literature

This site is a collection of poems/prose secretly written by musician/producer Machine Gun Max, and musician/producer Blind Unkle Vernon (explorers of the dreamworld). Many of these pages sat vacant in boxes - unseen from the eyes of strangers - and have accumulated over many years. Most were never meant to be seen... until now. Today, there are thousands of untitled writings now being displayed in this blog. If you would like to contact them for any reason, they encourage fans to send emails to: explorersofthedreamworld@gmail.com

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

*Around Corners*

It's hard to think when you are walking
through extremely cold temperatures.
Max trains were like bobsleds,
and the lamp post light
felt like an oven.
Don't care to see passed the
unplanned unexplained unpredictable
focal point of my life.
and what's this news about
a bunch of birds falling dead from
the sky and fish dying in the same 10 to 12
mile radius?
I'm not sure where it happened, but either
way it's still very strange nonetheless.
taking comfort in that
makes living seem more easier.

-alright pickles....do your thing!

Monday, January 3, 2011

907 at 8


finalizing initial
non-sequential small habits/
god doesn't need no love
he already has his.

the royal, the editorial
gross nature of hypocrisy/
had them all laughing as
members of the aristocracy.

an ode to the freelance,
magnetically stepping/
and a joy to behold what
we're always accepting
.
.....

Monday, December 27, 2010

Bed of Nails

white dust crept under
a desert valley.
Perched against the highest winds
known to man,
the sand flew that day.
fixated with the glow of
afternoon, traveling tents
of showmanship, and carnival acts,
drifted by,
in plain site,
to get a view of the spectacle.
All observers are lost on that one,
the traveling people commenced,
while eArth's wonder kept
performing.

-M

Sounds Like Noise

An old friend came out of the past and said hello.
The enthusiasm in her voice was unmistakeably free.
I figured that the chapter was over,
it was just being revisited.
Revising, revising
till' it turns out just right.
I missed the solstice last time it happened,
and I feel like a fool for missing out,
so I'll make sure that it's not repeated.again.
The bass is rattling in my head
and the words of poets invisibly fly through me,
....I can almost touch
the waters of oblivion.


Tuesday, December 7, 2010

War of 2325

elusive
45
intrusive
religion bells chime
while science
is labeled fiction.



*MJW*

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Ballad of a Gin Man

Hit to death in the future head
by flaming lips plays and skips
as the dusty cd player feels the
rough terrain of oregon interstate
highways.
a girl with numb look drive
by
and take a different exit than me.
so this image is only kept as a
faded memory.
wishing energy and passion
drunkenness(yes that's how it's spelled)
could carry into sobriety.
it would make acting out a whole lot
easier. wouldn't it?
Now, hear
this:
I've never met a man who could do
Louis Armstrong impressions as good as me.
and I mean no one.
Damn, I missed my exit,
shouldn't drive and write, and think
all at the same time.

*-For Jane

MJW

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Depth, Delay; Vibrato

I jumped across your picket fence
I saw the letters you spelled out in flames
your radiant pule, glow like sapphire
I can't predict your next thought
Don't undastand your actions
I try to fake it with you sometimes
to see how you react*


The underground scene of today washed up torn pieces
of newspaper you used to roll cheap tobacco when 9
drinks got you lifted to obscurity
life-form
in your own way a life-form.
hiding smiles with lipstick
you moved into a two story duplex
and found out a sorority lived
upstairs.


they introduced themselves, and left
within a week. and you ran to your
car imagining music of triumph and utter
desperation, to make your mission seem more
valuable. you veered to the left as rain
splattered your windshield.


you drove erratic in and out of nods of forgotten
sleep. rage and looting took place and you said to
your superiors "if they had been smoking jays
none of this would have ever happened."
I threw in a dip and laughed about the whole thing
as I tried to piece together the parts that made
the most sense to me. I hope that you and them can eventually
do the same.

