life is misery
and each time you think
"well there was a small victory"
a thousand other souls
are being tortured
by just being
just thinking
we are taught
to be blind
to the weakness of others
that the unbathed
truly stink
that smell
is
your
guilt
of being human
the odor of mankind
punishing eachother
crammed
into spaces
individuals
seperate
fat
happy
from life
and liberty
wain moon
wain
next revolution
lift me
as you pull
on earths
jagged face
6.18.2011
at the moment
curses
run
deep
I don't know
what
my ancestors
did
luck
sticks
i
must be
teflon
empty
glasses
are
all I
see
run
deep
I don't know
what
my ancestors
did
luck
sticks
i
must be
teflon
empty
glasses
are
all I
see
6.17.2011
strange beings
She turned her back to me and fell asleep after I told her a story that she had already known. Maybe she didn't notice my inaccuracies and fumbling mixes of similar tales. I laid there for an hour and wept some to myself, and as the sadness seeped inside of me. I knew I wouldn't sleep that night. I got up and thought she might notice me stirring, but as I put my clothes on and shoes she didn't move. I got close and kissed her on the cheek. That was the last kiss we had together. I called a cab and it seemed to take hours sitting in the cold on the steps in front of her apartment building. The driver let me be silent as he drove me to the train station. I sat on the L dazed and weary, thinking of what a night it had been. My ears were still ringing from the concert, and although it was amazing there was no excitement left for me. Soon enough I was close to home and departed. I strolled up the street to a worn down tavern where there were a few other night wanderers wallowing and cherishing in their drink. I sat to myself and passed little conversation with the people who knew me. I drank although my stomach was burning. When the last strings of my desperation were vibrating a friend walked into the liquor purchasing window. He grabbed me and we went to the cab outside that was waiting with other drunk and not ready to end things.
We got to his place and we drank more and talked, there was a strange girl dancing and other fellows going on about various things. My friend had recently taken up a young girl in need of a place to stay, she was quiet and unappealing. The apartment was small and messy, I grabbed the computer and started playing music that I had seen earlier in the evening. I was distressed and couldn't go home yet, we got the energy and went for breakfast. I was still sober somehow but my two friends were drunk and disorderly. The man at the counter knew me as a good and regular customer so he was polite and let us roll through with our pancakes and eggs. They told me the female roommate was schizophrenic and would eventually be a problem for him. He was a drunk and fighting his own demons anyway. We said our goodbyes and when I laid down for bed when the sun was coming up, people were working and bustling through the streets. She messaged me angrily, I fought back with tired animosity. I pushed it until it broke. I slept terribly for the next week. I have yet to see her. No longer my lover, and will probably never be. But those mad fellows, the wild, the drunks, they are the ones who went to bed happy, and are probably bedding down for the night as I speak, hazy and used to disappointment, unbothered, unfettered by the sadness of living. Happy with the madness they provide, and in no need of the sort of affection I so desperately seek. Here I am again, weak and awake listening to Brahms notes playing dramatically as the sun rises and the disabled next door are about to wake and open up the doors to live and breathe. I know they are old, or dying, or too insane to care about anything, and it does not feel any better that some may be even more alone than me. I have compassion for them though, and my mad friends. Oh what a strange thing it is to be a human being.
We got to his place and we drank more and talked, there was a strange girl dancing and other fellows going on about various things. My friend had recently taken up a young girl in need of a place to stay, she was quiet and unappealing. The apartment was small and messy, I grabbed the computer and started playing music that I had seen earlier in the evening. I was distressed and couldn't go home yet, we got the energy and went for breakfast. I was still sober somehow but my two friends were drunk and disorderly. The man at the counter knew me as a good and regular customer so he was polite and let us roll through with our pancakes and eggs. They told me the female roommate was schizophrenic and would eventually be a problem for him. He was a drunk and fighting his own demons anyway. We said our goodbyes and when I laid down for bed when the sun was coming up, people were working and bustling through the streets. She messaged me angrily, I fought back with tired animosity. I pushed it until it broke. I slept terribly for the next week. I have yet to see her. No longer my lover, and will probably never be. But those mad fellows, the wild, the drunks, they are the ones who went to bed happy, and are probably bedding down for the night as I speak, hazy and used to disappointment, unbothered, unfettered by the sadness of living. Happy with the madness they provide, and in no need of the sort of affection I so desperately seek. Here I am again, weak and awake listening to Brahms notes playing dramatically as the sun rises and the disabled next door are about to wake and open up the doors to live and breathe. I know they are old, or dying, or too insane to care about anything, and it does not feel any better that some may be even more alone than me. I have compassion for them though, and my mad friends. Oh what a strange thing it is to be a human being.
