im outside myself
the inside
the entire
outside
of body
of physical
existance
beyond
the slavery
of my desire
to
LIVE
before i leave
limited
by the slavery
of a dying body
and
then they
would seek
to enslave my mind,
and should I
ignore
the allure
of ignorance
the sweet bliss
of being a part of the mass?

My mind is where I wander free
having
no regard
for what anyone thinks
about the way i think
i know
no one thinks like me
because i know I don’t think
like they want me too
i dont want to,
i want to perceive
life
beyond what they see
hearts filled with greed
fueling
evil deeds.

world
in
famine
world in suffering
so insignificant
to the Universe
that we deserve oblivion
in death
for complacence
in this
short life
and what
of the imbalance
of rich to poor?
should the 90%
not
RIse against the 10?

Better keep
the 90 in check
your money
is hoarded safely
and protected
in the blood
and intestines
and brains
that paint the streets
where Hafiz once wrote a drunken poem
of love.

I got drunk
on beer
and canadian whiskey
in my car
in the parking lot
smoked
a couple bowls
and went inside
and met Tom,
who led me
to where
the rest of my friends were.

The show was about to start
and I wanted in on the ruckus
so i got on the floor
as close to the stage
as i could
and yelled,
“Let’s go you Swedish mother fuckers!”
People around me laughed
and the kid standing next to me
that looked like
dave mustain
at
eighteen
told me,
“They’re from Finland.”
“Same shit.” I said.

The music starts and
I start a moshpit
pushing everyone around me
the indulgence
of the banshee screams
and distorted riffs
and drums
that ring
like the sounds of battles
humans
before me
bore,
that roman legionaire
my dna evolved from,
the
barbaric life
of thousands of
years of
human
evolution
i evolved from
still exists in me
and so
i came here
like
a pagan
to dance
under
trance
of
satanic
devil
hatred
filled
death music
and expel it
from my soul;
so
i dance
like the devil
in the mosh pit
i dont feel any of it
i push the biggest guy i see
inside
and then jump in
to mix with him
he was pushing littler guys in
and not participatin’
so i wanted to get him,
he circled around
pushing everyone around
and with one good hit
i sent him to the ground
then i pulled him up
and danced away
as he left the pit
in pain.

I stepped out to catch my breath.
When I returned,
the pit was in full effect
so i stepped in again
and let go
of everything
that was killing
me inside
and it came through
in such
rage
and power
that
soon
I was the only one
circling in a giaint pit…
I stopped
and looked around
people looked at me
like i was The Beast
and
i exited
and watched the rest of the show from the back of the house
ending the vulgar display.

selling my soul
in screenplays
i have to
or else
it’s worthless
it would be the same
as what you
have already seen
and im tired
of the same old
tired thing.

when i was in film school
a person i respected
who had big acting aspirations
and was a member of the
groundlings
improv group
told me
with absolute sincerity,
“One day,
people will watch your movies,
and they’ll know
they’re watching something
by
Brandon Hefley.”

I tripped out when he said that
after he took a main character
from my script
and acted it out for the class
reading a twenty page script i wrote
about a man
selling his soul,
someone called it Faustian
and it was
me,
a comedic
tragedy.

corrupted
what is expected of me
dropped into the
sin
from the bliss of
nonexistance
igniting
endorphins
my soul
feeling so
rawly physical
unhh,,

it’s for sure
my soul
came from
the otherside
of what
hawking calls
an infinite number
of bubbles
like universi
suggesting
we are a universe
like a single bubble rising from the bottom
to the top
then bursting,

we better hurry
this beast is a thirsty
bitch
and wants to suck the life from us
before we can transform
our souls
into the buddhas
all entities
were
infinitely
reborn
to aspire to.

I want to be
a little boy
when i grow up
and make millions
playing
for the rest of my life;
baseball half the year,
my toys
the other half–

I want to be
a buddha
when i grow up
so i can be happy
without
making
millions.

If the buddha
were a ballplayer
I’d call him Babe Ruth
or Mickey Mantle
Hank Aaron,
or Big Papi,
I’d call him Vlad Guerrero too.