MaChine GUn

Monday, November 22, 2010

Thank You For Not Joking

...Staring out at the neon lights on a rainy autumn
Monday at 4:00pm, can make a man feel dismissive.
The mood of the restaurant is calm and predictable.
Mini vans with fat cigarette smoking women yelling
at their children to stop kicking the seat, whiz
by in a soft teal streak of life. An old rusty dumpster
sits loudly across the street, mocking me because it
has more garbage than I have.

I sometimes fantasize about meeting my future wife
in the rain, and providing shelter to keep her dry and...
The fantasy is interrupted by the tall, skinny, beanpole
outdoors-man jingling coins in his pockets while waiting
for his food. Do women find mustaches attractive? Weird
questions like these pop up, when I can't find the right
radio station to listen to while I'm driving; which is
like all the fucking time!

The outdoors-man leaves in a car that doesn't suit him.
Haha! Holy shit, isn't that everyone's life story? Christmas
music is barely audible, while my teeth crush the last remaining
ice cubes in my plastic coca-cola cup. Damn it's really coming
down out there, God must be taking a well deserved drunken
piss.


- Sincerely,
That Little Voice in the back of your head responsible for
the flight or fight response you always ignore.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

The Necessity for Change

If you always do what you always did, then you'll always get what you always got.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Ribbit

band of frogs

is croakin' outside my window.

I will be their audience.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Oregon Coastal Ranch Gunshop

I got a
polyester shuttle barn
in world war II

yeah a
polyester shuttle barn
in world war II

got a
polyester shuttle barn
in a world war II

and a
tire-swing
out back,
made just for you.

Silk September

Senile

Turbulent

Amusing

Petition

Rendition

Refreshment

Indulging

Stereo

Working

Monograph Records

Energy

Accomplishment

Satisfactory conditions

Theory of Existence

parallel universes. one side
where there was always
something and a magic god
that created everything. the
opposite side consists of
absolutely nothing..
creating and giving balance
to both parallel universes.
that is the way of things.
and comfort decides which side
we exist on.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Master Plan Master

???
Lets do it
I say
But in the middle
The middle is the best
It just looks the best to me
So that’s
What
I’ll Doo
Hehehahaha

Subterranean Dopesick News

I love you all
I hate you all
Some of you
I care not for

Castles Made of Sand Never Fall Into The Sea

oNe side.
oNe side.
let the warm liquid
slide! slide! slide!
down the palette
and through the throat
onto the brain
to make the moat___---___


- Recalling The Court Jester's Last Remarks Before The Lynching

When The Moon Exploded

Don't piss down my back and tell me it's raining
don't rob me of my artistic vision
don't build me up to burn me down
don't give me weapons with no ammunition
don't scorch the sky to blind the stars
don't eat the fruit that god named poison
don't remember my hardships
don't remember my faults

remember the love I tried to spread to all...

-Max
writing from a time of dire confusion and
uncertainty

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Lesbian Baseball

yoU love heR still
and why you do not know
thoughts of her traVel in circles
across the wild rivers of your
minD;

the day is a distraction.
a distraction from her:
shE leaves signs of her existence
EVERYWHERE

I'm not sayin' that everything reminds
yOu of heR
or that she is a representation of EVERYTHING...

I'm merely saying that she leaves traces
of her importance
in even the most seemingly unimportant
places
and it can be comforting
in an uncomfortable way.

I think I know you better than you,

because the last time I saw you
you were with her
and her was with you;

you girls are meant for each other.

---THE END---


*AUTHOR'S NOTE* In no way is this poem
a sign of disrespect towards anybodies
sexual orientation,


-Trampled Willis "The Grass Cutter."

Thursday, May 27, 2010

are you down for the once in a lifetime. history defining moment known as, "Explorers of the Dreamworld, Conquer Suburbia."-a journey to the land of none

Guiding Joints On The English Channel

he went from spirits to spirits
she went from dusty to dusted;

I raised my hand to interject
the common notion,
but they ended up laughing
at the heavy burdens I carry

I stared at a bright moon
and saw the dark misshaped
craters;
one of god's imperfect creations.

performing background orchestra to
the viewing were 50 or so bullfrogs.
they croaked in such magnificent harmony
that I could even hear birds providing
musical accompaniment;
I smirked at natures simplicity
and pointlessness.