diggital shoestring theory
technology is stripping me of my humanity
I am too bored and entertained
lulled to sleep with music or readings from the greats
i'm struggling with death and life
i'm burdened by being awake
not being able to defend myself against passive aggression
that in so many forms hits my face
and real aggression that is random and commonplace
I should get the muscles working so I no longer atrophy
maybe I should stare at the sun or get struck by lightning
in hopes that blindness or electricity revive me
so that songs will play deep in my brain
so i will have more songs to sing
when they take me to the madhouse, the hospital, the prison
and you will have songs to sing
when the grave digger's machine buries me
I am too bored and entertained
lulled to sleep with music or readings from the greats
i'm struggling with death and life
i'm burdened by being awake
not being able to defend myself against passive aggression
that in so many forms hits my face
and real aggression that is random and commonplace
I should get the muscles working so I no longer atrophy
maybe I should stare at the sun or get struck by lightning
in hopes that blindness or electricity revive me
so that songs will play deep in my brain
so i will have more songs to sing
when they take me to the madhouse, the hospital, the prison
and you will have songs to sing
when the grave digger's machine buries me
6.16.2011
just
I am pathetic. I should have died on that fucking mountain. I should have pulled the trigger with that barrel in my mouth. I should have taken that RPG in my god damn chest so I wouldn't have to deal with this world anymore. I should have kissed my family goodbye and died on the fields of war. I should have been a fucking hero so I wouldn't have to think about this shit anymore. I should be the one with cancer, I should be the one old and bitter, torn and full of scorn.I should have been born more handsome with more silver spoons in mouth, I should have worked so much harder and should have been more sickened by being poor. I should have started a bar fight that ended in me getting cut up and bleeding on the floor. I shouldn't be here, there is nothing I add to the world, there is no one I am for. I should fall asleep and not wake up because waking is such a chore. I should shut up because no one listens, because no one is there anymore. I should end this path of sorrow that bleeds from my core. I should look in different places, but those places arent my own, I should just stop breathing and hope there is no more.
6.15.2011
today I started to care about privacy
Let me start off by saying that I am just an average computer user. I am a designer and I work with loads of programs, but I am by no means a technology expert or anything. As of late I have been interested in the activity and actions of the group who call themselves "Anonymous". While looking through information around the interwebs I came across this little article on security and remaining anonymous. http://pastehtml.com/view/1dzvxhl.html . Now I highly suggest that you download the firefox apps provided in the report, to stop being tracked by unknown people. It has sped my internet speed up dramatically, and I get to see every little company trying to track my information and it is a little scary.
A few weeks ago my amazon.com account was accessed and some purchases were made, and the only thing amazon had to say was that I must have given my sensitive information out to some 3rd party or something. I have had an account for several years and I don't give out info, and never had this happen before. This made me rethink how I felt about my internet security. I used to feel that maybe it wasn't so bad that people track you, see what interests you, and what you like. Maybe then there would be more things available in the future that were brought to being simply by being me. I'm starting to feel that this is over the top, the amount of information that is unknowingly stored within our own computers. So my suggestion is to fight back a little, against big corporations and agencies by not letting them freely use our own thoughts and feelings against us in advertising, marketing, and messaging.
