TRICTION: Mentally Disordered

To express my excitement for my upcoming first actual novel is thrilling!  I hope you’ll enjoy it.  It’s going to be available sometime after April 19, 2017 from all e-book retailers.  Print copies will be available sometime in May 2017.

Dylan Pritchard traverses his unstable mind through years of travel to and from a waterfall.  He’s taken away by a group of strange, but interesting and highly successful people to a remote desert location.  After only a day at Monterey Station, he’s abruptly yanked and brought back to face his own reality.  This reality is the discovery of what the waterfall meant to him then and now.

To Toast a Town

Years ago, I strolled the streets of Sun Valley, Idaho.  I felt protected.  I thought the future was sealed.  You cannot go to this city without an overwhelming romantic wave crash against you – comparable to walking on a beach but avoiding the sand.  Not going to happen.

Now, that I’m married with two children, I want to take my family there.  I want that electricity mandated by the city’s environment to ignite my future’s purpose again.  I remember little else from that visit long ago.  Only the romance.

A toast to you, Sun Valley, ID!


Time to run, time to lose
Time to eat, time to snooze
Time to be nice, not mean
Time to be lean, not green

Have you had a remarkable day?
Have you lost yourself in play?
Growing riches within your mind?
Blowing britches in kind?

I like to run and it feels good
But not until I’m skinny and wood
Getting there with light and focus
After all, no one really knows us

Bread gone, spinach here in tow
Lemons and Mushrooms, some cilantro
Ice and cranberry juice, onions and olive oil
Monterey Jack packs, salmon in foil


I refuse to register my arms.  They’ve become fatter and I don’t want that tracked… Not to mention, moderate carpal tunnel in one wrist.  Next thing you know, I’d be getting spam wanting me to buy arm products.  It’s already started with the Nair and Deodorant commercials.  Moreover, I’m not registering the two (Grizzly) arms in my freezer; They’re stamped with FDA already, isnt’ that enough?  Even if they weren’t, it’s not like I have Mountain Lion arms in my freezer.  I understand what the founders meant when they said Bear arms.

Job Hunt


Making copies of your life into a paper fill
Green little monsters rapidly moving in
Typing and fretting, it’s exhausting to find
Pressured by well-wishers and wallet alike

Damn this, I’m going home, I’m going to roam
Sitting and surfing, praying and calling home
Lying in the sun for fun, I run
Hands across the counter beat the drum

I’m on the hunt, but not really, I’m waiting
I’m flaking and shaking, but not really, I’m skating
I’m on the hunt but for what, a snot, a rope?
I’m hunting without a gun, maybe a stick, nope!

Maybe some relief is on the way, I get a call
Mr. Regal, Mrs. Callus, when should I fall
Today is the day; I get the notice, the rice
I knock on the door dressed in my ice

–Jason L. Scarabin




In a world where pleasure is criminalized
In a world where pain is glorified
I died, I cried but I didn’t lie on the side
Take me for a ride on your kite

The elite fleet stares at your feet
The cheat meets you on the beat
The eel reels on his heels before his meal
It steals as it feels orange peels

Today it pays to lay and to lay you must pay
Our fate with Kate is too late
Brace the ace in the face of lace, set a pace
Take a break before you ache from steak

Oil boils your curls in foil
Curse the verse of the nurse
Hurt Bert and be curt when you flirt
Stop the cop and flop on his top

Pressure and leisure feathers the weather
Neither the ether nor breather keeps Heather
Come for fun with your bun in the sun
readily and steadily knead your beads

-Jason L. Scarabin

When We Wed


I don’t want to see you listening
I don’t want to hear you seeing
I don’t want to taste you feeling
I don’t want to feel you tasting
and I don’t want to smell you at all

Your skin sees my ears
Your eyes taste my nose
Your ears feel my fingers
Your nose hears my eyes
and your tongue smells nothing

But how can we live, go on pretending
delicious excitement
unsightly moaning
loud drinking
coarse odors

with all we dull our senses, we haven’t a thing to bring or sing to the king
shoulders taste ok
tongues see ok
ears smell ok
noses hear bread but is it dead in the red bed when we wed?

–Jason L. Scarabin

Sorry small man

I’m sorry you’re small, not tall, not thick
I’m sorry you’re obsessed with lack of d_ck (your own)
Peeny small man, your jealousy is despicable
You’re not smart and you’re not slick

I’m sorry small man, your mind is injured
I’m sorry dolt, you prey on unaware minds
Spend your time aching to destroy others
While you frown in the mirror at your ugly face

Small man, you were not given tools, you’re not fortunate
Your hatred of yourself will never benefit anyone until you’re awake
Your hatred of others will never benefit you until you’re under
Hey small man, your control of others will never be

You’ll live in pain in misery all of your days
You’ll always look to cut others to the bone
Because you see, little man, you have no bone
spine or you know the other kind

Little man, I don’t wish you well
I wish you nothing but continued humiliation
You know the kind you get when you look in your mirror
Oh I forgot, little man, I’m not sorry