There is a void I can't fill
a hole I can't dig
a point I can't make
a love I can't catch
a goal I can't reach
a hope that feels less

I stretch my arms to get blood
circulating
and it relaxes my weary mind
in times of turmoil and boredom.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Royalist Asceticism

witH your last long jouRney to the mainline,
groves, arose in strands of dollar ticket theaters
fell out at long last
fell out to nothing.

uniform is universe
cloaked in nonsense.
nothing feels clean.

their metaphor for the world was
as long as it still spins.

"Basically"

-Social Monarchy

Communism Statement

I plan to examine the introduction of European plants and animals to the North American landscape. I’m particularly interested in exploring how the indigenous tribes of North America reacted both positively and negatively to these changes. I plan on researching whether or not the natives found these animals sacred, used them for food, used them for technology like clothing and building material, and how many diseases these animals brought. Using the work of Virginia Anderson’s “Chickwallop and the Beast,” Linda Smith’s, “Decolonizing Methodologies,” and other sources I will suggest that bringing these animals across the sea, forever shaped America as we know it today.

-War Cries

Monday, May 24, 2010

Too Early

The quest for change is seen through violence, which cannot see itself unless it has a mirror presented to itself in silver fragments of light, shining from a sky of indifference.

-Max and his droogs

Monday, May 17, 2010

In The Port of Perth, part 1

"lost a good man, sir. mmm. he was a mighty good sailor - mm did a real noble deed for his country"

These situations were hardly rare for captain boswell. he was the steady hand which constantly maneuvered his fully displaced 92,000 ton class A arsenal ship with effortless lure into the dock at their base outside of Perth, Australia. She was commissioned in october of '62, carrying twin terriers and an ASROC launcher.


'A sailor went overboard, apparently drunk, causing a mass hysteria to folks on the port. many moved quickly to try and save him but he was too tangled in the cargo net, which fell to the water, causing him to drown. wernt no noble deed. if anything, he made an embarrassment to the rusted iron ship... the mighty american navy. after a 3 year voyage of roaming about in the vast seas, nobody could recall the sailors name. so a mandatory attendance check was scheduled at our eating quarters at noonthirty.
Steady hand boswell has been a little shaky lately. been losing it. we can assume by his unthoughtful attempt to take an arsenal ship into quarter twain water, and getting her stuck. he doesnt belive in reading topography. listening to advice. or maintaining his position as a navy captain. i cant blame him, 3 years on sea can do it to a man.
this morning, the weather was of no concern. though we got jerked out of our bunks and onto the cabin floor. torpedo! the sailors scattered to deck, ready to fight... but it was only boswell being drunk again. we noticed the vessel was starting to gain speed. rumbling. gears rotating... pressing upwards of 40 knots. nobody knows what he does up there. nobody wants to know. i often wonder if we are even working for the military. or... are we just pirates with state-of-the-art SPS surface-and-air search? with a bow mounted sonar, towers hovering 60 feet above deck?
When we began our voyage boswell would get on the intercom and announce our next docking location, the weather... our maintenance jobs for the day. he had a strange voice - rather high pitched, hypnotic and ascending. always rushed his first few words in a sentence and by the time you can piece together what he's saying, you've already missed it. we had our officers relay the message. most of them didnt know either. as time when on, the intercom announcements became shorter - until, finally... they stopped.
He seems to know nothing of the ocean. he does not boach down the crest of a wave. the vessel becomes a sitting duck when afloat over an inlet. Every day we are subjected to heavy bashing and plumes of spray in nearly all directions. rumor has it that when dark clouds are approaching, boswell hides underneath his radar desk, and begins sucking his thumb.
i sleep on a top bunk in the sleeping quarters. it is where i spend the least amount of time because its so damn cramped with wretched men playing cards all the time and smoking so many goddamn cigarettes a fire couldnt be found. how all 44 of us would even know what to do if there was a one... know where i wouldnt like to be if there was one, so i aint gonna be there.
no work has come in yet. no wars for miles. only 3 long years of aimless floating, everyone becoming more inept and more out of touch with reality. having lost our second sailor this morning, things are reaching a tipping point... 2 lives lost without a single battle! none through disease!? something was happening. tonight, i am going to assemble a crew of men and we are getting to the bottom of boswell.'