A few weeks ago my amazon.com account was accessed and some purchases were made, and the only thing amazon had to say was that I must have given my sensitive information out to some 3rd party or something. I have had an account for several years and I don't give out info, and never had this happen before. This made me rethink how I felt about my internet security. I used to feel that maybe it wasn't so bad that people track you, see what interests you, and what you like. Maybe then there would be more things available in the future that were brought to being simply by being me. I'm starting to feel that this is over the top, the amount of information that is unknowingly stored within our own computers. So my suggestion is to fight back a little, against big corporations and agencies by not letting them freely use our own thoughts and feelings against us in advertising, marketing, and messaging.
check please
When I came back home from the Army I was married to a girl that I had known since I was fifteen. We were married before I went to Afghanistan. She was battling a lot of madness. Both of us were traumatic messes, only I believe she had given up on herself. She wasn't a wife or a companion. She took care of her pets, watched television and did a lot of drugs. I wasn't much better but I was trying much harder. I had found a good job running a kitchen downtown, and I made ice sculptures on the side. I would sit in a grimy room in the basement for hours chiseling and creating. She hated it and wouldn't leave me alone for a minute. She became very possessive and I was losing hope for life. She insisted that I had some girl at my job, when in reality I was having such a hard time just coming back to the world that I couldn't even consider adding more complexity to my emotional state. Also being alone in the world for those long months had tempered me, and made me much more used to being by myself. A lot of months not wanting to get killed, and a few nights where I came close to ending myself had changed me. I was becoming repulsed with my wife and my life. One day when I got off of work I knew that she was probably just getting up and I couldn't be a part of her life anymore. I went to a friends house and stayed on the couch. I turned my phone off and thought about the past few years of my life. I had no fear of cutting that connection, or any connection to anyone. I felt as though I may never love anyone ever again. It wasn't painful. It should have been but it wasn't. Almost every relationship I have had since then has been painful.
It is strange in retrospect how I could have been so courageous then, to go into the future with a large degree of uncertainty and face it with confidence in myself and my actions. I wish I could have bottled some of that energy and saved it for days like these. Days where your dreams seem to be all but gone, and the smell of reality is disheartening. Days when no one calls, or writes and your eyes are dry from staring at a screen, when your back hurts from sitting and doing nothing and being fine with it. Days when you want a drink but your stomach might bleed if you do. Days when you wake up to storms and rain, to a life you don't even seem to lead. In the same places doing the same things all over again. Days when your once strong patience is now dwindling. When you are afraid of the world because you owe it so many god damned things. Days when faith never seemed to exist anyway, that so many things are just words and the true meanings were lost when we all stopped thinking so deeply. Now our thoughts are wide and encompass everything, at least mine do. I can't help but contemplate our existence methodically. From quarks and bosons, to the taste of tea. I don't know if its my mind that needs to change, or the world around me.
I feel some nostalgia for America, I love it. I feel like it is being corrupted though. I feel we are all getting weak. What can we do without a phone, or a computer, a link or a tweet, without bicycles, cars, fast food, or tv? I'm too obsessed with information and technology, and I don't even have an i-phone or i-pad. I want to harness the heart of a revolutionary, and change the way we all think and believe. The first step is to make an attempt to be more compassionate, a more difficult thing than I initially believed. It's hard when you are bitter and disappointed with events and situations in your life. When you are unhappy scaling the ladders of social and career success. When all the food tastes bland and all those girls you loved are gone. When the wine tastes heavy and feels like spicy blood in your stomach but you drink your bitter drink to wash down the delights and disasters we each face every day.
Here is to compassion, may I acquire much more someday.
It is strange in retrospect how I could have been so courageous then, to go into the future with a large degree of uncertainty and face it with confidence in myself and my actions. I wish I could have bottled some of that energy and saved it for days like these. Days where your dreams seem to be all but gone, and the smell of reality is disheartening. Days when no one calls, or writes and your eyes are dry from staring at a screen, when your back hurts from sitting and doing nothing and being fine with it. Days when you want a drink but your stomach might bleed if you do. Days when you wake up to storms and rain, to a life you don't even seem to lead. In the same places doing the same things all over again. Days when your once strong patience is now dwindling. When you are afraid of the world because you owe it so many god damned things. Days when faith never seemed to exist anyway, that so many things are just words and the true meanings were lost when we all stopped thinking so deeply. Now our thoughts are wide and encompass everything, at least mine do. I can't help but contemplate our existence methodically. From quarks and bosons, to the taste of tea. I don't know if its my mind that needs to change, or the world around me.