Hitting a homerun
spikes endorphins
in your brain;
triggering a distinct moment
of zen
after having
swung
and then
to hear the sound,
but feel nothing,
as the ball
flies rapidly away
in the sky.

The first time
you’re so excited
you run around the bases without even enjoying it,
then
the moment’s over.

With more homeruns
you learn
to take your time,
and watch the ball leave the park;
you can even hop in the air
afterward
like Sammy Sosa,
then,
bow your head,
and
touch
them
all.

My sad soul
shows through
standing at a friend’s
college graduation party
full of her
friends and family.

standing there
drinking beer,
my only real
social effort
in listening
i dont care about talking.

A surly white dude
with tatoos
talks to Vladi
tells him about
the fighting gym he trains at
“They teach us everything there, uh
Kickboxing, Muay Thai, Kenpo,
and even some Jiu-Jitsu.”
“What do you train?” I ask.
“Kickboxing.”
“Are you training to be a fighter?” Asks Vlad.
“No, but they have a program for fighters.
If you want to be a fighter, they put you in a program
and then trainers circle around you barking orders.”
Cobra Kai style
i think
and tell him,
“There’s some serious training going on there.”
“Yeah.”
I left it at that
Feeling dominance over his exercise kickboxing skills.
And resumed
my own
surly state
brooding in the back corner
drinking beer.

Vlad’s parents were there
It was his girlfriends party
and i gave his momma a hug
and his dad a handshake.

standing there
drinking my beer
his parents approached me again later.
“Where’s you’re girlfriend?” His mom asks with her Chilean accent.
“I don’t have one.
I’m not worried about it…
I need to take care of things with myself right now,
you know?”
“How old are you?” His dad asks.
“Twenty-six.”
“Oh, well you’re still young yet.” They both say.

And then i switched the topic
to their daughter’s coming marriage
to one of my best friends
and how beautiful
the wedding is going to be
overlooking the ocean and the city.

I go back
to quietly
drinking beer
in the corner
when
Vladimir
comes up to me
and says
“My mom says you look Triste…
That means sad.”
“Heh, i do? Nah, I’m cool.”
And then I realized i was
and contemplated the
sadness radiating
from my soul.

this is where
my karma ends
perceiving
a reflection
of myself,
what i choose to
see
and do
and how i
live,
overcoming
vulnerablity,
strength
beyond
strength,
i feel
my inside growing
everyday
i let go
and
overcome
animal instinct
with
logic
with
golden buddha principle
with letting
go
and loving,
letting
go mostly
loving
and
letting
go.

If I didn’t need love
you wouldn’t know me
you wouldn’t read the words
I feel
I wouldn’t be me
I would be someone else
like an insect man
with no emotion
I can’t do
the Buddhist thing
and live without
anything
i need to feel you
feel me
i need to feel
i need to love physically
it’s the animal inside me
overcoming the coldness
i used to be
it’s this man body
i can’t help
but express
my manliness
in
tenderness,
i have no dominance to prove
i am dominant
so assertions
of my power
are vulgar displays
like Satan would say to Father Karrass,
i need to find
my love
in this place
cause
otherwise
there’s no reason
for me to even be alive
hate is death
life is ending
and
love
is so seldom felt
that I
will make it
for myself,
I will make love
and it will not break

my heart may crack
my soul may ache
but my love is still my love
and it will not break–

I feel inexistent
and you
do not exist,
i still love you
anyway
fuck it

I listen to Pantera
to remember
what it felt like
to say fuck you all
i dont need your love
i have hate for the world
and love
for myself
my love
for
my self

Fuck you all,
i’ll scream it
until i get throat cancer
from drinking
and smoking
and screaming the hatred out of my stomach

I could have
reacted badly
i could have lost my self
to my pain…
oh i loathe
and identify with
the sick
who gave up hope
of ever getting well
and hurt themselves
or worse
projected their pain
unto others

i used to say,
“I’d rather blow up the fucking world
before I kill myself.”

I take that back.