Tag: Botched Resignation

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 03/08/24

James D. Casey IV

sun up

it rained last night and through a cloud of aromatic steam i look at the tree tops from her porch as i sip my coffee and listen to the delicate savagery of birds in the morning.

i like it.

soon though a static wave of disquieting, obsessive compulsion and indoctrinated, brainwashed, plebeian adherence will rise with the sun and the coming day; vexed, as if some specter’s trained dog, so too will their slumbering cars be awake, and what’s left of the deteriorated arboreal beauty and beleaguered atmospheric global balance that once was will be laid siege to; yielding terrestrially yet again, its’ crude essence, to those countless self-perplexed, ego driven, vehicular, asphalt distractions stuck between the imperialistic, pneumatic breath and billowing exhaust of churlish, multinational, corporate verbosity and the militaristic threat of a towering, particle smashing, sub-atomic, bathtub crank, bio-engineered, mega-death tally.

determined, to meet head on this apocalyptic ultra comic book existence from her bed, i turn to go back inside, whereupon, i spy a small rabbit crying out from the mouth of a calico trotting up the alley, next to the house. it stops for a moment… they both look at me, in silence.., then it turns and moves on with that poor desperate bastard firmly in its jaws, kicking its unfortunate little feet and screaming once again to no avail. so should life be, i thought, but it’s worse than that.

©2024 Botched Resignation All rights reserved.

Brother Pardon

in this time of great social upheaval, a looming economic catastrophe and a civilization, along with all traces of humanity, teetering on the brink of extinction, comes this ill-mannered knucklehead, Gerard Padron, an american poet, on the ground, who writes under the pseudonym Botched Resignation. like many of the oxymoronic, idiosyncratic writers of his day, he is a lover of women, hero to children and champion of the poor. Botched Resignation is everything that is disdainfully fashionable. just ask him. he drinks heavily when he can and can’t dance. as to the many things which have been said about his personage, one cannot expect everybody to be as bright, clever, and optimistic, as they are self-assured and talented.

from the hypocritical top down, the collusive heads of every department on the globe, have insisted that everything we do, must be… from this point forward.., state of the art… fuck’em… it is not as though Botched Resignation, has not sent notice. the village idiot, elevated a tremendous fool, Botched Resignation is The Venomous Dog of the House of Padron / High Chancellor of the Witless, the Ardent and the Tawdry, who that on more than one occasion, has been mistaken for Jesus, and declared a much smarter man by more than just a few staggering
drunks.

an inebriated rogue, inspecting from head to foot, an intoxicated, duplicitous, secular pride, he is his own worst enemy. on the field of poetic contention, Botched Resignation has no rival, no job, no money and no prospects. none. he is the point and shaft of an elegiac spear, as well as the archetype who wields it. however, odds are, up against it he can never hope to win and doesn’t give a damn.

Botched Resignation is 100% pure snipe.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 02/21/24

James D. Casey IV

today

we used talk of the inaudible noise
sometimes, the unseen,
her and i as opposed to engaging
the deafening silence that she hated
about the distances,
outside, herself; in a book and me.
she thought about dying; a lot,
common among obsessives and bugs
and attentive drunks,
locked in amber stasis,
unchanged, for millions of years
fossilized
in crystalline despair,
stumbling forward, back again
unnoticed through preoccupied centuries
in search of a lost, off course,
perhaps, dead or drunk and already gone astray
tomorrow.

“it must be here.”
“are you sure?”
“no.”
“maybe we should go back.”
“but it can’t be there.”
“why not? it’s today.”
“you mean in the now?”
“yeah… we’ll just kill time, kick the can, like there is no tomorrow.”
“and if by tonight, we still can’t find a shred of evidence or reason for its existence?”
“well, then we wait.”
“on what?”
“i don’t know… the rank of urgency, the delicate aroma of anticipation, or perhaps the warmth of
expectancy? we’ll follow, whichever scent comes first until we find it.”
“hope?”
“yeah… hope.”
“i registered for classes in the fall.”
“really… that’s good.”
“i’m done drinking.”
“okay.”
“i’m going back to school and i want you to write.”
“okay.”
“i want a baby.”
“okay. do you want a ring?”
“no… i want a stone that will never be cast in my direction.”
“you’ve got it love and i will kill any man that touches it.”
“i love you Botched Resignation.”
“i love you too.”

©2024 Botched Resignation All rights reserved.

Brother Pardon

in this time of great social upheaval, a looming economic catastrophe and a civilization, along with all traces of humanity, teetering on the brink of extinction, comes this ill-mannered knucklehead, Gerard Padron, an american poet, on the ground, who writes under the pseudonym Botched Resignation. like many of the oxymoronic, idiosyncratic writers of his day, he is a lover of women, hero to children and champion of the poor. Botched Resignation is everything that is disdainfully fashionable. just ask him. he drinks heavily when he can and can’t dance. as to the many things which have been said about his personage, one cannot expect everybody to be as bright, clever, and optimistic, as they are self-assured and talented.

from the hypocritical top down, the collusive heads of every department on the globe, have insisted that everything we do, must be… from this point forward.., state of the art… fuck’em… it is not as though Botched Resignation, has not sent notice. the village idiot, elevated a tremendous fool, Botched Resignation is The Venomous Dog of the House of Padron / High Chancellor of the Witless, the Ardent and the Tawdry, who that on more than one occasion, has been mistaken for Jesus, and declared a much smarter man by more than just a few staggering
drunks.

an inebriated rogue, inspecting from head to foot, an intoxicated, duplicitous, secular pride, he is his own worst enemy. on the field of poetic contention, Botched Resignation has no rival, no job, no money and no prospects. none. he is the point and shaft of an elegiac spear, as well as the archetype who wields it. however, odds are, up against it he can never hope to win and doesn’t give a damn.