I feel some nostalgia for America, I love it. I feel like it is being corrupted though. I feel we are all getting weak. What can we do without a phone, or a computer, a link or a tweet, without bicycles, cars, fast food, or tv? I'm too obsessed with information and technology, and I don't even have an i-phone or i-pad. I want to harness the heart of a revolutionary, and change the way we all think and believe. The first step is to make an attempt to be more compassionate, a more difficult thing than I initially believed. It's hard when you are bitter and disappointed with events and situations in your life. When you are unhappy scaling the ladders of social and career success. When all the food tastes bland and all those girls you loved are gone. When the wine tastes heavy and feels like spicy blood in your stomach but you drink your bitter drink to wash down the delights and disasters we each face every day.
Here is to compassion, may I acquire much more someday.
sheridan stop blues
I couldn't take the silence of my trashed room. I bellyached to the others and went out for a drink. My stomach turned and I knew I would be sick anyway. I get to the bar and have a seat with a few of my friends. It's karaoke night and the place looked like it was missing it's life juice. Most of the people there were gay and I knew the girls weren't interested in me. I tied one off and lost count after a few shots. The lady kindly called me up and from my drunken quietness my voice roared and I did some soul man a little justice. There was a beautiful waitress with ripped up stalkings, too beautiful, and too cool to notice my eyes. She got up and sang, her voice was just right and I was jealous, down, because she had a man, and I didn't like my odds.
Pretty soon they rush us out into the streets and like fighting lions we roared into another place. I sat with a drink as the boys and girls I knew chuckled through the small crowd at a dying hole in the wall. My friend called me over to talk to a few girls, and we started walking them home. The girl I was with kissed me a little but seemed more interested in what the other two were up to. I sat on a curb with a cigarette and let them walk away. I was drunk and lost in the city. The rest of my friends had already taken off and stopped to talk to a girl carrying a lunchbox with a picture of a raw steak on it. She was cute and friendly, I got directions and stumbled off to find a train to send me back to that trashy room by the lake.
Time flies when you are losing yourself. In another week I will likely forget most of this and have more stories to tell. I am a writer. Although it may be only for the few people who actually read what I write. A lot of it is crap and I'm sorry for that, but for every hundred terrible poems or manic expressions of my feelings that my heart and mind vomit out into these keys there is one that might make you happy, even for a second. Or for every thousand stupid lines or rhymes there will be one that gets you. I'm trying to whittle down myself so I can create something unique, that didn't come from being told what I should write, or what is right to write. Huzzah.
Pretty soon they rush us out into the streets and like fighting lions we roared into another place. I sat with a drink as the boys and girls I knew chuckled through the small crowd at a dying hole in the wall. My friend called me over to talk to a few girls, and we started walking them home. The girl I was with kissed me a little but seemed more interested in what the other two were up to. I sat on a curb with a cigarette and let them walk away. I was drunk and lost in the city. The rest of my friends had already taken off and stopped to talk to a girl carrying a lunchbox with a picture of a raw steak on it. She was cute and friendly, I got directions and stumbled off to find a train to send me back to that trashy room by the lake.
Time flies when you are losing yourself. In another week I will likely forget most of this and have more stories to tell. I am a writer. Although it may be only for the few people who actually read what I write. A lot of it is crap and I'm sorry for that, but for every hundred terrible poems or manic expressions of my feelings that my heart and mind vomit out into these keys there is one that might make you happy, even for a second. Or for every thousand stupid lines or rhymes there will be one that gets you. I'm trying to whittle down myself so I can create something unique, that didn't come from being told what I should write, or what is right to write. Huzzah.
6.09.2011
open water IV
the beautiful are the lucky ones
sometimes the world will kneel for lovely eyes
the ones that want love go searching around and can't find it, getting burnt up
the ones that don't want it have to sweep it out in the morning, get their coffee and doughnut
the ones who should live get sent to die, and the dead can't speak their wisdom
the oafs, users, masquerade behind the artists renditions making everyone suck our souls through plastic straws
i didn't wake up and dislike the world, it has been against me from the start
I always had love though. A good family, good friends.