- TO BE CONTINUED -

Two Kinds of People Divided By Zero

we invented our destinies on
a sunday afternoon in northern france.
(french no like ambitious americans.. so we
kept it private).

my destiny was to be poet laureate of the world!
hers was to marry a man that could financially
provide
for her and the 7 pups she squeezed out
over the last decade or so.

I then realized my next move to get the ball
bouncing on my road to the future was to
ditch her, and leave her available to the next
poor sucker, who would fall right into her
trap of plastic love and self-centered
pity.

I dreampt of this day many
a long night and day
my fellow boys and girls.
me riding solo in the back of a cargo train
in an empty box car
a hundred bucks to my name
and letting that massive metal chariot
expose me to people, places,
and things unkown,

our destiny don't make us
we make our destiny
so back up
I'm gunna make mine

back up

I'm gunna make mine!

Sincerely Yours,

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Growing Expert

Growing tomatoes is always a challenge to many oregon home gardeners. cool summers often mean slow-ripening fruits, and when the first frosts of fall come, many home gardeners find themselves with an overabundance of green tomatoes. plant tomato transplants about one to two feet apart in rows three to five feet apart. Rows can be closer together if the tomato plants are supported with cages or other supports. ten to fifteen tomato plants will feed a family of four.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Polyrhythmic Shop Magnet (Swimming Through Crushed Ice)

I'm robbed of my independence.
fuck authoritarian tyrants who rule
out of fear. Fuck em'.

Normality plays lifeless music from speakers
that surround every downtown metropolis
you've ever visited. the good ones drown
the bullshit out with earplugs and headphones.
the bad ones embrace it by using phony distractions
which make them feel beloved by others.
your internet-friends-list
is a mask that you use to cover
your brutal face, completely full of
lies
deceit
and regret
that you carry like a chip on your shoulder..
you push down to feel the curvature.
you push down to feel the curvature.

I won't sit around couches and let the mindless
tv programs eat away at our souls!
I won't discuss
corny reality shows
corny television advertising
that
corny people love.
life is short
mine probably 80 or 90 somethin' years long,
if real is passe'
then purity must be concrete
because it's the only thing that lasts
and is worth living for!

Damn it!
my shirt now has a coca-cola stain on it
luckily I'm not suicidal
a lesser a man woulda' done himself in
after thinking and recalling the past
that shaped his personality and composure.
to then all of the sudden spill coca-cola
on a new white shirt that is covered with
birds and tree branches. well,
it could be too much.
but the birds that nest and circle the trees
give the shirt its own symbolic and artistic expression.
and that makes me smile.

So I'm gunna fuckin' do it
that's right, I'm gunna tough it out.
I'm gunna see what's out there, and that
certain thing or something
if it has the balls
to ask me how I feel about the world today.
eye will say:

"truckstops
and fuckshops
a mustache,
with only a bus pass."

silly rhymes to rest your head easy at night.
cuz I know it's racin'
it's always racin'.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

A Letter to Ray Johnson

You stuffed my mailbox's full of collages without titles.
A peeled orange opens,
and your writing hand cramps.
don't ask questions
for no answers are needed.

Andy and you trained factory workers,
saw the hilarity in nothing
spared change for your empy pockets
and rented apartments for $28 a month.
full of utilities.

your closest friends have never known
who you are
and that's the joke.
your self-portrait is stripe-colored-boxes
the pictures laugh
when others call you crazy.

no explanation needed for a January swim.
the bridge was a diving platform that
caused excitment before the icey plunge.
and you kept backstroking when others called out.
and you kept backstroking when others called out.

dontaskquestions

-Ray's unknown friend..

Monday, May 10, 2010

Deciding The Fate of an Untitled, Unfinished, and Unrefined Book

I tried to write a book today,
but ended up with notes of pity,
and enough self-mourning that I was
embarassed for others to read.