Botched Resignation is 100% pure snipe.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 12/20/23

James D. Casey IV

if it were magic

if this were magic
without celebrating the significant
lack of better terms or the mediocre
efforts of the listless and the damned,
vaults would be opened.
if this were magic
everyone would eat… think of it..,
there would be no weak for whom to show mercy,
exploit, displace or kill off and thoughts,
would float visibly through the air.
if this were magic,
i would not feel obligated to dispel that myth, or conquer
those heroes, and you, would not feel compelled,
to keep those legends alive.
if this were magic,
to say you are imperfect, would not be a legitimate excuse,
so much as, it would be to drastically understate
an utter incompetence.
if this were magic,
sex would not be aggravating,
relationships would no longer be complicated, making love
would’ve eliminated the urge to kill something and all that we hold sacred
would be fucked.
if this were magic,
the dishes would be done, the laundry would be folded,
the bills would be paid… hell, there’d be none… and this,
would have written itself.
if this were magic,
poetry would have fallen prey to incantation,
long ago.

©2023 Botched Resignation All rights reserved.

Brother Padron

in this time of great social upheaval, a looming economic catastrophe and a civilization, along with all traces of humanity, teetering on the brink of extinction, comes this ill-mannered knucklehead, Gerard Padron, an american poet, on the ground, who writes under the pseudonym Botched Resignation. like many of the oxymoronic, idiosyncratic writers of his day, he is a lover of women, hero to children and champion of the poor. Botched Resignation is everything that is disdainfully fashionable. just ask him. he drinks heavily when he can and can’t dance. as to the many things which have been said about his personage, one cannot expect everybody to be as bright, clever, and optimistic, as they are self-assured and talented.

from the hypocritical top down, the collusive heads of every department on the globe, have insisted that everything we do, must be… from this point forward.., state of the art… fuck’em… it is not as though Botched Resignation, has not sent notice. the village idiot, elevated a tremendous fool, Botched Resignation is The Venomous Dog of the House of Padron / High Chancellor of the Witless, the Ardent and the Tawdry, who that on more than one occasion, has been mistaken for Jesus, and declared a much smarter man by more than just a few staggering
drunks.

an inebriated rogue, inspecting from head to foot, an intoxicated, duplicitous, secular pride, he is his own worst enemy. on the field of poetic contention, Botched Resignation has no rival, no job, no money and no prospects. none. he is the point and shaft of an elegiac spear, as well as the archetype who wields it. however, odds are, up against it he can never hope to win and doesn’t give a damn.

Botched Resignation is 100% pure snipe.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 02/13/23

James D. Casey IV

hackneyed

call it what you like selfish, uninspired, spineless and middle of the road.

i locate, unearth or fabricate what i require and carry out by means of loose cut, super human will whatever imagined powers, collected, bone like artifacts or new discoveries essential to completing this doglike work;

carved out of what was once a seamless realm, unrestrained by space and the passing of chronological time. gouged, as if by slow moving glaciers receding, exposing thousands of sedimentary years, are the many valleys and gorges of death, a lifelong way.

analytical critique is pointless, at the observable surface, scant nourishment and furthermore, makes no suggestible difference to one accustomed to piqued interest and spite.

to genuine art, post-mortem inquiry is no more important than a cat’s cradle string of ambiguous reflection between the usual standard models, regarding their own extraordinarily ranked instability, against a nightmarish and atypical design;

marked by deep scars, seismic fissures and volcanic fjords across an otherwise mentally disfigured, vacant and inhospitable cerebral terrain.

a dream, awake, out of order or not attempt lurid godlike sequential focus and from as many conjured vantages. undo a tangled web of inconsequential thought, string the snarled out, precisely, or for lack of celestial vision complicate uncertainty all the more.

©2023 Botched Resignation All rights reserved.

Gerard Padron

in this time of great social upheaval, a looming economic catastrophe and a civilization, along with all traces of humanity, teetering on the brink of extinction, comes this ill-mannered knucklehead, Gerard Padron, an american poet, on the ground, who writes under the pseudonym Botched Resignation. like many of the oxymoronic, idiosyncratic writers of his day, he is a lover of women, hero to children and champion of the poor. Botched Resignation is everything that is disdainfully fashionable. just ask him. he drinks heavily when he can and can’t dance. as to the many things which have been said about his personage, one cannot expect everybody to be as bright, clever, and optimistic, as they are self-assured and talented.

from the hypocritical top down, the collusive heads of every department on the globe, have insisted that everything we do, must be… from this point forward.., state of the art… fuck’em… it is not as though Botched Resignation, has not sent notice. the village idiot, elevated a tremendous fool, Botched Resignation is The Venomous Dog of the House of Padron / High Chancellor of the Witless, the Ardent and the Tawdry, who that on more than one occasion, has been mistaken for Jesus, and declared a much smarter man by more than just a few staggering
drunks.

an inebriated rogue, inspecting from head to foot, an intoxicated, duplicitous, secular pride, he is his own worst enemy. on the field of poetic contention, Botched Resignation has no rival, no job, no money and no prospects. none. he is the point and shaft of an elegiac spear, as well as the archetype who wields it. however, odds are, up against it he can never hope to win and doesn’t give a damn.

Botched Resignation is 100% pure snipe.