I've been upset, crushed, used like a man who had something to begin with.
As soon as I could stand I could dance, and i could joke, and make my family laugh. I used to draw pictures for my grandmother. I made ant people who looked like the crew of the original starship enterprise. I miss a family. I should have my own by now I think. I should have love and happiness. I see people from my past, people who I never had any real respect for, and I see them happy and in love, making babies, building that family up. I feel lost and lonely. I've lost my enthuisiasm. What is life for god? Is it to make art for some corporation that thinks I'm only worth what a budget allows, what a people are happy to consume? Is it to find some niche in hollywood and get stuck in those insufferable circles of social exclusion and polarized egos? I can't waste away, but I'm not sure I can be happy with those things. I'm not sure I can be happy without finding a real reason to live. I like to write, not usually like this, i'm more coded or angry usually but now I'm feeling more contemplative. I made some mistakes, my heart is sore, I maybe made some good choices though. I feel like I've been walked on a lot in my life, and I let it happen, no one else, if anything others warned me. I feel like I'm at a place where I should be demanding, at least changing my passive ways which never work out anyway. I am setting fires all over the place though, my heart is tired and my tongue burns with a thousand unsaid words and I probably hurt someone I really started to love. I gave up, because saying nothing wasn't enough. I value morals, and compassion. I can't help but constantly analyze and imagine myself in the other shoe, but being a man and a man hopefully of virtue, I couldn't see through a closed door. What can we know of the inside of a room we've never been in, except that it could be scary, and maybe we've seen a room like this before, and every room with this style of trim and doorknob reminds you of being held up tight, and abused and then thrown to the sharks.
sometimes the world will kneel for lovely eyes
the ones that want love go searching around and can't find it, getting burnt up
the ones that don't want it have to sweep it out in the morning, get their coffee and doughnut
the ones who should live get sent to die, and the dead can't speak their wisdom
the oafs, users, masquerade behind the artists renditions making everyone suck our souls through plastic straws
i didn't wake up and dislike the world, it has been against me from the start
I always had love though. A good family, good friends.
I've been upset, crushed, used like a man who had something to begin with.
As soon as I could stand I could dance, and i could joke, and make my family laugh. I used to draw pictures for my grandmother. I made ant people who looked like the crew of the original starship enterprise. I miss a family. I should have my own by now I think. I should have love and happiness. I see people from my past, people who I never had any real respect for, and I see them happy and in love, making babies, building that family up. I feel lost and lonely. I've lost my enthuisiasm. What is life for god? Is it to make art for some corporation that thinks I'm only worth what a budget allows, what a people are happy to consume? Is it to find some niche in hollywood and get stuck in those insufferable circles of social exclusion and polarized egos? I can't waste away, but I'm not sure I can be happy with those things. I'm not sure I can be happy without finding a real reason to live. I like to write, not usually like this, i'm more coded or angry usually but now I'm feeling more contemplative. I made some mistakes, my heart is sore, I maybe made some good choices though. I feel like I've been walked on a lot in my life, and I let it happen, no one else, if anything others warned me. I feel like I'm at a place where I should be demanding, at least changing my passive ways which never work out anyway. I am setting fires all over the place though, my heart is tired and my tongue burns with a thousand unsaid words and I probably hurt someone I really started to love. I gave up, because saying nothing wasn't enough. I value morals, and compassion. I can't help but constantly analyze and imagine myself in the other shoe, but being a man and a man hopefully of virtue, I couldn't see through a closed door. What can we know of the inside of a room we've never been in, except that it could be scary, and maybe we've seen a room like this before, and every room with this style of trim and doorknob reminds you of being held up tight, and abused and then thrown to the sharks.