I flipped them over so I couldn't even see.
With thoughts of burning it.
To be once written manuscripts of an
autobiographical novel,
And then turn to black sheets of ash
that end up being dust in the all too common
northwestern wind.

Or perhaps, they shall be kept around
In a drawer that I will call "The Book Vault"
pull them out when the time is right and finish
sculpting my literary Mt. Rushmore of past
experiences and feelings.

no proper dealings for those pages
just tossed around decisions that can
only be caught one at a time for every
chaotic situation the day brings to my
cluttered life.

another possibility:
Those words of alphabetical letters
could wind up being the flesh and bones
of a book that took 5 or 6 lives to make.
and in God's eyes is considered a manifesto
that encompasses the very essence of man
that spans the past, present, and future
of our empy humanity.

whatever the result may be,
might have to wait till tomorrow or the next day
When I clean my room and read it on the floor
dead sober
just before I take another day by the collar
in hopes to domisticate it into thinking I am master
of it's universe.

then I will decide what is best for its fate.

-Johnny Bluebird

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Singing, for a haircut... and a shot of good booze

It Caught Up With Me

i am not as clever or eventful or eager as i used to be.
so... this is called growing old?
i see now why it seemed such a dreadful thing.
my vision vanishing before me
my hands more sunken than they ought t' be.
it caught up with me.
knees goin out with lower back cramps and dizzy spells and cold sweats
my hair is too thin, frayed that i wear red wigs to mask my embarrassment.
im'a milf but aint never had kids. how could they tell?
adults 'round here make assumptions off appearance.
when only im'a lookin like this cuz i have to
it caught up with me
i would love to look like the ol me but the good ol me is still good and old, but without the good.
just old.

- Susie Rizal

I Challenge The Opus

"i challenge the opus"... and his eye-grinning cheek
"please return to your seat, sir"
i could tell nobody wanted to bother with a protest from this campaign. the bodies of lords and commons governed only with fear and angst and murderous tendencies. we bit our tongues - they spat through teeth.
"tyranny is tyranny!" i screamed. "if we cannot swallow our wills, let it wither away. be it only to seek justice from invalid tax from the seven years war. a war in which we had no involvement."
many pretended to agree. so i sat.
"please, sir. dont dirty your mittens. blood stains take longer to wash out anyhow, ya hear?
he drooled when he spoke. his upper lip hung limp like a novacaine patient and he could not maintain a proper position for his jaw. fanged teeth and all. on them, i could see flesh. with breed love overtones. his mind was capable of immense wealth with a vocabulary filled with royal red carpet jargon.

"i, too, is challenging the oppus."

"dont look at me like that. its rude and pathetic to think the thoughts that you think. amen amen. lend me your pencil."
not many people have successfully been through a tommy johns surgery and came back. i admire this stranger for his effort in trying - trying, to avoid the ails of human cannibalism

- cleetus herman

Soak

i'm a dope fiend. i'm a dope fiend.
i'm a coward. wheres the wait?
why in such a hurry? whats the matter?
soak in the danger. Eat the fruit
hows your lady? where she been?
oh, down in LA. go figure she would
wheres the hustle - 63rd hundred block.
98334 on the door, east facing complex.
under a strictly enforced guidance
soak in the danger. Eat the fruit.
my education was non funded
and my books were outdated. seams ripping
binding springing pages crumpling
i'm a failure. i'm a failure.
never made it through high school
trade school nor grade school
i am a thief. i wont admit it
i tried my best but it wernt
any good. to anyone.
except the starched suit lawyers
cutthroat shareholders
that concentrate hungry elephant
gone ate my money.
and the rich get richer
and the poor get poorer
and the middle class of america
suffered a recession.
soak in the hunger. Eat the fruit

I burnt a hole.
damn cigarette.
you failed to reach an ashtray.
nevermind it, god dammit.
in lieu of anything magical
you just say the word.
whats the word? whats the word?
energy is power.
power is watts. its unit of measurement

- cleetus herman