6.08.2011
could you be loathed
she squeezes sheet and likes what he does right
he closes his eyes and still holds her image in mind
she walks fast or rides a bike
he takes his time
she holds an arm, kisses necks or ears
he holds a memory, kisses a dream goodbye
she's got summer in a clutch, short skirt day dream love
he's an enemy to the world, head down curled up
she's armored, holding onto nothing like a diligent off-duty security truck
he's exposed to the elements, susceptible to the little paper cuts that add up
she wants to be open for something
he wants to be closed and sewn shut
she is on the road, on a boat, on a beach in the sun
he is on the low, a no show, burnt up
there is little difference between a bullet and a gun
between the good one and the wrong one
she holds the pillows close as if she weren't alone
he fades away because he knows he is the only one
the sun was on their bodies, fed well and undernourished soul
complex castaways stirring ponds of home making memories
setting a tent and building a fire on the shore
there are others with torches, with fires burning into the night
empty boats where shadows float across the line
they cinder and sink to the bottom where death lies
the dreams that come aren't any good
they are heartache and with them rides anger on a drunken horse
rippled on top, the face of loss and hurt shimmers in moonlight
oh there are places to be and successes to breathe, sadnesses to bleed
hungry sores seeking more and more
this one is the best one, the first one that feels like something, like anything other than all the things it has been being, this one feels like comfort and cool drinks and songs to sing, this one is an easy chair cozy and feeding, this one is a trip across the world seeing high things and low ravines, forests and galleries, this one is so much of everything, and empty and receding, disheartening and collapsing, this one is addressing all the wrong things, remembering the cold and bitter beliefs, embracing the invisible breeze, soul opening, expressing, missing the point of being, paint a painting and build a plaything, ignore, ignorance just don't say anything, young, fun, out to get it, get it baby, bet it lady, pray that all your energy isn't just wasting, pretend that you're reading everything you need
so that these awful words, these truths and feelings can just burn out when I'm done impeding
obstructing, we were just fucking, lucky that it was just that one thing, imagine if you were loving
he closes his eyes and still holds her image in mind
she walks fast or rides a bike
he takes his time
she holds an arm, kisses necks or ears
he holds a memory, kisses a dream goodbye
she's got summer in a clutch, short skirt day dream love
he's an enemy to the world, head down curled up
she's armored, holding onto nothing like a diligent off-duty security truck
he's exposed to the elements, susceptible to the little paper cuts that add up
she wants to be open for something
he wants to be closed and sewn shut
she is on the road, on a boat, on a beach in the sun
he is on the low, a no show, burnt up
there is little difference between a bullet and a gun
between the good one and the wrong one
she holds the pillows close as if she weren't alone
he fades away because he knows he is the only one
the sun was on their bodies, fed well and undernourished soul
complex castaways stirring ponds of home making memories
setting a tent and building a fire on the shore
there are others with torches, with fires burning into the night
empty boats where shadows float across the line
they cinder and sink to the bottom where death lies
the dreams that come aren't any good
they are heartache and with them rides anger on a drunken horse
rippled on top, the face of loss and hurt shimmers in moonlight
oh there are places to be and successes to breathe, sadnesses to bleed
hungry sores seeking more and more
this one is the best one, the first one that feels like something, like anything other than all the things it has been being, this one feels like comfort and cool drinks and songs to sing, this one is an easy chair cozy and feeding, this one is a trip across the world seeing high things and low ravines, forests and galleries, this one is so much of everything, and empty and receding, disheartening and collapsing, this one is addressing all the wrong things, remembering the cold and bitter beliefs, embracing the invisible breeze, soul opening, expressing, missing the point of being, paint a painting and build a plaything, ignore, ignorance just don't say anything, young, fun, out to get it, get it baby, bet it lady, pray that all your energy isn't just wasting, pretend that you're reading everything you need
so that these awful words, these truths and feelings can just burn out when I'm done impeding
obstructing, we were just fucking, lucky that it was just that one thing, imagine if you were loving
6.07.2011
i am disaster
stumbling down the street
wrapped up in cables and wires
dragging the electronics and broken instruments
still babbling
old bitter heart
seeking torment
pushing out warmth
i am a storm
i change with the tide
moon on my side
raining down on you and trying to catch you right
between enough
beyond too far
as most emergencies are
stumbling down the street
wrapped up in cables and wires
dragging the electronics and broken instruments
still babbling
old bitter heart
seeking torment
pushing out warmth
i am a storm
i change with the tide
moon on my side
raining down on you and trying to catch you right
between enough
beyond too far
as most emergencies are
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)